I am an old white man, Mr. President; if statistics are to be believed, I should consider you to be as annoying as Bob Dole was when he ushered in the present Era of Erectile Dysfunction Commercials. I do not fit the stereotype--(If I did, the title of this would probably be "Open Letter to Barack Husein Obama.") I still believe you've got game. I just want to see some more slam dunks.
First, let us flash back to the presidential campaign of 2008. I was discussing politics with a group of friends--We're from Baltimore, so I guess it's not surprising, national statistics notwithstanding, that I am an ardent Democrat. Some of us supported Hilary Clinton, others, including my wife and me, thought you were the better candidate. One friend said, "He might be better, but America will never elect a black president." I, ever hopeful, thought it was indeed possible. I also said that if you won my wife and I, avid dancers, would take our portable radio outside and dance a rumba on the street, which we in fact did. What an historic victory! (Mr. President, of course we didn't vote for you just because you are black--Fact is, though, that I--the old white man, remember?--am married to a brown person from India and have an adopted black son who was born in Chicago--see if you can make statistics out of that! Let us just say that the fact that you are black wasn't exactly a deterrent for us.)
I am writing this letter to offer a little criticism to help assure that my wife and I will be doing the rumba in 2012.
Now let's flash forward to my group of friends the day you made the compromise on the extension of the tax cuts. We were so angry that we made Anthony Weiner and Bernie Sanders seem as calm as two young men from Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo dancing a pas de deux from the Nutcracker. But we soon calmed down. True, most Americans opposed the tax cut for the rich but not by a wide margin. More important, though, is the fact that the voting public gave our party "a shellacking" in the last election. Yes, you had to compromise with a party which would sabotage, among other worthy initiatives, any extension of much-needed unemployment insurance. We still love you--but please don't take us for granted!
You mentioned in a recent press conference all your achievements since becoming president. It is indeed a formidable list; I am indeed proud of what you have accomplished so far. Well, here comes the criticism, and I think you know what's coming: how is it that someone with your communication skills has been unable to inform the public of what you want to do and what you have done?
Mr. President, I admire your intellect and ability to negotiate. Yet if you fail to counteract the "disinformation campaign" of your opponents, you will not be nearly as effective as you can be. We need you! My wife and I do not want to be doing our next rumba in the basement!
The Republican Party knows it has to twist the truth to get elected, since most Americans are not wealthy. They are experts in psychological warfare, masters of the little phrases--e.g. death panels, death taxes--that infect the minds of many good, yet woefully misinformed people. Fighting against this propaganda machine is essential if you want to achieve more. If it is so distasteful to you, at least delegate this important function to others.
I will close with one suggestion about how you can do this. You have heard what many people say--namely that you are a socialist and an advocate of Big Government. Untrue! I am convinced that you are a passionate supporter of capitalism. You know as well as I that without it we would no longer be the innovators that we are. Why not present yourself as such? Why not say that capitalism in order to function well needs periodic tune-ups like our cars? Why not say that you also oppose big government, but demand that we have the minimal government necessary so that capitalism doesn't disintegrate into oligarchy? If you fought back like this you would also be distinguishing yourself from many opponents: you would be telling the truth.
Maybe you have learned from past mistakes and are planning to vigorously fight back against those who are distorting you record. I sincerely hope so.
By the way, my wife has just informed me that we will not be dancing the rumba outside our house in 2012. Despite the mid-term "shellacking," she has full confidence in your ability to turn things around. If you do, in the name of the American people, she has decided--and I heartily agree--that we should perform a uniquely American dance. In 2012, Mr. President, we expect to swing. Please don't let us down.
11.30.2010
EINSTEIN AND FAITH
No, not that type of faith. (If you're interested in Einstein's religious beliefs, look elsewhere.) I'm writing about faith in one's own intuition--the belief that "one's gut felling" reflects reality. I'm using Einstein as an example of how one's intuition can sometimes be right, sometimes wrong, and what significance this realization might have for the rest of us. This is not an article about physics, but I will need to discuss briefly his achievements and failures, since his intuition played a key role in each.
AN OVERVIEW OF EINSTEIN'S ACHIEVEMENTS
When one thinks of the outstanding artists, musicians, and authors--to name just a few categories--of the past century, one will probably come up with several candidates for each field. If one is asked to name the most famous scientist of the twentieth century, I doubt if there would be any competition: Einstein. His theories of special relativity and general relativity revolutionized science and greatly expanded our knowledge of the cosmos in unexpected new directions. Before Einstein, all physicists--to my knowledge, at least--believed that Newton's Laws were valid under all circumstances. There was a problem, though, that became apparent: the speed of light. It had already been determined to be about 186,000 miles per second before the century began. But according to Newton's Laws if one were traveling in the same direction as the light in question, at, say, 50,000 miles per second, one should perceive the light, logically, to be traveling at 136, 000 miles per second. This was proven not to be the case: light, no matter the frame of reference, always travels at the same speed. It had been thought that light travels through a substance called the (luminiferous) ether, just as sound travels through air. But since light travels always at the same speed no matter the direction, the ether put up no resistance to light and was therefore proven not to exist. Einstein solved the mystery in 1905 with his special relativity--that is relativity without considering gravity. The more one speeds up the more time slows and space shrinks. The person in that frame of reference wouldn't notice, since everything shrinks proportionally. We don't notice the relativity of time and space because it only becomes apparent at very fast speeds. Yes, what you learned in high school is correct: a space traveler who traveled at a very fast speed might return to earth with an age now, say, ten years less than the twin he left behind. Einstein also discovered that the speed of light was the upper limit of speed possible. At the speed of light, time stops, but to reach this speed is impossible for non-elementary particles, because the mass that is traveling would acquire an infinite value. (Not an easy job, pushing along something that heavy!) Einstein ten years later discovered many of the mysteries of gravity. Namely that it is transmitted at the speed of light--(Newton had thought gravity's effects were instantaneous--According to Newton, if the sun suddenly disappeared, the effect of gravity would disappear instantaneously with it. Einstein's equations correctly predicted that there would be an eight or so minute pause for earthlings to become aware of the sun's disappearance, since it would take the speed of light that long to bring us that information.) Gravity warps the fabric of space; objects obey gravity much the same way as a roulette ball follows the groove of the roulette wheel. Space is therefore a thing, not nothing. All these discoveries of Einstein are truly mind-boggling, ground-breaking achievements. No other scientist of the twentieth century changed our views so radically and single-handedly. (Quantum mechanics progressed as science usually does, as a sum of contributions from many individual scientists.)
EINSTEIN'S INTUITION
Intuition is a prominent factor in scientific progress. For instance, the belief that the universe is "elegant," has made many scientists believe that the most elegant equations reflect reality, years before the equations in question have been corroborated by data. In modern physics, for instance, the belief that symmetry underlies the cosmos has led to exciting new discoveries and theories. I am not sure, but I don't believe Einstein intuited the relativity of time and space prior to his discoveries. Einstein's intuition was very much right in its belief that the enigma of the speed of light could be solved. Many of his hunches that sprang from his intuition, however, were wrong, some of which, interestingly, proved right for the wrong reasons. I shall explain this later in this article.
Einstein worked with large entities and not sub-atomic ones. He was thus following the footsteps of Newton, who discovered the laws of gravity and motion some three hundred years earlier. Like Newton, he believed in absolutes. A matter of fact, he didn't want to call his theory the theory of of relativity but the theory of invariance. Space and time might indeed be relative entities, but they were part of a spacetime unit that was absolute. Like Newton, he believed that any traveling thing had both a specific velocity and a specific position at any instant; if they could not be determined it was the fault of the technology. Similarly, it was a matter of faith for him to believe that everything is determined. He would not have disputed LaPlace, who asserted that if you knew the velocity and position of everything, everything could be predicted. Einstein's famous formulation in response to the discoveries of quantum physics was "God does not play dice." Quantum physics not only asserted the random basis of the micro-world, but that velocity and position of an elementary particle could not be simultaneously determined, not because of inadequate technology, but because of the fuzzy nature of quantum reality. Einstein would have none of this; his insight was fixed. He was, of course, wrong in this regard; the randomness and non-locality of quantum events have been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was ironic--Einstein's intuition helped him to make great discoveries, but hindered him from acknowledging the discoveries of quantum physics. His intuition told him that although quantum physics made accurate predictions, it was not basic--something that underlies it, presumably demonstrating the victory of determinism, was yet to be discovered. Not so! It is now thought that quantum physics is primary; we live in a quantum world, as physicists say.
Because of his refusal to acknowledge discoveries that ran counter to his intuition, Einstein became more and more marginalized. One wag said that not long after his discovery of general relativity, Einstein, who lived many more years, might as well have gone fishing. This is a bit unfair, but there is truth to it. Who knows what Einstein would have discovered if his intuition had let him keep pace with new discoveries?
Newton's system remained unquestioned for three-hundred years after his death. Einstein, alive during an epoch during which physics developed rapidly, was not so lucky. Quantum physics, which ran counter to his intuition, developed while he was still very much alive. It is difficult to speak of this as a tragedy, for Einstein was often wrong in such a way that helped advance science. For instance, by his intuition he was convinced that the universe was static and eternal, even though his equations of general relativity only allow a universe to be either expanding or contracting. To get around this, Einstein came up with the idea of the cosmological constant, a repulsive force to counteract either contraction or expansion. He provided no science behind this; it simply allowed his intuition to be right. Later, when it was discovered that the universe was expanding, Einstein abandoned the constant and viewed it as a great mistake. Much later on, it has been discovered that there is indeed a cosmological repulsive force that is causing the universe to be in a state of accelerated expansion. Thus, Einstein was right for the wrong reason. Another example of faulty intuition: Einstein was convinced that there was no such thing as what he called, "spooky action at a distance." In 1935 he devised the famous EPR thought experiment that he believed proved that even at the quantum level position and velocity could not be random variables. The EPR experiment encouraged others to work on this problem; eventually the concept of quantum entaglement was proven, disproving Einstein's belief. If one entangled elementary particle was determined to have a certain spin, the other entangled particle would instantly correspond before something traveling at the speed of light could reach it. Beyond all doubt, "spooky action at a distance," occurs in the quantum world. His later intuitions were not always wrong, however: Einstein worked in his last decades on a theory of unification of all forces. Unfortunately, there are four cosmic forces, and two were yet to be discovered during Einstein's lifetime, so all his efforts had to fail. Today many physicists are at work trying to realize Einstein's dream of unification. His belief that all the forces of the universe can be unified is an intuition, although not yet proven, which most modern physicists believe to be correct.
SUMMARY
We are convinced that our "gut feeling" reflect truth. I wanted to prove in this article that this is not necessarily so--intuition can be a great help but it can also be a great hindrance. Einstein is a great example of this fact of life. How can the insight that we might sometimes need to change our intuition help us? Examples abound. Researchers of depression, notable Paul Gilbert, have discovered that depressives have the intuition, the gut feeling, that their emotional state will never improve. For instance, a widower whose only child dies might become depressed and contemplate suicide, imagining that his life is over. Five years later, he might find himself remarried with step-children. This will of course not replace his loss, but he might well have come to the realization that his life has become worthwhile again. One needs to go no further to find another good example than by listening to pundits on the right and left debate. They almost always talk past each other and never consider that the other person might have a point. They are fixed in their political intuition--obviously each opposing position can't be completely right! Additional examples: does your intuition tell you, say, that there is free will and that you are a self, a separate entity? Your intuition just might be wrong!
As Buddhism and Hinduism have taught us, the world is in a constant state of flux. Nothing is fixed, certainly not intuition. We must find the balance in trusting it and, if need be, changing it to better accomodate reality.
Let me finish with an example of an open mind, the willingness to change when confronted with convincing data which oppose one's intuition. The prominent physicist Brian Greene in his book, "The Fabric of the Cosmos" states that although his intuition makes him think time-travel to be very unlikely, at this moment the possiblily remains that--a possiblilit--albeit a remote one. Greene states, however, that he will keep an open mind and would be willing to modify his view as a result of future discoveries.
Yes, as they say, even Homer nods. Though Einstein's stature is unassailable, I think it best to follow Greene's example regarding intuition. None of us can ever be absolutely right about anything; it might be a little frightening for us to admit this, but without this admission we can miss out on something that makes life a delight: the wonder of new discoveries about the world and about ourselves. For intuition is not a god, but a vehicle: if it takes us off the road it might be time to get a new one. The road ahead might seem unneogtiable at first without our trusty old car, but the initial anxiety might be well worth trading it in for something that will take us wondrously in a new direction.
AN OVERVIEW OF EINSTEIN'S ACHIEVEMENTS
When one thinks of the outstanding artists, musicians, and authors--to name just a few categories--of the past century, one will probably come up with several candidates for each field. If one is asked to name the most famous scientist of the twentieth century, I doubt if there would be any competition: Einstein. His theories of special relativity and general relativity revolutionized science and greatly expanded our knowledge of the cosmos in unexpected new directions. Before Einstein, all physicists--to my knowledge, at least--believed that Newton's Laws were valid under all circumstances. There was a problem, though, that became apparent: the speed of light. It had already been determined to be about 186,000 miles per second before the century began. But according to Newton's Laws if one were traveling in the same direction as the light in question, at, say, 50,000 miles per second, one should perceive the light, logically, to be traveling at 136, 000 miles per second. This was proven not to be the case: light, no matter the frame of reference, always travels at the same speed. It had been thought that light travels through a substance called the (luminiferous) ether, just as sound travels through air. But since light travels always at the same speed no matter the direction, the ether put up no resistance to light and was therefore proven not to exist. Einstein solved the mystery in 1905 with his special relativity--that is relativity without considering gravity. The more one speeds up the more time slows and space shrinks. The person in that frame of reference wouldn't notice, since everything shrinks proportionally. We don't notice the relativity of time and space because it only becomes apparent at very fast speeds. Yes, what you learned in high school is correct: a space traveler who traveled at a very fast speed might return to earth with an age now, say, ten years less than the twin he left behind. Einstein also discovered that the speed of light was the upper limit of speed possible. At the speed of light, time stops, but to reach this speed is impossible for non-elementary particles, because the mass that is traveling would acquire an infinite value. (Not an easy job, pushing along something that heavy!) Einstein ten years later discovered many of the mysteries of gravity. Namely that it is transmitted at the speed of light--(Newton had thought gravity's effects were instantaneous--According to Newton, if the sun suddenly disappeared, the effect of gravity would disappear instantaneously with it. Einstein's equations correctly predicted that there would be an eight or so minute pause for earthlings to become aware of the sun's disappearance, since it would take the speed of light that long to bring us that information.) Gravity warps the fabric of space; objects obey gravity much the same way as a roulette ball follows the groove of the roulette wheel. Space is therefore a thing, not nothing. All these discoveries of Einstein are truly mind-boggling, ground-breaking achievements. No other scientist of the twentieth century changed our views so radically and single-handedly. (Quantum mechanics progressed as science usually does, as a sum of contributions from many individual scientists.)
EINSTEIN'S INTUITION
Intuition is a prominent factor in scientific progress. For instance, the belief that the universe is "elegant," has made many scientists believe that the most elegant equations reflect reality, years before the equations in question have been corroborated by data. In modern physics, for instance, the belief that symmetry underlies the cosmos has led to exciting new discoveries and theories. I am not sure, but I don't believe Einstein intuited the relativity of time and space prior to his discoveries. Einstein's intuition was very much right in its belief that the enigma of the speed of light could be solved. Many of his hunches that sprang from his intuition, however, were wrong, some of which, interestingly, proved right for the wrong reasons. I shall explain this later in this article.
Einstein worked with large entities and not sub-atomic ones. He was thus following the footsteps of Newton, who discovered the laws of gravity and motion some three hundred years earlier. Like Newton, he believed in absolutes. A matter of fact, he didn't want to call his theory the theory of of relativity but the theory of invariance. Space and time might indeed be relative entities, but they were part of a spacetime unit that was absolute. Like Newton, he believed that any traveling thing had both a specific velocity and a specific position at any instant; if they could not be determined it was the fault of the technology. Similarly, it was a matter of faith for him to believe that everything is determined. He would not have disputed LaPlace, who asserted that if you knew the velocity and position of everything, everything could be predicted. Einstein's famous formulation in response to the discoveries of quantum physics was "God does not play dice." Quantum physics not only asserted the random basis of the micro-world, but that velocity and position of an elementary particle could not be simultaneously determined, not because of inadequate technology, but because of the fuzzy nature of quantum reality. Einstein would have none of this; his insight was fixed. He was, of course, wrong in this regard; the randomness and non-locality of quantum events have been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was ironic--Einstein's intuition helped him to make great discoveries, but hindered him from acknowledging the discoveries of quantum physics. His intuition told him that although quantum physics made accurate predictions, it was not basic--something that underlies it, presumably demonstrating the victory of determinism, was yet to be discovered. Not so! It is now thought that quantum physics is primary; we live in a quantum world, as physicists say.
Because of his refusal to acknowledge discoveries that ran counter to his intuition, Einstein became more and more marginalized. One wag said that not long after his discovery of general relativity, Einstein, who lived many more years, might as well have gone fishing. This is a bit unfair, but there is truth to it. Who knows what Einstein would have discovered if his intuition had let him keep pace with new discoveries?
Newton's system remained unquestioned for three-hundred years after his death. Einstein, alive during an epoch during which physics developed rapidly, was not so lucky. Quantum physics, which ran counter to his intuition, developed while he was still very much alive. It is difficult to speak of this as a tragedy, for Einstein was often wrong in such a way that helped advance science. For instance, by his intuition he was convinced that the universe was static and eternal, even though his equations of general relativity only allow a universe to be either expanding or contracting. To get around this, Einstein came up with the idea of the cosmological constant, a repulsive force to counteract either contraction or expansion. He provided no science behind this; it simply allowed his intuition to be right. Later, when it was discovered that the universe was expanding, Einstein abandoned the constant and viewed it as a great mistake. Much later on, it has been discovered that there is indeed a cosmological repulsive force that is causing the universe to be in a state of accelerated expansion. Thus, Einstein was right for the wrong reason. Another example of faulty intuition: Einstein was convinced that there was no such thing as what he called, "spooky action at a distance." In 1935 he devised the famous EPR thought experiment that he believed proved that even at the quantum level position and velocity could not be random variables. The EPR experiment encouraged others to work on this problem; eventually the concept of quantum entaglement was proven, disproving Einstein's belief. If one entangled elementary particle was determined to have a certain spin, the other entangled particle would instantly correspond before something traveling at the speed of light could reach it. Beyond all doubt, "spooky action at a distance," occurs in the quantum world. His later intuitions were not always wrong, however: Einstein worked in his last decades on a theory of unification of all forces. Unfortunately, there are four cosmic forces, and two were yet to be discovered during Einstein's lifetime, so all his efforts had to fail. Today many physicists are at work trying to realize Einstein's dream of unification. His belief that all the forces of the universe can be unified is an intuition, although not yet proven, which most modern physicists believe to be correct.
SUMMARY
We are convinced that our "gut feeling" reflect truth. I wanted to prove in this article that this is not necessarily so--intuition can be a great help but it can also be a great hindrance. Einstein is a great example of this fact of life. How can the insight that we might sometimes need to change our intuition help us? Examples abound. Researchers of depression, notable Paul Gilbert, have discovered that depressives have the intuition, the gut feeling, that their emotional state will never improve. For instance, a widower whose only child dies might become depressed and contemplate suicide, imagining that his life is over. Five years later, he might find himself remarried with step-children. This will of course not replace his loss, but he might well have come to the realization that his life has become worthwhile again. One needs to go no further to find another good example than by listening to pundits on the right and left debate. They almost always talk past each other and never consider that the other person might have a point. They are fixed in their political intuition--obviously each opposing position can't be completely right! Additional examples: does your intuition tell you, say, that there is free will and that you are a self, a separate entity? Your intuition just might be wrong!
As Buddhism and Hinduism have taught us, the world is in a constant state of flux. Nothing is fixed, certainly not intuition. We must find the balance in trusting it and, if need be, changing it to better accomodate reality.
Let me finish with an example of an open mind, the willingness to change when confronted with convincing data which oppose one's intuition. The prominent physicist Brian Greene in his book, "The Fabric of the Cosmos" states that although his intuition makes him think time-travel to be very unlikely, at this moment the possiblily remains that--a possiblilit--albeit a remote one. Greene states, however, that he will keep an open mind and would be willing to modify his view as a result of future discoveries.
Yes, as they say, even Homer nods. Though Einstein's stature is unassailable, I think it best to follow Greene's example regarding intuition. None of us can ever be absolutely right about anything; it might be a little frightening for us to admit this, but without this admission we can miss out on something that makes life a delight: the wonder of new discoveries about the world and about ourselves. For intuition is not a god, but a vehicle: if it takes us off the road it might be time to get a new one. The road ahead might seem unneogtiable at first without our trusty old car, but the initial anxiety might be well worth trading it in for something that will take us wondrously in a new direction.
11.25.2010
FRANCO-GERMANIC COMPLEMENTARITY
FRANCO-GERMANIC COMPLEMENTARITY
In the Thanksgiving (2010) edition of the New York Times, the journalist Robert Wright wrote in the op-ed section that he sometimes finds it difficult to be thankful, but there is at least one thing he’s happy about: becoming a journalist so he could vent his negative side by writing about the so many things that are wrong with the current state of politics in this nation and elsewhere. He then went on to count his nonblessings--and, alas! ours, by providing the following list:
1. The New Start treaty--which just about every analyst, Democratic or Republican, says would make America more secure--is on the verge of being sunk by a few senators for partisan reasons, 2. This is symptomatic of intense political polarization, bitter division that is paralyzing our politics 3. Some of America’s divisions, dangerously, are falling along ethnic lines…
Nonblessings indeed! There always seems to be a lot of reasons for unhappiness. It also seems sacrilegious to attempt to cover up life's bitter taste with sugary diversions or saccharine consolations. The list of sad things, unfortunately, is not limited to the harm inflicted by partisan politics on us all. The need to write this essay arose from the deep sadness a friend and I feel regarding the mass extinctions of animals caused by the greed and ignorance of humankind. There is no place for animal lovers to hide these days, the extinctions are unprecedented, unless we include the Permian extinction and the meteor that killed the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago. But sadness mustn't cause us to loser our balance--if we do, who is going to pick us up? I admit I’m a bit of a depressive type; thinking about the animals’ misery--and ours--might indeed lead to a crippling emotional paralysis. But I am not displeased--dare I say “thankful”--for the serious side of my nature. It helps one plumb the depths of humanity and can inspire one to change the world for the better. As a matter of survival, however, the serious part of my nature demands periodic relief. It also insists that the relief not be provided by sugar but by substance. These two sides, namely, facing life as it is but also experiencing life at its best is what I call Franco-Germanic Complementarity, the subject of this essay. It is written not only for people who are overly serious but for people who aren’t serious enough. First, a few words about complementarity in general.
Complementarity
Niels Bohr, the great physicist, was the first to use this term regarding the startling discoveries of quantum physics, a field to which he contributed a great deal. Light proved to be either a wave or a particle, depending on the experimental hoops to which one subjects photons. The wave and particle functions are complementary. Bohr was fond of using complementarity in other fields, especially those dealing with the human psyche, which is often as perplexing as quantum physics. For instance, do human beings possess free will or are they determined? Bohr considered both aspects as complementary--there may be no room for free will in a scientific analysis, but the assumption of free will is essential for any inner life to have meaning. Is there a God or none? Look outside, there is none; look inside deeply and one may be confronted by what at least feels like transcendence. Are we good or evil? Bohr says you will find what you are looking for, and what you find might leave room for another one to find the direct and complementary opposite. Opposites, in a modern updating of the medieval coincidentia oppositorum, can be complementary; in fact, according to Bohr, the deepest levels of existence have a complementary aspect.
Franco-Germanic Complementarity
First of all, I am writing about types here--I do not mean to say that all Germans fit into one category and that all French fit into the opposite. I am generalizing for the sake of argument, in full knowledge that there is some truth to the generalization. The generalization is this: German culture at its best tends to plumb life to its depths, even if this activity leads to greater sadness, even despair, while French culture at its best is by no means superficial but, emphasizing savoir-vivre, shies away from being too negative. Anna Russell, the great musician-comedienne, said it best--or at least acted it out best. She said German lieder made you feel “UUUUH!"--she sounded as if she were about to die-- while French art songs made you feel, “Heh Heh Heh” --which she said in a high-pitched voice, sounding like an imp. There is some truth in this caricature. German culture has produced arguably the most profound music ever written. It was no means an arbitrary decision to send a recording of Bach's music into outer space, which we did. If intelligent creatures ever find it, we want to be sure that the hear an example of some of the best things mankind has produced so far. The subject of the opening chorus of the St. Matthew Passion, in which Bach is at his most sublime, is the crucifixion of Christ, specifically mankind’s guilt for this crime, and, by implication, the guilt and horror resulting from the sufferings of the innocent inflicted by sinful humanity, examples of which have certainly not abated. Whenever I hear this chorus, I am profoundly moved, often to the point of tears. Bach’s despair was tempered by his faith--he, as a good Lutheran, believed in the Resurrection; later German culture was able--and I’m not saying this was progress--to plumb the depths of sorrow without the consolation of faith. A prime example of this is Schubert’s “Die Winterreise,” “The Winter Journey,” which, I think, contains some of the saddest music ever written. No other culture, in my opinion, could have written music like this. But does it go too far? I remember reading an author who believed that Schubert’s passion for alienation--suicidal alienation--evident in this music hastened his death, a debatable point. There have been moods of mine, which many share I’m sure, which find their awful, beautiful, mesmerizing counterparts in music such as this. But there is also something very prominent in me, as well as in others, that will not allow me to walk away into oblivion with the barefoot organ grinder of the harrowing last song of the cycle. At these moments something inside tells me, “It’s time to cross the Rhine.” Profundity is good, indeed, but not despair. I will illustrate this dichotomy with an example from French culture, and one from the German.
Let’s start with the German. Alois Zimmermann wrote in the early 1950s one of the most influential post-war German operas, “die Soldaten,” “The Soldiers.” The plot involves a greedy father who forces his daughter into marrying an influential, but morally questionable, officer. She knew it was a bad idea, but had to obey her father. The officer mistreats her. The regiment, in his presence and with his consent, gang-rapes her--on stage. She becomes a prostitute. At the end of the opera, she passes her father on the street; she has become so debased that he fails to recognize her. At this point, in the New York City Opera performance, a voice came from a speaker in the back of the opera house. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something like, “See, human beings, this is what you do with your greed and arrogance…” I felt that I was addressed by an angry--justifiably angry--God. It was a very profound theatrical experience for me, but not a very happy one. (Zimmermann committed suicide shortly after he finished the piece.) If I continued to live in this realm, however, my life would become the "UUUUH!” of the Anna Russell satire. To keep my equilibrium, I periodically must cross the Rhine.
The French example I will give is not by the wonderful Ravel or Debussy; it is a song, "Quand Un Vicompte," a song immortalized by Maurice Chevalier. Now if you are only used to American culture I give you this important piece of information: Chevalier did his sentimental shtik for Americans. I am not talking about such frothy things as “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” or “Gigi.” In France, Maurice Chevalier did things that have a bite, a deep one. The lyrics of the song are very similar in spirit to the prophetic words of the German opera. The subject of the song is human selfishness and egotism. The words go something like this: When a count meets anther count, they’re only interested in count-stories--he then goes through a list of people: homosexuals are only interested in homosexual stories; cripples are only interested in cripple-stories, bigots only in bigot-stories, etc. The refrain states that nobody cares about the little miseries of his neighbor and is only interested in himself. This would be a fitting subject for miserably profound Teutonic treatment. (If you haven’t heard Maurice Chevalier sing this song, I recommend that you do--it can be downloaded from the Internet for the price of $.89--well worth it! His phrasing and timing is impeccable.) He begins with a laugh as he lists examples of human selfishness. As the list goes on, he laughs harder at our follies. (By this time a German composer would be musically--and beautifully-- hitting us, hurting us even.) At the end, Chevalier is laughing almost uncontrollably. Then comes the final, crucial sentence--I don’t remember the exact words but it can be summed up as follows: “What to do? One has to keep on living, despite everything!” This for me is a very beautiful and profound moment. Thank you Maurice Chevalier! And thank you Ravel and Debussy, and to the French spirit everywhere, whether expressed by Italians, Germans, Americans or Russians!
And thanks to Bach and Wagner too--and to the German spirit everywhere, whether expressed by Italians, Germans, Americans or Russians! We need Franco-Germanic complementarity; we need to keep our balance. Drink deeply from the Pierian Spring? Yes, indeed, but if leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, as it sometimes will, stop drinking for a while and listen to, say, Debussy.
Tonight I will write to my friend and have another discussion of human and non-human misery. Perhaps we can inspire each other to do something about it--but that is tonight. Tomorrow I will get up and play Haydn on the piano. (Q: Was that great Austrian composer a Francophile? A: You betcha.)
In the Thanksgiving (2010) edition of the New York Times, the journalist Robert Wright wrote in the op-ed section that he sometimes finds it difficult to be thankful, but there is at least one thing he’s happy about: becoming a journalist so he could vent his negative side by writing about the so many things that are wrong with the current state of politics in this nation and elsewhere. He then went on to count his nonblessings--and, alas! ours, by providing the following list:
1. The New Start treaty--which just about every analyst, Democratic or Republican, says would make America more secure--is on the verge of being sunk by a few senators for partisan reasons, 2. This is symptomatic of intense political polarization, bitter division that is paralyzing our politics 3. Some of America’s divisions, dangerously, are falling along ethnic lines…
Nonblessings indeed! There always seems to be a lot of reasons for unhappiness. It also seems sacrilegious to attempt to cover up life's bitter taste with sugary diversions or saccharine consolations. The list of sad things, unfortunately, is not limited to the harm inflicted by partisan politics on us all. The need to write this essay arose from the deep sadness a friend and I feel regarding the mass extinctions of animals caused by the greed and ignorance of humankind. There is no place for animal lovers to hide these days, the extinctions are unprecedented, unless we include the Permian extinction and the meteor that killed the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago. But sadness mustn't cause us to loser our balance--if we do, who is going to pick us up? I admit I’m a bit of a depressive type; thinking about the animals’ misery--and ours--might indeed lead to a crippling emotional paralysis. But I am not displeased--dare I say “thankful”--for the serious side of my nature. It helps one plumb the depths of humanity and can inspire one to change the world for the better. As a matter of survival, however, the serious part of my nature demands periodic relief. It also insists that the relief not be provided by sugar but by substance. These two sides, namely, facing life as it is but also experiencing life at its best is what I call Franco-Germanic Complementarity, the subject of this essay. It is written not only for people who are overly serious but for people who aren’t serious enough. First, a few words about complementarity in general.
Complementarity
Niels Bohr, the great physicist, was the first to use this term regarding the startling discoveries of quantum physics, a field to which he contributed a great deal. Light proved to be either a wave or a particle, depending on the experimental hoops to which one subjects photons. The wave and particle functions are complementary. Bohr was fond of using complementarity in other fields, especially those dealing with the human psyche, which is often as perplexing as quantum physics. For instance, do human beings possess free will or are they determined? Bohr considered both aspects as complementary--there may be no room for free will in a scientific analysis, but the assumption of free will is essential for any inner life to have meaning. Is there a God or none? Look outside, there is none; look inside deeply and one may be confronted by what at least feels like transcendence. Are we good or evil? Bohr says you will find what you are looking for, and what you find might leave room for another one to find the direct and complementary opposite. Opposites, in a modern updating of the medieval coincidentia oppositorum, can be complementary; in fact, according to Bohr, the deepest levels of existence have a complementary aspect.
Franco-Germanic Complementarity
First of all, I am writing about types here--I do not mean to say that all Germans fit into one category and that all French fit into the opposite. I am generalizing for the sake of argument, in full knowledge that there is some truth to the generalization. The generalization is this: German culture at its best tends to plumb life to its depths, even if this activity leads to greater sadness, even despair, while French culture at its best is by no means superficial but, emphasizing savoir-vivre, shies away from being too negative. Anna Russell, the great musician-comedienne, said it best--or at least acted it out best. She said German lieder made you feel “UUUUH!"--she sounded as if she were about to die-- while French art songs made you feel, “Heh Heh Heh” --which she said in a high-pitched voice, sounding like an imp. There is some truth in this caricature. German culture has produced arguably the most profound music ever written. It was no means an arbitrary decision to send a recording of Bach's music into outer space, which we did. If intelligent creatures ever find it, we want to be sure that the hear an example of some of the best things mankind has produced so far. The subject of the opening chorus of the St. Matthew Passion, in which Bach is at his most sublime, is the crucifixion of Christ, specifically mankind’s guilt for this crime, and, by implication, the guilt and horror resulting from the sufferings of the innocent inflicted by sinful humanity, examples of which have certainly not abated. Whenever I hear this chorus, I am profoundly moved, often to the point of tears. Bach’s despair was tempered by his faith--he, as a good Lutheran, believed in the Resurrection; later German culture was able--and I’m not saying this was progress--to plumb the depths of sorrow without the consolation of faith. A prime example of this is Schubert’s “Die Winterreise,” “The Winter Journey,” which, I think, contains some of the saddest music ever written. No other culture, in my opinion, could have written music like this. But does it go too far? I remember reading an author who believed that Schubert’s passion for alienation--suicidal alienation--evident in this music hastened his death, a debatable point. There have been moods of mine, which many share I’m sure, which find their awful, beautiful, mesmerizing counterparts in music such as this. But there is also something very prominent in me, as well as in others, that will not allow me to walk away into oblivion with the barefoot organ grinder of the harrowing last song of the cycle. At these moments something inside tells me, “It’s time to cross the Rhine.” Profundity is good, indeed, but not despair. I will illustrate this dichotomy with an example from French culture, and one from the German.
Let’s start with the German. Alois Zimmermann wrote in the early 1950s one of the most influential post-war German operas, “die Soldaten,” “The Soldiers.” The plot involves a greedy father who forces his daughter into marrying an influential, but morally questionable, officer. She knew it was a bad idea, but had to obey her father. The officer mistreats her. The regiment, in his presence and with his consent, gang-rapes her--on stage. She becomes a prostitute. At the end of the opera, she passes her father on the street; she has become so debased that he fails to recognize her. At this point, in the New York City Opera performance, a voice came from a speaker in the back of the opera house. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something like, “See, human beings, this is what you do with your greed and arrogance…” I felt that I was addressed by an angry--justifiably angry--God. It was a very profound theatrical experience for me, but not a very happy one. (Zimmermann committed suicide shortly after he finished the piece.) If I continued to live in this realm, however, my life would become the "UUUUH!” of the Anna Russell satire. To keep my equilibrium, I periodically must cross the Rhine.
The French example I will give is not by the wonderful Ravel or Debussy; it is a song, "Quand Un Vicompte," a song immortalized by Maurice Chevalier. Now if you are only used to American culture I give you this important piece of information: Chevalier did his sentimental shtik for Americans. I am not talking about such frothy things as “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” or “Gigi.” In France, Maurice Chevalier did things that have a bite, a deep one. The lyrics of the song are very similar in spirit to the prophetic words of the German opera. The subject of the song is human selfishness and egotism. The words go something like this: When a count meets anther count, they’re only interested in count-stories--he then goes through a list of people: homosexuals are only interested in homosexual stories; cripples are only interested in cripple-stories, bigots only in bigot-stories, etc. The refrain states that nobody cares about the little miseries of his neighbor and is only interested in himself. This would be a fitting subject for miserably profound Teutonic treatment. (If you haven’t heard Maurice Chevalier sing this song, I recommend that you do--it can be downloaded from the Internet for the price of $.89--well worth it! His phrasing and timing is impeccable.) He begins with a laugh as he lists examples of human selfishness. As the list goes on, he laughs harder at our follies. (By this time a German composer would be musically--and beautifully-- hitting us, hurting us even.) At the end, Chevalier is laughing almost uncontrollably. Then comes the final, crucial sentence--I don’t remember the exact words but it can be summed up as follows: “What to do? One has to keep on living, despite everything!” This for me is a very beautiful and profound moment. Thank you Maurice Chevalier! And thank you Ravel and Debussy, and to the French spirit everywhere, whether expressed by Italians, Germans, Americans or Russians!
And thanks to Bach and Wagner too--and to the German spirit everywhere, whether expressed by Italians, Germans, Americans or Russians! We need Franco-Germanic complementarity; we need to keep our balance. Drink deeply from the Pierian Spring? Yes, indeed, but if leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, as it sometimes will, stop drinking for a while and listen to, say, Debussy.
Tonight I will write to my friend and have another discussion of human and non-human misery. Perhaps we can inspire each other to do something about it--but that is tonight. Tomorrow I will get up and play Haydn on the piano. (Q: Was that great Austrian composer a Francophile? A: You betcha.)
10.25.2010
A Review of "Flights of Love" by Bernhard Schlink
A REVIEW OF ‘FLIGHTS OF LOVE’ BY BERNHARD SCHLINK
I must admit, reading Berhard Schlink’s 2000 short story collection, Flights of Love, that I was torn between two extremes. The first pole was the deservedly successful novel, The Reader. Schlink is at his best when writing a story that has political or at least social overtones. The danger is that his writing can degenerate into novels of ideas, not novels of character. He is, in fact, not at his best at creating vivid characters. But one of the protagonists in The Reader, Hanna Schmitz, is indeed vividly portrayed and her story illustrates the mess Germans got themselves into with fascism. Here good ideas and a good story are felicitously combined. The other extreme was the review I read of Schinck’s latest novel, The Weekend. Although I haven’t yet read it, the reviewer, Ian Buruma, panned it as a dull, lifeless novel of ideas. My impression was he might indeed be right. After reading this collection of short stories, however, I am pleased to say that my opinion of "Flights of Love" is much closer to the first pole than to the second.
I recently read an article that states that although the German economy is doing much better at the moment than the American, the Germans remain a somewhat pessimistic people. Though I tend to eschew broad generalizations, there is some truth to this. (The upside to this is that Germans tend to tackle serious themes in their art, and are, to a greater degree that other cultures, more prone to consider art to be more than mere entertainment. It is undoubtedly true that some of the most profound works of art--especially in music--have been written by Germans or Austrians.) Schlink, indeed, is almost always serious. But the stories also entertain and make you think, a winning combination.
First of all, I’m not sure the English title is the best translation. (I read the book in the original German.) In German, “Liebesfluchten,” means “Aligning Love” --in other words, the attempt to realign oneself to, or to reconnect with, love. It has nothing to do with the similarly written German word, die Flucht, or, flight. Each story has something to do with a mostly futile attempt to find love, especially to rekindle a love that has grown cold. They have nothing to do with emotional soaring, as the English title implies.
The theme of the book is the extreme difficulties one faces in the attempt to find happiness, some of which are indeed made worse by egotism and inordinate desire.
I enjoyed all the stories, but especially was moved by the first story, The Woman with the Lizard, and one of the last, the Son. One has to do with the Nazi past of the protagonist’s father. A painting in his father’s study, The Woman with the Lizard, turns out to the work of a Jewish artist who was active in Germany during the Weimar Republic. The artist tried to flee Nazi Germany when it was too late--the war had already begun. He tried to escape into France through Strasbourg, where the protagonist’s father was a Nazi judge. The painter was never heard from again and the painting wound up in the father's study. What exactly happened? We never find out, and that’s the master stroke of the story. It reflects the silence of the protagonist’s father’s generation regarding their and their country’s terrible history. The mother insinuates that her husband had sex with the wife of the painter, who presumably did everything she could to save herself and her husband. Some of the father’s Nazi past becomes public, although we are not told exactly what he is accused of; he loses his job and eventually succumbs to alcoholism. At the end, after the father’s death, the protagonist asks his mother whether the father came home and raped her. The mother denies it, and cries in desperation. She is an emotional cripple, and we suspect, that the father was guilty of horrendous crimes. What a dreadful silence poisons the family! The silence is so thick that is never penetrated--The holes that remain in the story line reflect the holes in the family members' lives. At the end,the protagonist burns the painting. The implication perhaps is that it is deadly to keep such a past alive--the best thing is to start anew. Not so easy! One recalls Wiesel’s statement that the next worst thing to being born of parents who perished in the Holocaust is to be born of parents who made it possible. This is a German story at its best; it is well written and gets one to think.
The other story I especially liked was The Son. The protagonists of all the stories are mostly successful as professionals and failures in the art of life, and this one proved to be no exception. I found it very moving. A German peace maker, one of the “twelve apostles of peace” is sent to a rebellion-torn Spanish-speaking country to negotiate a peace between rebels and the military. They were supposed to be taken on the first day, by jeep, to a provincial capital. They do not make it. They spend the night at a church ruined by fire, presumably during the current civil war. Germans love their symbolism and the ruined church obviously refers to the impossibility of finding transcendence in the modern world, but the symbol is not presented in a heavy-handed way and fits in the plot organically. War is raging around them; the guard outside the church is shot. The protagonist, referred to as the German and never by name, thinks of his son, a doctor. He loves his son deeply; the danger around him makes him think of what’s important in life. The problem, as in many of the stories, is that the protagonist never acts as forcibly as he feels. He considers himself to have been a failure as a father. He recalls a vacation with his son, when his son was small, which was abruptly ended by his former wife and her new husband. He defers to the courts but knows love in this case demanded stronger action. Now, so many years later, he phones his son and tells him he cares for him a lot, something he was always too shy to say. His son, embarrassed, says he must return to work and to call when he gets back home. Another failure! And there are more. The situation in the unnamed country turns very serious; the German is given a pistol. It is taken from him by a drunken colleague who, afraid of the danger, tries to force the officers to turn back. Some more subtle symbolism: the German has a pistol, a phallic symbol, but is not a man of action--it is taken from him. The gun fires and the German is mortally wounded. He dies, thinking of his son who will never know his father’s last loving thoughts. It is a very poignant tale that has two morals: 1) it’s later than you think and 2) stop thinking all the time and act. It is a tale that is both evocative and beautifully told.
The other five stories are all well worth reading. Even if his latest novel is a bad as Ian Buruma thinks it is, we judge authors on their successes and not on their relative failures. Two Gentlemen of Verona is not the first thing that comes to my mind when thinking of Shakespeare. Schlink is certainly no Shakespeare, but is still, at his best, an essential read.
Thomas Dorsett
I must admit, reading Berhard Schlink’s 2000 short story collection, Flights of Love, that I was torn between two extremes. The first pole was the deservedly successful novel, The Reader. Schlink is at his best when writing a story that has political or at least social overtones. The danger is that his writing can degenerate into novels of ideas, not novels of character. He is, in fact, not at his best at creating vivid characters. But one of the protagonists in The Reader, Hanna Schmitz, is indeed vividly portrayed and her story illustrates the mess Germans got themselves into with fascism. Here good ideas and a good story are felicitously combined. The other extreme was the review I read of Schinck’s latest novel, The Weekend. Although I haven’t yet read it, the reviewer, Ian Buruma, panned it as a dull, lifeless novel of ideas. My impression was he might indeed be right. After reading this collection of short stories, however, I am pleased to say that my opinion of "Flights of Love" is much closer to the first pole than to the second.
I recently read an article that states that although the German economy is doing much better at the moment than the American, the Germans remain a somewhat pessimistic people. Though I tend to eschew broad generalizations, there is some truth to this. (The upside to this is that Germans tend to tackle serious themes in their art, and are, to a greater degree that other cultures, more prone to consider art to be more than mere entertainment. It is undoubtedly true that some of the most profound works of art--especially in music--have been written by Germans or Austrians.) Schlink, indeed, is almost always serious. But the stories also entertain and make you think, a winning combination.
First of all, I’m not sure the English title is the best translation. (I read the book in the original German.) In German, “Liebesfluchten,” means “Aligning Love” --in other words, the attempt to realign oneself to, or to reconnect with, love. It has nothing to do with the similarly written German word, die Flucht, or, flight. Each story has something to do with a mostly futile attempt to find love, especially to rekindle a love that has grown cold. They have nothing to do with emotional soaring, as the English title implies.
The theme of the book is the extreme difficulties one faces in the attempt to find happiness, some of which are indeed made worse by egotism and inordinate desire.
I enjoyed all the stories, but especially was moved by the first story, The Woman with the Lizard, and one of the last, the Son. One has to do with the Nazi past of the protagonist’s father. A painting in his father’s study, The Woman with the Lizard, turns out to the work of a Jewish artist who was active in Germany during the Weimar Republic. The artist tried to flee Nazi Germany when it was too late--the war had already begun. He tried to escape into France through Strasbourg, where the protagonist’s father was a Nazi judge. The painter was never heard from again and the painting wound up in the father's study. What exactly happened? We never find out, and that’s the master stroke of the story. It reflects the silence of the protagonist’s father’s generation regarding their and their country’s terrible history. The mother insinuates that her husband had sex with the wife of the painter, who presumably did everything she could to save herself and her husband. Some of the father’s Nazi past becomes public, although we are not told exactly what he is accused of; he loses his job and eventually succumbs to alcoholism. At the end, after the father’s death, the protagonist asks his mother whether the father came home and raped her. The mother denies it, and cries in desperation. She is an emotional cripple, and we suspect, that the father was guilty of horrendous crimes. What a dreadful silence poisons the family! The silence is so thick that is never penetrated--The holes that remain in the story line reflect the holes in the family members' lives. At the end,the protagonist burns the painting. The implication perhaps is that it is deadly to keep such a past alive--the best thing is to start anew. Not so easy! One recalls Wiesel’s statement that the next worst thing to being born of parents who perished in the Holocaust is to be born of parents who made it possible. This is a German story at its best; it is well written and gets one to think.
The other story I especially liked was The Son. The protagonists of all the stories are mostly successful as professionals and failures in the art of life, and this one proved to be no exception. I found it very moving. A German peace maker, one of the “twelve apostles of peace” is sent to a rebellion-torn Spanish-speaking country to negotiate a peace between rebels and the military. They were supposed to be taken on the first day, by jeep, to a provincial capital. They do not make it. They spend the night at a church ruined by fire, presumably during the current civil war. Germans love their symbolism and the ruined church obviously refers to the impossibility of finding transcendence in the modern world, but the symbol is not presented in a heavy-handed way and fits in the plot organically. War is raging around them; the guard outside the church is shot. The protagonist, referred to as the German and never by name, thinks of his son, a doctor. He loves his son deeply; the danger around him makes him think of what’s important in life. The problem, as in many of the stories, is that the protagonist never acts as forcibly as he feels. He considers himself to have been a failure as a father. He recalls a vacation with his son, when his son was small, which was abruptly ended by his former wife and her new husband. He defers to the courts but knows love in this case demanded stronger action. Now, so many years later, he phones his son and tells him he cares for him a lot, something he was always too shy to say. His son, embarrassed, says he must return to work and to call when he gets back home. Another failure! And there are more. The situation in the unnamed country turns very serious; the German is given a pistol. It is taken from him by a drunken colleague who, afraid of the danger, tries to force the officers to turn back. Some more subtle symbolism: the German has a pistol, a phallic symbol, but is not a man of action--it is taken from him. The gun fires and the German is mortally wounded. He dies, thinking of his son who will never know his father’s last loving thoughts. It is a very poignant tale that has two morals: 1) it’s later than you think and 2) stop thinking all the time and act. It is a tale that is both evocative and beautifully told.
The other five stories are all well worth reading. Even if his latest novel is a bad as Ian Buruma thinks it is, we judge authors on their successes and not on their relative failures. Two Gentlemen of Verona is not the first thing that comes to my mind when thinking of Shakespeare. Schlink is certainly no Shakespeare, but is still, at his best, an essential read.
Thomas Dorsett
7.30.2010
MR. NICE GUY, WE MIGHT FINISH LAST
1.
Yesterday, before we began our weekly practice session, my friend and I briefly discussed politics. Not only a good amateur musician, my friend is also wise, and, as one might suspect, knowledgeable regarding one of the greatest wisdom traditions of all, Sufism. We were lamenting the deterioration of Pakistan. He informed me that years ago, when more and more Pakistanis were turning to a radical interpretation of Islam, The Rand Corporation came up with a bright idea: to counter the increasing threat of radical Islam in Pakistan by providing financial and moral support to Pakistani Sufis. We thought about Graham Greene's novel, "The Quiet American," about a do-gooder American who, after reading a few books at college, is ready to reform the world. (Aldon Pyle, the American in question, is sent by the United States government to Vietnam--the novel takes place in the 1950s--where he, of course, screws up.) My friend and I put Bach aside for a while and laughed at the Rand Corporation's naivete. Sufism is a form of wisdom second to none, but as such, alas! will always be a minority movement. You have to be ready to receive its teachings. This readiness includes the realization that one is not the center of the universe; that one's neighbors are neither better nor worse than you; that one should not only help and love oneself, but, especially, others too. This presumes a good deal of maturity before one can appreciate Sufism. This is why, Kabbalah, the Jewish version, was to be taught only to mature men, that is, married and over forty. Unfortunately, most Pakistanis are below forty, many of whom are in a state of rage intensified by hate and hormones. I read that a radical Pakistani recently stated that the first thing to be done when the Taliban assumes power is the destruction of every Sufi shrine in the nation. Those in the Rand Corporation who advocated a Sufi approach remind me of modern, silly versions of St. Francis, willing to wade into dangerous waters, to preach vegetarianism--to sharks. Must one lose one's legs before wisdom arrives?
2.
Mr. President, are you, too, wasting time trying to win over sharks? Are you guilty of preaching Sufism to American radicals? It is one thing to believe that all people, deep down, are good; it is quite another to ignore the degree to which this goodness can be corrupted.
Mr. President, many progressives expected you to make sweeping changes. (I thankfully admit that you have, despite everything, accomplished much.) I always believed, however, that you were more centrist than liberal--not at all bad, in my view. I knew you were--and are--a passionate advocate of capitalism. After all, once you got enough money you bought a luxurious house; you send your children to elite schools, etc. You are no Che Guevara, not even a Jerry Brown. But I knew you knew--and know--that for capitalism to work efficiently its rough edges must be smoothed. We simply cannot prosper as a capitalist nation if large swaths of our population are unemployed, without health care and without access to decent education and adequate housing. Sure, Sufis might hope for something more than the minimum, but you, as a good man and a good politician, know that trying to impose justice by force--which is a good deal different from trying to smooth capitalism's jagged edges--might result in forms of tyranny much worse than capitalism.
Yes, Mr. President, what you are trying to accomplish is very good. Good people, great and small, support you still. But what about the sharks? I cannot believe that you don't know the source of Republican inspiration. Haven't you followed the money? Don't you realize that Republicans are almost to the person out to destroy you? They wanted to get Clinton, since he, to their thinking, threatened their thirst for wealth; they got him with his pants down. You they try to destroy by lies, with a subtext of race. You want to provide some help to those in need, not only for justice' sake, but to help capitalism function better. They call it socialism and redistribution of wealth. You want to extend unemployment benefits, a way to help those in need and a good way to stimulate the economy; they say you are a reckless advocate of big government spending. (This from people who supported Bush's reckless spending, resulting in deficits greatly exacerbated by tax cuts!) Mr. President, you can't expect reason from those whose raison d'etre is greed. How can you have a conversation with those who have only one thought, tax cuts?
All right, I admit, sharks are also living things; it is decent of you to treat them with respect. But there are better fish in the sea. If you continue to turn your back to these, Mr. President, in a misguided attempt to reach out to a group of great whites, the good fish that are still behind you just might swim away.
7.23.2010
ECHINODERMS AND POLITICIANS
Among bloodless creatures
Without hearts or brains
I prefer echinoderms
To politicians.
Imagine a sea cucumber
By the name of Jane
Striving toward an office
From the bottom of the sea
Who has learned a single word
In 400 million years
--by this pronoun Jane’s elected--
Me Me Me Me Me
Imagine a starfish named Joe
Who can point east west north south
And chooses one that promises
More mollusks for his mouth
We have many Janes and Joes
Subslimely in the Senate and
Much more in the House
--It’s an epidemic!
How can Mother Green allow
Beches-de-mer without conviction?
Everyone of them deserves
A Permian extinction.
Without hearts or brains
I prefer echinoderms
To politicians.
Imagine a sea cucumber
By the name of Jane
Striving toward an office
From the bottom of the sea
Who has learned a single word
In 400 million years
--by this pronoun Jane’s elected--
Me Me Me Me Me
Imagine a starfish named Joe
Who can point east west north south
And chooses one that promises
More mollusks for his mouth
We have many Janes and Joes
Subslimely in the Senate and
Much more in the House
--It’s an epidemic!
How can Mother Green allow
Beches-de-mer without conviction?
Everyone of them deserves
A Permian extinction.
7.21.2010
WILD LUNCH
How secret the crab spider is!
Waiting for hours, a live spring
To be gobbled by a beak
Or discharged by a bee. Hungry
Spider, pure silence! I understand
Yours better than any mailman’s
Or doctor’s. We, poet and predator,
Are part of the same cosmic hush.
The only difference between them and us
Is perverse imagination--They’re dissatisfied
Because they think their lot is to be gods;
By nature we know whatever is is enough.
(Enough is here in his back yard
With a chicken sandwich. Flashback:
A gazelle eats grass. Flash forward:
A leopard with its carcass up a tree.)
Gods? I was once Bee, I was once Spider;
Before that, spider, I and bee were dust--
While one writes this, the latter lands--
Satisfied, poet and predator eat.
Waiting for hours, a live spring
To be gobbled by a beak
Or discharged by a bee. Hungry
Spider, pure silence! I understand
Yours better than any mailman’s
Or doctor’s. We, poet and predator,
Are part of the same cosmic hush.
The only difference between them and us
Is perverse imagination--They’re dissatisfied
Because they think their lot is to be gods;
By nature we know whatever is is enough.
(Enough is here in his back yard
With a chicken sandwich. Flashback:
A gazelle eats grass. Flash forward:
A leopard with its carcass up a tree.)
Gods? I was once Bee, I was once Spider;
Before that, spider, I and bee were dust--
While one writes this, the latter lands--
Satisfied, poet and predator eat.
7.16.2010
LEGATO AND NARCISSISM
Today I read on the New York Times op-ed page an article by David Brooks entitled, "The Gospel of Mel Gibson." In it, citing the recent tirade of the actor as an apt illustration, Mr. Brooks laments the rise of narcissism in our society, characterized by individuals who demand attention and admiration for themselves and are unable or unwilling to consider the needs of others. Oh, the examples that each of us could give of egotists that we either know or read about in newspapers! Although discontents have been complaining about the deterioration of society for thousands of years, I fear Mr. Brooks might be right. (If you don't believe me, read any newspaper.) We Americans--understandably-- are loath to join our fellow workers every morning in a song of praise for the corporation we work for, but--unfortunately--are very willing to sing our own praises before a mirror. Neither example makes for good music. The center no longer holds, as Years predicted; a good case can be made that narcissism is indeed getting worse.
Surely a little egotism and sense of importance can be useful, especially when one is young, but a lot, not. But when a sense of self crosses the threshold into narcissism, it is always bad, both for the individual and for society. There is no need to descant on the defects of runaway egotism here; they are obvious.
The descent is not inevitable. A good way to rise above narcissism--other than through practicing wisdom and love--is to take something or some things in life very seriously. One's vocation, one's avocations, etc. When one takes such things very seriously, one automatically becomes humble. An example: one tries to write the best play possible. Even with Herculean effort and a bit of Orphic talent, however, one will have written a play that is, at best, when compared to one of Shakespeare's, merely passable. But in the process one might have enriched one's inner life; one might have produced a work of art for the delight of others; and, through selfless labor, one might have come closer to overcoming the poison of narcissism.
Trying to play an instrument with the best technique and expression possible, with the utmost faith to the composer's intention, is one of many ways to become less egotistical and more deeply content. I do not want to get too technical, but there are good lessons that anyone can obtain from music. One of them is the concept and practice of legato. It is a good metaphor for the good life and is the subject of this essay.
The Italian word legato means "connected." In a legato phrase, every note must be connected with the next, with as little silence between them as possible. In my instrument, the piano, this means lifting the pressure on the key of the previous note while pressing down on the key of the subsequent note. Believe me, this is not as easy as it sounds--it requires great muscle coordination. One is not allowed to cheat by overlapping notes; each sound must be independent but be connected to the next note without pause. Good phrasing--which will also be briefly discussed--and good legato can make even a good amateur sound great.
But this essay is not a music lesson; it's a lesson on life. Let us consider each note as an individual. Each has its own "pitch," that is, unique characteristics. But if that pitch arises unconnected from the one before it and leads to another unconnected note, the musical effect is ruined. On the other hand, legato does not vitiate the individuality of notes. Each note is important--but its importance is not only in itself but in the beauty of interconnection.
Phrasing, the degree of stress on each note, is compatible with legato and just as important. It can give direction to a musical phrase by proceeding from soft to loud, for instance; it can bring out a melody. In any given piece, some notes are indeed more important than others, but all are essential. Let me give an example from Shakespeare: "To be or not to be, that is the question." To my ear, this verse is best phrased with an emphasis on "that" and a lesser emphasis on the first "be." This is open to interpretation, but I think most lovers of poetry would agree that the emphasis should not be on "question." The phrase would be rendered meaningless, however, if the word "question" was left out.
What I'm trying to demonstrate by this musical example is that narcissism is noise--as is a sense of inferiority, for that matter. The individual might be part of a beautiful Mozart melody or "merely" part of a chord in the bass. Melody and bass complement each other; each alone is a greatly diminished thing. Do you consider yourself important--in other words, have genes and environment allowed you to prosper? Can one ever claim one has accomplished great things alone? I can tell you this: if a mother-figure didn't connect with you in early life; if a father-figure didn't connect with you later in life, you would very possibly be asserting your importance to an asylum mirror. But even if we're important enough to be part of a great melody, if we are unconnected to our neighbors--even those way down in the bass--the effect is lost. Not to mention the effect that results when we leap off the page and play our one individual note over and over. This is "to tell your life the lifelong day/ to an admiring bog," as Dickinson aptly wrote. It is not the good life.
I must now present a coda to this musical essay: understanding legato is not the same as being able to do it. I, for one, find it difficult to transfer the legato of the mind to the legato of the hands. Unfortunately for the lazy among us, it is the latter by which beauty and truth are communicated to others. It takes years of practice to master the art of legato and of phrasing. Similarly, overcoming the staccato of egotism isn't easy--but for my sake, your sake, that is, for our sake, it is incumbent on us to try. We might not become great, but with sincere practice, great progress is always possible.
Listen to a Bach prelude performed by a master; then listen to the Johnny-One-Note coming from your air conditioner. In which of these two collections of sounds do you wish your little note to be found? Find your true legato voice--Connect, connect!
Surely a little egotism and sense of importance can be useful, especially when one is young, but a lot, not. But when a sense of self crosses the threshold into narcissism, it is always bad, both for the individual and for society. There is no need to descant on the defects of runaway egotism here; they are obvious.
The descent is not inevitable. A good way to rise above narcissism--other than through practicing wisdom and love--is to take something or some things in life very seriously. One's vocation, one's avocations, etc. When one takes such things very seriously, one automatically becomes humble. An example: one tries to write the best play possible. Even with Herculean effort and a bit of Orphic talent, however, one will have written a play that is, at best, when compared to one of Shakespeare's, merely passable. But in the process one might have enriched one's inner life; one might have produced a work of art for the delight of others; and, through selfless labor, one might have come closer to overcoming the poison of narcissism.
Trying to play an instrument with the best technique and expression possible, with the utmost faith to the composer's intention, is one of many ways to become less egotistical and more deeply content. I do not want to get too technical, but there are good lessons that anyone can obtain from music. One of them is the concept and practice of legato. It is a good metaphor for the good life and is the subject of this essay.
The Italian word legato means "connected." In a legato phrase, every note must be connected with the next, with as little silence between them as possible. In my instrument, the piano, this means lifting the pressure on the key of the previous note while pressing down on the key of the subsequent note. Believe me, this is not as easy as it sounds--it requires great muscle coordination. One is not allowed to cheat by overlapping notes; each sound must be independent but be connected to the next note without pause. Good phrasing--which will also be briefly discussed--and good legato can make even a good amateur sound great.
But this essay is not a music lesson; it's a lesson on life. Let us consider each note as an individual. Each has its own "pitch," that is, unique characteristics. But if that pitch arises unconnected from the one before it and leads to another unconnected note, the musical effect is ruined. On the other hand, legato does not vitiate the individuality of notes. Each note is important--but its importance is not only in itself but in the beauty of interconnection.
Phrasing, the degree of stress on each note, is compatible with legato and just as important. It can give direction to a musical phrase by proceeding from soft to loud, for instance; it can bring out a melody. In any given piece, some notes are indeed more important than others, but all are essential. Let me give an example from Shakespeare: "To be or not to be, that is the question." To my ear, this verse is best phrased with an emphasis on "that" and a lesser emphasis on the first "be." This is open to interpretation, but I think most lovers of poetry would agree that the emphasis should not be on "question." The phrase would be rendered meaningless, however, if the word "question" was left out.
What I'm trying to demonstrate by this musical example is that narcissism is noise--as is a sense of inferiority, for that matter. The individual might be part of a beautiful Mozart melody or "merely" part of a chord in the bass. Melody and bass complement each other; each alone is a greatly diminished thing. Do you consider yourself important--in other words, have genes and environment allowed you to prosper? Can one ever claim one has accomplished great things alone? I can tell you this: if a mother-figure didn't connect with you in early life; if a father-figure didn't connect with you later in life, you would very possibly be asserting your importance to an asylum mirror. But even if we're important enough to be part of a great melody, if we are unconnected to our neighbors--even those way down in the bass--the effect is lost. Not to mention the effect that results when we leap off the page and play our one individual note over and over. This is "to tell your life the lifelong day/ to an admiring bog," as Dickinson aptly wrote. It is not the good life.
I must now present a coda to this musical essay: understanding legato is not the same as being able to do it. I, for one, find it difficult to transfer the legato of the mind to the legato of the hands. Unfortunately for the lazy among us, it is the latter by which beauty and truth are communicated to others. It takes years of practice to master the art of legato and of phrasing. Similarly, overcoming the staccato of egotism isn't easy--but for my sake, your sake, that is, for our sake, it is incumbent on us to try. We might not become great, but with sincere practice, great progress is always possible.
Listen to a Bach prelude performed by a master; then listen to the Johnny-One-Note coming from your air conditioner. In which of these two collections of sounds do you wish your little note to be found? Find your true legato voice--Connect, connect!
LICHEN LOVER
If it had them, yes I would
Shake a lichen’s hand. Not
Yours, who must cohabitate
In villas in Paris or Rome--
They live on tombstones in Irkutsk
And Riyadh; in slag heaps; on
Boulders surrounded by desert
Or ice; only primitives thrive?
Remember the terrorized doe
You left in a cab in Biloxi?
(“Two shall become one flesh!”
They were on the Mount, but
Fungal and alga components
Don’t have to listen to bipeds--
Theirs is the purest Christian marriage
Since evolution began:
Mycobiont and photobiont move
Perfectly, like left-hand staccato
Balancing right-hand legato
In the D major prelude by Bach.
Too bad you're a joyful noise.)
I’m still in that cab in Biloxi,
Far from lichens--Thanks to you,
Music’s a shattering dish.
Shake a lichen’s hand. Not
Yours, who must cohabitate
In villas in Paris or Rome--
They live on tombstones in Irkutsk
And Riyadh; in slag heaps; on
Boulders surrounded by desert
Or ice; only primitives thrive?
Remember the terrorized doe
You left in a cab in Biloxi?
(“Two shall become one flesh!”
They were on the Mount, but
Fungal and alga components
Don’t have to listen to bipeds--
Theirs is the purest Christian marriage
Since evolution began:
Mycobiont and photobiont move
Perfectly, like left-hand staccato
Balancing right-hand legato
In the D major prelude by Bach.
Too bad you're a joyful noise.)
I’m still in that cab in Biloxi,
Far from lichens--Thanks to you,
Music’s a shattering dish.
6.08.2010
6.05.2010
IN EXTREMIS
I'm dying. What about you?
--In God's image, aren't we
headed for eternity?--
Don't ask me, I'm dying.
As the lion sinks its teeth
somewhere into living meat,
sit down at your table, eat--
Am I the lion or deer?
While the buzzard with its beak
tears apart the lion's face,
lie down on your pillow, sleep--
A monarch or a scavenger?
I see a tube from mouth to ass
where you see Ozymandias--
Please excuse me if I laugh!
Don't mind me, I'm dying.
I'm dying. What about you?
--In God's image, aren't we
headed for eternity?--
Don't ask me, I'm dying.
As the lion sinks its teeth
somewhere into living meat,
sit down at your table, eat--
Am I the lion or deer?
While the buzzard with its beak
tears apart the lion's face,
lie down on your pillow, sleep--
A monarch or a scavenger?
I see a tube from mouth to ass
where you see Ozymandias--
Please excuse me if I laugh!
Don't mind me, I'm dying.
5.05.2010
Letter to Richard Dawkins
Professor Richard Dawkins
Department of Zoology
Oxford University
Dear Richard Dawkins,
Your book, the God Delusion, was a delight. So far, I’ve read The Selfish Gene, most of The Extended Phenotype--I must get back to it--and the Ancestor’s Tale. They have given me concepts that will remain with me my whole life. I never thought of consciousness as something that has been selected by genes for them to survive. Extended phenotype--what a wonderfully apt term for the New York skyline, etc. The Ancestor’s Tale is utterly fascinating. I’ve recommended it to several friends.
I don’t simply want to write a fan letter; I wanted to mention a few things that you might or might not find useful.
Recently, I decided to read some books about atheism. I’ve read, in the past two weeks or so, “god is not Great,” “The End of Faith,” “Breaking the Spell,” and your book, “The God Delusion.” I’ve enjoyed reading them all, especially yours and Mr. Dennet’s book. (Although the chapter in Mr. Harris’s book on consciousness was extraordinary.)
Although I’ve never considered myself an atheist--I admit, I come very close--I’m certainly not a theist. Mr. Dennett writes in his book, “If what you hold sacred is not any kind of Person you could pray to, or consider to be an appropriate recipient of gratitude (or anger, when a loved one is senselessly killed), you’re an atheist in my book.” I am pleased to admit that in his book, as well as yours, I am indeed an atheist.
You mentioned that you have no quarrels with Buddhism (and, presumably, the advaitha--non-dual--school of Hinduism.) Nor do I.
What follows is a brief summary of how I see things: The most primitive form of religion--e.g. the Exodus story--involves a god, usually a national one, who actively intervenes in human affairs. This became a problem for the ancient Hebrews: they thought their national epic was literally true. If God intervened and delivered the Jews from Egypt, why didn’t He deliver them from the Assyrians, Babylonians or from the Romans? In the second phase, God doesn’t intervene much at all, although He is still believed to have that power. That’s how I interpret the Christian myth. Since God does not intervene to save his son, he’s sure not going to save the likes of you, whoever you are! (I’m at a loss to interpret the myth that God preordained Jesus’s death in order to expiate our sins--it makes no sense to me--None of the Christian teachings in this regard ever made sense to me.) The second phase also includes Islam. God is no longer thought to walk in the Garden of Eden--he is much too abstract for that. Allah might reward one on the other side, but he is not going to actively intervene in human affairs. The third phase comes when one realizes that there is no cosmic agent at all. The latter position is eloquently defended by you and Mr. Dennett--both of you have done a splendid job. I couldn’t agree with you more.
But this third stage of religion doesn’t stop there. Those at this stage of religion are convinced that all separation--that is, the feeling of separation--is itself a myth. I especially liked the quote from Gould in your book, stating, convincingly to me, that humans are more wave-like than thing-like. A further reason to believe that the personality is a construct I have learned from you: consciousness which developed presumably as the prototypical human became more complex, helped us survive better. We could separate ourselves--in our minds at least--and develop tools, operas, and, unfortunately, weapons of mass destruction. This helped our genes survive. Consciousness as an adaptation, like wings or claws, that help genes of that organism survive--What better deconstructs the personality than this? When this wisdom is not merely a concept but a deep conviction, it is a great source of joy. Awe.
Spinoza knew this joy. That is why I insist he was not a pantheist. A pantheist is an observer of nature who believes all is nature. But in Spinoza’s system the observer disappears--the mundane I is illusory. Spinoza felt deep joy, one very similar to religious ecstasy. But he was not crippled in his ability to function; after his periods of ecstasy he would return to work as a lens grinder. An ideal for us all.
Mr. Dennett states that while there is probably no God gene, sensitivity to music--perhaps, as he states, having a concomitant propensity to be more easily hypnotized--seems to go along with religiosity. I am extremely sensitive to music. Although I started the piano--I come from a poor family--quite late, at age 60, I play Bach almost every chance I get, and have started a chamber music group. I tell myself that if I could be transported to St. Thomas Church in Leipzig during Bach’s time, I wouldn’t understand what the preacher was talking about--the words I would understand, I speak German--but once the music started, I, too, would become music and would comprehend, as it were, everything. So I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape religion altogether. But, I insisted, there must be no conflict with reason.
My religion is a religion of awe. In my best moments, music, poetry, evolutionary biology, people, physics, transport me into such a stateless state of wonder I don’t think any word of prose--even atheism--can come close to describing it.
I might have stated things clumsily, but I don’t think you would disagree with anything I’ve said. I am a very inner person, a rather isolated one; if I had the opportunity to educate the public, as you do, I would indeed use the term atheism more. It‘s just a question of use of words.
At one time, however, I did think that one could not be good without God. Thanks for decimating whatever traces of that which was still left within me. After all, what we call God evolves with human culture. You mentioned the horror we feel today when Lot surrendered his daughters so that the guest angels would not be sodomized. I suppose it made sense in those days by the following reasoning: women were thought to be chattel. An updated version of this would be, “Please don’t harm these human beings--take my television set instead!” God, whose morality is a projection of what is thought to be the best human morality at the time in question, had apparently no objection to this reasoning--during Lot’s time. So the question arises, if we need God to be good, exactly which God is that? Religious people sometimes think that God is changeless, but he has certainly evolved a lot since ancient times.
Sorry for writing so much! One thing in addition, regarding the evolutionary basis of morality. You gave four good and convincing ones--I never thought of morality as a means to assert dominance, but one look at bluestockings on a charitable board--in my imagination, I’ve never been on a charitable board-- has made me realize the truth of this! I would like to add a fourth. I’ve had a difficult early life, and had some depression. Though a doctor myself--and perhaps this is why--I was reluctant to consult one. I started a form of self-cure--a program of vigorous exercise. It is well known that endorphins can be released into the bloodstream during exercise,. I don’t know if this was the only factor, but depression has vanished. I’m convinced that exercise helps. A friend of mine said, “I used to go to church; now I go to the gym.” Here is the analogy with morality: We know that the development of consciousness and its ability to apparently separate oneself from the environment have had stunning cultural effects. A most marvelous adaptation! But there is a price: we who have evolved in groups have become subject to loneliness, making us sometimes very miserable. Acts of of morality might also be a human evolutionary way to overcome loneliness and resultant misery. It makes us feel good. It reduces morbid preoccupation with the self, which indeed could have benefits for survival. Just a thought.
I am enclosing a poem of mine, which I wrote after reading your book. (I enjoyed a little reputation as a poet at one time, but don’t send out stuff anymore--not many read poetry these days and I don’t like a lot of what’s written. ) I thought you might like reading this one, however.
You wrote in your book that many people write to you and that you have little time to respond. I very much understand, and, though I would be delighted with a reply, I do not expect one. Write on! (I will read on!)
Sincerely,
Thomas Dorsett
A TINY PIECE OF PAPER
About to be crumpled up
Looks forward to gullies and rain.
How we will float among cigarette butts
To so-called sewers! Soda pop and urine
And the only manna anybody has,
Water from the sky, compose the blood
Of which I’ll be a white corpuscle,
One among many citizens of trash.
Not one alley cat shall notice as
Bacteria and viruses, my good friends,
Ride me like a carpet down an alley
Into a street of a deserted city--
(What will be written on me?
“Life is good!” “God loves us
Just the way we are!” “Fuck you!”
It doesn’t matter. It all washes off.)
Indifference as imaginary hands?
Paper doesn’t personify: blind
Creator sports no beard, our
Recycler is holy as cobblestones.
So don’t be proud if you’re in the “good book”
Or feel low if merely a dumb advertisement.
We’re all paper, natural as wood--
Each piece is as beautiful as a tall tree
--Yes! There’s no need to toss paper-faith:
If you live in the gutter, rejoice--
(The universe is not malicious)
A cloudburst--not Jesus--shall wash you clean.
Thomas Dorsett
Department of Zoology
Oxford University
Dear Richard Dawkins,
Your book, the God Delusion, was a delight. So far, I’ve read The Selfish Gene, most of The Extended Phenotype--I must get back to it--and the Ancestor’s Tale. They have given me concepts that will remain with me my whole life. I never thought of consciousness as something that has been selected by genes for them to survive. Extended phenotype--what a wonderfully apt term for the New York skyline, etc. The Ancestor’s Tale is utterly fascinating. I’ve recommended it to several friends.
I don’t simply want to write a fan letter; I wanted to mention a few things that you might or might not find useful.
Recently, I decided to read some books about atheism. I’ve read, in the past two weeks or so, “god is not Great,” “The End of Faith,” “Breaking the Spell,” and your book, “The God Delusion.” I’ve enjoyed reading them all, especially yours and Mr. Dennet’s book. (Although the chapter in Mr. Harris’s book on consciousness was extraordinary.)
Although I’ve never considered myself an atheist--I admit, I come very close--I’m certainly not a theist. Mr. Dennett writes in his book, “If what you hold sacred is not any kind of Person you could pray to, or consider to be an appropriate recipient of gratitude (or anger, when a loved one is senselessly killed), you’re an atheist in my book.” I am pleased to admit that in his book, as well as yours, I am indeed an atheist.
You mentioned that you have no quarrels with Buddhism (and, presumably, the advaitha--non-dual--school of Hinduism.) Nor do I.
What follows is a brief summary of how I see things: The most primitive form of religion--e.g. the Exodus story--involves a god, usually a national one, who actively intervenes in human affairs. This became a problem for the ancient Hebrews: they thought their national epic was literally true. If God intervened and delivered the Jews from Egypt, why didn’t He deliver them from the Assyrians, Babylonians or from the Romans? In the second phase, God doesn’t intervene much at all, although He is still believed to have that power. That’s how I interpret the Christian myth. Since God does not intervene to save his son, he’s sure not going to save the likes of you, whoever you are! (I’m at a loss to interpret the myth that God preordained Jesus’s death in order to expiate our sins--it makes no sense to me--None of the Christian teachings in this regard ever made sense to me.) The second phase also includes Islam. God is no longer thought to walk in the Garden of Eden--he is much too abstract for that. Allah might reward one on the other side, but he is not going to actively intervene in human affairs. The third phase comes when one realizes that there is no cosmic agent at all. The latter position is eloquently defended by you and Mr. Dennett--both of you have done a splendid job. I couldn’t agree with you more.
But this third stage of religion doesn’t stop there. Those at this stage of religion are convinced that all separation--that is, the feeling of separation--is itself a myth. I especially liked the quote from Gould in your book, stating, convincingly to me, that humans are more wave-like than thing-like. A further reason to believe that the personality is a construct I have learned from you: consciousness which developed presumably as the prototypical human became more complex, helped us survive better. We could separate ourselves--in our minds at least--and develop tools, operas, and, unfortunately, weapons of mass destruction. This helped our genes survive. Consciousness as an adaptation, like wings or claws, that help genes of that organism survive--What better deconstructs the personality than this? When this wisdom is not merely a concept but a deep conviction, it is a great source of joy. Awe.
Spinoza knew this joy. That is why I insist he was not a pantheist. A pantheist is an observer of nature who believes all is nature. But in Spinoza’s system the observer disappears--the mundane I is illusory. Spinoza felt deep joy, one very similar to religious ecstasy. But he was not crippled in his ability to function; after his periods of ecstasy he would return to work as a lens grinder. An ideal for us all.
Mr. Dennett states that while there is probably no God gene, sensitivity to music--perhaps, as he states, having a concomitant propensity to be more easily hypnotized--seems to go along with religiosity. I am extremely sensitive to music. Although I started the piano--I come from a poor family--quite late, at age 60, I play Bach almost every chance I get, and have started a chamber music group. I tell myself that if I could be transported to St. Thomas Church in Leipzig during Bach’s time, I wouldn’t understand what the preacher was talking about--the words I would understand, I speak German--but once the music started, I, too, would become music and would comprehend, as it were, everything. So I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape religion altogether. But, I insisted, there must be no conflict with reason.
My religion is a religion of awe. In my best moments, music, poetry, evolutionary biology, people, physics, transport me into such a stateless state of wonder I don’t think any word of prose--even atheism--can come close to describing it.
I might have stated things clumsily, but I don’t think you would disagree with anything I’ve said. I am a very inner person, a rather isolated one; if I had the opportunity to educate the public, as you do, I would indeed use the term atheism more. It‘s just a question of use of words.
At one time, however, I did think that one could not be good without God. Thanks for decimating whatever traces of that which was still left within me. After all, what we call God evolves with human culture. You mentioned the horror we feel today when Lot surrendered his daughters so that the guest angels would not be sodomized. I suppose it made sense in those days by the following reasoning: women were thought to be chattel. An updated version of this would be, “Please don’t harm these human beings--take my television set instead!” God, whose morality is a projection of what is thought to be the best human morality at the time in question, had apparently no objection to this reasoning--during Lot’s time. So the question arises, if we need God to be good, exactly which God is that? Religious people sometimes think that God is changeless, but he has certainly evolved a lot since ancient times.
Sorry for writing so much! One thing in addition, regarding the evolutionary basis of morality. You gave four good and convincing ones--I never thought of morality as a means to assert dominance, but one look at bluestockings on a charitable board--in my imagination, I’ve never been on a charitable board-- has made me realize the truth of this! I would like to add a fourth. I’ve had a difficult early life, and had some depression. Though a doctor myself--and perhaps this is why--I was reluctant to consult one. I started a form of self-cure--a program of vigorous exercise. It is well known that endorphins can be released into the bloodstream during exercise,. I don’t know if this was the only factor, but depression has vanished. I’m convinced that exercise helps. A friend of mine said, “I used to go to church; now I go to the gym.” Here is the analogy with morality: We know that the development of consciousness and its ability to apparently separate oneself from the environment have had stunning cultural effects. A most marvelous adaptation! But there is a price: we who have evolved in groups have become subject to loneliness, making us sometimes very miserable. Acts of of morality might also be a human evolutionary way to overcome loneliness and resultant misery. It makes us feel good. It reduces morbid preoccupation with the self, which indeed could have benefits for survival. Just a thought.
I am enclosing a poem of mine, which I wrote after reading your book. (I enjoyed a little reputation as a poet at one time, but don’t send out stuff anymore--not many read poetry these days and I don’t like a lot of what’s written. ) I thought you might like reading this one, however.
You wrote in your book that many people write to you and that you have little time to respond. I very much understand, and, though I would be delighted with a reply, I do not expect one. Write on! (I will read on!)
Sincerely,
Thomas Dorsett
A TINY PIECE OF PAPER
About to be crumpled up
Looks forward to gullies and rain.
How we will float among cigarette butts
To so-called sewers! Soda pop and urine
And the only manna anybody has,
Water from the sky, compose the blood
Of which I’ll be a white corpuscle,
One among many citizens of trash.
Not one alley cat shall notice as
Bacteria and viruses, my good friends,
Ride me like a carpet down an alley
Into a street of a deserted city--
(What will be written on me?
“Life is good!” “God loves us
Just the way we are!” “Fuck you!”
It doesn’t matter. It all washes off.)
Indifference as imaginary hands?
Paper doesn’t personify: blind
Creator sports no beard, our
Recycler is holy as cobblestones.
So don’t be proud if you’re in the “good book”
Or feel low if merely a dumb advertisement.
We’re all paper, natural as wood--
Each piece is as beautiful as a tall tree
--Yes! There’s no need to toss paper-faith:
If you live in the gutter, rejoice--
(The universe is not malicious)
A cloudburst--not Jesus--shall wash you clean.
Thomas Dorsett
3.03.2010
A Review of "The Case for God" by Karen Armstrong
The prolific Karen Armstrong, the renowned historian of religion, has surtitled this her twelfth book, "What Religion Really Means." I imagine she conceived it as a response to the militant atheists, such as Dawkins and Hitchens, whose polemics against religion in any form have become bestsellers. Armstrong is at her very best at succinctly summarizing long stretches of religious history, which she does here. I think it is her best work since the seminal "A History of God."
One of her main points is that if one criticizes any subject, one should primarily discuss the best the subject has to offer. If one's subject is music, for instance, isn't it more informative to discuss Mozart rather than Musak? (Unless, of course, one is writing about the role of music in society.) It is easy to dismiss debased religion, which the atheists largely do,as if a televanglist epitomizes the subject more than a great religious philosopher. Her criticism of the militant atheists is fair and Obama-like--she concedes that they have some valid points and wants to bring them into dialogue in order to reach a sort of coincidencia oppisitorum. This is in marked contrast to the current and popular diatribes against religion. Surely something that has accompanied humanity since before recorded history must have developed some positive aspects over the centuries! Armstrong has no ax to grind; her ideal is the Socratic philosopher who does not set out to destroy his opponents. She states her case gently yet clearly, but is never arrogant or condescending.
Just what is the case for God, as she describes it? First of all, she makes clear what it is not. She believes that the problem many people have with religion lies with what she calls "the modern God," an idol. The tremendous success of rationality and science since the Enlightenment has corrupted religion; since science became the touchstone of everything, people confused religious truths with scientific facts. Her contention is that the belief that dogma are every bit as factual as the periodic table is a modern phenomenon. I am not quite sure this is true, since early Fathers of the Church, such as Irenaeus, were indeed biblical literalists. But she presents very convincing evidence that religious thinkers in the past went deeper. Aquinas might have written five proofs of God, but then goes on to undermine them as quod omnes dicunt Deum--what people call God. The reality, of course, is much more profound. She favors the aphophatic approach, that is, approaching transcendence through silence, and discusses Dionysius the Areopagite (whom she refers to by his alternate name, Denys) at length, who is one of the greatest masters of this approach. Another concept she often discusses as an alternative to religious arrogance is kenosis, the Greek term for a humble self-emptying.
What if a caveman were confronted with a piano? He would have no idea of the glories that a pianist could produce from the instrument; Mozart would be as unimaginable to him as the existence of distant galaxies. He would make some noise, perhaps, and then, perhaps, use the Steinway as firewood. This is how Armstrong sees the lack of appreciation for the instrument of religion, the human being, prevalent today. Critics talk, they don't practice. Religion must be practiced, as ritual and as a social and moral phenomenon, to be able to gradually effect a positive change both in the individual and in society. I remember an old Carol Burnett skit in which she plays a troubled person who sits down at the piano and plays a brilliant polonaise by Chopin. She gets up from the bench and says, "Now I know I'm going crazy--I never played the piano before!" In real life, religion, like music, takes years and years of practice.
Armstrong is a master of saying a lot with little, in clear, lucid prose. She is often able to strengthen her thesis, that is, that religion is both more profound and valid for contemporary life than popularly assumed by many these days, with brief quotes from geniuses of the past. Her brief reference to the great Italian poet, Petrarch, is as follows: "(Petrarch) argued that 'theology is actually poetry, poetry concerning God' effective not because it proved anything, but "because it reached the heart." Well said! Religion is less the opium of the people than the poetry of the people. Sure it is often bad poetry, Halmark verse rather than poetry, but an attempt at poetry nevertheless. Armstrong is never condescending to the less sophisticated--she allows freely that many decent people, who have very little relation to science, may believe in the Bible literally--and if this helps them to be humble and do good, she will not criticize them. But, as Armstrong states, this is impossible for many, for whom she presumably has written this book. Sympathy for the less educated is the source of one of Armstrong's most cogent criticisms of the militant atheists: "They do not appear to consider the effect of such nihilism on people who do not have privileged lives and absorbing work." A very valid point!
She presents a cogent and brief analysis of how postmodernism has made the strident certainties of even science obsolete. It is time for reconciliation. She does not advocate an abstract, postmodernist "weak thought" approach to transcendence; religion must be struggled with and put into practice.
Although, as the sentence from Petrarch amply illustrates, religious thinkers of the past went beyond literalism, Armstrong, I think, is somewhat inaccurate in this regard. Aquinas used the ground of literal belief as a springboard; he did not deny its existence. The Capadocians did not deny the importance of kergyma, that is, literal doctrine; they did believe that it must be transcended. I doubt if we would know so much about Jesus of Nazareth today--how much is historical is debatable, of course--if people hadn't believed after the crucifixion that this man was "really" the son of God. In those days, there was no conflict between literalism and science since scientific knowledge was so rudimentary in first-century Palestine. An intelligent person centuries ago might have seriously considered how many angels could fit on the tip of the pin; only the woefully ignorant or haplessly mad could consider such a subject today.
Armstrong presents a strong case for religion at its highest. This excellent book, however, will probably not change many lives, since reading about religion without practicing is nothing more than refined entertainment. The fault is ours, however, if we fail to put the quest for transcendence into practice. Life is full of our terrible failures to do just that. What a pity!
One of her main points is that if one criticizes any subject, one should primarily discuss the best the subject has to offer. If one's subject is music, for instance, isn't it more informative to discuss Mozart rather than Musak? (Unless, of course, one is writing about the role of music in society.) It is easy to dismiss debased religion, which the atheists largely do,as if a televanglist epitomizes the subject more than a great religious philosopher. Her criticism of the militant atheists is fair and Obama-like--she concedes that they have some valid points and wants to bring them into dialogue in order to reach a sort of coincidencia oppisitorum. This is in marked contrast to the current and popular diatribes against religion. Surely something that has accompanied humanity since before recorded history must have developed some positive aspects over the centuries! Armstrong has no ax to grind; her ideal is the Socratic philosopher who does not set out to destroy his opponents. She states her case gently yet clearly, but is never arrogant or condescending.
Just what is the case for God, as she describes it? First of all, she makes clear what it is not. She believes that the problem many people have with religion lies with what she calls "the modern God," an idol. The tremendous success of rationality and science since the Enlightenment has corrupted religion; since science became the touchstone of everything, people confused religious truths with scientific facts. Her contention is that the belief that dogma are every bit as factual as the periodic table is a modern phenomenon. I am not quite sure this is true, since early Fathers of the Church, such as Irenaeus, were indeed biblical literalists. But she presents very convincing evidence that religious thinkers in the past went deeper. Aquinas might have written five proofs of God, but then goes on to undermine them as quod omnes dicunt Deum--what people call God. The reality, of course, is much more profound. She favors the aphophatic approach, that is, approaching transcendence through silence, and discusses Dionysius the Areopagite (whom she refers to by his alternate name, Denys) at length, who is one of the greatest masters of this approach. Another concept she often discusses as an alternative to religious arrogance is kenosis, the Greek term for a humble self-emptying.
What if a caveman were confronted with a piano? He would have no idea of the glories that a pianist could produce from the instrument; Mozart would be as unimaginable to him as the existence of distant galaxies. He would make some noise, perhaps, and then, perhaps, use the Steinway as firewood. This is how Armstrong sees the lack of appreciation for the instrument of religion, the human being, prevalent today. Critics talk, they don't practice. Religion must be practiced, as ritual and as a social and moral phenomenon, to be able to gradually effect a positive change both in the individual and in society. I remember an old Carol Burnett skit in which she plays a troubled person who sits down at the piano and plays a brilliant polonaise by Chopin. She gets up from the bench and says, "Now I know I'm going crazy--I never played the piano before!" In real life, religion, like music, takes years and years of practice.
Armstrong is a master of saying a lot with little, in clear, lucid prose. She is often able to strengthen her thesis, that is, that religion is both more profound and valid for contemporary life than popularly assumed by many these days, with brief quotes from geniuses of the past. Her brief reference to the great Italian poet, Petrarch, is as follows: "(Petrarch) argued that 'theology is actually poetry, poetry concerning God' effective not because it proved anything, but "because it reached the heart." Well said! Religion is less the opium of the people than the poetry of the people. Sure it is often bad poetry, Halmark verse rather than poetry, but an attempt at poetry nevertheless. Armstrong is never condescending to the less sophisticated--she allows freely that many decent people, who have very little relation to science, may believe in the Bible literally--and if this helps them to be humble and do good, she will not criticize them. But, as Armstrong states, this is impossible for many, for whom she presumably has written this book. Sympathy for the less educated is the source of one of Armstrong's most cogent criticisms of the militant atheists: "They do not appear to consider the effect of such nihilism on people who do not have privileged lives and absorbing work." A very valid point!
She presents a cogent and brief analysis of how postmodernism has made the strident certainties of even science obsolete. It is time for reconciliation. She does not advocate an abstract, postmodernist "weak thought" approach to transcendence; religion must be struggled with and put into practice.
Although, as the sentence from Petrarch amply illustrates, religious thinkers of the past went beyond literalism, Armstrong, I think, is somewhat inaccurate in this regard. Aquinas used the ground of literal belief as a springboard; he did not deny its existence. The Capadocians did not deny the importance of kergyma, that is, literal doctrine; they did believe that it must be transcended. I doubt if we would know so much about Jesus of Nazareth today--how much is historical is debatable, of course--if people hadn't believed after the crucifixion that this man was "really" the son of God. In those days, there was no conflict between literalism and science since scientific knowledge was so rudimentary in first-century Palestine. An intelligent person centuries ago might have seriously considered how many angels could fit on the tip of the pin; only the woefully ignorant or haplessly mad could consider such a subject today.
Armstrong presents a strong case for religion at its highest. This excellent book, however, will probably not change many lives, since reading about religion without practicing is nothing more than refined entertainment. The fault is ours, however, if we fail to put the quest for transcendence into practice. Life is full of our terrible failures to do just that. What a pity!
2.15.2010
CAUSA SUI
Chennai, February 12, 2010
His blood--another quack elixir?
His body, if you're ill at ease
at your own altar,
might as well drink antifreeze,
might as well eat paper.
Clever, crude, belligerent,
but evil? Great news for
those whose mirrors hurt,
you're innocent as chard.
(Break them! Cut the throats
of demons with their shards!)
Let God in you be God.
Chennai, February 12, 2010
His blood--another quack elixir?
His body, if you're ill at ease
at your own altar,
might as well drink antifreeze,
might as well eat paper.
Clever, crude, belligerent,
but evil? Great news for
those whose mirrors hurt,
you're innocent as chard.
(Break them! Cut the throats
of demons with their shards!)
Let God in you be God.
2.12.2010
MY HAT
(for Anisha, two years old)
My name is Zudumanguru,
I live in Freudenstadt;
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat,
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
Why don’t you call it Sister George,
Sennacherib or Matt?
Too many things composed of straw
Have silly names like that;
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
Would Father take his peepers off
Before King Jesophat?
I always do. Before the queen
I take off more than that,
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
(for Anisha, two years old)
My name is Zudumanguru,
I live in Freudenstadt;
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat,
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
Why don’t you call it Sister George,
Sennacherib or Matt?
Too many things composed of straw
Have silly names like that;
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
Would Father take his peepers off
Before King Jesophat?
I always do. Before the queen
I take off more than that,
My hat, my hat,
Somadhi Uru Vangulu
Is what I call my hat.
2.09.2010
SRI VIJAY SIVA, VOCAL
February 8, 2010
How I must look to the wiry Tamilians
milling about on the sides of roads or
predictable on scooters as a single electron's
choice of a pinhole; crowds for the most part
all under 30 years old: women in salwar kameez
or saris, almost none (except my wife) in pants;
men in pants lungis mundus with short-sleeved shirts
never tucked inside their trousers and
everyone thin as a lizard's tail--How do I look,
an old white man in kurta and pyjamas
trying his best to cross a road in Besant Nagar
and get back home--Who knows?
Unlike tortoises and Keralites, Tamilians don't stare.
Trying to survive after a concert of
carnatic music at the local Siva temple, during which
I sat on the floor for three hours
still as the neon-lit statue of Ganesh, while
(what would make a rapid Rossini passage sound
declamatory Wagner,) notes notes notes rose all controlled
by the om of the drone. The tablist good,
the violinist better. But best of all, the voice--
What can I say? Mozart first, carnatic music
second? I don't say. I listen. I sing, I swing,
dodge a bus and return to the world.
February 8, 2010
How I must look to the wiry Tamilians
milling about on the sides of roads or
predictable on scooters as a single electron's
choice of a pinhole; crowds for the most part
all under 30 years old: women in salwar kameez
or saris, almost none (except my wife) in pants;
men in pants lungis mundus with short-sleeved shirts
never tucked inside their trousers and
everyone thin as a lizard's tail--How do I look,
an old white man in kurta and pyjamas
trying his best to cross a road in Besant Nagar
and get back home--Who knows?
Unlike tortoises and Keralites, Tamilians don't stare.
Trying to survive after a concert of
carnatic music at the local Siva temple, during which
I sat on the floor for three hours
still as the neon-lit statue of Ganesh, while
(what would make a rapid Rossini passage sound
declamatory Wagner,) notes notes notes rose all controlled
by the om of the drone. The tablist good,
the violinist better. But best of all, the voice--
What can I say? Mozart first, carnatic music
second? I don't say. I listen. I sing, I swing,
dodge a bus and return to the world.
2.05.2010
FIVE POEMS FROM INDIA
(February 2-5, 2010)
1. MOSS
Heart has decided to live years beyond Roethke's
by not being fed by narrowed arteries. Mouth
has chosen to have its beers in earthly bars
for now and not at White House Tavern in the Sky.
Then the ghost of Eberhart comes by and asks: why?
"I survived everybody. And nearly all critics agree
that I outlived everything I wrote except The Groundhog.
Saint Teresa in her wild lament, indeed; indeed."
I don't have the answer. No longer ask that question--
Why should the humbled let perfection-thirst
give them a stroke at 50 like Glenn Gould?
Unlike Mozart, who wrote a sonata at 9
which I still find difficult, yet died at 35,
my skill lies in beating common time. Having had little,
(except the love of her,) reading, listening to Bach's
Ich habe genug, I shall die, almost completely alone.
2. FROM THE GURU NARAYANA SWAMI TEMPLE, THALASSERY, KERALA
I have as much pity for your self
as I do for a newly plucked orange.
My image is the whirlwind in each seed
pushing all out in balanced perfection
so it may blossom--unlike you, whose
wars are so unlocal--Does this make you bad?
Even you who rage and plot and wish
who put a hook into earth's worms and fish
are innocent as fruit you have for lunch,
this is my secret; you do not have one.
So reach the bough before it freezes;
enjoy gold oranges, before it snows.
3. THE OLD MAN AS THE SEA
My prison hadn't any doors
and was 13 billion light-years long--
True space is never absolutely cold:
The iceview of the self is colder--
I-voids dissipated brightness, while
the core of Private Galaxy sought annihilation.
Was it age or grace? The glaciers melt.
Ich habe genug--My cup is not half full;
Now that I don't need much, it overflows.
4. AFTER GREAT PAIN
Now that you lie down, repeat:
Reduce me to a thought that sends her love;
reduce me to a deed that helps her live;
seduce me, Earth--Hers is now my will.
Rise--You've been resurrected!
5. (DIS)SATISFIED
I am a leaf. Oh, fuck!
I'd rather be Jesus or an antlion.
Everything is one? That means
I also am a bucket
half filled with water
waiting for mosquito larvae
between two rusted trucks.
Old Saint Lawrence as a frog
dissected alive in a lab
is too busy croaking to hear prayers.
That means I'll be forever
everything: nits in summer,
a madman teaching cardamum to sing,
pure-bred lapdogs, poets, and a snail.
I'd rather be one piece of colored glass.
A Down child swoops and picks me up;
looking through my body, claps and sees
Rosy Brother, Sister Red, and laughs.
I'd rather be one millipede and am
a fungus-ridden leaf, fools-tongue--
When will God shut the fuck up
The day after tomorrow?
If I'm lucky, decades after that.
I'm really happy as an orange leaf
falling very slowly in October.
Just above me is a nervous squirrel;
just below me are a robin's nest
and two Montgomery lizards--Finis!
(February 2-5, 2010)
1. MOSS
Heart has decided to live years beyond Roethke's
by not being fed by narrowed arteries. Mouth
has chosen to have its beers in earthly bars
for now and not at White House Tavern in the Sky.
Then the ghost of Eberhart comes by and asks: why?
"I survived everybody. And nearly all critics agree
that I outlived everything I wrote except The Groundhog.
Saint Teresa in her wild lament, indeed; indeed."
I don't have the answer. No longer ask that question--
Why should the humbled let perfection-thirst
give them a stroke at 50 like Glenn Gould?
Unlike Mozart, who wrote a sonata at 9
which I still find difficult, yet died at 35,
my skill lies in beating common time. Having had little,
(except the love of her,) reading, listening to Bach's
Ich habe genug, I shall die, almost completely alone.
2. FROM THE GURU NARAYANA SWAMI TEMPLE, THALASSERY, KERALA
I have as much pity for your self
as I do for a newly plucked orange.
My image is the whirlwind in each seed
pushing all out in balanced perfection
so it may blossom--unlike you, whose
wars are so unlocal--Does this make you bad?
Even you who rage and plot and wish
who put a hook into earth's worms and fish
are innocent as fruit you have for lunch,
this is my secret; you do not have one.
So reach the bough before it freezes;
enjoy gold oranges, before it snows.
3. THE OLD MAN AS THE SEA
My prison hadn't any doors
and was 13 billion light-years long--
True space is never absolutely cold:
The iceview of the self is colder--
I-voids dissipated brightness, while
the core of Private Galaxy sought annihilation.
Was it age or grace? The glaciers melt.
Ich habe genug--My cup is not half full;
Now that I don't need much, it overflows.
4. AFTER GREAT PAIN
Now that you lie down, repeat:
Reduce me to a thought that sends her love;
reduce me to a deed that helps her live;
seduce me, Earth--Hers is now my will.
Rise--You've been resurrected!
5. (DIS)SATISFIED
I am a leaf. Oh, fuck!
I'd rather be Jesus or an antlion.
Everything is one? That means
I also am a bucket
half filled with water
waiting for mosquito larvae
between two rusted trucks.
Old Saint Lawrence as a frog
dissected alive in a lab
is too busy croaking to hear prayers.
That means I'll be forever
everything: nits in summer,
a madman teaching cardamum to sing,
pure-bred lapdogs, poets, and a snail.
I'd rather be one piece of colored glass.
A Down child swoops and picks me up;
looking through my body, claps and sees
Rosy Brother, Sister Red, and laughs.
I'd rather be one millipede and am
a fungus-ridden leaf, fools-tongue--
When will God shut the fuck up
The day after tomorrow?
If I'm lucky, decades after that.
I'm really happy as an orange leaf
falling very slowly in October.
Just above me is a nervous squirrel;
just below me are a robin's nest
and two Montgomery lizards--Finis!
1.31.2010
MAKING GAY MARRIAGE LEGAL--HOW ONE WORD MIGHT HELP
Legalized gay marriage is inevitable; the polls over the years demonstrate increasing acceptance. Those who oppose gay marriage, for whatever reason, should reconsider their stance; they should realize that one cannot stop a wave with sticks and stones. Gay marriage is not a tsunami; it brings no destruction, only an increase of justice, in its wake. Those who oppose it should stop disguising their discomfort behind dogmas, prejudice and ignorance, much as those who opposed racial equality did during the 1960s. We should, in contrast, pass legislation legalizing gay unions as soon as possible, so we can get on with the crucial tasks of addressing the serious problems our nation is facing.
One of the chief areas of opposition concerns the name: marriage. There are many who support full legal rights for gay unions but believe that the term "marriage" should be reserved for the legal union of one man with one woman. In one of the last polls taken, 57% of Americans support full legal status for gay unions; a majority, however, still opposes that they should be called marriages. There are many very decent people who believe this, especially among older individuals. Bridging the gap between acceptance and terminology, however, need not be difficult. This little article is written to help reduce that gap to an insignificant crack.
What's in a name? Apparently, plenty. I propose the coinage of a new name, almost identical to the word "marriage" to define gay unions. Legislation could be passed quicker using this term; those believing that the word "marriage" should be restricted to heterosexual couples would have no objection to the new term. If society, at a later date, should decide that the distinction need no longer exist, subsequent legislation could be passed using the term "marriage" for the unions of both heterosexual and homosexual couples.
At first I thought to combine "gay" and "marriage," but the term "gmarriage" is very unwieldy. I subsequently coined what I think to be a much better term. The German word for "gay" is "schwul;" take the "s" from this and add it to "marriage" and presto! a quite usable word emerges: smarriage. May I smarry you? Love and Smarriage. Let me not to the smarriage of two minds admit impediments. All right, it might sound a little comical at first, but it is euphonious and could serve a very useful function, albeit a temporary one. The term "civil union" is far too abstract and bureaucratic; gays are right to demand more as a designation of a loving relationship. "Smarriage?"--Why not?
Perhaps, at first, smarriage rights might differ slightly--but only very slightly--from marriage rights. This would placate those who need to see a differentiation between them. Just as we are unlikely to get a perfect health-care law, we might, for political reasons, have to settle for a slightly less than equivalent smarriage law. It could easily be amended later as opposition decreases. I encourage all those involved, however peripherally, with this important civil rights issue to start spreading the word, in this case a very specific word. It might just help to get the right thing done more quickly. There is enough suffering in the world already; we must not be complacent.
I am in the demographic age group most opposed to legalizing gay marriage, namely, males over sixty. I am also religious, which makes opposition to gay marriage even more likely. But my conscience will not allow it, for, I think, some very good reasons. And just what are those, you may ask. I shall now answer. Simone Weil wrote that to love one's neighbor as oneself must include loving (respecting) one's neighbor's desire, that is, the neighbor who has different desires and is thus different from ourselves, providing that desire does no harm. It is not enough to love neighbors who look like us and share our views! Does gay marriage cause harm? Love and do what you want, wrote Augustine. (His definition of love, of course, means a deep, responsible love that might begin with two individuals but is not to stop there, extending further and further to eventually include the whole world.) Genuine love between homosexuals is undeniable; if you doubt it, learn about the Aids Quilt Project. I am convinced that it is religiously and morally wrong for society to hinder loving relationships. Gay marriage will thus strengthen, not weaken, the institution of marriage. As a religious person, I know that God is more interested in the love between two individuals than in the plumbing of their bodies.
Hope to see you at somebody's smarriage some day--soon.
One of the chief areas of opposition concerns the name: marriage. There are many who support full legal rights for gay unions but believe that the term "marriage" should be reserved for the legal union of one man with one woman. In one of the last polls taken, 57% of Americans support full legal status for gay unions; a majority, however, still opposes that they should be called marriages. There are many very decent people who believe this, especially among older individuals. Bridging the gap between acceptance and terminology, however, need not be difficult. This little article is written to help reduce that gap to an insignificant crack.
What's in a name? Apparently, plenty. I propose the coinage of a new name, almost identical to the word "marriage" to define gay unions. Legislation could be passed quicker using this term; those believing that the word "marriage" should be restricted to heterosexual couples would have no objection to the new term. If society, at a later date, should decide that the distinction need no longer exist, subsequent legislation could be passed using the term "marriage" for the unions of both heterosexual and homosexual couples.
At first I thought to combine "gay" and "marriage," but the term "gmarriage" is very unwieldy. I subsequently coined what I think to be a much better term. The German word for "gay" is "schwul;" take the "s" from this and add it to "marriage" and presto! a quite usable word emerges: smarriage. May I smarry you? Love and Smarriage. Let me not to the smarriage of two minds admit impediments. All right, it might sound a little comical at first, but it is euphonious and could serve a very useful function, albeit a temporary one. The term "civil union" is far too abstract and bureaucratic; gays are right to demand more as a designation of a loving relationship. "Smarriage?"--Why not?
Perhaps, at first, smarriage rights might differ slightly--but only very slightly--from marriage rights. This would placate those who need to see a differentiation between them. Just as we are unlikely to get a perfect health-care law, we might, for political reasons, have to settle for a slightly less than equivalent smarriage law. It could easily be amended later as opposition decreases. I encourage all those involved, however peripherally, with this important civil rights issue to start spreading the word, in this case a very specific word. It might just help to get the right thing done more quickly. There is enough suffering in the world already; we must not be complacent.
I am in the demographic age group most opposed to legalizing gay marriage, namely, males over sixty. I am also religious, which makes opposition to gay marriage even more likely. But my conscience will not allow it, for, I think, some very good reasons. And just what are those, you may ask. I shall now answer. Simone Weil wrote that to love one's neighbor as oneself must include loving (respecting) one's neighbor's desire, that is, the neighbor who has different desires and is thus different from ourselves, providing that desire does no harm. It is not enough to love neighbors who look like us and share our views! Does gay marriage cause harm? Love and do what you want, wrote Augustine. (His definition of love, of course, means a deep, responsible love that might begin with two individuals but is not to stop there, extending further and further to eventually include the whole world.) Genuine love between homosexuals is undeniable; if you doubt it, learn about the Aids Quilt Project. I am convinced that it is religiously and morally wrong for society to hinder loving relationships. Gay marriage will thus strengthen, not weaken, the institution of marriage. As a religious person, I know that God is more interested in the love between two individuals than in the plumbing of their bodies.
Hope to see you at somebody's smarriage some day--soon.
1.26.2010
A Review of "In My Brother's Shadow" ("Am Beispiel meines Bruders") by Uwe Timm
Elie Wiesel wrote of two great misfortunes of the past century. One was to be born into a family of survivors of the Nazi Holocaust; the other one was being born into a family of perpetrators. "In My Brother's Shadow," a deeply moving portrait by Uwe Timm of his family's collaboration with the Nazis, belongs to the latter category. To get a fuller picture of that terrible time; to get at the root of how so-called normal people can collaborate with evil and to use the insight gained to help prevent future nightmares, we need to read about those who abetted the Nazis as well as those who suffered at their hands. We are fortunate that Timm wrote this book; it is essential reading.
Timm aimed for something big with this little book, and I believe he mostly succeeded. On one level it is a portrait, stripped to essentials, of his problematic family. On another level, the family is meant to be symbolic of so many other German families of the time, many members of which descended into evil without even being aware of it.
It is the story of a rather unhappy, dysfunctionally functional family. The father, an intelligent and ambitious man, was never able to realize his gifts. He could have been a lawyer, Timm tells us, but did not study at a university, presumably from lack of means. He is seething with anger for which he has no outlet. He considers himself a failure. He winds up being a furrier, a mediocre one at that--an occupation which he hates. As with many frustrated fathers, he expects his elder son, eighteen years older than Uwe, to succeed where he has failed. The father desperately wanted to consider himself and his son elite; perhaps that is why his son voluntarily joins, while still in his teens, the so-called elite SS Death Head Division.
The book contains excerpts from the elder brother's laconic diary which he maintained while fighting in Russia. It is highly probable that he was involved in, or at least witnessed, atrocities committed against civilians. The diary ends with his stating that it makes no sense to keep a diary when such horrible things occur. Just what those horrible things were he never mentions.
The father, who never joined the Nazi Party, and the son, quiet, respectful, never utters anything in the diary against the Jews, although he must have been indoctrinated frequently, nevertheless fight without any scruples for the Nazi cause.
(The father fought in the air force.)
This is the horror of the book: if it hadn't been for Hitler, Timm's family would have led "normal" lives--they would have been "upright" citizens, no doubt about it. Their unhappiness and difficulties would not have been that different from those of an unhappy family living in, say, New Jersey. Their elder son, who died on the Russian front in 1943 at the age of twenty-one, might have indeed have been able to distinguish himself in life.
This is a very moral book, but an aesthetically successful one, too: the author never preaches. Timm's purpose is not only to objectively portray the past but to analyze the reasons of his family's moral failure in order to understand and prevent others from sliding into evil. His witnessing is an important complement to the witnessing of the victims.
From Timm's portrait it is fairly clear how this "normal" family failed, and, by extension, how many Germans failed. I think the main failures can be summarized as follows:
1. Lack of Self-Awareness. Thoreau's dictum that the unexamined life is not worth living applies here perfectly. The seething anger behind the father's reticence and authoritarian behavior is never diffused by self-reflection. His thwarted and unexpressed sense of failure sets the stage for his son's fateful decision to join the Nazis.
2. Lack of Genuine Transcendence. The father's life, as he sees it, is meaningless. His chief response to the disorder of his inner life is to make a fetish out of order. The highest example of this is, for him, national order; it is never questioned. The mother never questions the father's authority, even though she might have come up with better solutions. Thus, this lack of genuine transcendence links directly to self-absorption and lack of moral and political engagement. Timm, an expert in saying much with little, recounts how the father emphasized the first syllable of "The German Empire"--as if it were God! To follow orders blindly was for Timm's father an ideal; it later became a poor excuse for him and so many others.
These and other reasons for the German failure to confront fascism have been portrayed elsewhere; Timm gives them faces--And the faces just might not be very different from ours. To show us why the descent into evil is not inevitable is the purpose of this wonderful, horrible, cautionary memoir.
This book is, I believe, a postmodern classic. The ambiguity of evil; ordinary people doing monstrous things. Hating these Germans is not possible; they are too much like ourselves. Uwe Timm has risen about his past by a process of examination of his family and of his country. He is a politically engaged, successful author, who, presumably, is not plagued with a sense of failure. He gives us hope. But how many of us have the time, talent and inclination to examine ourselves? One can always begin by reading this book.
Timm aimed for something big with this little book, and I believe he mostly succeeded. On one level it is a portrait, stripped to essentials, of his problematic family. On another level, the family is meant to be symbolic of so many other German families of the time, many members of which descended into evil without even being aware of it.
It is the story of a rather unhappy, dysfunctionally functional family. The father, an intelligent and ambitious man, was never able to realize his gifts. He could have been a lawyer, Timm tells us, but did not study at a university, presumably from lack of means. He is seething with anger for which he has no outlet. He considers himself a failure. He winds up being a furrier, a mediocre one at that--an occupation which he hates. As with many frustrated fathers, he expects his elder son, eighteen years older than Uwe, to succeed where he has failed. The father desperately wanted to consider himself and his son elite; perhaps that is why his son voluntarily joins, while still in his teens, the so-called elite SS Death Head Division.
The book contains excerpts from the elder brother's laconic diary which he maintained while fighting in Russia. It is highly probable that he was involved in, or at least witnessed, atrocities committed against civilians. The diary ends with his stating that it makes no sense to keep a diary when such horrible things occur. Just what those horrible things were he never mentions.
The father, who never joined the Nazi Party, and the son, quiet, respectful, never utters anything in the diary against the Jews, although he must have been indoctrinated frequently, nevertheless fight without any scruples for the Nazi cause.
(The father fought in the air force.)
This is the horror of the book: if it hadn't been for Hitler, Timm's family would have led "normal" lives--they would have been "upright" citizens, no doubt about it. Their unhappiness and difficulties would not have been that different from those of an unhappy family living in, say, New Jersey. Their elder son, who died on the Russian front in 1943 at the age of twenty-one, might have indeed have been able to distinguish himself in life.
This is a very moral book, but an aesthetically successful one, too: the author never preaches. Timm's purpose is not only to objectively portray the past but to analyze the reasons of his family's moral failure in order to understand and prevent others from sliding into evil. His witnessing is an important complement to the witnessing of the victims.
From Timm's portrait it is fairly clear how this "normal" family failed, and, by extension, how many Germans failed. I think the main failures can be summarized as follows:
1. Lack of Self-Awareness. Thoreau's dictum that the unexamined life is not worth living applies here perfectly. The seething anger behind the father's reticence and authoritarian behavior is never diffused by self-reflection. His thwarted and unexpressed sense of failure sets the stage for his son's fateful decision to join the Nazis.
2. Lack of Genuine Transcendence. The father's life, as he sees it, is meaningless. His chief response to the disorder of his inner life is to make a fetish out of order. The highest example of this is, for him, national order; it is never questioned. The mother never questions the father's authority, even though she might have come up with better solutions. Thus, this lack of genuine transcendence links directly to self-absorption and lack of moral and political engagement. Timm, an expert in saying much with little, recounts how the father emphasized the first syllable of "The German Empire"--as if it were God! To follow orders blindly was for Timm's father an ideal; it later became a poor excuse for him and so many others.
These and other reasons for the German failure to confront fascism have been portrayed elsewhere; Timm gives them faces--And the faces just might not be very different from ours. To show us why the descent into evil is not inevitable is the purpose of this wonderful, horrible, cautionary memoir.
This book is, I believe, a postmodern classic. The ambiguity of evil; ordinary people doing monstrous things. Hating these Germans is not possible; they are too much like ourselves. Uwe Timm has risen about his past by a process of examination of his family and of his country. He is a politically engaged, successful author, who, presumably, is not plagued with a sense of failure. He gives us hope. But how many of us have the time, talent and inclination to examine ourselves? One can always begin by reading this book.
1.13.2010
The Direct Path to God
The direct path to God begins by forgetting Him. Forget the idle debate regarding God's existence. Forget it completely; forget it absolutely. This is the best way to begin.
Every entry onto this path is different; the endpoint of the path, however, is always the same.
One begins the path from where one is at the moment. The topography is a combination of one's surroundings and how one views them.
The path is one. It is neither inner nor outer. The path is one.
There are no absolutely correct concepts. There is, however, an absolutely correct path.
Although the starting points are different, the path is the same for the Hottentot and for the secular humanist; the same for the Kabbalist and for the Keralite; the same for the fundamentalist and for the atheist.
Just as physical exercise trims the belly, walking on this path trims the self. This process is what the Greeks called kenosis, self-emptying. Don't worry, there will always be enough self left for what is needed.
We tend to forget that the truths of science are not absolute. It is always possible, even likely, that a new scientific paradigm will replace or significantly modify an older one; our science is also limited by the way our brains have been constructed through the process of evolution. Where life has evolved differently--it is certainly reasonable to assume that the universe, not to mention universes, contain other examples of conscious life besides ours--life will be viewed differently.
If there is or was a Euclid in a very different universe, you can be sure that his mathematical propositions would be very different from the ones we know.
Common sense, for which the measurement of time and space is an absolute, has been proven wrong.
All dogmas are, of course, metaphors. This truth, however, intensifies their meanings; it does not negate them.
Their target, our endpoint, is Silence, not facts.
You have heard of this path before; at your best you have walked on it already. (Two messages from a bird just above it: you have no reason to worry. And you have not done enough.)
It is the single salutary path we have: it is the path of Wisdom and Love.
It is necessary to walk on it, however difficult it may be to move forward. It is not necessary, sometimes even quite detrimental, to talk about it.
Does the Path of Wisdom and Love sound like a cliche? What is a cliche? A cliche is a truth debased by the mouths of those who do not practice it.
Sometimes you might wander off the path and believe that you are still on it. At other times you might be on the path and believe that you are lost. With diligence you will eventually realize exactly where you are.
If you like, call it by a different name. The Sanskrit terms bhakthi (devotion) and jnana (wisdom) will do nicely. No matter what you call it, walk on.
Wisdom is the knowledge of the interconnectedness of everyone and everything; it is true wisdom when it has entered one's marrow. Without love, wisdom can be dry.
Love-well, if you're human, there's no reason to define this! Without wisdom, however, love can be blind.
The most important love is the love for fellow human beings. But this must not be done in exclusion to other important loves. Care for nature in all her diversity is also very important. A positive relation to one's work--which should somehow help others--is also essential. And one should not neglect the love of art--At its best, art is a trustworthy guide. Bach is not a diversion.
If love and wisdom are only feelings, you will not move. If they enable you to take a step, however small, rejoice--You have moved on.
Rejoice! The combination of love and wisdom will take you far.
One way of thinking too much of yourself is by thinking too much of yourself. It is a great burden. The other way of thinking too much of yourself is by thinking too little of yourself. This, too, is a great burden. The path is the sole way to leave burdens behind.
The contemplation of wisdom increases love. The action of love increases wisdom. As you move on, you will learn something amazing: they are one and the same.
Are you somehow crippled and cannot begin? He or she abused me. He or she abuses me. The ardor of the journey will silence such idle complaints. The progress you will make will transcend them.
You still cannot walk? Get yourself crutches. You have no legs? Allow friends to convey you. You have no friends? You have at least one. (It is not God, it is not you.) This one friend will do.
Once you begin--and keep walking--you will eventually see a peak above a dark forest. You may never reach it, but you will see it. Even if it becomes covered by clouds or by gnarled trees on the path; even if you can't see it, you will still see it. Even if you are in a very rough section of the path--there will be many; even if you have reached the dark forest which obscures everything; as you walk on, never forget that appearances are sometimes quite wrong: you are getting closer.
An important part of making progress on this path is helping those who are behind you and accepting help from those who are ahead.
If not now, when?
You've begun? Good. Time now to address those questions.
Why do we suffer? Farther along
Where is God? We'll know all about it
No answer? Farther along,
You will understand why!
We will understand why.
Every entry onto this path is different; the endpoint of the path, however, is always the same.
One begins the path from where one is at the moment. The topography is a combination of one's surroundings and how one views them.
The path is one. It is neither inner nor outer. The path is one.
There are no absolutely correct concepts. There is, however, an absolutely correct path.
Although the starting points are different, the path is the same for the Hottentot and for the secular humanist; the same for the Kabbalist and for the Keralite; the same for the fundamentalist and for the atheist.
Just as physical exercise trims the belly, walking on this path trims the self. This process is what the Greeks called kenosis, self-emptying. Don't worry, there will always be enough self left for what is needed.
We tend to forget that the truths of science are not absolute. It is always possible, even likely, that a new scientific paradigm will replace or significantly modify an older one; our science is also limited by the way our brains have been constructed through the process of evolution. Where life has evolved differently--it is certainly reasonable to assume that the universe, not to mention universes, contain other examples of conscious life besides ours--life will be viewed differently.
If there is or was a Euclid in a very different universe, you can be sure that his mathematical propositions would be very different from the ones we know.
Common sense, for which the measurement of time and space is an absolute, has been proven wrong.
All dogmas are, of course, metaphors. This truth, however, intensifies their meanings; it does not negate them.
Their target, our endpoint, is Silence, not facts.
You have heard of this path before; at your best you have walked on it already. (Two messages from a bird just above it: you have no reason to worry. And you have not done enough.)
It is the single salutary path we have: it is the path of Wisdom and Love.
It is necessary to walk on it, however difficult it may be to move forward. It is not necessary, sometimes even quite detrimental, to talk about it.
Does the Path of Wisdom and Love sound like a cliche? What is a cliche? A cliche is a truth debased by the mouths of those who do not practice it.
Sometimes you might wander off the path and believe that you are still on it. At other times you might be on the path and believe that you are lost. With diligence you will eventually realize exactly where you are.
If you like, call it by a different name. The Sanskrit terms bhakthi (devotion) and jnana (wisdom) will do nicely. No matter what you call it, walk on.
Wisdom is the knowledge of the interconnectedness of everyone and everything; it is true wisdom when it has entered one's marrow. Without love, wisdom can be dry.
Love-well, if you're human, there's no reason to define this! Without wisdom, however, love can be blind.
The most important love is the love for fellow human beings. But this must not be done in exclusion to other important loves. Care for nature in all her diversity is also very important. A positive relation to one's work--which should somehow help others--is also essential. And one should not neglect the love of art--At its best, art is a trustworthy guide. Bach is not a diversion.
If love and wisdom are only feelings, you will not move. If they enable you to take a step, however small, rejoice--You have moved on.
Rejoice! The combination of love and wisdom will take you far.
One way of thinking too much of yourself is by thinking too much of yourself. It is a great burden. The other way of thinking too much of yourself is by thinking too little of yourself. This, too, is a great burden. The path is the sole way to leave burdens behind.
The contemplation of wisdom increases love. The action of love increases wisdom. As you move on, you will learn something amazing: they are one and the same.
Are you somehow crippled and cannot begin? He or she abused me. He or she abuses me. The ardor of the journey will silence such idle complaints. The progress you will make will transcend them.
You still cannot walk? Get yourself crutches. You have no legs? Allow friends to convey you. You have no friends? You have at least one. (It is not God, it is not you.) This one friend will do.
Once you begin--and keep walking--you will eventually see a peak above a dark forest. You may never reach it, but you will see it. Even if it becomes covered by clouds or by gnarled trees on the path; even if you can't see it, you will still see it. Even if you are in a very rough section of the path--there will be many; even if you have reached the dark forest which obscures everything; as you walk on, never forget that appearances are sometimes quite wrong: you are getting closer.
An important part of making progress on this path is helping those who are behind you and accepting help from those who are ahead.
If not now, when?
You've begun? Good. Time now to address those questions.
Why do we suffer? Farther along
Where is God? We'll know all about it
No answer? Farther along,
You will understand why!
We will understand why.
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