October 7, 2019
From dining on them with the aesthetic deliberation of a gourmet to merely snacking on them like a couch potato, words have been the comfort food of my mind for as long as I can remember. The happy transition from carrying around a teddy bear to carrying around a book took place almost seven decades ago; happily there is as yet no inclination to reverting to carrying around a stuffed animal again, this time while roaming the confines of a nursing home; at least for now. Well, here I was aboard Queen Mary 2 without a book; I thought I had packed one, but apparently hadn't. After briefly getting lost again on this huge ship, we finally arrived at the library on deck 8, on which a funny-sad incident occurred.
I wanted to get a book in a different language. I noticed that a guide to the colored-coded sections was posted: a black patch for non-fiction, a yellow one for thrillers, etc., and, finally, a white one for books in other languages than English. I approached the librarian, a dark-skinned black man in his 40s, with a shaven head gleaming in the light like a harvest moon. "Where is the white section?" I asked him. His puzzled expression seemed to convey, "O God, here comes another one. How long do I have to go until I can retire?" "I beg your pardon," he said out loud. In all innocence I repeated the question, "Where is the white section?" "What do you mean by the white section, Sir?" he asked, with more than a hint of annoyance. "The section with books in foreign languages" I replied. He pointed down the corridor. "See that white woman there? Follow her."
The selection of books was quite limited. I finally chose, "2084: La Fin du Monde, by Boahem Sansal, which received Le Grand Prix du Roman de l'Acadédeme Française, 2015. It is a dystopian novel which takes place in a fanatically religious community in which everyone must submit and not think. The book is a combination of Orwellian nightmare and a (deadly serious) parody of Islamic fundamentalism. The epigraph of the novel is noteworthy. I will provide it in the original French along with my translation:
La religion fait peut-être aimer Dieu, mais rien n'est plus fort qu'elle pour faire détester l'homme et haír l'humanité. (Religion can, perhaps, make one love God, but nothing is stronger then it to make one detest human beings and to hate humanity.)
This quote reminds me of one by the physicist Steven Weinberg which I discussed in a previous essay: "With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil--but for good people to do evil--that takes religion."
Both quotes, I think, miss the mark. Religion perhaps can make one love God? What about Martin Luther King. St. Francis, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, among others? Their faith certainly made them better people. Religion can certainly add a considerable dose of fanaticism to politics, but so can politics without religion, e.g Stalin, Hitler and Mao. The practice of politics has been flawed throughout history; it's not surprising, given the state of humanity, that the practice of religion has been deficient as well. It all comes down to love and wisdom, the still small voice within, which we all heed with varying degrees of success. It is the betrayal of religion and politics by religion and politics that is the problem.
Eight persons, four couples, including Nirmala and me, ate at a common table every night during the cruise.
As everyone who reads my blog regularly must know by now, politics and religion, subjects one is not supposed to bring up in polite company, are among my favorite subjects. I shouldn't have broached these topics, but I did. First night: I discovered that the other six were all Trump supporters; end of discussion. Next night: they turned out to be fundamentalist Christians as well. One young couple from Indiana grew irate--at least the man did--when I stated, politely but with conviction, that I found it impossible for an educated person to deny the validity of evolution. I was told that it is "only a theory." I explained what the scientific definition of theory is. I told them that the mechanics of gravity is also constitute a theory. Would they like to demonstrate its invalidity by jumping out a window? I also denied that the gospels, written by committed Christ-centered persons long after the death of Jesus, wee accurate historical records. The husband grew even more irate and said I was dead wrong. I countered that he believed both that 2 and 2 equals 4 and that Jesus was literally the Son of God; if chance had had its way and they had been born in Mecca, however, they would still believe that 2 and 2 equals 4, yet deny that Jesus was divine, but a prophet and a man, and that the Koran was an infallible message to Mohammad directly from Allah via the angel Gabriel. Obviously, 2 and 2 equals 4 must represent a qualitatively different form of knowledge. No, he replied, the Muslims and the Jews are just plain wrong.
His wife, a Marine, was kinder and more polite. I told them not to worry if they ever came to doubt what they believed so ardently now: a life of love and wisdom will always be possible, and that's all that matters. After all, Jesus himself indicated that he, unlike rabbits who have hutches. was virtually homeless. I tried my best not to sound self-righteous, since, God knows, I have no reason to be.
I shouldn't have said all this, although I was respectful throughout; I think I was a bit nervous, because I did't know what to say. It was either an attempt at friendly polemics or eating dinner in silence while everyone else talked about the glories of the Second Amendment. I want to make clear that the young couple, as well as everyone else, were fine people, albeit with views very different from mine.
Facts, facts, facts! Pastor Gradgrind is apparently still doing very well in Indiana--yet going beyond facts is essential if one is to have a vigorous inner life; going beyond facts is also the exclusive domain of poetry, in the broadest sense of that word.
The problem with poetry is that in its visible, outer form it remains largely unread, while in its more important invisible, inner form, it remains wildly and spitefully unpracticed. If you doubt this, read a newspaper, or do what is most difficult of all, look into your own heart.
Inside wormholes into outside. The invisible rises to the visible; consciousness is a Möbius strip!
And, after all this, a final metaphor:
Each one of us is a satellite revolving, whether we like it or not, around a brilliant sun. We must revolve, but it is our decision whether or not to rotate, to revolve around our own axis. If you choose not to; if you choose to spend your life always facing the void like the dark side of the moon, that is your choice. If you rotate, however, you will certainly be well acquainted with the night, but will also know that day follows night: you will also spend a good portion of your time basking in the light while choosing life. Choose life.
From dining on them with the aesthetic deliberation of a gourmet to merely snacking on them like a couch potato, words have been the comfort food of my mind for as long as I can remember. The happy transition from carrying around a teddy bear to carrying around a book took place almost seven decades ago; happily there is as yet no inclination to reverting to carrying around a stuffed animal again, this time while roaming the confines of a nursing home; at least for now. Well, here I was aboard Queen Mary 2 without a book; I thought I had packed one, but apparently hadn't. After briefly getting lost again on this huge ship, we finally arrived at the library on deck 8, on which a funny-sad incident occurred.
I wanted to get a book in a different language. I noticed that a guide to the colored-coded sections was posted: a black patch for non-fiction, a yellow one for thrillers, etc., and, finally, a white one for books in other languages than English. I approached the librarian, a dark-skinned black man in his 40s, with a shaven head gleaming in the light like a harvest moon. "Where is the white section?" I asked him. His puzzled expression seemed to convey, "O God, here comes another one. How long do I have to go until I can retire?" "I beg your pardon," he said out loud. In all innocence I repeated the question, "Where is the white section?" "What do you mean by the white section, Sir?" he asked, with more than a hint of annoyance. "The section with books in foreign languages" I replied. He pointed down the corridor. "See that white woman there? Follow her."
The selection of books was quite limited. I finally chose, "2084: La Fin du Monde, by Boahem Sansal, which received Le Grand Prix du Roman de l'Acadédeme Française, 2015. It is a dystopian novel which takes place in a fanatically religious community in which everyone must submit and not think. The book is a combination of Orwellian nightmare and a (deadly serious) parody of Islamic fundamentalism. The epigraph of the novel is noteworthy. I will provide it in the original French along with my translation:
La religion fait peut-être aimer Dieu, mais rien n'est plus fort qu'elle pour faire détester l'homme et haír l'humanité. (Religion can, perhaps, make one love God, but nothing is stronger then it to make one detest human beings and to hate humanity.)
This quote reminds me of one by the physicist Steven Weinberg which I discussed in a previous essay: "With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil--but for good people to do evil--that takes religion."
Both quotes, I think, miss the mark. Religion perhaps can make one love God? What about Martin Luther King. St. Francis, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, among others? Their faith certainly made them better people. Religion can certainly add a considerable dose of fanaticism to politics, but so can politics without religion, e.g Stalin, Hitler and Mao. The practice of politics has been flawed throughout history; it's not surprising, given the state of humanity, that the practice of religion has been deficient as well. It all comes down to love and wisdom, the still small voice within, which we all heed with varying degrees of success. It is the betrayal of religion and politics by religion and politics that is the problem.
Eight persons, four couples, including Nirmala and me, ate at a common table every night during the cruise.
As everyone who reads my blog regularly must know by now, politics and religion, subjects one is not supposed to bring up in polite company, are among my favorite subjects. I shouldn't have broached these topics, but I did. First night: I discovered that the other six were all Trump supporters; end of discussion. Next night: they turned out to be fundamentalist Christians as well. One young couple from Indiana grew irate--at least the man did--when I stated, politely but with conviction, that I found it impossible for an educated person to deny the validity of evolution. I was told that it is "only a theory." I explained what the scientific definition of theory is. I told them that the mechanics of gravity is also constitute a theory. Would they like to demonstrate its invalidity by jumping out a window? I also denied that the gospels, written by committed Christ-centered persons long after the death of Jesus, wee accurate historical records. The husband grew even more irate and said I was dead wrong. I countered that he believed both that 2 and 2 equals 4 and that Jesus was literally the Son of God; if chance had had its way and they had been born in Mecca, however, they would still believe that 2 and 2 equals 4, yet deny that Jesus was divine, but a prophet and a man, and that the Koran was an infallible message to Mohammad directly from Allah via the angel Gabriel. Obviously, 2 and 2 equals 4 must represent a qualitatively different form of knowledge. No, he replied, the Muslims and the Jews are just plain wrong.
His wife, a Marine, was kinder and more polite. I told them not to worry if they ever came to doubt what they believed so ardently now: a life of love and wisdom will always be possible, and that's all that matters. After all, Jesus himself indicated that he, unlike rabbits who have hutches. was virtually homeless. I tried my best not to sound self-righteous, since, God knows, I have no reason to be.
I shouldn't have said all this, although I was respectful throughout; I think I was a bit nervous, because I did't know what to say. It was either an attempt at friendly polemics or eating dinner in silence while everyone else talked about the glories of the Second Amendment. I want to make clear that the young couple, as well as everyone else, were fine people, albeit with views very different from mine.
Facts, facts, facts! Pastor Gradgrind is apparently still doing very well in Indiana--yet going beyond facts is essential if one is to have a vigorous inner life; going beyond facts is also the exclusive domain of poetry, in the broadest sense of that word.
The problem with poetry is that in its visible, outer form it remains largely unread, while in its more important invisible, inner form, it remains wildly and spitefully unpracticed. If you doubt this, read a newspaper, or do what is most difficult of all, look into your own heart.
Inside wormholes into outside. The invisible rises to the visible; consciousness is a Möbius strip!
And, after all this, a final metaphor:
Each one of us is a satellite revolving, whether we like it or not, around a brilliant sun. We must revolve, but it is our decision whether or not to rotate, to revolve around our own axis. If you choose not to; if you choose to spend your life always facing the void like the dark side of the moon, that is your choice. If you rotate, however, you will certainly be well acquainted with the night, but will also know that day follows night: you will also spend a good portion of your time basking in the light while choosing life. Choose life.
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