After listening to Isabella Rossellini’s
Commencement Speech, May 29, 2010


“Follow your bliss! Follow your genie!
Like that model, Rossellini--”
That is very good advice, kind Sir,
Excuse me--while I follow her.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!