N-Words

"I can't hate you. I'd rather die than hate you." - Dr. Martin Luther King, as quoted in Here If You Need Me.

I remember sitting in the backseat of our family car as a small child, waiting in the parking lot of a supermarket with my sister and her best friend while my mother shopped for groceries inside. When an elderly black man left the story and began walking into the parking lot, one of the two girls -- both of whom were seven years older than me -- used a word in reference to him. I asked what it meant, and they replied that it was just used in reference to black people. With childish excitement at knowing a new word (and innocence at its meaning), I stuck my head outside the open window and yelled "Hey, ni-"

That was as far as I got before being muffled and hauled in by my now embarrassed sisters. At that point I learned that the word was taboo, not to be uttered in public -- especially not in the presence of black people. In the United States, and particularly in the American south where slavery held sway for centuries and segregation lingered for decades thereafter, the word is odious. No other word in the American language, not even that versatile word that George Carlin so championed, is as offensive in the south.  Despite this, it sees heavy usage among both blacks and whites, used in different contexts.  The word may no longer be fit for public utterance, but the meaning -- the emotions -- behind it still lurk in the minds of people.

As I've grown older I've learned to ignore words themselves and focus on their meanings, hence why "cuss" words no longer make me flinch  as they did in my Pentecostal youth, and why I regard the excitement about them as being...silly, almost juvenile. I am more concerned with the malicious meanings behind socially acceptable words than I am the "offensiveness" of words deemed profane. The "n-word" is not the only word in history that has been used to belittle and marginalize people: there are a host of such words, and we use them every day when we use labels to write someone off.

A couple of years ago, I endured a falling-out with a friend over this issue. He made heavy use of  such words, as he enjoyed being the center of attention in a given conversation and typically held such attention by attacking other people in jokes. His preferred targets were "libs" and "Dems", although in truth anyone who disagreed with him or who bothered him in any little way would attract his attention.  I found this behavior boorish and increasingly unpleasant, and so parted ways with him. His behavior bothered me not simply because of the stock I put in simple decency, but because I knew I shared his behavior in some ways. I would never use labels to assault someone in public, of course, but I used them in private when writing or thinking. Just as he had his 'libs and dems', I had choice targets like "fundies".

Shortly after our falling out, I swore off using labels to demean people. I do not want to keep company with the hostility, contempt, anger, and loathing that those words gave voice to, and denying them a voice was the first step. Instead of voicing these emotions, I decided to examine them -- to turn them over and upside down, and sort out why I felt that way toward one person or another. (I became more interested in Stoicism after my departure from this friend, as it turned into a bitter row with emotional fallout that lingered for months.)  I decided that attacking people with labels did no good: it only dehumanized them in my eyes, and that took me down a road I was not willing to travel. As a humanist, I wish to remain charitable toward all, even those who wish me ill will.  It is my way of defending myself, of not wounding what I am capable of. I stand for Humanity: not just my fellow Homo sapiens but for what we are capable of -- for what we may achieve not just in knowledge and in prosperity, but in how we act.  I want a better society than this, and I do not think that can be achieved if we continually attack one another as people.

A year or so ago I realized something else: labels are foolish, not just because they dehumanize others but because they are so frequently unreliable. People are not nearly as consistent as we would like to believe in stereotypical behavior: the man we denounce as a bastard one day may render a kindness the next. Instead of writing someone off, I choose to evaluate their actions. I do myself the same kindness. I can never know enough about a person's personality and character to judge them, but I can think about their actions and judge them for worth or harm. By focusing on what they do, I can avoid demeaning them for who they are and possibly even provoke a change in them by remarking on the destructive tendency of their actions in a more objective manner -- something not possible if I were to attack them. Concentrating on verbs is more useful than employing "n-words" -- nouns in this manner.

In the past year, I have grown in my ability to put aside labels and deal with people as people, and I am happy to report that my desire to understand others quickly overcomes hostility toward behavior I find objectionable (believing in dogma, for instance). Progress along these lines is thus possible, if we are willing to strive toward it.

Gandhi

No other movie in my DVD library effects me as powerfully as Sir Richard Attenborough's Gandhi. The first time I saw it, it so compelled me that I watched the movie several more times that very weekend. As many times as I have seen it, it never fails to provoke a response in me. I've read it described as "cinematic hagiography", a celebratory portrayal of an icon. The film covers Gandhi's life as a political activist, from his initial campaigns in South Africa to his role in India's independence movement spanning most of the 20th century.

Gandhi is well-known for his commitment to nonviolence, a commitment that inspired Dr. Martin Luther King's approach to the Civil Rights Movement in the United States. I do not believe I was aware of the moral strength and conviction such a commitment required until I saw Gandhi's depiction in this movie, nor did I appreciate it as I do now. When the film begins, Gandhi is but a young lawyer, one thrown off a train when he refused to leave his first-class ticket. These tickets are denied to all "colored" people, Indians included, and this confrontation begins Gandhi's career in activism. He begins campaigning on behalf of the Indians in South Africa, but from the start holds fast to nonviolence. The film's most poignant moment for me is a speech made to a conference of Indians soon thereafter, where he speaks publicly on the need for nonviolence.

In response to Gandhi's initial campaigns, the British government issues a law requiring that all Indians come forth to be fingerprinted. The law further states that British policemen can search Indian households with no given cause. Outraged at this infringement of human rights, several of the men in the audience swear to kill any British officials who dare insult them in this manner. Gandhi praises their courage, but adds that while he too is prepared to die in this just cause, "there is no cause for which [he] is prepare to kill".

He then proceeds to champion nonviolence, which is rooted not only in Hindi religious philosophy, but out a devotion to what I can only term radical love.

"I am asking you to fight. To fight against their anger, not to provoke it. We will not strike a blow -- but we will receive them. And through our pain, we will make them see their injustice. And it will hurt, as all fighting hurts. But we cannot lose. We cannot. They may torture my body, break my bones -- even kill me. Then they will have my dead body -- not my obedience."

Every time I view this scene, I am struck by the power of it. Gandhi is committed to nonviolence not just to prove his point without making the situation worse, but to force the oppressors to see what their ambition, pride, fear, and anger are lowering them to. He's sacrificing his own comfort -- taking pain -- to help the very people who administer that pain so that both of them may be freed from the oppression. This is a kind of nobility that defies words, and I cannot witness it without being changed by it.

Gandhi and his followers do not champion nonviolence simply out of religious piety or even because of their committment to radical love that goes beyond any system of ideas. It's also pragmatic. Not only does their commitment to nonviolent action rob the oppressors of legitimate excuses to grow ever more horrific, but it ensures a kind of purity among the demonstrators. It weeds out weaker characters, people easily given to bloodshed and close-minded partisanship.  The future first prime minister of India, Mr. Nehru, asks mid-film: if India becomes free through violence and war, what kind of leaders will that throw up?  The viewer need only glance at the history of nations forged by gun-toting revolutionaries, states like the Soviet Union and the First French Republic. Violence begets violence, and I think Gandhi realized that the chain of events must be undone before it leads to greater tragedies. In spite of his yearning for a free India, he and others committed to nonviolence are committed to gaining that independence the right way -- "proving worthy" of it. When the time is come, freedom 'will fall like a ripe apple'. Gandhi and those who support him demonstrate in action their principles, standing up against abuse and demonstrating on behalf of their rights against fierce resistance throughout the movie.

Gandhi's philosophy makes this movie for me, but it is far from Gandhi's only strength. The acting is well-done, and the music is stellar. I adore the depiction of Gandhi in this movie, particularly the character's humbleness, simplicity, and dedication. I don't know that the movie's characterization is quite fair to Mr. Jinnah, the future prime minister of Pakistan: throughout the film he's portrayed as hostile toward Gandhi, and ever self-absorbed. I am not familiar with Gandhi, Nehru, or Jinnah's total biographies, nor with the Indian independence moment as a whole, so I would not be surprised if there are historical inaccuracies done for the sake of making a more dramatic movie. Tension has its place.   A review I read in the course of looking for a specific quote from the movie claims that Attenborough took some liberties but aptly portrayed Gandhi's philosophy and dedication.

I believe this to be a particularly strong movie, remarkable for its depiction of human beings at their very best -- fighting injustice while not becoming party to it,  returning spite for compassion. Gandhi's story, as well as Martin Luther King's, proves that we can fight for our humanity and not lose it in the process.


Here's the trailer that lured me into watching the movie for the first time.

Love Rescue Me

Perhaps owing to my background, I am especially fond of music sung by choirs. Few things grip me as effectively as dozens of different voices singing in concert together,  all contributing to something of beauty. As a more or less nonreligious person, though, there are few choirs I can listen to without finding the lyrics of the song too objectionable. I often listen to choirs with religious lyrics and can enjoy them, but more often the lyrics are too contemptible and ruin the music. Thus, when I find a choir with a beautiful message as well as a beautiful sound, I am eager to share.

Unsurpisingly, I heard this for the first time via Playing for Change.  I've linked to their videos before, and will continue to do so in the future, but this I had never heard until I played their CD. I often listen to Playing for Change just for the joy the sound of their videos gives me. This particular video speaks to me, though. I often relate to the idea of Love the way other people relate to the idea of God, although I don't think "love" exists by itself in a form of Platonic idealism.

The choir singing is the Omagh Community Youth Choir of Ireland. You can see them singing -- and hear an account of how they came to be -- here. The lyrics they used are slightly different from the original lyrics. 

Feelings? Nothing More than Feelings?

I have heard a number of times from apologists like C.S. Lewis, Ravi Zacharias, Donald Keller, and those who subscribe to those authors’ works that the existence of real, god-given principles is proven by our reaction to their being violated. At the same time, they decry people making choices based on their feelings -- this they call relativism.

The aforementioned apologists are correct in that there are some principles at work. I doubt very much that deity hammered them out in its cosmic workshop and then built a world out of them, but I think they’re there. For instance, I’m very much opposed to the idea of being murdered or physically assaulted. I object strongly to the idea of my food being stolen. Am I to believe that these feelings -- and that is what they are -- are the result of my witnessing Thou Shalt Not Kill and Thou Shalt Not Steal being violated, rather than that they are my very natural, wholly biological, response to my well-being being violated? When my dog growls at someone who attempts to take his food away, is he observing religious principle or simply responding to this attack on his well-being? The same goes for an angry bear who has been shot by a hunter’s rifle.

I believe in natural morality, in not doing to others that which I would not have done to myself. That I can plan my behavior accordingly is an example of emotions being tempered by reason: I am making myself stronger, better prepared to live among my fellow creatures. Everyone, to an extent, follows this principle. Rage or power might change the extent to which they follow the “golden rule”, but they follow it all the same. The exceptions are sociopaths. Thus, just because morality may be based on emotional responses is no reason to discredit it.

At the same time, however, feelings themselves must be examined. In the case above, the feelings exist naturally: I don’t want to be hurt, you don’t want to be hurt. In many other cases, however, the feelings exist only because they have been made to be there: the people involved have been conditioned to feel a certain way. In the sect I grew in, women were expected to keep their hair uncut and their rears in dresses -- trousers were “men’s clothing”, and were not to be worn by females. The observance of these "Holiness" and "Separation" standards were very important to the Pentecostal identity, and observance of the rules resulted in smug or honest satisfaction that "God's will" was being observed. Thus, when my pastor’s eldest daughter showed to church with nicely-trimmed hair and a pair of fashionable slacks, her friends were reduced to tears. "Her glory is gone", they said. A Muslim may be driven into a dreadful rage at the idea of Islam being mocked, because for him Islam is world-definingly important and utterly personal. These are both examples of conditioned responses: the feelings are artificial, subjective to cultural background.

These two categories are not wholly mutually exclusive: take the case of a high-school teenager who is reduced to weeping when his team loses a homecoming game. This may have both biological and cultural elements: emotional investment in tribes and groups being biological and that instinct being applied toward an athletics team being cultural. The same is true, too, for xeno- and homophobia. The root may be fear of those who are different, but these feelings are interpreted and magnified by culture.

I do not consider fabricated or culturally-driven feelings to be of much use in my own life, and I doubt laws based on them will be either rational nor humane. To be of use to human beings, moral laws must be based on our natural feelings as they are tempered by reason.

Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek, Humanism, and Me

Thinking about my enjoyment of Star Trek and my humanism is a bit of a "chicken and egg" scenario. While I cannot tell you which came first, I can tell you that the two are inextricably connected. I was a misfit as a child, left alone when I was not being harassed by the class bullies. Looking back on those experiences now, I realize how instrumental they were in forging my character: my contempt for abuses of authority, my intense craving for justice, my emotional self-control, and especially my yearning for tolerance and kindness in human affairs. Whenever I was able to watch Star Trek, I could see the kind of world I wanted myself and others to live in: a world where people got along, where they treated one another with respect and tolerance, even if they didn't always agreed. The Starfleet officers in the various shows were always striving forward to improve themselves. In high school, I happened upon an interview with Gene Roddenberry where he spoke of his childhood and I realize that we had similar stories, and that made Star Trek all the more appealing to me. Roddenberry was a humanist, and there is little doubt that his humanism shaped at least the first two shows. Those childhood lessons grew into humanism for me, and now I appreciate Star Trek even more than I used to. Just last night I listened to Inside Star Trek, which contains the interview in which Gene talked about his childhood and the making of Star Trek. Because of my relationship to his ideas and his legacy, I transcribed part of the interview and share it here. Please note that I attempted to convey the pattern in which Roddenberry spoke, hence why some sentences trail off in thought and why there are sentence fragments.
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I can talk about things now that would have embarrassed me once. And maybe my story could be helpful to you if you're somehow different from other people, or handicapped. Most of us are, in one way or another. I guess Star Trek had its first beginnings in the fact that as a child, I was different. Handicapped. I had difficulty breathing, eyes that didn't work well in bright sunlight... spindly-legged, weak, uncoordinated. I wasn't a very pretty thing, and I suffered the awful embarrassments that only a child can feel. I don't suppose every writer has to start like that, but -- if I had been the things that I dreamed of being, agile, athletic, admired and popular, I know now that I never would have ended up with as happy a life . I became a reader. Thank God, I became a reader. I lived in a dream world because...it was a helluva lot better world. I was Dr. Doolittle, I was Zane Grey's* Lonely Cowboy...an explorer. Most of it trash, I was an Indian fighter, a fearless soldier...a fighter ace. If you read Peanuts, I was Snoopy. I fought the Red Baron many times.

Certainly, part of Star Trek was written by that boy...dreaming maybe as you do of a better world, in which people would look past our exteriors and see whatever loveliness we had inside us. I remember being about 8 years old in the backyard, sitting in the soap carton, pretending it was a great vessel of some kind -- and the bold, strong person hidden inside of me, he was the captain. I remember that it was an enclosed vessel, because I had a second soap carton pulled down over my head. After sitting there for several hours, still encased in soap cartons, I heard the concerned voices of my parents speculating whether my illness had led to brain damage. Ah, how lovely all our daughters are inside. How fearless, all our sons -- if only we could see it. I remember helping my father clean the garage. Actually, he was cleaning. I was facing the firing squad. The bullets caught me, spun me to the ground, and as I lay there bravely dying, I looked up to see my father watching me with pity on his face, assuming I was suffering some new kind of seizure.

Years later, something brought me back to reality: science fiction. Yes, incredible. Science fiction taught me to live in the real world. Thank you, Homer, my ex-convict friend. Thank you for John Carter of Mars. It made your cage more bearable, and it helped rescue me from mine. And thank you, Claude, for that first copy of Astounding Stories magazine. Sorry you didn't reach sixteen, and grow out of your illness as I did. I was lucky -- a miracle of adolescence. My body mended, I actually became stronger than average -- but science fiction saved me from that, too, saved me from the perils of a strong body.

I'd learned by then that reality is incredibly larger, infinitely more exciting than the flesh and blood vehicle that we travel in here. If you read science fiction, the more you read it, the more you realize that you and the universe are part of the same thing. Science still knows practically nothing† about the real nature of matter, energy, dimension, or time -- and even less about those remarkable things called life and thought. But whatever the meaning and purpose of this universe, you are a legitimate part of it. And since you are part of the all-that-is, part of its purpose, there is more to you than just this brief speck of existence. You are just a visitor here in this time and this place -- a traveler through it. What a difference that makes! As a traveler here, it no longer crushes you that this world is not always fair, or orderly, or understandable. Your passport allows you to fix what you can, to love, to refuse to take part in ugliness -- but meanwhile you are delighted that this is such a varied, colorful, exciting place. As a traveler, you're not here to judge, but to experience. You begin to feel a new affection for the life-forms here. You no longer feel threatened that some may be greater, or lesser, than you. It's only important that you've been given this marvelous opportunity to enjoy this trip -- to learn from it, and in my case, to write about it.

Perhaps you know where I'm leading. On a trip like this -- and it is a trip -- its loveliness is not in the sameness of people and things, but in their incredible variety... Eventually this led me to the Star Trek statement IDIC: Infinite Diversity from Infinite Combinations. Thank whatever created us, we are different. Each of us, and everything around us. To the end of time, if it ever does end, no combination will ever come up quite the same. That's quite a travel package. All of this is how Star Trek began, and it's also something of what it is about. I am an alien -- and so are you. And yet, and this is the loveliest thing of all, we are also part of each other and part of everything that is. I don't know if this has a moral or not, unless it's "don't sit inside soap cartons too long -- unless you enjoy traveling."

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* I was unable to make out the name Roddenberry said and tried to get as close as I could. I have been unable to find a character or comic strip with the label of "Lonely Cowboy". I would appreciate it if anyone reading is familiar with that label and can tell me the author responsible for it.

** I attempted to type the name as Roddenberry pronounced it. That may be his pronunciation of "Claude".

† This interview was produced in the late seventies or early eighties, judging by the fact that the interviewees kept referring to the product as a "record" and there is no mention at all of the movies or The Next Generation. As such, Roddenberry may have been unaware of advances in physics in the past few decades.

On Goodness

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a universal definition for ‘good’. I didn’t intend to do that: it popped up while I was writing on another topic. The definition that came to me was the measure of how well we fare when compared to our ideals. This definition makes it both objective and relative, in that you can use the same standard to understand the word “good” when it is being applied to a variety of situations.

For instance, say I had an uncle who I described as a good mechanic. This means that this uncle of mine comes very close to meeting the standards of an ‘ideal’ mechanic (the ones I can think of, anyway): he is extremely knowledgeable about all automobile matters; he is deft with his hands and always strives to prevent accidents; he treats his customers fairly, and he is creative at figuring out what the problems are with a car when the customer has a problem. Good’s opposite, “bad”, is a measure of how poorly we fare when we compared to our ideals. The bad mechanic, then, would possess limited knowledge, would be clumsy, would cheat his customers, would do his work sloppily, and so on. This does not mean the mechanic is a bad person -- just a bad mechanic. (Of course, if he is cheating his customers, I would not wager that he is a good person.)

I can apply this approach to any matter, I believe, and it works. I use it to understand why people say the things they do. We can see the reason why people from different systems of thought frequently come into opposition: their definitions of "good" vary. The reality that "good" is dependent on individual perceptions is objectionable to many, who strive for Absolutes. This is a topic I've written on before -- but even if someone were to set up an absolute code, goodness would still be dependent on independent perceptions, because "absolute" laws have to be interpreted by individual people. A good example of this is one of the Jewish "Ten Commandments", "Thou Shalt Not Kill". What does that mean? Ask five different people and you will probably arrive at five different answers. That statement has given rise to pacifist interpretation, vegetarian interpretation, only-in-self-defense interpretation, if-there's-a-just-war interpretation and a well-if-god-tells-you-to-it's-OK interpretation. Even as something as basic as "thou shalt not kill" is subject to a wide amount of interpretation. How many more interpretations are there for more complex codes of behavior?

Interestingly, based on this approach, I can see how people can come into conflict with themselves. If they are judging themselves by two separate sets of ideals, those ideals might conflict. For example, let's take a soldier who holds himself to the idea that you shouldn't kill. Another ideal he has, though, is that one should serve his country -- so he joins the Army and is taught to kill. He goes to a place like Afghanistan, for instance, and has to shoot people who attack him. He's taking life: he's betraying his ideals. The result would be self-conflict, but because his ideals are subject to his purposes, he rewrites the rules to make murder not-murder: he makes it self-defense. But what if he has to attack someone on suspicion that they might attack him, like say a checkpoint? Then he has taken life without actually being attacked, or even knowing he was attacked. Self-conflict ensues unless he is able to rewrite the terms once more, to justify it to himself somehow. There are many other opportunities for self-conflict: a businessman who tries to provide for his family and create a good business without mistreating his employees or cheating his customers with shoddy equipment: a lawyer who provides defense to someone she knows is guilty: an idealistic preacher who tries to keep a couple together even though the man is beating the woman, a young woman who has an abortion because she knows she can't provide a good life for a potential infant, or because it would be born with severe birth defects, and so on. In each instance, one ideal is conflicting with another.

Also, using this approach, we can see how people can come into conflict with one another and each party think of themselves as "right": We can see conflict between multiple "rights", and this is a very uncomfortable idea to live with. Take the immigration issue, for instance: I don't see a battle between the unconsciously illegal immigrants and the hard-working people who are being shut out of their jobs. I see a tragic conflict of rights: the immigrants, in my view, have a right to feed their families -- and so do the people who they are accidentally displace. Look at the American War of Independence: from the British perspective, the colonists had cost the Realm money because of their aggressive settling of Indian territory, leading to the necessity of the British defending the colonies, and the subsequent expense of it. The colonists were expected (fairly, from their perspective) to help pay for the expenses of maintaining an army. And yet from the colonial perspective, I can understand why they would resent the sudden imposition of financial burden. I understand both sides: I can support neither over the other.

I began writing this to share my definition of goodness, but I see this train of thought is not yet ended. I believe the definition I propose -- goodness being how well we fare when measured against our ideals -- is quite workable, and shows the origin of conflicts. I want to write on how we can greatly mitigate self-conflict and interpersonal conflict, but that will have to wait for another time: it strikes me as an important enough issue to merit its own post.

Reason and Emotion

"I will follow my logic, no matter where it goes, after it has consulted with my heart. If you ever come to a conclusion without calling the heart in, you will come to a bad conclusion."- Robert Ingersoll

Tonight, I watched a Star Trek episode titled “The Conscience of the King” from the original series, with text commentary by a man very much involved in the shape the Star Trek franchise took, Michael Okuda. I have been wanting for some time to write on a subject that keeps popping up in other writing that I do, and tonight I witnessed a scene that I thought might serve as an apt if somewhat geeky introduction. In this scene, Captain Kirk is faced with a difficult decision. He is in his quarters with his two best friends -- the dispassionate Mr. Spock and the passionate Dr. McCoy. In the running commentary, Okuda remarks that the scene is a classic example of the connection that exists between the three men. For Kirk, Spock is the dispassionate voice of reason -- and McCoy is voice of humanistic emotion. What made Kirk great, Okuda said, is that he relied on both, taking a balanced approach to things He used both logic and emotion to find the best solution to the problem.

In another episode, "The Galileo Seven", where the logical Mr. Spock is commanding six Starfleet officers who have crash-landed on a hostile planet. Spock’s decisions throughout the episode-- based solely on logic -- result in partial disaster for the people under his command, and he almost has something of a crisis of confidence. While a creature resembling Bigfoot bangs on the roof of their shelter, he remarks that “no one can be more than the sum of their parts”, somewhat in disbelief. Spock was wrong on this count; we are more than the sum of our parts. However, we are more than this because of the sum of our parts. Think of a car; if you assemble it the way it ought to be assembled and give it fuel and oil and so on, you have more than an admirable arrangement of metal; you have potential. You can go places -- more places than you could have gone without the car. I believe that we humans are wholly natural creatures; we are biochemical machines. But because of the sum of our parts, we have achieved a larger degree of sentience than have the rest of the animals. We have the potential to explore who we are; to define purpose for ourselves.

Defining purpose was the theme of the first Star Trek movie. It was about a sentient machine that comes to Earth, wanting to commune with its creator. As the plot of the movie unfolds, we find that the machine used to be one of the Voyager probes that was improved upon and made sentient. Having accomplished its mission of science, it sought more. Spock observes that the machine's mind functions on pure logic. V'Ger, as the machine cam to be called, sought deeper meaning to its life, but had no one to give it that meaning -- its creator was a team of long-dead NASA engineers. V’Ger was enabled to determine its own purpose by Kirk’s crew. The message of the movie is now obvious; reason and logic are not enough in giving our lives purpose. Our brains use emotion -- and so dependant on emotion are we that we need emotional fulfillment to feel satisfied.

Emotion and reason have even more use than establishing purpose; the two work to protect us. Both are necessary. Animals do not operate solely on instincts; some use reasoned strategies. I don’t know that much about defensive personal combat, but I have been told that even in fighting you must have both passion and discipline -- because your passion is most useful when it is disciplined. Emotion and reason also serve as guides. Emotions are like the wind to the sailor. A light breeze across the deck feels good, but no captain would allow strong winds to determine where his ship is to go. Reason gave us science to fashion sails to harness the wind, to somewhat subject it to working for us. Reason turned the winds of emotion into our ally. Later on, science gave us engines to progress despite the wind; to push through the wind when it would have caused them to lose their way.

Emotion and reason work hand in hand; each tempers the other. Neither should be neglected or promoted over the other. When one is neglected, the result is disaster. Fundamentalist, emotion-driven religions foster violence and suffering, and the calculated commitment to profit by corporations causes massive layoffs and distress. Horror movies and books feature both scenarios -- religion and science both running amok. The solution is balance. It’s a simple solution in theory but requires commitment to work in practice. I myself sometimes have trouble keeping emotion reined in, but take hope in the fact that I am getting better at it. I don’t think anyone can go wrong when they make their decisions on this balanced approach.

"Why should we desire the destruction of human passions? Take passions from human beings and what is left? The great object should be not to destroy passions, but to make them obedient to the intellect. To indulge passion to the utmost is one form of intemperance - to destroy passion is another. The reasonable gratification of passion under the domination of the intellect is true wisdom and perfect virtue." - Robert Ingersoll