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.

Anarchism and Humanism

Ever since reading an Emma Goldman reader (Red Emma Speaks), I've been thinking about humanism and anarchism. Anarchism was never an idea that crossed my mind before: to the extent that I thought of it, I regarded anarchism as the province of odd ducks -- people who wanted to reject everything in society, who cared only for themselves and what they wanted to do. The biography of Emile Carles, a fantastically interesting woman who became a freethinking humanist despite her background as a peasant girl in late 19th century France, first exposed me to the thoughts of self-identifying anarchists.  Carles seems to be as passionate a humanist as I, but she saw government as the enemy of her values -- as a tool of the few in power. I was hard-pressed to disagree given her account. Modern nation-states have a frightful amount of power over people, and they are quick to abuse it.  My own feelings of patriotism were already changing during this period: I increasingly distanced myself from politics while yearning for something on a smaller scale --a "human-sized" community where juggernauts were absent. Thanks in part to Stoicism, my moral code became sterner -- more demanding of me to live truly, to seperate myself from culture and live according to rational and human principles.  Laws, tradition, and culture do not matter: only goodness, only justice, only truth.

No gods and no masters for me, then. All the little roads in my life seemed to lead to anarchism: both humanism and Stoicism, for instance,  encourage people to free themselves from slavery -- from the will of outside forces, whatever form they take. Both cultures and dictators can be tyrants: I must stand against both.  When I read Red Emma Speaks, I found much of interest. She, too, stood for humanity: she opposed governments that use people unjustly, of religion that cripples us, of cultural norms.  She was a rabid individualist who derided the great mass of humanity who behave unthinkingly, following whichever flag their priests and politicans offer.  This is hard for a humanist to hear: we wish to believe the best of people. Losing heart in ourselves means conceding defeat to our weaknesses, not gloriously triumphing in spite of them.

I became and matured as a freethinker in 2006, and ever since then I have maintained a no-nonsense state of mind. When I hear an explaination or a model of something -- Marxism and Stoicism are my own personal examples -- I will admit that they sound valid, but I will not admit them into my mind before they show some rational identification of some kind. Whatever the model, if I am to believe it I want to understand it. Believing things without this inquiry is the path to self-deception. I suppose it's linked to naturalism: I call it my "show me the bones" mentality. I want to see what makes the model tick. When the subject is humanity, for instance, my "show me the bones" policy means the idea must rest on our biological heritage. We human beings are natural creatures, who are as inseperaable from Earth's history as elephants, pine trees, and the Indian Ocean.  I think it most likely that our ancestors, prior to settling permanently, acted like modern primates: we lived in family groups.  We are social animals, born into and living in groups. If we try to live by ourselves, utterly alone, I think it probable that we will be miserable.

Our intelligence grants us admittance to another world, the world of culture and beliefs. We live in this one, too. We live in this cultural-social world as assuredly as we live in the western or eastern hemispheres: we breathe ideas as we breathe oxygen.  To what extent can we seperate ourselves from that culture, from society, and be happy?  What balance between staying true to our highest ideals and compromising so to live comfortably within our society is the best for human flourishing? These are questions I am still grappling with, questions I doubt I will have answers for anytime soon.

For me, humanism and anarchism walk the same road for a great distance. They both stand for humanity, rejecting outside influences. Humanism tends to focus its wrath on religion, anarchism on government.  If Emma Goldman and Emile Carles are examples, both believe in the potential of humanity, and that this potential must be freed if it is to be realized in full.  I think, though, there is a point at which the paths diverge: humanism is more community-based, using politics to move society forward in ideals. Anarchism is fixated on the individual, the anarchist's role to be an island in a sea of culture. As much as I sympathize with the anarchist spirit, my heart is and ever shall be a Humanist one.

The Divine Dialouge

God: Okay, read that back to me.
Moses: What, from the start?
God: No, no, just the stuff we just went over.
Moses: Okay. Ah...don't kill, don't steal, don't covet thy neighbor's stuff.
God: Don't kill, don't steal, don't covet -- yes, that sounds accurate. Is that ten?
Moses: (counts) Ah...eight, nine, ten- yes, O Lord, that is ten.
God: Good. Go and tell the people of Israel what I the Lord have commanded.
Moses:  Yes, O Lord. And afterward?
God: Hm?
Moses: I don't want to hike all the way back up this mountain, O Lord, respectfully.
God: Oh. Yes. Afterward...see that land beyond the river, where thy neighbors the Canaanites live?
Moses: Yes.
God: Well, once you've delivered the laws, I wish for you to cross that river, kill the inhabitants therein, take the virgins for yourselves, live in homes you have not built, and reap from fields that you have not sown.
Moses: You..I'm sorry, run that by me again?
God: Go over there --
Moses: Right.
God: Kill the people..
Moses: ...uh..huh...
God: ...and make yourself at home with their daughters, their homes, and their possessions.
Moses:...
God: Is there a problem? Speak, O Mortal.
Moses: Y-...what about what you just said?
God: What about it?
Moses: Don't kill, don't steal, don't want stuff that isn't yours.
God: I'm not asking you to covet it, am I? Just take it. It's yours. .
Moses: But it isn't mine. It belongs to those guys. The Canaanites.
God: Oh. Well, not really. It's my land. I made it. I was just letting those guys use it. It's yours now.
Moses: O--kay....but shouldn't you tell them? Send an angel, maybe, to escort them somewhere else? It's kinda rude for me to just show up  and say --
God:  Shush! They're heathens! They don't worship me. They're not worthy. Do as I say.
Moses: Um..
God: You remember the pharaoh, Moses?
Moses: Yes..
God: Remember what happened to him?
Moses: Yeah, he wouldn't free us from slavery, sooo...you....killed all the livestock in the land and sent locusts to devour the grain, which uh...doesn't really leave any food for anybody, really. Then you killed a bunch of kids. You uh, you showed him.
God: Do you want me to "show you"?
Moses: Um....not really, no. I'm good.
God: So you're going to...
Moses: Kill the people, take their stuff. Just like you told me not to, only five minutes ago.
God: Well, let's get to it! We've got a covenant to keep! 
Moses: Oy vey.

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After giving Moses the law, YHWH commands Moses to take the Israelites to the "Promised Land" of Canaan, inconveniently peopled by various tribes. The Israelites spend the trip killing people, being killed by God, and whining. He eventually grows tired of this, forcing them to wander around in the desert until all the adults have died off and a new generation of people who will listen to him for once have matured. Moses -- for all his toil and tears -- is one of the accursed, so his murderous protege Joshua oversees the subjugation of Canaan.

These Hebrews aren't nice people. They're as savage as you might expect from the era, which is confusing given that they've had contact with a God of absolute justice. Does absolute justice come in the form of slavery, slaughter, and destruction? Are their standards so low? Is their God so wretched?  And lastly, is he so dumb to the idea of irony that he sees nothing wrong with creating "moral codes" and then ordering people to violate them with great zeal?

Schmuck!

Evidence as a Facade

In The Geography of Nowhere, author James Howard Kunstler commented on the Beaux Arts architectural style of the late 19th century, an example of which is seen above. While buildings planned in this style often used Greek-style pillars, Kuntsler notes that the pillars are a lie. They are a facade: they have no functional purpose other than to decorate the building. These buildings are not fashioned on classical principles, but modern: their infastructure is provided by a steel skeleton, not  Doric columns. The buildings pretend to be classically-derived, but they are more modern than not.

That came to mind today when thinking about explanatory models and theories, more particularly about the distinction between a theory that rises from the evidence and a theory that only uses the evidence. This is the difference between evolution, for instance, and creationism. One is the result of Darwin's lifetime of peering at the facts as he knew them. The strength of Darwin's theory lies in his collection of the evidence and his attempt to find explanations that fit it. This is not the case with creationism, particularly the young-earth variety. There, the heart of the idea is belief: belief in the Bible, trust that the words of parochial iron-age personalities thousands of years ago are valid. To be a young-earth creationist, you must use the Bible: that's your "support".  The same is true for holocaust denial: its true base is hatred of Israel. In both instances, the evidence -- Greek pillars -- may be applied to the model in order to justify it, but the real heart of these ideas, their true infastructure, is something else altogether. Thus, these models of evidence are only a facade.

The Will to Believe

In May 1975, Isaac Asimov and Carl Sagan debated Uri Geller on the subject of the paranormal. Asimov's speech, reprinted in a book set during the conference in which the debate took place, is below.
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"I do not think that the problem of the refusal-to-believe on the part of magicians is a serious one. It is paralleled by a far greater, far greater, and far more intense refusal-to-disbelieve on the part of almost everyone else. I do not wish to speak specifically of Mr. Geller, though his applies to him, for it is true of anyone who invades the area lying outside the narrow and constricted boundaries of what scientists will, without serious argument, accept.

"The para-scientific fringes are intrinsically glamorous, they are exciting and delightful, and they court belief. Millions will grant the belief and will not be deterred by anything scientists will say, especially since scientists cannot counter with anything equally evocative but can only grumble a spoilsport , 'It isn't so!'

"In fact, so eager are people to believe the essentially incredible that they will resent, even with violence, any effort to advance evidence in the favor of disbelief. If some mystic, with a wide and ardent following, were to disown all his previous statements, if he were to declare his miracles frauds, and his beliefs charlantry, he would lose scarcely a disciple, since one and all would say he had made his statements under compulsion or under a sudden stroke of lunacy. The world will believe anything a mystic will say, however foolish, except an admission of fakery. They actively refuse to disbelieve.

"Is there, therefore, anything to be accomplished by arguing against mystics, or by trying to analyze their beliefs rationally? As a healthful exercise to improve and strengthen one's own rationality, certainly. As a hope to reform fools, never.

"But it doesn't matter. My own attitude is to bid the world, believe! All of you -- believe! Believe whatever you want, for in doing so, whatever misery you bring upon yourself and others, you will nevertheless never affect reality. Though all earth's four billion swear from top to bottom and left to right that the earth is flat and though they kill anyone who dares suspect it might be an oblate spheroid with a few minor irregularities, the earth will nevertheless remain an oblate spheroid with a few minor irregularities."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Personally, I don't like the idea of surrendering to our will to believe.  I do recognize that debating supernaturalism with reason is as in Thomas Paine's view kin to giving medicine to the dead. People believe these things because they want to satisfy various needs and desires -- the need to be intrigued by the mysterious, for instance, or the desire to control even things that lie outside ourselves.

For me, the supernatural is abysmally shallow compared to the wonders of the natural world, and I wonder if this obsession people seem to have with it is inappropriately natural, or the result of cultural indoctrination.

TV and Me

(One of the many Bill Watterson strips that I've appreciated more as an adult than as a child reading them in the newspapers.)

I have a curious relationship to television. I knew it rarely as a child:  television sets were barred from my parents’ Pentecostal home, and so we only saw shows if we visited friends or relatives or stayed a motel. Like all children, I assumed what my parents said was  true and right to follow, although the rule made increasingly less sense as the years went by. Why could we watch Full House at my aunt’s house, but not at our own?

Eventually television found its way into our home in a very limited form. It never became a central pillar of my life, although I did grow accustomed to a routine of shows and thought my life ill-served if I missed one. When I moved into college dorms for the first time, I gained access to cable television on a constant basis. If I wanted to, I could spend every hour of the day watching something: sitcoms, dramas, documentaries, music, English football matches -- whatever I wanted.

And yet… I didn’t. I was experiencing no lingering conviction from my Pentecostal upbringing:  the anti-television rule made so little sense that I was thwarting it before puberty, covertly hooking up an antennae to a monitor we used for watching VHS tapes to watch shows when my parents were away.  What I was experiencing was the honest enjoyment of life, and had been doing so for a little over a year when I first gained cable access. I found everything mundane to be wonderful -- the skies, the trees, the sound of dogs barking and people talking, even the feel of grass under my fingertips.  This was the result of my leaving the Pentecostal cult and realizing I was a Humanist at heart, someone who wanted to be in love with the world but who had before then been forbidden to.

Now I was madly in love, and television’s enjoyment seemed shallow by comparison. I could and at times did spend hours at a time immersed in the blue glow, but once the day ended I felt nothing but remorse for having wasted the day in such a manner. I cannot say the same of the days I spent under trees, reading Thoreau and writing in my journal, or walking around town with friends and discussing philosophy. Those days I remember vividly: they had a magic about them. I sometimes suspect that everyday could have magic about it, if we truly lived it.

As my formal education increased, my disinterest in television grew. I think this disinterest began when I became a skeptic and started spotting all of the advertising gimmicks in commercials -- the dishonest little tricks advertisers were up to.  More significantly, the past two and a half years have turned me into a social critic, at least in private.  After reading Neil Postman's Technopoly and Amusing Ourselves to Death, I wondered if his advice wasn’t valid. It resonated with the Stoic idea of only concerning ourselves with matters we could control. It seemed to me that Postman was right: people have grown addicted to being entertained by drama outside themselves.

Soon, every facet of my intellectual life was grumbling about television -- it became a tool of consumerism,  a values-defining tyrant as despicable as organized religion, and a medium through which the economic elite manipulate the news in their favor.  It reduces human conversations to exchanges of shallow, obnoxious one-liners while glorifying violence and  prostituting human beauty and love. It’s insulting, insipid, and ignorant.  Worst of all -- it’s noisy! How can a person think through that barrage of moving pictures and sound?

The irony of this is that while my parents go to a church with an official ban against television, they and nearly everyone else in that church possess a well-used set. Their son who has emphatically rejected Pentecostalism and its many decrees, meanwhile, only watches television if it happens to be on while visiting at someone else's home.

That I again have something in common with Pentecostalism makes me uneasy, and I do not like the possibility that I'm becoming a self-righteous snob where television is concerned. I find precious little to recommend television, however: what intelligent and humane shows I do like, I can find on Youtube sans commercials. On those happily rare occasions when I want to slip into a mindless hour, I have DVDs a-plenty of How I Met Your Mother, Boy Meets World, and the like.

Amistad

Amistad is the story of a slave revolt involving some fifty people aboard the Spanish ship La Amistad, and their struggle to be seen as human beings after they are captured as they attempt to sail back to Africa.  After breaking loose of their chains, a young African named Sengbe and his fellow ex-slaves commandeer the vessel in hopes of returning home, but stumble upon the US Navy and are brought to Connecticut to stand trial for murder and piracy. Three separate parties -- the Kingdom of Spain, the Spanish crew, and the two American naval officers who claimed to  have salvaged the ship -- sue for ownership of the Amistad and its "cargo". The Amistad insurrectionists, unable to communicate with their American captors, are forced into a public cage while their fate is decided in the property courts.

A minor act of arbitration is brought to national prominence, however, when abolitionists seize the opportunity to attack the institution of slavery. Since US law decrees that only people born into the instution of slavery on a plantation can be considered slaves, the Amistad captives may go free if it is proven that they were captured in Africa, and not born into slavery. An ocean thus lies between their being defined as "men" or "slaves".

Southern politicans, dependent on the slave system, realize the acquittal of the prisoners may become a moral boon to the abolitionist cause. They thus bring all their resources to bear, including President Martin van Buren, who fears he may not be reelected if the southerners are not pleased with the outcome of the trial.  Although the abolitionists are able to win in local and state legislatures despite the odds,  the pro-slavery forces continue to manipulate the system to their own benefit. The battle is eventually taken to the Supreme Court: staffed almost wholly by southern politicians, it seems likely that the captives will be sent to Spain to be executed as murderers, or worse still be reduced to a life of slavery.

The beleaugered defender of the alleged slaves seeks counsel from the ailing John Quincy Adams. Aided by a young translator who allows the captives and Sengbe to tell the story of how they were stolen from their homes and shipped across the ocean in miserable conditions,  the abolitionists and their supporters take on the highest court of the land and all of its prejudices. The essential theme of the movie is one of humanity -- are we human with rights only if the law acknowledges them, or are human rights more fundamental?  Part of the film's interest for me is that it argues the latter while pretending to argue the former. We have rights  as much as we are willing to declare them and fight for them.

The plot of this emotionally provactive courtroom drama contains both humor and tragedy, although more of the latter. Those sensitive to violence should be warned that the scenes depicting Sengbe and the others' treatment aboard the slave-ship is especially graphic. The acting was effective, as far as I noticed: Anthony Hopkins as John Quincy Adams and Djimon Hounsou as Sengbe are especially strong on the screen. I also enjoyed the movie's soundtrack, particularly the parts of it rooted in African sources.  The film is not without its faults, although only one scene is truly objectionable. In this, Sengbe and an associate are seen examining an illustrated version of the Judeo-Christian bible and taking hope in the idea that Jesus will be there for them just as he was for the Jews. I found this unlikely, patronizing, and repugnant -- especially so given that Jesus never said a word against slavery, nor did the founder of his religion, Paul. Since the scene is not referenced again, nor is anything built upon it, it seems like an overly pious and fraudulent imposition. Overall, though, the movie's story gripped me.

The trailer is below.



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A few years ago I contemplated sharing movies and books that might be of interest to a humanistically-minded audience -- movies that said something about the human condition, particularly about our ability to live life well in spite of circumstances. I have not found many movies that do this, but my intention to make this blog more broadly themed around the humanities widens the range of movies I might share. This is the first.

Better Man

Keb' Mo', associated with the international music and humanitarian effort Playing for Change, has several songs on Youtube I enjoy. I particularly like the third verse and chorus of his "Better Man".



Lyrics:

Sittin' here in my problems,
What am I gonna do now?
Am I gonna make it --
Someway, somehow?


Well, maybe I'm not supposed to know --
Maybe I'm supposed to cry.
If nobody ever knows the way I feel,
That's all right: that's okay.

Chorus:
I'm gonna make my world a better place
Gonna keep that smile on my face
I'm gonna teach myself how to understand
Gonna make myself a better man. 


Climbin' out the window, climbin' up the wall
Anyone gonna save me?
Or are they gonna let me fall?
Well, I don't really want to know..
I'm gonna hold on the best I can.
And if I fall down, I'm gonna get back up.
It'll be all right, it'll be okay.

(Chorus)

I don't really want to know,
I'm gonna hold on the best I can.
If I fall down down, I'm gonna get back up
It'll be all right, it'll be okay.

(Chorus)

I'm gonna make my world a better place,
Gonna keep that smile on my face
Gonna teach myself how to understand
Gonna make myself a better man.

Jesus is Coming

What follows is a recollection from my past:  I do it partially to collect my thoughts on the matter, but I also think other people might be interested to know what certain aspects within a cult-like sect are like to live.

I used to live in terror of the Rapture. The Rapture, for those not raised in any of the particular Christian sects that follow it, is the belief that one day Jesus will summon his followers to heaven.This may happen before a seven-year period in which God terrorizes Earth, or afterwards. The saved souls will float into the sky, perhaps, or simply vanish without a trace.  I never liked the idea of leaving Earth, nor was I sure that I would be called up. I never felt anything at Pentecostal services, so every mention of the Rapture was a reminder to me that I was possibly doomed.  Sure, I might avoid Hellfire if God ever got around to embracing me....but what if he Raptured everyone away before that happened?

We were obsessed about the Rapture. Perhaps the most terrorizing service I ever endured happened in my senior year of high school, when the youth group performed a mid-service skit. The auditorium's lights were shut off, its windows covered in black construction paper. The pastor's daughter, dressed in an angelic robe,  had a light on her face. She played herself as though she was in heaven. For a few minutes she spoke on the glories she could see, and then wondered aloud if her friends were there. One by one, she'd call for us and we'd stand up. "I'm here! I'm here! I made it!" I yelled, pumping my first in the air. Then she called for a girl named Crystal...and all was silent.

"Crystal?"

More silence -- silence that lasted for agonizing minutes until finally we could hear a soft sobbing. Crystal was hidden in one of the church's back rooms with the lead microphone -- and she was playing the part of the damned and tortured soul who was not Raptured away, but instead consigned to the flames of Hell. She mourned her foolishness in not following the Acts 2:38 instructions. Her voice was one of tortured misery and despair; the entire church fell out of their chairs sobbing. No one wanted to miss the Rapture.

If I endured that now, I would be either amused at the blatancy of it or horrified that people were being manipulated into fear in this fashion. But back then, I was the one being manipulated. I refused to read the Left Behind books back then, the possibility of being Left Behind was not one I wanted to face. I would often dream of missing the Rapture, from childhood on -- a reflection of my inner fears.

In real life, I often had "Rapture Panics". If my parents were not home when they should be and I could not contact them, fear gripped me. I would begin calling people from church that I felt were saved, starting with people who I might actually have a reason to call.  Once I heard the voice of a saved person, relief swept over me. On more than one occassion, though, I was unable to find anyone and was reduced to sobbing that all was lost. Once, I stuck in home movies of my parents and bawled for nearly an hour as I watched. In another instance, I found myself alone in a big city: we were attending a religious conference there, and my parents left me alone while they attended an adults-only service. When they did not return within four hours, I lugged out a massive phonebook and was about to call the conference center to see if anything had happened


The Rapture made me afraid until spring of 2006, at which point religion lost its hold on me completely.  Mentions of the Rapture amused me at that point, and in 2007 I read the entire Left Behind series -- all sixteen books -- just out of morbid amusement. (That isn't much of an accomplishment: for their thickness, the books tend toward the shallow. I could've read all sixteen in a day or two.)

My parents still believe in the Rapture, and further believe that both my sister and I will be left behind, as neither of us are in the Oneness/Holiness Pentecostal fold. They weep when they pray for us, but I do not think they inflict this pain on themselves too often. Given the emotion toll unquestioning beliefs took on me, there is no question of my ever going back.

Asimov on Valentine's

I recently finished a book of essays by Isaac Asimov on assorted topics, and one of them is appropriate to share today. I won't be sharing the essay in full -- there's far too much text for that-- but I'll share excerpts and summarize elsewhere to link passages together.

The essay begins with Asimov explaining the etymology of Valentine:

The Latin word valere means "to be strong", and from it we get such words as "valiant" and "valor", since one expects a strong person to be brave. We also get words such as "value" and "valid", since strength can refer not only to muscular power but also to something that finds its strength in being worth a great deal or in being true. In naming children, we can make use of words that imply the kind of character or virtue that we hope to find or instill in him or her. [...] The ancient Romans, by the same reasoning, might use the name "Valens", which means "strength". By the irony of history, such a name became particularly popular in the latter days of the Empire, when Rome  had grown weak. 

He then introduces a Roman emperor named Valens, a poor general who died while fighting the Goths at Adrianople. Valens had a brother who held the diminutive form of the name, "Valentiniatus". This diminutive form was popular, and is now shortened by English-speaking people to "Valentine".  One martyr of the Catholic church, his feast day being 14 February, was St. Valentine.  Having said all this, Asimov turns to the Roman holiday of Lupercalia -- celebrated on 15 February.

The ancient Romans had a holy spot where (according to legend) the wolf had suckled the twin brothers, Romulus and Remus, the former of whom eventually founded Rome. The spot was called "the Lupercal", from the Latin word lupus, meaning "wolf".

On that spot, every February 15, there was a festival held called the Lupercalia, during which animals were sacrificed. Thongs were prepared from the bloody strips of animal hide, and priests  ran through the crowd striking out with those thongs. Those who were struck were considered to be cured of sterility. Naturally, those who wanted children flocked to the festival. Afterwards, I imagine, they engaged in those activities that were expecting to give rise to children -- striking while the iron was hot, so to speak. Consequently, the lupercalian festivities were associated with love and sex.

In 494, Pope Gelasius I forbade this pagan festival, but that sort of thing does no good. The festival simply continues under another name. For example, the celebration of the winter solstice was forbidden, but it still continues with almost all the pagan customs of the ancient Romans -- under the name of "Christmas". To the celebration of the vernal equinox was added the Christian feast of the resurrection, which became "Easter", and so on.

The Lupercalian festival of February 15 simply became St. Valentine's Day of February 14. Legends arose later to the effect that St. Valentine had been kindly to lovers, but that is undoubtedly just a cover for the good old fertility rites that have always been popular (and, I strongly suspect, always will be). 

He ends the essay by commenting on the trivialization of the holiday by the greeting card industry. You can find the full essay in The Tyrannosaurus Prescription by Asimov, or in the forward to Fourteen Vicious Valentines.

Sand and Foam

 A few weeks back I enjoyed Kahlil Gibran's Sand and Foam for the first time, and thought I'd share some of my favorite lines here.
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I am forever walking upon these shores,
Betwixt the sand and the foam.
The high tide will erase my foot-prints,
And the wind will blow away the foam.
But the sea and the shore will remain
Forever.

Strange, the desire for certain pleasures is part of my pain.

I am ignorant of absolute truth. But I am humble before my ignorance and therein lies my honor and my reward.

The significance of man is not in what he attains, but rather than what he longs to attain.

Many a doctrine is like a window pane. We see truth through it but it divides us from truth.

When you reach the heart of life, you will shall find beauty in all things, even in the eyes that are blind to beauty.

Pity is but half justice.

If the other person laughs at you, you can pity him; but if you laugh at him you may never forgive your self. If the other person injures you, you may forget the injury; but if you injure him you will always remember.In truth the other person is your most sensitive self given another body.

Hate is a dead thing. Who of you would be a tomb?

The tribune of humanity is in its silent heart, never its talkative mind.

You cannot judge any man beyond your knowledge of him, and how small is your knowledge.

I would not listen to a conqueror preaching to the conquered.

Wisdom ceases to be wisdom when it becomes too proud to weep, too grave to laugh, and too self-ful to seek other than itself.

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers.

Turtles can tell more about the roads than hares.

Strange that creatures without backbones have the hardest shells.


Should you sit upon a cloud you would not see the boundary line between one country and another, nor the boundary stone between a farm and a farm.  It is a pity you cannot sit upon a cloud.

Practices for the Flourishing Life

Being interested in "the inner life", or the cultivation of the self as it were, I like to engage in a few practices some might call spiritual. Although some of them arose from suggestions from others, I typically avoid suggestions that seem artificial or imposed. My idea of spirituality is decidedly naturalistic, and I prefer practices that seem natural -- those that I can slip into.

1.Rubbish-Clearing:  Doug Muder introduced the idea of mindfulness to listeners and readers of his "Humanist Spirituality" lecture by recounting his decision to examine his thoughts for their worth, to ask -- "What is the use of dwelling on this idea? Is it good for me?"  I tried it then and found it simple and very effective, but somehow it slipped my mind until recently. I don't know if it has a better name, but I think of it as clearing mental rubbish.

2. Journaling. Although I've kept a journal since 1998 or 1999, more recently my journals have become important to me as a way of exploring my thoughts. If I can write down my thoughts and feelings  on paper, I can examine them better. If you've ever read the Harry Potter books, think of Dumbledore's Pensieve:  he uses it to clear his mind so that he can think about matters more intently.  Something I started last spring was to write thought-provoking quotations I encountered through books, lectures, and the like into the journals, in a space I ordinarily wouldn't write in, allowing me to return to them and mull over them in the future.

3. Reading:  In reading the thoughts of others, we allow their ideas to strengthen ours, either by introducing us to different perspectives or by giving us the opportunity to think critically. I make it a habit to read something thought-provoking several times a week, and have collected a notebook of favored quotations, articles, and poetry for the purpose when not relying on a book from my library. Contemplating poetry and thoughts that lead to more mindfulness strengthen me.

4. Rest meditation: I enjoy reading, and I do most of my reading under a tree outside or lounging on the couch with the curtains open so that I may gaze outside. When reading for prolonged periods, I often pause every ten or fifteen minutes, close my eyes, and maintain mental silence for a few moments -- usually no more than five minutes. I breathe deeply and focus the rhythym. This makes me feel more centered and better able to engage the book.I also do this when I'm about to go to sleep, or sometimes during the day when I need to find my "place".

5. Nurturing empathy:  I find it uncomfortably easy to pile labels upon people, so I force myself to think of other's humanity. In the interests of enabling communication, I think about why people might believe or say the things they do. What need are they attempting to meet in this way?  Also, the best way to nurture friendliness I've found is to be friendly. I don't mean being polite: I mean being friendly.  False smiles and generic greetings are useless, but if you honestly reach out and say "Good morning!" or "How are you? in the right spirit, you'll be better for it. My experience is that while not everyone responds well to friendliness, enough people do to justify by doing it. This betters my life and theirs, and I have made friends in this manner.

6. Immerse yourself in beauty:  Every so often, at least once or twice a week, I make a point of indulging myself in beauty. I see and hear beauty all the time, of course, and I soak it in as much as I can, but once a week or so I like to purpously seek it out, either in music or in photographs. Youtube or Pandora are good for finding awe-inspiring music, and one especially good natural gallery is here. It's in Spanish, but there are enough English cognates in there to make sense of things. The best subgallery is "Hongos, plantas y flores".

These are just a few of own, and I imagine there are other practices out there waiting for me to encounter.

Invictus

I read this poem a little over a year ago and quickly put it to memory. The fourth verse is especially meaningful for me, as it takes a stand against the fear of the supernatural ruling people's lives.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul. 

 - William Ernest Henley 

Martin Luther King Jr.

We shall overcome. Deep in my heart, I do believe, "we shall overcome." You know, I've joined hands so often with students and others behind jail bars singing it, "We shall overcome." Sometimes we've had tears in our eyes when we joined together to sing it, but we still decided to sing it, "We shall overcome."

Oh, before this victory's won, some will have to get thrown in jail some more, but we shall overcome. Don't worry about us. Before the victory's won, some of us will lose jobs, but we shall overcome.

Before the victory's won, even some will have to face physical death. But if physical death is the price that some must pay to free their children from a permanent psychological death, then nothing shall be more redemptive.

We shall overcome.

Before the victory's won, some would be misunderstood and called bad names and dismissed as rabble rousers, terrorists and agitators, but we shall overcome. - Martin Luther King Jr.

My hometown is Selma, Alabama --  a town known in American history for being the site of the Bloody Sunday Massacre. In March 1967, in response to the local government’s de facto disenfranchisement of black citizens, Dr. Martin Luther King and others in the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee organized a march to the state capital of Montgomery fifty miles away. Like Gandhi before him, King and his followers were met with violence -- and like Gandhi before him, King succeeded in forcing the powers that be in the United States to face the human consequences of their indifference and hostility.

I’ve only come to appreciate King in recent years. Growing up in the town of Selma -- seeing the bridge on a daily basis -- I thought little of the town’s history. The sense I picked up from relatives and other ‘whites’ was that the past was the past and they’d rather it not be brought up. My appreciation for King was very benign, as if he’d only made speeches about what should be done.  Then I read Henry David Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience and suddenly realized that democracy wasn’t really about  ballots. It’s about people acting and forcing the status-quo-enforcing institution that is the government to respond. I have since begun to admire his commitment to nonviolence, as I increasingly perceive the strength it takes.

Because of King and men and women like him, I was able to grow up in a time where state-endorsed racism is a thing only found in history books and personal prejudice has become a public shame. In this way, he and they freed me -- and I thank them. King has become an inspiration to me in the past two years, and I greet the observance of his birth with the enthusiasm that a life so well-lived deserves.

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. 

Quotations of the Week

A year or so after I began this blog, I thought I might expand it to include critical reviews of books relating to philosophy, science, and religion. I had already started an enjoyable hobby at that point -- making informal comments about the books I read on a weekly basis at a social network site -- and decided instead to make blogspot "This Week at the Library"'s home.  Often, weekly comments have a "Quotation of the Week" section, typically chosen for point-making or humor value. Since it's the end of the year, I thought I would share the quotations with a point to make here.
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"It's always easy to avoid other people's vices, isn't it?".  This is a paraphrase of a comment made in a Star Wars novel, but it struck home for me. My brain sometimes insists on chattering about other people's failings, even though I know good and well their behavior isn't really my business, and when I feel tempted to compare my behavior to theirs for reasons that are not for my own edification -- that is, learning from other people's examples -- I shut that part of my brain up with Sean Stewart's quotation in Yoda, Dark Rendezvous.

"The television commercial is about products only in the sense that the story of Jonah is about the anatomy of whales, which is to say it isn't. Which is to say further , it is about how one ought to live one's life." (Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death) Television commercials not only sell products, they sell the idea that we should be interested in this product and its presentation.

"There is no need for temple or church, for mosque or synagogue, no need for complicated philosophy, doctrine, or dogma. Our own heart, our own mind, is the temple. The doctrine is compassion. Love for others and respect for their rights and dignity, no matter what or who they are: ultimately these are all we need. So long as we practiced these in our daily lives, [...] there is no doubt we will be happy. "- Tenzin Gyatso, Ethics for a New Millenium.   Gyatso, better known as the Dalai Lama, has a very humanistic religion of happiness at heart.

"What Camus is saying is that there is reason to be hopeful, that man must understand his condition and must struggle, fight, and rebel against the absurdity of life. There is hope, and hope is to be found in man and in man only. Man defines himself, gives himself an identity through his actions. Even though the futility of our condition leads us all to the same end, we must and can dignify life through our needs and behavior." - Jacques Pepin, commenting on Camus' Myth of Sisyphus in The Book that Changed my Life.

By ourselves is evil done;
By ourselves we pain endure.
By ourselves we cease from ill;
By ourselves become we pure.
No one can save us but ourselves;
No one can and no one may.
We ourselves must walk the path,
Buddhas only point the way.   - repeated in Taming the Mind, an introduction to Buddhism. I find its lines very humanistic.


"Science is more than a body of knowledge. It is a way of thinking. It is a way of of skeptically interrogating the universe with an eye for human fallibility. If we are not able to ask skeptical questions, to interrogate those who tell us that something is true, to be skeptical of those of authority, then we're up for grabs for the next charlatan -- political or religious -- who comes ambling along." - Carl Sagan, echoing a comment he made also in The Demon-Haunted World, which I re-read this year.


 "All men are created equal, endowed with reason sufficient to manage their own affairs and even to get to the heart of abstract and philosophical matters. The miracles attributed to the greatest prophets and religious leaders are tricks, no more real than the illusions of street-corner fakirs. People do not need rules handed down and enforced from one high to form orderly societies. In contrast, blind belief in the absolute truths of religions inspires fanaticism and hatred. All authorities and accepted knowledge need to be questioned. Each generation has the opportunity to move science forward through new observations and experimentation and because of such progress, society itself often advances." - Abu Bakr al-Razi, as quoted-in-paraphrase in Medical Firsts by Robert Adler.

"There is a tendency to think that what we see in the present moment will continue. We forget how often we have been astonished by the sudden crumblings of institutions, by extraordinary changes in people's thoughts, by unexpected eruptions of rebellion against tyrannies, by the quick collapse of systems of power that seemed invincible. To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, [and] kindness. If we remember those times and places -- and there are so many where people have behaved magnificently -- this gives us the energy to act. Hope is the energy for change. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live in defiance of the worst of everything around us is a marvelous victory." - Howard Zinn, The People's History of American Empire.  Although my cynical mood has lifted in the last week, Zinn's thoughts -- and Jacques Pepin's -- should be taken more to heart by me, I think.

The general theme of these quotations, I think, is of the triumph of the human spirit over adversity.

Professoranton

A week or so ago I found a regularly-updated philosophy channel on YouTube: the host has focused on Stoicism several times, which may be of interest to some readers here. This particular video sees him ask the question what Stoicism most offers the modern world given that we use technology to alleviate so much. His sees  Stoicism's approach to death as its most important potential contribution today.

Struggling with Cynicism

It seems that the more I learn about society, the less I wish to participate in it.

The above statement may seem like a witticism of a sort, and sometimes it amuses me in a tragic sense, but it’s a true statement for me that expresses my increasing cynicism about society and my discomfort at that.

I think the American socio-, economic- and political structure is flawed in many ways. The majority of the nation is not in control its destiny: the people are routinely exploited, lied to, and manipulated. People have become addicted to being entertained: the emotional depth of their lives has dissipated. Their talk has become small talk, devoid of substance or relevance. We spend more time reacting to what television tells us than actually living life -- more time using people for our own entertainment than connecting with them: we attempt to console ourselves by endlessly buying things. The list goes on.

Perhaps many people think that society is sick for reasons different than my own, but they go on participating in it. I increasingly understand Henry David Thoreau, and sometimes wish that I, too, could run off into the woods and get away from the irrational and unhealthy society that has arisen in the United States. I even find monks to be understandable, and I want to live in a quiet little community somewhere with other people who find society objectionable and don’t want to participate it in anymore.

At the same time as I am thinking these things, I examine my motives and I wonder if I am not just becoming a perpetual whiner,  pacifying and even entertaining myself by finding flaws in society instead of living up to my own ideals and doing what I can to change what I can. I wonder if my cynicism is just a way of protecting myself from the emotional toll living fully would actually take.

At the same time, I think a good thing that I am so wary of this increasing cynicism, that I don’t want to give up.  It seems that many people do, and think themselves the better for it, but I am not convinced. I believe we must strive and fight in life, but my ability to do so is more and more impaired by my suspicion that I am merely kicking against a mountain.

How do other people prevent themselves from sliding into the abyss of jadedness?

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Armistice Day

On this date in 1918, at precisely eleven a.m., the guns in Europe and across the world fell silent, ending the armed hostilities of the Great War, humanity's first major industial war and one of unimaginable horror. It was called the Great War out of deference to the death and destruction in caused: hundreds of miles of French countryside were turned into deep and muddy trenches where millions of young men lived with decaying bodies and engorged rats that thrived on such decay. Beyond the trenches, more countryside was laid waste to by artillery: whole towns vanished -- and this is only in Europe. No war more terrible could be imagined, and yet humanity managed to one-up itself twenty years in terms of financial cost, inhumanity, and lives lost.

After that point, the Great War became known as "World War I', and the history books of my youth painted it as merely the introduction to World War 2, the "big one". There's a notable dichomy between the two wars, at least for me: the former is war at its basest and least noble, while the latter is war at its most romanticized. I do not know of any other war in history where the two sides have so clearly been sorted into "Good" and "Evil" categories. The second war is what Americans seem to think of when they think of war -- glory, goodness, self-sacrifice, and honor.

I wish Americans would think of the Great War when they thought of war. Regardless of the degree to which you may romanticize the second war or not, it is damned impossible for anyone to romantcize the first, except out of utter ignorance to its reality. Perhaps if your knowledge was limited to movies like Flyboys, you might think it a lark -- but otherwise, the cold reality is unavoidable.  The Great War is war in its essence: utterly miserable and utterly futile. Those millions of deaths and all that misery endured accomplished virtually nothing, failing to teach even the lesson that nationalism and dreams of glory were furtile. That had to wait twenty years, and even then the lesson was not wholly learned. I think humanity would cease to war if we kept the Great War in our minds -- for once wars are stripped of their pretty ribbons and creative retellings, they all consist of people killing one another in horiffic ways, unable to see the humanity they're butchering behind ideal-tinted glasses.

Three years ago, I stumbled upon the song "Green Fields of France" in a Humanist magazine. I later heard it performed, and it haunts me from time to time -- and especially today.

Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Philosophy Bites

I was recently introduced to the podcast "Philosophy Bites", a series of short interviews with modern philosophers on a variety of subjects, and am beginning to explore their archived contents. There's at least one podcast with humanism as its subject, and  British humanist A.C. Grayling is one name I've recognized. I haven't sampled enough of the content to comment on it, but I have enjoyed those interviews I've listened to so far. One obvious reccommendation is Alain de Botton: I've read a couple of his works and have found them intellectually stimulating.