Nature is a Tsunami

I was in a discussion the other day about Melville’s leviathan. The question at hand had to do with what Ahab thought of the whale, and I became pretty thoughtful on this myself.

What I concluded was less relevant to this log than what occurred to me as part of that conclusion. To wit: Ahab feels he can enter into a contest with Nature, as represented by the whale.

This belief, of course, is not rational at all. Yet look at our world – some of us do believe we have enjoined the battle, and that we will somehow “win” against Nature. It reminds me of “anti-environmentalists.” The term itself is absurd. How can someone be “against” protecting their own environment from destruction? Yet so many on the right profess this very notion in their philosophies. They see the environment as a foil, something standing in the way of their goals. It is an outside force that, more often than not, mucks up our plans.

Much of what has gone on in the world of nation states in the last couple of hundred years or so has contributed to this notion of the universe consisting of “us” and Nature–us and “everything else.” You don’t see that division in native societies. You don’t have all of this effort to remove people physically from their environment, to externalize the earth, trees, grass, rocks as “outside.” Certainly no one in such a society has ever contemplated the relative merits of “saving” the environment versus “gaining” personally from poisoning or destroying it. They could not have conceived it: nature was not that place outside their home–nature was their home.

This removal is evidenced to me in how the two main categories of fact reported about a natural “disaster” are deaths and injuries and the “damage” in dollars. It’s reasonable that that is what we see as the “news” of the event. But the implication one can perceive is that nature “did” a tsunami to us, rather than Nature “is” a tsunami even though we “are” as well (though we “are” in a less significant way hierarchically).

That’s the thought that struck me – Nature “is” a tsunami. I hadn’t really thought in these terms before. I of course realized that Nature is capable of producing a tsunami, an earthquake, a cyclone, an ice age. But I had not before escaped the cause/effect chain that humans are so fond of in analyzing events. Discovering the “cause” of a natural disaster provides some satisfaction. “Oh,” we think, “it’s OK because now we know why it happened.” But what we call the cause–the plates shifting, the asteroid falling, the disease spreading, or whatever–is no cause at all. It “is” Nature. The asteroid falling is Nature, the plate shifting is Nature. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to distinguish what Nature “does” from what it “is.”

To anthropomorphize nature is to denigrate it, to demystify it unjustly, to bring it down to the level of one of its mean components–us. The key elements are hubris and the perceived dichotomy of Man/Nature. It takes an irrational amount of exaggerated self-importance to place oneself outside the confines of Nature; or to relegate Nature to a mere equivalence, something “other” and possibly opposed to our interests or even hostile to our existence. It takes a kind of mass insanity to perceive Nature as anything at all separate from us.

We “are” Nature, but Nature is much more than us. Yet ironically, its purpose is less complex than the “causes” and effects we describe in it, the “actions” which we erroneously assign to it. It simply is. It is all. All days and nights, all centuries, all people and their ambitions, all matter and all motion.

The Pope and Mrs. Shiavo

Terry Schiavo  has passed, and the pope is not far behind. As if in rebuttal, the little tufts of grass on my lawn are puffing up and greening in a small pageant of renewal.

To obsess as a culture, a world, over a life over or nearly over seems odd, misplaced, as lives in full are threatened daily, hourly, by the very circumstances we create for ourselves–in war, poverty, and all those conditions and crimes we assign to the realm of the inevitable.

And here are those crying, mourning souls all bent out of shape over ends which truly are, or were, inevitable. Schiavo has been, from her own perspective, gone for 15 years. Now her body can rest too, its marionette strings cut, the puppeteers given the pink slip. They will find another poor soul to symbolize before too long, and we’ll start this sidewalk theatre over again.

The Pope, in an odd convergence, has a feeding tube inserted as they remove Schiavo’s. He too is on that inevitable path, but why not keep him alive? He is alive, after all, not dead like Schiavo was. Yet the same madness that insisted on animating her corpse for fifteen years may steal the life from His Holiness prematurely, because just as the Catholic law forbids taking–or preventing–life against God’s will to create it, it also forbids “extraordinary means” for preserving life against God’s will to end it. The philosophy is simple: don’t interfere with God’s process for life. But medicine complicates the question, and now, suddenly, it seems we need an answer.

Do we? How do we formulate a single answer for conditions so wide-ranging in their prognoses, and in the quality of the life we may save? Do we revive our 93-year-old grandma after her third heart attack, or do we accept the body’s end? Do we pull the plug on 60-year-old Dad because, even though there’s a chance he could recover, he’s costing $12,000 a week to keep alive?

The Pope wants his suffering to symbolize Christ’s suffering, he wants to share it and display it to the world in a show of faith. Now, he is silent. Like it or not, others will have to decide for him how long the show must go on. And, not incidentally, the church needs a pope. One who talks. Can he keep his job with a ventilator down his throat? If he’s relieved, will his suffering still symbolize Christ’s? Or is he at that point just a disturbed, dying old man? I don’t want to answer. But the questions do not go away.

Schiavo may or may not have wanted her life ended once her brain was beyond recovery. To my mind, it makes little difference what they did or didn’t do once she reached that point. We have certain predilections when we live, and once we’re gone they really don’t matter. Not to us. But they matter to the living. Now if only the living who have the luxury to worry about such things could get excited about what the rest of the living want–food, homes, safety, good government, and all those things that make life worthwhile.

Living in a Quiet Place

August 27, 2004

I’ve been eating at the Subway near my office once a week for about five years now. I don’t always get the same sandwich, but nearly always. Today I got a turkey and ham, though usually I get a plain turkey.

If that sounds boring, well, it is. But I’ve found that while I’m always interested in new ideas in art, music, philosophy, etc., and I’m fascinated with new people, places and events, the truth is I’m happy with rut-like routines for the more mechanical aspects of day to day living.

With respect to wardrobe, I am far from a “dandy,” though I try not to be slovenly or wear clothes too far out of style. Occasionally at the office we have a “casual day,” which I usually opt out of. I have a good standard set of boring work clothes–khakis, black slacks, oxfords, and polo shirts from the local mid-value retailer–and the effort required to think up something more “casual” to wear (but not too casual) sort of negates any pleasure I might have in wearing jeans or shorts to work. Plus, I don’t even have that many casual clothes, so I don’t want to “use them up” before the weekend arrives. The whole thing just screws up my monk-like routine.

My last car was an Acura, but it got pretty old, so I traded it in–for another Acura. Hey, they’re just good cars.

It’s simple living, and I no longer find simple to be synonymous with bland or commonplace. Quite the contrary: as the whole population seems to strive for a life of some deeper significance, I accept life as inherently significant, and life’s simple acts as acts of faith in that belief.

My weekdays are filled with routine, though I like to break things up on the weekends. I’m happy to work, come home, work out or mow the lawn if it needs it, read the paper, eat dinner, walk the dog and read to my daughter with my wife, watch TV for an hour, and then hit the sack, where I sleep quite soundly. I look forward to each familiar component of these evenings as others might look forward to a coming change. There is a quietness to these days, a rhythm that is in tune with my life’s rhythm, at least for now. My earlier life was so frenetic, unpredictable, often dangerous. I’m happy to be in this new stage, one where I might plan a long-term personal project without the need for a deadline. I can plant a tree, and say to myself in earnest, “Well, that will be looking just great in about five years or so.”

I can still contemplate the old days, the lessons they taught me. This old life lives on in my mind, a spirit life of some lone gypsy obsessed with finding meaning, searching for people who knew about living, expecting to find significance lurking nearby like a wino in an alley. He eventually stopped wandering and found meaning–in a child’s eyes, a swept porch, a Saturday morning kiss, a dog’s soft ear, a garden of wild lilacs and daisies. The necessary thing was to stop looking.

And now, waves of meaning wash over each morning shave and mirror stare. Who am I today? How will I change to face events, and how will events change me without my knowing? How far away am I from that naïve child who felt so apart from everyone else? How much closer am I now, and will I move closer still, to those I love?

It is the exquisite, almost painful beauty of the world as seen from a quiet place, with room and time to observe the day’s passing, that I crave. And I find it so often, I am approaching a contentment I never knew was possible.

I wrote a bad poem some time ago, about the sun as an indifferent ball of fire careening dumbly through space. I thought it was a poem about alienation and the loss of significance in the face of the death of God, etc.–a riff on the current Zeitgeist. Now I know it was just a poem about loneliness. And that’s what most angst must be about. The inability, if even for a while, to move from separate lonely spaces to a common warm, quiet place of belonging and acceptance. To come home.

Freedom Fever – Catch It!

I read a couple of good quotes the other day. One was from some philosophical hack or other, and it basically went, “A man is free at the moment he decides he is.” I suppose I could look up the author, but I suppose if I’m free, then I’m free to be lazy.

I have, in fact, decided to be free.

It’s not an easy thing to wrap one’s mind around. After all, one has to live somewhere, and virtually every place you can live has rules of some sort. I had an old friend, classic anarchist, who used to complain that he couldn’t live anywhere as a sovereign being, because anywhere he chose to live would force him to work and earn money. How do you mean, I ask. Well, because every piece of land that’s “owned” requires taxes, and taxes require money, and money requires work. “So I’ve gotta shackle myself to the man even if all I wanna do is just live.”

And I think that was the salient point – he would have to work. Some folks, God bless ’em, just don’t feel like working.* And they confuse the requirement of working with a kind of enslavement. But if that’s so, then we are enslaved by being born. Every creature must hunt its dinner. Some do it with a bow and arrow, some with a fishing net, some by pretending to be too crazy to take care of themselves, some by running a corporation.

The only ones who are exempt from work are invalids and the truly disabled. But they don’t get to enjoy it.

What about “welfare mothers” and criminals? Believe me, both are occupations. Those lifestyles take time and effort. I’ve known enough of both variety.

But I have decided to be free, and I think what the man meant was that our only prisons are the ones we build for ourselves (another stolen quote  – this one from Doris Lessing, I believe. But you look it up. I’m free.) So freedom is a matter of organizing one’s life in such a way that the necessities of life don’t infringe too much on a person’s human sovereignty, if at all possible.

If I have to work, I should work at a job that doesn’t make me feel like an indentured servant. Think I’ve got that covered. The job isn’t glamorous, but it lets me be me. (Read John Kenneth Galbraith’s “Company Man” to get an idea why I’m not more ambitious here at the ol’ office. In brief: we cannot help actually becoming the role we continually play — stole that from Kurt Vonnegut.)

And I should never have to say anything I don’t want to say, right? Only slaves watch their mouths. Yet, with age we come to realize that the mouth is a weapon, and kindly, responsible people wield it responsibly. Think drunken rock star on a trans-Atlantic flight. Sure, he can shoot his mouth off and make an ass of himself and not care for the consequences (since there aren’t likely to be any). But he’s still an ass. Better to balance the right to free speech with respect for the ears of others.

And I can come and go as I please. I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or, God forbid, ask permission (sound of “pussy whip” cracking in background.) But, again, with age we come to realize we’re building relationships that go beyond the casual friendship or pretend romance of youth, and we have people who depend on us. I suppose I could, for the sake of argument, take off for a few days without telling my family. But of course they would worry tremendously, and I don’t want that. So I make sure I tell them my whereabouts. It’s the human thing to do.

“But the government! The damn government!” Ah yes, the damn government. My response is another quote, this one from that sandal-wearing sage we all know and love. When he responded to the man who asked how it is possible to be true to God’s will while living under the yoke of Roman tyranny, he hit it right on the head. “Render unto Caesar that which belongs to Caesar.” In other words, accept that free people always have to live within the borders of so-called “nations” run by those who seek to make their mark on history, which often  involves an attempt to curtail individuals’ rights to be left alone. The only way to remain relatively free is to allow the world’s “leaders” to play their overgrown chess game while attempting to stay  out of their way as they rage around the world with their wars and laws.

The government does not “provide” freedom or “guarantee” freedom. No. No government in history has been the least bit interested in issuing the power of true freedom to its subjects. Quite the opposite: governments use every power at hand to attempt control over their subjects, balancing the desire for control with the threat of rebellion should the  methods of control go too far. (An example today is the so-called militia movement. The government would prefer to simply wipe these people out and remove the threat, but that would simply stoke the rebellious spirit of the ones that get away, causing more problems.)

And yet, no government in history has been successful at a sustained denial of freedom. Those governments are upended by free people who will not stand for it. Or they are crushed under the weight of their own corruption. I’m no Pollyanna, I’m aware that despots and crooks are “in charge” all over the globe. But what are they really in charge of? Money, borders, bullets, but not people. They don’t own souls. So the trick is to live in the nation that doesn’t get on your back too much, if you can, and don’t get too cozy with the power structure. And maybe try to help those who live under the more oppressive regimes, if you can (though I have to stress that doesn’t mean killing them in order to “free” them from tyranny.)

In the end, I believe freedom is an overblown, overused concept. We don’t think that much about being free. We think about being happy, and our happiness is a byproduct not of our freedom but how we manage our lives as inherently free beings. When we do it in a way that honors our natural status as sovereign beings,  we are as free as birds in spirit even though some inhuman government may imprison our bodies. When we don’t, all the freedom in the world will not release us from what amounts to a self-imposed confinement based on willing submission to the rule of others.

*Quote from Ned Flanders, The Simpsons

A is A

Whatever happened to the age of reason?

Perhaps it never really took hold. It seems that more than ever, the world abounds in mumbo-jumbo. Supermarket horoscope scrolls, I’m told, sell in the millions every month. The “psychic” reading people are making truckloads of cash. There’s a guy on TV — he draws millions of viewers every week — who can call up your dead loved ones on his psychic hot line to the Great Beyond. We’ve got Jesus hanging out in star-forging nebulas millions of light years across. And the Virgin just last week showed up in a mangled tree stump in New Jersey (no kidding). That’s not to mention Crystal healing, angel sightings, “creationism” (i.e. anti-evolutionism), UFO abductions, homeopathic medicine (I don’t care how many of you homeopathic “physicians” are out there – it’s still hogwash), or Dianetics.

Not much progress since the trial of Socrates, or Galileo, or the Scopes “monkey” trial, or the O.J. trial for that matter.

But what concerns me generally is the decline of reason and logic. Perhaps it’s an offshoot of the societal movement away from secularism toward the new “spiritualism” (translation: hocus pocus in the form of apocalyptic novels, televangelism, “trendy” religions, revivalist freak shows and mercantile “Christian rock” bands). Or maybe the grim harvest of circular post-modern “reasoning” (which posits that everything we think we know is a “social construct” based on “class-based shared belief systems”) has resulted in –you guessed it– the societal conclusion that empiricism is an illusion and that all reality is relative to the observer.

Or it could be the media in general, which in attempting to appear “unbiased” (impossible to do but possible to appear to do) has convinced us all that no matter what the story, there are two sides with absolutely equivalent arguments for or against. So there’s no reason to try to figure out what’s “right” or “wrong” or “legal” because it all depends on your world view and political persuasion.

But no matter the cause, the result is that no one appears to be sure of anything anymore, unless you count the fanatics. As Yeats put it in describing his own era of political chaos:

“The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”

And it’s just as true today. There is no safe harbor. Nowadays even the scientific journals aren’t sure of their facts. The New England Journal of Medicine now requests its contributors disclose their financial interests so that readers may discover those which intersect with their research. The “entrepreneurial” scientist, like the now-familiar entrepreneurial politician, cannot be trusted to tell the truth.

Do facts not exist? Can we not at least agree on some facts? Can we say nothing beyond “A is A” without a rebuttal from someone of competing interests or “beliefs”? A while back I wrote a little musing on how we know what we know, concluding that we really know very little, but that dealt mainly with moral philosophy and theoretical science, which are murky areas at best. What I’m talking about here is true empiricism and recorded phenomena.

When we expect a debate to settle a matter, it is fruitfully conducted only upon a foundation of perceived truth, or a set of underlying assumptions that inform the outcome. One of those assumptions is that both parties seek the truth, and that the truth, however contradictory to one’s preconceived notions or personal “stake,” must be acknowledged when it is discovered. For example, we may debate the value or advisability of particular environmental laws. But for the debate to produce a valuable decision for society at large, it must proceed from the assumption, acknowledged by both sides, that the environment should in fact be protected. Otherwise, one may argue for a position under the assumption that the environment is irrelevant to the immediate needs of industry, an assumption which presupposes that no law protecting the earth is defensible if it causes any inconvenience whatsoever to industry.

We may debate whether to go to war, but we should agree that war is the choice of last resort in defense of our borders, and as a non-imperialist society we do not initiate wars for the sake of occupying other countries.

We may debate the legality of an election, but we should agree that our leaders must be lawfully elected.

We may debate how best to protect the country, but we should agree that human and civil rights, which are inherent and not granted by the state, cannot be rescinded by the state.

We may debate how best to manage the government, but we should agree that a government “of the people” serving a free society is not allowed to operate in secret or without the consent of the governed.

And so on…

I must honestly say that I do not believe such debates take place at the higher levels of this society. Interests – and interest groups – are too entrenched. Power bases are too powerful. Battle lines are too firmly drawn, and the casualty of truth is regarded by patriots on both sides as an “acceptable loss.”

Truth may be beauty, and beauty truth, but to today’s “winners,” winning is all that matters.

Just ask O.J.