Archive for the ‘ Philosophy ’ Category

Things are Now in Control

Actually, this is the normal human situation. We have always been controlled by something other than ourselves – this is what religion is, and we are as much under the control of religion, or superstition, as ever – except our religion is no longer explicit. It has become implicit – we now believe the way things are are absolutely the way it has to be – and we have no control over them at all.

People are scared to death and have become completely helpless – but at the same time have the illusion of just the opposite: that they are all-powerful, and completely in control.

Our new belief system operates under the cover of the old one – which keeps assuring us that we are still in control – this is what television assures us constantly: that by watching television, we are in control of the situation.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Things have become so complicated the idea of something, anything, being in control is ridiculous. Complexity, by its very nature, simply notes that all kinds of things are effecting all kinds of other things all over the place. And it is ridiculous to think we can control this vast network of interactions.

In practice, we have given up trying, and have given power back to the modern equivalent of the aristocracy: the rich and the powerful. But this is not going to work, because they are no longer in control either. Civilization has become overdeveloped, and is collapsing under its own weight.

Technology in the last three hundred years has exploded – and at the same time human society has imploded. This, I believe, is a simple cause and effect relationship – when viewed from an adequate distance. Historians of the future, if they are any, will be able to see this.

Love Equals Hate Equals Love

I had never realized this before, but yesterday I got the book Love’s Work via my long pipeline from Miami to Costa Rica.

Costa Rica is nowhere – but, if you can pay for it, you can import nearly everything you could want. This includes drugs, of course, like anywhere else – but my drug of choice is literature. And I fancy, in my own modest way, to contribute to this with my blogging – which keeps getting more concise, and harder-hitting all the time. Quite to my satisfaction.

The New York Review has a line of books rescued from being out-of-print, and this is one of those. It too is brief and hard-hitting.

In the Introduction, which I read on the bus home, she quotes from Rilke:

Be ahead of all departures. Sei allem Abschied voran.

Since I am now facing my own departure, I am doing just that. And I have one problem to solve before I go : an all-encompassing hatred of everything. It’s no mystery where I got it from: from my past, of course. It has gradually been dawning on me that this is not so good for me – a conclusion that may seem obvious to you, but was not at all obvious to me.

Above all, I resist the facile solution: that love is the answer to everything. People who preach this are the worst kind: they know nothing of themselves, or hate, or love. Such people taught Sunday-school when I was a toddler. And, thank God, they have gone to their reward.

The author, Gillian Rose, makes a simple, obvious point: that love and hate are the same thing. And she illustrates this copiously with stories from her own Jewish family and friends.

Iain McGilchrist makes the same point in a different way: we have abandoned our integrated, holistic right hemisphere – which handles paradox with no problem, and even thrives on it – in favor of the left, which has to categorize everything, and tear everything down. His book is heavy – literally, you wouldn’t want to drop it on your foot. It will take me forever to finish it.

Rose is dyslexic, which forces her to use her words carefully – McGilchrist, among other things, has been a professor of English, and has the opposite problem: he is too glib in his use of words.

Gilliam Rose’s main point, which I am just beginning to understand, is that death is not nothing - it is a new beginning. The death of everything I see all around me is real enough, and it will soon include me. But it is not the end of the world, we cannot flatter ourselves about that.

I have time for one more quote from her, from the Russian monk Staretz Silouan, 1866-1938:

Keep your mind in hell, and despair not.

Alternative healing, in all its forms, offers to do just the opposite: to keep your mind out of hell – and assign you to Limbo.

You Don’t Want to Know How Bad it Really Is

I have known a few times myself – and each time it has left me emotionally devastated. Dante became famous for describing a scene that was tranquil – and even mundane by comparison. Now far worse things happen everyday all over the world – and no one thinks anything about it. I don’t know what is worse: the scene, or people’s indifference to it. But it doesn’t matter: they are the same thing.

Words fail me, as they always must, in the end. The Indian mystics were right: death has us in its grips, and is not letting go. A fragment from Kabir:

You can’t meet him
Says Kabir
He’s left the country
We’re citizens of
And he is not coming back.

Don’t ask me who He is - or you will get a swift kick in the pants.

Now that I have said how inadequate words are, I will go ahead and use them anyway – as I must, this child of clay with a big mouth.

It won’t take many words to state the basics: the human race has turned against itself – and is destroying itself. This is easy to say, from a comfortable distance – but nearly impossible to experience. Which is why no one is no on has rolled up his pants and waded into this cesspool. You end up vomiting into the whole mess.

The modern world has made us better at many things – but most importantly, it has made us better at hurting ourselves. That word ourselves covers up what it really means: our selves – which we have lost completely – and are never getting back. This does not bother most, they are glad to get rid of it – and become something much better, in their eyes: a superbeing. A being who is really a monster of the worst kind – first modeled for us by the Nazis – and who has never really gone away, but has only been waiting for its time – which is now.

This time he was not reborn in Bethlehem, but everywhere – in the true spirit of globalism. The spread of this blight is inevitable, no one will be spared.

Who is Greater?

From Songs of Kabir, page 93:

Who’s greater?
The Lord of the Universe
Or the one who made him?

The mind
Or what the mind believes in?

The Pain of Living in an Uncaring World

I just returned from a two-day trip to San Jose, the capital. At one time it resembled a pleasant 18th Century European city, since the inhabitants were all Europeans with European upper-middle-class culture, architecture, and values. The hostel I stayed in was once the home of these elegant people.

But San Jose is no longer elegant; it is a slum, to put it bluntly – a run-down version of Los Angeles. Everyone in Costa Rica wants to live there, because this is where all the money is – all the jobs and all the business. Hell must be like this: someplace everybody wants to be – but everybody hates, once they get there. I ought to know: I lived there for five years when I first came to Costa Rica nine years ago, and I was desperate to get out of there – but like everybody else, found that hard to do.

This brings up an interesting question: how do people adapt to living in such terrible conditions? The answer is obvious: they have to turn themselves off, so they can stand the pain. And they also have to make sure that everyone around them is also deadened. They have to lose their sensitivity – if people around them can feel their pain, this makes them feel theirs also. The cardinal rule becomes: no pain! And pain-killers of all kind are in constant use.

The most potent of these are human mass movements and identities. People have lost their original identities (along with their original hunter-gatherer societies) and they seize these new identities with a passion typical of the mass – where force of numbers compensates for all else. The major benefit, which is usually obscured, is the loss of social pain. People will gladly go to war over this – to inflict pain on others, so they won’t feel their own.

Instead of recognizing their pain, they deny it – and declare if someone is in pain (of any kind) that is their fault. It even gets worse: they are only happy if they are causing some else some pain – and the more pain the better.

This is the down side to mass movements: the worst badness that can be imagined. There is also an up side: all the benefits of large-scale societies – such as this blog you are now reading. The question that immediately comes to mind is this: do the advantages of our present way of life outweigh the disadvantages? The answer is clearly: no.

But immediately people will object: they have no choice – no other way of life is possible, so the present way must be accepted. Things cannot be changed. And they are right: things cannot be changed – but for a reason they do not consider: people have become powerless, and society has become all-powerful.

To put it another way: society (or the world) no longer cares about people. As far as its concerned, they don’t even exist.

In San Jose, I had been on the receiving end of this, as it was dished out by an expert: a woman who was supposed to be helping me solve my residency problems. Women are especially good at this: they have superior social skills, and can be vicious with a vengence. When I remained calm, she redoubled her efforts – tearing up my financial records with enthusiasm, so they made no sense. When I came home, I was dead – exactly what she wanted.

Which brings up one more thing: the difference between American bureaucracies and Latino ones. I also had to renew my passport on this trip. The American consulate make that easy: everything was smooth and well-organized. But renewing my Costa Rica residency was entirely different. Its bureaucracy was so senseless it made me wonder how Costa Rica had ever survived.

Which brings up one more thing: friends in the software industry, where I spent 20 years – ones who are well-acquainted with it, have remarked to me personally that it is like a third-world country – where nothing makes any sense.

The Horror of it All

What kind of world do we live in?

This has always been the central question people have asked themselves. And the answer has always said as much about ourselves as the world around us.

When we are really seeing things as they now are, we have to admit that the human species has evolved into something monstrous and inhuman.

We have been possessed, or parasitized, by a force that has made us replicate itself endlessly, just as cancer does to the human body. We are no longer humans, but something else – something preoccupied with growth, or progress. And intent on destroying ourselves.

Now I am sitting in front of my computer, after a fine breakfast, this doesn’t seem so bad – it’s only the end of the world. And no doubt other worlds will take its place. But as a scared little kid, which I really am, it is more than I can stand.

My body expects a world that will take care of me, and where I will take care of others – as humans have done for millions of years. A world where just the opposite is happening is more than I can stomach.

But stomach it we must. And if I can do it, I am sure others can too. All we have to do is overcome our initial reluctance to see how horrible things have really become.

If we could destroy the world, which we surely have, we could rebuild it too.

Progress Eliminates People

“There is a tide in the affairs of men,” Shakespeare.

Until now, the question has always been: in which direction was that fickle tide running? This tide was always in in favor of some group of people or another – and as result, power was transferred from one to the other.

But now the whole human race is being swept along by something larger than itself. Power is being transferred from us to something else: some other process – which is not interested in people at all, but seems intent on their destruction.

People will readily agree that they are being swept along by grand events, they like this feeling – but are not so ready to agree on their helplessness (which is really the same thing). And they are most reluctant accept their impending demise – preferring to think instead that they will come out ahead – somehow or other. In religious terms: they still believe in God.

To put this another way: ideas are powerful, and we are in the grip of one of them: our belief in progress, and its inevitability. Progress means things must get better and better – without limit. Anything that cannot become better and better must be eliminated.

Therefore, people must be eliminated.

The logic here is inexorable, once its premise is accepted – which is, I repeat: that progress is inexorable.

Dying by Degrees

This is the way to go, people will tell you: not from a sudden trauma, but gradually, over a long period of time. Don’t believe them, there is no good way to die – and I ought to know.

Being run over by a truck has its advantages: no complicated explanations are necessary, and the whole thing is over quickly. Everybody assumes it was not your fault – even if it was.

When you get progressively feebler, mentally and physically – people can’t help feeling you are not trying hard enough. Maybe you haven’t been eating enough Wheaties. Maybe old age is some kind of disease the really clever could avoid – or at least put off for awhile longer, with no serious consequences.

You even begin to feel that way about yourself: “What can’t I be as sharp as I used to be?” Loving your decrepit self gets harder and harder – not that it was ever that easy.

Poetics and Epistemology

These two are not usually associated with each other – but they are close cousins. Poetry tells what the world is like, in a way we never quite realized before.

The definition of Epistemology in Wikipedia:

Epistemology (About this sound pronunciation (help·info)) (from Greek ἐπιστήμη (epistēmē), meaning “knowledge, science”, and λόγος (logos), meaning “study of”) is the branch of philosophy concerned with the nature and scope (limitations) of knowledge.[1] It addresses the questions:

  • What is knowledge?
  • How is knowledge acquired?
  • How do we know what we know?

It also has a definition for Poetics, but I will not bother you will that. Explaining poetics is the business of people with special qualifications. I will only say it is a subject avoided by most, and one that has changed so much it is hardly recognizable. Re-discovering it for me has been rewarding – the re-discovery of a new land. And also an explanation of what in the old land we were so anxious to avoid.

Robert Pinsky covers it in one sentence in his book The Situation of Poetry, on page 150:

The difficult marriage of poetics or epistemology with natural description: the fluid landscape and the poet’s repeated definition of his own role in relation to that flux.

This is not just the job of a poet, it seems to me, but the job of everyone.

Meditation on the Self

This morning, early in the morning while I was still asleep, I resolved to meditate first thing when I woke up. This I did – and discovered, once again, that my self didn’t really exist in the ordinary sense of the word: as something solid that existed outside of time. My experience of it (the only way I have of knowing it) is ephemeral and transitory. And I discovered, once again, that it (whatever it is) is the only thing that is real – and I have to concentrate on it: on my body sensations very carefully – and let go of thinking completely.

I did have one thought though: I would study poetry, and study Robert Pinsky’s book The Situation of Poetry. This I did. And was struck by the poem he was studying: J.V. Cunningham’s Epigram #1:

In the thirteenth year of life
I took my heart to by my wife,

And as I turn in bed by night
I have my heart for my delight.

No other heart may mine estrange
For my heart changes as I change,

And I is bound, and I am free,
And with my death it dies with me.

One amazing fact about poetry, something Pinsky demonstrates over and over, is that it can by analyzed without destroying its emotional appeal. Its construction can be tightly limited: this poem is iambic tetrameter, for example. But this does not limit it at all – but seems to amplify it instead.

For my part, I keep saying over and over that our culture does not preserve the self – and get nothing but blank looks. “What on earth am I talking about?” This is what Cunningham refers to as his heart – sometimes called the soul.

Practically speaking, for me it means I must concentrate on being (and not thinking) – and let everything else go. Which will happen soon enough, in any case. The result, paradoxically enough, is much better thinking.

I cannot resist a parting shot at our poetry resistant (and it seems to me, our reality resistant) culture: if we don’t exist, what are we? What have we got left?

Sometimes my mind seems to be in the same groove as others: such as this article in the NY Times: Look at Me, I’m Crying. Excellent writing, from a woman who teaches writing.

Also, from the opposite extreme, also from the NY Times: Stumbling Into Bad Behavior. How our basic cultural values encourage deceit. To be honest, this is also common in Latin America, but Americans seem to have perfected the process.

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