The Rest is Just Commentary

Tags

Extreme right-wing, tea patriots, teabaggers

As one rows through life, (apt analogy notwithstanding), one does, at least once, come to  what seems to oneself at least, an original conclusion about this or that flotsam that crosses the bow.

See, right there, I probably wrote a sentence that is unparalleled in human history, if not for its brilliance, then at least for its collection of words before unknown in such conjunction.

Yet, I am torn between the fact that we humans probably talk too much (ala Hillel and his oft quoted remark ““That which is hateful to you, do not unto another: This is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary.”) and my own creative genius, “no original thought has occurred since December 14, 1963.”

Put together, they form a perfect indictment that is hard to avoid the next time you decide to open your mouth and spew forth with some sort of “wisdom” meant for the ages. You’re just whistling Dixie as it were.

Yet, in my endless quest for truth, I stumbled across a word that seems to me, “new” and so perfectly fit for today, that it required a few tingling fingerprints across the keys to bring this dose of enlightenment to you, my dearest reader of all readers. Alas, but a cursory “google” proved that this “new” word was hardly new, but had been bounced around for some time, proving again, my only original thought.

(By the way, my original thought, occurred sometime after December 14, 1963, for it must be in a linear time progression, so it is perhaps better not to think to hard on the subject. The December 14, 1963 original thought was “Oh damn, the music died,” uttered by Dick “Night Train” Lane upon discovering the dead body of his beloved Dinah Washington, dead by her own “oops” overdose of barbiturates. Not to be confused with “the day the music died, in the song American Pie written about the untimely deaths of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. “the Big Bopper” Richardson, in a plane crash on February 3, 1959.)

Back to the word.

The word was freedumb.

It seemed to encapsulate all that is Amerika these days. Dumbasses who spout “freedom” always with the slavering spittle of “I’ll die for it” flung from their lungs as their eyes cart-wheel and spin in ways that would make the average carny feel right at home.

Freeeeeee-dummmmmmb. Catchy no?

Ain’t nothin’ new under the sun as they say.

What has been will be again,
    what has been done will be done again;
    there is nothing new under the sun. (Ec 1:9)

Here’s a few notions ’bout freedumb you might have missed.

Don’t that just bring back fond memories? Old George was all about protectin’ them freedumbs from those A-rabs, when he wasn’t holdin’ hands with ’em. Lest we forget.

Damn facts as usual, getting in the way.

There was a man with a messed up head, fit for finger painting, which is where it all ended up.

It’s all been said so many times before.

It’s all be cried about, over and over.

It’s all frustrated the right good sense of the few, the proud, the thinking.

The word speaks volumes, leaving us the refrain, all else is commentary.

My latest entry?

Oh a someone who shall remain nameless who just posted one of those oh so obvious memes from Facebook that we all use because they say in few words what we think, even though often if looked at carefully, they are stupid? Those things.

It was a “oh, gosh, I feel so bad and so sorry for all those poor parents whose children were murdered by that awful kid who went on a rampage.” Except said person, had but a week or so ago, on MOTHER’S FREAKIN’ DAY, posted a meme of a purdy pink hand gun and at the ripe age of 65, moaned how much she wanted one of her very own.

How do your reckon with a mind that has warped itself into a slippery eel who no longer can tell head from tail? It has swallered its own head!

Such is the state of too much of Merika these days. Freedumb don’t begin to explain it.

In watching the badly done History channel’s marathon of the Great Wars, one noted that Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin, all managed to design and wear spiffy new “uniforms” to define themselves as something “new under the sun”.

The poor turds that banner themselves as Tea Patriots, will never see the demagogue coming, cuz, so far I ain’t seen Ted Cruz or Adam West, or any of the other high hyenas of crazy parading around in high boots and military garb. And ya know, that’s what demagogues wear. It’s a rule.

So much for sanity today. I’m all crazied out.

*Taking down the crazy, one stupid placard at a time*

The Era of the Robber Baron–Good or Not So Good?

Tags

American History, Henry Ford, robber barons

I’ve been engaged for some days in a debate with an arch conservative. Eventually, I made mention of the era of the robber barons, that time of the Gilded Age, when industrialists of one sort or another came forth and fought each other for supremacy, and while doing so, became largely responsible for bringing about the American industrial age of greatness. It is a greatness that continues to this day, though it may now be on the wane.

The question becomes, at what cost? It seems to me that conservatives are all too willing to let the ends justify the means, finding as the argument went, that the good these men did makes them heroes and the bad they did, well, it’s the price of genius. I suppose it remains to be seen whether any of them was in fact a genius or rather just brilliant at playing the game of king of the hill. I don’t find their ends justified.

Arguably, each exhibited the personality traits that better fitted them to be serial killers, but for the grace of having a different avenue to display their driven self-centered megalomania. They were men who felt born to lead, and born to succeed. And given their complete lack of emotional attachment, they were prepared to succeed whatever the cost. In building their empires, they brought America into a new era, an era that I believe would have been achieved in any case, but of course it’s impossible to know how changing the dynamics would have changed the outcome for good or ill.

I should note that this is likely to be a two-parter, because I want to delve into the life of one of the players, Henry Ford, who came on the scene, arguably at the tail end of the era, but his story is instructive. And I feel fairly qualified to do so, since I was born and raised in Flint, Michigan, home of GM, and just down the road from Detroit, home of Ford. I worked in Detroit for two decades, and am familiar with the Ford legacy as well as all the old haunts–the Rouge plant and the Highland Park plant. I’ve been to Greenfield Village, the museum developed by Henry, on more than one occasion, and seen the homes of Edsel and Henry II or as he was known in Detroit, “The Duce”. I’ve read histories of the family. I grew up in a union family wherein most everyone in my family and in my neighborhood worked for GM or one of its supporting industries. I know the terrain.

The story of Henry is to me the story of a deeply flawed individual who was not worth the knowing, but who accomplished much. His talent was in his drive to “be somebody” rather than any particular innovation. Born in Dearborn, to a farming family, Henry’s interests lay in machinery and how they worked. He was allowed to go to work in the city at age 16 and soon became involved with others in the development of the new craze, the automobile. Some 250 other car companies were started at or about the time Henry set up the Ford Motor Company. Securing investors he began his quest to develop a cheaper but reliable car.

Henry’s quest was not merely motivated by a desire for fame and fortune, in fact he cared little for money. He enjoyed fame, but he hated the regular elites of Detroit and elsewhere, including bankers and lawyers. Ultimately when the money rolled in, he chose not to build his mansion in Grosse Point, the elite residence for Detroiters, but he build Fairlane in Dearborn, the then still farming community where he was born and raised. Henry, being of rural beginnings did want to bring a cheap and serviceable vehicle to the farm, where distances to town were long and often arduous. He wanted to make lives easier. But of course, a cheap car would also be one that become available to the average person, not just the rich, and THAT would vastly open the market to unbelievable  sales.

Everyone knows of the success of the Model T, the car that revolutionized America in so many ways. But perhaps people don’t realize that development started with the Model A. Successive models were mostly failures for one reason or another, until he got to the letter T. Being driven to succeed goes with the territory of the robber baron.

When the Model T took off and the orders came streaming in, Henry set his mind to thinking how he might make more and at a faster rate. It is unclear to me whether the idea of a conveyor belt and stationary workers was Henry’s idea or one of his gang of developers, but in any case, it started with one part, the magneto which was broken into pieces and then worked into a piece by piece assembly. They looked for another part to add, and then another, until in the end, the modern assembly line was born, allowing the production of a vehicle in literally half the time or less.

The problem became then, that the work was so boring that his attrition rate was awful. Men quit after a few months. That is not cost effective. So Henry hit on an idea–pay them more. This didn’t mean more in their weekly salary. Oh, no. There was a catch. They signed a contract, worked for a year, and received the equivalency of the $5 dollars an hour in one lump sum. Immigrants who made up a large portion of his workforce, were required to attend the Ford school to learn English. Of course it was hoped that that lump sum might burn a hole in the pocket and be dumped off quickly at the nearest Ford dealership!

This is where things get murky, in the sense that one enters into the dark recesses of Henry’s mind. For Henry believed that he was better than most people, and that belief gave him an insight on how a person ought to live. In one of the most bizarre results, this is what happened when an immigrant “class” finished its English training. An event was scheduled. A very large  ( and  I mean very very large) pot was constructed. The immigrant “graduates” were required to dress in their native country clothing. They marched up a series of steps to the top of the pot, and descended down into it. Two men then went up with long sticks and simulated the “stirring of the pot”, after which, the immigrants re-emerged now dressed in American garb of suit and tie and bowler, descending to the floor again. Weird? To say the least.

But it did not stop there. A unit of the FMC was set up as a “social” monitoring division. Men went out to seek out the homes of workers and “investigate” them. Henry had a series of rules about how people were to live. The monitors were to determine that people were lawfully married, that they did not drink, that they kept their homes properly clean. Violators were warned. Second violations were met with dismissal. Henry knew best you see how humans should live.

Henry thought the Model T the perfect vehicle. After GM was formed, and then Chrysler, new cars, a range of models and prices, began to be seen on the streets. Edsel, Henry’s son and titular head of the company (in name only of course), urged that a new model be developed. Henry refused. Why? Because in Henry’s view, nobody needed anything more than the Model T. Henry knew best. This was to be illustrative of the relationship between son and father–the father bullied and dictated and the son made the best of it.

NEXT: The Rouge Plant, and Henry’s really dark side, and a finish with the Contrarian’s fun with names!)

Related articles

• ‘Henry Ford’ film offers look at man behind machine (usatoday.com)
• PBS documentary explores the life and achievements of Henry Ford (heraldonline.com)

 

Rummaging in the Attic

Tags

hobbies, life in the meadow, lifestyle, passion, psychology

That’s quite a trick, since I don’t have one. Attic that is. As in formal upper room amid the rafters, wherein various bits and pieces of nostalgia are stored reminding us of times and peoples past.

But I do have a head, and I can rummage in that endlessly, wherein is stored all of the above, plus a rather eclectic array of other items of interest.

If there is to be a key word in today’s exercise in wordery, eclectic would be the word. It is the word that perhaps best defines me. And, even at my greying age, I can still astound myself with feats of introspection that well, cause me to see myself in a whole new light.

Heady? 

You bet.

Nothing is more fun than to poke around in the old braincase and turn up a new theory of “who the hell are you?”

I’ve often spoken, (typespoke?) about my eclectic nature when it comes to hobbies. I have no hobby, singularly speaking. I have hobbies. The reason is that no single one ever captured my attention for long periods of time. For a few weeks or months perhaps, but then I grew bored.

I came to see eventually, that I liked to do many things, just not exclusively. I became adequate at many things like quilting, sewing, crocheting, knitting, beading, and so forth, but master of none. I came to rather think myself the better for all that.

But in rummaging, I realized something. Eclectic shadows me in most other endeavors. I became a lawyer, but never had a love for law. I was perfectly adequate but there was no passion.

I found a passion for biblical studies and theology, and I still enjoy it, but the passion waned, over time. Like the wave that works it way to shore, it has no choice but to slide back quickly into the sea once there.

I garden, but I only like parts of it. I love cooking, but I have no desire to spend hours working out unique combinations until I find just the right blend of something. I will never create the prize-winning recipe, any more than I will the perfect rose or day lily.

I seem to have made a career out of being slightly above mediocre. A journeywoman I might call it. I can make an acceptable whatever, but not quite to the level of being truly a masterpiece. I don’t have the drive for that.

I am similarly captivated by no decor or style of clothing. I’m not an “American Colonial” or a “French Provincial” kinda person. I blend art deco with a Chinese screen with country distressed.

I am not a Christian Dior or a Ralph Lauren. I don’t die for Gucci or Cargo pants. I don’t care to stand out as fashionista or as freak.

Nothing would be more interesting than to throw all this as a psychologist and ask: who the hell is this person?

I rather suspect that there is a deep-seated, barely acknowledged sense of insecurity some where lurking. To do much well, but nothing spectacularly is the hallmark of one who doesn’t want to draw attention to the possible limits of one’s own abilities.

You can see as much here. Blogging is the platform for those who don’t want to test their writing in the cold creative light of actual publication. That calls for polishing and editing, finding the exact right word, not just a good enough one at the moment. Don’t criticize my writing for heaven’s sake, I’m just trying to get thoughts down on paper that are reasonably coherent so we can converse.

Yes, blogging is perfect for the insecure. A million excuses why that post garnered no comments, why traffic is slow this month, blah blah blah.

Still, when I think hard on it, I’m not displeased with my ordinariness. I like the fact that one day I may be reading Thomas Merton and the next an article on string theory. Tomorrow, who knows, I may be exploring the wonders of basket weaving, all the while toying with the idea of rereading Thucydides and the Peloponnesian Wars.

I don’t have to be an expert at anything. I am safe in my dabbling. I know a little bit about a lot of things. It makes me a renaissance woman! Perhaps a little renaissance woman, but one none the less–even if only in my own mind.

**

Tomorrow: What it takes to have a successful marriage (from a non-expert)

Truth or Consequences?

Tags

fiction, James Frey, Literature, Non-fiction

Okay, so yesterday’s post was a bit of fluffery. I admit that. But I do have an excuse.

You see, our television, only two years old, blew up. Suddenly, no picture and a thick white puff of smoke floated toward the ceiling. That can really put you off your feed.

Well, yesterday we went a television hunting, and this time for a shiny new flat screen. In anticipation of our move to New Mexico, we knew we weren’t gonna lug those old-fashioned behemoths around any more.

And we got more than we bargained for. Prices have come down considerably, and we have a nice 32″ beauty that had us oohing and ahhing last night. (We shall forget the cussing and gnashing of teeth as the Contrarian went through his usual, “I can do this without any stinkin’ directions” episode, before grabbing the manual and reading what plug goes where.

Anyway, I ran yesterday’s blog up quickly before we left. Truthfully, we do watch Survivor sometimes. We have skipped seasons entirely, and we have quit mid-season a few times, bored with the field of contestants or for some other reason. But truthfully (this becomes important in a minute) Rob Mariano is a favorite of mine and we enjoyed how he manipulated the newbies. A truer Svengali was never met, nor one with a cuter smile.

Anywho, I was back on the computer, doing e-mail stuff. The television in the office was on, as it always is, and Oprah was on, as alas she usually is, given that there is freakin’ nothing else on at that time of the afternoon. Phew. I catch a bit here and there, and mostly don’t watch.

Anywho, again, she had on this dude called James Frey, whose pic is above. He had written a book called “A Million Little Pieces” of which I had never heard. He was back on Oprah after a big kerfuffle about the book. Seems it was written as a memoir and was more fiction than true story. It seems that Ms. Winfrey had named it to her “Book Club” as a selection, the book sales had gone through the roof, when all this untruthiness had come about.

It is not clear who is mostly to blame for all this. Surely Mr. Frey was aware that he was portraying his bout with drugs, alcohol and crime by stretching some facts and making up some more. Were the publishers derelict in “investigating” the truth of his story? Was Ms. Winfrey’s staff similarly derelict in their checking out the book?

Whatever, Oprah had the man back on in part it seems to make some amends for what I am told was a thoroughly excoriating interview she had with Frey after the “hoax” was uncovered.

Part Two is on today, and I suspect I’ll pay a bit more attention, since there is much to contemplate here.

Frey read some folks like Faulkner, and decided that he wanted to write, to move people as he had been moved. With apparently not much of a background to draw from, he spent some years in pretty dire circumstances, while trying to learn to write.

I’m not defending him, nor condemning anyone either. He wrote a book, and a publisher wanted to publish it as a memoir.(Given that I know a few bloggers  who write beautifully but can’t get published, while a complete cypher of a human being named Snooki who is probably not as smart as a rock, can get published, I can understand the allure to Mr. Frey)  It sold lots of copies, and tens of thousands more after Oprah pushed it. She was moved by it and claimed everyone at Harpo was as well. Hundreds of testimonials were written. Addicts galore claimed that the book had been of great help to them.

After it was determined that Frey had inflated or simply made up some of the “facts” all hell broke loose. Oprah, as we have said, publicly whipped him. People sued, claiming “emotional pain and distress”.

It all comes down to this: Is there something intrinsically different in a memoir versus a work of fiction? I mean, is there something so wildly in opposite between an experience of the body and that of the mind? Is one less “real”? Is one less valid?

Frey was all he claimed, a drug addict and an alcoholic and a criminal, albeit a very petty one. Do those who were “helped” suddenly become less “helped” by the revelation that words and scenes were not necessarily actual?  I truly don’t know.

New writers are often advised to “write about what you know.” Certainly, if I am reading about the history of my country’s foundation, I want to know of the writer’s background. A degree in religious education, for instance, is a whole lot less persuasive than a doctorate in American history from Yale might be, especially if you the author are trying to convince me of a wildly new theory of how our country formed.

But, seriously in fiction, writers write about things they don’t know all the time. Colleen McCullough writes about ancient Rome, after writing about the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church for instance. So we know that good research can make up for a lot of lack of personal experience.

And no one claims Frey didn’t experience being all the things he wrote about. He embellished them, to be sure, but does that make his conclusions less valid?

Is there a firm line between memoir and fiction? Aren’t we always interpreting actual events through our own lenses? Aren’t we putting them together in our minds with other, recognized and not, “events”. Aren’t our visceral gut feelings responses to conscious and unconscious thoughts and remembrances?

Were those helped less helped? I suspect not.

What are your thoughts? How would you feel if what had been useful to you turned out in the end to be a hoax of sorts? Have you experienced something akin to this?

I confess to being perplexed on this one.

Related articles

• James Frey Back on ‘Oprah,’ Says He Doesn’t Respect Memoir Genre (VIDEO) (tvsquad.com)
• James Frey Describes 2006 Interview with Oprah as ‘Personal Car Crash’ (genzpad.com)
• The Man Who Knew Nothing About Memoir (brevity.wordpress.com)
• James Frey’s Rematch on The Oprah Winfrey Show (thedailybeast.com)

The Fourth Time’s the Charm

Tags

Boston Rob Mariano, Entertainment, Survivor

Well, I can tell you we were glued to the TV last night, as the finals of Survivor began.

My all-time favorite player, Boston Rob Mariano was in the final four, with someone about to return from Redemption Island, bringing them back to five.

Then another challenge, a tribal council and on to the final challenge. The winner would be assured a spot in the final three and a final tribal council would eliminate the extra player.

We have had an on again, off again affair with Survivor. What has never wavered is our enjoyment of  Jeff Probst, the host. But over the years, the game has changed, appearing to “jump the shark” on more than one occasion, and bounced back with new twists and turns.

What had started some ten years ago as a “survival show” seeming to favor the physically fit, had quickly evolved into a game of alliances, blindsides, cheating and lying. It is a game of “out-play, out-wit, out-last.”

Mariano played in his first Survivor in 2002. He didn’t do very well, but was asked back in what became a common thing in the “reality competition” genre–returning players. He met his wife Amber in 2004 game, and together they went to the finals, became engaged and married.

Rob returned once again in a “villains vs heroes”. He was a hero and was booted quickly. Russell Hantz was the villain, and stuck around until the final where he lost once again. Russell, it should be noted, is a thoroughly nasty individual, who belittles all the other players and is the typical Napoleon dictator, threatening and ordering people around.

Rob got in Russell’s face at the finals the villains-heroes and suggested that given another chance he would kick old Russell around the island.

So CBS decided to form two teams around these two. And it was game on.

Russell was gone in a heart beat, his older more mature team mates not the least bit interested in his bullying. Rob found a way to avoid the obvious problem–you’ve had your chance, now it’s our turn.

He was able to be helpful, offering advice and guidance without being either pushy or threatening. He could play the “let me get you to the merger, and then of course get rid of me” card.

He did in fact guide his team to victory after victory after Russell was eliminated on the other side. He recognized a budding romance on his team and convinced his teammates to pick off a likeable Christian kid, Matt,  to protect the group.

When Matt, now set off to Redemption Island, continued to win his challenges against other booted players, the scene was set. Matt returned. But Matt made more fatal mistakes, toying with double-crossing his original team, then telling Rob that he wasn’t going to do it. Matt returned to Redemption Island after just a couple of days.

The merger having occurred, Rob’s team had a numerical advantage and he held his group together while masterminding a methodical picking off of the remnants of the other team. Now his team kept him to get to the “final six”. He instituted a never before seen “buddy system” to keep the other team’s members from trying to co-opt his team members when they were alone. Nobody was alone.

By the time they got to the final six, Rob had three of the remaining members firmly loyal to him. They no doubt thought that going to the final with Rob would assure them victory. One of those most loyal was sacrificed at the end, and a perennial dangerous woman who was winning challenges posed a real danger should she get to the finals.

 His was able in the end, by winning the final immunity to guarantee himself a place in the final three and convince loyal Natalie to vote to eliminate Ashley a stronger player, making the final three Natalie, Rob and Crazy Phillip.

While nothing is certain, Rob was in the best position he could be in to win. I’m not sure how divided the jury was, but the impassioned argument of one of their fellow jurors, David, may have done the trick. He claimed that Rob had simply run the game from start to finish, controlled everyone and everything. Nobody deserved to win but him.

And win he did. He had of the nine votes, at least five and I haven’t seen a total vote count. Jeff Probst, clearly a fan of Rob’s, said it may well have been the most  perfect game of Survivor ever played. I agree. Rob has given new life to a very tired concept. Only time will tell if enough new elements can be introduced to reinvigorate  the show.

In the end, of course it is a silly show, where lying, and backstabbing are rewarded with money. Strange concept of course. Yet having watched Rob throughout his four Survivors, I’ve seen a young kid of twenty -eight grow into a mature man. He’s been married for over six years to Amber, they have two daughters now, and he apparently is starting a new project with the History Channel.

I wish him and his family the best. They have both entertained us over the years.

 And yeah, I know a ton of you have never seen it, and could care less. LOL. Well there is always tomorrow and something new to talk about!

Wisdom Wisps

Tags

Essays, God, philosophy, theology, wisdom

I think about wisdom. Perhaps more than the average person. It’s hard to tell. It’s not something that is a great conversation item.

Some years ago, I realized that perhaps more than anything else, I’d like to be wise. Wise in the sense that people wanted to listen to me.

But I’m not wise, nor, I suspect, will I ever be so. You see, the people who I consider to be wise listen more than they speak. And I’m the antithesis of that.

I’m convinced that wise people become wise because they listen. They absorb the wisdom nuggets of others. They also read a lot. I read a good deal, but not a lot. Not as much as I should.

I consider Socrates wise. But he was wise in realizing that he didn’t know much. His wisdom was, through questioning, showing others that they didn’t know very much either. In some sense, he invented the idea of true serious thought, deeper than the surface–probing, winding, turning, backing up, circling.

It’s hard not to think of Buddhist monks and Indian yogis as wise. They sound wise. Perhaps it’s because they say things that I don’t quite get, and I equate wisdom with statements that puzzle me. So, I’m not sure.

Lots of people, mostly dead, seem wise to me. Henry David Thoreau for instance. He said two things I never forgot:

“Most men live lives  of quiet desperation.”

I think that is one of the truest and saddest things I’ve ever read. We all live encased in armor, a total mask. Presenting ourselves as “normal” when inside I suspect most of us are very unsure of most everything. And that frightens us.

“I went to the woods to live deliberately.”

I don’t think you have to go to the woods, but every hermit, every monk, everyone who is serious about their spiritual journey knows that isolation is essential, if only for a few minutes a day.

Thomas Merton was wise I believe, but perhaps in some sense what we define as wise is that which we believe is true. For the same reason I think Lakota healer and visionary, Nicholas Black Elk was wise.

The bible speaks a lot about wisdom, and addresses wisdom as female. Sophia. That’s a nice thought, wisdom being the female aspect of God. Yet, I don’t think of God as having “aspects.” I see God as an integrated whole, a singleness, not a duality or triad. These are human constructs designed to help our minds understand the transcendent quality of the Godhead. At least so I believe.

The dictionary suggests that wisdom is the ability to discern what is right and true. Philosophically it is defined as the “best use of knowledge.” The problem with this, is that again, it seems to be in the eye of the beholder.

A Cameroon proverb says of wisdom:

The heart of the wise man lies quiet like limpid water.

That seems to confirm that wise people aren’t big talkers.

We watch a television show called An Idiot Abroad. It’s produced by Ricky Gervais, a real favorite of mine, and is about the travels of his friend “Karl”. Ricky refers to Karl as a moron, an idiot. We were unsure of watching, since we surely had no desire to laugh at the goings on a person who had mental defects.

That was not the case. Karl is completely normal mentally. He’s just a simple home town boy, sent a travel across the globe. And he says rather funny, but often quite wise things.

“It’s better to be an ugly person and to look at good-looking people, than to be good looking and have to look at ugly people. “

Isn’t that true? Karl drops little pearls like that. Yet, Karl is not wise by any standard I know.

Which means that even rather simple average people can drop a wise bomb from time to time.

Sometimes people refer to a young child as a “very old soul.” I’ve never met one myself, but I assume that they mean that the child says things that are wise “beyond his years.”

The Contrarian is wise a good deal of the time, about a lot of things. He’s worth listening to. He once met a kid, still a teenager who had quit school. He found it worthless. He left home, and made his way as best he could. Most of his time he spent in the library, reading. He was probably wise then, and no doubt is even wiser today.

I know a couple of my Internet friends, one I’ve known a long time, another I’ve just “met.” Both write exquisitely. Tim, many of you know, from Straight-Friendly. The other is Paul and many of you may not yet visit his blog. You should it’s called Cafe Philos. They make me think, more than I want to sometimes.

I think wise people have an open mind. About everything. Nothing is sacred, so to speak. Everything is up for grabs. Some things, over time, are probably true, but the door is always a bit ajar, just in case something new comes along that causes a need to re-evaluate.

I’m good at this too.

Now if I could only shut up long enough to work on that listening thing. With Lent approaching, I guess perhaps I’ve found at least one of my Lenten practices. How about you?

Related Articles

• Lessons From the Old Testament: Seeking Wisdom (thimblefulloftheology.wordpress.com)
• 7 Qualities of Wisdom (familysynergy.wordpress.com)
• Wisdom: What it is, what it isn’t (sacredlessons.wordpress.com)
• Karl Pilkington (pepsoid.wordpress.com)
• Wisdom (crossquotes.org)
• The Yoga of Wisdom (pepperspractice.wordpress.com)
• Native Wisdom For White Minds (wonderingpilgrim.wordpress.com)

Fundamentally Futile

Tags

fundamentalism, psychology, truth

I’ve often concluded that I’ve said everything I have to say about fundamentalism. I end up being wrong. I find something new to add.

When I speak of it, I just don’t mean the fundogelicals, the religiously obtuse. I also refer to all those folks who operate in the same fashion, taking as truth that which they desire to be true. That’s the working definition we’ll be using.

I kind of came to this after reading an extraordinarily good article in Esquire yesterday, Greetings from Idiot America. For, in fact, the same mindset is at work in both groups. That is why to some degree I think that the wacko religious right and the wacko political right will  find each other understandable.

Note I said understandability. That is the problem. To most of us, hereafter called the rational world, such people are plainly not understandable. It seems impossible for such moronic people to hold down jobs and, well actually walk and chew gum at the same time. It would be easy to just assume that these folks are all of sub-intelligence, for indeed they talk that way sometimes.

“We’ve been attacked,” he says, “by the intelligent, educated segment of the culture.” (this uttered by Pastor Ray Mummert during the Dover, PA “intelligent design controversy)

Indeed! For in a real sense, it is education that is under attack in America as the Esquire article points out so well. But it is far more than that.

Alan Bloom suggested it in his classic, The Closing of the American Mind. Paraphrasing, Bloom suggested that the fundamentalist mind is amazing. It has the ability to erect a wall that allows contradictory beliefs to be held at the same time, all the while, never allowing them to meet and thus cause a conflict.

I think it does even more than that. The wall is not just an internal one that keeps geology as it relates to finding fossil fuels a good thing from intersecting with  geology  that makes claims about the ancient age of the earth evil . No the wall is external as well.

The wall is a decision to believe that something is true, and then believing it in the face of any and all evidence to the contrary, no matter what, forever. Everything then coming from the outside world meets this wall and must pass inspection. When no conflict is seen, it can be accepted, if it fails, it is simply rejected.

This is what Pierce means in the Esquire piece when he says:

 Never has a nation so dedicated itself to the proposition that not only should its people hold nutty ideas but they should cultivate them, treasure them, shine them up, and put them right there on the mantelpiece.

What this means is that you can spend a lifetime trying to explain truth to these people and never gain so much as a centimeter of progress. It is akin to trying to teach particle physics to a four-year old. Their brains are not functioning in a mode that makes them able to comprehend what you are talking about.

The trouble is, they think everybody thinks this way, backwards. And they don’t realize that on the day-to-day activities of life, they don’t either. We could accomplish nothing if we did. Yet, they honestly believe that those who oppose them, who don’t believe the bible is literally true as historical fact, and  that trickle down economics won’t  secure them a financially secure future at the car wash if only we will let business be; they honestly believe that we make the opposite assumptions about the world and then go in search of backup “facts” to support our preconceived beliefs.

They really do believe this. That is why they can so easily ignore all that we bring them. They assume our facts are simply created to win the battle and control their lives.

What they do not get is that one doesn’t come to such a bizarre mindset as a matter of course. It is the result of a deep-seeded fear. Of course they don’t feel fearful at all, and will laugh if you tell them this. But their mindset was developed precisely to eliminate the fear. It is fear of the unknown, and fear that the future, the world is ultimately unknowable. It is fear of non-existence. It is a fear of insecurity.

When this fear becomes so great that living becomes difficult, the mind searches for security. Anything that will make life livable without the constant nagging fear that it all means nothing. Religion is not in and of itself a bad thing, nor is food, or alcohol, or even perhaps recreational drugs. All become bad however, when they are used to force down the fear of the unknown future.

The fundamentalist mind finds relief in answers, answers in the bible or from Fox Noise, it matters little which one. They offer relief from uncertainty, from guilt, and from not knowing. They offer people and things to blame other than oneself. They allow one to be selfish and not feel any remorse.

The fear must be intense, because the solution is so absolute. Absolute fidelity to the “belief” is essential. No crack can be allowed. Any and all contrary evidence is misguided, or intentional to gain the upper hand for the other side, or the work of Satan.

This is exactly what the GOP and the Neo-Cons have learned to exploit. Pray on fear, ease guilt about being selfish, and point the finger somewhere else.

The nutty right can hear and see that there is another side, but they cannot allow even a tiny seed of doubt to enter into their minds. If they do, all is lost, God will forsake them, or the security they have so assiduously constructed will tumble into dust.

That’s my take anyhow.

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For a response to the biblical belief that God will never allow the earth to be destroyed, and thus we have no such thing as “climate change” read James McGrath’s post.

And for a sort of related post by OKJimm on Veterans Day and the futility of arguing with the right-wing nuttery see this post. 

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