Pure Products

Selected lines from Spring and All, by William Carlos Williams (1883-1963):

The pure products of America

go crazy ----

***

peasant traditions give them

character

but flutter and flaunt

sheer rags -- succumbing without

emotion 

saved numbed terror

***

and we degraded prisoners

destined

to hunger until we eat filth

while the imagination strains

after deer

going by fields of goldenrod in

the stifling heat of September

somehow

it seems to destroy us

It is only in isolate flocks that

something

is given off

No one

to witness

and adjust, no one to drive the car

I guess the reason why the blues is such an American form of music is that we are probably the first nation/empire in the history of the world to realize just how crazy we actually are. Songs and poems about the desperate and downtrodden seem like our real national hymns, much more apt to our nature than soaring anthems about glorious battles.  I think the founders realized that in their audacious democracy they would either succeed grandly or fail utterly.  For at least the first century of our existence, many in Europe thought our foolish rebel experiment would surely implode.  There were chances to be sure, we may be in the middle of one right now, but maybe not.

I have written a lot in this space about the gut-wrenching feeling that no one is driving the car, that we lack leadership or that the moral fiber of our leaders has failed, perhaps fatally.  In order to maintain my sanity, I try to spend at least a little time each day leafing randomly through some of the books in my office, not looking for sermon illustrations, not reading for any purpose whatsoever, just looking for something to sort of float out of the ether of humanity and divinity that is contained in the collection of old fashioned actual paper books.  I realize I spend too much time reading electronically, searching for exactly what I want to see and think about or simply following the algorithms that google and facebook feed me (it seems to destroy me).  Today I came across William Carlos Williams who wrote in the first half of the 20th century.  The line that grabbed me was: The pure products of America go crazy.  That's often how it is with poetry and me, I don't much have the ability to sit and just read through a poem unless something grabs me, but when something does grab me it's like a tractor beam on the Death Star, pulling me in. For the purposes of this reflection, I trimmed and edited pieces that followed, something that I would be critical of if it were scripture, but  it's not and I didn't feel like re-typing the whole section.  Read the entirety if you want, it's good.

But what I want to focus on are not the dire sounding warnings but the glimmer (even if it is just a glimmer) of hope that by that last stanza: 

It is only in isolate flocks that

something

 is given off

No one 

to witness

and adjust, no one to drive the car

You may focus, if you want, and Lord knows I often do, on the absence of a driver, which we are almost certainly experiencing again and not for the first time.  Or you might, as I found myself doing, focusing on that "something" that is given off by the "isolate flocks."  The communities of this nation of ours are not anything like the catastrophe of mendacity, polarization, mistrust, racism, xenophobia, class anger, and general misanthropy that you might imagine if you just look at the headlines.

Don't blame the media though, there really is no one to witness, because what is there to see? Broken humans somehow being kind? People who should fear one another learning to trust?  How should a reporter in New York find out anything about a group of people fighting for fair housing in Southern Maryland? More to the point, why would they?  Even up the road in Washington DC, would they care?  Maybe they should, but it doesn't make economic sense for them to write about normal people from little places doing good things.  The absence of a driver seems much more pressing.

The hope comes from the back pages and the back streets, where the products of America aren't quite so pure.  They're not red white and blue nationalist and pure capitalism, those are the "peasant traditions that flutter and flaunt sheer rags."  The people that we must learn to trust are the products of America, but not so pure that they can't question the wars we wage, or the values we hold, because if you don't question yourself, you do end up going crazy.  If you cling to purity too tightly you end up with nothing and you "hunger until you eat filth." 

Still, the sanity comes back from something, somewhere, the idea that people are not as vile and delusional as the fools they have elected king.  Maybe it's better that there is no ONE to drive, maybe that too is a product of America.  Maybe the best of what we are, and our best hope, is to really embrace the reality that we need no king and that we can survive a demagogue, and praise the wisdom of our founders for knowing that was going to be necessary.

In the meantime, read more poetry.

Of Endings and Abstention

This is marginally about Game of Thrones, but I don't think I need to give spoiler alerts, because I'm not actually going to talk about the finale or anything specific in the final season.  I'm going to talk about the reaction to the show in general. The Twitter and Facebook world that we live in now gives us the "opportunity" to hear about what our friends think about things, which is good... sometimes. 
But the thing is, as we get more and more immersed in this constant stream of tweets and status updates, it seems as though the quality of our "sharing" goes down proportional to its frequency.  Social media "experts" (which are a thing I guess we just have to live with now) tell us that your "presence" needs to be constant and consistent in order to stay on the wave of follows and threads.  Which is why we get daily tweets from the orangutan in chief (sorry that's disparaging to orangutans, forget I said that).
The thing I have noticed over the past month, since the final season of GOT descended upon us, is that posts about the show went in one of three directions:

1. Posts about what might happen, which have been common since the show became something of a cultural phenomenon.  Fan theories, critiques etc. This is what one sort of expects with anything that tickles the collective geek bone of our mass media immersed culture.  Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, various forms of anime, the ubiquitous Marvel Universe and various other superhero stories all generate quite a bit of thinking, talking, hoping and dreaming.  Mostly this is good, relatively normal (at least as normal as geeks get) talk about the world of imagination and how a story effects those who love it.
2. Posts about how what actually happened was wrong, or disappointing or even morally problematic. These people seemed to forget that Westeros, and the Starks, and the Targaryens, and Jon Snow and Danerys, and Tyrion Lannister, are in fact fictional people, and that the narrative told by GOT is a story, not a historical account.  While it does in fact present certain moral lessons and brings us to question certain assumptions, an HBO series should not really carry much authority when it comes to defining right and wrong, justice and tyranny.  This crowd, I suspect, are the micro-aggression police that give Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson such job security. I will maybe go into this phenomenon some other time.
3. The third category are the posts by people who proudly proclaim: I have never watched GOT.  I have never read the books.  I don't give a fruit about your stupid TV show. I get the impulse, especially if you just read one of the posts from category number two, but you do realize that self righteousness is not an admirable quality right?

I guess the reason why this last group of folks annoys me is because I am a natural geek, I get into things and I like to know a lot about the things I like.  I have read the books, I have watched the show, I have paid attention to a lot of category one stuff over the course of the last decade. It doesn't mean I'm obsessed with GOT, I'm not going to sign the petition about a redo of the final season.  I'm not bitter that George R.R. Martin is taking forever to finish the Winds of Winter.  I like stories about dragons and armies of the undead.  I also enjoy space operas with laser swords and will get into theological debates about Yoda.  I can watch the extended versions of The Lord of the Rings pretty much any time I have about 5 hours of down time.

If you don't like those things, fine. I'll bet you like something I could ridicule if I want to, but I'm not going to try and do that, because why?  What does it help?  Are you going to convince a GOT fan to ditch the series finale because you're too cool to have gotten involved? Look, I'm not sure I would recommend the series to everyone, it definitely puts a dark spin on human nature and what power does to people.  The thing I find redeeming in the end is that the numerous and dire abuses of power are not the last word (not going any further, like I said, no spoilers).

But even if you don't feel like putting up with the story, or don't see it's value, why do you have to hate on those who do? There's too much of that going around, and yes, I understand that writing a blog where I just hate on the haters is possibly an example of irony, but I'm not saying you were wrong to avoid GOT, I'm not even saying that there's something wrong with you if you haven't watched Star Wars, but maybe just keep that to yourself.  Someone who loves to knit is not better or worse than someone who loves to play the piano.  Someone who likes Sushi is not better or worse than someone who does not.

I feel like this culture of "haterism" that infects the internet is not doing good things for us. So just like put on the brakes. Watched it? Cool.  Didn't watch it? Cool.  Watched it for a while and then quit? Cool.  Liked it? Cool.  Loved it? Cool.  Hated it? Cool, you have a choice and so does everyone else.  Sometimes we like things, sometimes we don't, people are different that's what makes the world interesting and that's why our stories are important, whether we like them or not.

An Answer

The rain was coming. You could feel it in the forest, the trees knew it. I was just past halfway on the familiar loop around the lake at Gilbert Run.  Zeke was taking a long drink in his favorite little watering hole, a little culvert that passes under the trail.  I stood still and looked up at the canopy in the full vibrant green of spring and the grey clouds roiling in the small windows of the forest's vaulted cathedral ceiling.
I had been thinking about a conversation I had with a friend of mine who has lost his faith and who is now agnostic.  I was wondering on the first half of my walk, how I might convince him to come back to the fold.  As I went through that pastor-ish mental exercise I came to the distinct impression that I was in a state of futility, I was trying to figure out again, despite knowing better, how to sell God.  And God was laughing at me.
As I stood still and actually listened to the sound of the wind in the trees and felt the expectation of the living things all around me, I realized that in my pursuit of a reasonable argument or even a sales pitch for God, I too had lapsed into agnosticism.  I had forgotten that the "proof" of God's existence can be felt any time and any where.  Perhaps I have been reading too much Richard Rohr (in fact, I know I have), but the strength of contemplative practice became evident right then and there.  My contemplative prayer is peripatetic, which means it involves walking.  The Camino and the struggle against type II diabetes have something to do with this, but really walking has been part of how I settle myself for most of my life.
On this day, I found I was not at all worried about the rain, in fact I was expecting it with the forest and the living things around me, welcoming it even as the trees do with their upturned leaves.  I wondered to myself, why would anyone want to deny the joy of this sort of communion?  Then I thought to myself, how often do you feel this way in church?  My answer, honestly, is almost never, I'm too busy in church to feel this way.
I suspect that people who lose faith, as in the case of my friend, haven't really lost faith in the divine presence, they have just lost their sense that religion has anything to do with it.  The problem is that without a religious approach to God you will eventually just become a mad pagan chasing after the spirits of the trees (which is quite appealing at certain moments).  My madman in the forest (the proper word is mystic) moments are tempered by the teachings of Jesus and the theology and ethics that grow out of that.  The emotional connection of that moment is great, but it's like water in your hands you can't hold it for very long.
Not even three minutes later, Zeke, as is his wont, was overcome by some olfactory delight at the trail's edge and lunged suddenly with full force towards whatever his nose detected, despite being firmly tethered to me by his leash.  This jerked me suddenly out of my feeling of peace and connection and made me momentarily very angry. I pulled back hard on the leash and yelled at the dog, he was, as usual, sorry and fearful.  I immediately regretted my outburst at the stupid dog, he is an idiot and he is likely to remain that way for the rest of his days.  He is also a teacher to me, he is a reminder that love does not need to be worthy.  He is stubborn and borderline neurotic, yet he is friendly and loyal as dogs usually are.  He can annoy the living daylights out of me on a daily basis, and yet I do care about him.  Instead of letting my anger continue, I knelt down and gave the idiot a hug, and it was the right thing to do, if not for him, for me.
The vague feeling of connection to God would have been utterly lost by that momentary jerk of the leash and a flash of anger, which is why paganism, while persistent and attractive, doesn't have the same historical solidity that the monotheistic religions have.  Feeling that connection is good, really good and close to the heart of God, but without some framework to get you past the challenges of life (stupid dogs in this particular occasion), you will always be on a quest for something you cannot find without grace or keep for very long.
I needed to forgive and be forgiven, and that was the work of Christ in me there on the trail.  As soon as I felt that, the forest breathed around me again and life reconnected with my spirit, and I was back in that place as a beloved creation, full of a divine Spirit.  This, for me, is what the life of faith looks like. I can't imagine not wanting to feel the life of the world and feel connected to creation.  I understand that religion gets frustrating and tiresome at times, but at it's best it gives us a way to put the stones of these spiritual realities together into something like a work of art rather than just random rocks that we happen to trip over.
I'm not really sure how to parse out the sequence of events.  I know I have felt that connection with the creation for pretty much my entire life, so I'm not sure I've ever really "lost faith." I do know that I didn't always connect that God experience with Christian faith.  In fact, the moment when my faith journey really took a turn was when that vague feeling took on the specific character of Jesus.  It is still working that way.  Then all he asked me was to recognize him, as the Gospel for this Sunday says, "my sheep know my voice."  The more time goes by, as I walk more, it's not just recognition but discipleship, following him, doing what he does, loving the way he loves.  Now the mystical moments of connection with the divine have a trinitarian character to them (honestly it's the only time I think I really understand the Trinity).  The Creator, the Redeemer, the Sustainer are all a part of that ineffable and barely describable moment where I know beyond all reason and beyond all doubt that God is there.

Lend Me Your Ears

What makes a man a sophist is not his faculty, but his moral purpose.

-Aristotle, Rhetoric

We are, as a nation, and perhaps in the Western world in general, at a crucial moment in terms of our development from a world of tribes, clans and nations into a world that is more global.  There is great potential for us to finally recognize that all of humanity is bound together and that our collective well-being may very well be dependent on how we deal with that reality.  This moment has created anxiety, as such moments always do.  It was this way in the days leading up to the enlightenment when those who began to develop a proto-scientific approach to the world were labeled sorcerers and heretics.  It was this way when an obscure sect of the Judaic faith began to openly challenge the Roman declaration that Caesar was Lord with the contrary assertion that, in fact, a Jewish man who had been crucified as a rebel, Jesus of Nazareth, was Lord. I imagine it was probably this way when the first band of roaming nomadic hunters discovered that they could settle down and raise crops and livestock.

Anxiety is a fixture in much of human history, it is rooted in our fundamental drive to survive, animals experience anxiety too.  Humans, who are able to reason and also use written and spoken words to persuade others, have a unique (as far as we know) ability to actually track the ways that our anxiety works itself out through history.  In this technological age, we now have the ability to actually watch as our anxieties work themselves out in real time, on the internet.  I'm writing this morning to appeal to you, my fellow human beings: we need to get our stuff together, this mess is not pretty.

As you may be aware, we have an election coming up next year, and no matter what side of the current political divide you happen to occupy, and especially if you find yourself somewhere in the middle, all of us very much need to learn some things from the deep history of the art of rhetoric.

The ancient Greeks considered Rhetoric to be one of the three great "arts," with grammar and logic, in fact, it was the art that synthesized the other two, it applied the rules of grammar towards expressing the work of a reasonable mind and expressing it in such a way as to convince others of something that we call truth.  As you may have noticed, of late truth has been orphaned and wanders alone in a wasteland of ill-formed opinions and poorly reasoned emotional reactions.  True rhetoric is the last shred of clothing this poor wraith has left and false rhetoric circles her like so many vultures and carrion crows.

While we may disagree across the political spectrum on what exactly the Mueller Report implicates with regard to the cultural gut check that is the Donald, one thing is clear: rhetoric is being used against us with some terrifying implications.  The power of rhetoric has been known for thousands of years, it's like a loaded gun just laying around for anyone to use.  One of the principles of Rhetoric is the idea of Kairos, which any of you Greek freaks will know concerns time.  The effectiveness of rhetoric is deeply dependent on timing, whether you are telling a joke or making an inaugural address.  The rhetoric of fear, anger and anxiety hit this nation at just the right time, and it was aided by a government that is clearly hostile towards our nation.  It's not all the Russians, but their timing was impeccable even if it was accidental.

This loaded gun of rhetoric has been picked up by some bad actors, the forces of xenophobia and separation, the corrupted mongers of war and greed. They have found that the internet creates a "target rich environment," in which they can maximize the lethal impact of their weapon, and they have loaded up on the ammunition of logical and rhetorical fallacies.  So my fellow citizens, we need to learn to take away their bullets.  The gun of rhetoric, much like our 2nd Amendment totems, is not something we can simple do away with, we need to learn to use it, and how to defend against it.  Unfortunately, like an unarmed populace we have not been trained well.  If you were to hand one of those dreaded AR-15's to a person who has never handled a gun before, they would probably have a hard time loading it and firing it at all, much less in an effective manner.  So it is with rhetoric, and it is not a one-sided problem.

Here's the fun thing, I have friends who occupy both ends of the political spectrum, and I see what they share on Twitter and Facebook, and most of the time I simply hang my head, because they have obviously been victimized by someone using one or more of the rhetorical fallacies with deadly effectiveness due to their own confirmation bias.  As far as I can tell, no faction on the current spectrum (including my own) is immune.  I find myself daily having to sort out what truth actually is, and wishing, somehow, someway, I didn't have to do so much for myself.

I have this cognitive dissonance that sometimes grows very loud: I know most of these people, and I know they're too smart and thoughtful to actually believe the crap that they're sharing, yet they do share... often they share a lot.  They share hateful ad-hominem (against the person) attacks, they share straw man fallacies by the score (that's setting up your opponent to be exactly the sort of sinister idiot that you can easily dismember). I feel like the world of social media has become a disaster of epic proportions because it is precisely like that metaphorical loaded gun, but it's actually perceived like a loaded gun in a video game.  We don't think of the internet as the real world, and the people we attack and vilify there we do not consider real people.  I have never felt a pang of guilt for shooting someone while playing a video game, but I am sure that if I shot someone with an actual gun, even if it was justified and even righteous, I would certainly feel remorse about it at some moment.  The problem is that the rhetorical bullets that are being shot in the cyber-world are having actual consequences in the "real" world.  The line has been blurred and maybe even disappeared.

I think one of the elements of rhetoric that the ancients always had to assume was the presence of the other, the interlocutor, the dialogue partner, you had to face your adversary or even your friend and know that you both had the same tools and were playing by the same rules.  If you lied they were going to call you on it if they could, in internet arguments the rules of rhetoric simply don't matter, which is why they end up being mostly futile.  I have had a few social media discussions over the years that stayed on the rails, but they are exceptions rather than the rule.

It may be the case that the work of philosophy and theology is irrelevant to the post-modern age.  It may be the case that the "Arts" of grammar, logic and rhetoric are nothing but relics of a by-gone era, and if that is so I hope humanity finds some other framework for... well, being human, but I am not sanguine about the possibility that other systems are able to possess the moral foundation that the old ways have.  Without a moral foundation, as Aristotle implies, we will be utterly at the mercy of sophists and charlatans, which is a great danger to our very civilization.