“Mad World”

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very mad world mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very mad world … mad world
Enlarging your world
Mad world

- Tears for Fears [Covered by Gary Jules]

This is my obsession as of late: what am I to do with believers?

Empiricists have long been subject to ridicule and doubt by the devout, scorned for their intellectual snobbery and their sneering “reason.” When the science and the scripture conflict, God tends to win… for a while.

Trace the progression of religion, however, and you cannot help but get a sense that with each passing year literalistic dogma and creed pass further into obscurity. Certainty has become relative, a condition I see directly provoked by postmodernism. Of course this is not true for all religious belief; the fundamentalist remnants continue to wreak havoc on human society, rending its fabric into absolutes.

With such a range of theistic belief and, simultaneously, a common thread of certainty running throughout each of them, how does a passionate secularist respond?

First, a few thoughts about critical thinking:

I contend that the common quality held by those who reject traditional (read: fundamentalist) faith is the ability to think skeptically about the world around them. This means having the capacity to understand, analyze and conclude about systems of thinking, established orders, life; ultimately these people have a tenacious desire to discover the “truth.”

Is this quality innate in all humans? Are environmental factors involved which might inhibit or enhance this manner of inquiry? What role do parents, education, wealth, nationality, or creed have in shaping how one thinks? Of course, the most obvious answer is that all of them must influence our faculties of critical thinking — both experience and psychology seem to suggest this. Regardless of the answer, is it not in our best interest to consider these questions?

My biases are becoming more apparent to me, a useful thing for an opinionated person. I often forget that my rather radical religious history is not reflective of the norm. As I have opined in the past, Christianity has some truly ominous connotations in my thoughts: often these include guilt, fear, insecurity, inadequacy. There are some positives, but when I reflect on my life, never had I felt more free than when I took a step back from my beliefs and truly examined them. There were several catalysts to this process; the most distinct influences were my experiences with the Knox House and my theological study, though I have a long history of religious piety catalogued.

It is not often apparent (for good reason) to the reader how deep the wounds of my religious past truly are; yet I write not as a bitter apostate, but as someone who loved and lost, and learned. My analytical mind was, from my earliest years, predisposed toward skepticism (and I have long been a proponent of sarcasm, to my parents’ and teachers’ chagrin). Yet I also recognize that my ability to associate things logically and coherently was inhibited during all my years of church-going. Thomas, not Judas, symbolized my greatest enemy; I fought valiantly against my own internal doubt, and it nearly destroyed me.

Something that continues to astonish me about most Christians is this attitude toward inquiry [1]: it is not blatant, but the undertones imply that asking questions is a bad thing. If the overall premise of the text is purportedly true (not to mention divinely inspired), should it not be capable of withstanding my curious prodding? A theologian might argue the affirmative; yet when questioned, he too will hide behind his faith, rather than boldly responding to these overdue critiques.

This fact I know all too well, having explored Christian theology myself. I do not pretend to be an expert, and at this point I hardly need to study it much more to make a cogent argument. One of the greatest ironies of the profession is how often Christians make reference — mostly negative — to the Pharisaical tradition; these ancient near-east scholars are depicted as legalistic moralists, obsessive over scriptural interpretation and sometimes mysticism. But what would you call our clerics and theologians today? To be fair, it is not always for lack of intelligence that these individuals pursue their doctrinal studies; indeed, I have met some exceptionally talented people during my time at Whitworth.

The problem for these people, I would say, is not that they fail to ask questions, but that they ask the wrong questions. Even I found myself getting caught up in the magical fascinations of Christology and soteriology. Hell, I kicked ass on my Christian theology term paper! Despite the draw of the more liberal theological interpretations, I found myself unable to shake the growing doubt. A well-meaning professor suggested that perhaps this doubt was due to my lack of meaningful church-going (did my monastic experience not count?, I exasperatedly thought). I took offense to that particular charge, though looking back I do not know what else I should have expected. It was a significant message for me, however — it seemed to indicate that I was actually on the right track. If I were off base, I reasoned, then his advice would have been more substantial. Or at least more meaningful…

Again, in retrospect I recognize the limitations of that kind of thinking; the professor in question is quite human, after all. We have since communicated on occasion, and his last email articulated a great deal of “concern” for me (in light of my manic lack of humility, it would seem; paraphrased, his words). This response is an immediate red flag for my skeptical analyses. I cannot blame him for it, since I had intentionally solicited his comments on a piece I wrote a few weeks ago (which was considerably eccentric and aggressive, if we may be honest). Still; when a professor — not to mention a Ph.D. in systematic theology — responds to my questions with ad hominem, rather than logic, it seems to indicate that I am pushing all the right buttons.

Thus returning to my original question of how best to address these concerns with the faithful, I can only see productive dialogue occurring when both parties are adamant about open questioning. I tend to take the approach that nothing is sacred, and that everything should be held at a distance unless there are good enough reasons not to (and at that point, the position is still highly tenuous). For many years this meant questioning the hell out of science; I now see that my religious passions were the primary agent in diverting meaningful inquiry away from god and toward myself. It led me to introspection and thus insecurity about my “faults.” “Freethinker” is now my preferred monicker, if titles are still necessary; the connotations are much more positive, and less polarizing than “atheist” or even “secularist” these days.

My final question is this: what kind of god would encourage us to close our minds, especially if He is humanity’s benefactor? There are many arguments that could be made as to why we have God-given qualities of tenacity and curiosity (these often somehow involve “tests” of faith, things I felt obligated to endure but not doubt, they being potential temptations; see the Bible for more info…), but ultimately the important questions get second string compared to these tired justifications. Of course, one could argue that God has manifestly represented himself enough already, and that my own lack of faith is due to some kind of sinful deficiency or, well, anything! You really can read the Bible however the hell you want to these days, and most people do not ever expect, and certainly do not wish, to be challenged for it.

Well, this is my own fucking blog, and I will not accommodate simplistic arguments or ignorant belief. I will not be unneccesarily malicious, but I cannot help but be snarky at times, if only to quell my own occassional feelings of hopelessness [2]. It helps me if the reader gets that I am a human, and I have my moments of abject frustration just like anyone. Take those quips not as a personal assault, but as a challenge motivated by earnest questions; the same can be said of all who challenge our collective belief systems. We all tend to respond to criticism in only two ways: 1) reject; 2) relent. I propose a third option: absorb. It is an expression of empathy to hear what someone is trying to say, and it does not necessitate an accommodationist approach. For me, strict acceptance of or intolerance for criticism are both forms of self-deception, and only serve to limit my full comprehension of the issues at hand.

_

[1] And I do mean “most Christians.” I might not be referring to you, so don’t take that to mean that I am a mischaracterizing ignoramus.

[2] I say “hopelessness” referring to the overwhelming ignorance in our world, not because I lack moral/ethical gravity or any of the other nonsense most religionists assume about non-theists; I actually have more hope in the possibilities of human achievement than ever before.

What a world we live in,
what manifest destiny we have wrought.

This world stands on the brink,
the knife’s edge poised for oblivion.

The scales balanced carefully,
our future’s fate at stake…

_

What we face are a set of principles, mutually exclusive, that guide our decisions; all of them.

On one hand, we have the sturdy band of rationalists who have throughout history been committed to inquiry, to reason, and to fact.

Yet on the other hand there is a different sort of rationale, one wholly committed to the heart (as opposed to the head). We see its definition every day. Individuals with utter conviction spewing complete nonsense; and one could hardly dispute that it is pure rubbish! These people, whole-heartedly insistent, refuse to acknowledge exceptionally reasonable science, psychology, sociology and the like, on the grounds of belief.

While I have absolutely no qualms about belief in itself, as a kind of guiding force, when this passionate conviction is presented as fact — something which must be acted upon — it acts only as a tool for power; one that ultimately corrupts.

For applicable examples of this phenomena, you need only look in a newspaper (if you could find one these days); its etchings are scratched all over our headlines, the bile-spewing politicians parroting rumor, speculation, and hearsay (and pure fabrication, if we may be honest) as fact. In a 21st century world, in a secular democracy, in a nation that has contributed so much to human progress (and done, arguably, equal damage), this cannot be acceptable!

We have the “birthers,” contributing so much to public discourse, a broken record skipping for eternity. Though their suspicions have, for most, been found unfounded, the holdouts are somehow gaining ground within a specific portion of our populace.

Sarah Palin, recently freed from her public duties in order to do… something else, has single-handedly taken a big swing at the truth by feeding similarly bizarre claims — this time targeting health care reform — into pseudo-legitimacy. Her supporters are equally to blame, for ignoring the signs that their savior is a phony; that they are all being played.

Does truth have any value? Has postmodernism squandered our sense of direction?

_

… there is no answer to this madness.

Sen. Jim DeMint (R-SC) has been grabbing headlines over the past few months for being a bit of a loud-mouth and spilling the beans on the GOP’s master stroke to “defeat” Obama (meaning that Republican interests do not align with health care and labor reform, among other things, so the public interest must be aggressively impeded). His flippant remarks earned him a deserved tongue-lashing from the president and others who are trying to fix the problems that politicians like DeMint helped to create and perpetuate.

If that were not already enough, did you know that Sen. DeMint is also a member of a covert Christian political organization that has influenced global politics since the 1930s? Recently outed congressional adulterer John Ensign (R-NV) and Argentine-mistress-entertainer/taxpayer-defrauder South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford (the stoic King David himself) are also members of this theocratic nightmare.  Sounds crazy, I know; Jeffrey Sharlet, co-author of Killing the Buddha and contributing editor to Harper’s Magazine and Rolling Stone, has been following this secretive political organization since 2002, and his work “undercover” within The Family — as the group is called — was published in book form last year, titled The Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power.

Sharlet has made a number of appearances on MSNBC host Rachel Maddow’s show; go to the Daily Kos to watch his interview from last week: http://www.dailykos.com/story/2009/7/29/185647/053/.

Book description of The Family contained after the jump.

They are the Family—fundamentalism’s avant-garde, waging spiritual war in the halls of American power and around the globe. They consider themselves the new chosen, congressmen, generals, and foreign dictators who meet in confidential cells, to pray and plan for a “leadership led by God,” to be won not by force but through “quiet diplomacy.” Their base is a leafy estate overlooking the Potomac in Arlington, Virginia, and Jeff Sharlet is the only journalist to have written from inside its walls.The Family is about the other half of American fundamentalist power—not its angry masses, but its sophisticated elites. Sharlet follows the story back to Abraham Vereide, an immigrant preacher who in 1935 organized a small group of businessmen sympathetic to European fascism, fusing the Far Right with his own polite but authoritarian faith. From that core, Vereide built an international network of fundamentalists who spoke the language of establishment power, a “family” that thrives to this day. In public, they host prayer breakfasts; in private they preach a gospel of “biblical capitalism,” military might, and American empire. Citing Hitler, Lenin, and Mao, the Family’s leader declares, “We work with power where we can, build new power where we can’t.”Sharlet’s discoveries dramatically challenge conventional wisdom about American fundamentalism, revealing its crucial role in the unraveling of the New Deal, the waging of the Cold War, and the no-holds-barred economics of globalization. The question Sharlet believes we must ask is not “What do fundamentalists want?” but “What have they already done?”

Sharlet’s original article from 2003 in Harper’s Magazine: http://www.harpers.org/archive/2003/03/0079525

Time and again, I am astounded at the disctinct pleasures of humanism. Coming into work today, I had no way of knowing that the random old man sitting behind me for the past week was a lapsed Lutheran minister, not to mention an outspoken and committed humanist and freethinker.

Ray grew up in Nebraska in the thirties and fourties. During Korea he was drafted, and served a brief stint in Alaska but (details are hazy here) never went overseas. In his words, it was just another “chance to goof off; they gave me a jeep and everything!”

Though Ray chose to forgo traditional secondary education, he eventually took the GED test and passed. Despite this, when he sought receipt of an official high school diploma, his request was denied. Choosing not to attend high school at all, he said, precluded the granting of a diploma — though partial high school attendance and later GED testing was, oddly enough, acceptable. A friend suggested to Ray that he apply at a small bible school, and he did; he sent in a copy of his GED and the school (the name of which I cannot recall) accepted him, on the condition that he send them $200.

All of Ray’s family in Nebraska is Lutheran. As he described it to me, there was no other way when he was growing up. It made sense for him to go to bible school; he did, and eventually entered the clerical profession. At the crux of his ministry, he was the highest-paid Lutheran minister in the area, and he was a damn good preacher. He did this for thirty years.

In ’92, he retired. Sometime between that point and now, Ray realized he was an atheist. It did not occur at a specific moment; there was no “conversion” experience. Yet gradually the world around him softened, and those things that were once so certain began to lose definition. The Truth became fuzzy.

After attending a banquet where Dan Barker, co-President of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, spoke, Ray was certain: he was an atheist, and he wasn’t afraid of it anymore. Barker has a similar story, from what I gather on the FFRF website. His most recently published book — typically shelved in the religion section of bookstores, aisles which I know all too well — is titled Godless: How An Evangelical Preacher Became One of America’s Leading Atheists. Ray told me that after Barker’s presentation, he told his wife that he wanted to tell everyone about his new-found freedom; she advised him not to tell the family back home.

Though Ray heeded her advice, word of his apostasy spread to relatives. A favored nephew — who had always loved talking to Ray because of the way his voice carried (he had a hearing disability) — heard the news; when Ray went back to Nebraska, the nephew, outraged, told him to leave. Ray just laughed at him, assuming it was a joke, but his nephew was angry and adamant; he told Ray to take his wife and get off the property. Strangely, Ray told me this story, as well as others about his family’s rejection, with a kind of placid acceptance that indicates to me how well he has come to terms with the conditions of his theistic rejection.

I have rarely related so well to anyone so immediately, and Ray’s courage gives me my own. His eyes brightened and grew wide as I described my endeavor into theology; we instantly understood each other.

Now Ray is volunteering at the Center for Justice, doing the mundane intakes and tasks normally dealt with by the other undergrad interns. For the past week I have seen him around the office, and normally he keeps fairly quiet and to himself. Yet a spontaneous remark about the content on my computer sparked a beautiful conversation that deeply resonated within me. No matter how many accounts I hear of others losing their faith, it never fails to astonish me. It also goes to show that anyone can have — everyone has — doubts, and that even a “successful” Lutheran minister can see what I see, regardless how the odds are stacked.

The first thing I ever learned was how to create myself.

Though, of course, other factors were involved, I wish to take full credit for this feat, and this is why: while my copulating biological contributors provided the seed necessary for life, it was I, in rudimentary cellular form, who learned how to live.

It took no exposure to the trials and temptations of this world, nor any semblance of morality, ethics, or even thought, to convince me to do so; the fact is that I really had no say in the matter, and my own insignificant life could easily enough have been extinguished without an afterthought before its very beginnings had been allowed.

Before my first sunrise, or rainbow, or kiss, I taught myself how to exist.

This, then, is the first rewrite of the innate draft of human history; it serves to reconnect us with our humble origins and similarly rights the cyclical reality of nature — a truth rendered topsy-turvy by the various forces at work in our own socialized world. These words must be insanity to the “not me” reader (by this I mean simply: those who are not me, or think like me). Allow me to elaborate.

Our genesis accounts are multifaceted and diverse, this much is plainly evident in the myriad religious sects, their respective manifestos, and also in the break-throughs of science, philosophy, and even obscurantist pseudoscience (which is often a combination of legitimate and superstitious fields of logic). Naturally, in the pursuit of Truth, we must be vigilant when considering each of these perspectives, not succumbing to the external pressures of our “progressive-” and “conservative-ly” dichotomized societies to simply be tolerant of the manipulation and misguidance perpetrated by any of these origin myths and their collective sects. Even the realm of legitimate science is not excepted from abstract philosophical critique, as its adherents can sometimes become as misty-eyed and foolish as the subjects of religious doctrine or political ideology. It does, however, maintain at least an air of sensibility — due primarily to the efforts of the few, of those who recognize the necessity of rationality and the scientific method.

The same cannot be said of the liars who have constructed the vacuous and disgusting “science” of Creationism. These charlatans are seen easily as such by authentic science; yet our greater society continues to grant credence to their absurd, manipulative, and generally self-destructive claims. Taking creative license to science is among the only times the “slippery slope” argument really makes sense to me. If we do not brandish the razor of rationality when it is most necessary, the enemy, obscurantism, will continue its encroachment.

We are NOT the products of YHWH. Let’s just begin there. What a stupid assumption to begin with; you cannot have any hope of free inquiry if the questions begin with the conclusion already in-hand. Set aside the ridiculous biblical accounts of our origins and of our rapidly expanding universe, and let us dig deeper into the heart of this pervasive ideology:

Not even the most generous science could possibly support the theory of a five- or six-thousand-year-old universe. If we approach the matter theologically, we cannot dispute the clarity of the mythical Moses’ claims — to do so is to make doctrinal compromise, which is both a slap in the face to traditionalists and symbolizes the removal of integral stones in the foundation of belief. If God says that he made this world in six days, simply by speaking words into nothingness, who are we to dispute that? Likewise, if he has unequivocally given us dominion over the earth, why should we be responsible or thoughtful about this license? Given that the universe is fallible due to The Fall, we should be lucky if our untimely demise is the result of our irascibility; in such a doomsday scenario we still have the promise of heaven.

You may be reeling from these statements. As a theology student, these questions ultimately served as the erosion to my own fundamentals, and I cannot imagine them having no effect on anyone else with any semblance of curiosity or a critical eye. Yet our own innate prejudices have a way of blinding us that I cannot ignore, and the gentle prodding of a question serves as a much more invaluable medium than a tantrum or diatribe. To be able to coherently follow a thought through its logical and rational conclusion is a gift much greater than any offered in any evangelical manifesto; you cannot convince me otherwise. Within the deepest sense of my own being, I stand acquitted of intellectual folly.

Hiroshima, 1945
_

My name is Dr. Manhattan, and I am here to explain myself.

I am the imagination’s manifestation of its own highest ideal;

Not unlike gods, we roam the earth as peasants,

Unworthy of adornement at any rate,

Though something greater forever shadows our consciences.

How would you respond to my own mind,

With its intricacies and methodology?

Could you possibly harness its power?

The Power of Fraternite
by Ryan Georgioff
_

In the time it will take me to write this piece, it is likely that hundreds, if not thousands of women will be sexually assaulted.
_

As an afterthought to my previous piece, “Viva” (which, if you have not read it yet, you should peruse before proceeding any further), I stumbled upon another insightful point regarding the human search for power and its derivatives.

Within the footnotes of “Viva” I noted both the definition and implications of the word “ally.” To save us both time, the essential logic I presented was that if our allies were friends, we would call them friends; considering that human language represents a kind of verbal contract between its users, we necessarily must all agree that “ally” does not equal “friend,” just as “tree” does not equate with “bush,” though some of their fundamental components are related.

Similarly I came to consider the word “fraternity,” and if it would not be too much trouble I encourage you to find its definition now. Its origins are masculine, and this is seen within the modern Greek system at colleges and universities, though the female counterpart of a fraternal twin might feel a bit excluded by these linguistic parameters. Regardless, my interest in this word stems from that same interest in alliance (and concomitantly: gang, band, party, and nation).

Now, each of these words reserves distinctions for itself which the others cannot attain — again, this is self-evident. Likewise, each word — fraternity included — invokes images both various and precise (at least in my schizophrenic mind), hence the need for more than one definition for most words, in most cases. Nation tugs the words “America” and “Islam” into my mind; no, not modern Islam, and that association has nothing to do with terrorists nor religion explicitly. Instead, I think of young Malcolm X — impressionable as I was, and misguided by the misconstruance of just thought with wrong polity. With a pang of guilt (something I cannot shrug off just yet), I recall the words of Alexie, and Urrea, legends on a map torn, burned, and discarded by conquistadores and colonialists alike [1]. And, perhaps most ironically I think of our own “United Nations,” eviscerated and cuffed by the petty squabbles of simple, greedy men. Thus fraternity — alliance, if you prefer — often acts as both enabler and unifyer for both the advantaged and the ambitious.

Again, my point must be received with all its nuance: if I meant to say that the benefits of friendship are the problem, I would have done so. In fact, nothing could be further from the center. Fraternity is only the bastard child (or Cain-like brother, if you will) of friendship, still predicated upon mutual gratification, as opposed to its own beautiful, unifying existence. You may wonder why I wrote “Viva” to the long-dead poet and essayist (among other things), Ralph Waldo Emerson. Rather than reply directly to this question, I would prefer to direct your attention to his published essay, “Friendship.” In it, I believe you will find your answer.

_

The relationship between fraternity and power is not difficult to perceive. The three primary tangibles of power are politics, militarism, and religion (at least for the purposes of my own reflections), and within each of these we see demonstrated this bastardization of true friendship. Let us tackle them individually (though, as you will soon see, we probably don’t have to).

Politics, with all its grandeur, is essentially little more than many terrified people turning to each other for solace, and finding it in one or more especially charismatic or seemingly self-adjusted individuals. To support this, I call you to patience while I elaborate on two real-world examples of this concept; the first of which is Capitol Hill.

When I look upon the wizened faces and graying beards of our elected officials, I generally see the gently aged faces of frat boys unmistakably etched upon them; not to be looked upon with undue reverence or regarded with special etiquette, these faces look remarkably similar to mine, my father’s, my mother’s, my grandparents’ and, even more remarkably you might say, yours. These figures offer no better salvation than Jesus, or Mohammad, yet in some strange act of god our politicians are deified and irreversibly mounted on our social pedestals. Consider, for a moment, how it would feel to have the whole world constantly observing and commenting on your littlest actions, and then imagine what it would feel like to be called a failure, or a crook, or to deserve either of those titles. Note that your imagination — shockingly — needs little prompting.

I do not envy the politician, though I do wish I could wield his influence, if only to test my own virtue. He and she are equally human, similarly fallible, and unquestionably biased toward their own desires and needs. Why impose any dual standard, when we would (and do) protest violently if subjugated likewise? Of course, this question does not preclude the necessities of individual responsibility, and I would implore the simple-minded leaders of the world to remember their own.

_

Our military is an easy target for this critique of establishment, with its gung-ho outlook and testosterone-bolstered social standards. Like fuel to the fire, our training methods are designed to inhibit the more sensitive and compassionate sensibilities of our intrepid youth, substituting these humanizing faculties with heightened aggression and physical strength — all under the pretense of fraternity. Women find it difficult to mesh within this masculinist world, opting either to adopt more masculine features for themselves, or to sustain abuse and ridicule. In a twisted vein of logic, women are now being allowed into combat zones in Iraq and Afghanistan without being provided the proper training that their male counterparts receive; proponents of the current combat policies prohibiting women from receiving this training seek to convince us — as with medieval chivalry or present-day gender norming — that the delicate nature of the female flower must be protected from violence, in order that it might bloom into a chaste model of woman. Simultaneously, female noncombatants are torn to shreds by roadside bombs, are raped by their own comrades, and here in the states violence against women plagues even our most devoutly patriotic towns and cities.

There must be some kind of fraternity felt in the abuse of women, though even that very thought makes one sick to the stomach. Rape, a particularly intimate iteration and combination of coercion, violence, and power, has been experienced by at least a hypothetical quarter of the women I have met in college, if statistics are to be believed. How can this be? The sheer monstrosity of it overwhelms my ability to type.

_

Moving seamlessly on: religion, my sweet vindictive bride; in this conversation I will endeavor to a much more personal level, if you will allow. Though I may observe and speculate upon the bonds of our political and militaristic foes, the religious fraternity I once called my own. The details of my personal history are beside the point, and could serve only as a distraction to this thrilling dialogue (which you have been quite patient with, to your credit). Suffice it to say, after exploring all the annals and experiences which the Christian religion has to offer, I deem it uninspired. However, the base sense of alliance that my church attendence formed around me was an entirely authentic entity in an of itself. Worthy of our attentions, then, the religious fraternity — hardly any more genuine in its relationships than its other socio-political counterparts — strikes a chord deep within my hyperbolic soul.

Allow me to remind you of the example presented earlier: of timid homo sapiens searching for a unified cause, identity, or principle; or, even more base, for comfort. Now contrast this image with another one, the neglected aforementioned example of another Capitol Hill, this one not in Washington D.C., but rather Seattle, Washington. Upon this hill resides not the powerful elite of our nation’s political systems, but a different kind of power. Whereas the former appeals to our righteous indignation and selfishness, my latter companions appeal to reason, love, and other equally simple — and beautiful — words. Many of these residents are gay, though the outlying straight-folk that co-inhabit this ecosystem contribute as much to this occidental syncretism as anyone else [2]. To idolize the virtues of a place, thing, or person is to be mistaken, and in this sense Capitol Hill’s residents are no different than you or I. They have, however, found in their own faculties rare compassion, empathy, and understanding, though they would likely avoid naming these qualities within themselves, if they even knew how — perfecting their prescience with humility.

Which model, to you, is ideal? That domain of underhanded dealings, violent repression, and misrepresentation; or the dominion of the gentle, the compassionate, and the wise? The archetype of the former is our collective vision of El Dorado, a city of splendor and gold, the birth-rite of men brave and worthy enough to attain it. The latter cannot be limited to the vocabulary of our species, its perfect beauty sustained only in its universal appeal to humanity. Why we strive for anything less is a most troubling question; the answer likewise being found in our own natures.

Footnotes

[1] Thanks Doug.

[2] Syncretism has historically been the province of our eastern philosophical peers. Thus, Occidental.

Read the following, if you dare. It is my letter to Ralph Waldo Emerson, which was produced during a feverish writing session yesterday evening. It is long, but I would appreciate your reflection upon it — both its content and its form.

Linked HERE.

As described to a friend, this essay is one-half poetry, one-half philosophy, and one-half social critique. Thus it is 1 1/2 of everything.

Life has changed significantly over the past year. I have lived in a lot of different places, made and lost friends, and somewhere along the way I discovered myself. To inaugurate the end of one thing and the beginning of something new, I have disemboweled my blog and emptied it of the refuse it once contained. All of my previous entries have been archived in a new blog: HERE. I keep those entries only for historical and nostalgic purposes; for the reader, they provide a helpful introduction to my perspectives and manner of thinking, but little else.

The beauty of life is that it can change so rapidly. This blog is dedicated to documenting those changes, and that beauty.