14 Years Ago Today: I Knew Who He Was

Image by Shirley Deane/Midyett

It hurts to remember

By Moristotle









[Originally published on July 24, 2006.]

It was December and the thin young man had no coat.
I tried to step around him, but he pushed into my path
and forced me to look him in the eyes.

“Do you have a dollar for me to get something to eat?”

It isn’t easy to say no when they catch your eye.
Their eye is like your eye, a man’s eye.
“I’m sorry, but no I don’t have it.”

Goines On: Heaven on earth

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As Goines approached Walmart’s pharmacy entrance, he saw a couple of policemen talking to entering shoppers. As he got closer, he thought he recognized one of the officers: Officer Shell had been assigned eight or ten years ago to the housing development Goines lived in, under the town’s Community Oriented Policing (COP) program.

Hoping you and yours are well

And what about everyone else?

By Moristotle

Yesterday morning I messaged a beloved cousin, “I hope you and all yours are well.” Even before I pressed Send, my “inner voice” spoke up to remind me that it represents my universally compassionate self, which avoids stepping on a bug or a little frog, which is sobered into silence whenever I eat the flesh of an animal that did not hope to be slaughtered to become food, which had been stirred the day before when I witnessed from a few feet away a frail-looking bird hovering on a branch of our persimmon tree, the mild wind ruffling its feathers.

Compassion and justice

A teaching of Jesus & John

By Morris Dean

[Published originally on September 1, 2009.]

An email discussion I’ve been having about health care reform with a small circle of Yale classmates recently put me in mind of something I’d read about the political philosopher John Rawls (1921-2002). I’d read, perhaps in an obituary, that he held something like

Thor's Day: The tie that binds

By Morris Dean

The English word "religion" derives through Old French from the Latin religiō, whose ultimate origins are obscure, but some modern scholars favor the derivation from ligare (bind, connect), probably from a prefixed re-ligare, i.e., re (again) + ligare, or "to reconnect." [Wikipedia]

Moral consequence of Descartes' error

Antonio R. Damasio, in his 1994 book, Descartes' Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain, identifies the error of René Descartes [1596-1650] as occurring a few lines after his famous statement, "I think, therefore I am." Says Damasio:

Here Descartes was after a logical foundation for his philosophy...But just a few lines below, Descartes clarifies the statement unequivocally:

From that I knew that I was a substance, the whole essence or nature of which is to think, and that for its existence there is no need of any place, nor does it depend on any material thing; so that this "me," that is to say, the soul by which I am what I am, is entirely distinct from body, and is even more easy to know than is the latter; and even if body were not, the soul would not cease to be what it is. [p. 249]

We don't need Damasio to tell us that "from [I think, therefore I am]" Descartes can know no such thing. But here's how Damasio puts it:

This is Descarte's error: the abyssal separation between body and mind, between the sizable, dimensioned, mechanically operated, infinitely divisible body stuff, on the one hand, and the unsizable, undimensioned, un-pushpullable, nondivisible mind stuff; the suggestion that reasoning, and moral judgment, and the suffering that comes from physical pain or emotional upheaval might exist separately from the body. Specifically: the separation of the most refined operations of mind from the structure and operation of a biological organism. [pp. 249-250]

None of this should be new to us, but of course to many people it is, and they reject it. They persist in Descartes' error, and perhaps even in a moral failure that derives from it:

Versions of Descartes' error obscure the roots of the human mind in a biologically complex but fragile, finite, and unique organism; they obscure the tragedy implicit in the knowledge of that fragility, finiteness, and uniqueness. And where humans fail to see the inherent tragedy of conscious existence, they feel far less called upon to do something about minimizing it, and may have less respect for the value of life. [p. 251]

I like to think that Jesus Christ's philosophy of compassion was rooted in his appreciation of this inherent tragedy. He came to be known as "The Man of Sorrows," suffering for mankind (if not also for "lesser" animals on the food chain, like my dog Siegfried and the birds whose still bodies he finds in our back yard). I would like to think that Jesus felt sorrowful for them too. My mother did, and I do.
    Alas, "The Man of Sorrows" tradition seems to refer to Jesus's personal suffering because of being required by God to "bear our griefs and carry our sorrows," being "smitten of God, and afflicted," "wounded for our transgressions," "bruised for our iniquities," and having laid on him "the iniquity of us all." And all that. Nothing to do with our actual human tragedy.
    But we know not of the actual human being, Jesus of Nazareth. We know only the fabulous creature whose life and teachings were variously described by a number of people, including quite a few who had no personal acquaintance of him, having been born after he died. As I said, I like to think that his compassion rose out of a sense of the fragility, finiteness, and uniqueness of conscious existence.

What's in it for YOU?

In a comment on Monday's post, I made the following offer, which I repeat here in the hope that a willing believer (or nonbeliever) will see it and would like to take me up on it:

Anyone, believer or non-believer, who would like to share what you believe (or don't believe), you are invited to do so in a comment here. And tell us what's in it for you, if you'd like to try to put that into words.

Another way of asking "what's in it for you" might be:

What is it about your beliefs or nonbeliefs that makes your life better?

What's in it for you?

A close friend is telling me he can't see anything in it for me, believing that God doesn't exist and death is final.

I mean, you've thrown away a crutch used by hundreds of millions of people on Earth to salve their fears and griefs about dying. You've yanked off your neck a 2,000-year-old talisman for smoothing everything out and helping you believe that everything's going to turn out all right, your sexy young body restored and you reunited with loved ones. And for your remaining time on Earth, you've thrown away a top non-pharmaceutical remedy for getting high. How can you give all that up?
    Plus, you've made yourself a target for evangelicals who think you're ripe for plucking. I know that annoys you, despite the interesting posts their arguments have led to.
    And what about the awkward situations you've created for yourself over major American holidays? "Not celebrating Christmas—what's wrong with you?" I mean, after awhile, what do you say to that?
    Wouldn't it be easier to just go along with it all? God exists, hears and answers our prayers, gets one day a week and special holidays, the whole nine yards.

You mean, I should just fake it?

No, no, of course I didn't mean that. Faking it would just avoid some of the awkwardness, and maybe the evangelicals. You'd still have to anticipate death without a potion, you'd have to deal with the cracks in life without putty and a trowel.

Are you serious? I have to ask. I mean, even you who are asking me this seem to realize that I'd have to believe things that I'm convinced are almost certainly not true. You don't believe them yourself! How have you answered these questions?

<He turns slightly red and giggles nervously> Uh, well, you know, I...I get unsure at times and wonder....I wish that I could overcome my reservations and stop not believing....You know?

I'm still listening.

Okay, okay. Just tell me, then. Don't you sometimes want to just get it all over with, kill yourself? How do you remain mostly cheerful? How do you enjoy life?

Ah, so you've been thinking about ending it all! Why didn't you say so? What are friends for?

First of all, yes, of course, it's awkward sometime. Especially when you forget to be compassionate. But awkwardness is a relatively small thing, momentary.
    Second, if you don't believe because you can't delude yourself, what's to be gained from beating yourself up?
    Third, take pride in your brave, independent mind and your well-earned moral discernment. You're a man, my friend, and a good one.
    Fourth, nothing else has really changed from ceasing to believe the untrue. The universe is no less amazing—maybe seems even more wondrous. Earth is no less marvelous—maybe seems even more beautiful. And life here and now is more precious for its evanescence.
    Fifth and final, don't postpone the important stuff. Love. Be constructive. There's no hereafter for making amends for hurting others.

Lacking rachmones

A paragraph in Ed Goldberg's letter to the editor of the NY Times Book Review (published September 27) succinctly identifies what I have come to see as the main problem with conservatism in the United States, at least as it is vociferously represented on talk radio, in angry diatribes to newspaper editors, and even in the halls of Congress.

Jews understand that the world is a hostile place, and that we are all of us subject to the whims of this enigma. This causes in most Jews a sense that we can survive physically and emotionally only by showing rachmones [compassion and sympathy and empathy] to others. Those who do not (neocons and other believers in a me-first philosophy) become right-wingers. [emphasis mine]

Mr. Goldberg is commenting on Leon Wieseltier’s review of the book, Why Are Jews Liberals?, by Norman Podhoretz (September 13).
    To double-check the fairness of the "me-first" characterization, I asked a wise friend (Ralph, but not Waldo Emerson, of Poet's Walk) what he thought of it, and he said:

Morris, that's a great quote, and a good way of distinguishing the rightist philosophy. I've always felt that Ayn Rand's philosophy of enlightened self-interest is subject to great abuse, depending, as it does, on the adjective "enlightened." And I suspect that the Buddhists are right that with enlightenment, self-interest falls away.

You see this "me-firstness" in many statements putting other people down, whether it's illegal immigrants, gays who want to wed, or liberals who want government to intervene on behalf of the poor or powerless (or of us ordinary citizens, who are no match for big corporations and other moneyed interests).
    No immigrants; it's my land.
    No married gays; it's my institution.
    No taxes for government programs; it's my money.
    No regulations; it's my liberty.
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[The line drawing is of the Jewish writer Bernard Malamud, who was well-known for his rachmones.]

"I am thankful"

Some years ago I attended a Thanksgiving dinner at which the hostess asked everyone to "go around the table" and say what he or she was thankful for. I enjoyed the experience, and I probably addressed my expression of thanks to "God," perhaps as "Heavenly Mother" rather than as "Heavenly Father," depending on whether this happened before or after I grew tired of the general tendency among Christians (as among Jews and Muslims) to refer to deity as masculine.

As I anticipate going over to our neighbors (in less than two hours!), I've found myself wondering whether anyone will make a similar suggestion. In anticipation of the possibility, I've looked up "thankful" in Webster's:

1: conscious of benefit received <for what we are about to receive make us truly ~>
2: expressive of thanks <~ service>
3: well-pleased: GLAD <he was ~ that the room was dark>

I have long thought that thankfulness in the first sense is too important to relegate to a single day of the year, for such mindfulness encourages compassion and humility. We might not have been so lucky. Can we justify thinking that we deserve our luck more than others deserve their lack of it?

But Thanksgiving as an annual event, as a holiday, tends to make us think about things from a larger perspective, even a national one. But I've already been thankful ever since November 4 that come January 20 we won't need to put quotes around "president" any more. A larger perspective for me is remembering some of the people (such as Gary) who can't be with us (or with anyone else) today. They died young or they died violently or they just died unexpectedly.

On this particular Thanksgiving, I will remember that, for the "national turkey" named Pumpkin pardoned yesterday by our current "president," there are literally millions of turkeys that were recently slaughtered (or slaughtered weeks ago and frozen) so that creatures higher on the food chain could gorge themselves today. And lots of other animals as well. To me, that's very sad. In a couple of hours I mean to be mindful of the sacrifice of the free-range turkey our neighbors have been baking this morning.

Postscript

Actually, only one of our neighbors baked the turkey; the other baked a cut of free-range pig. Unfortunately, each animal's flesh was so delicious (as also was the sweet potatoes, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce, the brown gravy, the Brussels sprouts and carrots, the green beans, the dinner rolls, and the wine, all followed by pumpkin pie, chocolate-pecan-Kahlua-bourbon pie, wine cake, and New Orleans chickory coffee) I barely paused to remember that the two animals had been deprived of their range, not to mention their lives, for the very purpose that distracted me.

It isn't easy to be thankful, especially in America, where we have perhaps too much to be thankful for.

Eating other animals: Is it humane?1

One of my "new ten commandments" (#5 in the post linked to) is to treat all living creatures humanely. An old friend and I have been comparing our philosophies with respect to other animals. We agree on humane treatment. Gorillas shouldn't be killed in order to cut off their hands to use as ashtrays, for example. Hunters shouldn't kill animals for sport. But I go further than my friend in being sympathetic with vegans whose abstinence from eating flesh rests on their moral position that animals (including fish) should not be killed in order to be eaten (or raised in ghastly industrial circumstances for that purpose).

Not all vegans base their abstinence on that moral position. My friend himself is a vegan, but for the reason that it is healthier not to eat meat. And I am not a practicing vegan at all. My position is "purely philosophical" and, I suppose, in some way hypocritical (even though I freely admit it).

One thing that plays into my "philosophical veganism" is the concept of compassion as presented in the popular book How to Want What You Have, by Timothy Miller, which I read some years ago. Miller doesn't talk about compassion (so far as I remember) with respect to animals other than humans, but I found it impossible, from a broadly philosophical and moral viewpoint, not to apply it to all living creatures. Miller's concept relative to humans is that one person isn't any more derserving than the next person. He recommends that the principle of compassion guide our moral choices, the way we treat other people.

Obviously, that's a profoundly Gandhian or Jesus Christian point of view. Meekness. One doesn't have to "believe in God" to find the concept powerfully attractive, as I do. My political philosophy is grounded in the belief. This explains why I so loathe the George Bushes of the world (overprivileged, underdeserving), why I am a "liberal," why I vote "for the common good" rather than to benefit my own pocketbook, why I am so critical of "popular [materialistic] culture"—perhaps even why I am critical of sports fanaticism.

I just wanted to put this out there, while I'm contemplating it anew. Thank you, my old friend.
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1. I toyed with titling this post more simply just "Eating animals: Is it humane?," but I realized that would include cannibalism, which I trust we need not get into.