Hainesville

Thought #14: People blame their future on their past.

And now: one of the most controversial of topics: religious faith. How can one explicate a subject so personal and interpretive? It begins with a brief  examination of what faith means. Let us say you are a coal miner in Cardiff, Wales. Your life is getting up every day before sunrise, working a bone-crunching 15 hour day in a mine, and then going home past sunset. You do this 6 days a week, and you will do it every day of your life. Of course, given the nature of your profession — and the likelihood of black lung, mesothelioma or some other pulmonary misadventure — your lifespan may not be long. And so you work, until the day you succumb. Is your life fair? What if you assumed that were was no cosmic balancing act of mercy or justice, to make your existence seem viable. Why shouldn’t you rob a bank? Or shoot down your exploitative bosses in an act of retributive rage? This moral check and balance is the very heart of faith. We do not do what we might, because we fear the consequences from our Creator. Thus, religion and faith can be seen as some form of control; it is a spiritual anodyne to lessen our pain and torment. It builds strength and the sense of connection to others and their travails through Life. I will stop short of calling faith an opiate, but it often does the work of one.

On a correlative thought: if one doesn’t attend an organized church, tabernacle or synagogue service on a regular basis, is their faith lessened? If you have a deeply moving connection in your kitchen on Tuesday mornings, is that just as valid? If your audience with Something Holy is meant to serve as a vitamin shot, does it matter where that shot is administered?

Thought #13: Faith can often be an opiate.

At a dinner party some time ago: the conversational topic inevitably shifted to politics, as topics will. The subject was the impending health care bill being contemplated in Washington. It should have been a civilized discourse; an exploration of ideology and pragamatic choice. But it quickly degenerated into a verbal fracas. People no longer held views: they were given fanciful appellations such as: The Religious Right, Neocons, Centrist Democrats, Limousine Liberals. Nothing anyone had to say superseded their title, so that no one from the so-called Left listened to the Right, and so forth. And when I studied the people who were doing much of the so-called “labeling”, they seemed far less concerned with making their point than distinguishing the difference between their credo and anyone else’s. In fact, once their intellectual turf was delineated, they relaxed for the first time all evening. Clearly, they were happy! What they felt the need to do was to compartmentalize all opposing viewpoints, thus creating the illusion of order. But why? Because nothing comforts like being able to define an idea — even if we dont understand it, or can’t debate it. That lets us create a comfort zone: i.e. identify with a larger cause, without having to risk an explanation.

So how do we deal with those individuals who are happiest when affixing a label to any idea or individual? Carefully, I would suggest. People are often threatened when you question their perceived notion of order. As these Emperors frequently wear No Clothes, try not to discuss any topics while staring at their crotch.

Thought #12: Labeling creates the illusion of order.

If Life is a meal at a restaurant, we must ponder the endless chain of hierarchy and command that executes the menu. Let us suppose that you are ordering a degustation menu, perhaps 10 courses in all. Each course has many ingredients, each course has its own silverware, its own service, and is overseen by a complement of waitpersons. Now, then, on course #2, you ordered the truffle crusted dover sole fillet, but they served a talapia instead. You call it to the waiter’s notice, and instead of apologizing, he begins to point the blame at everyone. It was the kitchen’s fault; the regular chef is out, so the sous-chef took over; the other waiters should have realized the error. And so forth. You look at him, waiting for him to add his name to the list, or to even accept any responsibility. But he never does. It is always The Other Guy. Some days, it feels like that: an endless cavalcade of buck-passing. But what can be done? Unfortunately, no one can make anyone evolve or mature, especially if that person does not wish to do so. What you can do is not participate in the exhaustive drama of getting them to “admit” their wrong. Some people will go through the miasmic depths of Hell before they will admit they have made a mistake. And some won’t even admit it then. People seek that admission because they feel “wronged”; they feel it equitable, even necessary, for there to be remorse.

But one must understand the situation and the party that diverts the blame. The important thing is to not take it personally, or as a lack of respect. There will always be people who blame things on someone else. But that is their issue, do not make it yours.

Thought #11: People are often looking to assign blame.

How do we, as thinking engines, process our difficulties? Do we assimilate our mistakes; learn from our errors? Or do we commit the unpardonable historical mistake that classical philosopher George Santayana wryly observed: “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” It seems that we understand things in theory. We intellectually grasp the people we should avoid, the situations we should obviate. However, in reality, we are creatures of emotional thought not devotees of logic, and the answers are far less clear. Something of the rain gutter, the phonographic record’s groove is etched in our synapses. Once we settle into a pattern, it is hard to break free. But why? We know the thoughts that can liberate us, why do we resolutely stand fast? Perhaps the answer is that we do not wish to fully take responsibility for our miscues. We can understand them on the basic level, but seek some kind of absolution. Now, if we cannot get someone to forgive us, shouldn’t we forgive ourselves?  Not when the price of that forgiveness compels us to start over. It is frightening out there back at Square One. The notion of tabula rasa may sound thrilling, but we feel far more comfortable clinging to old patterns. And we always have that bad dynamic to blame as well.

The name of game is to try to make our failures our own; to name our blunders and realize that everyone makes them. Once owned, our mistakes and the weight they carry begin to evanesce. But when we do not accept them, they become the very drowning weight we fear.

Thought #10:  We understand our disappointments, we just refuse to accept them.

Bryan Ferry, lead singer of Roxy Music, sagely observed, “Love is the drug”. But what of anger? For sheer narcotic value, being angry seems to provide an almost irresistible high. Imagine this: a charming couple is having dinner. Over the amuse-bouche, he says , “Wow, Sally, you really seem to be enjoying the osso buco.” She retorts, “Are you calling me a glutton, Bob?!!”  Their conversation escalates accordingly. She calls him vile names, shakes her fist; he apologizes profusely. From a logical standpoint, that should help to calm her down. But no, she continues to enfilade him with abuse. She is on the equivalent of an emotional sugar rush. She cannot stop. But what is really being accomplished? Does Sally really think that Bob considers her eating habits porcine? Probably not. But it is a feverish moment, and one that does not easily subside.  Did Sally gain anything by this heated exchange? Probably not.  No boundaries were actually crossed.  But her state of anger is one of projection: all of Sally’s deepest self-worth issues and insecurities are vented on Bob. Morever, Sally can claim the dividend of being The Wounded Party.   

Does any of this help her relationship? Not particularly. She could have asked in a demure tone: “I know you were appreciating my enjoyment of this lovely veal shank, weren’t you?” That would frame her question, but not in a hostile manner. No one wins when rhetoric notches up that high. But, oh that feeling of catharsis!

Thought #9: Anger is a wasted emotion, with the effect of a cheap drug.

Sometimes I wonder if people have adopted some sort of a correlation between volume and conviction; that is, do they feel that screaming their point of view adds to its merit? I have been in places as disparate as five-star restaurants and bowling alleys and seen quiet conversations escalate into donnybrooks. Someone starting out with the quiet remark or observation “I feel this restaurant is overrated” will find themselves defending the veracity of it over and over. But why do they fall into that trap? And why do they keep feeding the meter of insecurity? People often seek the validation of others. When that validation is not forthcoming, they try to make their point more resolute to offset that lack of approval. Their central flaw is in courting the approval of others; very few people are heroes in this world, even fewer itch to stand alone against popular opinion. In my view, nothing suggests strength like a quietly observed point of view.   

So next time you have made your point, and you come up against the hard glare of ideological opposition, try to remember: the power of your logic is not in decibels, but in the measured integrity of your worldview.  

Thought #8: In communication, people mistake volume for conviction.

You remember that classic scene from The Wizard of Oz: Dorothy and her three companions in the grand chamber, finally granted an audience with the omnipotent Oz. They watch the Wizard fulminate and threaten; as smoke and flames erupt from his throne. Suddenly, Toto tugs away the curtain and we see a small little man, speaking into a microphone and manipulating an array of visual effects. And then we realize: we are all The Great Oz at times, letting our drama amplify and obscure the message. But why do we get into that booth?  Well, perhaps like the Wizard, we are somewhat afraid. Afraid that what we have to say is banal and obvious; afraid that without the pyrotechnics, our message will be “too simple”. Yet, it is within this simplicity that the power of the human heart resides. The power of communication lies in the purity of thought and the clarity of its connection.

So, ultimately, when the Wizard came out from behind the booth, and explained to Dorothy, The Scarecrow, The Tin Man and The Cowardly Lion what they actually did possess, their personal transformation was enabled. In the future, don’t hide behind your curtain –step outside. You might be glad you did.

Thought #7: Drama is maintained to complicate and obscure the obvious.  

The other day, a friend called me on the phone. She was in tears. It seems her life was in disarray: her boyfriend of several years had left her. She presented the panoply of emotions that such a crisis could trigger: anger, defensiveness, contrition and shame. When I tried to comfort her, I could feel her energy recede. It was palpable and when I asked her what was wrong, she replied: “Your life is always in such complete control, you have absolutely no idea what I am feeling at a moment like this.” I laughed; not to mock her, but from astonishment. I responded: “I have never been abandoned? let down? disappointed? What an amazing man I must be”.

In that moment, she got It: no one on this planet has, or will ever have, a truly singular thought, or moment. As far back as the Aristotelian Poetics, there were only a finite number of plot conventions for drama, tragedy and comedy. So, simply put, it has all been done. That may not make everyone feel instantly better, but it does allow people to realize that we’ve all been there before. Far more important than the emotions, is the way we process them. And the respect we show those people who go through that process.   

Thought #6: Emotions are not unique, people are.

When I was younger, I read everything I could get my hands on. I felt that the more I could absorb of the great philosophic minds — Nietszche, Heidegger, Schopenauer, Spinoza — the sooner I could grasp the universe and its order. Rather quickly, I began to realize that the conflictive themes that each philosopher presented made a formal system nearly impossible. Instead of one logical, coherent worldview, I saw my foundation splintering and unfocused.  While each thinker had tried to reconcile their theories with empirical data, no one could prove anything. No one had answers.

Not surprisingly, their opinions on Faith, God and man’s moral obligations were similarly vague.  As I struggled with this, I realized that my clarity of thought was being whitewashed by some very impressive-sounding terms of art. But knowing forty-three different schools of thought to express human loss is not the same as feeling it once. And there the subtraction begins. Choose core feelings over Latinisms; a clear, direct path over scenic detours. And the road takes care of itself.

Thought #5: Knowledge is subtractive, not additive.