If I ever have enough disposable income to pay the extra fee for a personalized license plate, I would want that plate to say: ABSURD. I think that would be a cool word to have, and I like it because it has sort of a "mundane" meaning (aren't personalized plates a little absurd?) and a deeper, more "philosophical" meaning (isn't human existence a little absurd?).
Absurdity. Get used to it. Because the dominant competing paradigm just doesn't make a lot of sense. That paradigm--at least the more extreme version--proposes that life has inherent meaning because God has a plan for you. Now, how we are supposed to DETERMINE what that "plan" involves is certainly elusive--at best, we can maybe "look at the signs" and make inferences. But in the end, the plan is almost impossible to discern, unless one regards every moment in life as de facto evidence of a "plan." (I got an "A" in math? God must want me to be a math teacher! I vomited after eating a porterhouse? God must want me to be a vegetarian! The guys in the locker room love my ballads in the shower? God must want me to be a singer! There is no end to such speculation.)
Equally problematic to me are the many things in life that make no sense whatsoever and couldn't possibly be part of a plan by any loving, omniscient being. This week, a lovely actress, Natasha Richardson, died after a skiing accident, an accident that seemed relatively innocuous at first. So what part of the "plan" was that? Was it a plan for Natasha? A message to her husband, actor Liam Neeson? A message to the couple's two young sons? If God's plan for Natasha was to have her die an untimely death at the age of 45, in the peak of her life, leaving a husband and two sons to grieve, I'd say that ain't much of a plan. I think I could do better.
And if all that wasn't sufficiently problematic, how can life really HAVE any meaning if everything is already planned? If all I am doing is trying to "follow God's plan," then I am essentially a kind of marionette or puppet, doing what God has already determined I should be doing in the first place--and what kind of life is that? And again, how do I even know if I'm "doing it right" to begin with? And where does "free will" come in? Do I necessarily have to agree with God's plan? As long as I'm not hurting anyone else, can't I have my OWN plan? I just think there are too many problems with the "plan" idea, whether that plan is micromanaging our lives or merely involves painting the canvas with a broader brush.
Absurdity. Accept it. Embrace it. It's really not so bad once you get used to it. (Keep chanting this with John Lennon's song "Imagine" playing in the background.) An absurd view of the world makes life all at once clearer, sweeter, more liberating, more amusing, more bizarre, and more tragic. But there is in the end no totally satisfactory answer to the dilemmas of human existence. Even the concept of absurdity is, well, a little absurd.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Eternity Bites: Part 2
As long as I'm thinking about eternity (see previous post), it's hard to resist thinking about the notion that in one's afterlife, there will be 72 virgins awaiting the virtuous--an idea that is subscribed to in some small corners of Islam. Now, the quotation below may not be suitable for the youngsters--so send them off for some milk and cookies! But, according to WikiIslam (OK, it's apparently like Wikipedia, but I think Wikipedia is somewhat over-criticized):
This concept [of the 72 virgins] is also quoted in the Tafsir ibn Kathir (Qur'anic Commentary) of Surah, the work of Ibn Kathir (Qur'an 55:72). Orthodox Muslim theologians such as al Ghazali (died 1111 CE) and Al-Ash'ari (died 935 CE) have "admitted sensual pleasures into paradise." The sensual pleasures are graphically elaborated by Al-Suyuti (died 1505), Koranic commentator and polymath. He wrote:
"Each time we sleep with a Houri we find her virgin. Besides, the penis of the Elected never softens. The erection is eternal; the sensation that you feel each time you make love is utterly delicious and out of this world and were you to experience it in this world you would faint. Each chosen one [i.e. Muslim] will marry seventy [sic] houris, besides the women he married on earth, and all will have appetising vaginas."
Well, thanks for sharing, Mr. Al-Suyuti. I do worry about the idea that "the penis of the Elected never softens"--seems to me if that happens on Earth for more than 4 hours that we're supposed to seek medical help! Ah, the joys and sorrows of an Eternal Erection.
But, I'm not really here to make cheap, cheesy jokes. (Well, maybe I am.) But if I have a serious point, it is how utterly human and flawed is our sense of eternity. Will 72 virgins be sufficient for billions of years? What about the virgins themselves--is THEIR idea of paradise to have endless sexual relations with Old Geezers like me? (Don't answer that--it's a rhetorical question.) And what about the women in the afterlife? Are there 72 randy 16-year-old boys waiting for them in paradise? The more one thinks about all these things, the more utterly absurd they seem to be.
But the absurdity is by no means limited to the Islamic world. The person I took to prom when I was in 11th grade has written a book titled "The Antichrist Spirit in America." And in the preface to that book, she says that she knows there is a heaven, that God is sitting in heaven, and that He has a book--literally a book, mind you--which already has her name written in it. She has, apparently, a free pass, and the papers to prove it! When she enters the pearly gates, she should be sure to get a receipt.
Whoever you may be: I'm eternally grateful that you've read this! And that's really saying something.
This concept [of the 72 virgins] is also quoted in the Tafsir ibn Kathir (Qur'anic Commentary) of Surah, the work of Ibn Kathir (Qur'an 55:72). Orthodox Muslim theologians such as al Ghazali (died 1111 CE) and Al-Ash'ari (died 935 CE) have "admitted sensual pleasures into paradise." The sensual pleasures are graphically elaborated by Al-Suyuti (died 1505), Koranic commentator and polymath. He wrote:
"Each time we sleep with a Houri we find her virgin. Besides, the penis of the Elected never softens. The erection is eternal; the sensation that you feel each time you make love is utterly delicious and out of this world and were you to experience it in this world you would faint. Each chosen one [i.e. Muslim] will marry seventy [sic] houris, besides the women he married on earth, and all will have appetising vaginas."
Well, thanks for sharing, Mr. Al-Suyuti. I do worry about the idea that "the penis of the Elected never softens"--seems to me if that happens on Earth for more than 4 hours that we're supposed to seek medical help! Ah, the joys and sorrows of an Eternal Erection.
But, I'm not really here to make cheap, cheesy jokes. (Well, maybe I am.) But if I have a serious point, it is how utterly human and flawed is our sense of eternity. Will 72 virgins be sufficient for billions of years? What about the virgins themselves--is THEIR idea of paradise to have endless sexual relations with Old Geezers like me? (Don't answer that--it's a rhetorical question.) And what about the women in the afterlife? Are there 72 randy 16-year-old boys waiting for them in paradise? The more one thinks about all these things, the more utterly absurd they seem to be.
But the absurdity is by no means limited to the Islamic world. The person I took to prom when I was in 11th grade has written a book titled "The Antichrist Spirit in America." And in the preface to that book, she says that she knows there is a heaven, that God is sitting in heaven, and that He has a book--literally a book, mind you--which already has her name written in it. She has, apparently, a free pass, and the papers to prove it! When she enters the pearly gates, she should be sure to get a receipt.
Whoever you may be: I'm eternally grateful that you've read this! And that's really saying something.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Eternity: It's Not All That It's Cracked Up to Be
When the kids were little, we used to read them a book about the Berenstain Bears, the title of which was Too Much Birthday. The jist of the story, as I remember it, is that one of the bear cubs enjoyed his birthday so much that he wanted EVERY day to be his birthday. After all, there are presents, and games, and cake!
And so the parents obliged. The next day, they had another birthday party. And darn if the cake didn't still taste good--maybe not quite as good as the first day, but still good. And on the third day, with the third birthday party, some of the presents weren't quite as special, and the cake was even a little less tasty. Well, perhaps you see where this is going: by about the fifth day of this continuous revelry, the cub was ready to call it quits--he had, in essence, Too Much Birthday.
Hmm. There may be a lesson here. Many people claim to either want eternal life or believe that they will be "rewarded" with eternal life. With the Berenstain Bears in mind, be careful what you wish for!
It's very hard to get a mental handle on the concept of eternity, just as the concept of "infinity" boggles the mind. But it's important to try. If you have eternal life, that means that you will be "alive" in the year 3256, the year 32,256, and the year 32,556,668,994,331,440,227,749,225,057,939,641--and beyond! Now, what are you going to be doing for eternity? Are there elaborate buffets, or lots of board games, or endless re-runs of Gilligan's Island? (If there are buffets, I hope they have both pizza and potato salad.) What in the heck would one DO for eternity? And if there is nothing to do, and one is simply in a sort of "state," what would be the joy in being in that perpetual state for BILLIONS of years? Wouldn't it get kind of "old"?
Our lives are defined by limits and boundaries. If everything was infinite, it would cease to be meaningful. We cherish life for that very reason. And while it's perfectly "normal" to want to exist forever, forever is a really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really long time.
And so the parents obliged. The next day, they had another birthday party. And darn if the cake didn't still taste good--maybe not quite as good as the first day, but still good. And on the third day, with the third birthday party, some of the presents weren't quite as special, and the cake was even a little less tasty. Well, perhaps you see where this is going: by about the fifth day of this continuous revelry, the cub was ready to call it quits--he had, in essence, Too Much Birthday.
Hmm. There may be a lesson here. Many people claim to either want eternal life or believe that they will be "rewarded" with eternal life. With the Berenstain Bears in mind, be careful what you wish for!
It's very hard to get a mental handle on the concept of eternity, just as the concept of "infinity" boggles the mind. But it's important to try. If you have eternal life, that means that you will be "alive" in the year 3256, the year 32,256, and the year 32,556,668,994,331,440,227,749,225,057,939,641--and beyond! Now, what are you going to be doing for eternity? Are there elaborate buffets, or lots of board games, or endless re-runs of Gilligan's Island? (If there are buffets, I hope they have both pizza and potato salad.) What in the heck would one DO for eternity? And if there is nothing to do, and one is simply in a sort of "state," what would be the joy in being in that perpetual state for BILLIONS of years? Wouldn't it get kind of "old"?
Our lives are defined by limits and boundaries. If everything was infinite, it would cease to be meaningful. We cherish life for that very reason. And while it's perfectly "normal" to want to exist forever, forever is a really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really long time.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Time flies when you're having fun?
Seventeen days: it's been that long since my last post, but I'm not quite sure where those seventeen days went. One of my favorite "edgy" novelists, the late Henry Miller, wrote that "When you forget to eat you know you're alive." I think he was trying to say that if you are so immersed in "authentic life projects" that food becomes secondary, or an afterthought, you are "living the good life." But right about now, I'd say "not so much."
When you're busy, life speeds up. A whole month can go by and you say, "Where in the hell did February go?" And I suppose that's better than twiddling your thumbs, looking at the clock, and hoping to make it through just one more hour or one more day of existence. (Some people who yearn for immortality hardly know what to do with themselves for an entire Saturday afternoon!) Still, the balance point between "activity" and "inactivity" in our culture is clearly not in the middle of such a continuum.
I'm haunted by passages such as this one in Miller's novel Plexus: "Finally it came about that I remained away from the office three days handrunning. It was just a sufficient break to make it impossible for me to return. Three glorious days and nights, doing exactly what I pleased, eating well, sleeping long, enjoying every minute of the day, feeling immeasurably rich inside, losing all ambition to battle with the world, itching to begin my own private life, confident of the future, done with the past, how could I go back into harness?
Hmm. I have a book in mind that I'd like to write. I'll call it "Civilization and its Discontents." (Catchy title, dontcha think?)
When you're busy, life speeds up. A whole month can go by and you say, "Where in the hell did February go?" And I suppose that's better than twiddling your thumbs, looking at the clock, and hoping to make it through just one more hour or one more day of existence. (Some people who yearn for immortality hardly know what to do with themselves for an entire Saturday afternoon!) Still, the balance point between "activity" and "inactivity" in our culture is clearly not in the middle of such a continuum.
I'm haunted by passages such as this one in Miller's novel Plexus: "Finally it came about that I remained away from the office three days handrunning. It was just a sufficient break to make it impossible for me to return. Three glorious days and nights, doing exactly what I pleased, eating well, sleeping long, enjoying every minute of the day, feeling immeasurably rich inside, losing all ambition to battle with the world, itching to begin my own private life, confident of the future, done with the past, how could I go back into harness?
Hmm. I have a book in mind that I'd like to write. I'll call it "Civilization and its Discontents." (Catchy title, dontcha think?)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
My goal: to eat, belch, and watch movies
The Contentious One has been neglecting this site for a couple of weeks, proving once again that a person can only do so much. And that indeed is my Thought for the Day. (When you Capitalize Something, it makes it seem more profound and important.)
As I go through the daily grind, I am struck by the demands of life and how much depends on proper execution of a series of mundane tasks.
I'm driving to work: if I'm inattentive at the wrong moment, suddenly I'm in the ditch, or injured, or dead.
I'm paying bills: if I miss one and don't catch the omission, the Visa people will tack on a ridiculous late fee and my credit rating may suffer. (And don't get me started on tax season! In our household, that's a project unto itself, chock full of lovely details.)
I'm chopping vegetables: and suddenly I remember seasoned chefs at my very first employer, Diamond Jim's Nightclub, with parts of their fingers missing.
I'm teaching a class: and then I realize I need to check out the appropriate video, remember that so-and-so was gone last time, so-and-so needs to make up the last exam, and so-and-so needs to see me after class. (And that the section of the text I'm dealing with I haven't actually re-read anytime in the last six months!)
I'm rushing around in the morning: and at that moment I mentally take in all the things I need to do today and all the places I need to be, and how my perceived competence depends on getting everything right--being in the right place at the right time and doing the right things in the right way.
Indeed, if I AM doing everything right, no one will notice and life will proceed smoothly. (Which, in a weird way, is ironic and even unfortunate--if you're doing things right, it can all be so seamless that people don't even appreciate what's involved.) But to make all that happen requires an intense devotion to being on-task, and a constant demand to prove to yourself and to the world that you can do it.
I look forward to the day when maybe my only tasks will be to eat, belch, and watch movies from Blockbuster. As I have argued elsewhere, there is a neurotic underpinning to Western Civilization, based on getting things done, and in a certain manner, that can weigh down even the most anal-retentive individual. In fact, the more anal, the more this is the case! Hmm--the Contentious Introvert may be ready for retirement, but retirement isn't ready for him for at least ten years.
As I go through the daily grind, I am struck by the demands of life and how much depends on proper execution of a series of mundane tasks.
I'm driving to work: if I'm inattentive at the wrong moment, suddenly I'm in the ditch, or injured, or dead.
I'm paying bills: if I miss one and don't catch the omission, the Visa people will tack on a ridiculous late fee and my credit rating may suffer. (And don't get me started on tax season! In our household, that's a project unto itself, chock full of lovely details.)
I'm chopping vegetables: and suddenly I remember seasoned chefs at my very first employer, Diamond Jim's Nightclub, with parts of their fingers missing.
I'm teaching a class: and then I realize I need to check out the appropriate video, remember that so-and-so was gone last time, so-and-so needs to make up the last exam, and so-and-so needs to see me after class. (And that the section of the text I'm dealing with I haven't actually re-read anytime in the last six months!)
I'm rushing around in the morning: and at that moment I mentally take in all the things I need to do today and all the places I need to be, and how my perceived competence depends on getting everything right--being in the right place at the right time and doing the right things in the right way.
Indeed, if I AM doing everything right, no one will notice and life will proceed smoothly. (Which, in a weird way, is ironic and even unfortunate--if you're doing things right, it can all be so seamless that people don't even appreciate what's involved.) But to make all that happen requires an intense devotion to being on-task, and a constant demand to prove to yourself and to the world that you can do it.
I look forward to the day when maybe my only tasks will be to eat, belch, and watch movies from Blockbuster. As I have argued elsewhere, there is a neurotic underpinning to Western Civilization, based on getting things done, and in a certain manner, that can weigh down even the most anal-retentive individual. In fact, the more anal, the more this is the case! Hmm--the Contentious Introvert may be ready for retirement, but retirement isn't ready for him for at least ten years.
Monday, January 19, 2009
24 pounds of flesh
The Contentious One was struck (struck, but not killed--ho ho) by a story in the January 12 issue of Newsweek titled, "Remains of the Day." It turns out that to this day, there are people who are still collecting, storing, cataloguing, and DNA-matching pieces of flesh from the remnants of 9/11. And Mr. CI (quit referring to yourself in the third person--a sure sign of mental illness!) made special note of the following: "What's left of the terrorists--which, all told, likely amounts to less than 24 pounds of flesh and bone fragments--are sequestered at undisclosed locations in New York and Virginia. They are 'stored as evidence in a refrigerated locker in sealed containers and test tubes,' says Richard Kolko, a spokesman for the FBI." And, surprise, surprise: no one quite knows what to do with these 24 pounds of flesh and bone.
Like many other endeavors in life, this one has its gruesome qualities. I can't imagine what it's like to be a mortician, or a coroner, or a slaughterhouse worker, or an EMT, or a surgeon, where the "physicality" of things is right in your face. When Madonna sang that it's a "material world," she was right in ways that she probably didn't even realize. In the U.S., many of us are largely shielded from the "grittiness" of things--e.g., pieces of individuals strewn about in a cafe by a suicide bomber in Israel, urine and bowel movements in plain view on a sidewalk in India, chickens being killed right in front of you at a wet market in Malaysia (a personal gruesome moment!), public beheadings in Saudi Arabia, and so on. The enormity of it all leaves one with only coping strategies; as noted in other posts, I have given up trying to change the world significantly--there's just too much to change. My youthful idealism has given way to a combination of (a) resignation and (b) quiet optimism that sometime in the next couple of centuries things will get better. But right about now, all I can think about is what those 24 pounds of flesh must look like, and how ghastly and bizarre a sight it must be.
Like many other endeavors in life, this one has its gruesome qualities. I can't imagine what it's like to be a mortician, or a coroner, or a slaughterhouse worker, or an EMT, or a surgeon, where the "physicality" of things is right in your face. When Madonna sang that it's a "material world," she was right in ways that she probably didn't even realize. In the U.S., many of us are largely shielded from the "grittiness" of things--e.g., pieces of individuals strewn about in a cafe by a suicide bomber in Israel, urine and bowel movements in plain view on a sidewalk in India, chickens being killed right in front of you at a wet market in Malaysia (a personal gruesome moment!), public beheadings in Saudi Arabia, and so on. The enormity of it all leaves one with only coping strategies; as noted in other posts, I have given up trying to change the world significantly--there's just too much to change. My youthful idealism has given way to a combination of (a) resignation and (b) quiet optimism that sometime in the next couple of centuries things will get better. But right about now, all I can think about is what those 24 pounds of flesh must look like, and how ghastly and bizarre a sight it must be.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
My own MLK tribute
OK, tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day in the U.S. I sort of wish it wasn't always in the throes of winter, but that's the way it is. (King was born on January 15, so we must always celebrate his day in the deep freeze.)
When people commemorate the day, the focus is on race--as well it should be. This nation has made significant strides forward in that regard. Hard to believe that at a certain point in my lifetime, race could dictate which water fountain you could use, which restaurants and hotels you could patronize, and which part of the bus you could ride on. As many have said, the inauguration of Barack Obama moves us up a notch even higher with respect to the status of people of color.
But, I'm a white guy. Thankfully, I didn't have to struggle with these things. So the most important personal influence of Martin Luther King for me did not involve his ultimate goals, but his persuasive tactics. What I owe to Dr. King isn't a better understanding of the need for equality (gosh, I think I've always understood THAT), but a lifelong appreciation for and belief in the value of non-violence.
I read King's Stride Toward Freedom way-back-when. It chronicles the struggle to fully integrate the bus system in Montgomery, Alabama. After that, I read Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? In both books, King explains how he was influenced by Gandhi, and the need to resist, nonviolently, and not to stoop to the level of one's oppressors. Such a stance takes immense courage and self-control. I cannot even begin to appreciate what a price people paid for non-violent resistance in the 1960s. But I can appreciate its impact.
King led me to Gandhi. Gandhi's authobiography led me to an even deeper belief in non-violence. That in turn led me to vegetarianism. And all of that led me to become a Conscientious Objector to the war in Vietnam. One could easily argue that without Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, I would be quite a different person today. And so, Dr. King, I thank you for helping us all to understand that violence and hate can never win in the long run. You are a role model to me not because you advocated for racial equality, but because you showed how that advocacy needed to be done.
When people commemorate the day, the focus is on race--as well it should be. This nation has made significant strides forward in that regard. Hard to believe that at a certain point in my lifetime, race could dictate which water fountain you could use, which restaurants and hotels you could patronize, and which part of the bus you could ride on. As many have said, the inauguration of Barack Obama moves us up a notch even higher with respect to the status of people of color.
But, I'm a white guy. Thankfully, I didn't have to struggle with these things. So the most important personal influence of Martin Luther King for me did not involve his ultimate goals, but his persuasive tactics. What I owe to Dr. King isn't a better understanding of the need for equality (gosh, I think I've always understood THAT), but a lifelong appreciation for and belief in the value of non-violence.
I read King's Stride Toward Freedom way-back-when. It chronicles the struggle to fully integrate the bus system in Montgomery, Alabama. After that, I read Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? In both books, King explains how he was influenced by Gandhi, and the need to resist, nonviolently, and not to stoop to the level of one's oppressors. Such a stance takes immense courage and self-control. I cannot even begin to appreciate what a price people paid for non-violent resistance in the 1960s. But I can appreciate its impact.
King led me to Gandhi. Gandhi's authobiography led me to an even deeper belief in non-violence. That in turn led me to vegetarianism. And all of that led me to become a Conscientious Objector to the war in Vietnam. One could easily argue that without Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, I would be quite a different person today. And so, Dr. King, I thank you for helping us all to understand that violence and hate can never win in the long run. You are a role model to me not because you advocated for racial equality, but because you showed how that advocacy needed to be done.
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