Plague Journal, Oh No…
Not another obscure, obtuse post…. Everyone knows that it’s not a good idea to keep causing pain to your readers. I’ve been warned by others who care about my happiness. But I knew already the difficulty of the self imposed task to comment upon philosophical concepts regarded as radical, beyond the pale of common sense.
One must live and act out of one’s nature, so I plunge ahead, or plug-along as the state of my mind allows. The situation is similar to that of a child who I still remember, a child that lived in dread of doctors. In the opinion of that child, an inordinate amount of time was spent in the Doctor’s office and examining room. The examining room was sparingly decorated, a single chair, white sheet tightly tucked under on the examination table, and an odor that I took to be chloroform. No matter the physician’s kindly intentions, a visit to the Doctor meant a quotient of pain to be endured before conclusion of the visit. I remember vividly those injections to the buttocks. When fortune smiled upon me, and no injection was administered, — foul tasting medication had to be stomached. I remember some sixty years later.
Philosophy, reading, thinking, and writing can be like that. My adult-self knows that it is worth the work, wrestling with new ideas, ideas conceived by individuals more intelligent, and more courageous than I. Those ideas if patiently considered may just be the medication that we need. We are in a stage four condition, with the spread of dis-union, antipathy, even talk of armed violence on the social media is a daily occurrence. Our disease has metastasized to all four quadrants, potentially a terminal condition. Effective therapy must be found and applied without delay.
We are at the end-point of the type of society which we have built together. We the living, have inherited from our parents, and from every past generation the benefits and the moral flaws, the unbound wounds that now overtake us. So now we must stop running, we must stand still and take the strong medicine of widely distributing power, and of dispersing widely the benefits of society. Now is the time.
6
It will be appreciated if I condense so essential and so new an insight into four theses. In that way I shall make it easier to understand; in that way I shall invite criticism.
First proposition. The reasons for which “this” world has been characterized as “apparent” are the very reasons which indicate its reality; any other kind of reality is absolutely undemonstrable.
Second proposition. The characteristics which have been assigned to “true being” of things are the characteristics of non-being, of nothingness, the “true world” has been constructed out of contradiction to the actual world: indeed an apparent world, insofar as it is merely a moral-optical illusion.
Third proposition. To talk about another world than this one has no meaning at all, unless an instinct of slander, disparagement, and suspicion against life has gained the upper hand in us: in that case, we avenge ourselves against life with a phantasmagoria of ‘another’, a ‘better’ life.
— excerpt, Twilight of the Idols, by Friedrich Nietzsche, ‘Reason’ in Philosophy page 48
The breakdown between us, that is between those who are inclined toward ideas represented by the Democratic Party and those advanced by the Republican Party is so severe, that reasoned discussion is rare, exceptional. Criticism of the sitting President is met with scorn, name-calling, or stony silence. Nietzsche’s writing suggests an aerial view of the thicket than entangles us.
We (yours truly included) consider this world unsatisfactory, because of the loose ends, the wildness, our inherent failure to exert total control over circumstances and outcomes. Consider for example, if you have children, your effectiveness as a parent. How much control does a parent have in the life of a child? Another example, how much control do you have over your emotions, the feeling-states that well up, triggered by circumstances? Even if by good fortune of education when these feelings are somewhat understood — too often we remain at their mercy. Conclusion: reason plainly shows this is a wild & woolly world.
We resist this conclusion, insisting upon a more acceptable result — if by chance one is raised in any of the Churches or Christian sects we posit the afterlife, heaven, where everything is idyllic. When religious sentiment is overruled by survival concerns such as poverty, unemployment, chronic illness or inadequate shelter — any demagogue that promises “better times,” a return to national greatness will be persuasive no matter how outlandish. Despising this life, this wild & woolly, incomplete, tragic world has more than one cause.
If one happens to be an evangelical Christian, by default heaven is more desirable than this sinful world. If one happens to be a blue collar white guy, unemployed, with endless worry for the well being of family, with no hope of near term improvement — a gorge of rage rises in the gullet toward this world, toward our jointly created circumstances, and toward any criticism of the Father-figure occupant in the White House.
“Disparagement against life…has gained the upper hand in us.”
Courage friend. There is always music!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD5BBAKvr2s
The Last Resort
By The Eagles
She came from Providence
One in Rhode Island
Where the old world shadows hang
Heavy in the air
She packed her hopes and dreams
Like a refugee
Just as her father came
Across the sea
She heard about a place
People were smilin’
They spoke about the red man’s way
How they loved the land
They came from everywhere
To the Great Divide
Seeking a place to stand
Or a place to hide
Down in the crowded bars
Out for a good time
Can’t wait to tell you all
What it’s like up there
They called it paradise
I don’t know why
Somebody laid the mountains low
While the town got high
Then the chilly winds blew down
Across the desert
Through the canyons of the coast
To the Malibu
Where the pretty people play
Hungry for power
To light their neon way
Give them things to do
Some rich men came and raped the land
Nobody caught ’em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes
And Jesus people bought ’em
They called it paradise
The place to be
They watched the hazy sun
Sinking in the sea
We can leave it all behind and sail to Lahaina
Just like the missionaries did so many years ago
They even brought a neon sign said, “Jesus is coming.”
Brought the white man’s burden down
Brought the white man’s reign
Who will provide the grand design?
What is yours and what is mine?
‘Cause there is no more new frontier
We have got to make it here
We satisfy our endless needs
And justify our bloody deeds
In the name of destiny
And in the name of God
And you can see them there
On Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
What it’s like up there
They call it paradise
I don’t know why
You call someplace paradise
Kiss it goodbye
Writer(s): Don Henley, Glenn Frey
4 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Oh No…”
My sense, in reading through today’s offering, is that your missive of the day poured forth without having to pause. There is a continuity to this that, at least in my estimation, is based on long standing frustration with our lot in life. Not that you are complaining or indulging in any form of self-pity (that would be very un-Jerry-like anyway), but you have made a very succinct point about the state of the world around us. You have circled back to an old theme, but an unresolved one, which is communication (or lack thereof) between opposing points of view.
I continue to look for ways to ford the widening gap between left and right, but those bridges have become far fewer in the last couple of years. Even the discussions we have with those of like mind (note a recent exchange between us and another person) have become extraordinarily difficult and contentious. As much as I don’t want to view myself as entrenched in ideology I see it creeping into my daily exchanges. This is not good and as you mention above, despite our best intentions, we are moving ever closer to an irreconcilable split in how we view the world and even our definition of the word truth.
The only way to counter this is through remaining as mindful as we can be while battling our inner desire to bop others in the nose. Anyway, them’s my thoughts for today. Thanks, as always, for your insights and for bringing to light the great quotes of others.
The bridges are fewer. Sometimes I think the opposing “side” burns them as a matter of tactical expediency. Every burned bridge proves their point. Is this perception just a fever in my own mind? I don’t think that I have an entrenched ideology, just quite a few all competing for the spotlight.
Okay, so as far as my “entrechedness” goes. There was a time when I would listen to someone who may be questioning the validity of global warming. No longer. This subject is not a matter of “belief”, it is a matter of fact that manifests itself right in front of our eyes, so my tolerance for those with an opposing view on this subject is nil. I will say this goes for other subjects such as systemic racism, voter suppression, women’s rights, rampant greed, and so on. There is no room for compromise on basic human rights and one of those human rights is the right to a planet that should not be destroyed. So does this mean I have become an intolerant, entrenched SOB? Perhaps. There is no time for listening to the ignorant prognosticate on inane points of view. They are all Nero incarnate, fiddling while the rest of burn (literally), so even though there may be issues on which I can find areas of compromise, there are indeed others where I have firmly planted my feet and emphatically state, as did Gandalf, “You shall not pass!”
I agree with your list, and more could be added. None of these issues are negotiable, or more bluntly up for equivocation.
The description of Gandalf standing alone on the stone bridge of Khazad-dum speaks to me as well. Here is some of the language:
“The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.
‘You cannot pass,’ he said. The orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell. ‘I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.’
The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew