How Do We Know What We Know?

How do we know what we know?

As a teacher, I often think about what it is that my goal should be. Am I to be the imparter of knowledge upon young minds? Or, am I to help them to figure things out for themselves? Is learning a case of passing on knowledge from one person to another? Is it a gradual awakening of what is already inside of each of us? I think it is a combination of both, with some things being such that they need to be figured out by each person for himself, and other’s being that which needs to be told.

Okay, brief interlude. Yeah, I am doing that annoying writing trick that most writers do. They point out two sides, two “extremes”, on an issue, one side usually being the token conservative view, the other being the token liberal view. Then, the writer claims that either he is going to stay in the middle, find a middle ground, or go “beyond liberal and conservative.” Fr. Neuhaus from First Things magazine (http://www.firstthings.com/) even has a definition for “beyondists.” A “beyondist” is “one of those thinkers who claim their positions are beyond liberal and conservative but reliably end up being one or the other.” Well, whatever. I’m not a great writer and I know it. When I am good enough to write for a decent magazine or journal, I will fine-tune my writing. Then, when I get really good and am writing for the New Yorker, I will go back to being a beyondist again. Okay, interlude over.

One of the first ways we learn is through our senses. We touch a hot stove, feel that it is hot, then pull away. We bite into chocolate, notice that it is tasty, and want more. Other things, we learn from others. They had the experience, and told us about it. I’ve never seen a shark, but they sure do scare me because of the annual stories of the one of two unlucky surfers in the newspaper, plus silly movies like Jaws and Deep Blue Sea (I would pay money to see the tape of Samuel L. Jackson getting the script and finding out he, not LL Cool J, would be the token black guy killed off. That shark ate me!). How do I know that the earth goes around the sun, and not the other way around? And, how do I know that the stars are giant suns trillions of miles away, not just little specs of light taped to the dome in sky surrounding earth? Because, my science teachers told me. Just using my senses, there is no way I would not think the sun goes around the earth. We need to not look down upon people from the past as being simple minded. If it wasn’t for a few bright minds who were good at science, we would not know a lot of the scientific facts we do. And, the same in other subject areas such as history, grammar, rhetoric, logic, and philosophy. I know what Paris looks like, I know about evolution, I even know about Jesus, because I have been told about, and have read about, these things from others. Yes, we should try to get people to think for themselves, and come to an understanding of the way things are on their own. But, no one is capable of figuring it all out by himself. We need to help others, sometimes even giving them the answer, and be willing to accept answers from others.

Some things, though, you may learn about and know a lot about, but never really come to a real understanding of, and know what they are really like, until you experience them. Things like love, and friendship, and loss, cannot be truly understood until they are experienced personally. Even some things more trivial need to be experienced. For me, it was my first home run. I started playing baseball when I was seven, and I always wanted to be a big league ballplayer. By the time I reached “majors” as an 11 year old, the big thing was hitting a homerun. If you hit one over the fence, you got to keep the ball, and I think get a hot dog from the concession stand. Some parents even gave their kids extra allowance for homering. A number of my friends hit homers, and no matter how much they told me what it felt like in school (Little League was all we talked about during the spring days when it was always a little too hot to be sitting in the classroom, and everyone was antsy for summer. Well, we talked about Little League and the few girls who were starting to grow boobs already. In hindsight, we should have stuck to talking Little League. The girls that would turn out the hottest in high school ended up being the ones who developed later anyways), I never could really understand the feeling. I never did hit that Little League homerun.

I developed into a really good baseball player in my early teens, as well as a real swell all-around guy (just kidding…I was always a really swell guy), but that first home run did not come until I was 16. It was a summer league game, at Watervliet High School field, with a deep fence in right field that was about 30 feet high. There had always been some fields with short fences that looked inviting, causing me to think, “today is the day to hit that first home run. I have hit balls farther than that in fields with unfortunately longer fences or no fences.” Of course, when you think about something too much and try too hard, it rarely happens. This game, the field was so big, that I never even thought home run. I just went out there, played, and had a good time. My first at bat, I smoked a line drive over the second baseman’s head for a single. In my final AB, I hit it really good. Not as good as the earlier single, but I got more lift on it. It kept sailing and sailing into right center. I couldn’t really tell where it landed, but the right fielder was looking at the fence. It had gone over and I rounded the bases. It was a nice feeling. I was close to second base when the umpire signaled “home run.” From that moment until I crossed home-plate, the focus would be on me. It was my day. I finally knew what it felt like to hit a home run. In centerfield the following inning, I hammed it up in warm-ups, catching the pop-ups we outfielders throw to each other with my bare-hand. Nothing had really changed in my life, but everything had changed. I was now a member of the club. I would hit four more homeruns in my life, all in high school varsity baseball (I was not allowed to hit in college when I was turned into a pitcher). And, each meant something. My one homer as a junior was a grand slam after the batter in front of me was intentionally walked. My first as a senior broke my beginning of the year slump. My second I hit during the first ever game I won as a pitcher. My last home run came in my final home game. But, that feeling I had after the first one can never be topped. It was unique. It may have felt similar with each successive homer, but it was always something I had felt before save the first.

There are other experiences like hitting a homerun that are like that. While the first time may not have been the best or most memorable, it will always be unique. Whether it is first homerun, first touchdown, first kiss, first love, first heartbreak, first time you ask someone out. Sometimes, it may not even be a happy memory. The first woman you ask out may have said no, the first kiss may have not happened the way you wanted it to or, in hindsight, with the right woman. But, they are all things that need to be experienced to know what they are like. Unlike facts such as the earth’s relationship to the sun, you cannot “learn” these life lessons in a book or by being told about them.

I even think true religion, or at the very least a true relationship with God, is like that. No matter how much church dogma and teachings you learn, no matter how true it may be, most of the great mystics and saints really came to understand their faith when they felt that something in their heart, when they felt God tugging at them.

I don’t know. I am now getting to the point of rambling. More on this subject later…

My Da Vinci Code movie review

Whenever sportscasters have used up enough cheesy superlatives to describe a championship that teams are chasing or a record a player is chasing, they break out the ‘Holy Grail’ of clichés. Yes, you guessed it. If they get tired of calling the Super Bowl the pinnacle of football, or Joe DiMaggio’s 56 game hitting streak the record of baseball records, it is time to start calling things the Holy Grail. “The Academy Award is the ‘Holy Grail’ of movie awards.” “The Triple Crown is the Holy Grail of horse racing.” “Hilary Duff has replaced the Olsen Twins as the Holy Grail of ‘feel-guilty-but-not-too-guilty’ jailbait.”

The Holy Grail is the chalice that Christ used during the Last Supper. Legends grew surrounding the various journeys this cup has taken. Like relics of the True Cross, treasure hunters and spiritual seekers alike have searched for its remains. Yet, unlike other relics associated with Jesus, the Holy Grail has become for some reason the relic of relics. Arthurian legends were written describing searches for the Grail by brave knights. The Grail came to be seen as THE object that was lost to history and is worth being found more than the others, such as the Ark of the Covenant or the body of Jimmy Hoffa.[1] So, whenever someone wants to say that something is the greatest of its kind, and people get tired of using “He’s the Babe Ruth of football” or “He’s the Michael Jordan of tennis,” they will say, for example, “The Stanley Cup is the Holy Grail of championship trophies.”

People who actually go on quests to find ancient artifacts such as the Grail, or who seek to find the hidden, “secret,” “real” truth about the Grail are really quite pathetic and need to get a life. This is why movies that satirize Grail quests, such as Monty Python and the Holy Grail, or movies that have fun with Grail quests and don’t take themselves seriously, such as Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, are very enjoyable. Which, of course, brings us up to our most recent Grail movie, The Da Vinci Code.[2]

I already gave a review of the plot and the flaws of Brown’s “historical” research in my Da Vinci Code book review (click here: http://spidgetales.blogspot.com/2006/03/davinci-code-my-book-review.html). Now, the movie stayed pretty faithful to the book, unlike many film adaptations. However, there is a reason screenplays often stray from the original book. Stories from books that take over a dozen hours to read need to be compressed into two hours. You cannot keep everything from the book in the movie.

Grail quests need stars like Indiana Jones. We want a guy who not only can interpret all these ancient artifacts, but who can kick some bad-guy ass, while showing sexual tension and chemistry with the leading lady. Tom Hanks, as Robert Langdon, did not have much to do. He had no gun or whip, a crappy hair-do, and had less chemistry with Audrey Tatou than I do with Jessica Alba.[3] The charm that Tatou had in Amelie just wasn’t there for her as Sophie Neveu. Paul Bettany wasn’t bad as Silas whipping himself, although I could have done without the bare-ass shot. We get one nude scene, and it’s not the Hieros-Gamos rite, but an albino ass.

The only great acting jobs belonged to Jean Reno as Bezu Fache and Ian McKellen as Lee Teabing. I think there is a rule that Reno must be in every American movie that takes place in France or Quebec. When we finally reach the climax, two hours into the film, there were two more twists, one awkward, the other annoying. In a movie that took itself so seriously[4], it was awkward to see this 'Scooby-Doo and the gang' climax, with the bad guy doing the evil laughing and hissing his way all the way to the police car. And, no, God forbid we end the movie there. There needs to an extra half hour of closure crap to do. We get it. The movie is deep. Dan Brown is to the “real” history of Christ what Oliver Stone is to the “real” history of JFK’s assassination. Next time, movie, take yourself less seriously, give your hero a little dash of Bruce Campbell’s Ash character from Army of Darkness, throw in some undead skeletons, and at least have fun with it.

[1] Which legend holds is buried somewhere in Giants Stadium.
[2] I think you may have heard of it if you haven’t been holed up under a rock since back when Hilary Duff really was jailbait.
[3] Alba wanted me so bad, but I told her I needed space. She moves too fast, and I want a girl who is more of a challenge.
[4] Which is kind of a joke in itself when you think about the fact that in the opening scene, a dying geriatric strips himself naked and paints a pentacle on his chest in blood.

The Giving Tree

"A genuine anteater,"
The pet man told me dad.
Turned out, it was an aunt eater,
And now my uncle's mad!
Shel Silverstein

As I child, I really liked to read the poems of Shel Silverstein, especially the ones from Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic. My favorites include The Anteater, The Unicorn, and a couple poems whose titles I cannot think of, particularly the one about the boy who keeps eating and eating until he eats the whole world and the whole universe until there is nothing left but himself, and the one about the boy who goes through a litany of illnesses and imperilments in an attempt to get out of going to school until he finds out that it is the weekend, and says “what’d you say? It’s Saturday?! Goodbye, I’m going out to play!”

Silverstein’s beloved classic is The Giving Tree (http://www.banned-width.com/shel/works/giving.html). The story is well known. We have the boy who comes to play and swing on the giving tree who loves the boy. The tree is happy that she can give the boy what he pleases. As the boy grows older, he asks more of the tree. He takes the tree’s apples, leaves, and twigs to sell for money. The boy will need a house, and takes up the tree’s offer to cut off her branches to build with. The boy would come back yet again, with sadness in his eyes, cutting down the tree’s trunk to build a boat and sail away. The boy returns as an old man and uses the tree, now just a stump, to sit on and rest. The tree is always happy when giving of herself to the boy.

On the surface level, themes of selfless love jump out at us. Is the giving tree an allegory for Christ, who selflessly sacrifices his life out of love? Is the giving tree an ideal parent, looking out for and taking care of his child? I always looked on the story admiringly and fondly until I came upon a symposium on The Giving Tree in First Things Journal (http://www.firstthings.com/ftissues/ft9501/articles/givingtree.html). Some issues were brought to light that I never thought of before.

The tree is always happy when she gives of herself to help the boy. But, the boy is never happy or satisfied. He is always coming back to the tree, needing more. Is this really a healthy relationship? It appears to be an abusive one, the boy always taking, and the tree giving and getting nothing in return. It certainly does not appear to be a fair relationship. The giving tree does not seem to be a good parent either. A good parent does not give a child everything he wants. A good parent takes time to reprimand, as well. And, if the giving tree is a metaphor for God, isn’t God supposed to be the ideal parent? Jesus does call him Father, doesn’t He?

This selfless love thing is the hardest thing about God to comprehend. A God who is all powerful and creates the world? Yes, that makes sense. Great minds such as The Philosopher, Aristotle, have come to rationalize this idea, as well as some of the greats of the Enlightenment, including the Deist Thomas Jefferson, probably the most brilliant thinker in American history. And, a God who loves us like a great parent? It’s not too hard to stretch past the Divine Watch-Winder of Deism to see God as a Father who loves us. But, any good father, even one who loves, has a breaking point where he says “enough is enough.” Sometimes you have to cut your loses. To love? Yes, that is reasonable. But to love ceaselessly, even with nothing in return? That is the hardest to understand or comprehend. How can anyone keep loving someone with no love returned and not go crazy? How can someone really be happy with that predicament? Yeah, I know that you cannot be happy or find love without giving it out; you can’t have true friendship if you don’t first be a friend to others. But, the “others” have a part to play, too. It’s not enough to be a friend to experience true friendship. You need others to be your friend too. I find it hard to see how the tree is happy. Maybe, if the boy had grown as a person, the tree could be happy even receiving nothing in return. But, the boy does not seem to have changed at all. It’s the same old using boy. Thomas Merton hits upon this point better than I do:

A happiness that is sought for ourselves alone can never be found: for a happiness that is diminished by being shared is not big enough to make us happy. . . .

Yet there can never be happiness in compulsion. It is not enough for love to be shared: it must be shared freely. That is to say it must be given, not merely taken. Unselfish love that is poured out upon a selfish object does not bring perfect happiness: not because love requires a return or a reward for loving, but because it rests in the happiness of the beloved. And if the one loved receives love selfishly, the love is not satisfied. He sees that his love has failed to make the beloved happy. It has not awakened his capacity for unselfish love. . .

The gift of love is the gift of the power and the capacity to love, and, therefore, to give love with full effect is also to receive it. So, love can only be kept by being given away, and it can only be given perfectly when it is also received.
Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island

Maybe I am taking a children’s story too seriously. After all, it is a children’s story. You can read it in a couple minutes. There is not much room for Silverstein to go into literary detail. But, the only way to look fondly on the tree is to see the tree as God. Only God can give of Himself completely without needing any love in return (Our happiness may be tied to our loving God, but this is not for God’s sake or because God needs it. It is solely because God created us such that we need to love God to be happy). And, I think we see the dark side of free will at play. God is the lover from the Song of Songs, always pursuing us, his beloved, asking for us to return our love to Him. There is the catch, though. Love cannot be compelled. Yet, God has created us for Himself. We cannot be truly happy apart from He who gave us life. Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee. The boy in The Giving Tree is still not ready to give of himself to the tree. In the end, he remains sad and unfulfilled. Dare I say that The Giving Tree is a story of a soul’s descent into Hell?

I could be entirely wrong. There are many possible readings of this story. Please, feel free to share and add your thoughts.

Liberty and Freedom

“At the heart of liberty is the right to define one's own concept of existence, of meaning of the universe and the mystery of human life.” Associate Justice Anthony Kennedy, Planned Parenthood vs. Casey, 1992.

“You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of [the fruit of the tree] your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is bad.” Satan, Genesis 3:4-5 (New American Bible translation)


A major focal point of the culture wars is the role played by the courts. Divisive issues, such as abortion and gay marriage, that the Constitution is either ambiguous about or silent on, often end up in a stalemate in the public eye and in the legislative realm. They end up being “decided” and “settled” through the Supreme Court’s interpretation of the Constitution. And, I use the quotation marks because those two words need Chris Farley’s “Matt Foley ‘Van-Down-by-the-River’ Motivational Speaker” emphasis, because we all know nothing is settled. The hot button issues are as divisive now as they were when courts ruled upon them (and, in the gay marriage issue, will stay divisive after the courts rule); with the same pro and con arguments trotted out that we have heard endlessly. The only thing that opposing sides can agree on is which cases are monumental. Everyone agrees that Griswold V. Connecticut, Roe V. Wade, Stenberg V. Carhart, and Lawrence V. Texas were significant. However, the case that I believe is overlooked is 1992’s Planned Parenthood V. Casey.

Planned Parenthood V. Casey is seen by liberals as, though chipping away a little bit at Roe V. Wade, nonetheless upholding that court precedent and ultimately not that significant a decision. Casey is seen by conservatives as, though recognizing some rights for the unborn, sadly continuing the precedent of allowing their intentional destruction. In one sense, both sides are right. Casey did not really change anything substantially. However, in Justice Anthony Kennedy’s opinion writing for the majority to uphold the basic claims of Roe V. Wade, he unloaded the giant elephant into the room: At the heart of liberty is the right to define one's own concept of existence, of meaning of the universe and the mystery of human life.

Kennedy was the “wild card” in the decision. The vote ended up being a narrow 5-4 decision. No one knew how Kennedy would decide until he gave the decisive vote to the pro-Roe side. Whether this statement on liberty is central to his argument, or ancillary, I do not know. But, the implications of the statement are far reaching.

What is liberty? What is the purpose of freedom? Why are we here? What is the “good life”? What does it mean to live a good life?

For the ancients, it was taken for granted that there is objective reality, and there is a right way to live one’s life. Different cultures may have differed on what that objective reality is, some saying it is many gods, some one God, some an animated nature, but all agreed that there is an objective order to the world. It is the task of humans to conform themselves to the way things are. Unlike modernity, the existential, metaphysical, and ethical could not be separated. They are indelibly linked.

To steal a metaphor used by Boston College philosophy professor Peter Kreeft (and what I have said above in the preceding paragraph comes from him, which in turn probably comes from the likes of G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis), if our lives were sailboats out at sea, there would be three questions to ask: How do I keep my boat from crashing into other boats? (Social Ethics) How do I keep my boat afloat? (Personal Ethics) And, the most important question of all, what is my boat doing at sea in the first place? (the question of the Summun Bonum, the greatest good or purpose in life) Since the Enlightenment, the issues dealt with are keeping boats from colliding and, occasionally, keeping one’s own boat afloat. The question of why the boat is at sail in the first place is seen by modernity as either unanswerable or just a personal question that each person must find a reason for himself.

Unlike the ancients, the “Enlightenment” calls for us not to conform ourselves to objective reality, but to conform objective reality to our own personal likes and dislikes. Instead of finding meaning that is present, we are told to decide for ourselves what meaning we want, or, further, to create our own meaning.

Our American form of government, based on the Constitution, has always been an uneasy, ambiguous, amalgamation of the ancient and modern worldview. The Founding Fathers borrowed language of human rights, and self governance, from Enlightenment thinkers like Locke. Yet, they considered these rights, such as rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, as being given by a Creator.

Anthony Kennedy took a dangerous turn with the wording of his majority opinion in the Casey case. Is liberty really the right to determine the meaning of our own existence, of the meaning of human life and the universe? Some humility is called for here. We need God to put us in our place, like he did with Job. Who are you to think you have a right to decide these things? I am the one who created you. We have only been on this planet for a fraction of the time earth has been here. 100,000 years out of 5 billion is less than 1/10 of 1%. Earth and the solar system are only one tiny part of the vast universe. And, suddenly, we have the authority to grant meaning to existence?

Liberty is emphatically NOT the right to decide for ourselves whatever the hell we want to make of ourselves or what the meaning is of existence. Liberty is the right to live free from tyranny, and the right to pursue those goods that through our God-given conscience we can recognize as being worthy of our pursuit. To claim for each person the right to decide for himself the meaning and purpose of life is to imply that there is no ultimate meaning and purpose in life. For, if there is ultimate meaning and purpose, there is no need or reason to have to create our own. And, without ultimate meaning and purpose outside of ourselves, there is no basis to guarantee or offer liberties to people other than that we desire to. Seeing that desire can easily change, the basis on which liberty is founded is tenuous at best without ultimate meaning beyond our own interpretations.

Anthony Kennedy’s version of freedom is not true freedom. It is the offer of the devil in the Garden to the man and woman. Be your own gods. Be your own masters. It is the fool’s gold of Gorgias and the other Sophists, of Pontius Pilate (what is truth?), of Descartes, Nietzsche, Sartre, Hitler, and Stalin. True freedom and liberty, far from being constrained by an outside concept of the good, only really matter if there really are good and bad, right and wrong, choices to be made.

Franks and Beans--no, sadly not the good kind

“What’s the soup du-jour?” Lloyd
“It’s the soup of the day.” Flo
“Sounds delicious! I’ll take it.” Lloyd
Dumb and Dumber

Caviar. Zerex Vinaigrette. Bruschetta. All of the top restaurants serve fancy foods such as these and others whose names a nice restaurant connoisseur (i.e. not me) would be able to think of. Even food that is not necessarily fancy, weird looking, and over priced is sometimes given fancy French names like “du jour” if it is the special of the day, or “a la mode” if you are serving ice cream with it.[1] I even like some fancy food. I am always up for all-you-can-eat sushi places.[2] Sometimes (actually, usually), I would rather just have nice simple basic staple food.[3] Some days, I am satisfied with a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or bowl of cereal, or, if I want to actually turn on the stove top and cook, pork and beans.

Foi gras! I just thought of another fancy food. Damn, I’m the man. I feel like George W. Bush must feel when he manages to think of one those foreign leader names. “Mock—Mah—Ood Zar—Kowwww—eeeeh. How’s that for all you freedom haters!? Saddam was hiding Ginormous Nukular weapons.”

Pork and beans is always great. In fact, I was looking forward to cooking myself some tonight until I decided to go the gym for some exercise after work. Now, the gym is an interesting place to do some amateur observational sociology. There are so many That Guys (and That Girls) at the gym.[4] There is That Guy with the perfectly gelled hair who walks slowly by the mirrors, turning his head ever so slightly to see his flexed muscles. That Guy is usually wearing a wife beater or a tight t-shirt, with mesh shorts an inch below his boxers, and brand new white sneakers. There is also his metrosexual cousin That Guy with the perfectly gelled hair who never really lifts any weights, but hogs a workout machine while talking with his friends. There is That Guy with the chest hair coming out the top of his t-shirt, That Guy who is overweight and sweats a little bit too much, and That Guy who wears spandex. I really hate That Guy! Could you please smuggle grapes somewhere else? There are also plenty of That Girls. There is That Girl who wears spandex when she probably shouldn’t be. There is That Girl with muscles a little too big. There is That Hot Girl who is just there to look pretty and make the other women feel bad knowing they will never have that good a body. Wait! I like That Girl. She can stay.

The strangest sociological observation at the YMCA can be made not in the workout area, with all of those That Guys and That Girls. It is to be found in locker room. I can’t even call it a That Guy thing, because to be That Guy, it has to one guy, or a handful who fill an archetype. But this “situation” involves a large number of men, plus a majority of men over 60. Yes, it’s the naked thing. There is something about YMCA locker rooms that causes older men to think they are in the Garden of Eden or something. It’s one thing to get naked in front of your locker and change clothes. These guys just wander everywhere. To the bathroom, to the mirror, to the shower sans towel. They even stand on the scale and weigh themselves with the saggy jewels hanging out. Is a pair of boxers really going to add that much weight? With all those old saggy franks and beans hanging around, I knew I would not be eating franks and beans for dinner tonight. I had quite enough at the gym.

The only thing I can imagine to be worse than seeing a bunch of old naked men would be the women’s locker room, if the old women do the same. And, no, I am not gay. I just don’t want to see old saggy boobs. I am glad I never saw About Schmidt. I will never have to worry about Kathy Bates’ nude scene giving me an awful visual of what a women’s locker room would look like. Although, if That Hot Girl who is just there to look pretty walks around in her birthday suit, I would not mind that visual.

[1] “A la mode” does not even mean “with ice cream on the side.” I think it means “I will go have a cigarette. I am le tired.”
[2] Which I imagine can be a let down for the senior citizens and the 300 hundred pound white trash folks who think that all buffets resemble Old Country, and find that instead of the desired slabs of crappy meat and funny looking gravy, are faced with tiny pieces of wrapped fish that they did not know even exists. I’m sure it is equally disconcerting for the rich Japanese businessmen and hip young Seattle urbanites who expect a certain ambience at their sushi places and run into the geriatrics and the trailer trash.
[3] Yes, I know I am going overboard with the footnotes. It’s not like I’m trying to win a Pulitzer here. If I was, I would write one of those smug New York Times columns about how the inner city is exploiting the urban poor who have no way out, stretch the story for a week, and find some sob story about some guy in jail for selling drugs because he has no father figure in his life, to show that I care while simultaneously not really doing anything substantial to change his shitty life.
[4] Yes, another footnote. I talked about the phenomena of That Guy-ness in an earlier column: http://spidgetales.blogspot.com/2005/10/dont-be-that-guy.html . The idea comes from Bill Simmons, who writes the Sports Guy column for ESPN Page 2, so credit him.

The Elephant and the Blind Men

“The study of comparative religions is the best way to become comparatively religious.” Ronald Knox

There is an old Hindu folk tale about blind men and an elephant. Popularized in verse by John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887), (click here to read it: http://www.wordfocus.com/word-act-blindmen.html ; it is a very well done—and short—poem), it is a parable about Man’s understanding of, and relationship with, the transcendent. Six blind men went to see an elephant. Each touched the elephant in a different place, one the trunk, one his tusks, one his side, one his back, and so on. Since each sensed the elephant in a different way, they argued amongst one another about who described the elephant correctly. Yet, none was right, since none could really see the elephant for what he was. The blind men represent the religions of the world, who constantly fight and argue amongst themselves over who gets God “right”, when none has the whole picture, and all just have little pieces of the big picture.

Is this an apt metaphor for religion? Are the different religions simply the variations and manifestations of Man’s search for God, the ultimate, and the transcendent; all equally apt, though ultimately inadequate, means of seeking God? The vindicated secularist in us, and the open-minded religious pluralist in us, is ready to say, “of course.” The orthodox Jew is us, and the traditional Christian in us, is ready to say, “those other religions may be ‘blind men’, but not we. We have the Truth.” Yet, there is a profound truth in this elephant tale. Blindness is a metaphor that takes us back to the Christian Scriptures, where Jesus heals the blind man. The authorities are troubled, since Jesus performed his healing, “worked,” on the Sabbath, the day of rest. Jesus heals one man’s physical blindness, but it was never that man who was really blind. He had faith. The men who are blind are the authorities who cannot look past their own preconceptions and expectations of God to recognize that the duty to honor the Sabbath is really about making time for God, and does not preclude helping others. Physical blindness as a metaphor for spiritual blindness has deeply embedded Scriptural roots. Maybe there is something to this Eastern myth.

The Elephant Tale is right. We are all, in many ways, spiritually blind, spiritually impoverished. Yet, how did we get this way? Is there a way out of the darkness and into the light? This story of blind men and an elephant is a good start, but needs to be expanded, and further delved into. Maybe what is needed is an extension of John Godfrey Saxe’s poem. Let us continue from Saxe’s final stanza, with free story rather than verse, as I do not bear the talents of Saxe.

…The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an elephant
Not one of them has seen!

Papa, the men of the world are blind. They no longer can see the elephant. They search for him, but do not find. They feel him, but are constantly at odds. Why is this so? Was this always so?

My child, this is a story of long, long ago. Of a time when all men were blind. This is no longer so.

Papa, we are blind! I feel the elephant. He is solid ivory. But, Krishna feels the elephant as long and rollicky!

Child, we are not yet ready to speak of the cure for our blindness, the light to be lived. It is a light that men of old had originally seen. Men were not always blind. It was not always this way. Men did not always “prate about an elephant not one of them has seen!”

In the beginning, the elephant raised his trunk, stomped his feet, and breathed life into men. Men could see the elephant. Men loved the elephant, the giver of life. Men touched the elephant. All men could see that the elephant is like a wall, and a spear, and a snake, a tree, a fan, and a rope. Man could see the elephant, and man was happy.

What happened, Papa!?

The elephant had raised his trunk and breathed life into men so that men would be happy seeing and feeling the elephant. One day, on a day like all others, men, who had been satisfied to see and touch the elephant, with no inclination towards disobedience, decided that it was not enough to see and touch the elephant. Men wished to be elephants, themselves. Then they would know what it would be like to have tusks, a trunk, and ivory skin. They would not need the elephant to experience the elephant feel.

Papa, did the men become like elephants? Did they become the source of their own ivory feeling?

No, my child! Far from it. Not only did men not become elephants, they lost the vision of the elephant. Because man lost his appreciation, reverence, respect, and love of the elephant, he became blind. Men could now no longer see the elephant. This is why men during the following era prated “about an elephant not one of them has seen!”

Why did the elephant not give men back their sight, Papa? Why must the elephant punish the men like this? I thought the elephant loves the men, Papa?

He does love the men, my child. He is not punishing men. Men have chosen to bring blindness upon themselves and their descendents by not seeing the elephant as the elephant. If the elephant simply restores their sight, they still will not see, since they have chosen to hide themselves from the true vision of the elephant. Even if they did see, they may choose to disobey again. How many times should the elephant keep restoring sight, my child?

You are wise Papa. This saddens me. Are men doomed to blindness, to never seeing the elephant again? There must be more.

There is much more, my child. Men were trapped in blindness for ages. The men would come upon the elephant, and each feeling about blindly, argue with each other about the elephant unseen.

This happened every day. The men would visit the elephant, sense about, and prattle on needlessly. Then, on a day like all other days, something changed. The elephant raised his trunk, and roared to one of the men. This one man did not have his vision completely restored. He had inherited the vicissitudes of his ancestors. But, he was given a partial vision of the elephant. As the chosen man, he was destined to teach the men of the world about the elephant. He would suffer cruelties and beatings. Men would continue to mock him, and reject his message.

Why, oh why, Papa? This pains my heart to hear of his sufferings. Why would men do this to this man of the elephant?

Men were blind, my child. They knew not what they were doing. But, fear not. Light would be returned to men. Out of the house of this man of the elephant would be born One who is not blind. This Man, who was with the elephant, who was the elephant, became flesh, became man, so that men could see.

As the men of long ago had lost sight, this Man had sight from the beginning. This Man, the Incarnation of the elephant, was sent to reveal, to be the revelation of, the elephant. He walked amongst the blind men arguing about the elephant. He healed their wounds. He consoled their hurts.

Men did not embrace this Man. Instead, they took this Man who could see, they accosted Him, and they blinded Him. They took away his sight.

Papa, it appears hopeless. All is lost. If even this Man the men would not accept, all hope is lost.

Be not afraid! Blindness does not have the final word, my child. Men had brought blindness into the world. By embracing this blindness, by allowing blindness to come to Him in all its might, this Man took away the power of blindness over men.

On the third day, this Man, who had been blinded, returned in all His glory, with full vision and sight and of the elephant. Because of this Man, men now have sight regained. No, this sight did not come all at once, and many are still blind. In the end, when all will be all in the elephant, the blind will see.

MTV Movie Awards and Democracy

“A person is smart. People are dumb.” Tommy Lee Jones, Men In Black

“It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others.” Sir Winston Churchill

We all know what the turn of the calendar to December means. No, I am not talking about mistletoes or visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. The holly jolly takes a back seat to Hollywood. ‘Tis the season when Sony tries to be Sundance, and Miramax tries to be “Mira”-Cannes. Money making popcorn flicks take a backseat, and the studios trot out Those Type of movies. You know, Those movies that are more concerned with teaching us a lesson or being triumphs of the human heart than entertaining us. The winter solstice means Awards Season will soon be arriving, and it is imperative to put “Oscar caliber” movies fresh into the minds of award voters. Christmas 2005 was a typical movie year, with Oscar nominees Capote, Brokeback Mountain, Goodnight and Good Luck, and Munich all coming out around this time, with only eventual winner Crash having been released in the summer.

Once the awards season has ended, and the awards have been given out by the elite who have voted on them, MTV announces their nominees. Voted on by the fans, the nominations have a little different flavor. This year’s candidates are The 40-Year Old Virgin, Batman Begins, King Kong, Sin City, and Wedding Crashers, all being Spring or Summer big releases save King Kong, which was the token annual Christmas-time blockbuster.

The choices for “popular” awards such as MTV’s and the Peoples Choice are seen as “signs” that people are stupid, easily entertained, and do not have refined tastes. The “true” movie connoisseurs, members of the Academy of Motion Pictures, vote on the Oscars so that “worthy” movies get honored. I may not be one of the enlightened, one of the sophisticates. I have seen (and enjoyed) every MTV nominee for best picture. All were well done movies. I have only seen Crash and Goodnight and Good Luck, though, out of the “real” best pictures. Those two were very well done, with superb ensemble acting. They made me think about issues such as racism, freedom of speech, McCarthyism, and others. Yet, I have no desire to see either a second time. They were good, but not exactly entertaining. The five MTV movies are all re-watchable. In fact, Kong and Batman are the only ones I have not seen twice.

Of course, there are times when I don’t think the “people” should have too much of a say. In all-star votes, the fans always vote for guys like Mike Piazza, popular players who used to be good but are no longer deserving of playing in all-star games. In Men In Black, when Will Smith finds out that there are aliens and Tommy Lee Jones is one of the guys who works to keep this on the DL, Will Smith says that people can handle the truth. Tommy Lee points out that a person can be smart, but “people are dumb.” Yet, much of the world has moved from Monarchy and Aristocracy to Republicanism and Democracy. I guess, ideally we would want a smart person running government, but since they are few and far between, it is better to have a bunch of mediocre people running things than risk having the one person who is in charge be a total shit-head. Like Churchill said, “democracy is the worst form of government except all the others.”

I think most intelligent people have realized this conundrum and have set up systems where “the people” can make certain decisions, while others are reserved to those people, things, and ideas we consider to be wiser and know better. Plato, through his mouthpiece Socrates, writes in the Republic that the best form of government is rule by Philosopher-Kings (that is, the people who are wise enough to know their heads from their asses). The Catholic Church allows its bishops to make certain decisions regarding allocation of funds, when to throw special diocesan feasts, and others, while leaving the basic truths of Jesus as untouchable, so that no one can mess them up. The Founding Fathers of the United States set up a Republican form of government with representatives who were to be a little more informed so as to know what they hell they were voting on, and a Constitution from which the democracy, the vox populi (yeah, I am throwing in Latin phrases to sound smart. Vox populi means “voice of the people”), could not stray, so that the people, though having the right to govern themselves, could not do something stupid like, oh, make all people with darker color skin sit on the back of the bus, or not allow people without penises to vote. In ancient democracies, checks and balances were in place to prevent democratically supported executions of Socrates and Jesus. Oops, democracy did allow those things. Oh well. It’s the worst form of government, save all others…

Great Names!

This past weekend was the annual most over-hyped weekend in all of sports, the NFL Draft. All this scouting and research goes into determining which players to select, when, to an extent, the entire draft is a crapshoot. All that need be mentioned is two words: Ryan Leaf. Some of the better players of recent history, such as Tom Brady and Kurt Warner, have been late round picks and un-drafted free agents. There is still, nonetheless, some fun to be found in watching the draft. There is former (?) cokehead and Dallas Cowboys star Michael Irvin spouting his nonsense. “Defense don’t win championships. Points win championships!” We heard you the first time, Michael. Just saying it louder and louder over and over is not necessary. Nice pimp suit, by the way.

Most fun of all, though, I think, is the names of the players. Other than the top 10 or so players whose names have been pushed in our faces for the last couple of months, most of the prospects are unknown to all but the most devout college football fans. If you showed me two lists, one a list of the players drafted from the 2nd through 7th rounds, and one a list of the names generated by Madden ’06 for the player drafts in franchise mode, I would not be able to tell the difference. But, boy, are there some gems in there. The first pick for the Giants was Mathias Kiwanuka. That is an awesome name. You just know the Green Bay Packers are getting a great player in linebacker A.J. Hawk. Even without his long hair, he just sounds like a warrior. The Jets may have passed on potential franchise quarterback (and pretty-boy) Matt Leinart, but they got a name hall-of-famer in D’Brickashaw Ferguson. The Jets’ second 1st round pick, center Nick Mangold, has the best name in the draft. He would fit right in in Anchorman or Boogie Nights. I don’t know what he looks like, but he has to have one of those 70’s era porn mustaches. If he doesn’t, it is time to grow one. Make Ron Burgundy, Brian Fantana, Champ Kind, Brick Tamblin, and Dirk Diggler proud. Stay Classy, San Diego!

How I Met Your Mother

Many people dread Mondays. It is the day you have to go begin getting up early again and go back to work, with a full five days ahead until relief. I don’t really have much problem with Mondays. It’s Sundays that I don’t like (other than, of course it being the LORD’s Day. That part of Sunday is always good. Keep the lightning bolts at bay, Yahweh!) On Sunday, you realize the weekend is almost over. What was supposed to be a relaxing, refreshing break from work almost never is. There is always something (family get-togethers, extended visits to watering holes) that does a double energy take-away. (1) You lose energy from being out and not getting sleep and rest. (2) You lose energy realizing that all the work you were planning on getting done for work Monday morning has not even been started and will not get done.

Mondays are a cake-walk compared to Sundays. The work that had weighed on my mind on Sunday, I know on Monday is not that big of a deal. Happy Hour exists for Mondays just as much as Fridays, with the same beer specials and half priced appetizers that can be found at the end of the week. Best of all is the Monday T.V. programming on CBS.

My two shows are How I Met Your Mother and Two and A Half Men. How I Met Your Mother (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0460649/) gets brownie points before seeing a single episodes just for casting Bob Saget (who plays the effeminate Danny Tanner on Full House) and Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie Howser from Doogie Howser and Neil Patrick Harris/Doogie Howser from Harold and Kumar go to White Castle). The premise of the show: Older Ted who we never see (voiced by Bob Saget), in the year 2030, is telling his teenage children the story of how he met their mother. The episodes consist of the Ted from 2006 and his buddies living as young mid to upper 20 something’s figuring out their place in life. Presumably, the duration of the series will lead us to seeing who ends up being the woman that Ted settles down with.

Our cast includes Ted, his best friend Marshall, Marshall’s fiancée Lily (played by Alyson Hannigan, who played Band Camp Girl Michelle in the American Pie movies), Ted’s best female friend and Lily’s best friend Robin, and, in my opinion, the star of the show, Ted’s other best friend Barney (played by Mr. Doogie Howser himself, NPH). Marshall and Lily are the typical happy, in love couple, but they are really cool about it. They always hang out with their friends, and are not That PDA Couple who makes everyone else feel awkward and uncomfortable. Barney is the shameless rich playboy who has no qualms about being who he is, and makes the show always funny and entertaining. Robin is a local television anchor, really pretty, and really sweet. She is the perfect girl. Ted has had girlfriends, but just cannot seem to find the right relationship or the right girl. And, of course, Ted and Robin like each other as more than friends, everyone else can tell, but they will not tell each other. And, yeah, Ted does not know Robin likes him and Robin does not know Ted likes her.

The story arc thus far has gone something like this: Marshall and Lily are working out living together and planning the wedding, but more important, serving as friends for Ted and Robin. Barney is the comic relief, and always keeps everyone loose. Near the beginning of the season, there is a wedding they all are attending. Barney goes alone (fear not! He never has to go home alone). Marshall and Lily go together. Ted does not have a date, so he asks Robin. At the last minute, she cancels because of a big opportunity to anchor the local news. So, Ted goes alone, where he meets a really great girl. Robin changes her mind, but shows up just in time to see that Ted has met a girl. A few episodes go by, and the new girl is in Germany, but still dating Ted. Ted is waiting for her to call but she hasn’t yet, and he gets a call at 2 AM from Robin, who is sitting around, heartbroken, lonely, and she invited Ted over. “Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM” runs through his head, but he goes anyway. Ted finds out on the phone from Marshall and Lily that Robin really likes him, so he should not go over, but he does anyway. He tells Robin that he and his girlfriend broke up. They start making out, Ted feels guilty, so he goes to the bathroom to call his girlfriend and officially break up before doing anything with Robin, but he has taken Robin’s phone by mistake. Robin answers Ted’s phone, and gives Ted the phone with his girlfriend on it….

Anyways, the question is up in the air whether Robin is going to be The One, or if the story is leading elsewhere. The show may seem chick flick-ish, but it resonates. We all have friends like Marshall and Lily, the happy couple. We also have friends like Barney, the guy who sleeps around a little too much, and is not afraid to brag about it, but is really a good guy who cares about his friends (even if that concern sometimes consists of “I need to get you laid so you can forget that one who got away”). And, I am like Ted right now, a young 20 something trying to figure things out when it comes to women, always having it feel like things are just going slightly the wrong way at just the wrong time when it had seemed like it was a turn for the better.

My review of Two and A Half Men to come later…

Wait a second! If you think about the show's premise, it is kind of creepy that Ted is telling his teenage children about his whole pre-meeting their mom sex life. There are some things people should just not tell their children. Oh well. It's just a show.