In the darkness, a distant sound of chanting — a man’s voice, of course. Later, another, similar one joins it in unrehearsed counterpoint. Then, softly, drums, their rhythm possessing no regularity detectable to most western ears. The sky is faintly bright now (06:10), with a dirty orange arc glowing over the lower eastern sky on the other bank of the Ganga, a surprisingly deserted sand bank. Then, dull voices start a mono-tonal chanting which winds around the louder chant coming from a loudspeaker. (Does any religion use amplification as much as Hinduism?) The orange arc brightens as a more rapid tabla rhythm enters the unscored concert.

Shortly afterwards, somewhat above the horizon, a small, soft orange half-circle becomes visible — the lower part obscured by the mist or pollution in the air. One wonders whether the suddenness of its appearance is real or simply due to the eye’s having just adjusted so as to discern the nuance of color. At first, the half-circle rises at an almost visible rate, growing and darkening as it becomes a full circle. The chanting intensifies as more rapid tabla playing enters the fray.

Now there is an orange bridge across the Ganga. Or is it an exclamation point standing on its head, perhaps showing surprise that another day has arrived?

A bell starts clanging, going on for a minute or so. (Why are the bells used in Hindu temples so clanky?) When it ceases, the chanting is over, replaced now by singing birds, a mooing cow, the clattering of plates from the kitchen of the ashram across the way and the explosive putt-putt-putt from tractors pulling trailers filled with piles of what looks like — and very likely is — shit. An acquaintance remarked yesterday at the village of Bachhaon, as he and John were both taking photos of cow pies, “N’est-ce pas incroyable qu’on peut faire une oeuvre d’art avec de la merde?” (“Isn’t it unbelievable how you can make a work of art out of shit?”)

Momentarily, all other sounds are drowned out by a scratchy noise from a defective loudspeaker on a temple at Assi Ghat. Below, a general hubbub of voices is heard. One is never alone in Varanasi. There is a sound of splashing as someone waters the ground in an effort to keep down the dust. In the street below, people are circulating, already going about their affairs.

Another day has begun.

—

Later…

About eleven hours later, on the western border of India, the sun is about to set…

It is like a really wild and spectacular half-time show at an American football game. Each side has bleachers, music (mostly canned), a cheerleader, marchers and a standardized set of rallying cries, exchanged between the amplified cheerleaders and the mass of fans. Each side’s (enormous) loudspeakers pump its “music” and cheers to the other side.

For warm-ups, individual young men or children or even, in one case, a young mother carrying her infant child run back and forth carrying aloft “our” side’s flag to cheers from the fans. Soldiers in brown uniforms choose the next performer, give her the flag and send her off for her round trip.

And what soldiers! They must be the tallest in the army; they would be great basketball players. Their height is emphasized by the foot-high coxcombs on their heads — red with gold bands for “our” side, black with white for the “opponents”.

But this is no football game. It is the Attari-Waggah border crossing, almost exactly in the middle of the 70 km separating Amritsar, in India, from Lahore, in Pakistan. By the accident of our being where we are, “our” team is the Indian, the “other”, the Pakistani.

Parked all along several kilometers of highway approaching the border are hundreds of Indian trucks, waiting to take Indian produce across to Pakistan, Punjab being one of the breadbaskets of India. The drivers evince that essential Indian quality of patience, some chatting in groups, some smoking in the gaudily decorated cabs of their vehicles.

Meanwhile, back at the border, following the initial warm-up events, young women dance in a group to super-amplified Indian pop music, but it is impossible to see whether similar young women are dancing so on the other side…

Then the sun seems to approach the tops of the trees in this vast, flat land and the main event starts. From the VIP (foreigner/bigwig) bleachers, one watches as ten or so tall Indian soldiers, including two women take turns joining the action. This act consists in chanting one long, held-out note into a microphone held by the cheerleader doubling as MC. It seems like a contest to see who can hold the note the longest. (Was the “other” side trying to outdo “ours”?) Then, by pairs, they prance out and strut at incredible speed up to the doubly-gated border. In the following half hour, more strutting, hopping and high-kicking are seen here than at any football game. One or two soldiers are really dancers, kicking one straight leg out so high it looks like it touches their forehead and is in danger of kicking off their headdress — or like the ubiquitous temple sculptures of Vishnu pacing off the earth and the heavens. The “other” side’s black-clad soldiers perform similar gymnastic feats but are difficult to see from “our” stands. Each time that “our” side “scores”, a huge cheer goes up from the 2000 or so spectators. Similar feats of terpsichorean bravura are taking place on the “other” side, as cheers and whistles coming from their loudspeakers attest.

But let us not forget that

• these two teams represent whole countries, one of 1.2 billion people, the other of just under 200 million;
• they were one united colony before 1947;
• the bungled partition into two countries brought about the displacement of over 12 million people and up to one million deaths;
• both countries have “the bomb” and both receive substantial amounts of aid from the USA;
• and yet they are perpetually at loggerheads over the beautiful state of Kashmir (with China coveting northern areas of both countries as well as of Bhutan), one of the most heavily occupied regions in the world — and this in spite of the fact that Kashmiris would almost certainly prefer to be owned by neither!

In one sense, it is probably good that they can let off some steam in such a harmless, albeit silly, way. In another sense, it would be preferable if there were no steam to be let off. But so it goes…

Finally, two trumpets, one on each side, start playing a series of quick fanfare-like notes, eventually giving way to longer, more drawn-out tones. The two countries’ flags start descending diagonal lines which make an “M” with the flagpoles. Halfway down, they pass one over the other, each one visible from “its” side, before being caught by a man from each one’s respective “team” — as the two trumpets hold out one long last dying tone in unison…

As all this is transpiring, a new set of bleachers is being built nearby. Laborers in pyjamas and sandals carry stones and cement in flat pans on their heads, but the sounds of the stones falling to the ground are noticed by but few of the spectators. Incredible India (and probably Pakistan too) — 19th-century labor methods, 20th-century sports spectacles and 21st-century bombs.

“Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin. I am proud of my humanity when I can acknowledge the poets and artists of other countries as my own. Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine.”

Spanish-American man of letters George Santayana said:

“To me, it seems a dreadful indignity to have a soul controlled by geography.”

In his book “From Heaven Lake”, Indian novelist Vikram Seth said:

“… on a personal level, to learn about another great culture is to enrich one’s life, to understand one’s own country better, to feel more at home in the world, and indirectly to add to that reservoir of individual goodwill that may, generations from now, temper the cynical use of national power.”

German naturalist and explorer Alexander von Humboldt wrote:

“If we would indicate an idea which, throughout the whole course of history, has ever more and more widely extended its empire … it is that of establishing our common humanity — of striving to remove the barriers which prejudice and limited views of every kind have erected among men, and to treat all mankind, without reference to religion, nation, or color, as one fraternity, one great community … Thus deeply in the innermost nature of man, and even enjoined upon him by his highest tendencies, the recognition of the bond of humanity becomes one of the noblest leading prinicples in the history of mankind.”

In more literary terms, novelist Richard Powers said in an interview:

“Only inhabiting another’s story can deliver us from certainty.”

Roumanian-French absurd playwright Eugène Ionesco said:

“La seule société vivante est celle où chacun peut rester autre au milieu de ses semblables.”

which John translates as

“The only living society is that one where each person can remain different among his fellows.”

The great American union leader, pacifist and socialist, Eugene Debs, said:

“I have no country to fight for; my country is the earth, and I am a citizen of the world.”

In downtown Lyon, there is a set of sculptures with quotations, including this one from “The Crackup” by American novelist Scott Fitzgerald

“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless yet be determined to make them otherwise.”

But the most moving and uplifting of them all, an example of Fitzgerald’s courage in the face of seemingly overwhelming adversity, is this one from Dalia Mourkarkar, a 16-year old Palestinian flutist living under Israeli occupation in the West Bank.

“But the most important thing was the feeling the music gives me. You feel as if you are flying.”

Supposing we manage to turn away at the last minute, we find ourselves speeding towards another wall, this one labeled “energy shortage” in ominous black, with the foreboding word “war” written in parentheses after it.

If we again manage just in time to wrench the wheel aside and avoid this wall, we will be directly headed into yet another, this one labeled “ecological disaster” in lifeless dark brown. (“annihilation” written after it in parentheses).

If we can turn aside in time to avoid racking ourselves up on this one, we again are aimed … right back at the first one. And we will go on heading towards wall after wall until we crash into one or find the means of demolishing them.

But for that, we will have to stop the car. And think… and talk to each other … all of us — together.

So let 2012 be a year of solidarity, cooperation and renewal. Otherwise, we will remain hemmed in by the same old walls — until we destroy ourselves.

And to get those neurons up and running, try these hopeful quotations.

The first book on this year’s list is openly political. The English title of this very short book is Time for outrage: Indignez-vous!. It undoubtedly made good reading for the OWS movement but it goes beyond that, pointing out the extent to which we are being screwed every day by those who control the current politico-economic system and inciting us to get up off our arses and go do something about it. Anything!

Nick Tosches, In the hand of Dante; Unsung heroes of rock ‘n’ roll

Friend Jean discovered and recommended Nick Tosches, of whom neither Siv nor John had ever heard before. His books were the discovery of the year. Like previous American writers Bellow or Pynchon or many others, Tosches mixes literary description with frank (read raw) speech, used to reflect the character of the person in the story. In the hand of Dante has two narrative streams — one concerning the life of Dante in a traditional literary style, the other in the contemporary USA in a completely different one. Be prepared for vulgarity — sometimes hilarious. Tosches wants to shock, but the result is not tape à l’oeil but part of the fabric of the story. First line:

“Louie pulled off his bra and threw it down upon the casket.”

And that’s just for starters!

Unsung heroes of rock ‘n’ roll is a collection of articles about musicians like Big Joe Turner, Cecil Gant, Ella Mae Morse, Wynonie Harris and others who evolved rock ‘n’ roll from previous styles before it moved into the white world in the hands of Bill Haley (who gets a chapter) and Elvis Presley (who does not, but who is often mentioned). If you want to learn who Elvis learned his hip movements from, read this book. And listen to the music.

Dave Goldberg and Jeff Blomquist, A user’s guide to the universe

Undoubtedly the most fun of the explanations of modern physical science John has read. One or two points remained obscure, but John consulted the book’s web site, where he asked a question of the author and actually got an answer — and a very good one. It’s a damn shame that people depend so much on modern science, even risking their lives by blindly trusting gadgets big and small which are based on it, and yet do not seem to care a thing about how it works. Read this book!

Cormack McCarthy, No country for old men; Blood meridian; The road

John had heard about how gloomy McCarthy is and reading these three books confirmed that he is indeed. Almost everything that can go wrong in a McCarthy book does. But the writing is gorgeous (though sometimes a bit flowery). No country for old men is told partially by a very llikeable sherrif, who saves the story from the gloom of a totally evil villain who does in almost everybody else. The road is a horrific future-disaster story which overflows with love and the will to live. Blood meridian is saved by nothing but the writing. Yes, the hero almost shows signs of being less ignorant and less cruel at the end than at the beginning, but it gets him nowhere. At least, that’s what John thinks, because the end of the book is not clear. John would love to hear other peoples’ versions of the end.

Alexander McCall Smith, The no. 1 ladies’ detective agency (and other novels in the series)

A good antidote to too much McCarthy, the first few books of Smith’s stories of a traditionally-built Botswana lady detective are marvels of humor and comprehension. Great relaxed reading. But as the series went on (and on), John’s interest waned. Still, you should read a few.

Bruce Chatwin, The viceroy of Ouidah

Another book about Africa by a non-African. But this one is special. It is only about 100 pages long and concerns, among other things, the life of a Portugese slave trader in Dahomey, modern-day Benin. But the writing is some of the most lively you will come across, so the book is at once funny, engrossing and — eventually — terribly moving. A great book!

Elif Shafak, The bastard of Istanbul

Siv and John spent two weeks witn friends in Turkey, so it was de rigueur to read some Turkish novelists. Shafak’s The bastard of Istanbul may not be great literature, but it is a very good and fun story well told which will open you up some life in Turkey — and the massacre of the Armenians — without becoming gloomy. A very good read.

Orhan Pamuk, My name is red; The black book; Istanbul, memories and the city

Another Turkish author, and a more literary (difficult) style than Shafak’s. My name is red is a great medieval Turkish murder mystery (yes, a bit like The name of the rose) and quite fascinating. John found The black book to be far less fascinating and does not recommend it. Istanbul, memories and the city is Pamuk’s ode to the city he grew up in and is quite good to read — especially if you have visited the city are planning to do so. Wandering around in Istanbul, John managed to find some of the old wooden houses Pamuk describes.

Téa Obreht, The tiger’s wife

Moving on to another nationality… This one is a great story set in an unnamed Balkan country by a 25-year-old Belgrade-born authoress. Well worth the fame it and she have earned. Definitelly an excellent read.

William Gaddis, Carpenter’s gothic

Gaddis is one of the lesser-known American novelists’ novelists of the 2nd half of the last century. His books can be as hard to find as to read. This one is very good, but not too difficult, and has whetted John’s appetite for more — as soon as he can get it. Gaddis’s style here is not always fun to read, especially long rants by the husband, who is a jerk (to say the least). The parts about the wife are far more enjoyable and moving. If you are interested in modern literature, read this.

Jennifer Egan, A visit from the goon squad; The keep

Egan has the gift of keeping a story changing, sometimes by having a minor character from one chapter become the central one of the next story. Goon squad is a reflection on the contemporary (and future) USA in the pop-music world and opened up a new world for John. The keep is a stranger novel which really plays around with what seems to be going on. It will definitely surprise you. Also, it’s a page turner.

Terry Pratchett, Equal rites; Carpe jugulum

Tired of Harry Potter (especially the authoress’s iron grip on the franchise, which has made her probably the richest woman in the UK)? Bored with the Ring? You have already read all the Earthsea books and perhaps were not turned on at all by the dark materials? Thank god I’m an atheist and thank god for Terry Pratchett! Pratchett’s books are totally non-serious, do not preach, are fascinating and inventive and funny as hell. And there are enough of them to last you a while. If you have not yet visited Discworld, run to your local bookstore (or Amazon, if you are one of those…) and get any book by Pratchett. The two mentioned here are great choices. John looks forward to reading them all.

Roberto Bolaño, The savage detectives

This is supposedly a great Latin-American book. John thought it was a pretty good one. He liked it better as he read, but is not sure if that was the book’s fault or his own. Frankly, he is not particularly interested in the milieu of young Mexican poets, a kind-of Mexican La Bohème, though Bolaño is Chilian. But eventually the book became interesting and the end is quite moving. The style is special, being mostly a story told by a rather large number of the characters, so is not necessarily easy reading. John will probably try another book by Bolaño.

Arundhati Roy, Broken republic

Where would we be without Vandana Shiva, Naomi Klein and Arundhati Roy? Roy is wonderful — angrier than Shiva and less loguacious than Klein. This book contains three essays about India’s terrible and shameful handling of the adivasis, the original inhabitants of India before the arrival of the Aryans. The government is ignoring its own Constitution and chasing the adivasis from their lands in order to give it over to mining companies who then destroy the landscape. This is one of Roy’s best political books. She describes the situation in the first part. In the second — and longest — part, she spends an extended period on the run with Maoist revolutionaries, who are currently protecting the adivasis from atrocities by Indian army troops. It is accompanied by wonderful photos Roy took herself. The third essay corrects the impression left by the second, that the Maoists are all great guys. It is a complicated situation which can only be solved by the cooperation of all concerned, but the government shows no signs of budging from their position. After six trips to India, John and Siv love India — but not this aspect of it.

Thomas Pynchon, Mason & Dixon

After all those new names, it was great to get back to a re-read of one of Pynchon’s best books. Written in the style, grammar and spelling of the 18th century, the story concerns not only the astronomer and the surveyor (a Quaker!) who plotted the famous line, but also the retelling of their story after the American Revolution. The great thing about this book is the writing: It is such a joy to read that John was unhappy when he finished it. The story carries you along. It is loaded with fascinating and funny historical and not-so-historical characters, such as George Washington and Ben Franklin, but also a talking dog, a robot duck who (which?) falls in love with a French chef and — inevitable chez Pynchon — Pig Bodine. Pynchon still has a marvelous gift for names — one young lady is called Tenebrae! John cannot avoid the temptation of a quotation which will tell you much:

” … Who claims Truth, Truth abandons. History is hir’d, or coerc’d, only in Interests that must ever prove base. She is too innocent, to be left within the reach of anyone in Power,—who need but touch her, and all her Credit is in the instant vanish’d, as if it had never been. She needs rather to be tended lovingly and honorably by fabulists and counterfeiters, Ballad-Mongers and Cranks of ev’ry Radius, Masters of Disguise to provide her the Costume, Toilette, and Bearing, and Speech nimble enough to keep her beyond the Desires, or even the Curiosity, of Government…. ” (Mason & Dixon, p. 350)

Pynchon’s book lives up to his own character’s recommendations.

By the way, there is a great Pynchon Wiki (web site) to help you out with historic references, characters and terms in all of Pynchon’s books (pynchonwiki.com).

Junot Diaz, The brief wondrous life of Oscar Wao

Dominican-born Diaz helped John get over having no more to read in Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon. Diaz’s writing too is a joy to read. And his story is gripping and moving. And, like Egan, his characters can take over the story and bomb off into their own story. So this story of loves (yes, plural) under the awful Trujillo dictatorship in the Dominican Republic is a great one indeed. Do not be put off by the Spanish terms. You will not find most of them in a dictionary, but many are explained on-line in the on-line “concordance” to this book.

Bonne lecture and happy reading!

The optic nerves arrive at a thingie (technical term…) called the thalamus, in the middle of the lower part of the brain, right at the top of the brain stem. The thalamus receives sense data from various organs and relays it out to different parts of the brain for handling, like a dispatcher. It sends optical data to a whole set of places at the back of the brain in a region called, logically enough, the visual cortex.

Lovers of detail will note that the image from the retina, like that from a camera lens, is upside down and flipped left-to-right. This is corrected by the visual system so that we “see” things in “the mind’s eye” as being right-side-up. Also, you probably have heard that the left side of the brain in some way “handles” the right side of the body and vice versa. So you might think that the left brain controls the right eye and the other way around, but that is not how it works at all. In fact, all the visual information, what we see, from the left side of each eye goes to the right brain, while date from the right side of each eye goes to the left brain. (The cortex, the big creepy-wormy-looking part of the brain, is in two parts connected by a bunch of nerve fibres called the corpus callosum, sort of a cable. Cut the CC and you get someone with a real split personality.) So if the optical part of, say, the left brain is damaged, we may see things only on the left side of our field of vision, but with both eyes. Strange, huh?

Meanwhile, back in the visual cortex, the nerve signals arrive at a whole slough of different regions. One region is specialized in handling color, another shape, another movement, and so on. Damage to one of these areas results, e.g., in someone who sees everything in black-and-white, or who sees a sequence of still images rather than movement. Finally, the results of all these analyses are merged together to create the complete (complete as possible) image.

So there we have it. Electromagnetic radiation (light) may be emitted by an object (for instance, if it is heated) or different frequencies (colors) may be reflected or scattered by an object, depending on the composition and surface of the object. The rays (particle-waves) from this process traverse the lenses of the eye and are focused on detectors deep in the retina. The detectors transform some of the light energy into electrical signals which are sent up the optic nerve to the thalamus, which relays them to the visual cortex at the back of the brain. Different parts of the cortex analyze the signals to search for color, shape, movement and so on. The results are then merged and form the “image” we see in our “mind’s eye”. Simple, n’est-ce pas?

We really do “see” in our brain. And what we see is not exactly what is out there, as it is filtered by our own sensors and reconstructed in specific ways by our brains.

The other senses, hearing, feeling, taste and smell, work in similar ways, being analyzed by other parts of the brain.

This explains perhaps not how, but at least where our image of the world in front of us is put together and shown to us — and how it is not necessarily what is.

Whew!

The article also mentioned that we “perceive 400nm light as violet in our minds/brains”, but opted out of discussing that further, pointing out that it “is another subject…”. A pretty cowardly way of avoiding the subject, right? So now let’s go into it a bit further, but not too far…

It should come as a surprise to no one that our body’s sensors react to certain external stimuli and then generate electrical signals which are sent over nerves to the brain — and that is where all the work is done of analyzing the sense data and converting it into understandable concepts like color, shape, movement, sound and all the rest. Our brains are an essential part of our perception.

Since vision is probably the neurologically best-understood sense, let us start there — by considering a modern digital camera. Advance warning: The following analogy only goes so far.

Light passes through the camera’s objective (a series of lenses) which focuses it onto the detector (e.g., a CCD) in the back of the camera. Each tiny component (pixel) of the detector receives signals of varying strength which indicate the intensities of three colors (red, green and blue) composing the light at that point. The light falling on the detectors causes them to generate minute electrical currents which are then read by the camera’s computer. According to how you have configured your camera, the computer may simply store the untreated (RAW) data pixel by pixel onto its memory card, or it may convert the data into the popular jpeg format. The latter conversion throws out some of the information detected by the sensors, but keeps enough to make an acceptable copy of the subject viewed, i.e., of the light reflected off the subject.

Still awake? Good.

In a human eye, light is similarly focused by the lens onto the retina, the back of the eye, where two different kinds of detectors, rods and cones, convert the intensities of the received light into signals which are sent over nerves to the brain. (For now, we will not delve any more into signal transmission by nerves.) As even John learned in high-school biology (in Florida, yet!), the rods are more sensitive to dim light, but not to color; the cones can distinguish colors (again, red, green or blue, depending on which cone) but are insensitive to dim light. Hence the French saying, “La nuit, tous les chats sont gris.” (At night, all cats are grey. Even Figaro, our black cat.) So the detectors act similarly to the digital camera’s CCD, generating pixel-by-pixel currents in the nerves. The currents are conveyed by the nerves to the brain — and this is where the camera analogy must be dropped. The analogy, not the cam… Damn!

By the way, the sensors in the retina are buried somewhat deep in the retina behind a network of blood vessels and other stuff which the light must cross before being detected, certainly not the most efficient way to capture the light. Would an intelligent designer have made them that way? Evolution, however, working by accident, certainly could have.

Stay tuned for the next and last part …

• Unhindered market competition between economies whose salary standards are abysmally different;
• the permanent threat of “off-shore” relocation;
• stockholder demands which require unlimited financial profits, leading to constant reduction of salaries;
• the resulting chronic debt of households;
• the total license given to finance to deploy its destabilizing, speculative operations, even those based on household debts (the famous subprimes);
• the hostage-taking of public finances, called upon to aid financial institutions troubled by recurring crises (“socialism for the rich”);
• required payment of the cost of these crises either directly or indirectly by the unemployed, taxpayers, users of public services, public employees and pension holders;
• the depossesion of citizens from any hold on economic policy, henceforth regulated solely according to the desires of international creditors, irrespective of the cost to the social body;
• the handing over of monetary policy to an independent institution freed from any political control (especially the Central European Bank, but also the Federal Reserve);
• priority given to short-term returns on investment, leading not only to serious economic disparities but also to the destruction of the planet;
• the corruption resulting from corporate financing of ever-more-expensive political campaigns.
• the need for constant wars to guarantee access to critical raw materials

All of these items are the result of what we call globalization.

So it follows simply that if we say we are opposed to globalization, it means nothing more than that we do not want any more of that!

(List inspired by and partly borrowed from Frédéric Lordon, “La démondialisation et ses ennemis”, Le Monde Diplomatique, August 2011.)

Psychoanalysis, according to the Télérama article, allows us to see into the non-conscious workings of the mind and to understand this conflict, rather than blindly suppressing such urges in order to conform. The article actually sees psychoanalysis as a means for saving the individual in his struggle with collectivist requirements by making him aware of the source of the conflict between himself and society’s edicts and, by so doing, making possible the proposing of other means of attempting to resolve this conflict.

The second article’s consideration of psychoanalysis and philosophy was “Freud as philosopher”, by Gordon Marino (a philosophy professor), in the 11 October 2011 issue of the International Herald Tribune. Marino is concerned by the unconscious mechanisms behind our decision processes and sees Freud’s basic “wisdom” as saying, “those who are unaware of their feelings risk becoming puppets of those feelings.” He goes on to say that Freud’s “guidance was surely that anyone aspiring to think in a clear-headed fashion ought to strive hard to be honest about his or her emotional biases.” And he points out that “No group has appropriated this fundamental Freudian point more than the advertising industry.”

A problem for us today is to distinguish carefully between “true” individualism due to our basic drives and needs and the false individualism of today’s capitalist and ad-directed society in which one exercises this individualism by choosing between a limited number of brands of, say, shoes one can — and should — purchase. While it would be presumptuous to claim a conspiracy to make us all dunces, it seems clear that education which lauds and teaches conformity by teaching only how to pass standard tests on standard subjects with standard answers is not teaching anyone to think critically. And critical, even skeptical, thinking is more and more necessary to see through the claims of politicians (Will he really try to do all that?), high-tech vendors (Do I really need the new iPhone?) and even doctors (Should I really get a PSA test or take Tamiflu?)

At least here in France, the young study philosophy and are taught how to analyse a text and try to tease out its real meaning, although some standardization is probably inevitable here also. Do American youth get such education, with or without philosophy courses?

To close, here is a quote from a great skeptic, Bertrand Russell. It is from his book, “Skeptical Essays”:

“I wish to propose for the reader’s favourable consideration a doctrine which may, I fear, appear wildly paradoxical and subversive. The doctrine in question is this: that it is undesirable to believe a proposition when there is no ground whatever for supposing it true. I must, of course, admit that if such an opinion became common it would completely transform our social life and our political system; since both are at present faultless, this must weigh against it.”

Vive la philosophie!

The first step in the monotheistic Delusion took place a long, long time ago, maybe 5000 years or more(?).

When Abraham conceived of the idea of a god, he decided to name him Yahweh, which means something like “I Am That I Am.” Comprenne qui pourra. Which means, “Let him understand who can”, an equally obscure statement. ¹

By his own admission, Y was a jealous god. This characteristic has led noted scholar C. Northcote Parkinson, discoverer of the famous Law, to state that He is certainly a She. Parkinson notes, e.g., Y’s insistence that man not go about with any other gods. Compare this to, “You’ve been going out with another woman!” QED.

It is perhaps because of Her jealousy of other shes that She ordained that women should be subservient to men; women should be seen and not heard.

On the other hand, as Mr. Twain has pointed out, She took particularly acute pleasure in smiting all those who “pisseth against a wall.” Does this attitude reflect incipient feminist leanings on Her part, in spite of Her pronouncements against women’s rights? If so, it is a clear sign of schizophrenia.

Y wasted no time in instituting a double standard which later fervents have found difficult to improve on. She insisted on the one hand that “Thou shalt not steal” or “… commit adultery” or a number of other things that people already enjoyed doing in that remote age. On the other hand, She instructed her followers not only to defeat their enemies, but to kill all their men and women and children and livestock and then raze their cities to the ground. Another tactic which later ages have adhered to without improving in any essential way. ²

Y was so gung-ho on defending the ascension and future of her followers’ tribe, that She comes across like coach, cheerleader and commander-in-chief of the armies all combined.

Step 2

Later, a chap — whom we will call simply X — came along who was tired of all this. He started preaching that Y was really a good guy (Parkinson was not born yet.) and wanted all men to be good to each other. Who can argue with that? Well, a lot of people did — and many still do today. So X was put to death in a particularly gruesome Roman way. ³ A legend quickly grew up that he was an avatar of Y, rather like Krishna was an avatar of Vishnu. In fact, X himself contributed to this idea.

Since then, X’s teachings have been pretty much eviscerated by his followers, who use a distorted version of his ideas to predict and recruit for their own future victory over the rest of “Creation” (i.e., their enemies). It is not a pretty story. And in it, X/Y carries on as coach, cheerleader and  commander-in-chief of the armies, eventually also taking on the jobs of judge and head of the Chamber of Commerce.

In principle, She will bring about an end to it all, at which time she will gleefully commit those who were not faithful to Her to an eternity of ghastly and unthinkable tortures, of which that G rating prevents further description. (See any medieval European church altar.⁴) Her True Followers, it is presumed, will have choice seats in the grandstands to view this edifying spectacle. Nice.

Since then, generous use of murder, torture and other means of coercion has led to this version of the Delusion being adopted across much of the world, making it the world’s chief Delusion.

Step 3

Some 600 or so years later, another chap — call him M — was hanging out in a desert cave and had some hallucinations wherein an angel came to him and … Well, in brief, he came up with a new set of characteristics and statements for what/whom he claimed was the same (and only) god, who now changed his name again and became known as A.

Now M had a difficult choice to make: Would A be a good person like X or a violent and bloody-minded war monger like Y? It seems the choice was too much for him, because he picked both. A’s sacred book now repeats over and over that She is merciful, while reminding Her followers that they should not shun from killing unmercifully all those who disagree with their ideas, should any conflict arise. And history has shown far too many of them to be obedient children.

Soon, A’s followers succeeded in spreading Her worship across a rather sizable hunk of the world — by means of the sword and more non-G-rated activities, of course. In such a way, A’s Delusion has become the world’s number 2 Delusion, just after X’s.

As far as women are concerned, A not only adopted Y’s attitude, but carried it on to new depths, even indicating how they should dress. In this version, women should be neither seen nor heard.

Incidentally, most of A’s followers would be royally ticked off at the idea that She is not a He!

Notes:

“Les démocraties occidentales ne sont que les façades politiques du pouvoir économique. Une façade avec des couleurs, des drapeaux, des discours interminables sur la sacro-sainte démocratie. Nous vivons un époque ou nous pouvons discuter de tout. A une exception pres: la démocratie. Elle est là, c’est un dogme acquis. Ne pas toucher, comme dans les musées. Les élections sont devenues la représentation d’une comèdie absurde, honteuse, où la participation du citoyen est très faible, et dans laquelle les gouvernements représentent les commissaires politiques du pouvoir économique.” José Saramago, “La lucidité”. Cité dans le Monde Diplomatique d’avril 2007.

John’s translation:

Western democracies are but the political facades of economic power. A facade with colors, flags, endless speeches about sacrosanct democracy. We live in an epoch when we can discuss everything. With one eception: democracy. It s  there, an acquired dogma. Do not touch, like in a museum. Elections have become presentations of an absurd, shameful comedy, where citizen participation is feeble, and in which governments play the political representatives of economic power. José Saramago, “La lucidité”. Quoted from Le Monde Diplomatique of April 2007.

Compare the oft-cited line of John Dewey: ”As long as politics is the shadow cast on society by big business, the attenuation of the shadow will not change the substance.”