Currently A People's History of the United States: 1492 to Present By Howard Zinn see related

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Currently Why Evolution Is True By Jerry A. Coyne see related

The Reasons for a Ritual

I was thinking about a tradition which has developed in the church I used to attend.  I’ve been reading about evolution and wondering what effects our genetic history has on our behavior, our values, and us generally as social creatures.  Bees don’t have crazy large brains but they do some crazy complex things.  We call them ‘social’ for a reason.  Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about all that.  I am well aware that it is too easy to cite evolution as the uber-explanation for everything, and I won’t dare mention Memes.  I just have the feeling that it was this reading that prompted the following reaction.

On the Christmas Eve service, it’s always packed, everyone is dressed up, hugs and handshakes abound.  There’s a point at which they call up all the children and read the ‘Christmas story’ – census, Mary & Joseph, no room at the inn, baby Jesus, wise men, shepherds, hallelujah, etc.  In a room of hundreds of people there’re a lot of kids.  When called, several dozen stream up to the front and sit down on this graded platform-step thing in front of the stage around the children’s pastor who reads.  Over the years they’ve found versions more appealing to kids, with little responses they get to croon out in their adorable voices. 

I myself, for years, marched down the aisles eagerly with my little sister in tow to listen to the story.  That was a long time ago.  They’ve been doing it every year for at least 20.  Now, watching this tradition from the pews, I couldn’t help but think that while it is advertised as ‘for the kids’, it is, on the contrary, manifestly for us, the audience, and an ‘audience’ is just what we were.  Much of church is theatrical – we are often at once both spectators and performers – but especially this service and this segment.  I for the first time reflected: why do we call the young kids up and read them this story every year?  Why is it done in the way it is?  I’m not saying that anyone has underlying motives or is being deceptive, but I can’t believe it is just to tell the Christmas story to the kids, or at least… there are different kinds of answers to that ‘why’ question.  Certainly, simply, ‘to read the kids the Christmas story’ is a true answer.  But it isn’t necessarily the only one.  To explain my initial allusion: Why do we eat so much junk food? – Well, we like sweet, fattening things.  That’s a true answer.  But why do we like such things? – Because of facts about our history as a species; because when we had to hunt and forage for our food, sugars were a rare source of energy, something naturally good for us which we naturally crave.  But now we’re stuck with this desire, this taste, and such things are all around us and all too easy to obtain and, in the quantities in which we eat them, they become quite unhealthy.  You all know this. 

But, so, there’s no need to be crass and call one explanation more ‘real’ than the other.  ‘Because I like them’ is a perfectly understandable explanation for why a person eats sweets.  We just might as well reconcile ourselves to as much truth as we are able to handle. 

So, do we read the story to the kids in order that they hear and learn it?  Sure.  Most of them are still pretty young that I’ll even concede the story or its details may still be something novel for them.  But, again, why at this service?  Why in this way?  I’ve already indicated where I’m going.  It is fairly obvious that it is, at least in some sense, for the parents, or rather the congregation as a whole.  Does this then help us answer the ‘what for’ question?  What is the purpose, what is the point?  One cynical possibility I’ve come up with: We put our children, the fruit of our healthy, thriving church-family on display for all to see.  You there, parents, church members, watch them be docile and breathe in the truths you want them to.  Isn’t it cute?  Isn’t it reassuring?  Purportedly asking: Aren’t you proud of them?  Actually asserting: Be proud of yourself.

Do I think evolution explains this annual behavior pattern of ours, this ritual?  Not necessarily, I wouldn’t say that.  I evoke only by analogy its explanatory power.  Does this Christmas Eve tradition have a social function which is able to explain its existence? – something not quite so shallow as ‘Why of course we read the story to the kids because it’s a story they should know and, heck, it’s cute.’?  I don’t especially like my answer: because it makes the audience feel good.  Is that an answer?  Why does it?  I guess I’ve already said it: we see our offspring thriving, our beliefs reconfirmed and passed on; we see ourselves being replicated.  This one fleeting moment is a reassuring forecast of their future, of the future of ourselves and ours.  Sneer if you will at my musings; I do not sneer at the tradition.  Does this make it any less beautiful?  Perhaps.  I hope not.  I’m not faulting them for putting on such a show.  Nor do I think they should stop.  I’m just … observing, thinking, seeking to understand; blah blah.  I know, I know.  Ecclesiastes 1:16-18 is ringing in my head.  I was sharing all this with a friend and she said I should write about it.  Here it is.

Currently Critique of Religion and Philosophy By Walter A. Kaufmann see related

The Peculiarity of (post)Modern Amorality

Currently The Brothers Karamazov By Fyodor Dostoevsky see related

Challenged

This winter break my abstract(ly vague) principles? allegiances? were inadvertently dealt a serious blow.  In fact it was kind of a one-two combination that first stunned and then floored me. 

Two aunts, a cousin, and my grandfather visited us for Christmas.  They know I’m in graduate school but  the pseudo-description “Greek and Latin … stuff” is about all they care to know about it – and I can’t say I blame them.  The questions they do ask are: Do you have your Masters yet? Are you staying for the Ph.D.? and How much longer do you have? 

One evening my cousin, his mother, my grandfather, and I were chatting and after these standard questions someone asked what Ph.D. stands for.  It’s Latin: Philosophiae Doctor – which, far from having anything to do with medical expertise, means ‘learned in philosophy’.  My grandfather who was mainly just listening then surprised me by asking “What is philosophy?” 

Now, there are a great many who might ask this question with a sort of disdain, people who already have the world figured out.  To some life’s not a mystery and any important questions are either already sufficiently answered for them or not worth asking.  Religious folk – you prostrate your self and soul before the Lord and try to live a righteous life of love.  Or business majors (I use this category loosely) – you make enough money to live securely and pay for the things that please you (and your family).  For these, and others similar, the question is really more like “And what exactly is philosophy (good for), anyway?”  However, my grandfather I could see and hear asked… genuinely.  He just didn’t know.  He of course has heard the word but it probably just revolves around the concepts of ‘thinking’ and ‘school’.  The man never graduated from high school, was a mechanic in World War II, and then worked on trains in Chicago for a few dozen years, married for over 50 years, and himself 84 years old.  The sheer fact that he was curious enough to ask filled me with a sense of excitement and dread as if I’d been offered a solemn privilege to not only explain what philosophy is, but also an opportunity to make manifest its worth and justify my own studies.  True, this is an extreme caricature of the event but I could not help but believe this to be a moment of consequence even though – I realized as I opened my mouth – no one in the room wanted a lecture, but not wanting to lose this chance I blurted out something along the lines of:

“Philosophy? yes, that’s the question!  What is it?  It turns out it’s actually all about questions.  See, ‘cause, philosophy isn’t about knowing certain special truths about the world or … us … it’s not like facts… So, but then if that’s what it’s not, what is it besides asking questions?... or asking questions in a certain way?  It’s kind of … well…  ”
I saw brows furrow and lips curl – in my head? – but charged on:
“Ok, so, take the big question – What’s the meaning of life?  Most people have some sort of answer to this question, either unreflectingly or unknowingly or if they they actually do, it is likely one which they inherited from their parents and philosophy wants to look at this… I mean, the meaning of life and other important questions or… really all questions more… carefully.” 
I’m not sure how coherent or satisfying an answer this was to them but at this point I just admitted: 
“I guess… I don’t really know how to explain it.. well”
Realizing I just squandered a unique opportunity – my grandpa is not actually interested enough to want me to get back to him or anything; it was just a reflexive question.  I had to say something.... meaningful.  Flailing now, I tried to break down this monster into pieces, falling further into lecture mode and Academic-ese.
“Well… so questions, right?  There are different branches concerned with different kinds of questions – what exists or what is, metaphysics, or that's what it's called and what thought is, the limits of our knowledge, epistemology, and then there’s language, or like about words…”

It was at this point that my grandpa said “I didn’t finish high school, you know, so you can’t be using fancy words on me” thankfully, chuckling.  I decided it best to end my embarrassment and the tragedy of watching me drown and let it drop, mumbling I-don’t-even-remember-what. 

There may have been seeds of something true in what I’d said, but I realized that I am going to have a weight on my back until I am able to explain what philosophy is in terms my grandfather could understand.  However, a day or two later I again was delivered a kick in the stomach. 

Killing time before we went some place, I was reading Brothers Karamazov on the couch and one of the aunts came in and turned on the TV.  She soon settled on one of those revolting Jerry-Springer-esque shows, the cheating husbands, mothers on drugs, sob-fests.  I am hardly poetic enough to be able to describe to you how furious I am that these shows even exist.  I’ve joked with friends “Yeah, yeah, freedom of speech is great and all, but were I in charge, call me a totalitarian dictator but such shows and publications like the National Enquirer would be banned.  Society would be necessarily better off.  It’s because I care about people, that I want to rescue them from watching this garbage.”

All the same, I couldn’t just get up and leave, revealing my arrogant disdain for my aunt to gossip about with her sister.  So I sat and tried to read.  My cousin soon joined us saying “Joe, did you know this guy used to be the bouncer on Jerry Springer?”  Livid that a bouncer on Jerry Springer could even merit a definite article, let alone have his own TV show I responded “I did not.”  The episode was about a young woman with 7 kids whose husband had just left her and, after a flood ruined most of everything they owned in the basement they were living in, she was in pretty dire straits.  One of the daughters had written to Santa saying they weren’t gonna have Christmas; somehow the Steve show got it and buys them a bunch of stuff – lots of crying.  Still failing to see the value in a show that just tries to stir up the viewers’ emotions (be it indignation or pity, depending on the day’s guest), I was delighted when my father walked in and said “Oh, you’re not watching this junk, are you?” (obviously many of our inclinations are inherited)  But my aunt, unfazed, said “It’s Steve.  He helps people.”  And I realized….. he does.  However much I may revile the show, I’m not cynical enough to believe that everything is staged.  I mean, I do believe we’re on our way there.  If a network thinks it can make money by entirely fabricating beneficence, it surely will.  And I know much of the drama is rehearsed and the guests paid on many shows anyways.  But, all the same, it would appear that the ex-bouncer on Jerry Springer bought a bunch of furniture, clothes, and toys for this woman and her 7 kids.

As if to resist the reversal of my opinion, I thought “Well, ok, so ‘he helps people’.  Great, but it’s still kind of ridiculous that people across the nation just sit here and soak up these recorded feelings.  What good is it to just watch his good deeds, while not doing anything themselves?  It's still ridiculous to watch this stupid show.  Satisfied enough with this (but in fact disgruntled), I looked back to my Dostoevsky for half a second more fooling myself into thinking that I was any better before the book became heavy in my hands and my body literally sagged with an exhaled sigh.  As it stands, the ex-bouncer on Jerry Springer does more good in the world than I do… by far (if such a thing can (at all) be measured in good deeds).  The question of whether he did it for the ratings/money or because he's a nice guy may.... or may not matter.  Who the fuck am I to criticize people for watching him and not actively doing anything, while I just read?  It would appear that beyond explaining what philosophy is, I need to also figure out what value there is in reading literature (if any).  A small miracle reinforced this lesson in humility.  The very chapter I was then reading contained the following scene.  I kid you not. 

This wealthy woman comes to the elder Zosima and confesses her doubt concerning the afterlife.  And his advice is to not worry about it and instead to worry about practicing ‘active love’.  She says “Active love?  I love mankind so much that – would you believe it? – I sometimes dream of giving up all, all I have, of leaving Lise and going to become a sister of mercy.  I close my eyes, I think and dream, and in such moments I feel an invincible strength in myself.  No wounds, no festering sores could frighten me.  I would bind them and cleanse them with my own hands, I would nurse the suffering, I would kiss those sores…”
The elder gently interposed the following words “It’s already a great deal and very well for you that you dream of that in your mind and not of something else.  Once in a while, by chance, you may really do some good deed.”

She responds that although she could endure the sight of others suffering and even suffering herself, what she wouldn’t be able to handle for long is others’ ingratitude or the thought that her service in the end might not be worth very much.  The elder tells her the story of a doctor who once confessed to him “I love mankind but I am amazed at myself: the more I love mankind in general, the less I love people in particular, as individuals.” 

My love for … or if that’s too strong a word, my… ideals about society and people at large aren’t worth anything if I can’t love people.  Too many things about all this…. echoed – my attribution of ignorant disdain and inherited values to some while reveling in my own; - the elder's injunction to active love and the simple statement in response to my dad’s incredulous question “He helps people.”

Forthcoming: some attempted answers and, more importantly, hopefully love.