Every ten or twenty years the lives of sophisticates the world over are interrupted by an event of monolithic proportions: Leon Wieseltier (pron. ‘Vee-ZEL-tee-AY’) is compelled to acknowledge that there is something he does not know. Most recently, this prompt comes from the essential and inimitable 16th century French poet named Sceve (Shev? Skeev? Skev? Shev-ay?).
In this, as in the last such instance (1993, was it?), Mr. Wieseltier takes two steps to restore his identity from the ruins. First, of course, he realigns the stars by immediately and compulsively plugging the newfound hole in his knowledge, reaffirming his belief (don’t blame him – everyone knows beliefs are impervious to facts!) that there exists nothing outside his gaze.
Second, he recognizes an opportunity to dazzle us not only with his flowery prose and impeccable knowledge of the world in its every permutation, but with his wisdom and humility, borne not of facts, but of deep reflection, even a hermetic neglect of the transient realities of societal life. He does this by reducing the number of big words in his column by 30%, and by chiding himself (and by implication, his readers) for succumbing to the conceit of knowledge and to the indulgence and consequential decadence (as he calls it) of sophistication. After all – and here the ground shifts beneath – Mr. Wieseltier himself is “not immune to the vanity of range, to the social effects of high-level facility.”
Well, Mr. Wieseltier, though my reservoir of literary aphorisms is shallow, I think it no coincidence that among the nuggets Oscar Wilde chose to pepper his meditation on self-obsession, The Picture of Dorian Gray, is that “there is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel no one else has a right to blame us.” Let’s not play this game; a simple “I don’t know” would suffice every now and again. But ah, me; surely you anticipated this and have a response ready in 1000 words.
The 2010 World Cup has revived the annual – or quadrennial – question: Why do so many people like futbol? Do they really like it? Could it be merely a frenzied outlet – and convenient excuse – for a jingoism usually repressed by a global society? Or is it brilliant and complex, the slowness of its pace surpassed only by its sophistication and depth – the ultimate thinking man’s game?
Etgar Keret, the acclaimed Israeli fiction writer, argues the latter in a recent New Republic article, entitled “Goal-Oriented – Futbol: Better than Basketball.” “I love soccer,” writes Keret, “because it is so painfully similar to life: slow, unjust, fairly random, usually boring, but always holding out the hope that, at some moment, however brief, everything will come together and take on meaning.”
Whether one enjoys soccer or not, Keret implies here a fundamental question which underlies the one I began with. That is: what is the purpose of sport? To him, it is a metaphor – an art form, essentially – which mirrors the vicissitudes of human existence, and more importantly, resolves people to the unnegotiability of life’s mostly static nature. It trains people to cope, to maintain consciousness between ups and downs. And it reveals the beauty and orderliness of the whole of this chaos.
That is a lovely idea, and it undoubtedly rings true for many players and some thoughtful fans. But does this sacralization of sport leave no room for recreation – for pure diversion? So often lost in elegies and exaltations of the human condition is the fact that we are, despite – and not because of – our compulsive and often clumsy search for meaning, human. Sure, we ponder the depth and quality of our lives while we sit on the toilet. But that doesn’t stop the shit coming.
When did asceticism replace diversion – stimulating, challenging diversion – as the equalizing force in the serious man’s life? Even the brilliant can think too much; even the ablest can try too hard. And even the most goal-oriented are entitled to escape, if only for 48 minutes, onto the “thin, shiny parquet of the NBA.”
A few weeks ago I responded to a New York Times column in which the author expressed an inordinate level of confidence in the truth of his religious beliefs. That was disappointing; all I really wanted to talk about was Avatar. But few things annoy me more than claims to a monopoly on truth, so plans changed.
Here I’m going to take a bit of a different approach. As always, the caveat here is that at the end of the day, we don’t really know a damn thing. But the value in asking a question isn’t always in getting the answer.
As our knowledge of the natural world increases, it seems more and more like the scientific and spiritual worldviews, which many people – several hundred years into the debate –still tend to see as diametrically opposed to one another, are actually different vantage points onto a singular reality. One might even say that the difference between them is merely linguistic. Different words, same meanings.
As Pandit Gopi Krishna, an influential advocate for intellectual collaboration between Western science and eastern wisdom, explained: "Mystical vision, enlightenment and prophethood are the natural endowments of a more evolved human brain brought in tune with the spiritual realities of the universe."
This is one context, at least, in which to interpret certain developments within the scientific community which existing empirical data are hard pressed to explain. Take, for example, the oncologist who recently published a book entitled “Evidence of the Afterlife,” which chronicles the Near Death Experiences (NDEs) of some 1600 patients. The consistency in their descriptions of lucid experiences completely independent of brain function, he argues, is evidence that some part of ourselves lives on after death.
The Near Death Experience is one of a number of phenomena scientists and theologians invoke to close the gap between spiritual wisdom and scientific observation. Some, like Stephen Barr, find confirmation of age-old metaphysical claims in the discoveries of modern physics. More precisely, Barr argues in “Modern Physics and Ancient Faith” (reviewed here), religion does not butt heads with science at all; it conflicts only with scientific materialism, a philosophical stance no more “empirical” than God itself. Scientific materialism, by Barr’s definition, posits that “nothing exists except matter, and that everything in the world must therefore be the result of the strict mathematical laws of physics and blind chance.” It is essentially the flawed “idea that all of reality is nothing but physics.”
Abdu’l-Baha, the second leader of the Bahai faith, identified this as early as 1912, when he said that a man who pursues science alone would “make no progress, but fall into the despairing slough of materialism.” Despite Krishna’s acknowledgment that a man who eschews science in favor of religion “would quickly fall into the quagmire of superstition,” it is the slough of scientific materialism, to Barr, that holds the central figment of the modern imagination.
Daniel Matt, like Barr, attempts to cut down the debate at its root. He takes a more specialized approach in his book "God and the Big Bang," using the language of Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition, to articulate the details of the Big Bang and the expansion and formation of the cosmos. While Matt’s particular mode of exploration may not be as accessible as Barr’s, his objective is basically the same – to expose the fallacy inherent in forcing science and religion apart.
Krishna believed strongly in the importance of this point. "I believe dogmatic barriers to the acceptance of this position will gradually cease,” he wrote, “when the organic factors responsible for [spiritual] transformation are clearly demonstrated by the objective methods of science."
* * *
To be sure, even those who derive meaning from the synthesis of ancient theological concepts with modern scientific ones will find many old questions yet unanswered. And of course, it raises new challenges as well. For example: at what point, if any, does the failure of science to support a spiritual concept become evidence for its inability to do so? Does acceptance that some spiritual wisdom can be confirmed by contemporary scientific means invalidate that which cannot? The latter question, in particular, highlights how slippery is the scientific slope for those who would go with God.
But these questions are contingent on the more basic issue of whether the scientific and the spiritual paradigms are truly incompatible in some fundamental way – whether their differences are indeed merely semantic or if they are, in fact, substantive.
“Physicists and theologians often contend that religion and science are two separate realms,” acknowledges Matt, “each valid within its domain and operating under its own set of rules.” To his mind, though, “…the question ‘How did the world come to be?’ is vital to both disciplines because it is such a fundamental human question.” Science and religion, as such, are constructed to facilitate our understanding of the reality in which we live. It is both foolish and vain to project our intellectual handicaps onto truth just because it lies beyond our grasp.
Most of all, doing so constitutes a colossal missed opportunity: "Religion and science are the two wings upon which man's intelligence can soar into the heights, with which the human soul can progress.” And as demonstrated by empirical aerodynamics, it takes two wings to fly.
* * *
“If there is no brain function,” a friend of mine ponders, “how does one have an NDE, which requires consciousness?” Even in writing, the tension in his words is evident. This question represents decades of hard-fought personal beliefs hanging in the balance. The dissonance is a discomfiting reminder of the precariousness of our own meticulously constructed worldviews. “That,” he continues, “is where the sidewalk runs out on me.”
Indeed, this is the end of the road – for those who won’t accept anything less than empirical, peer-reviewable fact. Such a person stands at the proverbial sidewalk’s end, peering over, rapt despite – or perhaps because of – his helplessness, into the abyss. Eventually he is pushed off and, leaving behind his attachment to intellectual categories which reflect the truth like a smoke-filled hall of mirrors, he wonders no more.
But for those not content to gape passively over the edge, there is an alternative. A few feet after the drop the sidewalk resumes, stretching ahead over the horizon. The leap across guarantees nothing concrete – nothing readily identifiable, anyway. But it does offer, at least, the chance to pick up the trail and keep walking.
Even as their already large numbers grow Muslims across Europe are facing increased marginalization and restrictions on the most visible aspects of their transplanted culture. The Swiss government banned construction of minarets. A movement in France seeks to deny public benefits to Muslim women wearing veils over their faces. And a prominent Dutch politician is now on trial for religious discrimination after comparing the Quran to Mein Kampf for its anti-Jewish rhetoric and its incitements to violence.
The latter of these cases, especially, typifies the tensions escalating across the continent. The outspoken anti-Islamism of a leading member of the Netherlands' popular libertarian-conservative Freedom Party is emblematic of the anxieties that appear to be pervasive in Europe's elite circles.
In his 2008 film, "Fitna," Geert Wilders gave full expression to his views, calling for the Quran to be banned on the same grounds as Mein Kampf. Amsterdam's district attorney initially ruled that there were no grounds on which to prosecute. It took Wilders by surprise, then, when an appeals court noted for its activism ordered his prosecution last year. "It is surreal that I sit in a courtroom, in a criminal court," he said. "I never had any idea this would happen."
At stake here is far more than the future of a single politician. Because he is being prosecuted for discrimination, it is incumbent upon Wilders to prove the verity of his statements. In order to do so, he will call to the stand as many as 17 expert witnesses, from renowned academics to infamous Islamists. His attorneys will attempt to weave their testimony into a cogent picture of the Quran as a pamphlet of hateful and violent propaganda. In prosecuting Wilders, Muslim and leftist activists have actually set the stage for official condemnation of the very foundation of Islam under Dutch law.
This case is reminiscent of the 1996 libel suit brought in British court by the prominent - and Nazi sympathizing - WWII historian David Irving against the Jewish historian Deborah Lipstadt. Lipstadt, an expert on Holocaust denial, had accused Irving of manipulating statistics in order to swing the moral pendulum toward the Nazis. There is no absolute protection of free speech under British law (or in the Netherlands), which left Lipstadt with the singular defense of proving the accuracy of her accusations. The resulting examination of Irving's research methods uncovered egregious and intentional obfuscation of historical fact for his own propagandic purposes. Irving's attempt to clear his name actually accomplished quite the opposite.
The same potential exists in the Wilders case. By challenging his claims about the Quran, his opponents have placed it under a very public microscope. But while in Irving's case the outcome - the discrediting of an influential liar about World War II and Holocaust history - was entirely positive, the implications of the Wilders case threaten much less desirable results: increased Muslim resentment of Western culture; radicalization of Muslim youth; official endorsement of slippery anti-religious rhetoric.
It is certainly understandable that millions of Europeans seek to counteract the threat to their way of life posed by rapidly increasing Muslim populations. Americans would feel much the same if Muslims, taking extreme care not to integrate into mainstream society, constituted a quarter of the population of our major cities as they do in Amsterdam and Marseilles (Stockholm, London and Brussels are not far behind). We would undoubtedly be concerned if numerous graduates of top American universities joined radical Islamist groups and some were implicated in terrorist attacks, as has been the case with such institutions as Kings College London and the London School of Economics.
Despite the logic of the sentiment, however, it may not be prudent to act on it. The uniquely inclusive and malleable nature of democracy is such that fundamental changes are not necessary for a sufficiently populous immigrant group to effectively hijack a society and its political cockpit (to use an apt, if uncomfortable, metaphor). We could be witnessing the precursors to a democratic coup which would drastically change European society even without the infiltration of Sharia onto the continent.
If this is the case, and demographic statistics certainly suggest the possibility, then using legal means to repress Islamic culture in Europe is an extremely risky proposition. Rather than inculcating in them Western ideals of pluralism and tolerance, persecuting the Muslim minority only makes them less likely to value egalitarianism and to respect heterogeneous - and heterodox - elements in European society. Obviously, it will be too late to change course if and when they become a substantial enough portion of the electorate to exert their influence. In 2010, ethnic Europeans are providing Muslim Europeans not only with motivation, but with legal precedent for their eventual retribution.
After much deliberation, the New York Times has announced that they plan to begin charging for online content. Whether doing so will be enough to cope with the challenges posed by free online sources of news and analysis remains to be seen.
The Times’ decision has widespread implications. It is the most important newspaper to begin charging over the web, and eyes all over the industry will be closely monitoring the effects of this approach. In an experiment that will, in significant ways, determine the very future of media consumption, the biggest name in print has publicly recognized that their traditional business model can no longer compete.
Dismissing the claim that the breakneck pace of the online media effectively closes the newspaper niche, chairman and publisher Arthur Sulzberger Jr. suggested in an internal memo that loyal readers “know that The Times brings them the most authoritative news and opinion to be found anywhere,” and will pay for continued access.
Is he correct? Does The Times provide a service that can’t be had elsewhere for free? After all, any story worth reporting, regardless of who gets there first, does not stay exclusive for more than a few minutes.
The Times seems to be banking on its reporting being so excellent that readers will pay for its take on the same stories everyone is writing about.
For major news, this seems unlikely. Beyond sentiment, it is hard to imagine why someone would pay a monthly fee for a slightly different perspective.
It stands to reason, then, that what The Times assumes will keep readers coming back, pockets open, for more is its superlative analysis and opinion. If it is going to satisfy a paying readership its columns and special features must be truly worth the price.
Whether they are is beyond my qualifications to say. Surely The Times understand what sets it apart, in the eyes of its audience, from other news outlets.
All I’ll do here is present my take on an opinion piece written by a regular Times columnist, as a preliminary evaluation of the quality of their exclusive content. The subject of the column, or at least its impetus, is James Cameron’s “Avatar,” the most talked about movie in recent memory.
Admittedly, I did not choose this piece strictly for its quality. It may be the lowest common denominator; I don’t know. Either way, it got my attention, and if the reaction is more important than the assessment, perhaps Sulzberger knows what he’s doing.
Ladies and gentlemen, Ross Douthat in:
"The Gospel According to Ross"
Ross Douthat’s New York Times editorial entitled "Heaven and Nature" is his response to James Cameron’s holiday-season blockbuster, Avatar. He makes no bones about his evaluation of the holiday flick in calling it “a crass embodiment of capitalistic excess wrapped around a deeply felt religious message.” Ostensibly, he seeks to critique Cameron’s “long apologia for pantheism,” which, by his definition, “calls humanity into religious communion with the natural world.”
Douthat is not wrong to point to the film’s pantheistic element. Much is indeed made of the interconnectedness of all of nature and of the real individual potential to merge with Consciousness itself.
But what he overlooks – or perhaps ignores – are the important ways in which it enhances the story. It adds to the fantasy and surrealism, and it strengthens the moral and political message: that greed and imperialism "tend to destroy the environment.” I won't deny that the allegory is simplistic and heavy handed in certain ways. But the deification of nature, as a poetic device, is compelling both aesthetically and conceptually.
For someone so well acquainted with hyperbole, Douthat’s interpretation is surprisingly obtuse. Does he genuinely read such ideological intention, such religious significance into the storyline? Is it really possible that, in the same breath that he excludes himself from “the literal-mindedness of the monotheistic religions,” he proves guilty of such an egregious failure of imagination? Even Will Heaven of The UK Telegraph, who goes so far as to chide Cameron for outright racism, has the sense to chalk up the offense to carelessness – or even ignorance – rather than conviction.
Literal-minded indeed.
To state the question more clearly: is Douthat truly so threatened by Hollywood’s science fiction that he feels compelled to break from his mostly politically oriented commentary to refute it? Or is there something else, more self-interest than self-defense, that he is driving at?
Given his cursory treatment of the film which is supposedly his subject, our answer appears to be the latter. It seems Douthat’s aim is not a measured response to Avatar or even to the cultural phenomenon – “Hollywood’s religion of choice” – he claims it represents. Rather, what he presents as a reaction to devolution in religious thought wrought by increasingly popular but ever pernicious pantheistic values is really a thinly disguised panegyric for his own adopted faith – Catholicism.
That he chose to use a holiday-season blockbuster as a pretense for this kind of polemic – aside from giving James Cameron too much credit – is frankly rather absurd. But this is precisely what Douthat did, and it begs some kind of response.
He makes several basic assumptions about pantheism. The first, for which he draws support from fundamentalist-in-disguise Richard Dawkins, is that pantheism is just atheism all “sexed-up.” This suggestion is not unreasonable, but I'm not sure I agree. Jewish mysticism, for example, makes a distinction between the immanent God, encompassing all of existence, and the transcendent God, which finds no direct parallel in human experience but is conscious and interacts with the "natural" world. This kind of conception might consider pantheism to be an important, if incomplete, part of the picture.
But let’s grant Douthat his premise and see how his argument holds up. Giving that pantheism is a guilty (or lonely) man’s atheism, he seems to feel that it arises out of a uniquely American combination of car-window-romanticization of nature and intellectual laziness. By this logic, neither the American's hyper-individualistic ego nor his pop-culture eroded intellect has the fortitude to handle theism.
It is true that faith is difficult, and admirable in those who come to it humbly and without dogma. This is not, however, because it requires more effort than the alternative, and not because only believers are tough-minded enough to “wrestle with the problem of evil,” but because its conclusions are uncertain and its demands all-consuming. Rejection of The Gospel According to Ross is not lazy. It is a defensible theological and intellectual position.
Douthat futher assumes that such a perspective is inherently amoral. “..the human societies which hew closest to the natural order,” he writes, are “places where existence tends to be nasty, brutish, and short.”
But this is a misrepresentation. Neither pantheism as a theology or as atheology suggests that people look to nature as a model for action. Humanitarian ethics are no less sophisticated - or effective - than religious ethics. If Douthat means to suggest that God is a prerequisite to morality, well, I Dou’ that. History - not to mention research - shows that religious societies and individuals are no more (or less) likely to act morally than those who reject faith.
What Douthat attempts here is to frame pantheism – and atheism – as low-brow, pop-cultural, unworthy of thinking people. Further, he suggests that it runs contrary to the very essence of civilization even as he acknowledges it as a natural outgrowth of democracy.
By placing the burden of proof on those who reject his God he invites it in equal proportion upon himself. This is a mistake, of course, as proof exists for neither position. Which makes the core of his argument – ‘Boo-hoo! The human condition without God is just so “deeply tragic”!’ – somewhat understandable but no more persuasive.
So - let us begin. As I mentioned, my inaugural submission was a letter to the editor of the Washington Post in response to a piece by E. J. Dionne, a professor at Georgetown Public Policy Institute and a regular Post columnist. He has plenty of good things to say, and I recommend his column. On that particular morning, he published an article called "The Decade when the U.S. lost its way." The core of his argument is pretty clear from the title.
I didn't write to dispute his assessment of the 2000s. I wrote to draw attention to a media phenomenon that, somewhat absurdly, dominated the last two weeks of 2009. I'm referring to our obsessive anticipation of that magically meaningless moment when the ball dropped and the ticker ticked from 2009 to 2010. The airwaves and papers were dominated by frivolous top ten lists and the "Best" and "Worst of the Decade"; by sober evaluations of our nation's place in the world; by fantastic - or frightening - predictions of what lies in store.
I understand that this kind of sensationalism sells papers and boosts ratings. But is there more to it than that? Is this a product of some kind of collective neurosis, a manic build-up to climax? Were we desperately trying to compensate for last decade? Perhaps. The sense of relief that came with Y2K was certainly accompanied by an element of semi-masochistic disappointment. The anti-climax was especially potent for those unfortunate people who spent $20,000 on solar panels.
I didn't actually say any of that in my letter. Maybe I should have. It certainly couldn't have gotten any less published than it did. Oh well. Here's what I did say:
"To Whom it May (But Probably Doesn't) Concern:
E. J. Dionne wrote this morning that “certain decades shape the country’s political life for generations by leaving behind an era to embrace or, at least as often, to scorn.” True enough. He points to the 1960s, 1930s, and 1980s as such significant eras. “But as important as all these periods have been,” he continues, “their significance may be dwarfed by the reckless and squandered decade that is, mercifully, ending.”
Strong words, and he acknowledges as much. But it is not his assessment of the 2000s with which I take issue. To a large extent any such judgment is subjective, and besides, time will help bring into focus the many implications of the past decade which remain blurry. Rather, this statement is misleading in a much more straightforward way.
The decade is not, mercifully or otherwise, ending. The closing of one calendar year or decade means next to nothing except on paper. Even historians, naturally inclined to categorize, to compare, to divide history into eras, will find thematic and conceptual – rather than chronological – lines to draw.
This kind of discussion is useful, to a point. It provides some much-needed respite from the heat of the moment. It is an opportunity to reflect on recent history in light of current events, and in that way provides a perspective that is all too often lacking.
But the danger of over-hyping the dawn of a new decade is that it gives the illusion of a fresh start. We are not starting afresh. Our problems are not fundamentally different regardless of what year it is or even who is in the White House.
Let’s take a well-deserved moment to celebrate a new year, and with it a chance to reflect. Then let’s get back, not to the drawing board, but to the grind.
Signed,
Censored"
There you have it.
P.S. In fairness to the Washington Post, the above letter is about 300 words, which is at least 60 or 70 longer than their limit of 200. I didn't realize this until I got their automated e-mail response with tips for getting published. I then pared it down to 200 only to find that apparently their server blocks multiple e-mails from the same address on a single day. So I sent my edit - it's probably better shorter anyway - from a different account. I imagine filling their inbox with different versions of the same letter didn't endear me to the Post editorial staff. Maybe I have a future as a spammer.
