Archive for November 28th, 2011
For the last while, I’ve been pondering why religion somehow gets special privileges (over, say, science, law, the military, medicine—any other field of human endeavor): why writing a parody, or a logical critique, or a statement of strong disagreement works well in fields other than religion, but in religion trouble is quickly encountered—in religion, manners are more easily breached, feelings more sensitive, offense more readily taken, physical counterattacks more likely. This aspect of religion seems to hold (so far as I can tell) for every religion, regardless of the content of their teachings.
I now have an understanding of a reason—one that satisfies me for now. First recognize that one cannot deny that we have feelings that all normal persons share: a profound sense of awe at certain events, at the time of the event and in later recollection, generally events that are fundamental to our humanity, and beyond that to our animalhood, and even to being a living entity. Birth. Death. Love. Death of someone you love. The end of love. Grief. These are events and memories that take one deep into a cluster of feelings and a primitive sort of pre-verbal knowledge and awareness that together are such that the only reasonable term for the experience is religious. It is clearly a powerful experience, the kind that changes people’s lives—the particular change depending on the person’s character, choices, previous experience, genetic predispositions, and who knows what, and the direction of change can be positive or negative or a mix: say the death of a parent causing changes in the direction of anger or bitterness but also in the direction of greater self-reliance and increased ability to come to a decision. (I’m making these up: they don’t reflect me or anyone I know, just examples to show the kind of thing I’m talking about.)
So far, so good. I think at this point we have universal agreement: we’ve had those feelings, we’ve had that experience, and we sense the profundity of the power.
The problem arises, as Lao Tzu would say, in the naming of things. So long as we knew without naming, we were fine. But when we started naming, we starting to try to put into words these wordless—these pre-word, unconscious, pre-cerebral—feelings/experiences/knowledge/emotions/awareness, then we really muck it up.
For one thing, words are the elements of ratiocination, and as soon as you start to reason—logically, rationally, based on actual experience—-about any religion, you quickly run into the fact that it makes no sense at all and also the precepts in the documents usually are far from daily practice. (Example: Left as an exercise for the reader.) That such a problem arises is totally understandable: what became “religion” as documented in words grew up in the swamps (as Rationality would view it), in the depths of wordless experience, so when it is put into words, it doesn’t work worth a damn.
Interestingly, each religion can see this clearly about every other religion. Just to be parochial and Western for a moment: the Baptists can see the problems in Mormonism, Mormans can see the things that don’t make sense in Catholicism, Catholics completely see what’s wrong with the Unitarians, the Unitarians see the difficulties of Scientology, and the Scientologists can see what’s wrong with all the others (and Scienitologists are not unique in having a clear perception of the wrongness of “the others”).
So one can’t talk about religion and it has special rules because “religion” as done in society is a quivering, fracturing, shaky pancake of words, a different pancake for each religion, but each sitting over the same profound awe-inspiring power of individual religious experiences. As soon as you start talking about it, it becomes obvious that the words don’t make sense, but those are secondary: the key is the power of the religious experience, which people want to share and, unfortunately, the language meme is so all-encompassing that words become the primary way to share—and words lead directly to conflict.
So one way to solve it is to skip the words: have and recognize the religious feelings and experiences and treasure them, but shut up about it already.
Not possible, unfortunately, for most people. Certainly it’s possible for hermits, religious and otherwise, and monks in monasteries, and various other examples of separating the religious experience from words—but this separation is too much. By not talking about anything, religious or secular, they’re throwing away the baby with the bathwater. There’s no problem using words in science, law, medicine, the military, and so on. Indeed, these human (and recent, evolutionarily speaking—much more recent than the core of religious experience, for that goes back to birth, sex, loss, death, and the like, all occurring from the very beginning, thus the depth of their power) endeavors are veritably built on langauge.
So: no talking about religion, but talking about everything else. That would work, except for one thing: we are a social species, and people want to do things together and to share.
So that brings us to drumming and and dance and music and painting and sculpture: all tied to religion ab ovo, I imagine. None need involve words at all, all are (or can be, or work best as) communal. And all can be used to communicate and share the experiences I have called “religious.” Indeed, theater presents the (simulated, evoked) experiences without words of a religious nature: Oedipus Rex arouses feelings of the nature and depth of religious feelings, but no religious “teachings” are conveyed in words. The ideas come from our active contemplation, as it were, of the actions/experiences of the players/characters.
Music, of course, is another medium through which to express the experience of religion, as is dance and the others. So let those be the media through which religious experience is shared and communicated, not words. Bach’s music is enjoyed by believers of diverse faiths, including secular—and note that those who hold that there is no God, still experience the profound feelings of awe and the depth of emotions at the aforementioned basic life experiences. I do think “religious feelings” is a good name for feelings of that sort, and the staunchest atheist will acknowledge having such feelings (adjective aside), simply because he is a living animal, and that’s the level of these feelings.
So my understanding leads to a way to test the idea: a large group of people of different faiths, not permitted to communicate anything about their particular religous (word) beliefs, but allowed to drum, dance, chant wordlessly, play musical instruments (have to avoid faith-specific hymns: only original works, how’s that?), sculpt, paint, …
I guess someone should apply for a grant. The Templeton Foundation?
UPDATE: The Wife reminds me that some religions forbid the use of graven (i.e., figurative) images, so their painted art is more abstract. It occurs to me if a particular religion can simply ban one of the social media that we use—no graven images, or (in the case of others) no music—then it would seem quite feasible to ban words, restricting expression and communication to the non-verbal and non-discursive arts.
I read once that it is difficult to get many patients to take their meds for hypertension. It’s not so much a financial issue (though for many it may be), but rather a compliance issue: patients just, on their own, decide to quit taking the meds. Again, something in people’s behavior I don’t understand. I have hypertension, and I take my meds for that (and for my diabetes and cholesterol) regularly. My hypertension med is down to very little now with the weight loss—a quarter of a tablet of Enalapril—but I take it every day.
Now I’m especially glad I do: Janice Neumann reports in the LA Times:
Now they can add cognitive decline to that list, after researchers discovered that patients with high blood pressure and other risk factors for stroke are more likely to develop thinking or reasoning problems than otherwise healthy individuals.
The link between cognitive decline and hypertension will put even more emphasis on prevention, said several stroke specialists.
“This takes the disease to an even earlier point, that if you don’t change these factors or modify or control them, you are likely going to develop some cognitive issues, even if you never develop stroke,” said Dr. Shyam Prabhakaran, director of the Stroke Program at Rush University Medical Center. “The impact of this study is really directly at primary care prevention.”
Prabhakaran said the study was impressive because of the large number of participants and their multiethnic backgrounds. . .
I subscribe to A.Word.A.Day, and today’s word arrived with an illustrated letter “R” for “redolent”:
A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, and if that’s true this week we’re going to send you a thousand words a day. Artist Leah Palmer Preiss (curiouser AT mindspring.com) has illustrated this week’s words in her delightfully whimsical style. Leah makes her home in Raleigh, North Carolina. She writes:
“I’ve always been fascinated by the conversation between words and images. Nearly all of my work — whether as a painter, illustrator, or calligrapher — combines visual and verbal elements in some fashion. Lately I’ve been exploring figurative letters. My first series of curiotypes (as I call them) was a full alphabet illustrating scientific terms.
“As a longtime fan of A.Word.A.Day, I was very excited when Anu Garg asked me to do a series of curiotypes for this week’s words. To create these particular pieces, I collaged printed texts (scanned from old dictionaries) onto canvas, then painted the image with acrylics, using many thin glazes and very small brushes. The originals are 6″x6″.
“If you’d like to see more of my work, including earlier stages of these images and the scientific alphabet mentioned above, please visit my blog, Oddments & Curiosities.”
Redolent, the email tells me, is an adjective:
1. Fragrant; smelling.
2. Suggestive; reminiscent.
From Old French redolent (smelling), from Latin redolent, present participle of redolere (to give off a smell), from re- (intensive prefix) + olere (to smell). Earliest documented use: 1439.
I’m now at two different eye drops instead of three, and twice a day instead of thrice: a definite plus. I will see him again 6 January and should then be able to get new prescription for lenses. I may also at that time set up surgery for left eye (also a cataract—the one in the right eye must have metastasized).
This morning at 2:45 a.m. I heard briefly the beep of a backing truck, then blessed silence for a moment or two, and then a jackhammer started. This was in the street directly in front of the apartment building. I went out to see: portable lamps, quite bright, guys with hard hats and reflective vests. I called the police department just from curiosity, and learned that Cal-Am (California-American, the water company that provides water to the city) had some soert of emergency and was at work. They went quiet in about 20 minutes, and this morning there were several big Cal-Am trucks in the street and a lot of sand. Back from doctor, and all is cleaned up.
We’ve noticed that shipping costs have increased substantially—oil prices, presumably—and so this is probably the last Christmas we’ll ship gifts. Gifts will go to gift cards or purchases shipping from Amazon.com or the like (with Amazon Prime, free two-day shipping, along with free streaming movies and other benefits: The Eldest told me about Amazon Prime shortly after it was instituted, and it’s been great).
By request, Klar Seifen. The soap is excellent and immediately produced a thick, creamy lather with the Vie-Long horsehair—thick enough that I had to add a couple of driblets of water as I worked it up on my beard. I took my time, enjoying the lather, and then did the first pass—so far as the moustache—using the Fat Boy with a Swedish Gillette blade that turned out to be on its last legs. I popped in a Kai and continued, but by the end of the second pass, I was hankering for ultimate smoothness, so I set aside the Fat Boy in favor of my vintage Slant for the ATG polishing pass—a good use, and I have a wonderfully smooth face as a result.
A splash of Klar Seifen Klassik, a favorite aftershave, and I’m off to see the ophthalmologist.