Drunken Boat

Rimbaud wrote a famous poem called “The Drunken Boat”. Sometimes I feel I am aboard. The world spins by madly and unpredictably, the guide has drowned, the oarsman has gone overboard. I’m not sure where I’m going, have never seen this place, all is mist and rapids and whirlpools and churning danger .

All around me. Yet here I sit, dry and terrified, the last occupant of the vessel. We might crash or overturn any second but – not yet. Nothing I can do about it. Staying aboard is folly, jumping overboard is worse .

So what should I do? Stay calm? Have another glass of wine? Admire the sky and cliffs and spray? Panic when panic is useless? Appreciate the adventure? Hope? Pray? Review my life ?

Ah, anyway, right now an awful lot seems like that voyage. Everything is spinning and changing and even the experts are blind. Plenty of soothsayers, of course, but I don’t really trust any of them. Economy, society, family, self – argggh!

And yet – I sit in the dry spinning boat. Writing calmly, reading about the world, enjoying quotidian routines, delighting in the local. Perhaps – but only perhaps – that is the only sane reaction .

Fit for Spring

Many people know that evolution involves “survival of the fittest” although sometimes that really implies “survival of the luckiest”. Too many also assume fitness is a rabid struggle of tooth and claw. Not always .

Consider flowers. Yes, they need to be adapted to environment. But for hundreds of millions of years flowers have also “fought” to have attractive blooms for pollinators, and fruit which will be eaten by mobile animals to allow species dispersal .

Odd things can be involved in fitness. Around here, most of the spring blooms – all magnificent right now – are either invasive or human cultivated species. Cherry trees, magnolias, forsythias are breathtaking. Daffodils and tulips blanket flower beds everywhere. In the current suburban environment, pure beauty can be “fitness” for a plant.

Even more surprising, recognizing “beauty” can be fitness for animals. Bees need to head for the right flowers, by sight or scent. Animals need to locate sugary pulp. Surely some of this has actively worked and is still working on our own human sensibilities .

But surprisingly, around me, beauty is its own reward, causing me to smile, neighbors to spend money, and all of us to be delighted with the floral displays of April .

Inheritance

Children are strongly molded during childhood. Families try to make them fit into society, society encourages them to do so responsibly, then tries to further shape them to (or break the mold if it is bad) as a child grows to adulthood .

All well and good. Childhoods are as varied as families, and within reason that is probably healthy for the culture. “Within reason”, especially with regard to wealth and opportunity, is usually the sticking point. The basic dynamics are pretty clear. For children to celebrate their family background is normal and healthy, as is – sometimes – loathing it. As adults we know the importance of our early influences. We can be proud, or dismayed, can continue the connections or break them .

What I never understood was believing that one’s parents’ deeds counted as worth for any individual. Much less so those of grandparents and beyond. We now have a wave of folks who put on the mantle of ancestors and claim they deserve its status .

Beyond a few generations we are all one pool, genetically and culturally. I do not care if your genes somehow connect to Genghis Khan, Lucrezia Borgia, or Sitting Bull. You alone are responsible for you today. You have no right to claim special treatment because of what presumed ancestors did (even if most of that was simply arriving here before others) .

It’s a stupid, lazy, sloppy, and destructive arrogance, understandable in these times of identity crisis, but helpful to no one and nothing .

Shock

In art, as in society, bland beauty is out, shock is in. We are inundated with machine replicated loveliness. No real complaints about that – it surely makes our lives better. I’m not about to harp on “bourgeois aesthetics” – taste is always fickle and in the eye of the beholder .

Ah, but to get someone’s attention? That is difficult. Pretty much impossible to out-machine machines – folks can easily buy relatively cheap stuff indistinguishable from the original masterpieces of the ages. And the whole world of artisans, amateurs, and now AI churns out more mountains of stuff hour by hour, day by day, year by year .

All that remains is notoriety. Become famous. A red x on a black splotch done by a celebrity is worth something. A ceiling that resembles a palatial achievement done by Jane Doe – not so much. So shock it is – blood, guts, mess or – as Tom Wolfe called it – aesthetics of “the painted word” – slavishly adhering to an artificial intellectual formulation .

And so it is becoming with work, life, being. Shock everyone to “go viral”. Become well known. Stand out from the crowd. No matter how crude, stupid, senseless – shock the complacent herd into frenzies .

Ah, elusive success .

Medieval Master

In olden days, some kings were good, some bad, some ineffective, some absolute. A few listened to wise educated advisors, others surrounded themselves with mystics and charlatans. Much of the advice of the mystics was, as expected, magical in nature. A lot of wishful thinking and fanciful notions which did not work or worse. 

Kings who listened were sometimes deposed, but just as often ruined their country and tried to blame someone else for poisoning the spell. Perhaps the wicked Jews, or the sinning populace, or a shrill coven of witches .

We naively thought that in a rational age of science we were beyond all that. We were wrong. It turns out any system can produce a megalomaniac who also eliminates all the wise advisors and surrounds himself with mystic charlatan influencers from the media. When their advice proves disastrous, he lashes out at anything handy to blame .

Way back then, there might be tough times and lots of horror, but societies usually survived. In a global nuclear-armed modern world, I’m not sure that part of the scenario will hold. Turns out a determined ego can do it an awful lot of irreparable damage in just a few years .

The medieval ruler syndrome is still in force. And humans remain capable of magical thinking which contradicts all difficult reasoning .

Ostrich

Perhaps there is something useful in the apocryphal legend of the ostrich sticking its head in the sand to avoid seeing trouble. In these expansive times, ignoring obscure and distant threats may be an evolutionary advantage .

After all, in the “big picture” we are all doomed, both personally and in our wider manifestations of society and cosmos. We stand on our tiny patch of desert scrub, and perhaps stay there or run a short distance to somewhere nearby. We ignore our inevitable death, or we would fail to function at all .

So in a time when horizons have become nearly infinite and imaginations run wild, maybe a head underground is not so stupid. We are aware of every sparrow that falls in the world, and we can do little or nothing about it. There is too much awareness, omniscience without omnipotence, and that may poison our souls .

Nobody can withdraw completely. Even that pretend ostrich has to come up for food and water. There is still at least a little truth to “think globally, act locally”. But maybe only a little .

In a hysterical interconnected age, too much awareness might be a very dangerous thing to any single individual. It surely is to my own sanity .