Almost Right

People like to seize on the clearest and simplest explanations of phenomena. Things fall to earth because they “want to be nearer to it”. The Earth is flat. Those explanations are, actually, almost right. They are good enough for everyday life. They only fail if one is trying to predict something or control it. Malaria was associated, rightly, with bad air and swamps. Which just happened to also be filled with disease carrying mosquitoes. Avoiding the bad air in season almost worked very well. But it was useless for an eventual solution which required either draining or spraying the swamps.

I’m reminded of this with the MAHA fanatics, who once again want clean, simple explanations to complex problems. They point out that “science was wrong” in believing that COVID 19 was spread by infected air particles (largely able to be stopped by masks) when it was actually conveyed by tiny free floating viruses (against which most masks were useless). MAHA doesn’t believe science should ever be wrong _ if science gives incorrect advice it’s because scientists have nasty secret agendas .

Probably science has become much too complicated for most of us to understand. And it is still notably wrong or incoherent or provisional in many matters of health. So if flat earth and bad air were good enough for our grandparents, folks are sure they should be good enough for us .

Plato

Now that rich white men have seized power, studying dead white men is all the rage. Mostly it’s a social signal to show who has “merit.” Among the things one must know to be admitted to the club is a gloss of Plato .

I’ve read Plato. I found him a boring ignorant old fool. As are the philosophical musings of anything written before the 19th century – particularly before Darwin and Einstein who finally placed humans properly in the universe .

I enthusiastically enjoy history. I freely admit that any human over the last 50,000 years could think as well as I do, experience life just as deeply. People are complex, amazing, and deal with existence in miraculous ways .

But logic – Plato is very logical, for example – is a tricky tool. Useful but easily dangerous. Politicians, preachers, and various madmen are always able to construct wonderful logical castles on completely wrong and stupid foundations. Plato sees visions of “real ideal” and imagines fairy tale perfect men who wisely use logic to rule everything. He includes souls and reincarnation. In fact, he has no idea of everything we actually know about – well – everything .

Oh, there are major things still unknown and maybe unknowable. The nature of time, the meaning of consciousness, the purpose (if any) of life. None of that related to the cold dead weight of writings such as the Republic.

Wage Slaves

Pre-Civil war plantation owners often claimed that their slaves were better off than the “wage slaves” toiling in northern factories. Of course the main difference was that Southern slaves were permanently slaves, unto the last generation, and had no rights at all outside of being a valuable piece of property .

But I wonder if those gentlemen have a point in the modern world. Not long ago we would laugh at the notion of wage slaves. The world was fat in America, companies took care of employees even providing good health care, and there were always alternate possibilities to escape to .

Now? Not so much .

Medical coverage is frightful. Unions are weak and often destroyed by corporate power. Non-compete clauses are enforced. Entrance certifications are insane. More hours are demanded, more severe effort is demanded, each minute is monitored like in an old Charlie Chaplin film. There is no stability, loyalty, pride, or hope. Any worker can be “sold down the river” by email, gone with no trace at the end of the day . And forbidden to work at the same type of job for years.

There is still a mythology of work in the United States, but it is fraying rapidly. Successful entrepreneurs and the billionaire inheritors are the new plantation owners. It’s a very mean world.

I wonder how long the center holds .

Taxes

The Roman Empire ran government of the rich, by the rich, and for the rich. Wealthy individuals were required to pay a lot for government positions, in the expectation that they would be more than reimbursed (by bribes, extortion, etc, within reason). It worked remarkably well .

The Roman Empire mostly ignored individual taxes. Entities like cities and provinces were expected to pay decreed amounts, and were free to raise money any way they wanted. If they failed to do so, the legions went in and looted it. That also worked well for hundreds of years .

Modern government is more “enlightened”. It is run “for the people” meaning, by definition, the poor. It is paid for by multiple … well, the problem is that it really is not paid for. The wealthy, as always, have ways to protect their wealth. Their bribes go to preventing taxation, sometimes by illegal evasion, more often by legal maneuvers like “exemptions” or “investment”. The result is increasingly government by debt

In an age when everything will be made by machine and billions of humans helplessly consume, all bets are off. The very idea of paying for scarce items may be obsolete.

But, of course, that land of cockaigne remains ever over the hill, far away, and in the future .

Hot Shower

This morning I pulled myself from my comfortable clean insect-free bed. Heated instant coffee in a microwave, drank it gratefully in a soft chair as I watched birds fly against a blue sky behind budding maple branches. Wrote in a journal with a ball-point pen, checked news on the internet. Woke up with a hot shower, shave, brushing teeth. Put on warm clothes, brought in the emptied trash cans and newspaper … and on and on .

Every one of these things would seem miraculous to most humans living over a hundred years ago. Many are still unavailable to many people today. All taken for granted by me .

Electricity! Water! Safety! But you can complete the endless list without help.

A sad note is that we rarely notice how wonderful all this is. From the top down, everyone loves to complain. Our leaders scream that we live in a hell hole surrounded by horrible aliens. Neighbors worry that their house is too old and small, their yards too filled with dust, perhaps their children less than perfect. Ignore the wonderful, concentrate on whatever bothers us (this moment).

I’ve always been a little too complacent and content, more so now that I am elder and retired. I’m amazed that the sun rises, electricity works, and that I am so much alive. And that hot morning shower remains a treat worthy of gods – which in some ways we are .

Ghosts

As I stroll through this cold, wet spring, I notice wild garlic sprouting, roadside daffodils in bloom, lawns greening, and trees laden with buds. But amidst all this rebirth, I am surrounded by ghosts .

Oh, not so much people, although there are a few of those, some dead, some merely gone away, others changed. I here speak of the ghosts of things and situations passed – dead trees removed, houses decayed or rebuilt, shorelines mutated, and on and on. I remember also who I was those other times, a person with sharper attributes and stronger drives, inhabiting a truly different world. Those ancient images overlay all that I actually experience now, and they sometimes haunt me .

Enchantment remains, the moments are wonderful. The memories are simply depth. This spring is a lovely time, the universe is infinitely, fractally magnificent. And yet …

The actual recollections are quite vivid, and on occasion it feels like that world was better, once upon a time, not so long ago. It even occasionally feels wrong to replace the old visions with fresh overlays .

Then I snap out of it, enjoy the sunshine breeze, and glory in simply and happily existing well. Ghosts and all .

Dirt of Ages

After a great tragedy, Notre-Dame cathedral has been restored. Cleaned, polished, “better than ever”. Yet, somehow, the shiny new stones and woodwork have lost their aura of magic. The “dirt of ages” is missing, and more than mere grime has vanished .

There was a feeling – as there often is in older places – of the weight of time. The countless years of visitors and worshipers weighed on the soul. True, most tourists neglected to know that the place had been vandalized during the revolution and reimagined by Violet Le Duc. But it was dignified, solemn, and quite different from a magnificent modern edifice.

This is an era that prizes only the new, even as it restlessly searches for meaning and roots – which it destroys every day in the name of progress. Sometimes with reason. A new church is far more comfortable than the chilly, dark, rigid old structures .

Mostly, I’m just as caught up in shiny new as anyone else. More than many, however, I try to take time to venerate the old, respect the past, be awed by the ancient. Like many experiences, that mood is enhanced by odd details, including wear, nicks, and dirt. It seems more real, truly authentic .

Glad I got to visit Notre Dame before Mr Clean arrived .

Bavarian Daffodils

Once again daffodils are blooming in Huntington. As I am sure they did in the spring of 1938 in England and Bavaria. No doubt folks as old as I am tottered out of their cabins and admired the sight, dreaming of warmth and summer gardens .

There is, of course, always trouble in an unknown future. People mostly stay sane by ignoring the possibilities and concentrating on the exact day in the immediate neighborhood. Events just move along and we deal with them as best we can when and if they impact us .

I imagine that like today some people had strong resentments based on old horrors and current difficulties. Some yelled loudly. Some hoped things would work out. Few 78-year-olds thought they had much say in how the world was run .

The daffodils bloomed again a few years later, in spite of bombs and tanks. But life had changed drastically for most of the old folks who gazed at them fondly in that final spring of relative calm .

Well, I also go out and admire the daffodils. I touch the internet gingerly. I’m afraid I strenuously avoid thinking about possible futures .

It is not a good time to dream of what may come. Anyway for now, after the daffodils, surely the roses .

Old Mr. Gibbon

I’ve just finished volume three of Gibbon’s Decline and fall of the Roman empire. I know I probably skimmed through it many years ago, when I purchased the full modern library edition. But his story is far from the “gladiator” cliches .

Consider the examination of human nature. Gibbon considered the Roman empire to have functioned continuously until the final fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453. He reviewed extensive documentation regarding the follies of ruler and ruled, wise men and fools, passions of the day, and the odd beliefs that motivate people to good, evil, or simple daily life .

Lately, I’ve become enamored with historians like Gibbon. They were not so focused on comparisons to today as our current writers. They could be very intellectual, assuming a certain degree of decent education for their readers (which, alas, current writers cannot.) And they were unafraid in calling things as they saw them (although Gibbon did have to be obscure about sex and coy about Christianity) .

All that makes for a deep, provocative, powerful read. I took my time this time through. Much more engrossing than modern digital melodramas. Made me appreciate my own life and times all the more .

A grand subject, to be sure. An obsessive historian, sometimes tedious and confusing (all those names! Dates! Events!) But now, what a fine thing to rediscover .

Fire, Flood, Drought

“Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.” In this era of massive technology, scientific hubris claims we can . Geo engineering concepts abound, from seeding the oceans, to sulfuric acid clouds and/or reducing certain gas emissions .

So far, it does seem the climate is more extreme. Bigger storms, major variations in “normal patterns.” Pretty clearly this is not simply “better weather reporting”. But equally, it is not immediately disastrous to everyone, nor an existential survival threat .

It may be humanity can change things. If not, some small fragment of our bloated numbers could probably survive anything. Famine and catastrophe first, of course .

But what does it mean to me and you? Obviously most of us should avoid building or living in river valleys or on sandy barrier Islands, among other adjustments. But personal changes are largely symbolic, especially if they are not normalized for everyone.

Brushing my teeth more quickly or dashing in the shower do nothing unless everyone is forced to do so. Also what kind of car I drive or what I eat. Giant problems, unfortunately, require giant solutions. Feeling virtuous about my CO2 footprint is like feeling lucky when I throw a coin down a wishing well .

In the meantime, I better fix my leaky roof.