Democracy

Anyone who has ever served on a committee of a dozen or more people knows pure democracy does not work. It’s why we choose leaders, more or less representative, somewhat expert, to take on the roles of leadership. The only real check in a democracy is the periodic elections, if actually free and fair .

But what do we mean by “representative?” The founders had clear ideas. In the US, the House would be composed of men from the mob, the Senate of men from the elite, and the president a paragon selected by the elite. We have come to decide that all positions should be filled by persons from the mob, chosen by the mob. We naively believed that in a well educated free society the mob would actually become the elite.

When I was schooled in civics back in the 50’s public school, “representative” meant something like a person who shares my views and judgment – emphasis on judgment – and acts more or less as I would if I were in that position. Lately, however, it has come to mean a rigid avatar, a cartoon image of what I think I want, who always votes as I think I should (not, mind you, as I really do because – hey! – life is too complicated, and time is short) .

Like the founders, I do not trust the mob – or rather the mob mentality – even my own. But with instant communications, mob rule is here to stay as long as civilization can handle it .

Dystopia

Historic philosophic religions tended to be of only two types. Either things had always been and always would be the same, or the world has once been much better than it is now. Sometimes there would be an apocalyptic cycle, when all would begin again .

Like many human thoughts, these were based on natural observation. The sun comes up every day. People live, decay, die – as does all life. Such can easily be extrapolated to cosmic visions .

Some of the “golden age” believers went further and extrapolated decline into horrors and dystopia. Some preached that we could hold it back for a while with moral reform. And there was always an audience to listen to how bad things could be, maybe because that made the present more endurable .

Now we seem to be in a golden age of dystopian predictions. Following a brief reversion to “progress”, civilization has returned to the old attitudes. The only question is which of the dueling dystopias will happen. Novelists all assume that we are in the golden age, and the future looks bleak indeed .

But the plain fact remains that life mostly goes on, dreamtime as always, one day after another, endlessly the same, eternally different. The certainty of individual mortal journey is, after all, always bleak .

Basic Work

Let’s define “work” as any individual activity that helps a society. Then it is possible to tier the various “entitlements” of wealth that various actions bring .

The first level is staying out of trouble and respecting the norms of the civilization which you occupy. That should, in a modern “abundance” culture, give you access to free, unhassled, minimum food, clothing, shelter, emergency medical aid, and opportunity. The basic food can be nothing but fortified bread and water, clothing second hand, shelter a warm room with a roof, medical treatment for trauma, and opportunity an internet connection .

A higher level would up some of these rewards in return for community service. Hours of watching playgrounds, working at common stores, and so forth – things that simply require normal common sense and human interaction .

Only after that is “work” as we now recognize it. The chance to earn luxury and a better lifestyle than others, including high level medical. And that “work” should be taxed at a transactional rate of 50%, to support everything else .

Would people still work? I think so. Supply and demand would still apply. And, in fact, such a scheme is not that much different than what goes on in the idealized “nuclear family” which everyone claims to appreciate .

Done Before

“Everything’s been done before” Louis Armstrong laments in an old song. A refrain often heard about ambition not long ago. Then the song slyly adds “when I’m with you, I just want to do, what’s been done before .”

There is confusion today. In terms of being human, it more or less remains true that not only has everything been done before, but it is being done right now by hundreds or even millions of others. How can anyone possibly be unique? We remain anonymous molecules in the sea. Only a fortunate few can escape .

The second part is even more challenging, because in many ways we can never do what’s been done before. The habits and societies of our ancestors are gone forever. We hardly recognize the social patterns of mere decades past. We may cheer, we may regret, but we cannot recreate.

Historians lecture it’s been that way for a while now, since maybe the Renaissance, for sure during the industrial revolution. Okay, change is normal. But the accelerating asymptotic rate of change is worrisome, possibly destructive .

Can civilization survive? Many dystopian writers and filmmakers say no. Of course, the collapse of active civilizations has also – too often – been done before .

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was the first holiday I “gave up” when I moved out of my boyhood home. I was often far away, relatively poor, and the hassle was just too great. Joan never considered it all that wonderful either – as a good Catholic her big holidays are Christmas and Easter .

As we raised our family we attended or occasionally hosted the gathering. Joan did it as a duty. I never enjoyed it much, probably because I always had to work the day after. And to be honest, I’ve had experience with too much alcohol, arguing, and pent up stress from everyone involved .

But this year much subdued. We spent the afternoon at my son’s house with his in-laws and our grandchild. The old folks pretty quiet, often remembering all those now missing. The younger people simply relaxing since they each also had to work the next morning .

Each day now is thanksgiving for me. I cannot believe my luck. I am fully enchanted in my magic bubble. I know it cannot last – but as the moments unfold I remain grateful for each one. I’ve already lived a fulfilled life twice as long as most of those of our ancestors. I’ve used and been treated to miracles unimaginable to them. Any complaints I may have would make them laugh in scorn.

Thus thanks. Giving thanks. Another thanksgiving day.

Age: 11

When I retired in my mid-60s, I spent a little time considering what I wanted to do and how I wanted to live for the next 20 years or so. Surprisingly, the answer came down to existing as I did when eleven years old. Even stripped of nostalgia, that was a golden time . I bestrode the earth as a miniaturized colossus. I thought I knew everything, I was quite independent but freed of all the real cares of supporting myself and daily existence . I had a secure place in my family and the world .

Every day – every instant – was new and exciting. I had no desire to return to nor even remember my past. I fully believed the future would be ever more marvelous. There was always something new and wonderful to explore. I had almost no responsibilities, carefree .

All my senses were magnificent, my body tuned. My mind unafflicted. Even hormones still well under control. Energy limitless, sleep effortless. A perfect animal supporting a pristine consciousness .

Thus my desire to do all I could to return to such an existence. Much as living in the garden of Eden, an earthly paradise. Forget about what I could not control, enjoy each moment, assume the future is unknowable.

Out of control. Loving every minute .

Sanity

Darwin and Einstein are often blamed for the “relativity” crisis of modern culture. In the absence of absolutes, what is right or wrong? How can there be morality, or even sanity, if “anything goes”?

The problem of course, is ancient, as exemplified by the saying “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”. Yet our priests and philosophers still keep searching for the true eternal underlying values that they are certain must exist .

Leaving aside morality, sanity does mostly involve fitting into and surviving or thriving in your situation. And that surely varies a great deal. A Viking berserker might seem sane in 900 CE Sweden, but would be judged crazy in 2025 Times Square. A stubborn pacifist would be in a nearly opposite situation.

As far as sanity itself goes, perhaps there is a Darwinian twist. Sanity simply means continued species survival and reproduction. Perhaps not that simple – warrior army ants hardly care about their own survival while defending the queen in the nest .

Humans are more complicated than anything. For us, the continuance of ourselves within our culture may define sanity, but we easily imagine alternative patterns which we consider better. If those are pursued, we will be judged insane unless the rest of the culture changes its collective mind .

Relative, indeed.

Fine Art

The world of art is filled with nebulous definitions. “Art” itself is an act, an object, a concept and perhaps more. “Professional” artists earn money and are expected to produce highly skilled astounding work, but some artists considered great – like Van Gogh – never sold a painting. And on this continuum cloud is the designation “fine art” .

In the monetary collector’s world, “fine” has become synonymous with “rare” or even “unique”. To a connoisseur, “fine” implies degrees of difficulty and craftsmanship invisible to most of us. The vast crowd of amateurs more or less need to trust museums and scholarly essays to weed the wonderful from the trash. Lately, that seems to be failing .

I’ve pretty much given up. I like to think that what I create as a hobby is on the borderline of “fine art”, but certainly not as fine as a Michelangelo statue. On the other hand Klee and Basquiat are ranked highly and I would not bother having either hanging on my walls. I can’t even experience some forms of fine art very well – food, dance, film, and areas of music. It’s a big bouillabaisse of all kinds of stuff, junk for some, treasure for others .

I guess what I’m getting at is that “fine”, like many other terms (evil, good, right, proper) has lost common meaning in our culture until things stabilize a lot more .

Humble

These days, it is quite easy to feel as a god. We eat well, speed along without effort faster than birds, know everything at the flick of a screen, control vast powers. We think we are pretty close to omniscient and omnipotent. Well – compared to the past, at least, we are .

So we tend to take ourselves very seriously. What we do or don’t do must shake the cosmos. Every emotion must be huge and deep and meaningful. Our successes are tributes to our glory, our failures are – someone else’s fault .

Humble is no longer in most vocabularies. As a contrarian, I cultivate it. I do not feel in control. Kind of a god? Yeah I can’t escape that. Important? Responsible for my divinity? Nope. Just damn lucky to have been born into my time and situation. Fortunate to have adapted well . Certainly enjoying the experience. But always very aware that I hardly “deserved” or “worked for” most of it .

Sure, I’m moderately proud of who I am and what I have done. That’s it. I fight hubris tooth and nail. I simply pray that things will continue. I’m a leaf swirling down the stream, but an ecstatically happy leaf.

I know everyone is stressed, often rightfully. I wish they could step back and take a deep breath. But – hey! I’m just humble old me, so nobody listens .

Quasi Resolutions

Quasi Resolutions

Resolutions, so rarely kept, are out of fashion. Perhaps merely tendencies to encourage.

Try to keep blog essays short and focused, choosing topics that are personal and do not dwell too much on ephemeral social rants.
Continue to expose old and new artwork. New creations center on local scenes, based on old and new outdoor sketches.
Expand corners of my website as notions bloom. Maybe things like a video of working methodology, extracts of old journal entries, photos of sketches.

Never forget that this is done to enhance my “real life” and never to interfere with my enchantment each moment.