Holy Writ

Fundamentally, I believe most people are just like me – pretty smart and dumb at the same time. In general, I think small groups of people construct sane outlooks most of the time. There are exceptions. A few people are brilliant in certain areas, a few groups turn into insane cults.

I do not accept that gods directly write anything. All words are formed by other humans. And so I have a skeptical opinion of anything taken as “holy writ”, immutable and perfect from the moment marks are made on a surface.

No need to get directly into religion. What I most detest at the present moment is the “conservative originalist” interpretation of the US Constitution as not only inviolate and perfect, but also the result of a brilliant gathering of minds whose choices can never be questioned nor seriously modified.

The problems go beyond the obvious – that some of it may be wrong or have become irrelevant. Anything stiffly frozen is in some ways fragile, and in others just an obstacle to be destroyed. And there is a nearly nonsensical position taken by some specialists that they alone can determine what the folks who wrote it were “really” thinking and what they “really” meant.

It is simple madness, usually twisted to make words seem to say or mean exactly what interpreters and their cronies have decided. Sad times for our country.

Risky “Makers”

The smug justifying fable of the wealthy these days is that they “make” things, while the peons just take them away in order to exist. The poor are thus all morally thieves, and the virtuous rich sweat and labor to keep civilization staggering along.

In our capitalistic system, of course, most of the hyper affluent don’t know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. They take risks (in other words, gamble) mostly with other people’s money on things that might turn a profit. Only a few of these “investments” work out, and of those that do a lot are straightforward manipulation of financial assets with no “making” involved .

I admire free enterprise. These are generally small time entrepreneurs who risk their own time and money to truly make something or provide a necessary service. They rarely climb into the ranks of the hyper-affluent, but they often do well enough and truly provide the frameworks of civilization. To keep them striving, the myth of makers is endlessly proclaimed .

I do not mind the billionaire class, whose equivalent has always been with us. I do prefer the old desire of this class to be “patrons” doing public works to show off. Our current set of selfish “makers” tend to think they should use their assets as “takers” to buy islands and other fantasies that are hidden and private, hence of no use to anyone. “Grabbers” might be a better term .

The current real dream of grabbers is to become immortal and omnipotent rulers of space and time. Individual private “glory” with no connection nor responsibility to anyone else .

Spoiled, dangerous, and increasingly in control .

Missing Middle

Since the rise of agricultural civilization, wealth has always been unequal. A small rich elite floated over the “masses”. Admittedly, in both groups, there were variations, sometimes major. But to speak of the rulers and the ruled pretty much said it all .

For a while during the turmoil of world exploration and industrial revolution, there came to be a myth of a “middle class”, neither rich nor poor, in control of their lives but not lording it over everyone. American economists continue to focus on this fairy tale which is no longer even partially true .

In the scientific, automated, predatory modern economy there is truly only a normal curve of wealth distribution. Sure, there is still a middle, but it is not defined by the endpoints. Most people in first world economies are affluent beyond the dreams of their ancestors. Even if “poor” they have food, shelter, clothing, dignity, and hope. Even if “rich” they fear they may lose a gamble once too often and drop out of the top percentile .

More importantly, from the economists’ viewpoint, it is impossible to define what “middle class” means. The marker once taken for granted – the suburban nuclear family with one man the breadwinner – no longer exists as a reliable guidepost .

The point is that we should abandon any desire to fortify a non-existent “middle class”. We need to concentrate on basic minimum living standards for all, and how to pay for them. “Work”, for example, may or may not be involved. We need fresh new viewpoints, and strategies as old certainties mutate or vanish .

Human

Sages calmly explain “we are just another animal.” Other sages claim that “surely in infinite space there are others just like us”. Adventurers announce humanity will soon spread to the solar system and beyond. Cyberneticists predict we will develop and give way to the next mechanical stage of consciousness .

They are wrong .

The difference between human consciousness and that of other animals is like the difference between an amoeba and a drop of water. The evolution of human consciousness depended on a series of unlikely fortunate accidents. Anything may be possible in “infinite space”, but in a universe that is merely ALMOST infinite most stuff is flat out impossible. Our only comfortable home is this planet. Our “mechanical descendants” are only like us in bad science fiction, no more akin than that drop of water and amoebas.

We have been told that the great shock of modern times was that “man” discovered “he” was not the center of the universe. Another great shock may be the realization that you, I, and each human is, in fact, the ONLY meaning in the universe. Right here, right now.

That may take a little while to settle in, just as it took a while for the older myths to be swept away. For those becoming aware, however, it means we must treasure ourselves, our planet, and each other as never before.

We are probably all there is .

Sausage

I’ve taken to habitually cooking a pot of spaghetti every month. Then I doctor some tomato sauce and add hot Italian sausage and onions. I hear the gasps .

In this age of internet prudes,”ultra processed foods” are the quick road to death. Sausage hovers near the top of the list, although with a bit of guilt lots of people continue to consume lots of hot dogs and cold cuts. Actually, what I use is no more processed than unfrozen hamburger – raw pork bits with spices. Not claiming it’s a health food but …

Sausage, of course, is famous as a metaphor. Turning nasty parts that nobody wants of a dead animal into a formless chunky mix of whatever stuffed into cleaned intestines. The results – cured or merely cooked – became staples of the diet. In days before refrigeration, a very useful way to store meat. Back then, of course, no internet fanatics .

Language use extended to describing it as the same methodology by which legislation in a democracy is passed. “Sausage making” is uglier than “log rolling” and both terms are left out of elementary simple civics texts. But for better or worse pretty much true .

Me? I’m already too old to worry about consequences. I savor each food I like as a marvelous gift. I’m even willing to chew it slowly and be very thankful for the flavor.

I do turn off the internet when doing so .

Locally Infinite

I’ve always admired William Blake’s poem “To see the world in a grain of sand”. Although it has helped guide me through life, I find it more and more useful right now. How heaven, I discover, really is in that dandelion brilliant yellow in my lawn .

Our consumer culture has few advocates for common local miracles. No money in that! You must buy some exotic bloom, visit some distant garden, watch a feature on TV. The farther you travel, the more you spend, the more rare something is, the more the universe will smile on you.

But that grain of sand is composed of star stuff, the end result of billions of years and massive forces, just as much as any mountain, however high. In the proper frame of mind, just as inspiring. With proper regard, just as beautiful and meaningful .

And importantly for elders – more confined than we were in youth – that dandelion and that grain of sand are right here, right now. I need go nowhere. Simply open my mind and appreciate existence. The best things in life may not be free, but the definitions of both are flexible .

I’ve gradually become able to focus on the local. To be grateful for anything I can sense or think about. To truly appreciate “eternity in an hour” .

Mortal Moment

In a Roman triumphal procession, a slave rode the same chariot as the honored general, constantly whispering “remember, you are mortal”. Useful tradition. Perhaps we should reestablish it for our politicians and plutocrats. Death is still the great leveler .

I have both elements residing inside me. Logic is my general, domineering all it surveys, proud and glorious and quite imperiously smug. My body, on the other hand, plays the part of the slave and constantly reminds me of my true condition. Sometimes, like those slaves of old, it rises up in revolt to make me take notice .

For example, yesterday I had a couple of small bowls of potato chips for lunch, breaking my normal diet. The grease and salt combined for excruciating pain in the afternoon. These days, If I overdo a bit too much, I will strain joints, pull muscles, ache, lapse into a tired semi-consciousness.

Logic plans brilliant maneuvers and says “why not?” Body has the tragic answer .

I’ve learned to accept it all as part of the messaging of my universe. An easy (or relatively easy) way to control dangerous hubris. Even painful reminders can sometimes help put other good things into perspective .

The battle of the potato chips is over. Perhaps not a victory, but a good lesson in strategic dreaming .

Instant Coffee

I have never been a food snob. In my ancient commune days, I successfully resisted diets of buckwheat groats and miso. Having grown our food as a child, I don’t believe in the fantastic flavor of heritage vegetables. I don’t subscribe to organic gardening because I’ve seen what bugs can do to a crop. And I tend to think antibiotics in things like beef are probably good for me

Part of it, I suppose, is my upbringing. Referring to the title, my parents were both world war II veterans. They made “navy coffee” which was a percolated tar kept boiling all week. That remains my reference .

A good deal of it is genetics and age. I’ve never had a remarkable sense of smell or taste, and even that has deteriorated over time. Bitter black coffee is fine because at least I notice a hint of flavor there .

I admit that over time I’ve gone for convenience. I really like the “instant” aspect of instant coffee. No matter what, the fact that I can get caffeine magically in a minute or so at home in a microwave is one of the great miracles of science .

Of course, it’s largely habit. I suppose in this new world I’d be sipping energy drinks, although maybe not because I’ve always hated sugar or sweeteners. Once in a while cream, but I prefer simplicity – coffee as coffee, milk as milk .

I know that’s a dying culture, mostly kept alive by us elders. I just hope it continues for longer than I do .

Mount Ultralympus

The Greeks imagined a pantheon of superheroes who had enormous power, but were fairly dumb. Those gods fought each other over petty annoyances, and let their anger spill onto mortal reality. They were, in fact, a pretty good explanation of how fate works .

Mount Olympus failed to hold up to a vision of heaven ruled by a just Middle Eastern absolute monarch. Everything then could be explained as ineffable divine will, with rewards for the just in the eternity beyond death .

Now we have come full circle. The ultrawealthy are just as powerful a clique as the Olympian gods ever were. Also just as stupid and petty, bickering amongst themselves, scattering mortals into misery as they work out their indulgent irritations. Some are more powerful than others, some true colossi, some mere half breed god/mortals .

To understand the ultrawealthy it is simply necessary to be fluent in ancient Greek mythology. The parallels are quite amazing, and would be amusing if they did not terrify us quite so much. But abuse of power comes with the territory .

Like those Greeks, we know we cannot control the gods. We can only try to placate them. In the good old days it was by offering sacrifices like oxen, today it is an equivalent cutting of taxes .

Like the Olympic gods, the ultra wealthier are having their moment. We shall see if anything arises to replace them .

Bartleby

Melville’s office clerk began to increasingly tell his employer “I would prefer not to”. Eventually he became unemployable. I find myself in a similar frame of mind. Although the “employer” side of my brain is equally horrified .

There are an awful lot of “terrible things” trying to gain our attention each moment. As massive as a dinosaur asteroid, as ultimate as a bioengineered plague. As tiny as residue cellular pesticides. As improbable as effects by electromagnetic environments. Partisans keep screaming I must know about these things! “We must do something !”

“I would prefer not to”. I don’t mind so much learning of people’s fears. They can be entertaining. Perhaps some are true, perhaps fewer have any importance. But I am convinced there is little I can affect. So I let them slide by without impact on my emotions or daily happiness .

It’s an old philosophy, encountered at all times and everywhere. Stoic acceptance and withdrawal. Religious mystics from ancient India to Catholic monks. Sit quietly as the world turns and burns.

And yet – life is magnificent and precious, and what we do can matter locally. Each moment counts in our universe. Not caring or moving at all is death, and early rejection of the gift of life.

That’s my employer mind talking, of course. It is right.

Sometimes.