Mount Hope

We recently visited Mount Hope cemetery in Rochester. This was once a major pilgrimage site about civil rights and women’s voting, since both Susan B Anthony and Frederick Douglass are buried there. We dutifully trudged through some overgrown hilly rambles.

I knew this was a “sister” cemetery to Mount Auburn in Cambridge, where Joan and I had frequently bicycled to spend a pleasant afternoon when we were young and poor. Those manicured grounds gave every indication of being an English estate for dead people temporarily residing underground. Everyone ignored the names on markers and mausoleums and simply enjoyed the quiet nooks and vistas.

I’d expected something similar at Mount Hope. But I was rather reminded of an old oil painting series of “empire at its height”, “empire in ruins”. You could detect that the initial spirit was the same, but Rochester lost its economic and spiritual power. Very like visiting the remains of the Roman forum as shown in 18th century pictures.

Perhaps there is a lesson here. Although I admit I take lessons from all cemeteries – new, old, well kept, overgrown, even forgotten. It’s always about mortality, insignificance, human spirit, and hope. Not necessarily in that order nor equally strong, depending on my mood.

I’m grateful for the physical reminder. Ashes may better fit a crowded throw away civilization, but there is a certain morbid joy in encountering such forgotten past lives. A useful humility. A surprising reassurance that my own life is okay. Weeds and all.

Outsourcing Existence

Humans are not a solitary species. A baby alone dies. Most hermits at any age also do, or more rarely eke out a miserable existence. Self-sufficiency is fine only in moderation. We’ve no doubt been outsourcing since the discovery that specialization is useful, even when separating the hunters from the gatherers. Since then barter economies and all the rest have followed almost inevitably, often driven by technological change.

There have been protests that we’ve gone too far. Ancient Greeks regretted that we outsourced our strong memory to writing. Conservatives wept as manly yeomen farmers became effete potters in a city, unable to grow grain or milk cows. Today many fear that having work done by machines will destroy society.

I agree. But only to a point.

I’m not quite a luddite, but I’ve often found it more satisfying to do things for myself rather than outsource tasks to others. I like to do my yard work, I enjoy cooking. I often manufacture my own entertainment by creating or fixing things.

The key is, of course, that I CHOOSE to do so. I don’t want to be forced to cook or mow, or for that matter to harvest grain and milk cows.

Many have begun to fear the effects of AI. Will we outsource all of our intellectual skills to silicon, outsource experience to virtual environments, outsource body health to medicine and drugs? Outsource existence itself, so there is nothing left but an empty ignorant fluff ball.

I don’t know.

On the other hand that does sound a lot like the original garden of Eden.

Illusion

Our brain does an amazingly good job of organizing random photon bounces into a meaningful and useful construction of objects in our world. Sometimes, of course, it can be mistaken and create an illusion.

An illusion is anything that cannot be confirmed by other senses, logic, or outside observers. Upon examination, what we thought was a snake in the grass may turn out to be a vine (or vice versa!) Consistent verification by alternate means yields what we call a fact.

Agreeing with others’ opinions does not necessarily dispel illusions. Many of us may believe there is a snake when there is none. One viewpoint with one sense is not fully reliable, even for a group.

There has always been an equivalent problem with knowledge, writing, culture. How can we determine illusion? Does it matter anyway? If Alexander the Great is a myth, not real in a factual sense, does it affect me? Who cares? A lot of facts are (in fact) pretty irrelevant.

Today we are fed illusions by the bushel. The internet is filled with influencer sorcerers weaving visions. For most of them we have no way to test validity except with the opinions of others. Is anything we think we know a “fact” or an “illusion”.

Yet, we act on illusions all the time. I may run away from our imaginary snake. A whole mob may run away from an imaginary dangerous illusion. We vote based on compelling illusionary advertising.

Perhaps that’s no more dangerous than it ever was. Most cultured belief has always been of that nature. There is comfort in believing that an untested cohesive illusion is fact. At some point, we may be shocked to encounter factual reality

Sometimes

We are blessed with a mercurial mind. Sometimes, for example, we feel a mastery of our particular universe. Other times we feel helpless. Sometimes we drift entirely out of this time and space, vividly imagining things that never were nor will be.

It’s a gift of our strange over-developed consciousness. Perhaps even an evolutionary trick to comfort us through pain and hard times, when pure logic would surrender and die. A reminder that no matter how sophisticated we may consider ourselves, we truly exist in not one, but infinite (and infinitely varied) dream times.

Ask me what I know of the future and I would honestly answer “nothing”. But that does not prevent me from sometimes imagining possibilities or what is likely to happen. These visions may inspire or terrify, make me wish I could stick around to find out, or be grateful I will never endure. As I said, mercurial.

Sometimes I do in fact believe I have lived in the best of all possible worlds. An easily disproved conceit. I worry about how things have changed: climate, AI, society. And yet, when I try, I remember so many things I once worried about that never came to pass. Sometimes even the nostalgic past can be a mirage.

While life continues, sometimes also, in its astounding variety and kaleidoscopic fractals.

A Tiny Prayer

I do not believe in an anthropomorphic god. I do not trust any holy writings created by humans, however inspired. I reject the mystic core of the dogmas of major religions.

But I do have a spiritual aspect. I know there is far more to the universe than I can ever know. The only proper feeling is awe and gratefulness for existence.

I recite this mantra each morning and as I wander through each day:

Thank you God. Thank you for this time. Thank you for this day. Thank you for all we have been given.

Thank you for our health. Thank you for our wealth. Thank you for our family.

Help me do what is right. Help me to appreciate everything. Help me to support those I love.

Thank you for all my life and help me to remember it with gratitude.

Okay, it’s not mysterious and deep. But it helps me to center, to put things into perspective, and, yes, to give me a spiritual lift.

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.

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 .

Listener

I’ve never been an alpha male. I have stubborn firm beliefs and ideas, but both my size and temperament have caused me to keep them inbound. I’ll contribute when appropriate, rarely try to force a viewpoint down anyone’s throat. Before going very far, I’ve always found it very useful to listen with concentration. That habit makes it surprisingly easy to get along with almost anyone.

Our natural tendency in this media-driven culture is “I talk, therefore I am”. Listening becomes a mere mental intake breath, unconscious and oblivious, as we formulate what we must say next. So it pleasantly surprises anyone when you actually pay attention to what they are saying and let yourself respond to that .

Such an apparently passive conversational style is often regarded as wimpy acceptance, like the apocryphal 98 pound weakling having sand kicked on him by the big bully in the comic books of my youth. I rather find it a useful sieve. Without automatic deep engagement (with me trying to be the ringmaster), I can quietly decide if continuing interaction is worth it, and if so how I want to proceed.

I often learn quite a lot, and people remain friendly. Nevertheless, I remain internally certain of most of what I have learned and absorbed. It’s almost impossible to rock my core beliefs. I just don’t care to argue. I suspect most others – bullies included – are just as adamant..

Of course, in this blog format, nobody talks back !

Socialists

The conventional political world is terrified that “socialists” have won some recent American elections. It might be useful to understand that these economic and political labels belong to a bygone ignorant age.

Before 1850, when most of these terms came into vogue, the conceptual environment of the modern world was just beginning. Chemistry, physics, biology, geology, psychology, electricity, all were in chaotic transition from classical imagining to modern theory and experimentation .

Labels are useful. An eye is not a hand. Stopping at labels is, however, medieval. The eye is functionally and inherently different than the hand, but related in infinitely complicated ways. A politician who stops at a label like “socialism” without going into complications is a lot like a physician who claims he doesn’t believe in all those newfangled ideas about cells, germs, hormones, evolution, and genetics .

We need to understand the uselessness of political name-calling, where puerile unique identification is the be-all and end-all of knowledge. “Socialism” means almost nothing, beyond a system that believes that wider wealth distribution is important to civilization. Details are not provided – but the details are what’s important .

In culture and politics, in civilization and human society in general, we are still at the stage of medieval physicians. We recognize problems but are clueless as to how, why, and what to do .

If we survive the current crises, our descendants will doubtless look back on our ignorance with the same stunned amusement as we do those Venetian doctors warding off plague with beaked masks .

For all I know, computer technology may actually prove helpful in our awakening .

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” .