Definitions define language, but implied connotations matter. My own background causes me to cringe at “homeland” when referring to the United States.

For most of my life “Homeland” was applied to Nazi Germany, Stalinist Russia, or 1984. It was conflated with “home turf” which was associated with the Mafia, criminal gangs, and slums.

Worse than that, it meant an inward vision, a fear of the outside, a closing up of the “true” people against everyone else, the “others.”. That was and is exactly the opposite of the optimistic, outward, and confident culture in which I grew up. 

We were the winners, we were the leaders, we were sure of ourselves. Most of us had a background of ancestral immigrants.  We thrived in a “melting pot.” Somewhere that all changed, everyone became scared and now we put up with insane controls and accepted wisdoms unimaginable in my parents’ day.

I still feel deep in my bones that “Homeland” is a large step towards an authoritarian culture. The first thing any cult tries to do is cut its members off from any outside influence. Often by convincing them that the outside is horribly evil and dangerous, inhabited by “others” who are at best irrelevant, at worst existential enemies.

Oh, yes, I know it is just me. “Homeland” is just a word, like any other. Its meaning is restricted. 

Perhaps.

Tribalism is core to our social nature, because the first thing we want to know about anyone else is whether they are friend or foe, a threat or harmless. This judgment happens all the time, instinctively.

The complexity of such identification is almost fractally infinite. If we know someone it is easy (if we know them well enough to predict what they will do.) Otherwise it is a set of snap decisions based on a series of subconscious signals _ height, age, sex, appearance, situation and on and on. 

A racist element attaches to things that cannot be changed, such as skin color, shape of eyes or nose. A sexist element to male or female. An ageist response to child or ancient elder. And so on. Things a person cannot easily disguise. 

Then we move to cultural markers. What are they wearing, what tattoos do they have, how do they speak. All of those can be more or less easily obscured, so we tend to be suspicious.  And we worry about anyone conspicuously trying to not be part of our accepted tribal norms.

Back to Socratic logic, I guess. I am human. All humans are tribal. I am tribal. And, beyond that, what tribe are you? 

As a civilized person, I can (and should) try to expand my inner definition of my tribe. But the ancient instincts remain.

I’ve read enough anthropology and history to know that just being exposed to nature does not automatically create what we would call “nice” people. Our species can be bloodthirsty, cruel, and capricious under any circumstances.

In my own life, getting into open meadows or woodland a few times a week does help me feel more civilized. I get nervous and aggressive when buffeted by technology new and old, when taxing my brain to deal with complex social interactions. 

A tree is an automatic relaxing metaphor. Standing tall, strong, striving, quiet. Or even broken, toppled, or decaying. I learn a new lesson each time I stroll by. 

Besides, trees are good for me. They clean the air and can be used in all kinds of ways. Mostly, though, I prefer to leave them as they are, to think unusual thoughts, to meditate. And to go beyond meditation to the simple accepting joy of being who I am, one with the biologic components of this planet’s ecology. 

We are blessed around here by having lots of trees, at private houses, in parks, self-propagating relentlessly. Perhaps I would have similar encounters if I lived in grasslands, but I strive to live where I actually am.

Right now I’m glad to be near trees.

Or, should I say, Vesuvius. 79 AD, pyroclastic superheated air, hot ash molds of victims. It’s fascinated everyone since its discovery in the 1500s. The climate doom prophets claim we are living on the slopes of a pyroclastic-possible Earth at this very moment.

But _ well _ hard to tell. The climate is warming, and the cause is humanity, but the results are uncertain. Surely we must lose what we are used to, and all kinds of disasters will occur, but the Earth has been hotter (and colder) in the past. We are not about to be incinerated one fine morning with molds around us for little green men to pour plaster of Paris into when they finally discover our planet. 

The Vesuvius scenario is only one of many apocalyptic ones. A long list, from nuclear war or plague to AI domination or nano goo. It helps people cope _ not unlike predestination, since the burden of results from each our own actions will soon be obliterated anyway. And _ hey _ it all fits with Christian scripture!

Suppose you were living in Pompeii, AD 77. Even if you knew the volcano might blow, would you move? You’d assume you would have warnings and time. You’d enjoy the fertile fields and lovely views _ it wasn’t a resort town for no reason. And, by all normal logic, you would be right to do so. (In fact, many people did leave after the first earthquake a day or so before.)

An apocalyptic mindset is inevitably nihilistic. It’s no way to live a decent life _ even the wonderful moments you could enjoy are tainted with an existential dread.

Up until that tragic moment, should it ever happen, you should strive to be happily ignorant of the future.

The wealthy, who line up to eat at the public trough, always think that someone else is slurping up more. And they are worried that they will have to pay too much. So they come up with all kinds of strange notions to protect their position. 

A current example is the idea of “starving government,” If no money is available from taxes _on the wealthy in particular _ the rich claim, as Marx wrote, the state will wither away and all lives will be happy.

Of course, their idea of starving government does not mean lessening the services on which the rich depend. No, there must be a huge military to “protect investments” worldwide, a massive police force to keep local money and property safe, and a gigantic legal system to ensure contracts and property rights _ all,mostly, of course, belonging to the well off. 

The “starved government” is really code for starved everyone _ except the well off. Cut back on entitlements, food, healthcare, shelter,. “Let them eat cake,” “are there no work houses?” “well there should be.”

This elite knows it is the deserving rich, secure in the belief that they have earned their obscene surpluses and sure that the rest of the “loafers” and “takers” must be punished by being kept in their proper place.

By the iron fist of a government starved of all humanity.

To be an isolated misanthrope is surely not the best way to lead a good life. On the other hand, it may turn out that many of the modern varieties of social engagement are not all that healthy either. 

Some, for example, are clearly overstated. Giving money for food relief in Africa is _ on the scale of minor donors _ not making much of a difference. For a person donating $10 or so _ well, it may make them feel better. But it is mostly a shill game by those running organizations as a profession. 

Too many cries to engage sound a lot like ancient calls to conquer the world. To carry out God’s will as if God did not have the power to do it directly. To correct wrongs with a simple act of will or generosity _ although the wrongs may be endemic in time and space or misunderstood entirely.

And that is perhaps the nub of the problem. Modern media tales of engagement _ like all media tales _ are stridently overblown to give a sense of power where there is none. They emphasize the old call to “think globally and act locally” by pretending that minor personal acts can change vast world systems.

Yes, by all means, engage. But do it all around you, not using a remote screen. 

Every holiday we seem to be assaulted to remember “true meaning.” Patriotism, religion, whatever. But the true meaning of any day really is exactly what it is _ not its magical or historic baggage.  A holiday sharpens that perception.

For example, Christmas and New Year, the end of year holiday in the northern hemisphere. Truly reflective of life, from Neolithic times when the long memory began to have meaning, marking solstice and the gradual return of the sun. Celebrating survival of another yearly cycle. Enjoying companions present. Remembering those departed. 

Several thousand years of monotheistic religions have piled wooly mythology onto this ritual. With the vast uncertainties in the world today, a lot of Americans, in particular, find such stories easy and comforting and a useful guide for life.

But, “true meaning” is that this holiday is a celebration of life and family. Another trip around the sun, another cycle of seasons. Back where we began 365 days ago, much the same but different _ we are at least older, sometimes unrecognizable.

It is the proper time to be nostalgic and grateful and a little more aware of family and friends. Tempered by the frantic rush and sometime anger at what did not work out as planned. That depth of feeling is also “true meaning.”

Forget the media and political sloganizing. Time to embrace the cold, look to the future, appreciate the present, and give thanks for this instant of miracle of existence. And prepare for another cycle, which is never quite a cycle.

It’s in vogue to write “thankfulness” or “happiness” journals. That’s a good idea, but mine concentrates more on “appreciation” _ whether I’m happy, or thankful, or not. It’s important to appreciate a winter snow storm, even though I may not be particularly happy about it.

Why? Because it is all part of my conscious sensory life. Another universal wonder I can experience in my own unique way. Something to which I can attach memories, thoughts, analysis, and speculation. 

I’ve never been one to believe “everything happens for a reason.” Things just happen. It’s up to me to assign them meaning, and to find a way to fit them into my life narrative. And by so doing, to appreciate their contribution _ good or bad _ to who I am. 

Appreciating everything can be hard work, sometimes impossible. Sometimes the best we can do _ especially for distant horrors _ is simply to appreciate that they are far away. Sometimes I worry that such is an evil attitude, but I also believe that part of life is to recognize those things we cannot change, even if we can make judgment on them. 

Local things, no matter how awful, are usually easier. Maybe not pleasant, maybe shattering, but a true part of the tapestry of my life narrative. 

The other word which is invoked by all these types of journals is, of course, merely being grateful for the chance to exist. 

Deer in our suburban neighborhood nicely encapsulate all the issues of controlling human population, without most of the historical and moral considerations. Like bears, coyotes, and other mammals, they have adjusted well to a few human environments. 

Unlike, say, cockroaches (also well adapted) deer are cute and majestic. Unlike, say, mice, they do not come indoors. And unlike many adaptive species, there are relatively few, mostly out of sight most of the time. And not carnivorous. 

So you would think “no problem.” But there are too many of them. They kill gardens and young trees as many starve to death in winter. They present driving hazards and cause accidents, sometimes fatal, usually expensive. 

Solutions are drastic and only partially effective. Kill them in brutal numbered extermination or open hunting seasons with danger to people. Try to introduce contraception or sterilization through food supply or darts. Mostly, these methods are repetitiously expensive. Letting them starve and defoliate the entire area is hardly an option. 

Gee, but they are cute. God’s gentle creatures. Who wants to kill Bambi and her mother? And there are all kinds of angry political positions. We can’t easily control deer population _ we can’t even touch the issues about people and overcrowding.

Not long ago, in business and life we were advised to “think outside the box.” These days it seems that to survive one must pick and choose among an almost infinite variety of ever shrinking boxes. 

Back in ’70s Berkeley, I thought of them as “cults.” Any group of 10 or more people could self-isolate, restrict access, reinforce one another, and believe the strangest things. Some were sure the world would end by the end of the year, others were certain we would all die of poison. And on and on, until they eventually got bored or something else came up. Anyone not in the cult was either ignorant or evil. 

First media, then all politics, and increasingly everyone else seems to be climbing into echoing closed cult boxes. They can convince themselves that green is purple, that sweet is sour, or more exotically that aliens float in air amidst us. The hardest cases twist absolutely everything _ events or words _ into their rigid worldview. 

It would be amusing if they mostly didn’t take themselves so deadly seriously. Literally. I’m sure at some point they will come for me. What use to them is anyone not trapped inside the box, listening to echoes all day long? 

Were it not for the existing phrase, I’d be more tempted to call it “inside the cube” and imagine hermetically sealed capsules floating in free space with no relation to reality, sanity, society, or each other.