Martyr

A martyr is useful to any cause. Religions are known for them. Joan of Arc saved France by dying – which she never could have done had she lived. The republicans now manufacture them by the bushel load – every victim of a crime becomes canonized in their political arena .  The democrats not far behind.

The current champion of martyrdom is, of course, our president, who has managed to pull off the feat of becoming one while still alive. Instead of being seen as a shady lawbreaker with petulant grievances against anyone who opposed him, he has become the persecuted spearhead of a movement. In his mind, of course, it remains a movement of one .

Most martyrs die for a cause. A true martyr KNOWS they are dying for a cause. Historic tales of martyrs are usually gruesome. Joan, after all, was burned at the stake .

These “gentle” and affluent times require no such effort among the elite. If you are wealthy enough, you can designate yourself a martyr merely by having someone say something against you. And for the rich, such a designation has become an emblem of honor, proving that they are on the side of the angels.

Completely sane people have rarely been true martyrs. At least that hasn’t changed 

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 .