Existential Hope

Jason and I had a conversation a little while ago that went something like this:

Me: Do you ever just look out at the world and think, wow, we're the WORST?
Jason: Ummm...

Me: I was watching a pelican today, he was diving into the ocean, getting just enough food for that meal. That was it. It was beautiful. Then I saw a boat, smelled the gas fumes as they idled and saw the four people on it, drinking beer, pouring some of it out into the ocean and casting nets for fish. For fun. That's when it hit me. We're the worst.

Our conversation actually took some very deep and meaningful turns, but my primary feeling at that moment was indeed the crappiness of humanity. I told Jason that we would destroy ourselves, or at least that the earth would cease to support us, and then after we were all dead and gone, the earth would remain and have produced beautiful wonderful new things. Despite us. Happily without us. I was in a real nice mood. We joked that Jason had an emotional range of let's say A-K. With "A" being "everything's awesome" and "K" being "everything's OK." I have the full range, A-Z: "Everything is Awesome" to "Bring on the Locusts and Plagues." In the middle somewhere is the quiet, calm bliss of existential "Everything is meaningless." I feel these extremes all the time. In that pelican/human scenario I literally went from "life is beautiful" to "lord of the flies."

I had a seminary friend who would say that sometimes she felt we humans needed to get in touch with our worminess a little better. As a recovering southern baptist, I felt I had had plenty of worms shoved into my face, thankyouverymuch. It took me half my adulthood to see myself as a valid non-wormy person. 

However, I am now leaning back into Emily's words. What she meant (and what I witnessed that ocean day) was that we need to get in touch with the reality of how awful we are capable of being. And own it. Not by hiding behind guilt and shame over moralistic slights. Not by creating a class of purity that only the best and brightest can join and then judge others from upon our pedestal. No. By taking our blinders off to seeing that we can and have and will do things horribly wrong. We can't ignore it and assume things will work out. I talked about this in my last blog. We have to then empower ourselves to make shit right. By listening to people that we've hurt (intentionally or not) and being transformed by it. By removing our participation from the systemic injustices, or at least trying to use our privilege for good.

But here's the thing, when I go to "Z" (Lord of the Flies/Plagues) in my mind, my consolation is to turn existentially negative. To just throw my hands up in the air and declare it all a big wash in the end. Who am I to try? In Ecclesiastes the author writes "everything is meaningless" or, in the Common English Bible translation: "perfectly pointless." This guy GETS me. This idea that it's the same old shit all the time, and what the hell do I think I'm capable of doing to alter this inevitable tide? It gives me a deep sense of satisfaction that Ecclesiastes exists in the biblical canon. That people read this and thought- yes- we need to remember this too. I'm going to quote you some of it because it is hauntingly beautiful. It reminds me that I am not the only one who has ever felt this way. 

Perfectly pointless,[b] says the Teacher, perfectly pointless.
    Everything is pointless.

3 What do people gain from all the hard work
    that they work so hard at under the sun?
4 A generation goes, and a generation comes,
    but the earth remains as it always has.
5 The sun rises, the sun sets;
    it returns panting to the place where it dawns.
6 The wind blows to the south,
    goes around to the north;
    around and around blows the wind;
    the wind returns to its rounds again.
7 All streams flow to the sea,
    but the sea is never full;
    to the place where the rivers flow,
    there they continue to flow.
8 All words[c] are tiring;
    no one is able to speak.
    The eye isn’t satisfied with seeing,
    neither is the ear filled up by hearing.
9 Whatever has happened—that’s what will happen again;
    whatever has occurred—that’s what will occur again.

There’s nothing new under the sun. 10 People may say about something: “Look at this! It’s new!” But it was already around for ages before us. 11 There’s no remembrance of things in the past, nor of things to come in the future. Neither will there be any remembrance among those who come along in the future...

14 When I observed all that happens under the sun, I realized that everything is pointless, a chasing after wind...

... I saw that wisdom is more beneficial than folly, as light is more beneficial than darkness.

This is it. This is the thing that revolves around in my head. I try to make meaning out of things but find that I keep coming back to this: "Everything is pointless, a chasing after the wind." 

You might be thinking that I've been on a dark binge lately, and you are 100% correct. I need to see and feel the darkness get under my fingernails so I can get to this next part. I don't want to be blind, ignorant, silly, or foolish. I no longer can claim full ignorance to get the benefits of bliss. I've gone waist deep, so I will just go ahead and be baptized by these storm waters, choke on their salt and oil so I know just what it is I am fighting. If I even feel like fighting. I thought about sinking to the depths in despair and futility.

When I had my depressing conversation with Jason, I was throwing my hands in the air like the author of Ecclesiastes. Everything is meaningless! This evil has been here and will be here and will be here again. This struggle is not new and the sun is not surprised. Why do I even care? What is the point of the struggle if I should be locked in an eternal tug of war that has no point? 

Jason got really specific and logical with me (which actually helps). We broke it down to the smallest parts. We exist. We have a choice of how to live this life- whether it is meaningless or not. We still choose. How do I choose to live my life? I knew. In the instant that I knew it might be completely meaningless, I also knew that I had to fight for good. Even if it meant nothing. Because I choose goodness. I choose love. I choose hope. Hope might not always visit me, but I will fight for it just in case she shows up. I'd much rather serve hope than fear. I'd much rather serve love than hate. The author of Ecclesiastes said: "wisdom is more beneficial than folly, as light is more beneficial than darkness." He said this even after saying that everything is meaningless. I came to the same conclusion. 

So I will follow my heart and the advice of the wisdom poet. I will " eat, drink, and experience pleasure in... hard work." In doing good. I will enjoy it for the mere sake of it existing- not the lasting effects or products.

I will enjoy the sunset, because even though everything is meaningless- for some reason it is inexplicably beautiful. Why? I will enjoy friendship, because even though it is fleeting, it fills me with joy. Why? I will love my husband, because even though our relationship is not significant in the grand scheme of things, it brings me joy and depth. Why? I will love my children, because although parenting is the most difficult thing I've ever wanted to do, I would give my life for them. Why? I don't know why. I can't describe it. And the best things are the things I can't explain.

When I feel existential despair, it's hard to find my way out. It's hard not to hide under my bed covers and moan "it doesn't matter what I do anyway!" 

Here are the things that keep me going: I have a choice. I choose goodness. Whether it means anything or not- it is what I want to choose every single time.

The most powerful elixir to despair I have found: beauty. It is completely unnecessary and everywhere. It isn't scarce and yet has value. If I ask why we even exist, I must also ask why the sky is beautiful. No answers, but I can enjoy them. So I may as well.

So today, on a grey Thursday on the eve before the archetype of all that is wrong with humanity is sworn into office... I offer you this: everything just might be perfectly pointless. But we still have to choose what to do. I choose to do good. It is the side I want to be on. The side of joy, love, hope, and beauty. I don't care anymore that it might be meaningless because even that doesn't change my mind. There's your existential hope. Join me in pointlessly fighting for goodness. Why the hell not?

Breaking Reality

I read an article by Aleksandar Hemon (read it here) that has undone the last stitch from my tightly held hope of reality. Thanks to Hemon, that reality is lost and gone forever, only to be replaced with freedom of seeing and foreseeing. Reality for me was the good and stable indestructible America. Now I understand that America is just as vulnerable and unstable as any other nation. History checks my fantastical reality with a long list of examples.

Oh I knew intellectually that America could not be eternal, but my heart hoped it to be an evolving goodness. Hemon reminded me of the Kafka story of the man who wakes to his own reality being completely transformed into a hideous bug. No warning, no remedy, no control. If I remember correctly, that story does not end well. I had NEVER imagined that story from the lens of a person who wakes up one day to find their pre-conceived reality was in fact a lie, or more closely, a hopeful fantasy. Hope is not a bad thing (I will write on this later). But the inability to sense possible change and evil is a naiveness. I've grown up. At least a short jut upwards into the inevitable understanding that I and my home are not immune from disaster. This growing up is necessary for the days ahead. We can't assume that everything will be OK because our vision of reality has been that everything will be OK. That's delusional. It's time to put my boots on.

Why do I write with such dark tones and scary prophecies? Because all of a sudden I hear all of the voices before me. All of a sudden I have the blinders off and I can see the future and its infinite possibilities: good and bad. Who knows what will happen, but now I realize it is all possible. I never imagined our country would elect a person like this.

I remember when I was in high school and my teacher posed a question to our class. She asked us: "Will the world get better, or will it get worse?" I was a squeaky clean Christian girl in a predominantly agnostic or atheist group of students. Many of my peers showed hope and responded "Better." I, the sweet Jesus-loving girl, responded "worse." My teacher, knowing me fairly well, was surprised. I honestly don't know why I answered that way, but something within me felt that I had not seen the worst that humanity could offer. And perhaps it was only my eyes that would open to recognize the worse, that the worse has always been here. Ignoring the evil underbelly has been a comfort. That was my privilege, one I need to shed in order to move forward.

I often refer to my Grandfather's (Opa's) autobiography. It is a bit white-washed by his Americanization (it's a word?) and loss of memory (he was in the early stages of Alzheimer's when he wrote it). But the heart of the story is authentic and true, and it still teaches me. He was a German refugee fleeing the Nazis in a time when German Jews did not often make it through the tight web of red tape that hoped to prevent undesirable immigrants coming to America. By sheer luck and the astounding good will of a handful of people, he made it to the United States. The rest of his family did not succeed. 

In his autobiography, Opa recalls the evening his father came home late from work on the day that Hitler was elected Chancellor. His father worked as an editor for the newspaper, and made it a point to be aware and informed of everything going on around him. He was aware of the growing darkness and danger to the fragile German republic. He announced to the waiting family the reason for his lateness: the people voted, Hitler was elected. Opa's Jewish mother left the room to hide her tears and fear. Opa's last stitch of reality was released on that day. His hope for a good life in Germany was cracked. He didn't know what the new reality held, but he knew that Germany was no longer the same. As children do when faced with a break in the facade, he asked his father: "what does this mean?" His father's response: "It means another world war." 

How did he know?

When I sat at the breakfast table, shocked and numb the day after the election, my son asked me similar questions. "Who won?" "Trump." My son's immediate response was one that I could not have imagined, as he had never heard these words from me or my spouse. He said "Now we're all going to die!" I soothed him, told him of course not. Told him not to worry. We would be OK and just have to do good things. But my facade was cracked. "But what does this mean?" my son asked me.

I don't know.

After Hitler's reign of terror, which began with an elected position of limited power and ended in a fiery suicide after millions upon millions of people would die in his wake... the world was facing a new reality. One that could not ignore evil. One that could not assume the goodness of their neighbor. One that found itself awake, a cockroach, squirming and wondering how this could ever have happened. 

People tried as quickly as they could to recreate a new happy reality. Don't mention the holocaust. Don't mention internment camps home and abroad. Just move on. Forget.

Never forget, said those who had no choice.

The author of the article I mentioned, Hemon, talks about the person that lives inside of you that notices things. That person that sees military targets and bomb shelters. The person that has flashes of apocalyptic scenes flash in front of them as they imagine their home in a new reality. That person that has seen the disintegration of places like Syria, Bosnia, Rwanda, Darfur that were not household names until bothered with genocide. When the old reality unravels, the person's imagination is given permission to notice, to predict, to wonder unwonderable things. 

Will we all die? God I hope not, not like that. Is that a chance? It is and always has been. I cannot be blind anymore. There is no such thing as security. That other person inside of me is counting out the years, assuming that even if Trump were to make it as long as Hitler and have whatever reign he wanted, that Hitler reigned from 1933-1945, that's twelve years. My oldest is eight. In twelve years he will be twenty. Maybe only two years in military conscription. That's too long. My youngest is five. In twelve years he will be seventeen. Is he safe? My husband is too old, right? I am not healthy enough, right? We will not be forced to serve in whatever war a ridiculous man invites, right?

I pray that my other person is paranoid. She is being ridiculous. Please let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong. Please, please let me be wrong.

The person we have at the head of our nation is unstable, unable to take any correction or even the slightest jab. He selects financial bosom buddies to be his advisors on topics they do not know or care about. He is unstable. When a world leader wants to pick a bone, what will he do? My other person hears my great-grandfather's words: "It means another world war." What will he do? I cannot trust him. I do not give him the benefit of the doubt. I won't assume the best, because what has been offered is far from it. 

War is not confined to the years that it is fought. I interviewed the living ghosts of World War II- people who seventy years later have not shaken the terror. They have never been able to restitch reality. It stayed shattered at their feet. Anni, who lived in Berlin through the war, died two years ago with the shadows of Hitler, her friends, the souls her parents couldn't help, the life of light she never managed to find. My cousin Ruth struggles everyday with the whispers of her grandparents who wrung her mother's soul with each letter they sent her from Berlin telling her "you're not doing enough, we will die, you are not doing enough." They did die, but she did everything. It was not enough. My Opa had a "happy" ending by living out the war in the United States and reuniting with his family afterward, but his mother was a shell carved out by a concentration camp, his father lost years and half his body weight to the war, his sister aged many years in a short time and learned to be vigilant and ready for evil whenever it inevitably crept in. 

War does not end. War seeps down through the generations. The start and end dates are a lie. That verse in the bible is right, whether we want it to be or not: the sins are visited upon the generations after. Original sin is not necessary when you have a boulder of sin rolling down over every newborn back. Generation to generation. Crushing fear and darting eyes.

And yet here we are, choosing hate. Choosing a fighting peacock over a dove. Choosing a bully over a friend. God why?! Maybe the Americans were so sure of their reality, so sure of the iron-clad fabric of their lives. So sure that America cannot be rent, rent, or rendered undone. So sure that the boulder of evil would stay "over there." The boulder is on all our shoulders, and it will crush us all if we keep bowing to the god of power and false security. If we keep crouching over our lives as if goodness is a scarcity that we cannot spare. The boulder will keep rolling over our shoulders onto our children.

To stand is to be blasted head-first. To stand is to see it. To stand up is to give the next generation time before it rolls on. To stand is to slow the boulder down. Am I brave enough to stand? 

America, you are bowing. You are being crushed. Your reality is vanished. You cannot depend on goodness now, because you have elected a fraud. You cannot assume the boulder will pass you by, because you have willingly bowed to it and it will roll right onto you. 

Wake up. See the possibilities, and with fierce honesty to what could actually happen: STAND UP. 

The Wolf Comes

Parables and fables are a way for us to hear a story without putting up our defenses. We're sort of tricked into seeing our own faults, but it comes from our own examination. It's a popular tool for teaching children. It was one of Jesus' favorite things to do- tell stories that made you think, and hopefully transform you. It's actually a fairly gentle way to teach.

One of these famous stories that many children have learned is the boy who cried wolf. I honestly don't remember why he felt the need to cry wolf- was he bored? Lonely? Either way, the shepherd boy did it enough while watching his sheep that when a wolf actually came and he "cried wolf" no one came. No one believed him. The moral of the story is often presented as "don't lie" or even "don't take advantage of those who will help you." 

Here's a moral we don't pull out of this story as much: the wolf comes. As cynical as we are, we still don't think THAT could happen to us, we're far too advanced for that. It's important to remember that the wolf comes. 

We have been inundated with conspiracy theories and false information (fake news). We hear ridiculous things all the time. We are so used to discarding what we don't want to accept (and often there is merit in discarding it), that when the real thing comes to us, we're the townspeople who have lost the desire to find out the truth. We just disregard it. It's all a big fat lie, nothing is true or verifiable. There is no such thing as a cold, hard fact.

Now, I have a background in philosophy so I am especially good at making logical arguments for things that may not even exist. Give me enough time and I will convince you that it is very possible we are all brains in vats. However, facts are important. There has to be truth. It might be on a sliding scale, but we have to care enough to sort it out. We have to care enough to know when it's dangerous. If we don't, we turn into the townspeople who are so tired of the boy and his stupid wolf claims, that we're almost fine with it if the wolf does come and devour his flock and him. Serves him right. Too much work to figure it out.

If we find ourselves agreeing with that, that's not good. We need to hear the story again. The wolf comes. The wolf (if it is actually a thinking being) might even be waiting for just this moment to come. The moment when you no longer care or can discern his arrival. And that wolf will devour everything if you let it. That wolf will not be satisfied with a flock of sheep. This next thought is for another blog, but I want to make the point here: negative events (war, etc) are not confined to their notch on the timeline. The consequences stretch further than we realize. We are more connected than we realize, and therefore the web links of despair are not cut off from you. You shouldn't need to know that to want to help the boy who cried wolf, but we shouldn't fool ourselves into thinking the wolf does not also come to us. The wolf comes, and if you don't care, the wolf will come again and again until you do.

I'm stretching the limits of this story, but I think it's important to recalibrate our BS meters. We need to still seek truth and lies and call it out. When you see an obvious money trail correspond with power- this is a problem. When you have someone hesitant to call what happened in Aleppo war crimes, that's a red flag. Something (or someone) is tying his hands. Maybe he just doesn't want to get his hands too dirty. But we should be looking for the truth in this. Even if it is as simple as "the wolf has been here." 

I had the privilege of interviewing a woman named Anni in Berlin who was in her 90s. She was one of my grandfather's best friends in their Quaker youth group. They banded together in a spiritual and intellectual oasis in the midst of Nazi sponsored "Hitler Youth" groups. When I sat down with this woman, her eyes were haunted with her life's experiences. Her parents had spent the war doing everything they could to help Jews and other racial/disabled/sexual/political undesirables leave the country, hide, or at least survive. Her brother, faced with military service or death, chose the longest and most difficult training path and prayed that the war would be over by the time he had completed his training so that he would not fight. She and her sister remained home, both interrogated with their parents whenever the Nazi's suspected anything, which was often. 

Anni was obsessed with facts. Everything we said had to be clarified and bracketed by facts. We had to establish first the facts, then we could discuss it. For Anni had experienced a time when facts had lost their value, they had lost their power to persuade and convince. She guarded the importance of facts with every breath. I'll never forget that. Anni knew that the wolf came. She knew and so many around her didn't. She watched the wolf tear her world apart. The wolf haunted her even to that day. She died two years ago and I felt relief for her, the wolf will never come for her again.

When we lose the facts, when red flags no longer concern us, when we don't care to inspect and ask questions, that's when the wolf comes. That's when the wolf tears the whole flock apart.