Posts Tagged ‘Thanksgiving’

“Be grateful every day”

November 22, 2012

“The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there’s little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.” Carl Sagan

“What imagined target for our gratitude would best direct the will to serve the imperatives of [our] story?… If Thanksgiving requires a face, let it be the face of future generations.” Loyal Rue

How can things so insecure as the successful experiences of this world afford a stable anchorage? A chain is no stronger than its weakest link, and life is after all a chain… William James

 

Thanks for the memory

November 21, 2012

Life itself is gratifying, of course. But it’s nice at Thanksgiving to have enumerable specific objects of gratitude. Sunshine, laughter, pie and ice cream, Willie Mays and the like do make life worth living.

And this morning I’m specifically grateful for an unexpected find, last night. Rummaging through my library cabinet, I rediscovered a lost and forgotten binder full of my favorite role model secular evolutionist. Through the years I’ve frequently spoken of my first landlord, the kindly and avuncular octogenerian who pulled dollars from my young ears, not long before his death in the ’60s. It’s a mild obsession.

He was, I eventually learned, an eminent figure whose expert testimony had been solicited but then disallowed by the Scopes “Monkey Trial” judge in Dayton, TN in 1925. Dr. Winterton Curtis made a curiously strong impression on me in my earliest days and years. I’ve never quite understood why. Surely it’s a coincidence that I would grow up and  develop a fascination with the evolutionary view of life as part of its deepest meaning?

Well, my new-found binder includes a note from my late father. It betrays an almost mystical suspicion that something more than money was exchanged in those encounters with Dr. C.

“We lived with Dr. Curtis for three years, until my graduation from Veterinary School [at the University of Missouri-Columbia] in 1960. I have no clue if an elderly stranger can affect a small child, but I swear, Phil possesses many of the intellectual attributes of this grand old man. Phil, do you remember him ‘pulling money out of your ears’ and presenting you with it?”

I sure do, Dad. And I’m deeply grateful for the memory.

Thanksgiving 2011’s rainbow

November 26, 2011

Something else for the gratitude list: the return of the Muppets, still seeking the rainbow connection. (We continued our Black Friday family tradition yesterday, of hitting the multiplex instead of the mall.) The new guy learned an important lesson about self-confidence.  “Rainbows are visions, but only illusions” – Don’t believe it, Walter. I hope the kids were listening too.

As a Happy Pragmatist I tend not to make Ingratitude Lists, though I do think about how to ameliorate the sources of ingratitude in our lives in the future. Still haven’t come up with a good solution for voluble Country Cousin, always the most obnoxiously inescapable pietist in the room and (of course) always called on to bless the turkey. At least I can be grateful not to have to deal with him again soon. Paraphrasing one of the Muppets, we get to wait “almost a whole year” before we’re again obliged to grin and bear the misplaced gratitude of people we regret but can’t avoid or challenge without violating rigid social proprieties.

I am sincerely grateful, though, to have made it through the entire day without laying eyes on a single down of football. And I’m grateful as always for pie.

 

Americana, Black Socrates, Einstein, Freud, Russell

November 21, 2011

It’s the 20th century already in CoPhi, we must be getting very near the end. But what has concluded, that we may conclude? Absolutely nothin’… Collaboration in the “philosophy of ‘co'” is (almost) never-ending. So it must just be the end of the beginning we’re running up on, this Thanksgiving week. (Remember, STUDENTS, our Thanksgiving break begins Wednesday.)

Today we read of “secular nations, Americana, Evolution & Einstein, Freud, and Bertrand Russell,” among others.

JMH says Ludwig Wittgenstein set the tone for this century when he wrote, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” I don’t know about that, as a 20th century mantra. The professional occupation of philosophy does not reward silence, and not many of my colleagues have been known to hold their tongues in public. We all talk too much, that’s the  game we’ve been hired to play. William James did it too, and periodically confessed his self-revulsion for feeding the PhD Octopus.

What an awful trade that of professor is,” James complained at term’s end in 1892, “paid to talk, talk, talk! …It would be an awful universe if everything could be converted into words, words, words.

And yet, on the mundane plane of existence and survival, unemployment just  might be worse. Whatcha gonna do, sit silently in a circle and intuit? Meditate? Be?

Speaking of secular Americana (something we readers of Doubt now know to be real and legit, not oxymoronic in Jefferson‘s and Adams‘s and Franklin’s and Paine’s America), it’s nearly Thanksgiving. Lots of people around these parts think of it as a religious holiday, when we’re all supposed to thank god for the turkey and stuffing, but it really did begin as a non-religious festive ritual. Same for July 4, Memorial Day, and all the other public occasions when religion and politics (and football in Fall) all run together. So, for all who find themselves in stifling company on Thursday and called on to grace the excess, here’s a little Thanksgiving prayer. But if that was too much, here’s a more conventional one. [gratitudeFordluckythanks a lotthank goodnessgratitude is good for you (Tierney)]

“Unifying communal experiences” are a good thing, but can be more of a challenge this time of year for those of us who’ve given up football. Penn State was the final nail in the coffin, for me (for it). NCAA collegiate athletics is corrupt (“The Shame of College Sports“) and football at every level is unconscionably violent (“Offensive Play“). But I’m not entirely inflexible on this: raise a generation or two of kids who understand all the risks they run of brain damage, mental illness, permanent disability, premature death etc., and if they still want to play then that’s their choice. I’ll still be boycotting. (Hockey & boxing too, of course.) But pass the turkey, please. And the pie. Let’s talk hot stove baseball.

Thomas Mann was wrong, religion must be separated from politics in a pluralistic democracy. But there’s still something to be said for putting social life “on the altar” (and not the sacrificial altar, either). That’s what John Dewey was doing when he said “the things in civilization we value most are not of ourselves” etc. We are a part of something larger than ourselves: nature, society, and history. The vital question of what life will ultimately make of itself is compelling, and inspiring. “A better life here upon earth” is a sacred goal, and shouldn’t be consigned to the scrap-heap of Marxist-Leninist history. Lenin did say everyone should be free to practice whatever religion they pleased, or none. Tragically he merely said it. So did Walter Rauschenbusch, with his social gospel (“Thy will be done on earth“) and commitment to a just future.

Turkey’s secular experiment (no pun intended) fizzled, but how much bloodshed might we have been spared at this end of that century if people had heeded Ataturk‘s observation that fighters (and terrorists) are more willing to die and kill  when they think their reward will be heaven and its oddly-earthy perqs. (How many virgins, again? But aren’t all angels virginal, by definition?) The social gospel should exclude the society of angels.

The Nazis and Fascists did get religious about politics. (The present GOP has precedent.) But the oft-repeated claim about Hitler’s irreligion is false. “I believe I am acting in accordance with the will of the Almighty…” You could look it up.

But closer to home, how about that Thomas Edison! “Have faith and go forward,” he said, but faith in what exactly? “I cannot see any use of a future life.” For ourselves as continuous individuals, that is, in an eternal heaven. (Picture lightbulbs popping.) His hero Paine is another iconic American whose true views are not True Blue. But both understood Dewey’s version of naturo-socio-historical continuity very well indeed.

Hubert Harrison, the “Black Socrates,” defies the stereotype of unblinking theism among African-Americans. He also admired Paine, noted errors in the Bible, and embraced Agnosticism (“such an agnostic as Huxley was”).  He said he had no intention of bowing down to a lily-white god or worshipping a Jim Crow Jesus. He was more than a little literal when he also embraced Nietzsche’s repudiation of “slave ethics.” Admitting that reason alone did not meet his every need, he still preferred “to go to the grave with my eyes open.” That’s a really good personal credo, “eyes open.” Mind too.

Emma Goldman, Mother Earth matriarch and “an exceedingly dangerous woman,” found doubt a source of happiness. The negation of gods is also an affirmation of humanity, an “eternal yea to life, purpose, and beauty.” [Quotes]

Margaret Sanger‘s slogan is (was?) penciled into the concrete of our stairwell in JUB: “No Gods, No Masters.” The fatherly anecdote of a casual rhetorical question about God’s baking skills serves as a sobering reminder to parents and teachers: the smallest throwaway remark can change a child’s life. Be careful.

Mark Twain was one of my earliest mythic heroes. Like the Cardinals, he came with the territory where I grew up, just a little southwest of Hannibal MO. It’s little appreciated, amongst the legions of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn readers across the land, that he was an acerbic and gnostical freethinker: “There is only one father cruel enough to afflict his child with… disease.” And: “If Christ had really been God, He could have proved it.”

“Twain believed in God, but not one that cared for us.” Not a god of charity, kindness, mercy, or compassion. We humans may have invented heaven, he says, but we really don’t want to go there. All the fun people would have to be at the other place, if only it were real as well.

There’s more in today’s reading about the Scopes Trial. Remind me to tell you again about my childhood hero and favorite magician Winterton Curtis, one of those scientific witnesses who went down to Dayton and was denied an opportunity to testify for science and truth and Clarence Darrow, “attorney for the damned“. (It was Darrow, btw, not Richard Dawkins, who first said everybody’s an agnostic/atheist with respect to something or other.) Yet Dr. Curtis retained admiration for the natives, as do I. (And as did Charles Darwin’s descendant Matthew Chapman, btw.)  (Damned Yankee in ColumbiaDon’t Tell Me the Lights are ShiningScopes 7…)

“God does not play dice with the universe,” but maybe Einstein just meant that dice (“chance”) doesn’t get played period. Again,

I believe in Spinoza’s God… I do not believe in a personal God… I do not believe in immortality of the individual, and I consider ethics to be an exclusively human concern with no superhuman authority behind it.

Yet he affirmed a sense of mystery and wonder, beauty and sublimity. “Strange is our situation here on Earth…”

Strange, too, is our situation as diagnosed by Herr Doktor Professor Freud (who’s been interestingly juxtaposed, by Armand Nicholi, with C.S. Lewis over the “question of god“). “Human morality and civility [are] a thin covering over a mass of blind hungers and needs,” and “religion gives most people their only inkling of the philosophical world.” We can do better, maybe people can “handle the shock of the truth.” Eventually, anyway. Grandma possibly can’t on Thursday, though. Pick your battles, keep the peace ’til the pie’s been served.

Bertrand Russell says J.S. Mill wakened him from his youthful dogmatic slumbers.

 I for a long time accepted the argument of the First Cause, until one day, at the age of eighteen, I read John Stuart Mill’s Autobiography, and I there found this sentence: “My father taught me that the question ‘Who made me?’ cannot be answered, since it immediately suggests the further question ‘Who made god?'”

I’m no Russell or Mill but I do recall rehearsing a similar line of thought myself, at about age fifteen.  It’s what Carl Sagan was saying on his Day, too. “If there can be anything without a cause, it may just as well be the world.” Why not?

Well, some will resist that move because they prefer not to face the prospect of ego-annihilation and personal “rot.” But Russell’s view is appealing. It provides a solid riposte to the Buddhist emphasis on existence-as-illusion, one I think most renunciators can agree with (or should): “Happiness is none the less true happiness because it must come to an end.” Should we do all we can to postpone the end, and fill the interim with happy purpose? I vote yes. (Did you see the cartoon I posted yesterday?) There’s no other cure for birth and death than to enjoy the interval. (GS)

The future of life need be no illusion, and the vitality of our interest in that future will be as real as we choose to make it. The “good real things of life–work, love, children and play”– may just be good enough.

gratitude

November 25, 2010

“Gratitude is a bridge to your positive future.” [Thank Who Very MuchThank Goodness...Thank Epic Existence]

“If given the opportunity to live your life over and over again ad infinitum, forced to go through all of the pain and the grief of existence, would you be overcome with despair? Or would you fall to your knees in gratitude?”

That question changed philosopher Robert Solomon‘s life.

One can take one’s life and its advantages for granted, but how much better it is to acknowledge not only those advantages but one’s gratitude for them.

…it involves an admission of our vulnerability and our dependence on other people. The Psychology of Gratitude

Solomon collapsed and died of pulmonary hypertension on January 2, 2007 while changing planes at Zurich airport.

Happy Thanksgiving.

thanks a lot

November 27, 2009

The gap between actual conditions and ideal aspirations, I always say, is the correct measure of our distance from _______. (choose your preferred honorific: Utopia, Heaven, God, Nirvana, Salvation, Redemption, Enlightenment, Transcendence, Wisdom,  ___, …)

So, a more perfect Thanksgiving holiday for me would include: a shorter drive, less anxiety, more meaningful conversation, a lot more attention to the real meaning of gratitude,  less meaningless football (and no Detroit Lions or Dallas Cowboys), a lot less variety of turkey stuffing and gravy, and no prayer of thanks to our Heavenly Father for all He has done for Our Country in These Troubled Times. But… even more pie would be just fine with me. And maybe Garrison Keillor’s right: Thanksgiving is good enough the way it is.

And today, I’m most  grateful that my sister is driving a great distance to join us for a post-Thanksgiving weekend visit. As we say in Tennessee: we appreciate her very much.

Thank goodness

November 26, 2009

Here’s* gratitude for you. Thank Dan Dennett.

*And here, and here. Happy Thanksgiving!

thank goodness

November 12, 2009

The Saints agree: “everyone having God is happy” (Augustine), “ultimate felicity consists only in the contemplation of God.” (Aquinas)

We know that Augustine once thought himself happy in his Godless, hedonistic youth; and that he famously begged for more time to sow his oats and adjust to the idea of a more sedate life of “contemplative felicity.”

Since this isn’t yet the Atheism course, I propose now (for the sake of argument, at least) to grant the premise: some God-intoxicated persons are made happy, in a good way, by their faith. More power to them, so long as they don’t attempt to disrupt the happy pursuits of the happily faithless. (In fact, I won’t be inclined to challenge the happiness-making potential of religion in the Atheism course either, just the exclusionist approach of those zealots who’d happily leave us humanists “behind.”)

“Happy in a bad way” would involve the self-righteous, proselytizing, soul-consigning, fire-breathing, “exclusive path of salvation” attitude we saw exemplified in front of our Student Center recently. People who are happy because they’re not going to hell, but to hell with you and me– people who are happy, in other words, that they’re not you and me– don’t get my moral support. But those religionists who recognize, with William James, that it’s not God but more life that motivates most of us (religious or not) to pursue happiness, deserve some reciprocal acknowledgement and acceptance from the Godless. [Loyal Rue, reflecting on gratitude in Religion is not about God, makes a similar point.]

The Augustine quote above seems perfectly compatible with pluralism and the possibility of happy non-belief; but that’s misleading. Elsewhere he insists: “No man can be happy who knows thee not.” Aquinas, in his statement, seems clearly unreceptive to the proposal of peaceful coexistence with those whose happiness is not religiously contemplative. But why suppose that we must pronounce Ultimate Felicity For All? Can’t Aquinas just speak for himself? But maybe that’s not how you get canonized.

I’ve never been accustomed to thinking of Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) and his “Leviathan”  State as a prescription for happiness. But if you found yourself whisked out of a “war of all against all” and into the protective (if smothering) arms of civilized authority,  I suppose you might be expected to feel an initial flush of felicity. “Flourishing,” though, in the self-directed, potential-reaching sense, might then be harder to come by.

Bishop Butler (1692-1752) is on solid ground: “Happiness or satisfaction consists only in the enjoyment of those objects, which are by nature suited to our several particular appetites, passions, and affections.” And benevolent, neighborly love is so suited. We’re not Hobbesian savages by nature. (But… do we need a Bishop to tell us so?)

Seems like an opportune moment in our course, and (with Thanksgiving bearing down on us) in the season to raise the question: can secular, irreligious, even un-spiritual folk, be happy? (I’m on record, and not just on my own record, as saying yes, indeed. Not only am I now officially outed as a happy pragmatist, I’m a spiritual humanist too.)

Can religious and irreligious people each be happy in their own ways, side by side, without feeling mocked, threatened, ridiculed, villified, insulted, or scorned? Can we live and let live? Can’t we all just get along?

Can these guys concede the possibility that some others– not all, but some– might actually have defensible (though possibly not good) “reasons for believing”? And can the rest of us learn to “thank goodness” for our lives and our happiness? [Dennett text] [Ronald Aronson, “Thank Who Very Much”] [Matthew Chapman]