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“Our own special role, which we will hand on to our children, is that of managing the arduous transition from the terminal Cenozoic to the emerging Ecozoic Era, the period when humans will be present to the planet as participating members of the comprehensive Earth community.” -Thomas Berry

To fill the gaps still present in my understanding, I searched the Web for these terms. The Wikipedia page for “Cenozoic” says it’s the most recent of three geologic periods, describing the last 65.5 million years, after the Cretaceous period ended. The same search for “Ecozoic” re-directs to the page about Michael Dowd, who’s described as “an American evangelist minister, evolutionary theologian and religious naturalism advocate.”

“Oh fuck,” I thought. “The Detroit spore is run by undercover evangelicals.” Luckily that premature conclusion wasn’t very accurate.

I watched an ABC interview on the website for Dowd’s book Thank God For Evolution and, though I remain somewhat skeptical, many of my fears were reduced. To clarify, my fears are based on the use of religious language to describe evolution or the progress of mankind. The language used in monotheistic religions is extremely vulnerable to misinterpretation, due to the inherently conservative nature of those religions. The goal is (and has to be, in a mass creed) to maintain tradition, beliefs, hierarchy, etc.

I can’t embed that ABC interview here, but I did find a similar one on YouTube from WREG-TV in Memphis (embedded below). I have to say, I was really impressed by this guy. Personally I have a problem with the fact that most scientists today don’t feel a conflict between their professional work and their religious beliefs, despite the enormous conflict that is usually present between the two. I figured Dowd would walk the same territory — or if not, he was probably trying to take the steering wheel from modern science and swerve the vehicle into a brick wall.

Instead of inspiring fear or hatred in me, Dowd convinced me that he may actually be capable of bringing Christianity up to speed. He and his wife (an atheist) drive around the country, sleeping in their van and working in people’s spare bedrooms. They’re trying to spread the message that there is no essential conflict between the language of science and religion. In his view, talking about the development of the universe after the big bang is no different than talking about the divine work of God. He seems to be expressing the idea that religious language was the best way to explain the universe at the time. Now we have other ways to explain it, ways that are more relevant at this time.

The point is that this marks a potential shift away from the concept of an omniscient, personified god who promises access to eternal life after death in heaven (and so on), to a new concept — one that is much more relevant, less vulnerable to manipulation, but (obviously) more difficult to explain and understand (especially for anyone who does believe in a personified god — or worse, those who believe that Jesus is still coming back to “save” them).

I haven’t read Dowd’s book yet, but I’m definitely interested in hearing more of what he has to say. Maybe this sort of movement will strengthen both science (which tends to reduce or devalue the individual in today’s post-industrial world) and religion (which was always supposed to be an individual journey of spirituality and higher meaning, not a subscription to a creed).

This is particularly exciting because, as I’ve learned from reading about Jungian archetypes, Christian symbolism is still very valid in human psychology. If we toss off all the arbitrary bullshit, then maybe we can reinvigorate the true purpose of the Christian myths, to the benefit of Western civilization as a whole. Yet now that I’ve watched the video below, I see that even Dowd is still pressing the idea of a personified god (it’s the use of He, with a capital “H,” that gets me) — so it can’t be that much of a jump forward.

Different authors took the existential line of thought in many directions, but as Camus pointed out, they did tend to justify the absurdity of life with some sort of claim to the eternal. Kierkegaard was probably the only philosopher connected to Existentialism who ever defaulted to a purely religious conclusion. But still, one can’t help but wonder how someone could pick apart all the layers, witness pure existence in its true form, and then justify it by concluding that there’s something that exists above and beyond our immediate life. You’ll recall that even Steppenwolf‘s Hermine says all true actions live on in eternity.

This is what bothered Camus, and I think it’s why he wrote The Myth of Sisyphus. As I said in the last post, it’s a very subtle change in outlook between the Existentialists and Camus’s Absurdism — but it is a change nonetheless. The Existentialists (as I’ve come to know them) were remarkably skilled at describing the “nausea” brought on by life, but they were terrible at suggesting what to do about it. Those with suicidal tendencies before their existential investigation were often left with even greater death-bound impulses. In short, Existentialists sought a way to live in spite of the absurd, while Camus, on the other hand, chose to live for the absurd.

“Living is keeping the absurd alive. […] One of the only coherent philosophical positions is thus revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man and his own obscurity. […] It may be thought that suicide follows revolt – but wrongly. […] Suicide, like the leap, is acceptance at its extreme. […] That revolt gives life its value. Spread out over the whole length of a life, it restores its majesty to that life.” (pp. 54-55).

Those familiar with my rants may be thinking of Henry Miller. Back in March I wrote two posts (on Mar 11 and Mar 21) about Miller and George Orwell, after reading that Orwell had criticized Miller’s style of “protest.” To sum it up, Orwell’s style was to attack the governments that had swung too closely to totalitarianism. Miller’s style was more of a protest against all of existence — hence why I think it fits in with Camus’s suggestions.

I’ve only read three of his books, but it’s clear to me that Miller experienced more happiness in his life than most of my favorite writers. That’s just one of the reasons why he’s an enigma, why I can’t cross his name off and keep moving down the list…so to speak. Camus and Miller both understood that, though the absurd does seem to negate our natural tendencies in life, it in no way prevents us from adapting to its conditions. Human beings are the most adaptable creatures on this planet! And our imagination is more powerful than any other tool we possess!

Those who have come this far in the struggle are often compelled to write about it. I know not what drives a man to write — even looking at myself. I know I was bored, depressed, unsuccessful, lonely, etc…and I was deeply inspired by the personal fiction of Jack Kerouac. But at the time, it just seemed like something that would be a worthwhile activity even if nothing came of it. Even if I didn’t get paid for it or become famous because of it, writing seemed like a purposeful way to spend my time. Now three years have gone by and — after an arduous process of self-realization — I still feel essentially the same.

In the concluding section of Sisyphus, Camus suggests that a life of absurd creation is, without a doubt, a life worth living:

“He must give the void its colors. [...] A profound thought is in a constant state of becoming; it adopts the experience of a life and assumes its shape. Likewise, a man’s sole creation is strengthened in its successive and multiple aspects: his works. […] A succession of works can be but a series of approximations of the same thought. […] But if those failures all have the same resonance, the creator has managed to repeat the image of his own condition, to make the air echo with the sterile secret he posesses” (pp. 114-115).

“The great work of art has less importance in itself than in the ordeal it demands of a man and the opportunity it provides him of overcoming his phantoms and approaching a little closer to his naked reality” (p. 115).

“In that daily effort in which intelligence and passion mingle and delight each other, the absurd man discovers a discipline that will make up the greatest of his strengths. […] To create is likewise to give a shape to one’s own fate. […] There is no frontier between being and appearing. […] The final effort for these related minds, creator or conqueror, is to manage to free themselves also from their undertakings” (p. 117).

But you see that creation is of utmost importance. To continue to create is a man’s way of revolting against the demanding and often unrewarding nature of creative activity. In other words, hardly anyone will ever become famous for writing. Most who realize this after hoping for fame will stop writing. Those who continue do so in an absurd fashion, because it will appear to bystanders that the writer is wasting his time. The absurd creator disagrees:

“He knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life…in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory’s eye and soon sealed by his death. […] The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy” (pp. 122-123).

After two posts I still haven’t explained the myth itself. Sisyphus is a character sentenced by the gods to the underworld where he must roll a heavy rock up a mountain, whereupon it just rolls back down. This would drive most to despair (if not insanity), but Sisyphus is clever. His victory lies in his continued activity, which he performs without hoping that it will end. By simply pressing on, he revolts against the gods who devised this terrible state of existence. Camus said he prefers to think about the calm moment when Sisyphus reaches the top of the mountain — when he can take a deep breath, survey the land around him, and then stroll leisurely down the slope again.

But don’t be mistaken. Camus provides no manual, nor could there ever be one. Every man troubled by existence must imagine his own happiness. I haven’t quite accomplished it yet, but I feel a lot better about the process than I did before. And with that said, I may be moving on to the next phase in this process of inner discovery. As always, you’re welcome to come along for the ride.

Most of the world was introduced to his wily behavior in Borat, the 2006 film of similar format (and from the same director Larry Charles) in which a TV reporter from Kazakhstan travels to America in order to learn what it’s all about. I was a fan of Cohen’s Da Ali G Show, which HBO has re-aired in recent years after initial broadcasts in the UK. That program featured alternating clips of Ali G, Borat, and Bruno, three characters designed to catch people off-guard, pull them out of their comfort zone, and elicit an outcome that is equal parts humorous, humiliating, and offensive.

So Bruno the character was no surprise to me, but Bruno the movie was. After the stir Borat caused, I couldn’t believe that Cohen could still dupe anyone into signing a filming contract without reading the fine print! I went into it thinking that I’d be one of the few people not offended by the film. I wasn’t totally wrong, but perhaps “offended” isn’t the right word. It’s not that anything offended my customs or beliefs; it’s that I felt extremely uncomfortable at multiple points in the movie.

I wasn’t uncomfortable about the fact that Bruno is a homosexual or because I had to watch a plethora of bizarre, unexpected nude scenes and sexual acts; I felt uncomfortable because watching Bruno was like living through a nightmare. It seemed that I was asleep and had no choice but to process the horror (a feeling that reminds me of an essay I wrote last year). Upon exiting the theatre, I remarked that — whether or not we perceive it on a daily basis — this nightmare is the world around us. And no, I’m not referring to Bruno; I’m talking about everyone that Bruno encountered on his journey through America.

I’m a generally pessimistic person with many strong reservations about American society, and yet Bruno still stirred me out of a general contentment with my surroundings. The film reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, which these days gets a lot of uninspired comparisons to the psychedelic drug experience. Many people gain satisfaction from knowing that they can expose themselves to wilder, more extraordinary sensory stimuli than their predecessors. We can’t necessarily be richer or possess more property or money, but we do have the power to live to greater extremes. Our wealth is our experience and our ability to retell it, to share it with others, to help them learn from it…

But I’m wandering. I thought of Alice in Wonderland even though that comparison isn’t often made to American culture. I usually think of Carrol’s absurdist satire as very specific to that British world of the 1800s. Of course I know America is just as pretentious and depraved, and the American Empire thinks it’s the best at everything. It was still a strange experience having this brought to mind. We don’t like to think of our culture as evil and infected. Even when we do, we usually project it on other groups or places. “The American South is so messed up” or “those west coast people are really strange.” To reference Norman O. Brown’s Freudian study Life Against Death, neurosis is everywhere, and it’s there all the time.

In reality, our world is only as strong as the dumbest, most backwards person around — in other words, the weakest link is the collective weakness. Yes, Bruno provoked people into acting the way they did, but once provoked, they were all too happy to continue behaving that way. That’s because the Mad Hatter is a Dallas talk show host; the White Rabbit is a candidate for the American presidency; Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are cage fighters entertaining in-the-closet gay men struggling to deal with their inconvenient sexual preference (Is that one a stretch? I’ve always said those extreme fighting shows are soft-core gay porn); the Red Queen is…well…a dominatrix at a swingers party in your neighborhood.

I’m disappointed in the professional critics who bashed this film, reporting that it was basically just more of the same from Sacha Baron Cohen. Many also claimed that it shocked for the sake of shocking. Their unwillingness to challenge themselves and their perception of “good filmmaking” is a big reason why people are losing (or have lost) faith in critics.

This film is nothing like Borat. Obviously the xenophobia has largely been replaced by homophobia. But instead of inspiring laughs and an occasional sneer, Bruno makes us cringe and even infects us with a bit of despair. Bruno is ten levels beyond Borat in every way possible. And let me be very clear: Bruno is arguably a terrible film, but it wasn’t intended to be a “film.”

Even more so than Borat, Bruno is a documentary posing as a comedy. Presenting it as a film was just the best possible choice in terms of distribution. Think of all the oblivious middle Americans who will pick it up from their local Blockbuster store later this winter, expecting an edgy comedy about some idiot foreigner trying to find his way to fame — whether it means moving to Hollywood, feigning charity, or even attempting a conversion to heterosexuality. Every single one of them will have their third eye pried open.

While sex only came up occasionally in Borat (with the exception of that nude hotel fight…), Bruno is all sex, all the time. Likewise, sex is at the very core of what it means to be human. It is responsible for more of our thoughts, feelings, and actions than any of us would like to admit. Sex goes deeper than customs and traditions; it goes deeper than national pride; it goes deeper than religious beliefs. Bruno spanked all our asses, but he was able to do so because of everything we take for granted.

We think we’re so advanced (hell, even the Republicans finally agree that something needs to be done about global warming!). But we have so much more progress to make. Actually it’s not a certain point we need to progress to. It’s that we, as a society, tend to lounge on the couch unless we have a fire lit under our ass. Say what you want about Al Gore’s electric bill — An Inconvenient Truth is the primary reason why our culture is currently obsessed with becoming more environmentally friendly. Environmental destruction is no longer a myth that happens in faraway rainforests; it’s happening in the tailpipe of every car in every driveway in the world.

Again I digress. The point isn’t that people reacted to Bruno’s flagrant homosexuality. Actually I’m not quite sure right now what the point was (apparently the film deserves a quick assessment and additional viewings). As one guest on NPR said last week, there are so many levels to Bruno that it’s hard to be sure who’s getting made fun of, who should be offended, and what we’re learning from the situation. But we are learning, nonetheless, even if we’re not quite sure what the lesson is.

The overall lesson, I think, is that even the most open-minded and enlightened of us still hide behind conventions and institutions. Perhaps this relates to my realization halfway through the movie, that the whole audience was unexpectedly watching a gay love story, and most (if not all) of us were emotionally involved in it.

We are capable of adapting to almost any situation that is forced upon us, so why do we have so much trouble adapting to what arises naturally from our peers and our unconscious? So many humans think of themselves as divine creatures on the path to eternal greatness. We ought to be a lot more aware of the true nature of this world, particularly the cultural world that we alone create. Awareness feeds the inspiration to change, and as we’ve all seen with the Twitter response during the recent Iran election conspiracy, our global awareness is growing at a rate never before possible.

If Bruno accomplishes anything, it will be to further raise awareness about the absolutely horrifying nature of the land we call America. We may be more culturally advanced that some places in the world, but we also have a greater responsibility to advancement. I don’t mean to say that we are entitled in any way, but just that we have absolutely no excuse to give Cohen enough material for not one, but two of these satirical films.

Until the material disappears, I’m so thankful that movies like Bruno exist, and I can’t wait to see what Sacha Baron Cohen comes up with next.

He then makes an example of homosexuality to illustrate what is normal versus abnormal behavior, and what are rational versus irrational feelings. He says that “what psychoanalysis undertakes to do is to remove abnormal feelings” (p. 90). In fact this is far from the truth. Psychoanalysis is concerned with neuroses that arise when fears and desires are repressed into the subconscious. Psychoanalysis would never hope to turn someone from homosexuality to heterosexuality; it would uncover the repressed homosexual urges hidden beneath the conscious mind of a heterosexual. The point of psychoanalysis — and modern psychology in general — is to help people feel better and lead more fulfilling lives, not to make them “normal.”

Coincidentally, I’m currently reading Man And His Symbols (edited and co-authored by Carl Jung), and I just came to a passage that illustrates this point. Jung explains how, while “the surface of our world seems to be cleansed of all superstitious and irrational elements,” this is not actually the case. “Skepticism and scientific conviction exist in him side by side with old-fashioned prejudices, outdated habits of thought and feeling, obstinate misinterpretations, and blind ignorance” (p. 86) But I’m straying from my desired topic, so I must return to Lewis.

After suggesting that psychoanalysis could cure a homosexual or a person who has an “irrational” fear of war (forgive me for not knowing how fear of war could ever be irrational), Lewis says it becomes a question of morality. The fact that he equates a soldier’s bravery with Christian morality is one issue. But then he continues to explain that free will allows people to choose, and subsequent life choices “are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or into a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow-creatures, and with itself” (p. 92). I mentioned this to my brother, and he informed me that this is the basis for every role-playing video game (i.e. – RPG) ever made; the character’s decisions add up over time to create a being that is essentially good or bad. We both had a laugh over this, but I shuddered with fear over the next point is Lewis’ statement.

Lewis argues that morality is relative, which as a concept has some truth in it, but not the way he presents it. It goes like this: If a person who is basically “bad” commits a good act, it’s a much greater event than if a basically “good” person commits the same good act. On the other hand, if a “good” person commits a sin, it’s much, much worse than if a “bad” person carries out the same sin. This is supposedly because bad people cannot discern right from wrong. Concerning our actions, he says that “the bigness or smallness of the thing, seen from the outside, is not what really matters” (p. 93).

How this translates in my mind is to justify an act such as the Holocaust; in other words, it was okay for Hitler to run a Nazi government and commit mass genocide, because he was a “bad” person and was not equipped to make choices based on Christian morality. That example is too rough for you? Then consider it this way, once again how I interpret it. Lewis’ argument puts obedient Christians in a bind, for they want to believe that they are “good,” and for a good person to commit even the slightest sin is much worse than anything that a “bad” person could do. And above all else, Christians want to be admitted into heaven when they die, so they must always be concerned about their actions and feel guilty for their sins. Those high up in the Christian organization, or powerful leaders with ties to the church, can get away with being “bad” people, making unsound choices and committing acts of horror, because they have the excuse of being incapable of moral choice.

As Lewis puts it: “That is why Christians are told not to judge. We see only the results which a man’s choices make out of his raw material. But God does not judge him on the raw material at all, but on what he has done with it” (p. 91). That Christianity (nor any other religion) has not fixed the dilemmas of the human individual or its civilization is a fitting enough closing to Lewis’ flawed statement. We need to develop a better explanation for why we are how we are. Since I have read Freud extensively and I am getting further into Jung’s work, I’m confident that psychology will provide the most fulfilling answers in that regard. Now the real problem is getting people to think critically about a document of indoctrination like Mere Christianity.

The first time I saw Kerouac clearly outline his own style was in Desolation Angels, when he made it especially clear that most of his books were written with little to no hope of ever being published. In fact he was writing for the sake of writing, because he believed that was the reason life was bestowed upon him. But that’s not the topic I mean to address here. For those not familiar with Angels, it’s a very long novel for Kerouac — about 400 pages — and it’s roughly divided into two books: “Desolation Angels” and “Passing Through.” A section in the first book called “Desolation in Solitude” basically contains his notebook writings from a summer spent on wildfire watch atop a mountain in Washington State.

I was actually more fond of the “Passing Through” parts, since they contain some of his most straightforward writing, in comparison to his more poetic, abstract work. One of the most interesting sections in Angels came a few pages from the end, when he talks about his friend Cody Pomeroy (the fictionalized name of his good friend Neal Cassady). The section points to why Cassady was so influential in Kerouac’s life:

“He is a believer in life and he wants to go to Heaven but because he loves life so he embraces it so much he thinks he sins and will never see Heaven. [...] You could have ten thousand cold eyed Materialistic officials claim they love life too but can never embrace it so near sin and also never see Heaven. [...] They sin by lifelessness! [...] Cody had a wife whom he really loved, and three kids he really loved, and a good job on the railroad. But when the sun went down his blood got hot:—hot for old lovers like Joanna, for old pleasure like marijuana and talk, for jazz, for the gayety that any respectable American wants in a life growing more arid by the year in Law Ridden America. [...] He filled his car with friends and booze and pot and batted around looking for ecstasy…” (pp. 405-406).

This passage got me thinking about what we perceive to be normal and abnormal when it comes to behavior and lifestyle. In many ways the Internet is making weird things — like indie music, for example — more commonplace. But are unique people and things actually being molded to fit within the status quo? Is there even a real Outsider in America anymore? Or have we all be corralled into our homes, discouraged from embarking on roaming adventures, turned on to comfort and technological luxuries, and told to live quietly and obediently? I haven’t decided yet. Maybe we’re just learning to vent our weird behavior at the correct time and place, such as at a music festival. After all, they have become extremely common as this decade progressed — and now even Michigan has Rothbury.

My next Kerouac project will be to read Visions of Cody, a book that I’ve heard Kerouac would have preferred On The Road to be like. It’s supposed to be an alternate take on his travels with Cassady, transcribed in part from tape recorded conversations between the two.

1. Religion and churches are all man-made entities
2. Ethics and morals are independent from faith and cannot arise from it
3. Religion is both amoral and immoral

Hitchens then runs through many true examples of the pitfalls of religion before branching into discussions of metaphysics and philosophy. I’ll share with you some of my favorite sections. Hitchens tears the Mormon religion limb from limb, asserting that 25,000 (twenty-five thousand) words in the Book of Mormon were copied directly from the Old Testament of the Holy Bible. An additional 2,000 words were taken from the New Testament. And yet Joseph Smith supposedly transcribed the text from golden plates delivered from God by an angel. Given that Mormonism is one of the largest religions to be created in America, it’s a shame that Hitchens doesn’t discuss the joke that is Scientology (I think I’ll save my own comments on that subject for another blog post).

My other favorite section explains the Catholic Church’s friendly treatment of Hitler’s Nazi regime. At one time, the Papacy even celebrated Hitler’s birthday. Then after WWII, the Vatican used its power to provide passports and funding for Nazi leaders to flee to South America. But these two examples are merely the most humorous, and not nearly representative of all the evil that religion has caused on earth.

Naturally, a book like this would be lacking without any mention of psychology and literature. Hitchens does reference Freud on a few occasions. Freud said that religion cannot free human beings of their fear of death. Likewise, Freud apparently said that religion is inevitable until mankind stops fearing death and breaks its tendency for wishful thinking, neither of which is extremely probable. Hitchens claims that “philosophy steps in where religion fails, just as science and medicine for alchemy, and astronomy for astrology.” But his main suggestion for deriving moral behavior without religion is essentially to obey karma. Hitchens suggests that the saying “treat others as you would wish to be treated” can be taught to children and requires no violence, massacres, or sadistic behavior.

Hitchens is one of the most knowledgeable people I’ve ever come across. The extent of his intellect makes itself clear throughout the book. The book succeeds most at explaining all the disgusting behavior that religion has promoted and allowed. But obviously any one book isn’t going to convince the world that all current religions are outdated and irrelevant (as Bill Hicks would often say). Still, Hitchens says that a new enlightenment is necessary. He condones “the study of literature and poetry for its own sake and for the greater good of mankind.” He also commends the unrestricted pursuit of scientific discovery and the utilization of widespread information on the Internet.

And that, of course, is why I write on this blog.

Psychologist Bernard travels from Great Britain to the Savage Reservation in New Mexico, where he finds a young fellow named John. John is the son of a British woman who was accidentally left in the reservation a few decades ago. John’s mindset is the combined product of indigenous mythologies and now-nonexistent Christianity. During one conversation, John says:

“‘I stood against a rock in the middle of the day, in summer, with my arms out, like Jesus on the Cross.’

‘What on earth for?’ [asked Bernard.]

‘I wanted to know what it was like being crucified. Hanging there in the sun…’

‘But why?’

‘Why? Well…’ He hesitated. ‘Because I felt I ought to. If Jesus could stand it…’

‘It seems a funny way of curing your unhappiness,’ said Bernard. But on second thoughts he decided that there was, after all, some sense in it. Better than taking soma…” (pp. 137-138).

This episode turns out to be useful foreshadowing (forgive me for even using that high school English term) for what happens later in the book. I won’t give that away specifically. The point is that civilization thrives on conformity. Sterilization of mind and body allow a society to operate more efficiently. If an individual dares to stand against the wave, he will not only feel the pain of his struggle; he will also be punished directly by those creating (or riding) the waves. This leads to my theory about The Big Lebowski, which deserves an essay in itself. With that said, I should probably collect my thoughts for a larger work.