Orthodoxy become Orthopraxy: A Political Sinkhole

Samain                              Moon of the Winter Solstice

An interesting article in this morning’s Star-Tribune about the conflation of economics and religion, in particular laissez-faire economics (individualism) and Christianity as defined in William Buckley’s God and Man at Yale.  The author of a biography of Buckley, Carl T. Bogus, also the writer of this column, identifies this conviction as a sentiment rather than an argument, that is, the United States must be as radically laissez-faire in its economics as it is pure in its Christianity, so orthodoxy conflates into orthopraxy, a recipe for political disaster.

Bogus sees these two sentences as central to GAMAY (as Buckley’s book is called by movement conservatives):

“I myself believe,” he declared, “that the duel between Christianity and atheism is the most important in the world. I further believe that the struggle between individualism and collectivism is the same struggle reproduced on another level.”

The effect of this framing is to create either/or, black and white analysis.  Either you are Christian or you are not.  Either you are a laissez-faire economics individualist or you are a communist/socialist collectivist.  Either you are a Christian or you are an atheist.  One side is good, the other bad.

Buckley was an Episcopalian and had definite opinions about the correct, or orthodox line of thought within Christendom, a bright line that defined his Episcopalianism over against diluted or deluded others.  In the same way either you were a free-trader, a hands-off the individual para-libertarian or you were a collectivist, crushing the individual and the marvel of the free-market.

This splits the world, shattering the notion of a dialectic where individualism and collectivism, for example, exist as poles on a continuum, in dialogue with each other and informing each other.  In dialectical thinking the world is more complex, more given to nuance, there may be times where collectivism makes more sense and others where individualism does.  They are not, in dialectical thought, opposites, rather they represent dynamic forces always at work.  In other words you can’t have one without the other.

Bogus helped me follow the trail from Buckley, who was well-known for his warm personal relationships with liberals, to Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Dick Cheney, evolution and climate-change deniers.  This underlying either/or analysis of Buckley’s has devolved into a crusade the evils of secular humanism and government action in general, though especially government action designed to show our collective responsibility as citizens of one nation.

I’m not sure what trail we follow to get back from this place where heaven is Milton Friedman and hell is John Maynard Keynes, where heaven is right-wing Christian evangelicalisim and hell is any other way of understanding the world.

Orthodoxy helps clarify and simplify the world, leading to clear lines of ethical and moral thought.  When orthodoxy makes the concomitant leap to orthopraxy, that is, practice must always be in line with orthodox belief, we find ourselves in the same spot as those with conservative Islam looming over them.  Mullah Limbaugh and his fellow clerics, Ann Coulter and others of the shock jock circuit lash waverers back into line.

 

 

Mi Casa

Samain                                     Moon of the Winter Solstice

Much as I enjoyed the travel, the close time with Kate, the ocean, new cultures and places, I find this computer and my own keyboard, my reference shelf and my library, mementos from past trips, family, collected art like slipping into a pair of comfortable bedroom slippers.  At its best travel allows for renewal, challenge, broadening, but an unexpected and forgotten pleasure, perhaps never noticed before, is this lifting up of home.

Home as reality and as metaphor carries a special valence for all of us, one way or the other.  I moved so often for the first 40+ years of my life I never had the time, the digging into a place where I could really feel home.  Here in Andover, although the burb itself is nada as place, the home Kate and I have created nourishes both of us.  We have space for our mutual creative work, space for mutual work outside and in, leisure space and fitness space.

Over the years, as is the case with most family homes, our sons have developed memories here, now grandchildren and in-laws, too.  Animals, both present and past, inhabit the hallways and the woods.  Storms past, challenges met and overcome, Thanksgiving, Hanukah, Christmas, birthdays, honey harvests.  All here.

Home.  This trip made me appreciate it more than I ever have.

Peace? Prize? Putin?

Samain                          Moon of the Winter Solstice

Apparently, I was not the only one taken aback by the Confucian Peace Prize.  Here’s a quote from the NYT about the prize and the award givers rationale behind it:

“It praised his decision to go to war in Chechnya in 1999.

“His iron hand and toughness revealed in this war impressed the Russians a lot, and he was regarded to be capable of bringing safety and stability to Russia,” read an English version of the committee’s statement. “He became the antiterrorist No. 1 and the national hero.”

Not only that, it applauded him for “acting as the propagandist of current political events” while still in high school, and for being selected to join the K.G.B. while in college, “which made true his teenage dream of joining the K.G.B.” Much later, of course, came the “large-scale military action towards the illegal armed forces in Grozny, Chechnya.””  NYT, 11/15/11

Another article I read said that the CCP has distanced itself from the organization that has given now 2 peace prizes, the last one to a man who refused to show up.  Observers believe this was an attempt to divert attention from the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to Liu Xiaobo, imprisoned Chinese dissident writer.

Oops.  Didn’t work.

Oh. Yeah.

Samain                           Moon of the Winter Solstice

We have entered my favorite season of the year, the slow slide toward the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year.  Cue Robert Frost.

(Dandelions at Lapatia Bay, Kate)

In Ushuaia the sun did not set until 9:30 pm.  Here it sets at 4:30.  As we traveled south along the west coast of South America, the days grew longer and longer.  The evening I went into Ushuaia to have supper, it was 8:00 pm and still quite light.  People strolled the streets, window shopping, holding hands, glancing here and there at other walkers.

They’re headed for a date with December 21st as well, but for them it will be the summer solstice and the longest day of the year.  I knew this intellectually, but it was the little things, like taking pictures of the dandelions at Lapatia Bay, the southernmost harbor of Tierra del Fuego, that pressed its reality into my experience.  Let’s see.  Dandelions here.  Leafless trees at home.  Spring.  Autumn.  Oh. Yeah.

 

Quotables

Samain                                     Moon of the Winter Solstice

Quotables

Bumper sticker today:    Think about honking if you love conceptual art.

Bumper sticker in Stanley, capitol of the Falkland islands (2,500 people):  For such a small town there sure are a lot of assholes.

Heard on the cruise:  Hope you have a good day.  Reply:  It already is a good day, we both woke up.

 

20,000 Miles Over the Sea (and some in the air)

Samain                        Moon of the Winter Solstice

According to the cruise log provided by the ship, we traveled 12, 800 statute miles by sea.  Counting the six thousand plus from Rio to Atlanta and another thousand to New York to get started, we covered over 19,000, close to 20,000 miles in 40 days.  That’s a long way.

It had to be over twelve thousand because we went from 45 degrees N to 45 degrees S (and then some) which equals 90 degrees, then 45 degrees S (and then some, I think we hit 55 degrees S in Usuhaia, if I remember correctly) to 45 degrees N again for 180 degrees which is pole to pole, so one half way around the world or roughly 12,500 miles.  Put that in your story problem folder.

Still digesting the trip, the experiences, its length.  If, as Marita, our guide in Buenos Aires, said, travel makes us bigger, I’m bigger in some ways.  Waiting for the outline of that greater bigness to emerge.

Socialized Medicine, Here I Come

Samain                      Moon of the Winter Solstice

The end of the day.  Sunday.  Used to go to sleep on Sunday night with Monday whirring away, chattering and buzzing, cutting a channel through my attempts to sleep.  Now I go to sleep on Sunday night.  That’s all.

Granddaughter Ruth has the makings of a cook.  Maybe.  Her recipe for cooking a turkey:  put it in the oven at 10 degrees, cook it for half an hour.  Put it on a big plate and put green beans and potatoes beside it.  Sounds like my first attempts at cooking a turkey.

Speaking of retirement.  Didn’t somebody bring that up?  I go to sign up for Medicare tomorrow.  I have my Medicare card already and now have to choose a plan.  Kathryn Giegler will help me as she did Kate.  This is a rite of passage, analogous to getting a driver’s license or that first Social Security check.

When I went on a quest tonight to solve a computer problem, I ended up in Best Buy where Christmas music played over the loudspeakers.  I found myself cheered by it, rather than annoyed.  It felt familiar, comfortable, mine.  This surprised me.  A Grinch I’m not, but I’ve often found the commercial side of the holiday season a large, unwelcome mosquito that won’t quit buzzing into my awareness no matter how often I try to swat it away.

Instead I found myself thinking of roasting chestnuts, singing carols, making a roaring fire and having hot chocolate.  Geez.

Yeah, You Betcha

Samain                        Moon of the Winter Solstice

Went out on an errand this afternoon as the sun began to set.  At 4:00 pm.  When I hit Round Lake, I saw a car in the rear view.  It had something on top.  A Christmas tree.  We have one of the metro’s favorite cut your own tree places about 6 miles north of us.

This triggered two memories.  The first, which you’ve encountered if you’ve traveled in the tropics during Christmas, is the jarring sight of Christmas trees, wreaths and lights all atwinkle at 80+ degrees.  In Rio they have applied to Guiness for certification of their floating Christmas tree in the big lake near the funicular for Corcovada (muy grande Jesus).  It’s supposed to be the biggest.  Among a crop of how many floating Christmas trees, I wonder?

An oddity I realized in Rio was that most of these Christmas decorations have a fir or pine as their exemplars.  That was the trigger with the Christmas tree on the car.  When I took my trip to Southeast Asia seven years ago, I was in Singapore at this time.  Same strange thing.  Christmas trees, wreaths, Christmas tree decorations all sprouting from vertical shopping malls in the air conditioned nation.

The second memory triggered by the car with the Christmas tree was the sight of golf carts all loaded up on flat bed trucks headed south for the winter season.  Soon we’ll have the rickety trucks coming to town piled high with cut wood sold door to door for fire places.

We do have a very distinct culture here and it’s visible to me right now, with South America so present to me.

One guy on the cruise asked me about ice fishing.  Seems the word of our palatial fish houses has spread to the larger world.

Yeh, you betcha, we’re our own culture up here.  For sure.

Climate Shock

Samain                           Moon of the Winter Solstice

Brother Mark wrote from Ha’il, Saudi Arabia and asked about culture shock for us as we returned to the US.  I said no, not much, since the Veendam is a floating exemplar of North American Western culture.  After heading to the grocery store this morning, I might modify that response a bit.

Specifically, I began to compare the 39 degree, gray, windy day here in Andover to the 82-86 degree days we just experience in Rio de Janerio.  While Cariocas and their tourist companions don their minimal beach garb, grab the nearest towel with an outrageous design and slather on the sun tan lotion, I put on my Ecuadorian alpaca zip up hooded sweater with llamas on it, my Usuhaia winter hat and the wool scarf Kate knitted for me during the first weeks of our trip, to buy groceries.

Geographers and historians warn, rightly I think, about attributing too much influence to climate and geography; still, the difference between a brisk sub 40 degree day and a sunny 85 degree one is substantial.  It affects the mind.  As I cranked up the Celica and pulled out of the driveway, I felt exhilaration and stimulation, a sort of well, let’s get on with it attitude.  My Carioca equivalent woke up, walked outside, felt the warm sun and his mind turned toward the beach, the beautiful women in their revealing swim wear and a night at a salsa bar.  Climate has its impacts.

Above the Tropic of Cancer sit the big cultural engines of the world:  China, the US, Europe, Russia.  That’s partly because of the imbalance of land masses in the north, 60+ % of Earth’s land is in the northern hemisphere and partly because of the geographic and climatological conditions.  It takes more effort to survive in temperate climates than in tropical or sub-tropical ones.  By that I mean it takes more energy expenditure.

That having to survive drastically different seasonal conditions would have an effect on culture is almost tautological.  That it has a positive effect is not so obvious, but it seems to have had at least an impact that requires temperate climate folk to work harder to make it through the long fallow time from late October through sometime in March.

As I went to the grocery store today, I felt this difference vicerally, being only a couple of days away from Ipanema and its sun oriented lifestyle.  I’ve never been a sun focused guy, see my post about not being a beach person, so I find the temperate climate suits me.  In fact I prefer it so much that I have moved steadily north in my life:  Oklahoma to Indiana, Indiana to Wisconsin, Wisconsin to Minnesota.

So, yes Mark, I did experience culture shock, from a hot one to a cold one.

No longer under the Southern Cross

Fall                                       Moon of Thanksgiving

No longer under the Southern Cross.  The Veendam sailed at 6pm on November 22nd with someone else in the lanai state room 351.  Ipanema Plaza hotel room 601 picked up new guests after 2 pm on November 24th.  Seats 31 g & h got new occupants soon after 5:30 am on the 25th as did seats 21 c & d after 9:10 am on the same day.  The Super Shuttle returned to the airport for more passengers around 10 am.

Then, and only then, could we come inside our very own home.  No one to confirm, no immigration vouchers to sign, no customs declaration to fill out, no 5:45 dinner seating to make, no tickets to process, no luggage to check.  Just come in, set the bags down, breath a sigh of relief, then get in Rav 4, drive to Armstrong Kennels, pick up four very happy dogs, keep them from jumping in the front seat, herd them in the house.

Oh, yeah.  Things go on.  Still, part of the pleasure of home is its predictability, its relative routine that lets the mind and body run free for things other than travel.  I know, sounds funny doesn’t it, but home can let you have a kind of relaxation and freedom that vacations don’t grant.  On vacation you have to think about the money you’re spending–oh, you don’t? well, we do–where you’re gonna eat, what you’re gonna do tomorrow, how to squeeze an amount of enjoyment out to justify spending all this money and frustration in air travel.

I know, that’s the dark side of vacations, but traveling the red eye from Rio can firm up the recollection of the dark side.

Kate wanted me to print out all the post I’ve made on the trip, so I did.  It amounts to 60 pages or so, plenty of documentation about the up side.

Anyhow here we are on the cold, cold grass of home and glad to shiver on it.  No, really.  Hey, I’m a Minnesotan after all.