Faith is...

...to hope for things which are not seen, but which are true.

A Season 3 episode of The Mentalist has made me think of faith. The episode speaks of a 'temple' where blind faith in the teaching and the teacher is advocated. Predictably, those in power are corrupt and take advantage of the 'flock'.

Echoes of many an exposé of such religious scams come to mind. The Catholic priests' paedophilia, brothel-monasteries, money-mongering saints - they're all quite... normal, so to speak. What makes me wonder, though, is the gravity with which we regard these scams - over other kinds. It seems that a betrayal of faith is greater than a Satyam-Maytas, or a political trade, or a havala; if all of these are of immense gravity, that is so people people's trust in them was betrayed.

I am aware that I am speaking of two things here: faith and trust. I am beginning with the assumption that faith (in something) is a necessary ingredient of trust. And in that vein, I have two things to talk about: the nature of faith, and the uses to which we put it.

Kant, one of the first (in my opinion) to actually bridge that unbridgeable gap between logic and the beautifully, heartbreakingly vulnerable human need for hope ("Hope, like love, needs constant nourishment to survive"), spoke of practical postulates. These were essentially unprovable, because no universal, concrete proof could be provided for them; religion/God or faith were his perfect examples. To Kant, unlike Descartes, God did not exist beyond proof of doubt. Descartes sought to ram it down our throats that if God were conceivable, He existed. The infallibility of human thought was his first false assmption. To Kant, however, the existence of God was necessitated by human need; it was not logical, scientific or mathematical certainty, and in the face of need, certainty had no place. Extrapolate that to any kind of faith (if you are an atheist or Agnostic) and one sees what Kant meant.

All religions, all faiths, all -isms exist to fill this practical gap. We all believe because we need to, though we may fill them differently. At the basest, most ignorant, surface level, we may disregard the need for this faith (and it is my assumption here that every one of us needs to create some meaning out of life, even when we find solace in the idea that life has no meaning) and spend lifetimes lost and anxious, with faith in ephemeral pleasures. We may have an inkling of this need, but no faith in ourselves, and so turn to a form of religion that advocates no autonomy (The Mentalist's blind faith is an example). Or we may, like Ayn Rand and yet not like her, seek faith in man's glory and achievement, and find faith in an egoistic form of ourselves. Or like Vedanta or Buddhism, we may seek that faith in a 'higher, more enlightened' Self. Whichever way we choose, that gap needs filling. The greater autonomy we allow ourselves to fill that gap - the greater choice and greater honesty (and knowledge is necessary for such honesty) to choose with - the greater respect we give to ourselves. Or so Kant says.

The uses to which we put faith. Varied, and as with all variety - both good and frightening. The best example I can think of right now is of religion, from Season 6 of The West Wing. Senator Vinick (a surprisingly and fabulously moderate Republican), when repeatedly questioned about his church-going activities, talks of what it means to have a separation between Church and State - and that is absolutely true, I think.

"I don't see how we can have a separation of church and state in this government if you have to pass a religious test to get in this government. And I want to warn everyone in the press and all the voters out there if you demand expressions of religious faith from politicians, you are just begging to be lied to. They won't all lie to you but a lot of them will. And it will be the easiest lie they ever had to tell to get your votes."

When Christopher Hitchens accuses religion of being the cause of war, bloodshed and much unhappiness, he's not wrong, nor extreme. In the war for supremacy among faiths, we have sacrificed high ground and important things. Vague as that may sound, I am talking about the losing battle we fight against power, achievement and money. Faith in itself is a good thing - we need it and we can put it to good use. But to pick it up as a tool, violating Kant's Second Formulation, and to wield it for ulterior purposes (and here I stand for inherence and deontology over utilitarianism): that is when we lose our rights to good, beneficial faith. Praying won't bring that back.

TWW Week

This has been one hell of a week. What do I remember best about it? Three things: the law (read: long, painful - and I am masochistic - hours dedicated to figuring out the law when no country seems to have done the same), The Fountainhead (that's for another day; I'm still reading... intermittently), and The West Wing [hereinafter, "TWW"].

When work is done for the day and you know you must sleep because tomorrow is going to be another long haul, you don't generally sleep. Instead, you prop yourself up on the bed, pick that red, sexy portable hard drive (and pray, even if you're an agnostic, that your elitist laptop drops a pick-up line) and drift away into West Wing land. And if there was a God, I'd thank her/him/it for TWW without spite and without disagreement; it has gotto be the best show ever created. Never mind that Sorkin was a junkie; never mind that real politics is never like its portrayed - for sheer wit, biting dialogue, character building, laughter, hope, idealism and unadulterated fun, TWW beats all.

Today, I could spend a little while cribbing about how the fourth season doesn't have as much wit and pace as the first three - but that would be uncharitable. It's kept up steady, unchanging rhythm and brilliance for 71 episodes (the specials, people, the specials) and I'm just going to forgive the troughs. In the sine wave that is television drama, there's got to be some of those, after all. For now, I'm just going to remember the best moments.


Like this one:

Toby: Have them send us two panda bears.
Mandy: China is not inclined to give us gifts right now.
Toby: Then get us two regular bears. A bucket of black paint, a bucket of white paint, bam-bam. Next case.

How can you not like the man? Wait. Erase that. How can you not worship that snarky wit and flawless delivery?

Pwn

Everyone who has spoken to me in the past couple of days will have heard me say this multiple times, but: College is deserted. There is pretty near no one around (I've counted three people), and it would be an understatement to say this is rather unusual. I'm used to this place as a madding crowd; a sea of people; pandora's box of chatter; a noisy, gossipy, overpopulated campus. And now it's empty.

It is funny, exhilarating and incredible: I am the only person in the library right now. I kid you not. The only person. Really. Three floors and never-ending racks of books (I can pile up two hundred and you can't stop me), two lovely staircases (and a banister to slide down, and no frowns), rows and rows of cubicles to choose from and a great expanse of unplanned space - ALL MINE. All mine. I could stand here and read out loud, declaim poetry on solitude and time and life and death, play music so loudly it will echo; I can dance and sing and deem the whole world mine, because it is. It's an absolutely mad feeling. I love it.

This is a new one for me; a post of this kind - a momentary idea, badly phrased, incompletely expressed, but just scribbled down in the spur of the moment. So what?

THE WORLD IS ALL MINE.

what's the big deal about technology?

In the early days of the motorcycle trip, Pirsig describes John and Sylvia as the 'hiding' kind of people - they need technology; their lives are made desirably and necessarily comfortable by it. But they cannot and do not try to understand technology, because all forms of it is alien to them - from a water tap to a motorcycle to a computer chip. Now, Pirsig doesn't understand how it is possible for people to be like that, but it is.

Here I am, toiling over trying to understand encryption and hosting and legal jurisdiction over ISPs, ICPs and other telecom providers, and I would be perfectly happy not knowing. So long as I can listen to my music, and download (albeit with a pirate's patch over mine eyes) my movies/TV shows and books, why does it matter how, where and why the hosting is done?

Actually, it does matter, and Napster, Blackberry, Limewire, Yahoo! and tons of others would tell you that. It does matter, because our rights to free speech, privacy, autonomy, access to and freedom to impart information are all affected directly. Only... complicated, y'know?

Rant done.

Friendship

Because we change; people change; distances lengthen and shorten outside our control. Still:

Snotty nose, weepy
eyes, swollen cheeks, a red face.
I still love you.

room enough for a mountain lion and me

Killing comes easy.

That's what the lions in Cameroon would say, I suppose. To protect the dead and to provide for the living, now, that is a difficult task. I'm sure the Cameroon thieves would agree.

So my question is: who do we protect and preserve over others?

It is as I heard Mr Seervai quote Hegel in a discussion: The greatest moral dilemmas are not between right and wrong; they are between right and right.

For it seems to me highly deplorable to have conservationists say that they're worried about the lives of lions, because hungry villagers are stealing their kills. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for animal protection and conservation, but I'm also for eradication of poverty and hunger, so that the world can see at least one less starving child or mother, and one less man who kills himself working (and not because they die).

I'm not saying prioritize man over the lions either; they're both integral to Earth, and they both have equal rights over Earth - the lions more so, perhaps, because man has exploited their lands as well. But the solution can't only be to lament the impending death of lions, surely? The specialization of labour doesn't need to make one indifferent to other, equally pressing, problems, does it? And these definitely aren't issues of different degrees of importance.

Africa is still the world's sympathy lab. And we're experimenting.

***

I suppose it makes me a hypocrite, for I speak, but do nothing.

Murdoch

Originally written as a Facebook note. But blog feels abandoned, so.

***

Not Iris; that's for another day. Today, the focus of my attention is Alexi Murdoch, who, apart from looking remarkably like one of my seniors (that, I stubbornly maintain), also makes very... nice music. Now, that's what I'd generally relegate to the corner as a harmless, inexpressive adjective, but it fits Murdoch. There's nothing singularly spectacular about his music; unlike glowing flowers on a sunlit field, he's a bit like ivy that grows on a green wall and sticks on.

I was first introduced to Murdoch through "Orange Sky", which is part of The O.C. soundtrack (and as an aside, the soundtrack seems the only good thing about The O.C., apart, of course, from the hot cast). Orange Sky is probably best described as a calming song. And that brings me to what's most distinctive about Murdoch.

He isn't everybody's cup of tea, no. If you're somebody who enjoys being knocked out of their chairs while listening to a song, or insist on experimentation or diversity within an album, Murdoch isn't really for you. But if you, like me, revel in being soothed and calmed by music, then he might be your kind of guy.

Murdoch's music is characterised by his (more minimalist than not) acoustic guitar, muted piano, and soothing, sometimes husky and always soft, vocals and lyrics and a slow, cocooning tempo. The faint, unexpected (or perhaps not. He is Scottish, after all.) Celtic touches are a welcome addition to the guitar and piano ("Blue Mind", "Crinan Wood"), and contribute to the atmosphere Murdoch creates - that of an autumnal or summer wood with leaves falling softly all around, and the wind breezing gently by. Beside the folk influence, Murdoch is typically country; his guitar is more at home on a whitewashed verandah on a wickerwork chair than on a stage surrounded by 40000 people.

Murdoch's best accomplishment lies, I think, in keeping to a very narrow kind of music - the soft, soothing kind - and yet escaping the monotony of the genre. The majority of his originals are different by nuances, at least in that they evoke different emotions in one, and use the instruments well.

If you're feeling blue, or low, or the sky around you is all black and grey, or if you'd like to be sung to sleep, then try Murdoch. He may not fill your headphones or mind with wizardry or distortion, but he may help you empathise, or stop rushing by and pay attention, or lullaby you to peaceful, calming slumber.

Recommendations:
From Four Songs EP (2002): "Orange Sky", "Song for You", "Blue Mind"
From Time Without Consequence (2006): "All My Days", "Wait"
From Towards the Sun EP (2009): "Crinan Wood", "Slow Revolution", "Towards the Sun"

new year

So we've heralded in another new year, and it feels just as it did last year, only we're all hopefully older and wiser and happier.

Yukon ho! :)

***

For last year's words belong to last year's language, 
And next year's words await another voice.
- T.S. Eliot, "Quartet No. 4: Little Gidding"