Summer Rain

Growing up in Kerala, my friends and I had an inborn affinity for rain. Come monsoon, come unexpected, we'd always glory in the smell of deep red earth and green, wet leaves after a bout of rain. I am no different in Bangalore. I yearn for rain most days with a hope that belies summer sunshine.

Living on a relatively green campus, I've come to cherish rains, especially summer rains. Not just because they cool the earth and settle the ever-increasing dust, but because they are unexpected, akin to hope - manna to a hungry soul, water to a parched desert-wanderer.

This year, we have had a dry, dusty, hot summer, until now. The days have been sweltering, the nights unbearably hot and impossible to pass without fans in the plural. But now, all that is past. Unexpectedly, delightfully, we have had a rain - and what a rain it is! A cyclone in a low pressure belt couldn't have produced better rain, and for a few moments, hidden safely in the cocoon of our rooms, we thought it truly was a cyclone.

It swirls around trees and sways and shakes them like a man would a puppet. It swooshes and spins around and under eaves, balconies and umbrellas like a banshee wailing and flying in the wind. One can almost see a white line of wind through the sleet of rain, and if you wanted to walk about in it, you'd think it was hail; it's so sharp!

I love watching the trees dance haphazardly in the rain. There is some inhuman frenzy of gladness in it. When this is over - and I can hear it yet, beating down on my windows; distant rolls of thunder promising unceasing rain - there will be a small debris of fallen leaves, perhaps a tree or two ripped apart, a few chilblains and fevers and many muddy shoes. But there will also be a clean world, green and wet and dancing heart-glad - and would you not give anything for that?!

Schopenhauer

"The vanity of existence is revealed in the whole form existence assumes: in the infiniteness of time and space contrasted with the finiteness of the individual in both; in the fleeting present as the sole form in which actuality exists; in the contingency and relativity of all things; in continual becoming without being; in continual desire without satisfaction; in the continual frustration of striving of which life consists."

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.