Etymology

Etymology is the study of the origin of words.  It comes from the Greek ‘etymon’ which means ‘true meaning’ and, ‘logia’ which means ‘word’ or ‘reason’.  Thus, the etymology of etymology.

For reasons I won’t bother to go in to, the other day I looked up the etymology of the word sanctimony. Sanctimony comes from the Latin ‘sanctus’ meaning holy, and ‘monium’ which connotes an obligation, thus ‘sanctus-monium’ literally meant ‘holy-obligation’. In today’s usage, however, someone who is sanctimonious is accused of being hypocritical in a holier-than-thou sort of way. I don’t know when or how the word drifted away from its original literal meaning and took on its contemporary pejorative connotation. I do know, that it’s not nice to be called sanctimonious.

While looking further into the meaning of the root ‘monium’, I discovered that there were at least two similar roots; the Greek root ‘monos’ meaning single, and the Latin root ‘moneo’ meaning speaking out, which left me wondering how the etymologists determined that ‘monium’ was the original root of sanctimonious. The other two would seem just as logical and would loosely translate to holy-one (sanctus-monos) or holy-speaking-out (sanctus-moneo). Confused but curious, I proceeded to further embark on my etymologic journey, delving into words with similar ‘monium’ origins.

Matrimony means the state of being married. Why then is it derived from the Latin root for mother, ‘mater-monium’?  Does etymology confirm that Freud was right and that, Oedipally speaking, we are obliged to marry our mother?  I explored this improbability further and discovered that the ‘mater’ in matrimony probably emphasized the traditional obligation of a married woman to become a mother.

Though ‘pater’ is the opposite of ‘mater’, patrimony is not the opposite of matrimony. Patrimony means the inheritance received through the father’s lineage, but has also come to mean an inheritance from ancestors. In its linguistic origin, marriage was associated with motherhood, but wealth was associated with dad.

Alimony, meaning the legal obligation to support an ex-spouse, derives from ‘alimentum’ which is to say ‘food’ as in the alimentary canal. One is obligated to make sure that the ex-spouse continues to be fed.

Harmony, which seldom happens alongside alimony, appears to not be a ‘monium’, ‘monos’, or ‘moneo’ word.  Instead, it derives from the Greek ‘harmonia’ meaning fastening, joining, or coming together.

Fittingly, there is controversy and debate concerning the origins of the word acrimony.  Some argue that acrimony is derived from the Latin ‘acro-moneo’ and others contend that acrimony is from the Greek ‘kharis-monos’.  Of Latin or Greek origin . . . the acrimonious debate continues.

Testimony, means to provide legal witness.  In this instance, ‘monium’ emphasizes a legal obligation. Its primary root is from the Latin ‘testis’ which means witness but also means testicle.  There are some who claim that, in ancient Rome, legal oaths were taken while grasping the testicles, the Roman equivalent to swearing on the Bible.  As for Roman women and eunuchs, apparently, they had no legal rights.

Ceremony, meaning fanfare, does not appear to have derived from any common Greek or Latin roots.  Instead, it has obscure Etruscan origins.  And so, I end my etymologic musings . . . with just this bit of ceremony.

Know Thyself

“Know Thyself” (inscribed on the entrance to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi) 

I know some people who believe they are good drivers . . . but they’re not.

I know some people who believe they are funny . . . but they’re not.
I know some people who believe they are nice . . . but they’re not.

Receiving feedback from others, at variance with self-perception, is no fun.  Once, when I was a camp counselor, I got my end-of-the-season evaluation.  I was commended for my work as a counselor and recommended for promotion. The evaluation also commented on my interpersonal interactions saying, while I was well respected, my peers thought I seemed aloof and hard to get to know. Really? I didn’t think so.  And how would they know anyway?

Can we know ourselves accurately?  Do others sometime see us with greater clarity than we see ourselves?  Noone can know my history, my memories, my emotions, my secrets better than I. Yet might I have blind spots?  Might others, on occasion, observe me with greater clarity than I observe myself?

In 1^st or 2^nd grade I remember asking myself, “Would I know it if I were retarded?” (Retarded was a word we commonly used back then.)  I don’t remember the context.  Maybe, I saw someone with special needs and empathically wondered what if felt like to be them.  More likely someone on the playground called me retarded, and I momentarily wondered if they could be right.  I always assumed that I was reasonably smart, but what if I was wrong?  What if others knew something about me that I was blind to?

My mother had Alzheimer’s. She also had ‘anosognosia’, which meant that she was oblivious to her condition. She was unaware of her cognitive decline, but those around her saw it clearly . . . which gets the heart of my concern.  As I get old, will I know if my cognitive abilities are in decline, will I be in denial, or might I become blind to my mental state?  Will I not know, and others will?

As he grew old, my father was blind to the fact that he was becoming deaf.  He didn’t know it, but everyone around him knew.  More seriously, as he grew old, my father couldn’t drive a car safely. He thought that he was a good driver.  Anyone who sat in the passenger seat knew otherwise.  My sister had to take away his keys. I don’t want to repeat what happened with my father. I have told my children that I will try to listen to them if and when they tell me I should no longer drive.

For the most part, I think that I see myself pretty clearly, but what might I be blind to?  There are limits to self-awareness. It’s important that I remain open to the input of others.  Maybe at camp they were right.  Maybe I still am a bit aloof and hard to know. That being said, I know myself well enough to say with confidence that I am still a good driver, I am still funny, and I am still nice . . . I think.

The Expatriate

I had a discussion with a young American, now an expatriate who has lived and worked in Viet Nam for the past 6 years.  He lives on what, in this country, would be a modest salary. Yet in comparison with most of the Vietnamese, he lives comfortably and has money left over to travel around much of that part of the world.

While living in Viet Nam, he has developed a very negative view of the United States. From a distance he observes an astonishing degree of commercialism in all aspects of American society.  He says that he and his fellow expatriates don’t know how they could ever earn enough to make ends meet should they return home.  He is astounded how few services and how little assistance are provided by the U.S. government to its citizens when compared to other countries. Now on the outside looking in, he believes America should evolve into a more wealth-sharing, socialist society. 

He has no desire to return to the States. He is horrified by the rise of right-wing white-racist populism in this country and sees democracy as a crumbling institution. He asked me if I was aware that the United States is currently on a traveler’s red list.  Travelers are warned before coming to this country about its gun violence.  It seems that many don’t understand America’s cult of gun ownership. In Viet Nam there is no hunting and no private ownership of guns.

He did not glorify Viet Nam. He acknowledged that the Vietnamese are tightly controlled by regulations. Recently this included a very strict one-year lockdown during the Covid epidemic, enforced by the police and military.  He described the Vietnamese people as having a ‘me first’ mentality, scrambling to get their fair share in a country with limited resources.  Nevertheless, he likes the people of Viet Nam and noted that, despite past history, they welcome Americans to their country.

Given his negative perceptions of America, I asked him why he thought so many from around the world continue to seek immigration into this country.  He answered that America has done a good job with ‘branding’.  People are attracted to the glamor, the glitz, the images created in the movies and other popular media.  But he goes on to say that the ‘American Dream’ is a hollow sales pitch, a bait-and-switch, an empty promise. 

I didn’t always agree with what was said.  In rebuttal, I spoke in defense of our freedoms and our opportunities for success. And, despite recent trials and tribulations, I voiced my strong preference for our constitutional democracy over autocracy and dictatorship. However, I found it eye-opening to hear how America is perceived by someone who is now outside and looking in.

Not infrequently, outsiders see us very differently than we see ourselves. I often think about my conversation with this young man, what I heard, what I thought about, and what I learned. When we put aside our insider perspective long enough to listen to the perspective of the outsider, we may hear some opinions with which we disagree.  We may also hear some opinions worthy of our serious consideration.

The Cave

Philosophy just wouldn’t be philosophy without Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.  Plato asks that we imagine a cave where people are trapped in seats, unable to turn from side to side, and only able to see the wall in front of them.  Behind them is a fire and between the fire and the people are puppets, that cast a parade of shadows on the wall.  All that can be seen, all that has ever been seen, by these people are the shadows and the shadows become their reality.

Lo and behold, someone escapes from the cave and finds their way into the light of outdoors, discovering the world as it really is.  That same person returns to share with the others the truth that lies outside the cave.  However, that person’s message is unwelcome.  Not only don’t the others want to hear the news, they’re ready to kill the messenger.

The first half-dozen times I heard this story, I didn’t get it.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how frighteningly important the allegory really is.  In this era of modern media, we are constantly bombarded by shadows on the wall and we are quick to make those shadows our reality.

As someone who occasionally teaches Intro to Philosophy, I have tried to figure out how best to teach this allegory in a meaningful way.  Having recently read Salem’s Lot, It, and 11/22/1963, I have decided that the next time I teach Plato’s allegory, I will teach it as a horror story, ala Stephen King.

Imagine a group of people trapped in a dark chamber, strapped to their chairs, and unable to look left or right. They must look forward, compelled to watch a giant T.V. screen. Twenty-four-hours-a-day, day in and day out, all that they see is an endless stream of Hallmark Christmas movies.  For them, this is their reality. They believe in a world where everyone has straight white teeth and perfect hair, a world where every love story has a happy ending, and a world where it always snows on Christmas Eve.

Behind these people sit the puppeteers, conspirators who write a thousand variations of the same plot.  They scheme day and night to profit from the mind-numbing, feel-good world that they peddle.

Lo and behold, our protagonist escapes from the room, and ventures into the world seeing it for what it really is.  Freed from the illusions of a perfect world and white Christmases, our protagonist feels a duty to tell the others, and so returns to the chamber.

“Listen, not everyone has straight white teeth and a beautiful head of hair. Not every love story has a happy ending.  Not all Christmases are white and some people don’t even celebrate Christmas. Come, see for yourselves.”

The room fills with a collective gasp.  Hearing their plot exposed, the puppeteers gape in horror. Not wanting their movie interrupted, those strapped to their chairs react with vengeful rage.

Then someone realizes that they are not really trapped in their seats.  They can get up and move about whenever they choose.  One by one they do so. Together in common purpose they surround our well-intentioned, but now helpless, protagonist. They proceed to bludgeon this messenger of ill tidings with Christmas ornaments . . . and then they return to their seats to continue watching the movie.

Thank you, Stephen King.

Fossils

Approximately 45-minutes outside of Colorado Springs, on the opposite side of Pikes Peak, is the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument.  There, imbedded in layers of shale are the fossil remnants of over 1700 species of plants and animals that lived 35-million years ago.

Sue and I visited Florissant during a recent trip to Colorado.  We wandered through the remains of a petrified forest and then went to a local fossil quarry, where for a small fee we were provided tools and allowed to rummage through piles of rock in search of hidden fossils. Some of the ones we found, now sit on my desk.

I became interested in fossils, not from my trips to Colorado, but during the years when I lived in Manhattan, Kansas. About ½-mile from my home was a roadcut, exposing layers of limestone. My kids and I would ride our bikes to that part of the road and search through the debris on the ground looking for fossils.  We had to be careful to avoid shards of glass, fragments of broken bottles tossed from passing cars and trucks, a reminder of human thoughtlessness. Usually, we would ride home, our pockets stuffed with prehistoric treasures.

The fossils we found had fallen from a layer of limestone located about 6-feet above the road.  That one layer was composed of mostly clams and brachiopods.  It was formed at a time when waters receded, and calcified shells became permanently imbedded within the drying mud.

Manhattan is located in the northern portion of the Flint Hills. There, the rocks are not shale, but limestone and chert.  The rocks are not 35-million years old, but 250-million years old.  The Eocene epoch, 35-million years ago, was well after the time of the dinosaurs, when mammals were beginning to dominate the land.  The Permian period, 250-million years ago, was long before the dinosaurs, a time when large portions of Kansas were under water.

Cumulatively, the earth’s fossil record tells the story of great cycles of life.  First, there is a blossoming of diverse species, followed by a mass extinction, followed by a new blossoming of life.  Five times there have been mass extinctions.  The best known one heralded the end of the age of dinosaurs.  But the most complete of the great extinctions, the Permian extinction, occurred 150-million years earlier.  The Permian period was characterized by an abundant and diverse sea life.  It ended, for reasons that are unknown, when 90 percent of all existing species ceased to be.

Most naturalists and ecologists agree that we are living during the time of a sixth mass extinction.  The cause of this one is well known, and it is us. But our fossil history tells us that life on earth, as it has before, will continue and after this extinction will come a new flowering of life.  Maybe it will happen, 250-million years hence, there will be a creature, as unimaginable to me as I to the dinosaur, that will uncover my fossilized bones and wonder, “What manner of beast was this?”

Fossils put the world into a perspective measured in millions of years, whereas our lives are but a brief moment.  And yet, now matters to me for my children and my grandchildren. If there is still time to change, I hope they will not be party to a great dying, but part of a great flowering.

Trump's Presidential Library

“I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters.” (Donald J. Trump, 45^th president of the United States)

Now that midterm elections are over, it would be a good time for Trump to retire from politics and begin planning for the future Donald J. Trump Presidential Library. Unlike most libraries, it will contain very few books, but there will need to be room for lots of papers scattered about, some marked ‘TOP SECRET’, some marked ‘golf scorecard’.

One wing of the library should be dedicated to all things News. There should be a ‘really beautiful news’ exhibit, brought to you by FOX News, featuring informative rants from Laura Ingraham and Tucker Carlson. There should be an exhibit of ‘fake news’, showing all the news clips trying to convince us of the seriousness of Covid and of the impending disaster fake scientists call global warming.  The news wing of the library will also need a link to current news, specifically the Courtroom Channel, to keep visitors apprised of the latest charges and suits that continue to plague this most unjustly persecuted ex-president.

Like the Lincoln library in Springfield, Illinois there should be a holographic display of President Trump, perhaps sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. There, we could watch a parade of Trump hirings file in to see the president: Jeff Sessions, Rex Tillerson, Anthony Scaramucci, John Bolten.  We could watch and listen as President Trump informs them with the words that made him a legend, “You're Fired!”

The library should have a gallery honoring all of the brave and heroic public servants that made President Trump a possibility.  It must include busts of Josh Hawley, Ted Cruz, Kevin McCarthy, Mitch McConnell, Lindsey Graham, and so many more.  At the end of the hall should be a life-size tribute to President Trump’s second-in-command, his right-hand man, Mike “hang-‘em-high” Pence.

The library should include activities for kids. I suggest encouraging them to play the Nickname Game.  President Trump was very good at creating inventive nicknames.  Who can forget “Little Marco”, “Crooked Hillary”, “Crazy Bernie”, “Sleepy Joe”, and of course “Pocahontas”?  Personally, my favorite is the recent “Ron DeSanctimonious”.  Yes kids, here’s your chance to be presidential.  See what creative nicknames you can invent.

Restrooms will need to be designed carefully and include spaces for Men, Women, and Documents.  Signs will be posted, “Remember to flush”.

Of course, any visit to a presidential library must include a visit to the gift shop.  Shop for all your MAGA apparel. For your next party you might want a game of pin-the-tail on the RINOs.  You could add a Marjorie Taylor Green or Lauren Boebert bobble head doll to your collection.  What young white boy wouldn’t love to own a Proud Boy’s action figure doll, complete with body armor and assault rifle.  And for those grown-ups worn out from their long day at the library, they can purchase their own My Pillow.

On your way out, don’t forget to grab a complimentary cup of Kool-Aid.  Just be careful what you drink.

A River

 “No man ever steps in the same river twice for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”  (Heraclitus, c. 540-480 BCE)

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”  (Norman Maclean, 1902—1990)

Recently, Sue and I were at a show featuring Beatle’s music.  The familiar songs took me back to my youth, until I looked around at the audience and saw mostly silver-haired old people.  Reflexively, I questioned why a bunch of old people would want to be sitting here listening to rock music.  I had to remind myself that I too was a silver-haired old person, and I was listening to music that is now almost 60 years old. I am no longer that youth rocking to the new tunes of Paul, John, George, and Ringo.  I am a different person, living in a different body, in a different time.

I was once young . . . no longer. I was once a child, then a camp counselor, then a graduate student and bachelor . . . no longer.  There is much I once was that I am no longer.

My life is not without continuity. My DNA remains unchanged. There are aspects of my temperament and personality that I’ve carried with me from youth.  And I have memories, the blocks upon which I construct a continuous narrative of my life.

Yet, I am not who I once was.  I look differently than I once did.  I see differently than I once did.  I hear differently than I once did.  I read and understand differently than I once did.  I think differently. I experience my emotions differently.  I relate to others differently.   I behave differently.  I believe differently. There is much I am, that I was not before.

 

I am old,

With vestiges of a boy

I once was.

 

I am a river

From rains, springs, and rivulets,

Past, present, future.

 

Where flows the river?

To the ocean

Or to oblivion.

 

Good poetry or bad?  I don’t know enough to judge the difference, but I find solace and perhaps some wisdom in the metaphor of the river.  “Dat ol’ man river . . . he keeps on rollin’ along.” The river is continuous, and yet ever-changing.  The river is timeless . . . past, present, and future all contained within.  Along its course, the river both shapes the landscape and is guided by the landscape. The river grows from the rains, the springs, and the rivulets, and the river gives back its life-sustaining water.  I struggle a bit with the implication that the course of my life, like the river, flows downhill, yet I accept that life must flow to its destination.  And then the river merges into one.

Bear Safety

When I was young, I thought of bears as friendly, funny, lovable creatures.  If you asked me on a word association test, my response to “bear” would have been “Pooh” or “Yogi” or “Smokey the Bear”.  Ask me now on the same test, and I am likely to answer “grizzly” or “predator” or “talons.”

There have been a couple of mauling’s in the national news, so I write this blog as a public service announcement.  Having recently returned from vacation in Alaska, where they take their bears very seriously, I pass along to you what I learned about the rules of bear safety.

Bear safety was addressed in the very first chapter of my Alaska tourist guidebook. It said that if you see a black bear, make a lot of noise, and try to look large and intimidating.  However, if you see a brown bear, a.k.a. grizzly bear, you might want to play dead.  In other words, if you are attacked you must first differentiate which color of bear is coming at you and then you must quickly decide which of two strategies to employ . .  . and try not to get them backward.  Sure.

I asked a local merchant how seriously I should take the warnings about bears. She assured me that there was a real risk and proceeded to sell me a $30 can of bear spray, which included a hip holster and a manual devoted to bear safety.

According to the manual, bears like to hang out near stream beds, in dense foliage, or in berry patches.  I actually saw one bear in Alaska, a grizzly about ½-mile away and up the hill, content to ignore me while eating its way through a patch of blueberries.

Try not to surprise a bear.  Make plenty of noise when hiking.  If you have to do your business in the bushes, announce your presence. A loud whistle comes in handy.  If you spot a bear cub, get out of the area quickly.  You don’t want run into mom. But should you encounter mom, stay calm, avoid eye contact, and don’t run.  If there is a climbable tree nearby, make sure you have time to climb at least 14ft. before the bear can reach you.  Climb as high as you can and stay there until the bear is gone.  But be aware that some grizzlies and all black bears can climb trees.  Hmmm.

There are several reasons why a bear might attack.  A bear might be protecting its cubs, it might be surprised and startled, or you might have ventured too close to its food supply.  The manual also mentions a fourth reason.  It might be a predatory bear expecting you for dinner.

If a bear charges it could be a ‘bluff charge’, in which case the bear will stop short of you, veer off and run past you.  However, if instead you find yourself being mauled, and playing dead hasn’t worked too well, you might have to fight back.  If so, try hitting the bear in the head, the eyes, and the nostrils.  I’m not making this up. This is what the manual says.

Be sure to carry your can of bear spray within easy reach, and not in a purse or backpack. I kept mine in a holster close to my right hand and, like in the wild west, I practiced my quick draw.  For the most part, the tourists I encountered while hiking took bear safety seriously and were armed with their cans of bear spray. The Alaskans I encountered while hiking also took bear safety seriously and were armed with their Magnum 45’s.

Cremation?

To be buried or to be cremated?  That is the question . . . my question.  For my parents and grandparents there was no question and there was no choice.  They were buried according to tradition, next to family, in inherited plots.  However, I do have a choice. 

The funeral industry is a rip-off.  I witnessed this while burying my parents.  It began while I was in mourning, being led through a showroom of over-priced coffins.  And then came the additional mandatory expenses for body preparation, clergy, funeral procession, and cemetery costs.  There was no time for comparative shopping or bargain hunting. It cost a small fortune, and for what?  I resolved then and there not to support that industry.

I will break with tradition and be cremated. Cremation just sounds cheaper and simpler . . . maybe. What happens to the ashes?  Are they kept in an urn?  Is the urn buried or kept on the mantle?  Do Sue and I each get our own urn, or do we get a single urn and mix our ashes together?  Do our ashes get divided evenly among the kids?  Or do our ashes get spread, and if so, where? 

There are more choices available.  Ashes can be transformed into art.  If I so choose, my ashes can be made into a lovely marble, a decorative paper weight, or a blown glass ornament.

I just found out that I can be cremated by fire or cremated by water.  Yes, there is something called ‘water cremation’, more technically known as alkaline hydrolysis which is advertised as safe and environmentally friendly.  Your body is placed in a chemical solvent, which is then heated and pressurized.  In 3 to 4 hours your body dissolves, leaving a fine white ash, boney remnants, and a soapy, smelly liquid (which is discarded).  Water cremation uses 1/7^th of the total energy of traditional cremation, but it is only legal in 8 states, Kansas being one of them.

My great grandparents are buried in Kansas City.  I recently visited the cemetery and found the headstones of Abraham (d. 1939) and Minnie (d. 1934) Boxer, my ancestors, my grandchildren’s great-great-great grandparents.  I was deeply moved, and now I’m also deeply ambivalent.  Burial or cremation? I’m back to undecided.

Perhaps burial wouldn’t be so bad.  I can keep costs down by using a simple pine coffin.  There is even an option to be buried in a burlap sack, so that my decomposing corpse can fertilize the plants above.  If it so happens that I’m buried under an apple tree, the grandkids can visit in the Fall, pick the fruit, and take a bite of grandpa. Or perhaps they’d prefer Granny Smith?

If I do decide to be buried, I’ll need to purchase a couple of cemetery plots soon.  I want to be a smart shopper, find two plots with a good view, on a hill with good drainage and good neighbors.  I want to rest eternally on firm, or extra firm soil.  I’m hoping I can buy two plots BOGO, or perhaps use my coupons from Bed, Bath, & (especially) Beyond.

Adolescent Identity

"In the social jungle of human existence, there is no feeling of being alive without a sense of identity.”   (Erik Erikson, 1902—1994)

 Psychologist Erik Erikson is best known for his 8 stages of psychosocial development.  The fifth stage, corresponding to the teen years ages 12 through 18, he called the stage of Identity vs. Confusion.

Influenced by Erikson, the DSM-III*, published in 1980, described a diagnosis called Identity Disorder, a diagnosis reserved primarily for adolescents.  The description of Identity Disorder said that individuals with this diagnosis were often mildly anxious and depressed, and typically asked the question, “Who am I?”  They were described as being distressed by uncertainty and confusion regarding any three or more of the following:

1.    long-term goals
2.    career choice
3.   friendship patterns
4.   sexual orientation and behavior
5.    religious identification
6.   moral value systems
7.    group loyalties

Ominously, the DSM-III description of Identity Disorder reported, “The disorder is apparently more common now than several decades ago. . .”  Nevertheless, when DSM-IV was published in 1994, Identity Disorder was down-graded from a ‘disorder’ to an ‘identity problem’, and by the time DSM-5 was published in 2018 Identity Disorder disappeared altogether from the diagnostic nomenclature.

The diagnosis has disappeared, but adolescent uncertainty and confusion has not. Today’s teenagers struggle more than ever with the question, “Who am I?”  While the focus, of late, has been on gender identity, “What am I?”, it is easy to overlook that the formation of personal identity is a much broader challenge. 

“Who am I?”  It is the task of adolescence to seek to answer that question as they proceed, more or less successfully, through multiple transitional tasks:

•       from being a minor to becoming a legal adult
•         from being asexual to becoming sexual 
•         from having friendships to developing intimacy
•         from being egocentric to having a relativistic viewpoint
•         from feeling invulnerable to acknowledging mortality
•         from thinking concretely to conceptualizing abstractly 
•         from being rule-driven to being conscience and principle-driven
•         from being dependent on others to becoming independent
•         from having external controls to accepting personal responsibility
•         from having fantasies to seeing real possibilities
•         from identifying with parents/peers to developing personal identity  

For many, adolescence is a time of great upheaval and turmoil.  But for many, if not most, the transitions of adolescence are navigated relatively smoothly.  Normally there may be some self-doubt, some insecurity, some moodiness, some experimentation with various alternative lifestyles.  Yet many are able to remain idealistic and goal directed as they begin to unravel the mystery of, “Who am I?”

I was fortunate. I look back and remember my children’s teen years as the most enjoyable and satisfying years of my parenting. I enjoyed attending their activities.  I enjoyed helping with their homework, as I often learned from their homework.  I enjoyed our wide-ranging and often philosophical discussions.  I enjoyed their youthful energy, their well-informed and challenging perspectives, and their emerging sense of autonomy as they began to answer for themselves the riddle of, “Who am I?”

 

*Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3^rd edition.

Under The Banner

“Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light and light for darkness . . .” (Isaiah 5:20)

You can’t argue with the Truth.  And it’s dangerous to argue with those who believe that they alone know the Truth.  You could end up dead.

Under the Banner of Heaven, written by Jon Krakauer and published in 2003, documents the double-murder of Brenda Lafferty and her toddler daughter, killed by in-laws, members of a fundamentalist Mormon sect. In his book, Krakauer painstakingly documents the origins of the Fundamentalist Latter-day Saints (FLDS) and their beliefs, beliefs that were used to justify the murders.

I recently watched the television adaptation of Under the Banner of Heaven, a seven-part series streaming on Hulu. The television series is not a documentary, but a dramatization that explores the murders through the eyes of a fictional detective, Jeb Pyre. Pyre is himself a devout Mormon, though not a member of the FLDS.  While investigating this horrible crime, Detective Pyre begins to unravel and confront the cultish beliefs that led up to the double-murder.  He, having grown up and lived in a culture that frowns upon asking too many questions, starts to question the foundation of his own beliefs.

The television adaptation is more than a story about murder.  It is an exploration into a psychology that is pervasive in our society, not specific to Mormonism, but present wherever there are fundamentalist and cultic groups.  Members of such groups seem to share a number of common beliefs and behaviors.  First and foremost, they believe that they and they alone know Truth.

·       They believe that what is not their Truth must therefore be false.

·       They believe that those who live with their Truth are righteous and those who deny their Truth are evil.

·       They believe that Truth is incompatible with ambiguity, it needs no explanation or interpretation.

·        They believe that Truth supersedes the laws and rules of secular society.

·        They believe that questioning Truth is a sign of hubris, arrogance, and ignorance.

·        They believe that followers of Truth will be rewarded and those who aren’t will be punished.

·        They believe in a hierarchy of authority, headed by wise, enlightened, and charismatic leadership.

·       They believe that their leaders are to be trusted and obeyed.

·       They believe that any ‘evidence’, contrary their Truth, is a deception planted by those attempting to destroy, and discredit; sometimes originating from the schemes, lies, and plots of evil people; sometimes originating from the devil himself.

It’s no wonder that so many fall under the spell of fundamentalism and cultism. Who doesn’t want to trust their leaders? Who doesn’t want to be freed from questions and doubt? Who doesn’t want the promise of great reward? Who doesn’t want to be on the side of Truth, opposing evil? 

Philosopher Isaiah Berlin warned, “It is a terrible and dangerous arrogance to believe that you alone are right . . .”  How many Beverly Lafferty’s have been murdered under the banner of Truth?

 

Habits

 “. . . watch your actions, they become your habits; watch your habits, they become your character; watch your character, it becomes your destiny.”  (Lao Tzu, circa 5^th century BCE)

“We are what we repeatedly do.  Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”  (Will Durant, 1885-1981) 

Make it your habit to give charitably in order to develop the virtue of generosity.  Make it your habit to speak truthfully in order to develop the virtue of integrity. Make it your habit to practice good manners in order to develop the virtues of gratitude and kindness.  The ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle taught that good behavior must be practiced until it becomes habit, and that habit, in turn, will shape character.  Aristotle further stated that good character is necessary in order to flourish.  In modern psychological parlance, this state of flourishing is equivalent to self-actualization.  In ancient Greece, this state of flourishing was called eudaimonia.

American psychologist and philosopher William James spoke to educators about “The Laws of Habit”. James believed that the practice of good habits was essential in a child’s education.  Lecturing in the early 1900’s, James speculated that habits, repeated over and over, lead to the development of new pathways in the brain.  He gave as an example the novice piano player, struggling to coordinate finger movement with the sheet music. Yet after years of practice, that same individual becomes a musician able to play complex music, almost automatically, while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with others.  As a result of practice, something changed in that musician’s brain.  We know that repetition leads to ‘motor memory’. Yet what James lectured about encompassed far more than just motor skill.  He was talking about the development of brain pathways essential for self-discipline and self-mastery.

A few years ago, a journal of child psychiatry cited the following numbers.  It takes 6,000 to 8,000 hours of practice to become a concert pianist or a competitive swimmer.  It takes 2,300 hours of learning to master higher math.  It takes 1,200 hours to be ‘good’ on the violin.  I would argue with these numbers and point out that the article omitted the factor of talent and aptitude.  I assume that after 8,000 hours of practice I would still be neither a concert pianist nor a competitive swimmer.  But the point is, even for those with talent, a tremendous amount of practice, discipline, and good habits are prerequisites for excellence.

I got out of the habit of writing.  It's been many months since I’ve written a blog entry.  In order to get past the writer’s block, I’m trying something new.  I’m trying to develop the habit of daily journaling.  I’m going on two months and, so far, haven’t missed a day. However, I feel like that novice piano player, fingers still fumbling around for something to write about. But I intend to keep at it. And like that piano player, I expect with time and practice the writing will flow more easily. I just hope it doesn’t take 6,000 to 8,000 hours of practice to get there.

Yips

"If we could have just screwed another head on his shoulder, he would have been the greatest golfer who ever lived.”  (Ben Hogan, 1912-1997)

Rick Ankiel had an amazing arm.  He could throw a baseball accurately and on-the-fly from deep right field to home-base.

Before playing right field, Ankiel had been a young, hard-throwing Cardinal’s pitcher. In the 2000 postseason, in a series against the Braves, Ankiel was the game-one starter.  For the first two innings he did well, not allowing a run.  Inexplicably, in the third inning he gave up four runs on two hits, four walks, and five wild pitches.  He was pulled from the game.  In his next start, he threw 20 pitches, 5 of which went to the backstop. He didn’t get past the 1^st inning.

I was living in St. Louis at the time, and I was an enthusiastic Cardinal’s fan.  This was a calamity. As both fan and psychiatrist, I felt I owed it to the Cardinals to share a little advice.  I was aware of other performers, mostly actors and musicians, who had severe performance anxiety.  There was a medicine called propranolol that was effective in relieving their tremors and shakes without causing any sedation or cognitive impairment. Maybe it’d work for Ankiel. I thought I’d pass that bit of information along to the Cardinal’s organization just in case their doctors hadn’t already thought of it. Big mistake.

A few weeks later, I received a rather curt letter from the sports medicine department at Washington University, where I too worked.  They informed me of their affiliation with the Cardinals. In effect, the letter told me that I was out of line and to mind my own business.

In retrospect, Ankiel had the yips.  Under playoff pressure, something happened to his mind and body. Performance went out the window. He choked.  After several unsuccessful years pitching in the minors, unable to regain his control, Ankiel shifted from the mound to the outfield.

Fast-forward approximately 20 years, to the recent Chiefs-Bengals playoff game.  For the first two quarters, Patrick Mahomes played near perfect football, until the last play of the half when the Chiefs failed to score from the 2-yard line.  Chiefs got the ball back to start the 3^rd quarter and couldn’t move the ball, nor could they for most of the remainder of the game.  Mahomes looked bewildered, maybe even panicked.  Was this a case of the yips?

I’m over being upset about the game.  The good news is I don’t feel compelled to listen to two weeks of sports commentary leading up to the Super Bowl.  And I learned my lesson.  I will not pass along any of my suggestions to the Chiefs' organization.  I will assume that they have a competent team of sports doctors and psychologists to help Mahomes get his head screwed on right.

I am nervous.  I wonder how Mahomes will respond to the pressure next season.  Once you’ve got the yips, they’re awfully hard to get rid of.  Patrick Mahomes has an amazing arm.  But in football, right field is not an option.

Assumptions

“Karl Jaspers (psychiatrist/philosopher) . . . argued that the worst attitude toward philosophy is to pretend that we do not need it because then we simply use and enact our philosophical assumptions without realizing that we are doing so and without analyzing the limits and weaknesses of our assumptions.”  (JAACAP 46:6, June 2007, p. 786)

Once upon a time, it was assumed that illness was due to an imbalance of the four main bodily humors—black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood.  That was the philosophic basis for medical practice 2,000 years ago, and the rationale for practitioners to bleed their sick patients, a practice that unfortunately persisted well into the 1800’s. To the modern mind, it sounds a bit . . . humorous.

For more than 2,000 years, Euclidian geometry was supposed to be the pinnacle of reasoned Truth, with a capital T.  Euclidian geometry was constructed upon five postulates that were assumed to be true.  That is, until Russian mathematician Nikolai Lobachevsky (1792--1856) determined that proof of Euclid’s fifth postulate is impossible.  Subsequently, by challenging one assumption and changing one postulate, Lobachevsky constructed an entirely sound, but very different, geometry. Today, Euclidian geometry is only one among several geometries.

When I trained to be a Child Psychiatrist it was assumed that autism was caused by cold, rejecting parents, especially cold and rejecting mothers.  The investigators who first described autism observed that there was often a distant relationship between the child and the parent.  In an era still dominated by Freudian theory, it was assumed that autism was a child’s response to parental rejection.  Decades of research, writing, and treatment were based upon this premise. The result was the cruel and needless recrimination of parents, for a condition we now assume is genetic.

The edifice of science is constructed upon a foundation of premises. Scientists assume that there is an objective reality that can be discovered by systematic observation and experimentation, and that reality is governed by laws that are orderly and comprehensible.  Scientists assume that every event has a preceding and determining cause.  All phenomena, even those which today are not fully understood, are consistent with the natural laws, principles, and formulas of Physics.  Scientists assume that our world, ourselves included, can be reduced to matter and energy only.  However, assumptions can be challenged and occasionally changed. Science, as we know it today, may or not resemble science as it will be known in a hundred or a thousand years.

Geometry has it postulates, science it’s premises, and each of us has our own internal set of assumptions, upon which we construct our personal truths and upon which we interpret the world around us. Our assumptions are not based in Truth, as much as they’re based in plausibility.  We live with incomplete and changing information, and so we must be prepared from time-to-time to examine our assumptions and occasionally alter and amend them.  That which we believe is true today, may or may not be true tomorrow. . . I assume.

Mayo

I detest mayonnaise.  I hate the sight of it, the smell of it and the taste of it.  Put mayonnaise anywhere near me and I want to gag.

Perhaps you like the taste of mayonnaise.  Afterall, some people enjoy slathering that white greasy condiment on their sandwich. Perhaps you, like some others I know, enjoy a heaping spoonful of it plopped into your tuna, chicken, or potatoes to create a ‘salad’.

Which brings me to the topic of this blog . . . isn’t it interesting that the identical food tastes so differently to you and to me? The mayonnaise I refuse to eat is exactly the same mayonnaise that you enjoy. The exact same emulsion of eggs and oil, seasoned in exactly the same way, tastes very different to me than it tastes to you.  Objectively, our mayo is identical. We see, taste, and smell the same stuff. Subjectively, our experience of mayo is worlds apart.  What we eat is the same.  How it tastes is different.

Maybe we’re wired differently.  There may be a genetic component to our different tastes. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that my sister and my daughter hate mayonnaise almost as much as I.  Strangely, despite the potential for marital tension, each of us have spouses who enjoy mayonnaise. For mayo to be allowed in my house, the understanding is that it must be kept out of sight, in the back of the fridge.

If it’s true that you and I taste foods differently . . . and it is . . .  isn’t it just as likely that some of our other sensory experiences are different?  What we feel, what we hear, and what we see might be the same. But how we feel, how we see, and how we hear might be very different.

I happen not to like the feel of silk or silky fabrics. If I snag a nail or piece of dry skin on silk, I get the heebie-jeebies. However, there are others who luxuriate in the feel of silk.  I’m oblivious to the presence of tags and labels in my clothes, but there are some who can’t stand that sensation. Even though objectively what we touch, or are touched by, is exactly the same, subjectively how we experience it is quite different.

Not only genetics but learning and experience determines how we perceive.  You and I and a trained musician may listen to the same piece of music, but I’ll bet that how we hear the music is quite different. You and I and a poet may listen to the identical poem, read by the identical person, at the identical time, but how we hear the poem will not be the same.

Who knows if your red is the same as my red, your blue the same as mine?  And just like with the musician and the poet, I’m sure that if you and I and an artist looked at an identical picture, we would all see it in our own unique way.

I've studied psychology.  I've practiced psychiatry.  And yet, I barely understand what is it like to be you.

Progress

“Is it progress if a cannibal uses a fork?”  (Stanislaw Jerzy Lec, 1909—1966)

I recently read The Ancestors Tale, a book by the evolutionary theorist Richard Dawkins.  In it he likens progress, particularly evolutionary progress, to an arms race.  In the world of predator and prey, as predators improve their ability to hunt, prey must evolve in their ability to avoid getting eaten -- hide better, run faster, or taste nastier.  If they don’t, they become extinct.  As prey becomes more elusive, predators must, in turn, become more adept hunters, or they don’t eat. And so on and so forth in a cycle of either progress or perish.

Human progress has often been based in the imperative of progress or perish. From stones we progressed to bronze weapons.  From bronze weapons we progressed to iron. Weapons evolved becoming more lethal. Defenses evolved becoming more sophisticated. Progress or perish, thus we continually needed and got better guns, better planes, better bombs, better rockets, better technology.  But progress came at a price. The enormous resources allotted for the development of weaponry were resources not given to education, infrastructure, health, and environment.

The capitalistic marketplace is driven by ‘progress or perish.’  Companies are predators, competing with one another for their limited prey, the consumer. If one company’s product has an edge over its competitor’s product, thereby capturing a larger consumer share, the competitor must improve its product, or risk going out of business. If that company can improve its product, especially if they can do so with glamourous innovation, the other company must respond in kind, or perish. In the dog-eat-dog world, competition forces product development, and we call this progress.

Medicine has in-part been driven by ‘progress or perish’.  Our immune system evolved to combat viral and bacterial infections, but it was imperfect.  Once, not so long ago, it was common to die from infection. Then, we discovered antisepsis, followed by the discovery and development of the first antibiotics. People stopped dying so much from infection.  However, some bacteria mutated and developed resistance to the first generation of antibiotics, so we progressed to a new generation of antibiotics that could kill resistant bacteria.  However, bacteria continued to mutate and progressed into super-resistant bacteria.  Add to all this, that we are currently living in a world infected by a rapidly mutating virus. And so, we must continue to discover and develop new and more powerful tools for fighting infection, viral and bacterial, in an on-going evolving arms race.  Progress or perish.

Progress is not only about science and technology.  In my lifetime, there has been noteworthy legislative progress in civil rights, women’s rights, and legal protections for the LGBTQ community. But I am unsure that this legislative progress is necessarily a measure of moral and spiritual progress.  Given the climate of these times (no pun intended), I fear we are no closer to the 2500-year-old ideals ‘loving thy neighbor’ or ‘beating our swords into plowshares.’  We need moral and spiritual progress at least as much as we need technological progress.  I believe it’s a matter of progress or perish.

Books

“I can’t live without books.” (Thomas Jefferson--as quoted on a bookmark given to me from the Library of Congress gift shop)

Recently, as I prepared to move, I sorted through my collection of books; those I would move, those I would donate, and those I would sell.  The latter were taken to the used bookstore. Two boxes of books, all in excellent condition, were sold for a whopping $13.

I had several boxes of books I wanted to donate to my Temple, but no one at the Temple was sure they wanted them.  I called around to other congregations. None of them were in a hurry to accept my donation.

Way leads on to way and finally, in response to my offer to donate books, I was asked if I would be willing to volunteer and organize the newly renovated Temple library space.  In order to donate my books, my wife and I each donated a dozen or so hours of volunteer time, sorting and arranging books into some semblance of usable order.

As part of my new volunteer library duty, I was also asked to sort through approximately forty boxes of Temple books and documents that had been in storage for over 20-years. From that I salvaged two boxes of good books. The rest I couldn’t sell or give away, so they were tossed.

Having added the two boxes of salvaged books plus my books to the newly organized library, I looked around.  Unfortunately, I concluded that it was not much of a library.  It was just a big room surrounded by partially filled shelves. It was a graveyard, a resting place for old books, books that if discarded would never be missed.  

What’s happening to books?  What’s happening to libraries? Recently, I was in the local high school library.  I looked around and noticed that something was missing . . . books.  I saw no encyclopedias, no papers, no magazines. There were a few scattered books on the shelves, but only a few.  The library had been converted into a hi-tech study center.

What’s happening to bookstores?  All over, independent bookstores are struggling. My two favorite used bookstores have gone out of business.  I used to love Borders, and now all the Borders are closed.  Barnes and Noble remains open but how long until they succumb to their on-line competitors?

I love books, the feel and smell of books, real books with paper pages and binding.  I’ve tried reading eBooks.  I can’t do it.  Like it says on my bookmark,” I can’t live without books,” but it seems as though real books are becoming problematic.

I worry about what will happen someday to my collection of books. I don’t know who will appreciate them and give them a good home. Walking through an antique mall the other day I saw a bookdealers advertisement.  It said, “Let me solve your book problem,” and offered to haul away any unwanted books. I kept the phone number.