According to the brilliant and breezy British language expert Mark Forsyth, the word "quarantine just means forty." It's a shortened form of the Italian phrase meaning 40 days, as in Lent, as in the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert. It was first used in English in 1470 in reference to the Lenten experience, not to the plague.
This otherwise minor bit of information caught my attention because of the current coronavirus pandemic as well as my own semi-confinement due to pain and physical therapy in my home. In both cases, it seems, not being alarmed is the key.
It is very easy for me to become discouraged by my spinal stenosis and its effects on my legs. I often fail to take in the comments of my therapist that I am doing well, making good progress. It seems like a hopeless battle at times. Seeing others walk briskly down the street when I am seated at home, unable to walk very far, is upsetting--until I realize how much worse my situation might be, until I realize what fine attention I receive, and until I reflect that I am connected spiritually to a number of friends (and countless strangers) who are disabled. I am not alone.
Most of them keep going, fighting the good fight. I am learning, after many years of good health, that my body has its limits but my mind and will are strong and can give me the positive energy I need to remain hopeful. As Rilke wrote, "Just keep going; no feeling is final."
So it is with the constant media attention to the virus. As with the SARS epidemic, this, too, shall pass. We will endure, even with the inept "leadership" from the Trump administration.
So, as schools and games and conferences are cancelled and people quarantined, it is good to remember that fear makes everything, including our bodies, worse. And like the forty days of Lent, the present ordeal is only a temporary reminder to be patient and hopeful and to put our attention elsewhere.
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Are our inner selves being destroyed?
In reading about time last week, I encountered the work of Alan Lightman, astrophysicist and author of EINSTEIN'S DREAMS, for whom time remains a mystery, even after he explored most concepts of time. This was a refreshing view to encounter, but Lightman is well known for bridging the gap between the scientific world he inhabits and the world of the soul and imagination, which he explores in some of his books.
In a recent article, Lightman laments the loss of slowness and silence, of reflection and solitude in a culture that has suddenly become electronic and invasive. He compares the situation today, in which many young people prefer smart phones to actual conversations, to global warming as a dire predicament with no easy solution.
If we lose the ability to be alone with a book or in nature without external stimulation, we will lose our "ability to know who we are and what is important to us." He is concerned about being "relentlessly driven by the speed, noise and artificial urgency of the wired world."
Lightman, who teaches both science and humanities at MIT, is one of those truly enlightened people who see the larger picture and are able to ask the major questions about the meaning of life. This very ability is being challenged on college campuses, and has been, as more and more faculty vote to downgrade the humanities in favor of the technoscientific fields.
A professor of medical ethics at my alma mater, St. Louis University, Dr. Jeffrey Bishop, writes to protest his university's decision to follow the path of Notre Dame and countless other leading schools in revising the core curriculum so that it allows students to avoid courses in literature, philosophy, and foreign language. "Every university is being pushed in this direction," he writes, "because this is where the money is."
Noting that our university in St. Louis is a Jesuit school, Bishop says a Catholic university should be ideally poised to maintain and cultivate the humanities and take the lead in keeping a solid, balanced core curriculum. It is hard to imagine a graduate of a Jesuit college who has not studied history, literature, and philosophy, who has not been exposed to the perennial questions about enduring values and ideas. Instead of thinking about great ideas and the mysteries of reality, as Lightman does, too many universities pander to the trendy technoscientific curriculum that is turning out more specialized graduates who seem destined to fill their slot in the global machine that robs us of interiority.
I am grateful to Drs. Bishop and Lightman for combining a respect for the values of science with seeing the urgent need to explore the more mysterious realm of the inner life.
In a recent article, Lightman laments the loss of slowness and silence, of reflection and solitude in a culture that has suddenly become electronic and invasive. He compares the situation today, in which many young people prefer smart phones to actual conversations, to global warming as a dire predicament with no easy solution.
If we lose the ability to be alone with a book or in nature without external stimulation, we will lose our "ability to know who we are and what is important to us." He is concerned about being "relentlessly driven by the speed, noise and artificial urgency of the wired world."
Lightman, who teaches both science and humanities at MIT, is one of those truly enlightened people who see the larger picture and are able to ask the major questions about the meaning of life. This very ability is being challenged on college campuses, and has been, as more and more faculty vote to downgrade the humanities in favor of the technoscientific fields.
A professor of medical ethics at my alma mater, St. Louis University, Dr. Jeffrey Bishop, writes to protest his university's decision to follow the path of Notre Dame and countless other leading schools in revising the core curriculum so that it allows students to avoid courses in literature, philosophy, and foreign language. "Every university is being pushed in this direction," he writes, "because this is where the money is."
Noting that our university in St. Louis is a Jesuit school, Bishop says a Catholic university should be ideally poised to maintain and cultivate the humanities and take the lead in keeping a solid, balanced core curriculum. It is hard to imagine a graduate of a Jesuit college who has not studied history, literature, and philosophy, who has not been exposed to the perennial questions about enduring values and ideas. Instead of thinking about great ideas and the mysteries of reality, as Lightman does, too many universities pander to the trendy technoscientific curriculum that is turning out more specialized graduates who seem destined to fill their slot in the global machine that robs us of interiority.
I am grateful to Drs. Bishop and Lightman for combining a respect for the values of science with seeing the urgent need to explore the more mysterious realm of the inner life.
Sunday, February 2, 2020
Is anybody listening?
A few years ago, I read of a poll of dog owners, 25 percent of whom said their pets were better listeners than their spouses. Cat owners came in at 14 percent. How can a married couple not listen to one another?
Why is listening so hard for people to do? Why do Republicans in Congress right now not listen to their constituents, and to reason and common sense, and vote for a real trial of Donald Trump? Why do they listen to his endless lies and cover-ups? And what about listening to the inner voice of conscience that says laws have been broken?
Politics aside, paying attention to one another in a busy, noisy world of self-promotion is an important issue. A great deal of the problem has to do with the ego and the habit of caring mainly about ourselves, not caring enough about the person we are with to put aside our own agenda and just pay close attention before responding. This is a habit that must be learned.
If I were to give a class on listening, I would use Erich Fromm's book, "The Art of Listening," in which he lists some basic guidelines, which I summarize:
1. The first step is the complete concentration of the listener. He or she has to banish all thoughts and be free and receptive.
2. The listener has to be imaginative, able to put himself in the shoes of the person who has something to say.
3. This means the one who listens well has some empathy: "to understand another means to love him," says Fromm.
4. If understanding and loving are separate and not linked, he concludes, the door to real sharing, communication, and listening is forever closed.
The door has often been closed in many of the lunches and dinners I have endured in the past few years. People anxiously talk about their experiences and have little interest in asking questions about my experience or ideas. When I speak, they hear me but just continue talking....So to Fromm's list of essentials I would add patience, humility, and inner peace. And I would add silence: the good listener silences his mind as well as his cell phone, and on this foundation is ready to give full attention to another. Such attention is a form of love.
Why is listening so hard for people to do? Why do Republicans in Congress right now not listen to their constituents, and to reason and common sense, and vote for a real trial of Donald Trump? Why do they listen to his endless lies and cover-ups? And what about listening to the inner voice of conscience that says laws have been broken?
Politics aside, paying attention to one another in a busy, noisy world of self-promotion is an important issue. A great deal of the problem has to do with the ego and the habit of caring mainly about ourselves, not caring enough about the person we are with to put aside our own agenda and just pay close attention before responding. This is a habit that must be learned.
If I were to give a class on listening, I would use Erich Fromm's book, "The Art of Listening," in which he lists some basic guidelines, which I summarize:
1. The first step is the complete concentration of the listener. He or she has to banish all thoughts and be free and receptive.
2. The listener has to be imaginative, able to put himself in the shoes of the person who has something to say.
3. This means the one who listens well has some empathy: "to understand another means to love him," says Fromm.
4. If understanding and loving are separate and not linked, he concludes, the door to real sharing, communication, and listening is forever closed.
The door has often been closed in many of the lunches and dinners I have endured in the past few years. People anxiously talk about their experiences and have little interest in asking questions about my experience or ideas. When I speak, they hear me but just continue talking....So to Fromm's list of essentials I would add patience, humility, and inner peace. And I would add silence: the good listener silences his mind as well as his cell phone, and on this foundation is ready to give full attention to another. Such attention is a form of love.
Saturday, January 18, 2020
On Hitchcock
Lucy Ellmann may be an accomplished postmodern fiction writer, but her comments about how Alfred Hitchcock "tormented his leading ladies" (New York Times 12/19) repeats an erroneous slander.
Not that the famous director's behavior was always proper (he loved naughty jokes and foolish pranks). Nor can someone like me, familiar mainly with Patrick McGilligan's 850-page authoritative biography of Hitch and other sources, and having never known the subject, weigh in definitively on a complex topic.
Hitchcock was a loner, an observer of life, a reserved person with an image of himself as ugly. He feared women, as many men do, and often treated them with jokes to relax them or with hovering attention to bring out the feelings needed for their characters.
All that I've read about his relationship with Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman, both life-long friends, and knowing how Janet Leigh, Eva Marie Saint, and other actresses appreciated his direction, it seems that Hitch's method was often to treat an inexperienced actress (Kim Novak, Tippi Hedren, Joan Fontaine) with a kind of obsessive attention, intended to create anxiety or hysteria in their characters. Some took offense; Marlene Dietrich called him a "strange little man."
Grace Kelly, responding to the idea of Hitchcock as a tyrant with actors, wrote that the director was skillful in getting exactly what he wanted out them, often with humor; she recalled the confidence she felt as an actor because of his presence.
I thought of all this as I watched "Notorious" (1946) again, noticing how Hitch's camera perfectly captures the warm sensuality of Ingrid Bergman, especially in her relationship with the cool, aloof Cary Grant as a CIA agent. And I agree with the assessment of McGilligan that Hitchcock is not just a master of suspense but of ambivalent feelings. He knew exactly how to manipulate the viewer, using tension and humor. And romance. The Grant-Bergman relationship indicates how important the main characters' feelings are to the success of the film and how the trivial plot of Nazis in Argentina with a secret wine cellar means little in comparison with the emotional complexity of the lovers.
I've always admired the careful attention to detail that mark a Hitchcock movie. Everything was planned in advance, and he was in total control of the script, the camera, the lighting and costuming, even the publicity in many cases. He was the total artist who knew that Cary Grant could suggest sexual ambivalence, and Farley Granger in "Strangers on a Train" had a soft masculinity and vulnerability that make him an easy prey for the wiles of the "gay" Bruno.
These are two of my favorites in the Hitchcock canon. I can watch them, along with "Rear Window," over and over, as well as "Psycho." But I don't share the critical view that "Vertigo" is his greatest achievement: both the story and the acting of Kim Novak are implausible. And for sheer pleasure, there's "To Catch a Thief," with Grace and Cary on the Riviera in all their elegance, a reminder that romantic comedy, not violence, is Hitchcock's great forte.
Not that the famous director's behavior was always proper (he loved naughty jokes and foolish pranks). Nor can someone like me, familiar mainly with Patrick McGilligan's 850-page authoritative biography of Hitch and other sources, and having never known the subject, weigh in definitively on a complex topic.
Hitchcock was a loner, an observer of life, a reserved person with an image of himself as ugly. He feared women, as many men do, and often treated them with jokes to relax them or with hovering attention to bring out the feelings needed for their characters.
All that I've read about his relationship with Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman, both life-long friends, and knowing how Janet Leigh, Eva Marie Saint, and other actresses appreciated his direction, it seems that Hitch's method was often to treat an inexperienced actress (Kim Novak, Tippi Hedren, Joan Fontaine) with a kind of obsessive attention, intended to create anxiety or hysteria in their characters. Some took offense; Marlene Dietrich called him a "strange little man."
Grace Kelly, responding to the idea of Hitchcock as a tyrant with actors, wrote that the director was skillful in getting exactly what he wanted out them, often with humor; she recalled the confidence she felt as an actor because of his presence.
I thought of all this as I watched "Notorious" (1946) again, noticing how Hitch's camera perfectly captures the warm sensuality of Ingrid Bergman, especially in her relationship with the cool, aloof Cary Grant as a CIA agent. And I agree with the assessment of McGilligan that Hitchcock is not just a master of suspense but of ambivalent feelings. He knew exactly how to manipulate the viewer, using tension and humor. And romance. The Grant-Bergman relationship indicates how important the main characters' feelings are to the success of the film and how the trivial plot of Nazis in Argentina with a secret wine cellar means little in comparison with the emotional complexity of the lovers.
I've always admired the careful attention to detail that mark a Hitchcock movie. Everything was planned in advance, and he was in total control of the script, the camera, the lighting and costuming, even the publicity in many cases. He was the total artist who knew that Cary Grant could suggest sexual ambivalence, and Farley Granger in "Strangers on a Train" had a soft masculinity and vulnerability that make him an easy prey for the wiles of the "gay" Bruno.
These are two of my favorites in the Hitchcock canon. I can watch them, along with "Rear Window," over and over, as well as "Psycho." But I don't share the critical view that "Vertigo" is his greatest achievement: both the story and the acting of Kim Novak are implausible. And for sheer pleasure, there's "To Catch a Thief," with Grace and Cary on the Riviera in all their elegance, a reminder that romantic comedy, not violence, is Hitchcock's great forte.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
Loving the Person, not the Pattern
As I thought about each group of friends who helped us celebrate Christmas, I initially thought, I don't really like their company all that much. In fact, I was glad to see them leave. I found myself criticizing their lack of listening skills, their self-preoccupation and lack of thoughtfulness.
Then, upon reflection, I realized that each is a good, caring person and that what I object to is the behavior pattern that gets in the way of seeing who the real person is, deep down.
Love, as Flannery O'Connor wrote, is the effort to understand. And it takes real effort to understand who a person really is. It is mainly by listening patiently, and putting my own agenda on hold, that I can see glimmers of the real man or woman that I think I know. In one sense, I will never know them fully. Presumably, God does.
To love another is to forgive their nervous habits, their thoughtless comments, their failure to carry on a real conversation, even their lack of social graces. It is very easy to hate the person who turns us off by his or her loudly voiced opinions or argumentative style. It is very hard to forgive.
I recall the wisdom of Nancy Pelosi's comment about Donald Trump when she was asked if she hated him. Many people do. It is a real challenge not to.
But she said she hated no one. It is against her Catholic faith. Instead she prays for him. This is a spiritually wise response because it reflects her awareness that beneath Trump's lies and insults and obnoxious behavior is a real person, perhaps insecure and immature. Maybe prayer is the only way to reach that inner person so easily disguised by the public persona and immature behavior.
So Speaker Pelosi, who showed the world that she has carefully reflected on the challenge of dealing with Trump, showed discernment. She reminded me of an important lesson about loving and forgiving, of not judging too harshly or quickly. Above all, of not hating. There is far too much hate in the world, and it takes great effort to overcome it.
Then, upon reflection, I realized that each is a good, caring person and that what I object to is the behavior pattern that gets in the way of seeing who the real person is, deep down.
Love, as Flannery O'Connor wrote, is the effort to understand. And it takes real effort to understand who a person really is. It is mainly by listening patiently, and putting my own agenda on hold, that I can see glimmers of the real man or woman that I think I know. In one sense, I will never know them fully. Presumably, God does.
To love another is to forgive their nervous habits, their thoughtless comments, their failure to carry on a real conversation, even their lack of social graces. It is very easy to hate the person who turns us off by his or her loudly voiced opinions or argumentative style. It is very hard to forgive.
I recall the wisdom of Nancy Pelosi's comment about Donald Trump when she was asked if she hated him. Many people do. It is a real challenge not to.
But she said she hated no one. It is against her Catholic faith. Instead she prays for him. This is a spiritually wise response because it reflects her awareness that beneath Trump's lies and insults and obnoxious behavior is a real person, perhaps insecure and immature. Maybe prayer is the only way to reach that inner person so easily disguised by the public persona and immature behavior.
So Speaker Pelosi, who showed the world that she has carefully reflected on the challenge of dealing with Trump, showed discernment. She reminded me of an important lesson about loving and forgiving, of not judging too harshly or quickly. Above all, of not hating. There is far too much hate in the world, and it takes great effort to overcome it.
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Season of Light
As my Jewish friends, with whom I will spend Christmas day, prepare for Hanukkah, I am thinking about the importance of light in a dark time. Not just this time of year but the cultural and political climate of hate and rancor.
Christmas should be a bright time, filled with hope, a time to look ahead and also to remember, and to be grateful.
Gratitude and joy are interrelated, writes Vinita Hampton Wright: "you rarely experience one without the other." Well, to me, joy is a rare commodity. I would settle for contentment, or at least optimism. And certainly love.
This brings me to an arresting reflection by Richard Rohr, who wrote that "Loving people are always conscious people." He means attentive to others and to the world, with a sense of caring, of loving others. Awareness, attention, and being conscious are equivalent terms spiritually; and, interestingly, they involve love.
Whenever, he goes on, we do anything evil or cruel to ourselves or others, we are "at that moment unconscious, unconscious of our identity." He means our identity as children of God, ones who are loved and who know they are loved, even if they are alone. If we were fully conscious, Rohr says, we would never be violent toward anyone.
So being conscious or fully aware is to love oneself and others since such love is rooted in a self-awareness of our connection to others, to the world, and to God.
This is the time of year when we stop for a minute and consider that "peace on earth and good will to men" means that we see that love, the energy that moves the universe, also dwells in each of us. We have much to be hopeful about.
Christmas should be a bright time, filled with hope, a time to look ahead and also to remember, and to be grateful.
Gratitude and joy are interrelated, writes Vinita Hampton Wright: "you rarely experience one without the other." Well, to me, joy is a rare commodity. I would settle for contentment, or at least optimism. And certainly love.
This brings me to an arresting reflection by Richard Rohr, who wrote that "Loving people are always conscious people." He means attentive to others and to the world, with a sense of caring, of loving others. Awareness, attention, and being conscious are equivalent terms spiritually; and, interestingly, they involve love.
Whenever, he goes on, we do anything evil or cruel to ourselves or others, we are "at that moment unconscious, unconscious of our identity." He means our identity as children of God, ones who are loved and who know they are loved, even if they are alone. If we were fully conscious, Rohr says, we would never be violent toward anyone.
So being conscious or fully aware is to love oneself and others since such love is rooted in a self-awareness of our connection to others, to the world, and to God.
This is the time of year when we stop for a minute and consider that "peace on earth and good will to men" means that we see that love, the energy that moves the universe, also dwells in each of us. We have much to be hopeful about.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Cats and Popes are Trending
With a new movie opening called "The Two Popes," and a new version of the musical "Cats" being reviewed this week, Simon Goodfellow is very happy.
Who is Simon Goodfellow, you ask? He's the main character in my book THE CAT WHO CONVERTED THE POPE, a wise, well-spoken cat who speaks perfect English and reads; he even advises the fictional American pope in the story, then offers advice on being calm, taking time to meditate, and staying in the present moment.
So if anyone out there is looking for a gift, Simon would agree with me that cat books make great gifts. The book is available on Amazon. He joins me in wishing my readers a Merry Christmas and good new year.
https://www.amazon.com/Cat-Who-Converted-Pope/dp/0974553115
Who is Simon Goodfellow, you ask? He's the main character in my book THE CAT WHO CONVERTED THE POPE, a wise, well-spoken cat who speaks perfect English and reads; he even advises the fictional American pope in the story, then offers advice on being calm, taking time to meditate, and staying in the present moment.
So if anyone out there is looking for a gift, Simon would agree with me that cat books make great gifts. The book is available on Amazon. He joins me in wishing my readers a Merry Christmas and good new year.
https://www.amazon.com/Cat-Who-Converted-Pope/dp/0974553115
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