Nine-Eleven Reflections: The “baby boom” generation to which I belong is now in charge of the country, and three years ago today we got our biggest dose of reality ever. (Right about this hour, the towers were coming down; I was a safe distance away in Newark, but I did get outside to see the bizarre sight of one tower standing, smoking like a chimney. I went back inside and a fellow worker told me that the second tower just went; it’s just as well that I didn’t see that.) We Boomers grew up singing about peace and love, draft beer not students, make love not war. Now we’re running the show, and we find out that some powerful and dangerous elements from across the seas have rejected our offer of an idealistic new world. Instead, they are coming at us using very ancient techniques and philosophies. E.g., survival of the strongest and nastiest, something that served Atilla the Hun and Genghis Khan quite well.

I’m not a big fan of President Bush and I won’t vote for him in November. However, I will give him credit for pushing the battle line across the ocean, to the homeland of those powerful and dangerous elements that toppled the towers and smashed the Pentagon. You have to be a real liberal to argue against the Afghanistan war, and I’m just not that real. As to the Iraq invasion, I still think it was a mistake. But it did draw the front line far from our borders. Even though it started out as a war against Saddam Hussein and the Baathists, the Iraqi campaign has become a long-term, low-intensity battlefield against Al Qaeda and its clones. It has merged with the continuing American military presence in Afghanistan into an overall shooting battle between the US and the Greater Middle East Terror Establishment; this was pointed out the other day by Ayman al-Zawahiri, Osama’s right hand man, on a video shown on Al Jazeera.

In a lot of ways, that’s not good. Our troops and generals are probably in for years of on-and-off battles in Afghanistan, Iraq, and some other places like that. Maybe 500 or so Americans are going to die each year for perhaps the next ten years. We will no doubt see some progress in forming modernized, Westernized forms of representative government in the region. But the nasty elements won’t let us say “mission accomplished” and leave; they will threaten to take apart everything we established once we’re gone.

You might be thinking that I’m wrong about this and that the mysterious forces that challenge us in Iraq and Afghanistan can’t be all that strong; we can surely root them out, given our incredible military might. I’m old enough to remember when people used to think the same thing about the Viet Cong. As with Vietnam in the 60s, the Middle East today has millions of young people taught to hate and resent America. We can keep on killing 20 of our shadowy enemy for every American life lost; but they won’t have much problem replacing every martyr of theirs that we dispatch to the heavenly realm of the thousand black-eyed virgins.

So, perhaps even the most liberal of us owe GWB some respect for taking the fight to the enemy’s doorstep. At 5 PM on 9-11-01, I was totally convinced that we were in for more horror. Visions of suicide bombers in crowded malls and dirty bombs going off in financial districts danced through my head that night. And yet here we are, three years later. We’re not out of the woods by any means, but even if the next big homeland catastrophe comes later today (and I pray that it doesn’t), it’s still hard to believe that we’ve had three years of safety, albeit a very nervous and anxious kind of safety.

But at this point, the die is cast. Even if Kerry were to somehow turn things around and be elected, he’s not going to bring the boys (and girls) home from the Middle East, despite his campaign promises. If not Iraq, it’s gonna be Yemen or Indonesia or some where else. And obviously GWB is in no hurry to lay down our guns, even if losing 500 or so Americans every year starts to make people out in the heartland a little bit ornery. Hopefully that will put the next big domestic attack off for as long as possible. But we could be in for another big shock in the near future, even if it doesn’t take place on our soil.

Here’s what I’m thinking: Pakistan has nukes and a cadre of scientists and engineers who know how nukes work. As Graham Allison pointed out in an article in the October, 2004 Atlantic Magazine, a whole lot of people in the Pakistani government have ties to Al Qaeda and its affiliates despite Pakistan’s nominal allegiance to the United States. Over the next five years or so, it becomes more and more likely that enough equipment and nuclear expertise will seep out, into the hands of the wrong people. At some point, Al Qaeda may be ready to try out a crude atomic device. It will probably be rather large and fragile, and it may not have enough yield to take out an entire city (at least not on the first couple of tries). It will probably require nursing and tinkering by its inventors right up to the last minute. So, it may still be quite a while yet before Al Qaeda could sneak a nuke into New York City on a container ship and level the face of Manhattan.

However, the nasty boys might soon be able to put a not – ready – for – prime – time bomb on a pickup truck and drive it up to the gate of an American military base in Iraq or Afghanistan, make a few last checks and adjustments, hit a timer switch (which might even allow the driver and crew enough time to run for their lives), and boom, take out maybe 200 soldiers or marines in one fell swoop. And leave behind a radioactive crater where no one can go for years. And leave everyone in the US and Europe shaking in their boots wondering when Al Qaeda or whomever is going to sneak a bomb into their backyard.

I totally hope that I’m wrong here and that we’ve got a close eye on the nuclear situation in Pakistan (and elsewhere). But let’s face it, right now we’re living by the sword. The sword can keep you alive for a while, but eventually you’re gonna die by it. The U.S. is the richest country in the world, but is also one of the greediest. Of the “developed nations” of the world, i.e. Japan, Canada, the US and Western Europe, the U.S. gives almost the lowest share of its national wealth away in foreign aid. OK, if you include private donations in with the government programs, the ranking gets a bit better, but still ain’t great. Foreign Policy magazine recently updated its overall ranking of the 21 richest nations regarding their overall impact on the poor; this study considers foreign aid, low-cost loans, investment, trade policy, immigration policy, and peacekeeping efforts. The U.S. comes out somewhere around the middle, tied with Germany and France. Our friends in Australia, Canada and Great Britain do better. Uncle Sam could definitely do more for the world. (To see the article, do a Google using ‘Foreign Policy Ranking Rich 2004’; otherwise you have to register with the Foreign Policy site).

This ain’t good. Instead of relying so much on our guns and smart bombs, maybe we had better start sharing the wealth some more. When you’re the rich man in a poor village, you’re gonna get mugged sooner or later. But if you use your wealth to help the village to become a better place, well – you may still get mugged, but at least you’ll keep your halo.

OK, Philosophy 201 students … I just finished my CD lecture on Schopenhauer. Arg! Pondering Schopenhauer is like sitting thru a 4 hour Wagner opera. Well, I only went to a Wagner opera once, while I was married. We left at around 10, so I can’t really say that I sat thru an entire Wagner opera. However, my marriage was a bit Wagnerian, so maybe it still counts.

Anyway, back to Schopenhauer. He said some really interesting things about the unapparent similarities between aesthetic experience (beauty) and ascetic practices (solitude, fasting) — how they both help to escape the will. Aesthetic beauty helps to distract the mind from the will, but ascetic practices help to weaken it.

The will is our inner reality, the “thing in itself” behind the mental illusion of our existence. But the will is conflicted and tormented. It has a death wish. As the Buddha said, it’s best to resign from the struggles in life that the will engenders.

So, to sum Schopenhauer up: I will, therefore I am. I am, therefore I’m miserable. Kill will.

Hey, that’s the fun of philosophy. No Polyannas allowed!

THE OUTSIDERS: I’m still checking in with the local Socrates Café group, maybe once every other week. If nothing else, it gets me out of the house a bit. Once in a while you hear an interesting comment, although many of the topics are bland and much of the discussion is rather predictable (albeit intelligent). The other night’s topic started out on the bland side – i.e., how do you know when you “belong” (as in social belonging). However, the discussion spread out after a while to consider the overall human need for social belonging and its clashes with our need for individuality. I made the point that anxiety about belonging was a modern problem; in ancient farm villages, individuality was just not an option. Pretty good, but not one of my better nights.

After gaining some focus, the conversation started drifting back into the fluff zone when the group started praising the joys of group belonging. In my usual contrarian mood, I said that the longing for belonging could be a slippery slope leading down into the pit of group thinking. Not that belonging is a bad thing, mind you, but one always has to ask oneself, do I think and feel this way because that’s how I really think and feel, or am I doing it just to be part of the group? During my schpiel, I made the point that I used to find it hard to believe that millions of Germans supported the National Socialist viewpoint back in the 1930s. How could a modern, educated society make such a terrible mistake as to support Hitler and all he stood for? Well, knowing what I now know about people and their need to be part of a flock, I can better understand the dynamics behind the Nazis’ rise to power. Perhaps being an outsider isn’t always such a bad thing; you get to see things that others can lose sight of. Think of those outsiders in Nazi Germany like Deitrich Bonhoffer. They paid dearly for never losing sight of the truth. But they were later hailed as heros; their memories served as buoys to guide the German people back to their senses, once the madness had been defeated.

Being an outside ain’t an easy thing, and I don’t recommend it for everyone. But for those of you who can and do stay back from the masses, you’ve got my sympathy. I’m a fellow traveler along that road less traveled. It’s a lonely and sometimes depressing journey. The joys of good company and fellowship are not easily passed upon. However, you will have more good things to say on those occasions when you do affiliate with the masses (some people say that I have too much to say when I go to a Café meeting, or when I write an entry to this blog).

And another thing to ponder – back in the 1960s, there was a pop group called The Outsiders. They had only one real hit – Time Won’t Let Me, from 1966 — but it was a catchy one, a tune that I can still hear playing in my mind. It had a great horn section. If that’s what being an outsider is all about, well, then bring it on — outsiderdom can’t be so bad after all!

KEEPING UP WITH THE JONESES: I always liked radio DJ’s who cleverly bunch songs together. There weren’t and still aren’t all that many DJ’s with enough cleverness to do it well. I know that I couldn’t; as I ponder this matter, I can hardly think of any subtle segues between seemingly dissimilar songs. But I can come up with three songs that would have been interesting to have heard together, even if the connections between them were rather obvious — i.e., they all dealt with a mythical man named Mister Jones.

Here’s the list: First, from 1965, Bob Dylan’s Balad of a Thin Man, with its refrain “something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mister Jones”. Second, Mister Jones by Counting Crows, from 1993. “Mr. Jones and me, stublin ’round thru the barrio”. Then finally, Mister Jones by Talking Heads (1988 — ah, the Eighties). This is the liveliest song of the bunch; the liberation of Mister Jones is celebrated by David Byrne with a Latin beat.

Still, the mystery remains. Just who is Mister Jones and what about him inspired three different song writers over three different decades? What does he stand for? And what is his first name?

Perhaps we’ll never know.

I watched a report this evening on the PBS Lehrer Newshour about the recent CBA Convention in Atlanta. For those of you not familiar with this, CBA stands for Christian Booksellers Association. This was another one of those industry shows where thousands of merchants come together in a big hall and display their wares hoping to attract retailers who will hopefully stock their items, and to make a few extra bucks from walk-up sales. The CBA Convention obviously involves religious books of a Christian nature. “Christian” here means the US heartland version of Christianity. But don’t think that heartland means back woods. Christian media is no longer a small-potatoes proposition confined to little book shops found in low-rent commercial strips. It now encompasses best-sellers and videos and rock music and software and Hollywood movies (e.g., Mel Gibson’s Passion); big companies like Warner have special divisions that cater to the faithful. In other words, Christian entertainment is now big business.

While watching the PBS reporter walking amidst the rows of DVDs and puppets and paintings and book racks, I couldn’t help but imagine a dark, scruffy, long-haired man running about, yelling madly, turning over stalls and display cases, and causing much pandemonium. But hey, I’m sure that security would pick him up on their cameras and have him out of there within 30 seconds. Within five minutes, things would be back to normal, and the pleasing sounds and scents of money changing hands in the 21st Century would once more fill the air.

OK, time for a break. I’ve discussed some pretty heavy topics recently. So it’s time to lighten up a bit, time to let a picture speak its thousand words.

This is a shot of an empty corn crib on some farm near Cooperstown, New York. Not much more to say than that. You either like it or you don’t. Hope you do.