I can see another storm moving in from the west, though it looks like this one may miss us too. We’ve been luckier than some.
With a crack of lightening and a rumble of thunder, I unconsciously make the sign of the cross.
“What does that mean, Nana?” my granddaughter asks.
“Hmmm… Well…”
Twenty minutes and a half dozen questions later, she nods, apparently satisfied that we should remember anyone who went through all THAT!
“Nana, wanna know what I wonder about?”
“What do you wonder about, sweetie?”
“I wonder who the first person was…and who were their parents…because if they had parents, then they weren’t the first people, right?”
I can’t hold back a smile. “I guess that’s right.”
“So, where did the first people come from?”
“Well… ” I start to tell her about evolution…how life evolves over time, explaining how species gradually change into other forms of life.
“Ewww – monkeys?”
“But these changes happen too slowly for people to notice them from any single life. So people who grow up in different parts of the world and different traditions tell different stories about all this to help their children understand what they believe.”
“Like what stories?”
“When I was little, I was taught that God made Adam and Eve, the first people who lived in paradise, what they called the Garden of Eden…until God threw them out.”
“Why did he do that?”
“For eating a special apple that would make them too smart for their own good.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem fair. If he didn’t want them to eat the apples, why did he give them the trees? I mean…” (she thinks long and hard) “…if he didn’t want us to be smart, why did he give us brains?”
I laugh, and she looks at me quizzically. “What?”
“Well, that’s a good question. But there are a lot of people who are smart, but not very wise. I always thought that’s what the story meant…that some kinds of smart can be dangerous, can do harm. I think it means that we should be humble, the kind of smart that’s wise, but not… arrogant. We shouldn’t think we know more than we really do.”
“Humble.”
“It’s just remembering that we have a lot to learn, instead of thinking we’re smarter than we really are.”
“Oh, like that kid in my class… He’s obnoxious!”
“Yeah, we all know people like that.”
C-R-A-C-K! Thunder rumbles in the distance… She runs to the window.
“Nana, I like listening to storms.”
“Me too, honey… sometimes.”
But I’m too well aware of what lies ahead for our grandchildren, and what challenges we’ve set them up for. She will undoubtedly look back on these days, the relative quiet before the real storm, and remember these enchanted evenings when a storm was still something one could look forward to, just as I look back nostalgically on the paradise of my own childhood. They will compare how it was with how it will be…for better or worse, just as we do now. And will they recognize then what I know now, after many years of research - that there might still have been time to catch their fall? Will they wonder if we did everything we could? Will she wonder if I did my part?
Difficult as it is for an attentive adult to ignore the effects of our way of living – which arrive these days in the form of violent storms, soaring temperatures, relentless wildfires, massive hurricanes, floods of biblical proportion, earth scorching draughts, rising food prices, and pending water shortages – all too many do ignore the causes in our way of living and our careless choices. Happily, this calamity does not come all at once, or all in one place, so our grandchildren, for the most part, barely noticed. But they will soon enough. And when they look back, what will they think about those who wasted so much time denying human responsibility, killed precious opportunities to change our direction while blaming the will of God, or the first missteps of the first humans, or that ever-favorite demon - human nature?
And I can’t help but wonder these days when we’ll recognize ourselves in that fall from grace story about paradise, and when we’ll hear this cautionary tale was speaking to those of us still living in this garden. How could it be that those who adhere most religiously to that mythology seem most oblivious to its true meaning for our time and predicament? For centuries now we’ve been telling ourselves that paradise is already lost, that humanity is already fallen, that knowledge is power, and that technology will help us survive the struggles we no longer have the grace to endure.
There have been many incarnations of that Genesis story, and some make it more clear than others that it is knowledge without humility that precipitates the fall – not merely there in the primordial garden, but here and now, in the garden we are planting for our children.
We talk a bit longer before she decides she likes the story about paradise better than the evolution explanation - but then she’s six, so why wouldn’t she? There’ll be time for more discussion later…the gods willing. But what excuse have so many adults have to believing self-serving stories over objective evidence?
After a career teaching philosophy and the history of ideas to young minds so bright they sparkle in memory, I’m well aware of the importance of readiness in learning. “Nothing is an answer if you haven’t asked the question,” Socrates said. Many are simply not ready to understand, and who is responsible for that? I can’t help but wonder if it is schools themselves who leave us ill prepared for true understanding of our actual predicament.
What is philosophy? she recently asked.
“In ancient Greece,” I explained, “the word philia meant friendship or love of, and the word sophia meant wisdom or truth. So the word philia-sophia means love of wisdom or friend of truth.”
“I like that – philia-sophia. I like truth too. Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because it stays true!” She flashes a big smile.
“LOL, Yup, that’s the good thing about it alright.”
“And if something stays true, then we can always figure it out, right?
“That’s right.”
“Are stories true?”
“Hmmm, well…sometimes, but usually not literally, but maybe laterally.”
She stops coloring and looks up. “What does that mean?”
“It means they didn’t necessarily happen just that way, but that they’re trying to teach us something that’s true…like a lesson or a moral to the story. Like the boy who cried wolf, remember?
“Yes.”
“What lesson did that story teach? Do you remember?”
“Yes, I think of it al whenever I start to pretend something is true, when it’s really not, then I always say, this is just pretend, because if they think I’m lying, then people maybe won’t believe me next time, when something is really true. Right?”
“That’s right. So maybe a story didn’t really happen just like we tell it – but the lesson we learn from it is something we should remember, so it’s true in that sense. That’s what we mean by laterally, that we should remember it in other similar circumstances, so then we don’t make those same mistakes.”
“I see.” She goes back to coloring, then looks up again. “Paradise? That’s just like your name!”
“Yeah, that was my mother’s last name when she was little – her maiden name, until she got married, when she took my dad’s last name.”
“What? Why?”
“Hmmm, well…some people do that so that everyone in the family can have the same last name, I guess.”
“What happened to her mommy’s name? And why didn’t they just put them together, like you and my mommy have both?”
“Another good question. I don’t know the answer to that one either, sweetie. I don’t understand a lot of things people do. I guess they just thought it would be easier.”
“Not fair though.”
“Yeah, well, one more thing,” I laugh. “Add that to the long list...”
I don’t tell her what I was told when I asked that question, because learning that “the world’s not fair, so get used to it” is probably why the world stays unfair. Besides, it’s not true - the world IS fair - it’s people, and only some people, who don’t learn what’s really good for them. As Socrates says, ‘Everybody wants what’s good for them, but not everybody knows what that is.’
What other stories do they tell?
“Well…some Native Americans say that Nanabozhoo was the first human being, and the first teacher. His mother was a woman who fell from the sky, and his father was the North Wind.”
“Nana-boz-hoo? That’s like your name too - Nana!”
I laugh. She likes the Native American stories, ever since we went to our first Pow-Wow. That we have a single Indian maiden in our distant ancestry caught her imagination, so now she tells everyone who will listen all about it. We also have many hundreds of other grandparents from many other cultures, I explained – Irish, Scottish, French - but she hasn’t romanticized them all yet. And frankly, they get more than equal time in our cultural traditions, so it’s fair to lean the other way
“They say that Nanabozhoo gave people good laws, what Native Americans call the original instructions or first teachings, and these can still be learned from nature, just like they learned them. But many people only listen to other people, not nature. And if they learn from unfair people, or people who haven’t learned what nature teaches, then they don’t learn how to be fair…or humble...which are really kind of the same thing.”
“Did God throw Nana…what’s his name?”
“Nanabozhoo?”
“Did Nanabozhoo get thrown out of paradise too?”
“Well, sort of…but not by God, but by other people…our other ancestors.”
“Oh. Hmmm…”
“Besides Native Americans don’t teach about that kind of God. They teach about the Great Spirit, who is part Mother Earth and part Father Sky.”
“Like that movie we saw!”
“Yep, you remember?”
“Yeah, and brother bear and grandmother moon.”
“That’s right. So they think of paradise as all around us, even now, even though some people can’t really see or appreciate it, or just don’t’ think it matters.”
“They’re not humble, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“What else?”
“Well, the Celts called paradise Mag Mell, and the Norse called it Valhalla, and the Egyptians called it Aaru. There are lots of ancient stories…”
“I want to know them all! But how do we know which one is right?”
“Well, they’re all right, in a sense. They just have different words to say a lot of the same things. They look at things from different points of view, like how you and I see this cup from different angles, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But that doesn’t mean that one of us is more right and the other is wrong. - it just means we see the same thing, differently. Different cultures are like that too – they have different languages, and different customs, so they tell different stories to their children. But like you said – the truth stays true - so we can learn from all of them. And the more we learn, the more of the whole truth we understand.”
“I see.” She colors quietly for awhile, thinking. “But then does anyone ever know everything – like, ALL of the WHOLE truth?”
“Nope– life isn’t long enough, and besides, we don’t learn that well. But somebody once said, the perfect person would be all people put together.”
“Wow!” She looks up, wide eyed, then stares off into space. “So…is that what God is…maybe?”
“Maybe….”
A long time passes while she colors quietly. I can’t help but count my blessings, knowing we may not have many more times like this. I spend a lot of time being grateful these days. I often think about a class I once taught at a nearby Native American college (a course in environmental ethics, no less – go figure!) I learned a great deal that semester, especially from my students, who taught me that in their tradition, they prayed to say think you, not to ask favors. It might have saved me a lot of anguish, had I learned THAT when I was young. Counting one’s blessings is so much more satisfying than begging for what one wants.
In the process of round two with cancer, I’m especially grateful to have such moments as these, for I, at least, and maybe she, will be sure to remember them for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be. What my grandchildren will remember, when they do, will depend on many things…in part, one hopes, this book I’ve been writing nearly all my life. Cancer might just be the universe’s way of reminding me to hurry the hell up!
The ancient Taoists tell a story about a man who lost his horse. When his neighbor came to commiserate, saying it was too bad that the horse had run away, all the farmer said was, “Maybe yes; maybe no.” The next day, the horse came back, and now with another horse in tow. Again, the neighbor came, this time to congratulate the farmer. “Good for you!” to which the farmer replied, “Maybe yes; maybe no.” Soon thereafter the farmer’s son, who was trying to tame the new horse, fell off and broke his leg. And this time the neighbor wisely withheld his quick judgment, because it was not long before the army came looking for soldiers. As it turns out, were it not for the boy’s broken leg, he might have been sent to the front to fight and, most likely, die.[1] Instead, the boy lived to marry the neighbor’s daughter, and many grandchildren were born to the two old friends…thanks, in some part we might surmise, to the seeming misfortune of a runaway horse.
There is suffering in every life, as Buddha taught. Whether our suffering does us harm or does us good - that is up to us, whether we learn from it and make something good come of it, or not. I’m hoping cancer can have such an upside. It may seem strange, but considering how often our blessings can seem like burdens, it stands to reason that our burdens can turn out to be blessings. So I spend a lot of time these days just being grateful.
*
“Nana, do you believe in God?”
“Hmmm,… well, I believe in something.”
“Like what?”
“Like love.”
“How is God like love?”
“Well, hmmm... I love you and your brother, right? And that helps me understand love.”
“Yes,” she smiles wide.
“But other people love their grandkids too, just like I love you.”
“Mmmhmm…”
So that’s how it is with God too. We all understand it in our own way. Some people put a face on god - like a man with a white beard, or a woman with many arms. It helps them understand it better…makes it particular and personal. You see what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And then some people believe in a universal impersonal god, more like a power than a person. And the difference in a personal and an impersonal god is like the difference between the person you love, which is different for everybody, and love itself, which is everywhere and always the same. And just like love was here long before all of us, and will be here long after we’re gone, so it’s probably the same with God.”
“I see! It’s like how I love my puppy… C’mere Clhoe!” (she picks up the bouncing bundle of fur at her feet), “…and other people love their doggies too.” She sits quietly for some time, rubbing her belly. “But my friend says only her god is the real god.”
“Yeah, lots of people think they know God better than others do.”
“Why do people fight over things like that?”
“Because they think theirs is the best or only one,” her brother chimes in, having apparently been listening through his headphones.
“That’s right. It’s like we said about thinking literally, instead of laterally.“
I tell them a story about two students I once had who argued all semester over which of their religions was true, only to come to a shared epiphany on the last day of class that, while they both saw their personal god through their cultural window (in this case, Christian and Muslim), they had to look through those windows to see that God is something beyond both. Indeed, beyond words, and language, and culture, and religion. We use these to understand God, but we shouldn’t let them get in the way. Buddhists often say that a finger is used to point at the moon, but it would be a grave error to mistake the finger for the moon.
“So it’s like fighting over which puppy is best.”
“Or which grandkids,” he adds. “Of course, we all KNOW which are best! LOL”
“What’s LOL?” she asks, too young yet to text.
“Laugh Out Loud,” he tells her, making a texting gesture.
“L…O…L… Ohhh, I get it,” she laughs. “Because they can’t hear you, right?”
“Right.”
“So, because my friend doesn’t even know my doggie, she thinks hers is better.”
“Right.”
“But she doesn’t really know that, right? She just believes it?”
“Right.”
“So believing is not the same thing as knowing, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well that’s dumb then.” She holds up her puppy. “They don’t even know how cuddly you are, do they? They would love you if they knew you!”
“And they would love me too, if they knew me!” her brother adds, flashing a smile and a new set of braces in the mirror.
“LOL,” she says.
“What? What’s not to love?”
“Don’t even get me started…” his mom says, just coming through the front door.
“Mommy!”
“Hi sweetie. What are you drawing?”
“A picture of my personal God. Literally.” She pushes her blond curls out of her way and rummages through the box for another color.
“WHAT?” My daughter looks at me, bewildered. “That reminds me of the story about the little girl whose teacher asks her what she’s drawing, and she says, “A picture of God.” And her teacher says, “But nobody knows what God looks like.” And the little girl replies, “Well, they will now.”
Everyone laughs.
“That’s silly. She doesn’t know either, does she, Nana? She only believes she knows…but that’s not the same thing as really knowing. That’s not humble. Right, mommy?”
“Good god, what did I miss?”
“Well, Nana was telling us that different people put a different face on God, so they can understand it, but it doesn’t mean there are different Gods, or that anybody’s is better than anybody else’s. It just means that that different people see the same God from different points of view.”
“Oh? Is THAT all?”
“Yeah, it’s like other people love different puppies, but that doesn’t mean theirs is better than mine, but just that their love is the same as mine.”
Her mother looks at her, wide-eyed, then to me, mouth hanging open.
“Well, there you have it,” her brother announces. “And now that we’ve figured out the meaning of life, what’s for dinner?”
*
The storm arrives with a brief downpour, then gradually subsides as we rock in the porch swing and read together. We are fortunate, this time, for when they are not violent, they bring desperately needed rain.
“Listen to the birds, Nana,” she says, turning her ear to the sound on the breeze. “They like the rain, don’t they?” She closes her eyes and lifts her nose. “Smells like wet dirt. I like that!”
It does indeed, and the scent of it takes me back to their mother’s childhood…and ultimately to my own. The cycles of life that bring us back around to such moments, time and again, tend to magnify the simple joys of ordinary days. Anyone who has raised children knows how hindsight reveals the bliss of times past, even and especially the hard times, of which there are always some in the course of any life. If only we could see the treasures of quiet moments while we live them with all the appreciation that we’ll remember them when they’re gone.
*
They retreat to the porch, and I resume making dinner.
Even as I count my blessings, I feel a deep sadness…knowing too much to be too hopeful for their future. I’m naturally optimistic…but sometimes more than the signs indicate I should be.
“You can all read the signs of the earth and the sky,” Jesus said in the Gospel of Thomas. “How is it you cannot read the signs of the times?”
Some people call this looming change the apocalypse, and we’ll be lucky if they’re right – for the word literally means (in Greek) ‘to unveil...or ‘to reveal.’
The truth is, I am as enamored as the next person when it comes to the advance of technology, but we are all lulled into a false sense of security when it comes to using it wisely, understanding our limits. As Deepak Chopra observes in War of the Worldviews, “The standard solution for our present woes is all too familiar. Science will rescue us with new technology – for restoring the environment, replacing fossil fuels, curing [disease], and ending the threat of famine. Name your malady and there’s someone to tell you that a scientific solution is right around the corner. But isn’t science promising to rescue us from itself? And why is that a promise we should trust?”
*
In Thorton Wilder’s play, Our Town, a young woman who had died in childbirth is given a chance by her spiritual guide to go back to revisit just one day of her life. Her first impulse is to choose a very memorial day, her sixteenth birthday perhaps, or maybe her wedding day. But her wise guide cautions her that it would be best to choose a perfectly ordinary day - for even that will seem so truly miraculous as to be overwhelming to step back into. If only we could see our blessings for what they are…while we still have them.
A similar experience is offered us when someone we love dies – what we wouldn’t give for just one more day? As the old saying goes, we hardly know what we’ve got until it’s gone. If we could only see what we have through the eyes we would have when those blessings are gone, then we would truly love every day of our lives more deeply, and we would be able to recognize our challenges as the blessings they truly are.
This beautiful earth we have enjoyed, taken for granted, and lately abused…we will one day recognize to be the truest paradise, when the time comes we are no longer welcome.
We are all born uncorrupted, innocent, and capable of living harmoniously…if only we are helped to learn how to…shown the way by those around us. And with it comes the conflated idea that all such times are past, that such idealized conceptions are mere memories, at best, like dreams of lost childhoods that were simply too good to last, and thus no longer potential for ‘fallen’ humanity. But the ancients would have us remember that life is indeed what we make it. The assumption that human nature is invariably corrupted is a seed we should never plant in the heart of our young. We give them little choice, Socrates argues, when we teach them so poorly.
Poor Plato is widely ridiculed for suggesting that such utopian potentials are actually realistic, indeed, born again fresh with each new life, potential for every generation that learns well in its youth. But if we want our young to be good, we must help them learn its benefits from the start. Teach your young the golden rule, they say, and living up to their highest potentials will take care of itself.
But we’ve neglected this golden rule, and almost forgotten this too, and instead have drawn broad conclusions with far reaching implications about fallen human nature and what is and is not possible, either for individuals, or for human kind. Passing on a belief in our inevitable sinfullness, humans have abdicated their responsibility for teaching the young right reason and choice of virtue, and instead raised generation after generation to replicate the very worse of human potentials – leaving them no choice, says Socrates, but to play along.
And so, as if by self-fulfilling prophesy, selfishness, greed, and the incapacity to do the right thing for the right reason become habits that set in from a very young age, seeming to be our nature, when it fact, this is the rather a fatal misunderstanding about our nature, indeed, nature itself – setting each new generation up for their own fall in the process.
This paradise we still enjoy could be only a sad and longing memory for our young one day all too soon – if we don’t awaken to our higher potentials in time to realize the kind of humble wisdom that is still and always our potential. But the pretense that it is already too late, inevitable, and even God’s will that the end is near – only helps obscure what we don’t want to see – our responsibility for doing what we still could to prevent the fall we’ve set our young up for, indeed, what we would have our parents do, if we were in our children’s shoes.
What those in the Christian tradition think of as a fall from grace, might better be understood as karma in eastern wisdom traditions. But the latter is not a hand dealt by God, as we are encouraged to think, but one that we deal ourselves. And so might do well to rethink what we think we know about our nature and the causal forces at work. For it may not be too late to change our course, and learn from our mistakes, while there’s still time to save this paradise that is our home. Whether we see this or not depends no so much on the place, as on having an uncorrupted state of mind.
Continue this thread here... put McKibben * )
[1] (Smith n.d., 141)