The sense of being well-dressed gives a feeling of inner tranquillity which religion is powerless to bestow.
- Miss C. F. Forbes, English writer, 1817-1911
As quoted in the The Times today (14th June), and an amusing example of synchronicity in light of my last few posts.
Disneyworld, Las Vegas, and the Vatican City. Three disparate locations; one shared phenomenon.
At Disney, it’s parade-time; in Vegas, it’s in effect as you walk onto the floor of a casino and observe the players; and in the Vatican City I saw it a week ago as the Pope was driven around St Peter’s Square.
All three places become home to communal acts of idolisation and worship. Despite different form, the essential emotional experience to participants is identical. The three locations are each overwhelmingly artificial; designed and built purely to facilitate worship. This deliberate other-worldliness is enforced by a shared obsession with pristine cleanliness within their borders, and a rigorously enforced exclusion of competing idols. Even the decor is carefully chosen to aggrandise the object of worship. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the tromp l’oeil clouds of Caesar’s Palace, and the fairytale castle of the Magic Kingdom all fulfil the same purpose.
It is the human condition to crave a shared spiritual experience and anyone watching the Champions League final earlier this evening saw football provide the medium, and Wembley Stadium the setting, for a similar emotional experience. It is a desire to be part of something bigger than oneself, and so achieve a sense of immortality and overcome the transience of life and the permanence of death. Religion, Mythology, Folklore, the idols of corporations (including the famous Mouse), and even more abstract concepts like Money, all fulfil this tribal need of allowing the propagation of a cultural meme to the next generation.
Later on the same day I saw the Pope, I was mulling over these ideas while sipping espresso in the Piazza Navona and watching tourists and locals go about their day. What were they really achieving? What was the fundamental meaning of all this travel and pseudo-pilgrimage? It reminded me of the concept of “bucket lists” and their wistful attempt to apply some quantitative criteria to measure the significance of a life. Is it really enough?
It’s a very human thing to want to be able to say you have achieved something in life, even it’s just to have been happy. People talk about the importance of “a good death”, sometimes equating it to a painless sudden death at an advanced age. But I rather think it’s more about achieving a sense of acceptance about death: what Erikson would describe as having enough Ego Integrity to no longer give death a sense of importance in life, and so no longer need idols to worship.
It is not surprising that several guests at Friday’s Royal Wedding were anonymously quoted as “feeling jaded” yesterday. Anticipation of great events is commonly followed by a drained numbness, even if the event meets elevated expectations. Life thus passes by as a series of interspersed highs and, if not lows, mediocre neutrals. Is this the sum total of the human experience?
Man has historically found three ways to neutralise this nihilistic perspective: fame, religion and propagation.
Fame, with its associated glamour, can be fleeting or it can last a lifetime. Occasionally it outlasts its originating source and is considered worthy – or notorious – enough to be important to historical and cultural record. Whether transient or semi-permanent, its nourishment to the famous person is thin when weighed against the permanence of death. It can sustain the mind in the short-term, but is ultimately lacking.
To combat this failure of Temporal Power to assuage anomie, religion developed to offer believers escape from death, whether through reincarnation or heaven. Such Spiritual Might remains a comfort to many, channelling and guiding human emotion into soothingly predictable paths. Like Temporal Power, it offers individuals a larger sense of self that is part of a grander existence than Hobbes’ description of Man’s life as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”.
But for many, meaningful fame is impossible (the Warhol-esque 15 minutes of reality TV or social networking hardly counts) and religious faith escapes them, or is actively shunned. Frequently, their final refuge is propagation and it is a rare parent indeed that does not think of their children as the best thing they ever did.
Creating the next generation is certainly a valuable role; I would not want to see the human species wiped out! But does it truly offer a solution to the impermanence of man? I suggest not; the real essence of even the best of parents is lost from collective memory within at most four generations. As long as the parent does not think too deeply about this inevitable historical dissipation, Familial Legacy can substitute for either Temporal Power or Spiritual Might and stave off despair at the prospect of death.
What if none of the above are to the liking of the individual, if all are thought to fail the essential test of overcoming fear of death and giving life meaning, what then?
Enter the Modern-Day Monk.
The archetype of the man who seeks spiritual enlightenment through disengagement from the world is an ancient one. We see echoes of his presence in all the major world religions, mythologies and philosophies. Traditionally, the Monk has sought physical separation from the world; either to wander alone or in the company of select fellow travellers on a similar journey. He has used asceticism as a tool to aid enlightenment. Asceticism encourages the abandonment of sensual pleasure and material wealth, deeming these to be distractions from personal growth.
The Modern-Day Monk follows a different path to individuation. It is not physical abandonment of the world that is important, but intellectual detachment. This detachment from the value systems of others (the Temporal, Spiritual and Familial spheres) nonetheless permits material and emotional engagement with the world. He is able to weigh up and measure situations and people rapidly, allowing only positive effects through to his inner self. He comes across to others as tolerant and moderate, as he has no need to be otherwise. He enjoys the world, but does not let the world rule his inner heart. And in the face of new challenges, he has an inner core of willpower – a clear sense of self – to neutralise against torment.
The more philosophically (or religiously) minded will have already identified the characteristics outlined in the preceding four sentence as the Four Cardinal Virtues: Prudence, Temperance, Justice, and Fortitude respectively. The virtues are named Cardinal for being the hinge (L. cardo) upon which rests the door of life. It is not the door to a physical retreat from the world as the first step to an afterlife. It is a system to support and enhance our human desire to be part of the world, while not being ruled by it.
The Modern-Day Monk lives well, as well as wisely.
Sean Connery being fitted for a bespoke suit, courtesy Eric Musgrave's book, Sharp Suits
It seems appropriate at Easter to turn one’s attention to the heavens. But those of us lacking angelic wings must turn to other garments to lend us an aura of contentment.
I’ve previously discussed how to define personal style, and the symbolism of different modes of dressing (see the list of related articles at the end of this post). This theoretical framework lets you have a clear concept of the image you wish to project to the world and how to feel comfortable with that. There then comes the tricky practical task of buying the right items.
Suppose you want to buy a navy suit. There are a myriad of options to acquire this item. You could go to the local shopping centre. Or a thrift/charity shop. Or a high-end boutique. Or you could shop those places online. Or browse eBay and other discount channels. You can get it made-to-measure (MTM) by entering your self-measured details at an online maker, or be fitted in person at a local branch. Or you could get it bespoke, with a personalised paper pattern cut for you alone, from either a cheaper Far Eastern tailor, or an established – if potentially more expensive – tailor in your own country.
With so many options, there is a tendency in our commercial world to oversimplify the choices to two axes: cost and fit, and to assume there should be a positive linear correlation between these variables. This is a very incomplete picture.
MTM and bespoke do offer potentially better fit than ready-to-wear (RTW), with bespoke offering the best fit due to the extreme degree of personalisation to your measurements. And, yes, they do tend to be more expensive than RTW, but there are also many high-end RTW makers that are more expensive than cheaper custom options. It’s crucial to remember that MTM and bespoke are processes directed towards achieving a more personalised fit, not clothes in and of themselves. The fabric, cut, and construction are all independent of the measuring process used to get a garment that fit well.
Now, the higher-end MTM and bespoke makers do often give you access to nice fabrics and better construction but you are still left with the issue of the cut. In this narrower arena you have more flexibility with bespoke than MTM, but most high-end bespoke tailors have long-standing aesthetic preferences that they’ve reached over many years of training and practice. A moment’s glance at the typical suit cut by, say, Kilgour compared to Anderson & Sheppard will tell you that. Both houses have the potential to cut you a wonderful suit, but each will look dramatically different on you even if you chose the same fabric and both fit equally well.
Choosing wrongly when going bespoke can result in as much compromise of your ideal self-image as would going to your local Marks & Spencers and buying a RTW suit. In fact, if you choose particularly badly, you might be unhappier with the bespoke. While the compromises made in bespoke are narrower than in RTW, they are in some ways more rigid for that, and this can be more of a “dealbreaker” than a more generic suit.
It is important to find a tailor or house with whom you can have a good working relationship and whose style is already fairly similar to your own. If you can do that (and have the patience required to cope with the long lead times) bespoke and MTM can be very good value despite its high initial expense, and can result in greater net happiness than RTW, because what you wear every day will harmonise with your inner feelings and thoughts.
But if you find some item of RTW that you’re genuinely happy with, then don’t be churlish to spend money on it instead. Of course, finding RTW items that you’re genuinely happy with is also a process of trial and error, which requires patience of a different sort, and a degree of willingness to spend some money. No method of acquisition is without that compromise.
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Hermes Trismegistus, floor mosaic, Siena Cathedral, via Wikipedia
‘I will build the Zodiac…
The lives of men,
from birth to final destruction,
shall be controlled
by the hidden workings of this mechanism.’
Destiny and Necessity are cemented together.
Destiny sows the seed.
Necessity compels the result.
Few can escape their fate
or guard against
the terrible influence of the Zodiac…
If, however,
the rational part of a man’s soul
is illuminated…
… the working of these gods is as nothing.
But such men are few.
Most are led and driven by the gods
which govern earthly life…
To my way of thinking, however,
it is our duty not simply to acquiesce
in our human state,
but, through intense contemplation
of divine things,
to detach ourselves from our merely mortal nature.
Compiled thousands of years ago at the time of the Pharoahs, is there any more prescient statement of Man’s current condition?
Beyond the mortal influences of genetic nature (Destiny) and environmental nurture with its unconscious influence on behaviour (Necessity), lies choice.
It is up to us to choose to think, to act freely, to gain insight, and so also gain Enlightenment.
Few make that choice.
Whether war, no-fly zone, or de facto rebel air wing, allied military action continues in the skies over Libya.
In a fortuitous scheduling quirk, the BBC screened The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. This Powell & Pressburger 1943 classic is a movie I was certain I’d seen but in fact had not. The movie opens with a wartime chase culminating in the main character (named Candy, not Blimp) being thrown into a Turkish bath, before flashbacking to his younger self in 1902.
The immediate plot development is superficially that of a romantic comedy. There are one or two darker notes, but it is easy to shrug them off as reading more than intended into an innocuous scene. This is especially so for a modern viewer seeing the movie for the first time. Having the benefit an extra 68 years worth of movies, we assume ourselves to be more sophisticated than a wartime propaganda flick could possibly be.
The genius of the movie is that every nuance in the first third is entirely deliberate, as are other lines and scenes that appear to be amusing fluff. In hindsight, they become tragic foreshadowings of what happens to the world as the movie segues into the First World War. The darkness accumulates, and even an ostensibly happy post-war family scene where Candy talks about meeting his new wife has a looming bittersweet quality. Unlike his new family, who never cotton on to his mixed emotions, we are acutely aware of his deep sense of loss at never marrying his first love. This deftness of portrayal is a testament to Roger Livesey’s acting, on display throughout the movie.
Unusually for a propaganda film, two of the best speeches are given to a German character, played with conviction by Anton Walbrook. The thumbnail sketch of his family’s collapse in the interwar period is truly tragic, and all the more powerful for being delivered in an shockingly honest manner. And his later explanation to Candy of the war’s meaning lays out the realpolitik of why the principles Britain was fighting for were sacrificed to ensure victory.
The movie also lightly – but intelligently – touches on difficult areas such as the subjectivity of perception. Are the three women in different time periods played by Deborah Kerr really meant to be identical in appearance? I think not; Walbrook’s character almost says as much in a later scene. He married Candy’s true love, and does not really see her image in the portrait of the woman Candy married; Candy is absolutely convinced of their similarity, and they are both Kerr.
This clash between perception and reality is taken to its logical conclusion in the movie’s final scenes as it comes full-circle to the time-period of the opening scene. Candy reflects on his life; that “he has never changed”. But the viewer is acutely aware of a change in how we perceive him. From the reactionary, bumptious and foolish Colonel Blimp comic-strip archetype we assume him to be initially, we now understand the human qualities of the man, and the ideas and principles he embodies. As the movie’s title suggests, Blimp is now dead to us. Candy lives on.
The propaganda message of the film is thus remarkably nuanced for a wartime film, and perhaps partly explains why Churchill tried to prevent its release. In essence, it argues that Britain has to fight dirty to win WWII, and while that compromises its ideals and the very reason it fights, this is a less-worse fate than not fighting at all. It admits that the country is changing. But it also holds out a faint hope that while the essential humanity of people like Candy remains, the inhumane actions it as a nation takes during the War have a chance to be redeemed after. It argues that nations and armies behave differently – and less civilly – than people, but that while nations exist, war is necessary.
Despite preceding the Trinity nuclear tests by two years, it is both acceptance of – and remedy to – Robert Oppenheimer’s famous misquote of the Bhagavad Gita as he realised what Man had achieved: “Now I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds”.
Libya is a far smaller conflict, but the movie’s resonance remains a sobering counterbalance to the fervid front pages.
Image via Wikipedia
There are times where one must simply choose: which fork in the road of life do we follow?
Often, these crucial decisions can be delayed or the terms of the choice reframed so as to offer a more palatable contrast. And by planning ahead and understanding both yourself and your hopes for the future, the right answer can become self-evident.
But sometimes, even the wisest and most artful can find themselves faced with a crossroads that they have done little to prepare for, and a solution must be extemporised.
So it was with Josephus, a commander of the Jews in their rebellion against Roman rule in the 1st century AD. Legions led first by Vespasian and later his son Titus (both future Emperors) were wreaking revenge across Judaea, razing cities and massacring local populations. Josephus and 40 of his comrades found themselves cornered in a hideout in the city of Jotapata. He had predicted that the city would fall on the 47th day of the Roman siege, and his prediction had now come true.
Josephus, a moderate man, wanted to surrender and seek clemency. His colleagues felt death by suicide was the only honourable option. A man at ease with words, Josephus attempted to persuade them away from this decision, arguing it would be against God’s will to suicide. He failed in that line of argument, but convinced them that rather than each man killing himself, they should instead kill each other as this would be less likely to offend God.
We will never know whether what happened next was pure luck or brilliant inspiration, though the circumstances are all so odd that I rather suspect the latter. Josephus said that they should all stand in a circle and then every third man should be killed by his neighbour.
The brilliance lies in where Josephus stood in that circle. By positioning himself correctly, he ensured that every time the count went round, he was never the third man, and so was never killed. He and one other man were the last two survivors and with only one man left to persuade, he was now able to argue successfully in favour of surrender.
He lived, became a Roman citizen and left several important histories of the age behind. Some have painted him as a traitor, others as an opportunist. Perhaps he was. But I have to admire his skill and tenacity in surviving such a lethal situation. True, we’re unlikely to ever be in the exact same situation (though if you are, I recommend standing either 16th or 31st in the circle), but the ability to improvise and to persuade remains vital to survival.
Susanoo, God of Storms, feuded violently with his sister Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess.
Susanoo’s actions proved so distasteful to Amaterasu that she retreated to a cave, hiding her light from the world and plunging it into the darkness of winter.
At the height of winter, the other gods of the Japanese Shinto pantheon planned to rouse her from her cave. They adorned a tree with jewels and bronze, burnished to a mirror shine.
Lured out by the racket of their merry dancing around the festive tree, Amaterasu peered out from her cave, and the ray of light so released was the Dawn. It glanced off the mirror and Amaterasu was fascinated by the beautiful face that looked back at her. She came out of the cave, and the other Gods quickly barred her retreat, ensuring the end of the long cold darkness.
On Christmas Eve, as millions follow the ancient pagan German tradition of decorating a tree with shiny baubles, albeit now to welcome the birth of Christ, it’s interesting to note that there is a distant echo of this adorning of a tree to wake a deity in a very different culture.
A Very Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it!
At least three world religions were born in the Desert.
Judaism, Christianity and Islam all owe their origins to the baking heat and sparse environs of the desert landscape. Abraham, Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus Christ, Mohammed; they all had their greatest revelations when alone in desert (or at least very barren) landscapes. Depending on their leaning, the religously-minded would suggest that this is because communion with God is only possible either when Man divests himself of physical distractions and so can focus on spiritual matters, or when he undergoes sufficient physical and emotional turmoil to turn to God for salvation.
A secularist reading of the pattern would suggest that these individuals – already unusual or eccentric, and possibly predisposed to odd beliefs and experiences – sought out solitude because that predisposition led them to be dissatisfied with a mundane life. And then in that harsh environment, they became sufficiently physically distressed to become delirious, an experience they interpreted as spiritual in nature.
Whichever reading is true (and in the end, the answer that satisfies you most boils down to which interpretative model you have most faith in), wandering the desert has acquired symbolic significance as a rite of passage. Whether literal or metaphorical, the idea that Man has to separate himself from the rest of the world to achieve higher purpose is a theme common to both religion and mythology, as well as being present in several schools of philosophy.
My previous entry elicited an intriguing comment from Touch2Touch which tessellated elegantly with some of my own pre-existing thoughts, and inspired me to write a post on the theme of separation from others as a result of finding contentment, security and tranquillity in one’s own internal assessment of any given situation.
Social networks (using the term in its broadest sense, not the e-variety) can certainly help those who feel lost. They provide a means of temporarily laying off responsibility for one’s own actions, decision-making and emotional stability to others. Support systems can be vital in this context, but I always find myself cringing when people talk of supportive social networks in a longer-term sense. To me, this attitude belies the essential meaning of the word “support”. Before wanting support, the key question must surely be: “support to do what?”
I would suggest that the end goal is not to be permanently supported by others, constantly having to use friendships and acquaintances to buttress your own emotional and intellectual needs, but to feel strong and comfortable enough in one’s own skin to be independent of that need.
This requires uncommon clarity of thought and purpose, as well as an unusual degree of insight. It is also unlikely to result without a intense amount of self-confidence in the method by which these individuals assess the world. This will seem to border on arrogance, except that observers will notice the world bending around these individuals, moulding itself to their will, rather than hitting them head-on in a violent crash as inevitably happens to the genuinely arrogant.
Wandering the desert is not so painful for these individuals as it would be for others. They have an internal moral compass that generally points them in a direction they’re happy with, and seem to carry around a portable oasis that nourishes and refreshes them when need arises. They enjoy meeting fellow travellers; companionship and hospitality are good traditions and can bring fresh news. And sometimes they even travel together for a while with the more pleasant and wise of their fellow nomads. But eventually the call of the empty dune summons them back to a solitary journey.
The great unanswered question should be: “what lapse of thought called the prophets of world religion back from the desert to commune once more with an unwise and ungrateful population?”
Image via Wikipedia
Psychoanalysis is a technique to cure excessively suffering individuals of the unconsciously misdirected desires and hostilities that weave around them their private webs of unreal terrors and ambivalent attractions. The patient released from these finds himself able to participate with comparative satisfaction in the more realistic fears, hostilities, erotic and religious practices, business enterprises, wars, pastimes and household tasks offered to him by his particular culture.
But for the one who has deliberately undertaken the difficult and dangerous journey beyond the village compound, these interests too are to be regarded as based on error.
With these words in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell describes the two types of journey most humans travel on through their lives, and the different ways they can react to therapy.
One group – the majority – seek out only a return to a shared delusion of normality: “the last projected fantasies of primitive physical will to live like other human beings; the will to live according to normal motives of desire and hostility, in a delusory ambient of phenomenal causes, ends and means”. This is nothing more than procrastination, but many people are not ready for something more, and at least it allows them to function within society.
Another group seek something higher. The subconscious conflict they feel between a yearning for life/flesh and a wish for death/peace is such that before they can return to the normal world, they must walk a different path. Many religions attempt to find a solution by theorising that the mortal life is fundamentally flawed (“sinful”), only to be redeemed after death; or that a true understanding of life can only come about through leaving behind physical limitations and accepting a transcendental unity (Buddhism). Clearly, these can be interpreted as two sides of the same coin.
Can this sense of tranquillity with existence be achieved during life itself? Again, I find myself returning to Epicurus for an answer:
All are taken from the Vatican Sayings, but I have taken the liberty of re-ordering them to make this point: the more the noble soul involves himself in the affairs of those trapped in unhappy states, the unhappier he will become. That does not mean he looks down on others, but simply recognises he operates differently. By limiting his exposure to the necessary minimum for his needs, he will be as free as possible.
And from freedom, comes tranquillity, or true happiness.
