I am learning to ski: yes it is true. I was born in Canada and all Canadians can ski: right? If I tell this to people they stare at me totally dumbfounded. “How is that possible that you can’t ski: were you not born in a snowstorm?” is the standard question. Well, where I grew up there was no snow. “No snow!” is the incredulous response. These questions are always slightly tinged with the belief that you are either outright lying or you have been removed from the society for a prolonged period of time – prison, for example. The truth is that in my hometown on the west coast of Vancouver Island (1) there was rain, and lots of it – wet and cold winters – but virtually no snow. The other day, after finishing another brutal training session (When I say brutal: the body looks like it has been lucky to extract itself from the ring after losing ten rounds), I got in a taxi to return home. The taxi had four active screens playing different images, advertisings or programs. This was in tandem with the outside traffic whizzing by. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “This is what sensory overload (2) really is.” Now, I am old or experienced enough to allay my budding panic. I can return to my domicile, take a shower, get dressed and do my yoga or go for a walk in the park – or both. I know how to regulate the exterior stimuli that assail the self. I do not intend to stimulate or pacify my fears with any external substance to help the body and mind calm down. This, however, is not the case with millions upon millions of people. The old use mostly alcohol or drugs and the young social media. In either case, it is an escape from self-development: the inquiry that each individual must take to mature and improve. We are simply not developing our critical thinking skills because, like any athlete, the mind needs to be trained. Raw, unfiltered data of any sort is just that: raw unfiltered material. It is information that can make no sense to the mind. I recently listened to a song that was littered with profanities. I remarked that this is normal when you lack the vocabulary to adequately express yourself. You must resort to something succinct and expressive: “That shit’s broken.” Violence is the same: when I cannot explain what I mean (this along with my rising frustration and anger), I lash out at you physically.
We live in a world that is seemingly inundated with violence, both personal and societal. Most history books attest to the carnage of the First World War, a war that eviscerated thousands of soldiers on both sides: their remains yet to be unearthed. Individual scholars point to this conflict as normalizing our acceptance of murder and carnage. I often ask my students who would they like to hit or abuse. The answer is invariably one of shock and disbelief. No one it seems wants to strike anyone. Who then is committing its most extreme state: killing? We all are guilty by accepting violence and murder as normal, and the way that human beings express frustration, ennui and pure uncontrolled anger. We must begin to turn to Gandhi’s Satyagraha philosophy for guidance. This is far beyond “passive resistance” and lends its power to non-violent methods. In his words: “Truth (Satya) implies love; firmness (Agraha) engenders and therefore serves as a synonym for force. I thus began to call the Indian movement Satyagraha, that is to say, the Force which is born of Truth and Love or non-violence, and I gave up the use of the phrase ‘passive resistance,’ in connection with it.” What Gandhi is saying is that we must speak with our family, friends, and associates when we hear of violence and eschew its central tenet that “might is right.” The president of the United States was recently quoted as suggesting that the teachers be allowed to be armed and carry a gun at school. This kind of sickness will do nothing to advance the concept of world peace.
My own experience with violence is two-fold. I once sat in a pub, after work, with a young woman, Stephanie, and our chef, the erstwhile Joe Parrot. Joe was having a bad day, having overcooked several meals during the course of the evening. One particular patron, nicknamed “the Mountain” (You can fill in the blanks), was sitting at the bar. He made several derogatory comments in the direction of M. Parrot. Joe jumped up to defend his honor, which produced the obligatory confrontation. Stephanie, believing in peace and calm, tried to reduce the tension. The Mountain then turned his venomous comments upon this poor girl. Regardless, the situation was diffused and an uncomfortable peace descended on the establishment. This was not right. You should not be able to insult another human being in this way. In a moment of total thoughtlessness, I approached this giant man. I tapped him on the back. He spun around and I found myself looking at his navel. “Mountain, excuse me. You shouldn’t speak to Stephanie in this way.” “What are you going to do about it?” was his riposte. I immediately thought of my teeth and skull. Somehow the mind became bigger than my thoughts, “Mountain, there is nothing that I can do; you are three times my size. I am asking you as a gentleman to be more deferential to a sweet young woman.” I paused, waiting for that sharp blow that signifies disagreement. Several long, long seconds later, I miraculously heard the words: “Leon, you are correct, I apologize.” He then came to our table and offered an apology. From this very terrifying experience, I have come to believe in Osho’s (3) words: “The only difference between a coward and a hero is action.”
My second experience is somewhat more amusing. I was out for one of my late-night walks to contemplate the meaning of life. I found myself in the vicinity of the aforementioned pub. Suddenly, the front door was thrust open followed by shouting, vicious voices. A large man emerged followed by a noticeably smaller man. These were the combatants. Soon they were followed by a boisterous crowd of slightly-inebriated supporters. It was hard to discern who supported whom. The larger individual was wearing a bulky coat. As he proceeded to remove it, he inadvertently pinned both arms behind his back. The gnome struck: hitting the fellow several substantial blows in the face. The man fell backward, unconscious. The battle over, the crowd quickly dispersed leaving the poor loser remaining on the ground. The conclusion is obvious: size, including the size and resources of a country, does not win a war: think of Iraq and Afghanistan. The philosopher and polemicist Richard Dawkins (b. 1941) leaves us with a thought: Do not indoctrinate your children. Teach them how to think for themselves, how to evaluate evidence, and how to disagree with you. (Parts of this essay were first published in January 2012)
A closing thought: I don’t feel that it is naïve to realize that it is a magnificent world and I have been given a beautiful life — my life, however. I often think of the analogy of the raging river. At birth, my boat is tossed into its stream. It is up to me to learn the skills of seamanship and navigation if I want to find an eddy (4) near its shores to rest and recuperate before plunging back into its intensity as it flows to the sea. Both are true: these areas or times of peace and reflection do exist and are necessary to improve your critical thinking skills, and the cycle of life will eventually have an ending and a new beginning, whatever your religion or belief.
To sum up: This week we spoke about controlling our fears of perception and learning to think thoughtfully. It is all within our grasp – and fun and exciting, I might add.
A philosophical question: Why, after almost three hours with a coach (and you say your goodbyes), when you sneak back to the ski arena to complete a “final run” alone, do you forget everything and crash into the bolsters at the bottom and finally really hurt yourself?
Just for fun – David Bowie
This week on your thoughtful walk, please reflect on how you view violence.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: I must remind myself that, each day when I awake, I have a chance to rewrite the errors of the past and embark on a new exciting path.
Footnotes:
3) OSHO
4) An eddy is a circular movement of water causing a small whirlpool, usually beside the bank of a river or stream.