First of all, I have to say I did write something on the death of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, only in this other blog that I recently started.
But there's this post I'm delaying because I don't want to be the one who writes it, but I do want to write about my last conquests by José Saramago.
In my vast ignorance about non-Spanish literature (which I'm trying to fix) I didn't know about him until after I finished university. For some reason I don't remember, probably related to some stupid paperwork I had to do before taking my MIR exam, back in 2008, I was on my way to the university and from the bus I saw one of those huge posters by the road, showing a photo of the author and some novel I don´t remember. Because I had decided not to study for the exam, and because I was feeling so guilty about that and I needed something to fill all that sudden "free time", I did some little (tiny) research and went to the library with the intention of picking The gospel according to Jesus Christ. They didn't have that one and, when I was trying to take All the names, another book felt down (Homecoming -Die Heimkehr-, by Bernhard Schlink - review here) and I thought, why not? Well, to be honest, I thought this is a sign! and picked that one instead... Didn't happen to be the wrong choice until the last 50 pages or so, when the author had a personality crisis or something and the story turns into a completely different one, but whatever.
So... Back to Saramago, since then, I had always wanted to read something by him, and I won't say I never had the time because I did, but it was like one of those things you vaguely want to do but never actually do..., until the first time I came to the U.S. with James Joyce's Odyssey in my backpack and it turned out not to be the most productive reading for me, at least at that point of my existence.
So, the first novel I read by Saramago was Blindness (Ensaio sobre a Cegueira - "Essay on blindness" in English), which I downloaded in pdf for free while in NY, muahahaha.
In this novel, he tells a story that happens who knows where, when the citizens suddenly start to get blind inexplicably. Of course panic spreads, because nobody knows how this "white blindness" is transmitted.
If you're not used to his style (I wasn't yet) and maybe also even if you are, you might find it not easy to read. You'll see, he uses these kilometric sentences that sometimes are so long that they don´t fit in one page. He never uses full stops but you'll have a lot of commas to separate narration from dialogues. You'll know when a dialogue starts when you see a capital letter following a comma, and you'll know that there's someone else speaking when you see another capital letter following another comma, and so on. Also, he never uses proper nouns in this novel, so the characters are "the first blind guy", "the doctor", "the doctor's wife", "the girl with the dark glasses" and such.
After that one, I read The Elephant´s Journey (A Viagem do Elefante) (haven´t finished it yet, because I´m reading it in english and I´m lazy), Cain (Caím) and Death with Interruptions (As Intermitências da Morte).
Cain is my favourite so far, but I´m gonna let someone else blog about it (hopefully, some day).
I´m just gonna try to explain why I think his style works so well, to me at least.
Will give you as an example the beginning of The Elephant´s Journey (sorry for the length):
Strange though it may seem to anyone unaware of the importance of the marital bed in the efficient workings of public administration, regardless of whether that bed has been blessed by church or state or no one at all, the first step of an elephant’s extraordinary journey to austria, which we propose to describe hereafter, took place in the royal apartments of the portuguese court, more or less at bedtime. And it is no mere accident that we chose to use the vague expression more or less. For this enables us, with admirable elegance, to avoid having to go into details of a physical and physiological nature, often sordid and almost always ridiculous, and which, set down on paper, would offend the strict catholicism of dom joão the third, king of portugal and of the algarves, and of dona catarina of austria, his wife and the future grandmother of the same dom sebastião who will go off to lead the attack on alcácer-quibir and die there during the first assault, or perhaps the second, although there are also those who say he died of an illness on the eve of battle. This is what the king, with furrowed brow, said to the queen, I’m worried about something, my lady, About what, my lord, The gift we gave to our cousin maximilian at the time of his marriage four years ago always seemed to me unworthy of his lineage and his merits, and now that we have him close to home, so to speak, in his role as regent of spain in the city of valladolid, I would like to offer him something more valuable, more striking, what do you think, my lady, A monstrance would be a good idea, my lord, a monstrance, I find, is always most welcome, perhaps because it has the virtue of combining material value and spiritual significance, Our holy church would not appreciate such liberality, it doubtless still retains in its infallible memory cousin maximilian’s confessed sympathies for the reforms of the lutheran protestants, or were they calvinists, I was never quite sure, Vade retro, satana, exclaimed the queen, crossing herself, such a thought had never even occurred to me, now I’ll have to go to confession first thing in the morning, Why tomorrow in particular, my lady, given that it is your custom to go to confession every day, asked the king, Because of the vile idea that the enemy placed on my vocal cords, oh, I can feel my throat burning as if it had been scorched by a breath from hell itself. Accustomed to the queen’s sensory excesses, the king shrugged and returned to the difficult task of finding a present that might satisfy archduke maximilian of austria. The queen was murmuring a prayer and had just begun another when, suddenly, she stopped and almost shouted out, There’s always solomon, What, asked the king, perplexed by this untimely invocation of the king of judah, Yes, my lord, solomon the elephant, And what has the elephant got to do with anything, asked the king somewhat waspishly, He could be the gift, my lord, answered the queen, standing up, euphoric and very excited, He’s not exactly an appropriate wedding present, That doesn’t matter. The king nodded slowly three times, paused and then nodded another three times, after which he said, Yes, it’s an interesting idea, It’s more than interesting, it’s a very good idea, an excellent idea, retorted the queen, unable to suppress a gesture of impatience, almost of insubordination, the creature came from india more than two years ago, and since then he’s done nothing but eat and sleep, with his water trough always full and a constant supply of food, it’s as if he were a kept beast, but one who’ll never earn his keep, That’s hardly the poor creature’s fault, there’s no suitable work for him here, unless we were to send him to the docks on the river tagus to transport planks, but the poor thing would only suffer, because his professional specialty is transporting felled trees, so much better suited to the curve of his trunk, Send him off to vienna, then, But how, asked the king, That’s not our affair, once cousin maximilian is the owner, it will be a matter for him to resolve, he is, I assume, still in valladolid, As far as I know, yes, Obviously, solomon would have to travel to valladolid on foot, he has the legs for it after all, And then on to vienna as well, he’ll have no alternative, It’s a long way, said the queen, A very long way, agreed the king gravely, and added, I’ll write to cousin maximilian tomorrow, and if he accepts, we’ll have to agree on dates and ascertain certain facts, for example, when he intends leaving for vienna, and how many days it would take for solomon to travel from lisbon to valladolid, after that, it’s up to him, we wash our hands of the affair, Yes, we wash our hands, said the queen, but deep inside, which is where the contradictions of the self do battle, she felt a sudden sadness at the thought of sending solomon off to such distant lands and into the care of strangers.
(Here to read the whole first chapter)
Yes, if you see this mass (or this mess) of words without full stops, without paragraphs, you might not feel very inclined to read it (did you read it? Right, that´s what I mean). It looks like there´s no pause for breathing until the end. And it looks like you will never be able to get to the end, or even to the third or fourth page... But once you start reading it, he gets you so interested in the story that you will not even notice the lack of conventional punctuation. Rather, you will notice it, and you´ll see how naturally the story develops.
To me, during the parts where the narrator is speaking, it's like he's trying to recreate the way he would tell the story if he was telling it out-loud to a friend (i.e. you), whereas for the parts where there's dialogue, he tries to emulate the scene, to set you in the very room where the characters are, so that you're not just listening to a narration but actually witnessing the action. And, in order to do this, he gets rid of those artificial elements of written language that don't have a translation or an equivalent in spoken language, such as the dashes in dialogues or the capital letter in proper names (when he uses them).
This way, contrary to what it may seem if you just limit yourself to take a superficial look at the bunch of lines, and lines, and lines, page after page without a breathing pause, the story goes on fluently without being constantly interrupted, artificially, by things like:
- Blah blah blah - the King said.
- Blah blah blah blah - the Queen replied.
- Blah blah? - he asked her.
- Blah blah - she stated.
No, you don't need all that "the King said", "the Queen replied"..., you don't need him to tell you that, because you're seeing it as it happens, first-hand.
Another characteristic of Saramago that I've noticed, I think, in all the four novels I've read by him, is the fact that, as a narrator, he (or they, because he always refers to himself in plural as if he was a part of some group) is somehow above the story, he's better than the characters and he takes the liberty to judge or criticize them or to make comments completely outside the story.
But not only he is a great story teller, he's also a great story maker. I told you about Blindness. If you haven´t read it, you might think it´s a stupid story: people getting blind by some sort of magic. Great. And I haven´t told you about Death with Interruptions yet, but here I go: once upon a time in the present time, this woman named Death quits her job and people stop dying. Also, great. Both of them sound like the kind of stupid stories that I, grown up and busy adult, don´t want to waste my time with.
Yes. The facts that originate the stories are absurd. What happens next is rather comic. The way he tells it is quite satirical. But what is great about it is that, if you think of it, this might actually be the reaction of people if they did suddenly get blind, if they did suddenly stop dying. And because, given the absurd circumstances that trigger the story, that might actually be the reaction in reality, he has the justification to be satirically critic towards society and its strata. With special attention to clergy!
Funny thing, in Death with Interruptions, written in 2005, he states something that anticipates the fact that origins the whole Cain pilgrimage in Cain, written in 2009:
It´s easy enough to understand, it takes very little imagination to see why death´s workplace is probably the dullest of all those created since cain killed abel, an incident for which god bears all the blame.
About this particular book though, I'll probably post something in detail sooner or later (later, I guess, let's be honest). Because, although overall I liked it, I got kind of disappointed...
But anyways, this "anticipation" business made me realize, because I had recently read Garcia Marquez's No one writes to the colonel and noticed the same thing (read this post about it), that, the same way some readers read several books at the same time, also some authors write several novels at the same time. Yes, I know it's ridiculously obvious, but I had never thought of that before! And I discovered that I enjoy crossed references between them when I'm able to identify them. Rather, I enjoy being able to identify crossed references between them...
I think this is it for now. I hope it's not me the one who posts about Cain (wink-wink).
I already have several other books to post about: Brave new world, Strange pilgrims and Animal Farm, which I'm reading right now.
I have to say, I hate when they don't translate the title of the books accurately!!
The Spanish name for Brave new world is Un mundo feliz (A happy world).
The English name for Ensaio sobre a Cegueira is Blindness.
The English name for Memoria de mis putas tristes (Memory of my sad whores) is Memories of my melancholic whores.
The English name for Doce cuentos peregrinos (Twelve pilgrim tales) is Strange pilgrims.
Why??!
miércoles, 23 de abril de 2014
jueves, 27 de marzo de 2014
Réquiem por un campesino español (Requiem for a Spanish peasant)
This short novel by Ramón J. Sender was first published in Mexico in 1953, under the title "Mosén Millán" (Father Millán), and censored in Spain until 1960, when it's finally published as "Réquiem por un campesino español" (Requiem for a Spanish peasant).
The novel has two different storylines: in the present time, a priest (mosén Millán) is waiting for his audience to start the requiem mass for Paco the peasant, one year after his death; in the meanwhile, we learn about Paco's life and death through the priest's remembrances.
The story takes place in a village somewhere in Spain, right before the start of the Spanish Civil War. In case you don't know, the Spanish Civil War took place during 1936-1939, the contingent bands were the "republicans" (legitimate government by that time) and the "nationals" (coup d'état), and it resulted in about 500.000 dead from both bands (source: wiki), victory of the "national" army and beginning of Franco's dictatorship, that would last until his death in 1975.
Now, a little subjective note: although Franco was a very bad guy who executed hundreds of people including civilians even after the war had ended, and planted the seed that led current Spanish society to think about ourselves the way we do today (see here), and led the country to an absolute isolation from the rest of the world that made our economy and culture fall way behind that of our European neighbors, and almost executed my grandfather..., despite all that, like I was saying, the truth is, the republicans were no angels either and, had victory been theirs, they would probably have been as cruel as their opponents. In fact during the war they executed their good amount of "nationals" as well... But I guess, as the defeated, they have the right to act as the victims... Like I told you, this is absolutely subjective and, paradoxically, it's also my attempt to be objective and not to pick sides so happily, so please, nobody hate me! If I had to pick a side, I'd never pick the bad guy's! And now, I'm gonna put my fist in my mouth and go back to the novel.
So anyhow, also as a result of the war, many republican artists were killed and many others were exiled. Sender was exiled to Mexico, where he wrote the novel in question. And Paco, the peasant, is a republican.
The novel, quite short (about 40 pages), written in plain language, easy vocabulary..., is boring as hell (given the case that hell is boring, which I doubt). Maybe it is because I was annoyed by an altar boy intermittently singing a romance that was meant to be clever but I found stupid and unnecessary, maybe I didn't give a fuck about the peasant's childhood and action seemed never to come, truth is it took about 25 pages to get me interested in the story. I picked the book at the library because it's one of the Spanish post-war literature masterpieces, but in my opinion, that's what it is. Post-war literature. Which is great, don't get me wrong, and I can absolutely see its value in the historical context where it was written, but I just didn't like it.
So, my recommendation on this novel... You totally have to read it if you are interested in Spanish contemporary history. Otherwise, there are better books in the world.
The novel has two different storylines: in the present time, a priest (mosén Millán) is waiting for his audience to start the requiem mass for Paco the peasant, one year after his death; in the meanwhile, we learn about Paco's life and death through the priest's remembrances.
The story takes place in a village somewhere in Spain, right before the start of the Spanish Civil War. In case you don't know, the Spanish Civil War took place during 1936-1939, the contingent bands were the "republicans" (legitimate government by that time) and the "nationals" (coup d'état), and it resulted in about 500.000 dead from both bands (source: wiki), victory of the "national" army and beginning of Franco's dictatorship, that would last until his death in 1975.
Now, a little subjective note: although Franco was a very bad guy who executed hundreds of people including civilians even after the war had ended, and planted the seed that led current Spanish society to think about ourselves the way we do today (see here), and led the country to an absolute isolation from the rest of the world that made our economy and culture fall way behind that of our European neighbors, and almost executed my grandfather..., despite all that, like I was saying, the truth is, the republicans were no angels either and, had victory been theirs, they would probably have been as cruel as their opponents. In fact during the war they executed their good amount of "nationals" as well... But I guess, as the defeated, they have the right to act as the victims... Like I told you, this is absolutely subjective and, paradoxically, it's also my attempt to be objective and not to pick sides so happily, so please, nobody hate me! If I had to pick a side, I'd never pick the bad guy's! And now, I'm gonna put my fist in my mouth and go back to the novel.
So anyhow, also as a result of the war, many republican artists were killed and many others were exiled. Sender was exiled to Mexico, where he wrote the novel in question. And Paco, the peasant, is a republican.
The novel, quite short (about 40 pages), written in plain language, easy vocabulary..., is boring as hell (given the case that hell is boring, which I doubt). Maybe it is because I was annoyed by an altar boy intermittently singing a romance that was meant to be clever but I found stupid and unnecessary, maybe I didn't give a fuck about the peasant's childhood and action seemed never to come, truth is it took about 25 pages to get me interested in the story. I picked the book at the library because it's one of the Spanish post-war literature masterpieces, but in my opinion, that's what it is. Post-war literature. Which is great, don't get me wrong, and I can absolutely see its value in the historical context where it was written, but I just didn't like it.
So, my recommendation on this novel... You totally have to read it if you are interested in Spanish contemporary history. Otherwise, there are better books in the world.
miércoles, 26 de marzo de 2014
El coronel no tiene quien le escriba (No one writes to the Colonel)
This short novel written by Gabriel García Márquez in 1961 tells the story of an old colonel, whose name we'll never know, who has lived his last 50 years waiting for a letter that is supposed to arrive with next Friday's mail. This letter will come along with an important economical compensation for his merits in the army, under the orders of Aureliano Buendía, a character that is mentioned a few times along the novel and becomes one of the members of the Buendía family in A hundred years of solitude (1967).
In fact, it's not until now (while writing this post) that I found out that the Colonel was written before the solitude! Not only that, but also Macondo, the village where the Colonel lives, which is also the setting where all the 100 years of solitude unfolded, appeared for the first time in other two of his works back in 1955.
However..., I had read A hundred years of solitude before, and for some reason it was nice to go back to this decadent village where everything is static, stuffy, dusty and ruined.
Although written, as it was, six years before the solitude, this story takes place about 50 years after Aureliano Buendía's death, which might be about 30 years after the end of the hundred years of solitude (and about 150 years after the foundation of Macondo, whose decadency we attend along that novel).
It's funny, though.
If we take the facts chronologically according to the story, we have that a certain José Arcadio Buendía founded a village named Macondo. Somewhere along the future generations of his descendents we find an honorable general called Aureliano Buendía. During the glory days of Macondo, the so called Banana Boom, the Americans come to the village and settle their banana plantations. But Macondo was fated from the very day of its foundation, and eventually the Americans will leave. Decades after its slow but inexorable decadency, and also decades after general Aureliano's death, we find our unnamed colonel, walking the same ruined streets and alleys. Which is to say, after a few decades of not having news from Macondo, we find out that the village remained just the way we left it, and there's still someone alive to remember the Buendía family with us.
If, on the other hand, we take the facts chronologically according to our reality, we find that one fine day, during a train trip, García Márquez passed by a banana plantation named Macondo that got his attention for some reason. After that, in 1955, he mentions the village for the first time in two works (that I haven't read). Then, in 1961, he puts our coronel in a ruined Macondo, though he recalls those glory days following general Aureliano's orders. And finally, in 1967, he decides to tell us the whole story of Macondo and its founding family.
Anyways, all this was just the excitement of my discovery!
Let's talk about the novel..., though there's not much more to talk about without spoiling it, so I will just say this: it's not thrilling. Solitude, misery and old age are the main topics. It's a very well written short story that is nevertheless very slowly unfolded, in a village where nothing happens, where nothing has happened since we left it 30 years ago.
You don't need to read the solitude first, but you most probably will enjoy this one better if you did. Which, again, is funny, if we have in mind that it wasn't written until six years after...
In fact, it's not until now (while writing this post) that I found out that the Colonel was written before the solitude! Not only that, but also Macondo, the village where the Colonel lives, which is also the setting where all the 100 years of solitude unfolded, appeared for the first time in other two of his works back in 1955.
However..., I had read A hundred years of solitude before, and for some reason it was nice to go back to this decadent village where everything is static, stuffy, dusty and ruined.
Although written, as it was, six years before the solitude, this story takes place about 50 years after Aureliano Buendía's death, which might be about 30 years after the end of the hundred years of solitude (and about 150 years after the foundation of Macondo, whose decadency we attend along that novel).
It's funny, though.
If we take the facts chronologically according to the story, we have that a certain José Arcadio Buendía founded a village named Macondo. Somewhere along the future generations of his descendents we find an honorable general called Aureliano Buendía. During the glory days of Macondo, the so called Banana Boom, the Americans come to the village and settle their banana plantations. But Macondo was fated from the very day of its foundation, and eventually the Americans will leave. Decades after its slow but inexorable decadency, and also decades after general Aureliano's death, we find our unnamed colonel, walking the same ruined streets and alleys. Which is to say, after a few decades of not having news from Macondo, we find out that the village remained just the way we left it, and there's still someone alive to remember the Buendía family with us.
If, on the other hand, we take the facts chronologically according to our reality, we find that one fine day, during a train trip, García Márquez passed by a banana plantation named Macondo that got his attention for some reason. After that, in 1955, he mentions the village for the first time in two works (that I haven't read). Then, in 1961, he puts our coronel in a ruined Macondo, though he recalls those glory days following general Aureliano's orders. And finally, in 1967, he decides to tell us the whole story of Macondo and its founding family.
Anyways, all this was just the excitement of my discovery!
Let's talk about the novel..., though there's not much more to talk about without spoiling it, so I will just say this: it's not thrilling. Solitude, misery and old age are the main topics. It's a very well written short story that is nevertheless very slowly unfolded, in a village where nothing happens, where nothing has happened since we left it 30 years ago.
You don't need to read the solitude first, but you most probably will enjoy this one better if you did. Which, again, is funny, if we have in mind that it wasn't written until six years after...
lunes, 24 de marzo de 2014
March for dignity?
I thought my next post would be about Garcia Marquez and his colonel..., but nope. Much to my regret, this will be about the March for Dignity in Spain. Again, in English... because Spanish people already know the details and got their own conclusions, more or less similar -or different- from mine.
Don't think I'm just a sourpuss. I'm not. But I feel really sorry for spanish society, especially the youngest factions, and really embarrassed about the image the world is getting from us. Maybe I'm a sourpuss after all. For my last moans regarding this topic, see this post.
But anyways..., the march. This is their "manifesto" (in English, yes, you're welcome, I know, right? I'm so nice). The English version, though, is a little bit different from the Spanish one, as they include paragraphs like these:
Well, I don't need to say this is a bunch of lies.
... But I'm gonna say it anyways: This is a bunch of lies!
I've had, and have, a few foreigners quite close to me in Spain, and yes, I know cases of foreigners being stopped by the police, and I know one case of a foreigner being held by the police..., because the guy was in fact illegal and undocumented.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that he deserved being held and sent back to Paraguay, you know how in my fantasy dreamworld full of rainbows I still think the world should have no boundaries and we should be free to go wherever the fuck we want to go, and managing our frontiers as if the land was actually our property, and closing them to honest people that committed the terrible mistake of being born in the wrong place, and forcing them to jump fences crowned with blades, is the biggest and most insane injustice I can think of. But sorry, back to the point..., so, I'm not saying he deserved being held and sent back, but legally at least, the way things are, that was the right thing to do. That the guy was stopped in the first place just because he looked south-american, that's probably true, and that's a topic for a different discussion.
The next paragraph is another big lie, and one doesn't need to think too much to realize it... If that was true, schools shouldn't be allowed to teach galician, esker, catalan or valencian. A different matter is the fact that, no matter who may disagree, the official language of our precious nation is castilian Spanish, and therefore that's the language to use in the context of official national affairs. But galicians are free to use their official regional language in their official regional affairs, and so do basques, catalans and valencians. But the idea of making the whole country learn galician, basque, catalan, valencian, majorcan and castilian is just absurd, you have to pick one language to rule them all, and guess what, castilian spanish is the official language in the whole country. The same principle can be applied to English as the official language of the EU, and I don't remember miss Bottle complaining when she had to use English to talk about the spanish cups of cafe con leche... As for "to live in accordance with the culture of our land"... Come on, what does that even mean?
My conclusion is that the English version was made to show the world, that doesn't know exactly what the situation is in Spain, a radicalization and a repressive environment that are not completely true. If they were, they wouldn't have had any objections to include those paragraphs in the Spanish version too.
I'm completely "peeing out of the pot" here, because discussing the points of the manifesto was far from being my original intention, but let me just point the last thing about it: from my modest point of view, the right of "bread, work and shelter" and the right of free abortion can't -or shouldn't- be put together in the same bag. (And I'm sorry I used the word "point" three times in the same paragraph.)
So yes, I agree with the main (again) points of the manifesto in general, but it's not difficult to realize that, like most things, it was deeply politicized from the beginning.
But anyways. You may or may not agree with the manifest but, as you can see, they didn't say anything about breaking down glasses, setting urban furniture on fire or stoning a few cops, that I can remember. What it was supposed to be, at least "officially", was a peaceful march for... well, all those things above discussed.
And this, again, leads me to today's starring topic: "Our youth is hopeless".
You know I think american kids take themselves too seriously. I also think spanish ones don't take anything seriously. And going to a protest with the main goal of "messing it up" (liarla parda, as we say) is becoming quite trendy lately, and so is showing a natural hate for the police.
If you are protesting for "bread, work and shelter", then the slogan "Cop, son of a bitch" might just not be the one that best serves your purpose, no offense.
Yes, the police used the force (sorry for this little joke, couldn't help it!) inappropriately many times in the last protests against the government, but the unjustifiable violence of a few protesters brings the best arguments down (not to mention the not so good ones)... and kind of justifies an equally violent repression from the cops. Dude, if you're gonna stone them, let them defend themselves shooting rubber balls! It's just fair. If you try to use a brick to finish off a cop who lies unconscious on the ground, then don't cry and make a fuss when their buddies try to handcuff you.
This all makes me think that these people don't really care about the matter in question. I mean, they kind of get along with the cause, but they use it as an excuse to get violent. Otherwise, I don't get it.
What I try to say with all this is:
1. The situation is horrible, but not that horrible. Exaggerating things makes you loose credit.
2. Someone should teach values to this youth of today. Some of them definitely missed that "slap on time".
3. Don't stone the police if you don't want to get shot rubber balls. Also, burning street containers is wrong.
4 (and now, seriously). We live in a society where everything is politicized, and where the different parties try to manipulate the mass, encouraging radicalism, sharpening the hate among social groups and the polarization of society (multi-polarization, if you want). There's a deep lack of values and a deep lack of objectivity. You may support the cause, but you can't support the violence. If you're a violent, and although you support the cause you're best defined as a violent, then have your own March for the Violence. Don't fuck.
Also, and in counterbalance, you may not support the cause, but you must understand that violent people are a minority and you can find them in both sides.
5. This is how the world sees Spain, and we might have already screwed it too much to try to fix it.
Don't think I'm just a sourpuss. I'm not. But I feel really sorry for spanish society, especially the youngest factions, and really embarrassed about the image the world is getting from us. Maybe I'm a sourpuss after all. For my last moans regarding this topic, see this post.
But anyways..., the march. This is their "manifesto" (in English, yes, you're welcome, I know, right? I'm so nice). The English version, though, is a little bit different from the Spanish one, as they include paragraphs like these:
In our country if you were born somewhere else in the world, if your skin’s a different color or you have another religion, they take away your fundamental rights (healthcare, education et.) and can even shut you up in an Internment Center, even though you’ve committed no crime.
Simply for speaking our own minority language, simply for wanting to live in accordance with the culture of our land, we can be fined or even thrown into prison like during Franco’s fascist dictatorship, but now they call it democracy.
... But I'm gonna say it anyways: This is a bunch of lies!
I've had, and have, a few foreigners quite close to me in Spain, and yes, I know cases of foreigners being stopped by the police, and I know one case of a foreigner being held by the police..., because the guy was in fact illegal and undocumented.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that he deserved being held and sent back to Paraguay, you know how in my fantasy dreamworld full of rainbows I still think the world should have no boundaries and we should be free to go wherever the fuck we want to go, and managing our frontiers as if the land was actually our property, and closing them to honest people that committed the terrible mistake of being born in the wrong place, and forcing them to jump fences crowned with blades, is the biggest and most insane injustice I can think of. But sorry, back to the point..., so, I'm not saying he deserved being held and sent back, but legally at least, the way things are, that was the right thing to do. That the guy was stopped in the first place just because he looked south-american, that's probably true, and that's a topic for a different discussion.
The next paragraph is another big lie, and one doesn't need to think too much to realize it... If that was true, schools shouldn't be allowed to teach galician, esker, catalan or valencian. A different matter is the fact that, no matter who may disagree, the official language of our precious nation is castilian Spanish, and therefore that's the language to use in the context of official national affairs. But galicians are free to use their official regional language in their official regional affairs, and so do basques, catalans and valencians. But the idea of making the whole country learn galician, basque, catalan, valencian, majorcan and castilian is just absurd, you have to pick one language to rule them all, and guess what, castilian spanish is the official language in the whole country. The same principle can be applied to English as the official language of the EU, and I don't remember miss Bottle complaining when she had to use English to talk about the spanish cups of cafe con leche... As for "to live in accordance with the culture of our land"... Come on, what does that even mean?
My conclusion is that the English version was made to show the world, that doesn't know exactly what the situation is in Spain, a radicalization and a repressive environment that are not completely true. If they were, they wouldn't have had any objections to include those paragraphs in the Spanish version too.
I'm completely "peeing out of the pot" here, because discussing the points of the manifesto was far from being my original intention, but let me just point the last thing about it: from my modest point of view, the right of "bread, work and shelter" and the right of free abortion can't -or shouldn't- be put together in the same bag. (And I'm sorry I used the word "point" three times in the same paragraph.)
So yes, I agree with the main (again) points of the manifesto in general, but it's not difficult to realize that, like most things, it was deeply politicized from the beginning.
But anyways. You may or may not agree with the manifest but, as you can see, they didn't say anything about breaking down glasses, setting urban furniture on fire or stoning a few cops, that I can remember. What it was supposed to be, at least "officially", was a peaceful march for... well, all those things above discussed.
And this, again, leads me to today's starring topic: "Our youth is hopeless".
You know I think american kids take themselves too seriously. I also think spanish ones don't take anything seriously. And going to a protest with the main goal of "messing it up" (liarla parda, as we say) is becoming quite trendy lately, and so is showing a natural hate for the police.
If you are protesting for "bread, work and shelter", then the slogan "Cop, son of a bitch" might just not be the one that best serves your purpose, no offense.
Yes, the police used the force (sorry for this little joke, couldn't help it!) inappropriately many times in the last protests against the government, but the unjustifiable violence of a few protesters brings the best arguments down (not to mention the not so good ones)... and kind of justifies an equally violent repression from the cops. Dude, if you're gonna stone them, let them defend themselves shooting rubber balls! It's just fair. If you try to use a brick to finish off a cop who lies unconscious on the ground, then don't cry and make a fuss when their buddies try to handcuff you.
This all makes me think that these people don't really care about the matter in question. I mean, they kind of get along with the cause, but they use it as an excuse to get violent. Otherwise, I don't get it.
What I try to say with all this is:
1. The situation is horrible, but not that horrible. Exaggerating things makes you loose credit.
2. Someone should teach values to this youth of today. Some of them definitely missed that "slap on time".
3. Don't stone the police if you don't want to get shot rubber balls. Also, burning street containers is wrong.
4 (and now, seriously). We live in a society where everything is politicized, and where the different parties try to manipulate the mass, encouraging radicalism, sharpening the hate among social groups and the polarization of society (multi-polarization, if you want). There's a deep lack of values and a deep lack of objectivity. You may support the cause, but you can't support the violence. If you're a violent, and although you support the cause you're best defined as a violent, then have your own March for the Violence. Don't fuck.
Also, and in counterbalance, you may not support the cause, but you must understand that violent people are a minority and you can find them in both sides.
5. This is how the world sees Spain, and we might have already screwed it too much to try to fix it.
domingo, 23 de marzo de 2014
My book reviews. El cartero de Neruda.
It´s been almost a whole month...
During these days I´ve been doing some reading, and it´s probably time to start reviewing like old times when I used to be an active reader...
I will also go back to the labels, as an easy way to group the posts by their topics. This is, so far, what I grouped as "literature" before I gave up labels:
http://surcosenlaarena.blogspot.com/search/label/Literatura
I must say, I had my serious doubts whether I should write this post in English or in Spanish, as the books I will talk about were originally written in Spanish... My excuses, then, for deciding in favor of English are these:
1. I have English speaking followers now... Not only that, but my English speaking follower might constitute about 30-50% of my current readers, so... that´s a good one.
2. It would be nice if by chance some non Spanish speaker passed by, and after reading got interested in Spanish literature! As this is one of the things from Spain that do make me feel proud of being Spanish. And yet it´s mostly latin-american literature that I will talk about here! But still...
This said, there are five books I´m gonna talk about in this and the next few posts. I started reading Saramago´s The elephant journey (yes, I know, not Spanish! But he is Iberian too...) but stumbled on some others in the process, so I will start with the ones I have already finished. (That way I will make sure that I actually did read all the 90 books in my list! - English use of brackets.)
Today:
NERUDA´S POSTMAN, by Antonio Skármeta
The cover of the edition I got says: "Mario Jiménez, a young fisherman, decides to give up his job to become a postman in Isla Negra, where the only person who ever sends or receives mail is the poet Pablo Neruda. By this plot, as original as seductive, the author gets an intense picture of the tumultuous 70´s in Chile, as well as a captivating love story and a poetic recreation of Pablo Neruda´s life."
Written in 1985, it was originally named "Ardent patience", until in 1995 it was re-named as "Neruda´s postman" ("The postman" in the English edition) after the success of an italian-french movie called "Il postino", which was nominated for five oscars (and got one).
I will be honest, the author is definitely not one of the best I´ve ever read. At some points of the story, especially when describing love scenes (or the girl object of our protagonist´s love), I had the feeling that he was actually trying to emulate Neruda, but he´s far from making it. Too artificial language breaking into the middle of a story that is otherwise quite plain, so it gives the impression that it´s an unnecessary mass of pompous words and twisted sentences. This of course is only my point of view but, as this is my blog so far, you will have to content with that.
But it´s also true that, when he puts Neruda aside and goes back to the simple, easy, plain, straightforward language that dominates the story, he is, in general, quite good, and then, from time to time, he has some brilliant points, like this ones (my faves, translated by yours truly, I´m sure you´ll get a better translation if you get the book!):
..................................................
- My girl, if you mix poetry with politics, you will soon be a single mom. What did he say to you?
- Metaphores.
The mother held the knob of the rustic bronze cot, squeezing it until she thought she could melt it.
- What´s wrong, mom? What are you thinking?
The woman came to her side, let herself faint on the bed, and in a weak voice said:
- I never heard such a long word from you.
.................................................
The girl bit her pillow, and then, showing those teeth which, as well as seducing, were able to fray both clothes and flesh, yelled:
- This is ridiculous! Just because a man told me that my smile flapped in my face like a butterfly, I have to leave to Santiago!
- Don´t be stupid! - the mother exploded as well -. Now your smile is a butterfly, but tomorrow your tits will be two doves wanting to be cooed, your nipples will be two juicy raspberries, your tongue will be the gods´ warm carpet, your butt will be a ship´s canvas, and that thing now smoking between your legs will be the jet-black oven where the proud metal of the race is forged! Good night!
................................................
And also, as unusual as it might seem, I enjoyed especially the prologue, where the author explains how he got to write that story.
In summary, it´s a short, touching story that will also help you learn about Neruda and about Chilean political history and the 1973 coup d'état. Easy reading, I recommend it.
... Coming soon: No one writes to the colonel.
During these days I´ve been doing some reading, and it´s probably time to start reviewing like old times when I used to be an active reader...
I will also go back to the labels, as an easy way to group the posts by their topics. This is, so far, what I grouped as "literature" before I gave up labels:
http://surcosenlaarena.blogspot.com/search/label/Literatura
I must say, I had my serious doubts whether I should write this post in English or in Spanish, as the books I will talk about were originally written in Spanish... My excuses, then, for deciding in favor of English are these:
1. I have English speaking followers now... Not only that, but my English speaking follower might constitute about 30-50% of my current readers, so... that´s a good one.
2. It would be nice if by chance some non Spanish speaker passed by, and after reading got interested in Spanish literature! As this is one of the things from Spain that do make me feel proud of being Spanish. And yet it´s mostly latin-american literature that I will talk about here! But still...
This said, there are five books I´m gonna talk about in this and the next few posts. I started reading Saramago´s The elephant journey (yes, I know, not Spanish! But he is Iberian too...) but stumbled on some others in the process, so I will start with the ones I have already finished. (That way I will make sure that I actually did read all the 90 books in my list! - English use of brackets.)
Today:
NERUDA´S POSTMAN, by Antonio Skármeta
The cover of the edition I got says: "Mario Jiménez, a young fisherman, decides to give up his job to become a postman in Isla Negra, where the only person who ever sends or receives mail is the poet Pablo Neruda. By this plot, as original as seductive, the author gets an intense picture of the tumultuous 70´s in Chile, as well as a captivating love story and a poetic recreation of Pablo Neruda´s life."
Written in 1985, it was originally named "Ardent patience", until in 1995 it was re-named as "Neruda´s postman" ("The postman" in the English edition) after the success of an italian-french movie called "Il postino", which was nominated for five oscars (and got one).
I will be honest, the author is definitely not one of the best I´ve ever read. At some points of the story, especially when describing love scenes (or the girl object of our protagonist´s love), I had the feeling that he was actually trying to emulate Neruda, but he´s far from making it. Too artificial language breaking into the middle of a story that is otherwise quite plain, so it gives the impression that it´s an unnecessary mass of pompous words and twisted sentences. This of course is only my point of view but, as this is my blog so far, you will have to content with that.
But it´s also true that, when he puts Neruda aside and goes back to the simple, easy, plain, straightforward language that dominates the story, he is, in general, quite good, and then, from time to time, he has some brilliant points, like this ones (my faves, translated by yours truly, I´m sure you´ll get a better translation if you get the book!):
..................................................
- My girl, if you mix poetry with politics, you will soon be a single mom. What did he say to you?
- Metaphores.
The mother held the knob of the rustic bronze cot, squeezing it until she thought she could melt it.
- What´s wrong, mom? What are you thinking?
The woman came to her side, let herself faint on the bed, and in a weak voice said:
- I never heard such a long word from you.
.................................................
The girl bit her pillow, and then, showing those teeth which, as well as seducing, were able to fray both clothes and flesh, yelled:
- This is ridiculous! Just because a man told me that my smile flapped in my face like a butterfly, I have to leave to Santiago!
- Don´t be stupid! - the mother exploded as well -. Now your smile is a butterfly, but tomorrow your tits will be two doves wanting to be cooed, your nipples will be two juicy raspberries, your tongue will be the gods´ warm carpet, your butt will be a ship´s canvas, and that thing now smoking between your legs will be the jet-black oven where the proud metal of the race is forged! Good night!
................................................
And also, as unusual as it might seem, I enjoyed especially the prologue, where the author explains how he got to write that story.
In summary, it´s a short, touching story that will also help you learn about Neruda and about Chilean political history and the 1973 coup d'état. Easy reading, I recommend it.
... Coming soon: No one writes to the colonel.
miércoles, 26 de febrero de 2014
My kingdom for a mitochondrion
It´s been a long time...
I read this article in the NY Times today. I suggest you to read it, it´s quite interesting..
Essentially, it talks about a recently developed technique of genetic engineering that has been successfully tried in animals and is now ready to try in humans, which consists of "combining the genetic material of three people to make a baby free of certain defects", i.e. mitochondrial inheritance diseases.
The article explains the procedure briefly, and focuses on the ethical controversies around it, without very much going into details anyways.
The first paragraph makes a good summary of the whole thing: "The Food and Drug Administration is weighing a controversial fertility procedure that involves combining the genetic material of three people to make a baby free of certain defects, a therapy that critics say is an ethical minefield and could lead to the creation of designer babies."
And that is no good.
Says who?
Because I know you are not 100% familiar with mitochondrial DNA inheritance, I will give you some quick key points:
- Mitochondria (plural form of mitochondrion) are small organelles (things) inside animal cells. Their main function is providing the energy that cells need to do their things themselves.
- It is theorized that they originally developed from a bacteria (unicellular kind of bug) that once fine day infected an animal cell, and god saw it was good, and it got embedded inside that cell per secula seculorum. This is because, unlike the rest of organelles, mitochondria carry their own DNA, as if they once were independent forms of life.
- Mitochondrial DNA is inherited only from maternal mitochondria. This is because sperms carry their mitochondria in their tail, which is lost during fecundation (when sperm and ovule make love).
- There are some inherited diseases related to mitochondrial DNA, such as certain kinds of muscular distrophy. This means, if your mom´s mitochondria carry the mutation, you are doomed, you got it.
You can also watch this video to get an idea of how it works. Sorry I still have to figure out how to embed videos with my tablet, which is the only laptop-like thing I have right now. You´ll have to click on the link.
Now that you have all the information you need, let´s proceed.
So, from what I understand, the procedure would consist of taking the egg, either before or after fecundation, removing the defective mitochondria, and replacing them with healthy ones from another healthy woman. I have to say, I don´t get why another woman instead of the actual father, who should also carry healthy mitochondrial DNA. I mean, if it´s a matter of taking a bunch of mitochondria and putting them into the egg, there should be no need for a third person, they could take them directly from dad and put them directly into mom´s egg...
But anyways.
As for the ethics, I´m gonna take the risk of sharing my opinion, even knowing that I might change my mind at some point...
I used to be more in the "genetic selection is not ethical" side but, when it comes to avoiding serious genetic diseases, I am absolutely pro-everything. Whatever it takes as long as it doesn´t hurt anybody.
And I admit it, by "anybody", I am not including embryos, even when I know that´s not very consistent with my opinions about abortion. I guess I should give everything another thinking.
What I don´t think is ethical is using genetic engineering to create or select embryos that will more likely result in blond-haired blue-eyed soft-skinned cute little babies that will model for a fashion magazine at the age of three, because that would not be "true parent love"... But then again, says who?
As Jüng once wrote on a wall in NY subway, "Nature must not win the game, but she cannot lose". But progress to fight Nature´s impositions is unstoppable, and what makes us claim to heaven today, might be accepted as perfectly normal in a few years. This is a stupid and absolutely not politically correct example, but a time might come when people who are opposed to genetic manipulation will be looked at just like now we look at those Jehovah´s Witnesses who would watch their child die rather than consenting to a blood transfusion.
We got used to hearing about the ethical controversy surrounding gene engineering but, for some reason, what we most often hear or read are the arguments of those who oppose. The "let´s not touch things", "let´s just leave nature to follow its course", "let´s not play god". But we have been playing god since much, much earlier than the day the first antibiotic saw the light, we play god every time we use medicine to cure diseases, every time we use technology to fight natural forces, even every time we use condoms to... Yes, I know, this has nothing to do with the matter on focus, but my point is, we can´t stop progress, just like we can´t reverse the course of history.
But even sci-fi movies often present gene manipulation as some scary thing that eventually gets out of control leading to a fatalistic future where poor humans are subdued to a superior race of genetically improved beings.
In fact, while I was reading the article, this was what came to my mind. Once again, click on the link...
But if you think of it (and you change that music that anticipates catastrophe for some birds twitting, water flowing and some tibetan bowls, you might realize that the idea of creating embryos with low chances of heart failure or neurologic diseases.. might not be that bad after all...
Right?
Anyways, I think this was enough blogging for that brief article!
... And, by the way, good luck to those taking the BAR tomorrow!! ;)
I read this article in the NY Times today. I suggest you to read it, it´s quite interesting..
Essentially, it talks about a recently developed technique of genetic engineering that has been successfully tried in animals and is now ready to try in humans, which consists of "combining the genetic material of three people to make a baby free of certain defects", i.e. mitochondrial inheritance diseases.
The article explains the procedure briefly, and focuses on the ethical controversies around it, without very much going into details anyways.
The first paragraph makes a good summary of the whole thing: "The Food and Drug Administration is weighing a controversial fertility procedure that involves combining the genetic material of three people to make a baby free of certain defects, a therapy that critics say is an ethical minefield and could lead to the creation of designer babies."
And that is no good.
Says who?
Because I know you are not 100% familiar with mitochondrial DNA inheritance, I will give you some quick key points:
- Mitochondria (plural form of mitochondrion) are small organelles (things) inside animal cells. Their main function is providing the energy that cells need to do their things themselves.
- It is theorized that they originally developed from a bacteria (unicellular kind of bug) that once fine day infected an animal cell, and god saw it was good, and it got embedded inside that cell per secula seculorum. This is because, unlike the rest of organelles, mitochondria carry their own DNA, as if they once were independent forms of life.
- Mitochondrial DNA is inherited only from maternal mitochondria. This is because sperms carry their mitochondria in their tail, which is lost during fecundation (when sperm and ovule make love).
- There are some inherited diseases related to mitochondrial DNA, such as certain kinds of muscular distrophy. This means, if your mom´s mitochondria carry the mutation, you are doomed, you got it.
You can also watch this video to get an idea of how it works. Sorry I still have to figure out how to embed videos with my tablet, which is the only laptop-like thing I have right now. You´ll have to click on the link.
Now that you have all the information you need, let´s proceed.
So, from what I understand, the procedure would consist of taking the egg, either before or after fecundation, removing the defective mitochondria, and replacing them with healthy ones from another healthy woman. I have to say, I don´t get why another woman instead of the actual father, who should also carry healthy mitochondrial DNA. I mean, if it´s a matter of taking a bunch of mitochondria and putting them into the egg, there should be no need for a third person, they could take them directly from dad and put them directly into mom´s egg...
But anyways.
As for the ethics, I´m gonna take the risk of sharing my opinion, even knowing that I might change my mind at some point...
I used to be more in the "genetic selection is not ethical" side but, when it comes to avoiding serious genetic diseases, I am absolutely pro-everything. Whatever it takes as long as it doesn´t hurt anybody.
And I admit it, by "anybody", I am not including embryos, even when I know that´s not very consistent with my opinions about abortion. I guess I should give everything another thinking.
What I don´t think is ethical is using genetic engineering to create or select embryos that will more likely result in blond-haired blue-eyed soft-skinned cute little babies that will model for a fashion magazine at the age of three, because that would not be "true parent love"... But then again, says who?
As Jüng once wrote on a wall in NY subway, "Nature must not win the game, but she cannot lose". But progress to fight Nature´s impositions is unstoppable, and what makes us claim to heaven today, might be accepted as perfectly normal in a few years. This is a stupid and absolutely not politically correct example, but a time might come when people who are opposed to genetic manipulation will be looked at just like now we look at those Jehovah´s Witnesses who would watch their child die rather than consenting to a blood transfusion.
We got used to hearing about the ethical controversy surrounding gene engineering but, for some reason, what we most often hear or read are the arguments of those who oppose. The "let´s not touch things", "let´s just leave nature to follow its course", "let´s not play god". But we have been playing god since much, much earlier than the day the first antibiotic saw the light, we play god every time we use medicine to cure diseases, every time we use technology to fight natural forces, even every time we use condoms to... Yes, I know, this has nothing to do with the matter on focus, but my point is, we can´t stop progress, just like we can´t reverse the course of history.
But even sci-fi movies often present gene manipulation as some scary thing that eventually gets out of control leading to a fatalistic future where poor humans are subdued to a superior race of genetically improved beings.
In fact, while I was reading the article, this was what came to my mind. Once again, click on the link...
But if you think of it (and you change that music that anticipates catastrophe for some birds twitting, water flowing and some tibetan bowls, you might realize that the idea of creating embryos with low chances of heart failure or neurologic diseases.. might not be that bad after all...
Right?
Anyways, I think this was enough blogging for that brief article!
... And, by the way, good luck to those taking the BAR tomorrow!! ;)
viernes, 24 de enero de 2014
Living comes much easier once we admit we´re dying (or about faith and religiosity)
It´s been long since the last time I listened to DT´s Lines in the sand, but some lines still come to my mind quite often, and that one in the title is one of them. I mean the first part, of course, not the part in brackets...
One good thing about blogging is that it makes you think. When I start writing something I have an idea of what I want to say, the conclusion I want to get, but it sometimes happens that, as I go arguing along, I end up convincing myself of the opposite and changing my mind completely...
But I´m pretty sure that is not gonna happen this time, although I have no idea how this article is gonna turn out... So let´s get started and we´ll see!
This time, though, I will start presenting the conclusion, which is: Yes, one can be religious without being a believer.
Probably, this will make you think one of the following:
A) Of course! That´s so obvious. This is gonna be boring.
B) Absolutely not! Man, seems like I´m about to read a bunch of stupidities...
But I think it´s not as simple. And once more, in this case, before starting a rambling dissertation, I should start defining the terms, so that we all know what we´re talking about and nobody feels the temptation to play with meanings here.
Faith:
- Trust in God and in his actions and promises
- A conviction of the truth of certain doctrines of religion, esp when this is not based on reason
Religion:
- Belief in, worship of, or obedience to a supernatural power or powers considered to be divine or to have control of human destiny any formal or institutionalized expression of such belief
- The attitude and feeling of one who believes in a transcendent controlling power or powers
And of course, "religious" would be "one who believes in a transcendent controlling power or powers" and "believer" (spelled with a "v") would be one who has faith.
Now, I´m gonna reaffirm something that I said yesterday to a good friend of mine and two jars of beer, and that you might accept as true or not:
There´s nothing beyond this life. Once you die, you´re dead. It all ends. There´s no god, there´s no afterlife, there´s no heaven. This is all we have, and we shouldn´t waste our time looking for something that we´re not gonna find. Rather, we should start enjoying what we do have, what is true, and trying to reach happiness in this current life rather than the next one.
I know this "because I say so" is not a valid argument at all, but this is my blog and my dissertation. If you don´t like it, you´re free to stop reading and no further actions will be taken against you.
But if you keep reading, just take my word for now. You can leave a comment later ;)
So, that said, I also recognize that the idea of "dying forever" is quite scary, and I think that is the reason why men created religions, to give their lives a purpose, to let "God" make the last decision for us, to put that responsibility on him, to have the hope that all harm happens for a reason even if we can´t see it (the so called "God´s will", the inscrutable ways of god), and even to avoid the distress of having to think of "dying forever", to invent a less unsatisfying alternative.
I, as a non believer, have a strong convincement that it all does end. In fact, to me, that makes much more sense and is much easier to imagine than the magical alternative. That doesn´t mean that I´m happy with the perspective of "stopping being" or that I´m not afraid of dying. Of course I am. But when the idea of "forever" comes into play, "not being" seems more plausible than "being"... forever... To me, at least.
(Aside: just in case I´m wrong, all I´m saying does not mean that I wanna be dead forever if you guys are gonna live forever... Please let the chief know when you get there, thanks)
So, this is my hypothesis: non believers also need to find a way to ease their fear and distress. And a good way to do that is finding something that gives us the sense that there is something beyond us in this life, in this world. Something that we can and can´t reach at the same time. Something that makes us believe that life does have a purpose, for an instant, right before we lose it again. Something that makes us forget for a moment how insignificant we are in the immensity of universe..., or multiverse... Something that was there before we came, and will stay there after we´re gone, and that we can perceive with our senses without the intervention of an irrational act of faith.
And it´s here where things like plastic arts, literature, and in my case, especially music, play their part.
Music, dude. Music has something that other forms of art lack. You can stare at a painting or an architectural piece as long as you like. But music not only is there, music happens. It begins, it changes constantly while it lasts, and then it ends. And, even with the same score, the same conductor and the same musicians, you won´t hear the same piece twice. It can keep you overwhelmed from the beginning to the end, and the end can take you by surprise and leave you even more overwhelmed. That is powerful.
Not to mention the magnificent religious masterpieces by magnificent composers that you can hear coming from a magnificent pipe organ, inside a magnificent architectural piece that echoes the music, surronded by the colorful light from the stained glass window, the absorbing scent of incense and a silent and equally overwhelmed crowd. They are overwhelmed for their reason, you are overwhelmed for your own reason too. Take some magnificency out of the scene, and the feeling is still pretty much the same. It´s the feeling of sharing a unique intense brief moment and a unique intense brief feeling. It´s like not wanting to go to carnegie hall by yourself because the experience will be even more complete (that, though, is not the word I´m looking for) if you share it with someone else, ideally someone that matters.
That, to me, works just like the "religious" religion. It makes me believe that there is something powerful around us, something that I can somehow sense but I don´t get to understand, and it impresses me every time. Call it music, call it God...
And I guess a good poem can do the same.
So yes, I don´t fit in the first definition of "religion", but I think I fit quite well in the second one. Not being a believer.
I´m not sure if I made my point though. This would require much more thinking, more reasoning and discussion, and certainly more beer and inspiration.
And more interaction.
So, like they say.., further studies are warranted. And your comments are welcome.
One good thing about blogging is that it makes you think. When I start writing something I have an idea of what I want to say, the conclusion I want to get, but it sometimes happens that, as I go arguing along, I end up convincing myself of the opposite and changing my mind completely...
But I´m pretty sure that is not gonna happen this time, although I have no idea how this article is gonna turn out... So let´s get started and we´ll see!
This time, though, I will start presenting the conclusion, which is: Yes, one can be religious without being a believer.
Probably, this will make you think one of the following:
A) Of course! That´s so obvious. This is gonna be boring.
B) Absolutely not! Man, seems like I´m about to read a bunch of stupidities...
But I think it´s not as simple. And once more, in this case, before starting a rambling dissertation, I should start defining the terms, so that we all know what we´re talking about and nobody feels the temptation to play with meanings here.
Faith:
- Trust in God and in his actions and promises
- A conviction of the truth of certain doctrines of religion, esp when this is not based on reason
Religion:
- Belief in, worship of, or obedience to a supernatural power or powers considered to be divine or to have control of human destiny any formal or institutionalized expression of such belief
- The attitude and feeling of one who believes in a transcendent controlling power or powers
And of course, "religious" would be "one who believes in a transcendent controlling power or powers" and "believer" (spelled with a "v") would be one who has faith.
Now, I´m gonna reaffirm something that I said yesterday to a good friend of mine and two jars of beer, and that you might accept as true or not:
There´s nothing beyond this life. Once you die, you´re dead. It all ends. There´s no god, there´s no afterlife, there´s no heaven. This is all we have, and we shouldn´t waste our time looking for something that we´re not gonna find. Rather, we should start enjoying what we do have, what is true, and trying to reach happiness in this current life rather than the next one.
I know this "because I say so" is not a valid argument at all, but this is my blog and my dissertation. If you don´t like it, you´re free to stop reading and no further actions will be taken against you.
But if you keep reading, just take my word for now. You can leave a comment later ;)
So, that said, I also recognize that the idea of "dying forever" is quite scary, and I think that is the reason why men created religions, to give their lives a purpose, to let "God" make the last decision for us, to put that responsibility on him, to have the hope that all harm happens for a reason even if we can´t see it (the so called "God´s will", the inscrutable ways of god), and even to avoid the distress of having to think of "dying forever", to invent a less unsatisfying alternative.
I, as a non believer, have a strong convincement that it all does end. In fact, to me, that makes much more sense and is much easier to imagine than the magical alternative. That doesn´t mean that I´m happy with the perspective of "stopping being" or that I´m not afraid of dying. Of course I am. But when the idea of "forever" comes into play, "not being" seems more plausible than "being"... forever... To me, at least.
(Aside: just in case I´m wrong, all I´m saying does not mean that I wanna be dead forever if you guys are gonna live forever... Please let the chief know when you get there, thanks)
So, this is my hypothesis: non believers also need to find a way to ease their fear and distress. And a good way to do that is finding something that gives us the sense that there is something beyond us in this life, in this world. Something that we can and can´t reach at the same time. Something that makes us believe that life does have a purpose, for an instant, right before we lose it again. Something that makes us forget for a moment how insignificant we are in the immensity of universe..., or multiverse... Something that was there before we came, and will stay there after we´re gone, and that we can perceive with our senses without the intervention of an irrational act of faith.
And it´s here where things like plastic arts, literature, and in my case, especially music, play their part.
Music, dude. Music has something that other forms of art lack. You can stare at a painting or an architectural piece as long as you like. But music not only is there, music happens. It begins, it changes constantly while it lasts, and then it ends. And, even with the same score, the same conductor and the same musicians, you won´t hear the same piece twice. It can keep you overwhelmed from the beginning to the end, and the end can take you by surprise and leave you even more overwhelmed. That is powerful.
Not to mention the magnificent religious masterpieces by magnificent composers that you can hear coming from a magnificent pipe organ, inside a magnificent architectural piece that echoes the music, surronded by the colorful light from the stained glass window, the absorbing scent of incense and a silent and equally overwhelmed crowd. They are overwhelmed for their reason, you are overwhelmed for your own reason too. Take some magnificency out of the scene, and the feeling is still pretty much the same. It´s the feeling of sharing a unique intense brief moment and a unique intense brief feeling. It´s like not wanting to go to carnegie hall by yourself because the experience will be even more complete (that, though, is not the word I´m looking for) if you share it with someone else, ideally someone that matters.
That, to me, works just like the "religious" religion. It makes me believe that there is something powerful around us, something that I can somehow sense but I don´t get to understand, and it impresses me every time. Call it music, call it God...
And I guess a good poem can do the same.
So yes, I don´t fit in the first definition of "religion", but I think I fit quite well in the second one. Not being a believer.
I´m not sure if I made my point though. This would require much more thinking, more reasoning and discussion, and certainly more beer and inspiration.
And more interaction.
So, like they say.., further studies are warranted. And your comments are welcome.
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