The point of Tae Kwon Do

     I've spent a couple hours every week for the past two years practicing the art of Tae Kwon Do.
     When I was a child I was enrolled in a TKD class from ages nine to thirteen. However, I wasn't really practicing the art of Tae Kwon Do. Most weeks I hated going because it was a bit of a popularity contest and I was always the loser.
     As an adult, though, paying with my own hard-earned money, spending a significant number of the precious evening hours I receive every weekday, choosing to drive myself over there when I could just as easily sit and play video games or watch TV, it's become something quite different.
     Not only that, but I've applied myself a lot more this time around. Hell, I made black belt in two-and-a-half years, and despite the rather dubious reputation of many TKD gyms, and the ease in which so many doofuses earn their First Dan (or ninth!) - comparable to the Internet University fad of the 1990s - my gym is not like that. My rank as an assistant instructor was paid with sweat and blood. And the journey ahead is even longer and more challenging.
     I've learned that practicing martial arts are really about just one thing. It's not about the exercise. It's not about meeting people. It's not about getting a cultural experience or getting your kids out of the house for a bit. It's not even about perfecting forms, learning to defend yourself, or competing in tournaments.
     Tae Kwon Do is about mastering the evil inside you. And I suspect all martial arts, at their heart, are no different.
     Fear. Pride. Envy. Impatience. Anger. Selfishness. Tae Kwon Do has helped me become a better person. I suppose someone could use just about any activity and any sport to work on their virtues at the expense of their vices. However, the philosophy of Tae Kwon Do, enshrined through symbol by the Buddhist monks who crafted the art, focuses on transcendence, finding peace with yourself and your surrounding, and achieving true happiness. TKD was created for precisely that purpose. And everyone knows the right tool is the tool that was made for the job.
     Maintaining a healthy body through rigorous exercise and demanding kicks is part of that, to be sure. As is competition, self-defense, and so on. However, the point of all that is philosophical at its core. To ignore that is to fail to ever understand the art as a holistic response to the need of a deeper connection with your inner self.
     Keep reading.

 

The Decalogue (1989): Promise-keeping

     The Decalogue (1989, released on DVD in 2000) is a series of ten hour-long films, each representing one of the Ten Commandments from the Old Testament. Directed by Krzyztof Kieślowski and filmed in Polish, the collection explores a modern interpretation of the words Moses received from God on Mount Sinai, so the story goes.
     You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.
     The second film explores the issue of the oath, vow, promise, or more generally speaking, the contractual "statement of intent." Contrary to popular opinion, the second commandment does not condemn foul language ("Jesus, that hurts!") nor is it so narrow as to only apply to judicial hearings ("Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"). Rather it is an invective of the rather sorry state of the human condition from prehistorical times right up until the present day, characterized by the making of promises one has no intention of keeping.
     For example, last week I told someone at church I would call him before today (Sunday) to let him know if our Sunday School class was canceled. It was. I called him Friday afternoon, left a message on his voice-mail telling him the class was, in fact, canceled, and entered the weekend with a clear conscience. I kept the second commandment.
     On the other hand, last summer when I was interviewed for a teaching position at a local high school, the principal told me he would call me and let me know his decision. After a couple weeks of fretting and pacing, I finally realized the man had no intention of calling me. That was just something interviewers say, in order to avoid an awkward or unpleasant telephone call, but at great expense to my own peace of mind over the course of a couple months, at first due to my growing but ever uncertain feeling that I hadn't landed the position, and afterward because I was mad at my interviewer (and our culture) for being so casually dishonest. He broke the second commandment.
     I want to live in a society where a person's word is her bond. As Jesus taught during his Sermon on the Mount,
     Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not break your oath, but fulfill to the Lord the vows you have made.’ But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne; or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.
     Jesus lived in a culture where there were "little oaths" and "big oaths," "small promises" and "real promises." If you swore by Jerusalem or by heaven or by my head, it was a biggie, and if you should not carry through on the intention you communicated, you were in trouble with the Man Upstairs. Traditionally, Christianity has followed suit and made a distinction between promises and oaths, only the latter being taken as binding.
     In characteristically sage fashion, Jesus sweeps all of that nonsense away. If you tell someone you're going to do something, you should do it. Period. If you let your words fall without meaning - or if a community should fall into that same habit - you've lost something that makes you human, and you've added a destructive element to the world's composition. Shame on you.
     There's one exception to the rule. If something ridiculously serious takes you by surprise, you shouldn't be held accountable to your promises. For example, if I told a friend I'd pick them up at the airport tomorrow at 8:00 PM, and at 7:00 PM I get a call that my wife died, I'm sure, even if I forgot to text my friend that I'd be unable to fulfill my responsibility that evening, that when they found out what had happened, they would immediately and unconditionally forgive me. Only a completely unreasonable person would be disappointed that I had not still managed to follow through with my pledge.
      Of course, not every situation where breaking a promise "makes sense" is as dire as the situation I describe. The Hadith teaches that if a Muslim makes a promise but then is confronted by something better to do, he should do the better thing, and afterward make atonement for what was left undone. For example, if I ask someone to meet with me at a certain time, but then I find out I need to spend an extra hour grading my students' assignments, I should ask for forgiveness, and... what else? I'm not sure.
     After watching only the first two episodes of The Decalogue, I'm fully convinced that I've underestimated the universal and timeless significance of the Ten Commandments. I think the second commandment was targeting a ubiquitous ailment that poisons human relationships at all levels, whether between strangers, colleagues, or friends, whether between child and parent, spouses, or employer and employee.
     And thus, my question to you, reader, is simple. How important is your word? Do you make promises so casually that you can't keep track of them all? Do you have your excuses lined up, like I do? I was just so busy I forgot. Something came up. I meant to. You should have e-mailed me. You should have reminded me. And so on. Shame on us all. Together, let's pledge right now to find ways to break that awful habit and be known as people on whom others can rely without worry.
     Amen! (Heb. "So be it")

"Vein of Stars" (2009)

Maybe there isn't a vein of stars calling out my name
No glow from above our heads
Nothing there to see you down on your knees

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
Off in the future, maybe there ain't no heaven
There's just you and me and
Maybe that's as well
And if there ain't no heaven
Maybe there ain't no hell

     Halfway through the Flaming Lips' album At War With The Mystics, a sweet, solemn hymn plays, for many, the most profound because of its simplicity. Here, there is no war with any mystic, but only a calm acceptance of the tragic death of the mystic within. Post-war, you might say.
     Coyne's slight echo makes the speaker appear to inhabit a big, empty space, as if the whole of the starry night sky was open, cloudless, windless, and he, with his eyes raised to the so-called heavens. The voice goes out in search of a response, but only hears a haunting silence, with only thoughts and perhaps fears to fill the void.
    After each verse, an eerie guitar sings its own melody. It's as if it attempts to climb from earth to heaven but each time cannot complete the ascent, and stumbles back down to a mournful chord somewhat closer to the ground than had been hoped.
     This beautifully sympathetic poem reflects on the loss of the supernatural dimension, a peculiar characteristic of the secular age. Do we have a better deal, now that we consider the universe to be characterized by so much emptiness, without a great eye looking down on us?
     Is it enough to merely have other people "calling out my name" rather than same magisterial infinite?
     We lose that Great Gig in the sky, Coyne reflects, but at the same time, the ultimate chaotic evil is also demythologized. The world is blander. There's less to gain and less to risk. We stay on our knees, but no Higher Power applauds or rewards our efforts.
     I like the ambiguity of stanza 2's opening line. Since I'm in my 20s I interpret it as an allusion to the years during which we begin our intellectual adulthood and begin to openly and calmly question the assumptions we held to so tightly in our youth. Perhaps Coyne experienced something akin to my own biography -- another late bloomer.
     Do yourself a favor and don't listen to this song by itself the first time. Like most of the Lips' work, the context of the album makes each component many times more meaningful.

Vincent Van Gogh, "Starry Night over the Rhone"

Built to last

Mayor: You see them, Mr Rango? All my friends and neighbors. It's a hard life here. Very hard. Do you know how they make it through each and everyday? They believe. They believe it's going to be better. The believe that the water will come. They believe against all odds and evidence that tomorrow will be better than today. (Rango, 2011)

     President Barack Obama's 2012 State of the Union Address was inspiring. I watched the likes/dislikes of the live Youtube stream go from about 60%/40% before the Speech to 68%/32% afterward. For a nation wallowing in recession and a political atmosphere comparable to the Grand Canyon, I'd call that pretty inspiring. According to Tweet volume, the President's most laudable delivery was on the subject of education (though this topical surge may be, at least partially, the result of the age of the average Tweeter).
     President Obama listed the improvements his administration has made on the country's domestic and foreign policies, and laid out an intelligent plan to attack ongoing problems. He addressed the splitting headache that constitutes D.C. politics, from insider trading to departmental inefficiency, and encouraged his fellow representatives to unite together, following the example of the American soldiers who risked their lives for the sake of each other and the sake of a common mission.
     God, I hope he'll stick around for another four years. I don't pretend to know much about politics, the economy or international relations, and I'm not so foolish as to think that President Obama is the ideal president. But I do know that Obama still possesses the ability to inspire. That counts for more than you might think.
     It's up to the US Congress to find points of political-center agreement where  bills can be created to advance the great arm of bureaucracy (that dirty word) in effective and affordable ways. As a separate arm of government, the executive branch can't make the House cooperate. Neither can the President introduce legislation - he can only suggest bills or policies he believes Congress should create.
     Of course, the President has other responsibilities, such as the nomination of federal judges, the direction of the executive branch of government (some five million federal employees) by way of executive orders - including the military - and last, decisions regarding foreign relations and affairs. He needs to be able to create a team of people to surround him, who he can lead well. And he needs to be able to inspire.
     President Obama can be criticized in many areas, but he's inconceivably better than the two current alternatives. Chronicled wonderfully in countless Daily Show episodes, Newt Gingrich and Mitt Romney backstab, change values in a heartbeat, play awful politics and cater to an extremist wing of a party that has, in my view, lost its way. If the Democratic party can seize the currently vacant political center, they could direct the country's affairs until the GOP reinvents itself.
     What if Romney (aptly called "a perfectly lubricated weathervane") were to become the forty-fifth President? If Obama is left-center, then Romney is right-center, which by itself is a fairly insignificant change. However, Obama has successfully inspired many Americans in spite of inheriting a ragged economy. Could Romney take over in this respect and finish what Obama started? Whether or not his administrative talents are slightly superior to Obama's is really a non-issue when his party is primarily concerned with downsizing Federal influence in every way. Obama has four year's experience; Romney will need to learn a new office and take time to figure out how to apply his knowledge of state governance to the level of nation-building.
      Obama inspires; the main criticism against Romney is that he is lack-luster in this respect. Frankly, when the chips are down, there needs to be a singular voice in Washington calling people to pull themselves up by their boot-straps, believe in themselves, their country, and their government. The Republican party calls people to believe in the so-called job-creators, to whom they owe all; and to distrust all government involvement as "interference." While I believe deep down that he knows better, Romney can't go too far afield from that line of thought without alienating his own party. There are too many lobbyists.
     I've also noticed that every time a new President is elected, it takes about a year for the new administration to tear down enough policy established by their predecessors before they can positively affect job growth. During that year, growth in all sectors is slow, and progress is minimal. By the time Romney's administration gets some momentum, there's only a year until congressional elections, and I'd bet money the House is going to flip back to a Democratic majority, in light of the ridiculous ideological posturing of the current representatives. Statistics show that the vast majority of Americans understand the fundamental necessity of compromise between the two parties to get things done.
     (And if Gingrich became President, God help us.)
     And where is the ideology of a party whose representatives declare publicly that their number one goal is to wrest political power for themselves? I'm sorry. Big government, small government, efficient government, whatever. I can't subscribe to a political organization that embraces such outspoken megalomaniacal behavior. (At least the Democrats fight that vice to the degree that not a single party member could ever get away with saying something like that publicly.)
     In any case, I suppose I shouldn't really worry too much about American politics, seeing as I don't intend to stick around more than a few more years. When I lived in Canada, as far as I was concerned, the US could rot in hell. However, having lived here, even in the Midwest - a place so diametrically opposed to my philosophies and thinking patterns - I have truly learned to love the country, the values it stands for, and its place in the world and in history. And I hope and pray that this is not the beginning of the end, but rather, as our President so poignantly put it, I've witnessed the beginning of an America built to last.

 

Why can't we all just get along?

     Stanley Fish's 1996 article in First Things, "Why Can't We All Just Get Along?", is a must-read. Despite continued leaps and bounds in the realms of science -- from plate tectonics and the moon landing to the human genome and a bonafide "wrinkle in time" -- it's amazing to see just how little progress has been made in the human art of philosophizing.
     In humankind's great experiment to ensure a permanent intellectual peacetime, the enlightenment effectively swallowed up the entire playing field. Liberalism depicts the mind as "not yet settled" on a particular set of dogmas (foundational beliefs from which thought proceeds). Fish offers the tenets of liberalism as follows:
     1. Even if you do not embrace a point of view you can still understand it
     2. Beliefs are analyzed by rational criteria which themselves are bound to no particular beliefs; they are objective
     3. A fixed commitment to an idea or value is a sign of cognitive and moral infirmity
     4. A reasonable mind is an open mind, ready to jettison its most cherished convictions
     In my recent experience in the worlds of education and institutional religion in the Midwest -- in sync with my time spent in Scotland and Canada in years gone by -- Fish is right to say that liberals, generally speaking, hold to these very tenets as dogmas. And I've been one of them. I've acted as an authority figure in matters religious, moral, ethical and philosophical, and I've promulgated the view that our society is meant to be one characterized by skepticism, tolerance and infidelity.
     Fish further argues that to suggest to the liberal that this message is self-contradictory, since it marginalizes and excludes (among others) the religious voice, might get you a conciliatory seat at the table of discussion, only to be patronized by ears which do not hear and eyes that politely stare before looking elsewhere for more "reasonable" contributors.
     I find this positively devastating. This means that there's an unresolvable intellectual and moral war in our society, and we've been doing a good job at fooling ourselves that if we could only universalize the principles of skepticism, tolerance and infidelity, it would yield that world which John Lennon imagined ten years after the publication of this article.
     Fish has been criticized as an extreme relativist and an anti-foundationalist. He got his start in medieval literature (especially Milton, quoted extensively in the article linked above) and then developed a literary theory that made central the interpretative communities of a given text -- akin to reader-response theory. For Fish, truth is always contingent (dependent) on the culture from whence it rises. Appropriately, perhaps, Terry Eagleton accuses Fish of being a liberal among liberals, having abandoned all hope of an objective plane from which to launch a properly robust and legitimate critique. (I'm truly sorry that I wasn't still in Edinburgh when Eagleton delivered his The God Debate Gifford lectures two years ago.)
     Two questions must be answered. First, is it possible to be committed and tolerant at the same time? What does that look like? Second, has liberalism as a movement graduated to that lofty, laurel-laden vantage point?
     I remember an article by Fish that I read in college, "Going Down the Anti-Formalist Road," published in 1989. Near the end of the article (p.29) he tries to clear up how anti-foundationalism (the denial in the existence of any truth, known or unknown, that operates as the basis for all real knowledge) does not contradict itself by offering itself as yet another foundation. This is basically the same issue the relativist faces when saying "There is no absolute truth" -- is that statement absolutely true?
     Fish comments, "Philosophers of a certain kind love this kind of argument, and one can almost hear them chortle as they make it." He observes that his thesis merely asserts the local, in-culture quality of all foundations, his own included, and the way in which they are established "by persuasion," that is, by argument and counter-argument, all limited by context, none of them "just there." And, as long as anti-foundationalism "holds the field" against all critics, it can be considered "absolutely true (at least for the time being)".
     Well, if you're like me, your brain is swimming right now. Nevertheless, it seems to me that Fish is right about modern-day liberalism. Whether or not it's possible to be at once tolerant and committed, we can say for certain that it's not happening often enough.
     And for myself, I've noticed a blatant undercurrent of tension and muddled thinking whenever I pronounce the rightness in accepting the (in my view ridiculous) literal beliefs of conservative Christians, whether about the rapture, the devil, the resurrection or the divine nature of Jesus. Even though I don't subscribe to those beliefs, I accept that others believe them.
     Unfortunately, the language of acceptance and tolerance is very ambiguous. As Fish states, do I treat the ramifications of those beliefs as credible and fully equal to my own? For example, if I married a woman of non-materialistic persuasions, and we raised a child, and that child became sick with leukemia, would I allow her to skip a visit to a medical clinic and simply trust to the priest? Hardly.
     Can tolerance, then, really be called tolerance if it excludes personal risk? I have a hard time seeing how.
     Real intellectual conflicts do exist in our world. It's difficult to identify universal principles that all people to agree on, and can be used as the basis of fruitful dialogue. The problem is only exacerbated if we consider societies on the other side of the globe, or those from centuries past. And throwing the blanket of tolerance over them does mitigate conflict, but to what extent does it do so falsely? Is it worth it?
     Maybe in some cases, it is. Right now we have a locked Congress with an approval rating lower than polygamy, made of two sides who refuse to compromise, much less tolerate each other. We have a country to run, an economy to bolster, and a debt to repay. Let's quit bickering and meet half-way, right?
     On the other hand, maybe the Conservative's open love for dogma has been mocked by the Liberal's equal but far more secret love for the same for too long. Could a deep-seated hypocrisy in the values I've embraced for years, the Enlightenment doctrine, produced the bitter and backwards politics we now see emanating from the GOP?
     It's a theory, and it's one I wish I could investigate further. But I can't think how. So I'll instead let mastication and rumination take over, keep my eyes and ears open, and see if these ideas ring true over the course of the next couple years.

Banned writing topics

From this day forward,
I vow never to publish
on the following topics:

1. Love
2. God
3. Me
4. Blogging
5. Truth
6. Reality
7. The meaning of life

I hereby add the condition
that I may release myself from this vow
upon reaching a state of utter senility.

A new beginning

     Writing is the best medium for self-expression. The spoken word vanishes, subsumed immediately by its effect (a la Austen). But the words that I commit to today's blog will be read for years by an audience wider than I can now fathom. This is the beautiful reality of the Internet search engine.
     I also want to become a writer. Paid. I'm going to try to use this opportunity, combined with a lot of hard work and perseverance, to develop something akin to a portfolio. Of course, I'll have to be much more careful with my words than I've been in the past. Let's get started.