Category: Culture

The search for a lost heritage

Ireland’s Immortals: A History of the Gods of Irish Myth, by Mark Williams, Princeton University Press, 2016. 578 pages.

Like many people who have worked hard to understand how our Celtic ancestors lived, I regularly grapple with a smoldering fury. No matter what thread to the past we try to follow, we find it broken. “Broken” is too weak a word. The thread wasn’t merely snipped cleanly in two. Entire centuries have been deliberately hacked from the record and have been lost to us. We owe a huge debt to scholars such as Mark Williams who spend their lifetimes trying to reconnect the threads.

From genetic testing, because I carry the genetic marker for the Uí Néill family (carefully studied because it’s a royal genetic marker and is common in Ireland), it can be said with high confidence that my ancestors were in Ireland (probably the north of Ireland) before Patrick. For that reason, I take very personally the cultural catastrophe that the church brought to Ireland.

In this book, Williams brings us up to date on what scholars of the written record can tell us about pre-Christian Irish history, insofar as Irish history can be deduced by studying the rich body of Irish literature that was produced from around 500 to 1400 A.D. The catch, though, is that this literature was produced in the church’s monasteries, in the centuries after Patrick. Though surely the literature contains some older, pre-Christian elements, no clear or consistent picture of the past can be reconstructed from it. The stories are muddled, often contradictory, and they have been polluted with Christian allegory and snippets that appear to have come from Bible stories. And obviously, for someone who was writing in, say, 1200 A.D., the trail had gone cold, because the Christian subjugation of Ireland was well under way by 500 A.D.

Like it or not, that’s where things stand. The Celtic people of Western Europe know next to nothing about their pre-Roman past because the Celtic past was systemically expunged and can be glimpsed now only through a Christian fog. Williams acknowledges that those of us who make an effort to reconstruct the Celtic past have no choice but to speculate. Williams seems to respect that speculation, but he wants the speculation to be grounded in a scholarship that is up to date.

He mentions a movement that began in the 1980s that he calls Celtic Reconstructionism. “Celtic Reconstructionists,” writes Williams, “have tended to ally subjective feelings with thoughtful investigations of the writings of classical authors, archaeology, and comparative Indo-European mythology.” That’s pretty much my method, so I suppose I am a Celtic Reconstructionist. Most reconstructionists, I think, are searching for a religious practice with which to replace the poverty of Christian theology. My purpose, on the other hand, is to make use of the Celtic past in my novels and to encourage people to think about how the world would be very different without the imperial Roman religion, which was imported from a little cult in the Middle East and which is based on very thin and very silly texts. In his notes, Williams even includes a link to the web site of a Celtic Reconstructionist in Scotland whose work he clearly respects. Here’s the link, for those who might like to follow up: Tairis: A Gaelic Polytheistic web site.

Heritage supper

I know I’ve blogged about vegetarian (vegan actually) hot dogs before. Every now and then you’ve got to have one. Last night’s supper on the deck, near the grill, we called “heritage night.” The heritage here, of course, is Southern white trash heritage.

The vegan hot dogs come in a can. They’re made by Loma Linda, a Seventh-day Adventist company. The chili is homemade, using vegan burger that comes in a can, also made by Loma Linda. The hot dog buns are made by a local commercial bakery. The steak fries are from Ore-Ida.

That should take care of the hot dog craving for a couple of months.

An abbey literary update

Ken’s third book, This Land Is Our Land, has been in the final editing stages here at the abbey and is due at the publisher, Penguin Random House, next week. The book is scheduled for release in March 2018.

When the idea for this book was hatched last April, Ken was here at the abbey, traveling through on book tour for his second book. He had just published a piece in the New York Times, This Is Our Country. Let’s Walk It. After that piece was published, it was apparent that Ken had become the honorary owner of a “right to roam” movement in the United States and that a book on the subject was needed. Ken had no trouble at all selling his agent and his publisher on the idea, and in no time he had a contract to write the book.

A year ago, I would have assumed that this book would be a fairly bland and somewhat academic — but necessary — reference book for a new movement in need of a manifesto. But having read the manuscript twice during the past two weeks, I was reminded how Ken’s books always exceed my high expectations. It’s not just his superb research and the charm of his writing that make This Land Is Our Land such a good book. It’s also the way he surprises me, when I finally see the manuscript, with how deeply he delves and how high he flies, even though I was in on discussions about the book from the beginning. Though this book’s topic is seemingly narrow, Ken also has produced an incisive snapshot of contemporary American culture through the lens of our attitudes toward the land. And he has laid out a lion-hearted vision of a future America that is less insular and more benevolent.

If you’re not certain what a “right to roam” is, I’d suggest the New York Times link above. It’s not as radical a right as you might think. The people of England, Wales, Scotland, and Sweden have generous roaming rights, and even countries such as Lithuania and Latvia are far ahead of the United States with the right to roam.

This Land Is Our Land will be the fifth book to be born here at the abbey during the last four years. Ken’s other two books are Walden on Wheels (2013), and Trespassing Across America (2016). There also are my novels Fugue in Ursa Major (2014) and Oratorio in Ursa Major (2016). Symphony in Ursa Major is in progress and should be out next year.

On slamming doors

There are two things in the world that are guaranteed to make my blood pressure go from normal to nuclear in a fraction of a second.

The first thing is a crude right-winger throwing a talking point at me that he learned from Rush Limbaugh. We liberals are supposed to go down mewling and begging for mercy at the mighty power of right-wing talking points. I respond with involuntary rage, and maybe a fact or two that Rush Limbaugh didn’t think to tell them.

The second thing is the sound of a slamming door.

It has been many years, I’m happy to say, since I’ve heard a door slammed in anger. But a heavy door slammed carelessly — with a loud noise and the shaking of walls — spikes my blood pressure all the same.

I well remember the signs that used to be posted inside the doors of New York taxicabs: DO NOT SLAM THE DOOR. How I wanted one of those signs! I have the utmost empathy for those New York cab drivers. For one, the sound of the taxi door slamming is jolting to the driver even in the noisy context of New York City. And for two, it damages the door and the latch. The doors on old cars are almost always damaged (and thus close poorly) because people slammed them.

It’s very awkward, but if a houseguest slams an abbey door, I usually can find a minimally obnoxious way to restore peace and quiet. I try to find a way of bringing up the subject of two of the abbey’s exterior doors, which are pretty nice doors and which I never would have been able to afford had my contractor not bought them for me at a bankruptcy sale. The latch hardware is German (Hoppe multipoint latches). The lock cylinder also is German (CES Gruppe). When closed properly, the doors make a quiet little “snick” sound as the latches engage, like the door of a Mercedes.

When I was at the San Francisco Chronicle, we had a new Rolls-Royce for a few days that the auto editor was reviewing. I was impressed to see that the doors closed themselves. When you pushed the door almost together to close it, a closing mechanism would take over. I don’t know if the mechanism was electrical or hydraulic. But, untouched by human hands, the door would finish closing itself with a faint little snick of the latch.

I love the sound of a door that snicks. In the best of all possible worlds, all doors would close themselves and say “snick.”

Here in the South, back when people had screen doors, children (including me) were told a million times, “Don’t slam the screen door!” But screen doors, unlike other doors, had springs on them to close the door and keep the flies out. No wonder they slammed.

Whether car doors or house doors, it ought to be a universal rule (screen doors are an exception): Children should be taught to never “fling” the door so that the door closes from the inertia of being flung. The right way to close a door is to keep a hand on the door and slowly push it closed until the latch clicks. Or snicks. That works with car doors, too. Unless car doors have been damaged from slamming, they’ll close quietly and easily.

Schweinehunde?


A statue in Germany

In political conversations with friends during the weekend, I was reminded yet again of what a perplexing political situation we progressives are in — particularly if we are Democrats. Kinder souls than I (or maybe they’re just more naive than I am) insist that we must “reach out” to Trump voters, “connect” with them, try to understand their issues, etc. Others say that reaching out would be futile, that anyone who is incapable of seeing through Donald Trump is unreachable from the real world.

We progressives also have a big problem to our left. I call them “Bernie diehards” — blind and self-righteous idealists who wasted their votes on the Green Party (or who didn’t vote at all) and who could not see that they might as well have voted for Trump.

Probably the definitive piece scolding liberals for not reaching out to Trump voters is this piece in the New York Times by Sabrina Tavernise. There was a great deal of pushback to Tavernise’s mushy piece — for example, by Heather Digby Parton in Salon. I agree with Heather Digby Parton. The political challenge is not to reach out to Trump voters. Rather, the political challenge is to expose their crudeness and stupidity, politically destroy their con man hero, shame them, and push them back out to the margins of decent society. That’s where they came from, and that’s where they belong.

I came across a new word and a new concept this morning in a Slate piece, “How Hitler Conquered Germany: The Nazi propaganda machine exploited ordinary Germans by encouraging them to be co-producers of a false reality.”

The word is Schweinehund.

I don’t know any German, so I’ve had to use Google’s translator in trying to figure out what this word means to Germans and how the word has been used in talking about Nazis and Nazi propaganda. Schweinehund translates literally to pig dog or swine dog. It is sometimes translated as cur or bastard. I get the impression that Germans use the word fairly often. The derived term innerer Schweinehund also seems pretty common — inner pig dog. The inner pig dog, I think, refers to low human instincts that propaganda is designed to reach and that the Trump campaign was designed to reach. Trump’s closest advisers in the White House are people like Steve Bannon, whose very career has been producing propaganda to politically motivate and manipulate the pig dogs among us.

I should say at this point that talking about Hitler and the Nazis — long regarded as rhetorical overreach — is now absolutely necessary if we’re to understand the situation we’re now in. The people who were eventually effective against the Nazis were not people who “reached out” to the Nazis. They understood that not only was it not possible to reach out to the Nazis, but also that it was dangerous.

One such person who called out the Nazis right from the start — and with the right word — was Kurt Schumacher. He spent more than ten years in prison and concentration camps for it, and he was a witness at the Nuremberg trials. It was in 1932 that he said:

Die ganze nationalsozialistische Agitation ist ein dauernder Appell an den inneren Schweinehund im Menschen; und wenn wir irgendetwas beim Nationalsozialismus anerkennen, dann ist es die Anerkennung, dass ihm zum ersten Mal in der deutschen Politik die restlose Mobilisierung der menschlichen Dummheit gelungen ist.

Google’s translation:

The whole National Socialist agitation is a daunting appeal to the inner pig dog in man. And if we acknowledge anything in National Socialism, it is the recognition that for the first time in German politics the complete mobilization of human stupidity has succeeded.

As the Slate piece points out, Hitler and his propaganda people well understood that their propaganda had to be primitive to reach the “inner pig dog.”

Sefton Delmer led the British counter-propaganda effort during World War II. Delmer clearly understood that “reaching out” to Nazi supporters could not work, just as reaching out to Trump supporters cannot work today:

We do not appeal exclusively to their higher instincts, or their idealistic opposition to the regime. We try to exploit against the German war effort the ordinary German’s Schweinehund, his desire for self-preservation, personal profit and pleasure, his herd instinct to do as others do, and his ordinary human passions of fear, lust and jealousy.

Delmer’s insight explains quite well how the Republican Party and Donald Trump were able to reach Americans’ inner pig dogs, simply because Donald Trump and the Republican Party are willing to go as low as necessary to get power from the little people with which to serve the rich. Whereas we Democrats would never stoop that low. That is why I am convinced, as I said a few paragraphs above, that our political challenge is not to waste our time on trying to win them over, but rather to expose their crudeness and stupidity, politically destroy their con man hero, shame them, and push them back again to the margins of decent society.


Kurt Schumacher

Carolina burger

I had lunch today with my brother at Jim’s Grill in Boonville, North Carolina. He ordered a Carolina Burger. The waitress didn’t know what that is, so he defined it for her. A Carolina Burger is a hamburger dressed like a hot dog — slaw, onions, hot dog chili, and mustard. The more usual hamburger treatment in these parts would be lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise and onion.

Jim’s Grill is an old roadside cafe that has been in business at least since the 1950s. Back then, it was a hot spot for teenagers. These days you’ll see no young people. The parking lot was full today with old people who had come for lunch.

Low-privacy bathrooms: Let’s get rid of them

Here in North Carolina, home of the infamous “bathroom law,” civilized people are fighting back against the medieval minds of the Republican Party. Many businesses — especially those that cater to liberals — are rethinking and changing how they manage and label their public restrooms so that no one is conflicted about which restroom to use.

For example, the Whole Foods in Winston-Salem has relabeled its two public restrooms. They’re now both unisex restrooms instead of one for men and one for women. Some businesses are experimenting with making a political statement on their restroom signs.

Public bathrooms have a long history, as the essay I’ve linked to here shows. I’m hoping that the fuss that right-wing fearmongers have made about bathrooms will lead to a great step forward in the evolution of public restrooms.

A few years ago, on business trips to Denmark, I noticed a fantastic new trend. I saw this trend not only in airports in Denmark and the Netherlands, but also in hotels and newly built corporate headquarters for Danish companies. The new public restrooms are simply a row of single private restrooms, unisex, each with a toilet and a sink. Now that’s civilized.

The Danes are some of the friendliest and most convivial people you’ll ever meet. But clearly the Danes don’t see public restrooms as places for exercising their conviviality. Privacy is more appropriate there. Personally I have always hated big public restrooms with rows of toilets, rows of urinals, and rows of sinks. Such places treat human beings like cattle. In junior high school, they were a haven for bullies and a place of terror for kids who weren’t cut out to be cattle. May our medieval bathrooms — and the lords of cattle that legislate “safety” in them — go the way of Rome and never come back.


A row of private unisex restrooms in Denmark. Let’s hope this is our future.

If Still Your Orchards Bear


Rising moon, February 10, 2017

If Still Your Orchards Bear

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

Brother, that breathe the August air
  Ten thousand years from now,
And smell --- if still your orchards bear
  Tart apples on the bough ---
The early windfall under the tree,
  And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
  Much different from mine.

Should at that moment the full moon
  Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear,
  By moonlight harder still,

Form in the shadows of the trees, ---
  Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
  Are gone, and you still there,

A man no longer what he was,
  Nor yet the thing he'd planned,
The chilly apple from the grass
  Warmed by your living hand ---

I think you will have need of tears;
  I think they will not flow;
Supposing in ten thousand years
  Men ache, as they do now.

Book review: How Propaganda Works

How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley. Princeton University Press, 2015, 354 pages.

I was very excited about reading this book when I first ordered it from Amazon, but I was soon disappointed. After a dynamite introduction, the book becomes bogged down in low-level philosophical questions — linguistics and epistemology. Though the book makes a couple of very good and very strong points about propaganda, otherwise I think the book has very little to add to anyone’s understanding of propaganda, even if your interest in propaganda is low-level and philosophical.

The book’s strong points have to do with the factors that make a population susceptible to propaganda. Stanley returns again and again to the question of flawed ideology. Racism, for example, is a flawed ideology. Another example of flawed ideology is elite ideology that holds that elites somehow deserve their power and wealth, while the poor and weak deserve to be poor and weak. This ideology is closely related to the just world hypothesis, which I have written about previously. Stanley also argues, quite convincingly, that inequality is in most cases the basis of flawed ideology. It follows that inequality is at the root of the flawed ideologies that have become an existential threat to the American democracy today. The damage of inequality, then, goes far beyond its economic and political damage, and beyond inequality’s grave threats to justice. Inequality also makes a population more susceptible to lies and to manipulation by demagogues (such as Donald Trump).

What Americans greatly need right now is a practical guide to recognizing propaganda — reverse-compiling it to see what purpose the propaganda serves, methods of immunizing oneself against propaganda, and methods of helping others to see through propaganda. This is not that book. Abstract linguistics and epistemology are of no use to a population that is being saturated with propaganda, in particular a population with our media failure, our sorry levels of education, and the distortions caused by religion. Americans today are sitting ducks for propaganda. But they are getting no help — none! — with practical means of defending themselves against propaganda. This exasperates me.

There is a wicked confluence of danger here that is worth pointing out. The flawed ideology of elites (that they deserve their wealth and power) merges in American culture with the just world hypothesis, which most people believe in (consciously or not). And the just world hypothesis merges with the vilest of theologies that preachers are selling today (because what people want to hear sells well) — prosperity gospels and dominionism (God wants you to be rich and God gave you the earth so that you can exploit it). It is going to be devilishly difficult to knock sense into the American people, because the wealth of so many depends on delusion and exploitation.

I’d like to end with an aside about books from university presses. Probably 85 percent of the nonfiction books I read are from university presses. Most “popular” nonfiction just doesn’t do much for me. Our university presses are a huge and often overlooked resource for the reading public. As I see it (and I regularly harangue my academic friends on this point), academics ought to be having two kinds of conversations. Academics, of course, need to have conversations with other academics, in their own academic jargon, and they do. But academics also have another responsibility, and that’s to talk to the rest of us. University presses, then, have a twofold mission — to print books by academics for academics, and to print books by academics for the public. The Oxford University Press, certainly, understands this very well. How Propaganda Works, judging from the flap copy and by how the book was promoted, was intended as a book of the second type — by an academic for the public. But it fails as that type of book, which is a great pity.

Trespassing Across America now in paperback

Ken’s second book, Trespassing Across America, was published last year in hardback. The paperback version was released yesterday. It’s available at Amazon and at most bookstores.

One of the abbey’s bookshelves is reserved for the abbey’s own output. It will grow next year with the publication of Ken’s third book, This Land Is Our Land, which is about the right to roam (or the absence of the right to roam) in America. I also plan to release next year the third novel in the Ursa Major series, Symphony in Ursa Major.


Ken’s box of complimentary paperback books from his publisher