24 May 2005, on a plane from Albuquerque to Los Angeles

Not a perfect world, but a better one …

In the better world, belief would be honored but not sacrosanct. Religion would be seen for the good that it does, the positive values it imparts and the discipline it teaches, the paths that it opens for people to live out constructive, contributive lives. Religion would be respected but not sacrosanct because of the emotional element it introduces into all consideration of the human condition. In the better world we would recognize particularly that the faiths born in the Middle East – Judaism, Christianity and Islam – all promote a level of emotionalism that is frequently irrational and often dangerous. Intolerance and ignorance mixed with injustice perceived (or suffered) can make people fly airplanes into buildings. It can make people immolate themselves in religious communes in Waco, Texas and it stops dialogue and honest inquiry. In some faiths the religious canon is open ended and can, therefore, change and adapt to different times, places and cultures. It’s difficult to think how a considered position on a contemporary issue can be derived from a closed canon that is a thousand or more years old. We can’t necessarily rely on ancient emotional diatribes to determine how we ought to run our governments, whether we ought to emancipate our women or what we ought to teach our children about how the universe was made and how we got here. Too often canons are dissected to serve emotion but, equally, apologists often strain to contextualize passages that are, in fact, nothing but antediluvian intolerance. Religious values that support the better world should be honored and there is nothing wrong with them but those that work against it ought to be shunned. Religion in the better world is personal and familial, it is not social – don’t be ashamed of it but don’t push it, be humble and diligent and focused and, if they want, they will come. Don’t support the broadcast rantings of a con man who is taking up valuable air time that could be better used by letting us follow the progress of our favorite baseball team or a rebroadcast of ‘The Wizard of Oz’.

You know, it’s interesting that I cannot recall ever having read of a war declared in the name of Buddha and certainly ‘Aristotle’ has not been a rallying cry for warriors going into battle. Even the memory of Socrates’ death stirs not the emotions but regret in the face of intolerance and a determination to work for a better world where honest, penetrating inquiry about all aspects of the human condition is not only accepted, it is encouraged. Debate must be honest, respectful and positive.

But a better world does not mean that we do not recognize that certain affirming values are superior. If we don’t do that, we end up wearing Birkenstocks, unwashed and marginalized. I’ve seen that and, no thanks, no more! Equally, I’m not going to honor the person who eats all processed food, feeds their children Coca Cola, spends Sunday waving their arms and speaking in tongues, believes, without rational thought, that the Government is a left-wing conspiracy and, in ten years, hasn’t read a book whose cover didn’t feature a ripped bodice. I believe in the great middle, somewhere therein lies the basis of the better world.

Santa Fe, New Mexico, 22 May 2005

Sunday evening. It’s 8:30 PM, daylight savings time. There are grayish clouds, nearly stationary, against a pale blue evening sky. If the sky clears later, there will be a full moon visible. The high desert is quiet. A jackrabbit scurries and hops down a dirt track just below the northern portal of our house. The swallows have turned quiet and bedded down somewhere, they have given up protesting at our presence on the portal where they’ve built a daub nest between a log beam support and the roof.

I’m sipping at a California Cabernet. It’s full taste is somehow right at this hour.

There are still the remnants of winter on the peaks of the Sangre de Cristos. This year we had more snow than in the memory of many young skiers. Just six weeks ago we climbed partway up the mountain and drank dark German beer next to a fire in a bar patronized, apart from ourselves, exclusively by skiers.

This morning we parked near the Plaza and bought heavy, rich almond croissants from a bakery run by French renegades. We carried them – and coffees – to the park near the cathedral and sat on benches, in the shade, cooled by the green grass that grows so richly there.

A few days ago I heard from a former boss who was at some port in the Caribbean where he had sailed. He and his wife were having a wine at day’s end. His e-mail ended with the phrase, ‘life is good’.

It's nearly full dark now, there's only a receding splash of light to the West.