by Leanne Ogasawara

世中は何にたとへん水鳥のはしふる露にやとる月影（無常）

Mujō (Impermanence)
To what shall I liken this world?
But to moonlight
Reflected in the dewdrops
Shaken from a shorebird’s bill
—Dōgen

1.

Eight hundred years ago, a Buddhist monk, not long into his career, became deeply dissatisfied with the Buddhist teachings available to him in Japan. And so, he traveled across the sea to Song China.

A man on a mission, he wanted to uncover the “true Buddhism.”

This is a story repeated again and again as Buddhism made its way East. Monks and priests, feeling like something had to be “lost in translation,” took to the road in search of the true word. From Japan to China and from China to India—and sometimes as far as to Afghanistan, these early translators were seeking to understand the wisdom that was embedded in the words themselves.

Or maybe what they were really seeking was beyond the words themselves?

The monk Dōgen, after seven or so years in China would return to Japan—his mind filled with all that he had seen and all that he had learned. In time, he would form a new school of Buddhism in Japan: Sōtō Zen.

Interested in notions of time and being, he wrote elaborate philosophical tracts, as well as many marvelous poems.

In the above poem on impermanence, Dōgen compares ultimate reality to that of a reflection: of moonlight reflected in a dewdrop scattering off a waterbird’s bill.

In my first translation attempt, I chose to render mizudori 水鳥 (waterbird) as “shore bird.” It is a valid translation for the Japanese term mizudori, which literally means 水 water 鳥 bird. Maybe I instinctively went with shorebird because I have been taught in creative writing classes to try and be as concrete and specific as possible, so readers can better form mental images. Could this might explain why the translation I found online (made by the great Dōgen-scholar Steven Heine) used the English word “crane” for mizudori.

Dōgen did not choose the Japanese word for crane, which is tsuru 鶴 so why did the translator? Read more »

by Brooks Riley

by Rafaël Newman

Today I am giving thanks for the life and work of John Prine, the late, great American singer-songwriter, whose date of birth is October 10, 1946, and who died, of COVID-19, on April 7, 2020.

I am listening to his music and thinking about where he came from, and where he wound up: Prine was born in Illinois but his parents were from Kentucky, where he would spend time in his youth visiting family; his career started in Chicago but he ended his days in Nashville, where he co-founded his own independent record label, Oh Boy Records.

I mention these geographical poles in the life of the birthday boy because they help me make sense of my own intimate, visceral response to John Prine’s work. I was introduced to his music in Toronto in the early 1980s by my high-school sweetheart, whose own parents were from Kentucky, having migrated north, to what is effectively Canada’s Midwest, just like Prine’s folks had when they moved to Illinois. (Of course, having done part of his military service in Canada, William Faulkner is said to have noted the similarities between his own native Deep South and America’s ostensibly ur-Yankee neighbor to the north: but that’s another story.) Read more »

by William Benzon

I grew up in the 1950s, at the height of the Cold War. At some point “mutually assured destruction” entered my lexicon. I came to accept the threat of nuclear war with the USSR as something I’d live with until I died (perhaps in a nuclear war?). The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and two years later the USSR dissolved. With that the possibility of nuclear war decreased, though the weapons themselves remained. Now, thirty years later, nuclear war is, all of a sudden, more likely than at any time in my life since the Cuban Missile Crisis in October of 1962.

I actually do remember the missile crisis, but only vaguely. There is a sense of danger coupled with the image of a grayscale aerial photo, or perhaps a map, of Cuba. But that’s about it. Beyond that, I certainly had a strong sense of persisting conflict between the Soviet Union and American, plus the Free World. The the number and destructive power of nuclear warheads controlled by each side – the so-called missile gap – was a constant concern. Magazines such as Popular Science and Mechanix Illustrated regularly carried features about the design, construction, and provisioning of home fallout shelters.

I have a vague sense of one day being in the basement in the TV room and telling my father, “don’t worry, if I’m drafted, I’ll go.” But I can’t recall just what prompted that remark, perhaps a news story about draft resisters. That was before I went off to college. I turned 18 during my junior year and had to register with Selective Service. I was given a student deferment. A year later a draft lottery was instituted and I drew the number 12 in the lottery. I was certain to be drafted once I graduated. By that time I had been actively protesting against the Vietnam War for four years and did not want to be drafted to fight a morally abhorrent war.

I decided to apply for status as a conscientious objector, which would exempt me from military service but require that I perform some kind of alternative civilian service. I sought legal advice through the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization committed to social justice and peace. I worked with one of their lawyers in preparing my application, which was successful. I was assigned to work in the Chaplain’s Office at Johns Hopkins. Chester Wickwire, the chaplain, had been active in both the Civil Rights and anti-war movements, and was able to get two local congressmen to write letters of support. When my term of service was over, 1972 or 1973, I went off to graduate school. Read more »

A reflective street sign iridescing in the sunlight as I walked by it. What looks like a plain white background from a distance (see photo in first comment) is revealed to have much complexity when seen close up.

by Andrew Bard Schmookler

In the previous piece in this series, “The Discernible Reality of a ‘Force of Evil’,” I attempted to show that there is a Force – visibly operating in the world — that can reasonably be called a “Force of Evil.” (With “Evil” defined as “a coherent force that consistently works to make the human world worse.” Or, that “consistently spreads a pattern of brokenness.”)

We can see this Force, I argued, by exploring the connections in “the dense network of cause and effect.” Those connections reveal how the various elements in the human world that are life-degrading – war, injustice, hatred, greed, cruelty, trauma, intrapsychic conflict, etc. – are each both the causes and the effects of one another.

Those connections, in other words, reveal the general truth that “Brokenness Begets Brokenness.” And from that reality – of how brokenness moves through the human world over time in shape-shifting ways — we can infer the existence of a Force that consistently moves a “pattern of brokenness” through the human world, consistently making the human world worse.

This Force — transmitting that “pattern of brokenness” – is something we can see, I said, “the way we ‘see’ the wind in the swaying of the trees and the flapping of the clothes on the line.”

What we see – “a coherent force that consistently makes things worse in the human world” – is something that reasonably be called “a Force of Evil.” And – as it can be discerned by applying reason to evidence – the existence of such a force should be incorporated into the worldview of our secular culture. Read more »

by Paul Braterman

Young Earth creationist organisations are united in rejecting the secular science of climate change.  This science, they say, incorporates the study of positive feedback loops as demonstrated by data from Ice Age cores (true). But all of this is part of the secular science that regards the Earth as ancient (also true) and is therefore unsound (no comment). The creationist organisations are left with the task of explaining the Ice Ages, which they do with a degree of ingenuity worthy of a better cause. This in turn leads to a creationist climate science, in which positive feedbacks are ignored. It follows that conventional climate science can be discarded, and our current concerns rejected as alarmism.

This conclusion fits in well with the aims of the right-wing organisations with which the creationists are intertwined. One frequent commentator on environmental matters in Answers in Genesis  is Calvin E. Beisner, founder and CEO of the Cornwall Alliance for the Stewardship of Creation, which exists to oppose any environmental constraints on industry, and Beisner’s work has been praised by the Heritage Foundation and the Heartland Institute. The Cornwall Alliance itself is deeply linked to creationist theology, and its Statement of Faith commits to separate creation of a historical Adam and Eve, original sin as a historical fact, and “the bodily resurrection of the just and unjust, the everlasting punishment of the lost, and the everlasting blessedness of the saved.” The conservative commentator Jay W. Richards, Senior Fellow of the evolution-denying Discovery Institute, is a Fellow of Heartland and a former adviser to Cornwall. But the political agenda of creationist organisations is a major topic in itself, to which I shall return.

We must also remember that while there is no commercial interest in denying evolution, denying the need for action on climate is a well-funded industry, to whose voluminous output the creationist climate change deniers have full access. Read more »

by Steven Gimbel and Gwydion Suilebhan

At a recent tournament sponsored by the St. Louis Chess Club, 19-year old Hans Niemann rocked the chess world by defeating grandmaster Magnus Carlson, the world’s top player. Their match was not an anticipated showdown between a senior titan and a recognized rising phenom. The upset came out of nowhere.

Throughout the chess world, whispers about Niemann’s improbable victory led to social media posts with rampant speculation about foul play until Carlson, in his own post, directly accused Niemann of cheating. In support of that claim, he advanced several pieces of evidence. First, Carlson claimed that the trajectory of Niemann’s progress as a player was “unusual.” Second, he suggested that during their match, Niemann exhibited a lack of mental focus that didn’t correspond with his surprisingly effective play.

“I had the impression,” Carlson tweeted, “that he wasn’t tense or even fully concentrating on the game in critical positions, while outplaying me as black in a way I think only a handful of players can do.”

Carlson’s third piece of purported evidence, however, has been the most rhetorically effective: Niemann’s prior history of cheating. The 19 year-old has admitted to illicit play twice earlier in his career. “I was 16 years old and living alone in New York City at the heart of the pandemic,” Niemann said in an interview with the St. Louis Chess Club, “and I was willing to do anything to grow my stream. What I want people to know about this is that I am deeply, deeply sorry for my mistake. I know my actions have consequences and I suffered those consequences.”

Niemann insists that he learned from his error and has changed. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

by Tim Sommers

When people say they want equal opportunity, what do they really want? If what they want is whatever it is that the opportunity is an opportunity for, are they really interested in the opportunity at all? Or are they motivated by what de Tocqueville called “the charm of anticipated success”?

Well, there is at least one, quite profound thing, that people want when they say they want equal opportunity. They want to not be discriminated against. Of course, a theory of justice that was silent on all forms of discrimination would be, to use a technical term, bad. Kant defended nondiscrimination two-hundred twenty-nine years ago like this. “Every member of the commonwealth must be permitted to attain any degree of status…to which his talents, his industry, and his luck may bring him; and his fellows may not block his way by [appealing to] hereditary prerogatives.” (One problem is the way Kant keeps saying “his.” It raises the question what counts as a “prerogative.”) Believe it or not, Napoleon endorsed roughly the same idea and popularized this phrase for it: “La carrier est ouvérte aux talents” (careers open to talents).

For the sake of argument, I will assume that a plausible theory of justice says that everyone should have certain (i) basic liberties, the (ii) right to not be discriminated against or equal opportunity, and that in a just society (iii) the distribution of wealth should not be too unequal. Now let’s distinguish between formal equality of opportunity and substantive equality of opportunity. Read more »

 by R. Passov

We are on the train from Lisbon to Cascais. They, riding with their backs in the direction of the train, sit across from me. I am next to a middle-aged woman, smiling, well-coiffed, dressed in white. I fail to speculate on why she heads toward the wealthiest enclave in Portugal where, it has been said, ex-dictators peacefully sun-away the last years of their lives.

I had been in conversation with Ananda before getting on the train. We wandered toward each other to exchange the partial pieces of directions we owned; directions on how to get from our seminar to the museum in that beach town to enjoy a showing by a famous artist who had something to do with the co-founder of our seminar.

Ananda is from Brasilia, a place I had learned about in the 6^th grade and that somehow stayed with me as a Shang ri-La gone astray – an attempt at the future that ultimately lost to the jungle. But Ananda says it’s not in a jungle. Instead, it’s on a giant plain, away from the jungle. It’s the capital and 3 million people live there. Yet I press on with my memory, still seeing the place as a grand replica of Kennedy airport with its 60’s modernism, just empty of passengers. But it’s not like that, Ananda argues. Yes, it’s aged like things are let to age in Latin America, not like in America where you go crazy trying to fill in the cracks.

To get past Brasilia I ask Ananda about the economy and the mood in Brazil, trying to gain insight into whether my small investment in Brazilian government bonds is safe; hoping to hear what I want to believe – that Brazil is strengthening its judiciary, an important step toward improving its investment climate. Ananda smiles. Things are bad, she says. Bad and not getting better. Perhaps I was hoping for drinks later alongside her sun dress, fun glasses, hair that runs away from her ears and the smile. Read more »

Curious cow at the Fane Alm in the South Tyrol last week.

by Ethan Seavey

If you look at my profiles online, they are catered to appear normal, if dated. I haven’t posted very much over the past few years, and those that I have posted have been relatively mundane, which mark the relatively mundane moments of my life. They’re honest and small, like a photo of the street as I walk to school, or a picture of my friends at a park. My profile molds itself to match me.

My feed, however, tells a different story. If you were able to see what I am gifted by the algorithms of Snapchat, Youtube, and Instagram you would have a wildly different opinion of me. Scroll just a little and you’ll hear phrases like “Men hit their prime at 30-40, while women peak in their early 20s” and “when I get married, she won’t get access to my bank account; she’ll receive an allowance of 2 million a year; you can’t trust them, I’m serious.” A couple of months ago, my feed looked nothing like this. There were memes about Pokémon, ads for mobile games, and prank compilations. Now, my feed is full of straight white men teaching me how to power up my masculinity.

The ease with which I was able to deliberately change to this side of social media does worry me. For no other reason than the fact that I didn’t want to download Tiktok, I started watching the TikToks which appear in my Snapchat Spotlight feed. The idea, though, is the same: an infinite stream of short videos. The randomness to the media is part of the allure. Every time you swipe you can find a new video. If you engage with a video, by liking or sharing, or even by lingering on the video until it has finished, the algorithm learns to give you more similar content. That’s why when I started watching Spotlights I received only mobile game ads, because I had recently deleted all games from my phone and would listlessly watch others play them instead. Read more »

by Eric Bies

May of 1851, London, the world’s first World’s Fair.

Just about Anyone who was (or was bound to be) Anyone was in attendance at the Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations—a mouthful—among them: Charles Babbage, Charles Darwin, and Charles Dickens; Charlotte Brontë, Lewis Carroll, and George Eliot; Karl Marx, William Morris, and Alfred Tennyson; Tolstoy (a playboy, beardless and boyish) and Flaubert (accompanied by his mother).

If we were there we could have followed them: down the paths and over the lawns—beneath the little boys perched in the trees—thousands of visitors, many of whom had patronized this stretch of Hyde Park in the past, now encountered a new kind of structure rising from the green. Taking it all in, the word “magnificent” sprang to mind; in a chorus they called it the Crystal Palace—and no wonder, with its million square feet of floor space and monumental façade of leaping glass and iron.

What all went inside? Apart from the full-grown trees and gallant blocks of statuary, a quick glance at a single page of the Exhibition’s Official Descriptive and Illustrated Catalogue instantly gluts the eye. This taxonomical mountain of close-set type, ranging over 3,000 pages in four volumes, threatens an avalanche of things: a portable steam engine, a hydraulic seed press, a pedestal planisphere, a bath of enameled copper, Irish bog-yew furniture, a triform railway signal, crystals of sulfate of iron, an overshot water-wheel, a hydraulic lifting jack, a low-bodied dog cart, a self-acting duplex lathe, an India-rubber air-gun, a liquid manure cart, a sheep-dipping apparatus, bar and frame beehives, an imitation oak timepiece, a black marble timepiece, a couch designed for invalids, a salinometer, an electric telegraph, racing whips, a pyro-pneumatic stove-grate, ornamented fire-dogs, a copper coal-scuttle, vulcanized valve-cocks, an Etruscan tea-urn, serpentine obelisks, a battle-ax, a shield of deer-skin, a bark canoe, a scale model of the steam-ship Medea—and much, much more. Read more »

by Pranab Bardhan

All of the articles in this series can be found here.

Another cultural benefit of my travels, particularly in early days, used to be my exploration of international cinema. I have already mentioned how going out of India I became exposed to a riot of European art films. In later years I also saw some superb art films from Argentina, Brazil, Japan, Iran, South Korea, and Taiwan. In the US in many cities some of these art films were not always easily available, and I sometimes saw them in visits to New York or London, though with some lapse of time Pacific Film Archive in the Berkeley campus showed some good international films. Every time I went to Kolkata my friend Samik Banerjee told me about the new Bengali art films that came out in the months I was away and sometimes took me to their special screenings. Through him I came to know some of the major film directors and actors in Kolkata. Meanwhile the quality of American films improved a great deal. But the general commercial film world in the US largely catered to adolescent fantasy worlds or antics of superheroes from comic books or dystopian science fiction, none of which held much attraction for me. Even in more grown-up American films one often missed the sharp, witty, historically informed, and politically engaged conversation of friends and also a kind of cerebral sexuality that I used to associate with French films, for example– a character in Godard’s film Contempt famously said in bed: “I love you totally, tenderly, tragically”.

Then, of course, came the days of DVD’s, and I became an avid member of several video stores in Berkeley. Different video stores, particularly the smaller ones, gave me the opportunity to savor a wide variety of international movies. I remember once when I heard about a new video store opening in a corner of Berkeley, in the very first week I went there and tried to see in what way their international DVD collection was distinctive. I got to talk to the young man who was the store owner-manager, and soon we were deep into our respective likes and dislikes in movies. I told him that there were some international movies which were in everybody’s list of all-time greats but not in mine (to take examples just from 1960’s films, say, Godard’s “Breathless”, or “Last Year in Marienbad” by Resnais—I actually liked the latter’s film “The War is Over” much more–, or “L’Aaventura” by Antonioni). Similarly, there were some movies that critics or film scholars did not quite rave about but I wanted to see them again and again (say, “The Double Life of Véronique” by Krzysztof Kieślowski from Poland, or “We All Loved Each Other So Much” by Ettore Scola from Italy, or “Landscape in the Mist” by Theo Angelopoulos from Greece)—I think it was more a matter of harmony with my temperament than technical qualities of the films. The young man gave me his preferred lists and we animatedly discussed them. At one point he shouted toward an inner room in the store where his wife was busy sorting out their new arrivals of DVD’s. He told her, “You call me a movie-maniac, come and see, here’s another one!” Read more »