Amazingly clear prediction of WW2 (From Steppenworf)

Hermann Hesse published Steppenwolf in 1927, midway between the two World Wars of the 20th Century and 6 years before Hitler was appointed German Chancellor, marking the beginning of his taking control of the government. I read Steppenwolf, which was very popular among Sixties era countercultural youth, about 40 years ago in a 1969 Bantam paperback translation (from the original German). I've been re-reading it for the first time since then and had forgotten almost everything except a few details that stuck in my mind. It's a brilliant novel and a remarkably meaningful experience for me, as the book concerns the midlife crisis of a middle-aged man whom I can easily relate to. But the following passage, a conversation between the protagonist, Harry, and Hermine, a wise and mysterious young woman he encounters, stopped me in my tracks. It begins with Harry relating why he is the target of hostility in the German popular press. 

Now and again I have expressed the opinion that every nation, and even every person, would do better, instead of rocking himself to sleep with political catchwords about war guilt, to ask himself how far his own faults and negligences and evil tendencies are guilty of the war and all the other wrongs of the world, and that therein lies the only possible means of avoiding the next war. They don't forgive me that, for, of course, they are themselves all guiltless, the Kaiser, the generals, the trade magnates, the politicians, the papers. Not one of them has the least thing to blame himself for. Not one has any guilt. One might believe that everything was for the best, even though a few million men lie under the ground. And mind you, Hermine, even though such abusive articles cannot annoy me any longer, they often sadden me all the same. Two-thirds of my countrymen read this kind of newspaper, read things written in this tone every morning and every night, are every day worked up and admonished and incited, and robbed of their peace of mind and better feelings by them, and the end and aim of it all is to have the war over again, the next war that draws nearer and nearer, and it will be a good deal more horrible than the last. All that is perfectly clear and simple. Any one could comprehend it and reach the same conclusion after a moment's reflection. But nobody wants to. Nobody wants to avoid the next war, nobody wants to spare himself and his children the next holocaust if this be the cost. To reflect for one moment, to examine himself for a while and ask what share he has in the world's confusion and wickedness—look you, nobody wants to do that. And so there's no stopping it, and the next war is being pushed on with enthusiasm by thousands upon thousands day by day. I have no country and no ideals left. All that comes to nothing but decorations for the gentlemen by whom the next slaughter is ushered in. There is no sense in thinking or saying or writing anything of human import, to bother one's head with thoughts of goodness—for two or three men who do that, there are thousands of papers, periodicals, speeches, meetings in public and in private, that make the opposite their daily endeavor and succeed in it too."

Hermine had listened attentively.

"Yes," she said now, "there you're right enough. Of course, there will be another war. One doesn't need to read the papers to know that. And of course one can be sad about it, but it isn't any use. It is just the same as when a man is sad to think that one day, in spite of his utmost efforts to prevent it, he will inevitably die. The war against death, dear Harry, is always a beautiful, noble and wonderful and glorious thing, and so, it follows, is the war against war. But it is always hopeless and quixotic too." (p. 57)

The transcendent world of eternity (From Steppenwolf)

And perhaps, I mean, it has always been the same and always will be, and what is called history at school, and all we learn by heart there about heroes and geniuses and great deeds and fine emotions, is all nothing but a swindle invented by the schoolmasters for educational reasons to keep children occupied for a given number of years. It has always been so and always will be. Time and the world, money and power belong to the small people and the shallow people. To the rest, to the real men belongs nothing. Nothing but death."

"Nothing else?"

"Yes, eternity."

"You mean a name, and fame with posterity?"

"No, Steppenwolf, not fame. Has that any value? And do you think that all true and real men have been famous and known to posterity?"

"No, of course not."

"Then it isn't fame. Fame exists in that sense only for the schoolmasters. No, it isn't fame. It is what I call eternity. The pious call it the kingdom of God. I say to myself: all we who ask too much and have a dimension too many could not contrive to live at all if there were not another air to breathe outside the air of this world, if there were not eternity at the back of time; and this is the kingdom of truth. (p. 72)

From an exchange with Lola Dean M

One of my defining personality traits, which I don't think is obvious to my friends, is I like being a privileged white Anglo-Saxon male professional (with Confederate creds even haha) who doesn't act like one. So, I use my demographic consciously to affirm and empower people (as in the example of black folks I encounter) and otherwise disrupt people's preconceptions in the cause of peace, justice, getting people to like me and making a living. I really abhor arrogance, privilege, entitlement, beating up on the vulnerable, hypocrisy, oversimplification and mindless narcissism of the sort common in people of privilege like me. There's grief and rage behind these activities as well as striking a blow for creativity and having fun. The wickedness of the Charleston murders got through my usual detachment to reach a core of emotion and that's a good thing. A lot of days I look at my oppressive to do list and feel like saying screw it and staying in bed but I have to remind myself, I am incredibly fortunate, I'm one of the winners in the game and I don't want to let my days and hours slip away mindlessly. So I'm up in arms this weekend about racism. And my band is playing tonight at a little party for our singer's friend. Woo hoo!

Nomenclature (comment on a Facebook post)

Emergent Essay Alert: Kevin's post brings up two separate subjects: words one seldom hears in conversation and our emotional attachment to particular words. As an unashamed word person and lover of the English language (i.e., geeky intellectual), I get excited when someone pulls out a Scrabble winner and casually drops it into a conversation, not to show off but because it's the perfect word to express the thought. Even better is when it's done ironically. (I also like to run across obscure words only known to persons who frequent the OED. Revisiting "Steppenwolf" (the novel, not the band) after a 45-year hiatus the other day, I was met with 'decoct,' the opposite, it turns out, of 'concoct.') On the second topic, the quirks of the human race being another source of endless fascination, all of us have words we delight in and words we despise. Nomenclature, as it happens, didn't register a strong positive or negative with me; so, I asked myself, 'Why would someone like or dislike this particular word?' I don't know but I speculate for some of us 'nomenclature' connotes the boringly bureaucratic world of pedantic jargon. Copulate that excrement. The end. :)

Thursday status

I've been home in Baton Rouge now since Saturday night reengaging with my routine. Life is unfolding rapidly. After getting my Adderall prescription refilled, I was able to see Dr. Richard Appleton on Monday afternoon to get my temporaries fixed. I saw patients at the office Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons and did my usual good work. I'm still trying to get through all my emails and I need to get back to my Mom's estate. I have a pile of papers at the office I need to organize and file in plastic sheet protectors in the five notebooks I have for that purpose. I want to get LaTasha more involved in helping me as she doesn't have enough to do and Mary Lou keeps bringing up cutting her hours. Rockin' Rouge is playing at a private party for Katie Sills' best friend on Saturday and we practiced at our house Tuesday and Wednesday. My guitar playing is better than ever and it's been fun. I suggested learning "We're not gonna take it" last night and we worked it up on the spot much to my delight. The construction work on our house progressed greatly during our vacation and we should be able to practice in the new garage studio in about 2 weeks! Money has been flying out of our accounts at a furious pace but we have plenty now and we're putting it to work on worthwhile endeavors. I emailed Dave Stammer about coming to visit in Baton Rouge next week and he's currently thinking about it. We plan to work on music for the big event in Athens I've been asked to put on September 11, 2015 as part of the Athens High School Class of '70 45th Reunion weekend. I intend for it to be memorable. I've implemented limits on my clinical contact for July through September to allow me to work on other things.

So, today I came into the office to confront my ever-lengthening to do list. I got out of bed around 5:45am feeling lively and had several sharp hours. However, by the time I arrived here at 10am or so, I felt very sleepy and was unable to wake up. I putzed around until 12:30pm and finally decided I needed to take a nap. I did and just awoke for the second time today feeling considerably more alert and ready to be productive. I did write a review of Apartment la Fenice in Venice for Expedia as I had promised Ileana, the awesome desk clerk, I would do, mentioning her by name, of course, in glowing terms.

Back to Reality Monday

I feel as if a long time ago I gave up on maintaining anything like ideal order in my life and surrendered to being swept along in the flow. Rather than build a city on dry land, my goal was simply not to drown. Now, back from a dazzling, three week vacation in Italy, I'm confronted with numerous major  responsibilities and minor problems demanding I do something.  My temporary teeth need repairs, I'm out of Adderall and Mary Lou ran her SUV into the driver's side of my Volvo yesterday afternoon causing significant damage while leaving the vehicle drivable.

Crunch time

As I fly back across the Atlantic Ocean toward JFK, the time is approaching for me to decide what to do about my clinical practice. I'm clear on cutting back drastically on contact hours and concentrating on forensic work and preparing to teach next Fall. My general plan is to take a clinical sabbatical between July and the end of September for that purpose (as well as to work on Mom's estate and concentrate on music, especially the big event I'm planning for September 11 in Athens for the AHS Class of '70 reunion weekend).  A related issue is HealthTap, the online service delivery company I've signed up with. This could be a low overhead system for continuing to practice, at least for awhile. However, I really need to postpone getting into it seriously until after the hiatus.

Now I have to put my plans into concrete action. This is a good thing, I just have to do it.

End of the line

By this clever title, I mean that we are coming to the end of our fantastic three week Italian vacation and that we are reaching the end of our fourth excursion on Trenitalia, arriving where we began at Central Station in Milano. Yes, I like to call Italian cities by their Italian names, a pretension, perhaps, but one that makes more sense to me than using names transmogrified long ago into English. I began the trip revisiting Hesse's Steppenwolf a very long time after my first encounter with Harry the Wolf. Having forgotten all but a few details (the encounter with a guy obsessed with Buxtehude and a passage about classical music still being sublime even against a background of heavy radio static), I'm struck by the incisive critique of the bourgeoisie and the half-assedness of the Steppenwolf's alienation from that vanilla class. No doubt when I first read it, I saw how nicely the picture of the security-seeking middle class fit my parents, especially my father.  Today, I see how closely I resemble Harry. What a difference 45 years can make.