It just occurred to me after posting the last entry that I have now passed three months as a blogger.
I hoped documenting the things that had been swirling around my head for so long would begin to change the reality around me. It has succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. Text in black and white has a power that spoken words don't, especially in a diffident and quiet voice such as mine.
"Blogging has changed my life" sounds like hyperbole, but it's the literal truth.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
A Hostile World
It's been a very busy weekend. They are, these days. I'm not a naturally sociable person, and am aware that my default now that I live alone would be something of a hermit-like existence. I am also aware that if people invite me to activities, and I say no, those invitations will dwindle and stop. So I say yes. And I am busy. And this is good.
So having spent Friday evening in exceedingly enjoyable company, been out all Saturday (including a party), and also ventured out today for a Sunday roast at a friend's followed by a woodland photographic walk, I got home this evening to an answerphone message full of concern, thinking of me away from the brethren on a Sunday, and thinking how long and lonely the day must be. With no notion of the irony.
I write this blog based on the notion that I understand the brethren's point of view. Not that I claim any special knowledge, but just that I have been in close proximity more recently than most, and devoted a lot of thinking capacity to understanding the system. But one thing that mystifies me is the average brethren person's view of the outside world. It seems to be such a basic assumption that life will be terrible on the outside, that any other option is simply not imaginable. Why?
There have been brethren I have known who have spent time on the outside, and will speak with a shudder of the sensation of standing alone, feeling that life is empty and missing the meaning it once had. Obviously that is a biased selection, because these are people who have abandoned their attempts to live away from the brethren, but the interesting thing is that the majority of the brethren think the same whether they have experienced it or not. This makes me wonder whether it is the expectation which causes the experience to some extent. I can't say.
Philosophically I object to atheism, but one comment by an atheist does resonate with me, and that is that to admit that there is no meaning to life is to stand in a bracing wind of reality much more satisfying to a mature mind than a cosy shelter of make-believe. That resonates because I think that way of the brethren's life. As it happens, I do believe that life as a whole has meaning. But I do like that word "bracing" about being outside of the narrow meaning life used to have, and I can also understand that it isn't for everybody. I see others look at that bracing wind and turn away, thinking of it as an icy blast, and preferring to keep their hair shirts for warmth.
Reality is precious. It's not pleasant in every aspect, but I wouldn't settle for protection from the unpleasantness at the price of delusion, especially as the compensations are so great. I have been fortunate in having already experienced the kindness of strangers before ever leaving, which gave me the courage to make the break, and I have found so much more since. Wouldn't it be sad to think that the whole world was hostile except for the small community around you?
So having spent Friday evening in exceedingly enjoyable company, been out all Saturday (including a party), and also ventured out today for a Sunday roast at a friend's followed by a woodland photographic walk, I got home this evening to an answerphone message full of concern, thinking of me away from the brethren on a Sunday, and thinking how long and lonely the day must be. With no notion of the irony.
I write this blog based on the notion that I understand the brethren's point of view. Not that I claim any special knowledge, but just that I have been in close proximity more recently than most, and devoted a lot of thinking capacity to understanding the system. But one thing that mystifies me is the average brethren person's view of the outside world. It seems to be such a basic assumption that life will be terrible on the outside, that any other option is simply not imaginable. Why?
There have been brethren I have known who have spent time on the outside, and will speak with a shudder of the sensation of standing alone, feeling that life is empty and missing the meaning it once had. Obviously that is a biased selection, because these are people who have abandoned their attempts to live away from the brethren, but the interesting thing is that the majority of the brethren think the same whether they have experienced it or not. This makes me wonder whether it is the expectation which causes the experience to some extent. I can't say.
Philosophically I object to atheism, but one comment by an atheist does resonate with me, and that is that to admit that there is no meaning to life is to stand in a bracing wind of reality much more satisfying to a mature mind than a cosy shelter of make-believe. That resonates because I think that way of the brethren's life. As it happens, I do believe that life as a whole has meaning. But I do like that word "bracing" about being outside of the narrow meaning life used to have, and I can also understand that it isn't for everybody. I see others look at that bracing wind and turn away, thinking of it as an icy blast, and preferring to keep their hair shirts for warmth.
Reality is precious. It's not pleasant in every aspect, but I wouldn't settle for protection from the unpleasantness at the price of delusion, especially as the compensations are so great. I have been fortunate in having already experienced the kindness of strangers before ever leaving, which gave me the courage to make the break, and I have found so much more since. Wouldn't it be sad to think that the whole world was hostile except for the small community around you?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Purpose in Life
After I had stated that I was intending to leave the brethren, I had many dark warnings about the cold hard world outside, telling me that there was nobody caring, that everybody was, at base, selfish and nasty, and ready to use me for what they could get and treat me as disposable afterwards.
Up until now, I've been amazed at the kindness and general humanity I have found at every turn. Which makes it all the more shocking to come across vindication of those dark warnings from the last source I should expect.
It has made me think - not an uncommon reaction with me, you might say.
What am I doing? What is the point of me as a person? Should I crawl under a rock and pretend to the world I'm not really here? Is it really vanity that keeps me posting my thoughts to the wider world, and not a combination of record for the future and resolve-stiffener for the present, as I have been telling myself?
I have been reading instead of writing, and going over some old notes, which I have found to be quite reassuring.
The first quotation is from the wise and humane Isaiah Berlin:
Injustice, poverty, slavery, ignorance - these may be cured by reform or revolution. But men do not live only by fighting evils. They live by positive goals, individual and collective, a vast variety of them, seldom predictable, at times incompatible.
That, folks, makes sense to me. Yes, there are things in the world which need attention, evils to be addressed. Yet it seems to me to be unhealthy to be dominated by those evils, as though the burden of them is sufficient that they have won the fight before it's joined. To have as one's highest goal the destruction of something, however bad it may be, is to devote one's life to negativity. It is surely preferable to look at life as it could be, see the gains that could be made before they exist, and aim to change the world for the better in every small way one can. In other words, not to demolish the thing one objects to but supplant it with something better.
That's not always possible. Maybe not even often. But I, for one, think my life is happier for looking at it positively. And who says every purpose must make sense or be achievable as long as there's gain to had from the pursuit?
Next up is Marcel Proust:
"There is no man, however wise," he said to me, "who has not, at some time in his youth, said things, or even led a life, of which his memory is disagreeable and which he would wish to be abolished. But he absolutely should not regret it, because he can't be assured of becoming a sage - to the extent that that is possible - without having passed through all the ridiculous or odious incarnations that must precede that final incarnation."
Which is a long way of saying (as is Proust's wont) no regrets. I have a strange background. I have believed odd things. My life has been spent a peculiar way. But here I am, and all that has shaped me. If I wish it hadn't happened, not only am I wishing myself away, but I am losing the opportunity to learn from it all. Some people I have recently come across seem to feel deprived by their pasts, and rake over them with increasing bitterness rather than face the future squarely with the benefit of knowing how not to proceed.
I can't find the provenance of the next one, but I think it's relevant:
We most hate those who are most like us, but with their faults uncorrected.
This is quite a deep insight, I think, and those who have to do with the many varieties of brethren and ex-brethren can see how true it is. To an outsider, the differences are so slight as to be indistinguishable, but the little details that are not as they should be when perceived by a different group seem to fan hatred. I think it's as well to catch oneself in the tendency, and realise that if I'm looking at someone with hate, then they are more like me than I care to admit. The uncorrected faults are reason for pity, maybe, if I've corrected them in myself, but not more.
Some people appear to think that having been wrong in the past qualifies them as uniquely right in the present, and waste no opportunity of instructing others.
Finally, one that inspires me, and reminds me of the difference between my past life and the one ahead, from Jean Prevost by way of Clive James:
But my soul is a fire that suffers if it doesn't burn. I need three or four cubic feet of new ideas every day, as a steamboat needs coal.
Now there's something to live for.
All this is feeble philosophising as practised by a rank amateur. But it helps me, at any rate.
Up until now, I've been amazed at the kindness and general humanity I have found at every turn. Which makes it all the more shocking to come across vindication of those dark warnings from the last source I should expect.
It has made me think - not an uncommon reaction with me, you might say.
What am I doing? What is the point of me as a person? Should I crawl under a rock and pretend to the world I'm not really here? Is it really vanity that keeps me posting my thoughts to the wider world, and not a combination of record for the future and resolve-stiffener for the present, as I have been telling myself?
I have been reading instead of writing, and going over some old notes, which I have found to be quite reassuring.
The first quotation is from the wise and humane Isaiah Berlin:
Injustice, poverty, slavery, ignorance - these may be cured by reform or revolution. But men do not live only by fighting evils. They live by positive goals, individual and collective, a vast variety of them, seldom predictable, at times incompatible.
That, folks, makes sense to me. Yes, there are things in the world which need attention, evils to be addressed. Yet it seems to me to be unhealthy to be dominated by those evils, as though the burden of them is sufficient that they have won the fight before it's joined. To have as one's highest goal the destruction of something, however bad it may be, is to devote one's life to negativity. It is surely preferable to look at life as it could be, see the gains that could be made before they exist, and aim to change the world for the better in every small way one can. In other words, not to demolish the thing one objects to but supplant it with something better.
That's not always possible. Maybe not even often. But I, for one, think my life is happier for looking at it positively. And who says every purpose must make sense or be achievable as long as there's gain to had from the pursuit?
Next up is Marcel Proust:
"There is no man, however wise," he said to me, "who has not, at some time in his youth, said things, or even led a life, of which his memory is disagreeable and which he would wish to be abolished. But he absolutely should not regret it, because he can't be assured of becoming a sage - to the extent that that is possible - without having passed through all the ridiculous or odious incarnations that must precede that final incarnation."
Which is a long way of saying (as is Proust's wont) no regrets. I have a strange background. I have believed odd things. My life has been spent a peculiar way. But here I am, and all that has shaped me. If I wish it hadn't happened, not only am I wishing myself away, but I am losing the opportunity to learn from it all. Some people I have recently come across seem to feel deprived by their pasts, and rake over them with increasing bitterness rather than face the future squarely with the benefit of knowing how not to proceed.
I can't find the provenance of the next one, but I think it's relevant:
We most hate those who are most like us, but with their faults uncorrected.
This is quite a deep insight, I think, and those who have to do with the many varieties of brethren and ex-brethren can see how true it is. To an outsider, the differences are so slight as to be indistinguishable, but the little details that are not as they should be when perceived by a different group seem to fan hatred. I think it's as well to catch oneself in the tendency, and realise that if I'm looking at someone with hate, then they are more like me than I care to admit. The uncorrected faults are reason for pity, maybe, if I've corrected them in myself, but not more.
Some people appear to think that having been wrong in the past qualifies them as uniquely right in the present, and waste no opportunity of instructing others.
Finally, one that inspires me, and reminds me of the difference between my past life and the one ahead, from Jean Prevost by way of Clive James:
But my soul is a fire that suffers if it doesn't burn. I need three or four cubic feet of new ideas every day, as a steamboat needs coal.
Now there's something to live for.
All this is feeble philosophising as practised by a rank amateur. But it helps me, at any rate.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
For Reader Information
I just sent an email to peebs.net as follows:
Some time has elapsed since our previous discussion, such as it was. I am prompted to write again by a conversation I have just had with a brethren visitor about my blog.
As I told him, the reason my blog is not publicly accessible is not my concern for the brethren's feelings, it is purely that I cannot live with the degree of exposure it was getting before. I even offered to let this brother into the list of invitees, as I don't have anything to hide in it, and it looks like he may well take me up on the offer.
So, my question is whether you would consider altering your previously stated position of republishing anything you see fit, regardless of author feelings, and leave my blog alone if I removed the protection on it. The protection is a pain in many ways, not least because there are new friends who I would like to be able to see the journey I've been on, and it isn't fair to make them jump through hoops to do so. My writing has become more personal in the time since you made free with it, and I shan't risk the same happening again, but I'd love to let the blog out of its prison.
I've said before that my musings are my own attempt to make sense of the life I've experienced. Reproducing them in the context of your site turns them into an attack on the brethren. That isn't what I ever intended, and nor am I in a position to withstand the possible legal onslaught if I am perceived to be an attacker regardless of intent.
Each time I've been in contact before, I've come away feeling absolutely infuriated, so I suppose this is a triumph of hope over experience. Still, the ball is in your court.
I'll also post this in my blog, so my readers (a select group I very much value) know that I've been trying to make life easier for them.
"The Survivor"
Some time has elapsed since our previous discussion, such as it was. I am prompted to write again by a conversation I have just had with a brethren visitor about my blog.
As I told him, the reason my blog is not publicly accessible is not my concern for the brethren's feelings, it is purely that I cannot live with the degree of exposure it was getting before. I even offered to let this brother into the list of invitees, as I don't have anything to hide in it, and it looks like he may well take me up on the offer.
So, my question is whether you would consider altering your previously stated position of republishing anything you see fit, regardless of author feelings, and leave my blog alone if I removed the protection on it. The protection is a pain in many ways, not least because there are new friends who I would like to be able to see the journey I've been on, and it isn't fair to make them jump through hoops to do so. My writing has become more personal in the time since you made free with it, and I shan't risk the same happening again, but I'd love to let the blog out of its prison.
I've said before that my musings are my own attempt to make sense of the life I've experienced. Reproducing them in the context of your site turns them into an attack on the brethren. That isn't what I ever intended, and nor am I in a position to withstand the possible legal onslaught if I am perceived to be an attacker regardless of intent.
Each time I've been in contact before, I've come away feeling absolutely infuriated, so I suppose this is a triumph of hope over experience. Still, the ball is in your court.
I'll also post this in my blog, so my readers (a select group I very much value) know that I've been trying to make life easier for them.
"The Survivor"
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Pros of Exes
I find myself in a particularly awkward situation. Can I possibly write about meeting people without being specific? My weekend has been about people.
The personal stuff can stay private, I think. Instead, here's some thoughts on ex-brethren.
It seems to be surprisingly common that people leaving the brethren don't want to have anything to do with the community of leavers. I share the tendency myself. It's something to do with feeling trapped and pigeon-holed. Having slowly and painfully come to terms with moving on from one community, the fellowship, the last thing one wants is a readymade alternative that's related and defined by the thing one is moving on from. It feels a bit like only half leaving.
Then there is the lifetime of indoctrination that says that people on the outside are not to be trusted, and that those bad enough to leave the chosen position are the worst of the lot, however nice they may pretend to be. You don't have to believe that to feel the effect of it, if only because the thought lurks in the back of the mind of one's friends and family sadly shaking their heads at the company one has fallen into. The fact that brethren have a gloomy expectation of leavers gathering together to boost each other's confidence, and telling each other that they've done the right thing, tends to induce a determination not to fit into the expected mould, and to do something entirely different.
This contrarian streak does have some definite positive aspects, as an aside: for one thing, it is noticeable that ex-brethren go out of their way to tolerant of obvious differences - though they find minor differences hard to take sometimes - and that has to be a good thing.
However, a passing remark yesterday made me think a bit. It was something to the effect that real friends are people who have some shared history.
I agree. And, that being the case, being as I have left behind everybody who fills that position best, I'd be a fool to ignore those who have some element of shared background - and that means ex-brethren. It's not about bad-mouthing where we've come from, it's about the relief of people knowing what the little references mean, not having to explain, just being ourselves without being wary of being different.
It takes a long time to build up true friendship, but if there is enough in common, then large steps can be taken quite fast. That's enough justification for overcoming a reluctance to become part of a ghetto, which is anyway a ghetto of the imagination, only as real as it's perceived to be.
Besides, I always found the majority of brethren to be decent, pleasant and friendly people, and I'm not surprised to find that those who've left are no different, and keener to show it. I met several for the first time yesterday, and would like to know them better. We barely had time to get past the "oh" as we mutually ditched our mental images for reality.
The personal stuff can stay private, I think. Instead, here's some thoughts on ex-brethren.
It seems to be surprisingly common that people leaving the brethren don't want to have anything to do with the community of leavers. I share the tendency myself. It's something to do with feeling trapped and pigeon-holed. Having slowly and painfully come to terms with moving on from one community, the fellowship, the last thing one wants is a readymade alternative that's related and defined by the thing one is moving on from. It feels a bit like only half leaving.
Then there is the lifetime of indoctrination that says that people on the outside are not to be trusted, and that those bad enough to leave the chosen position are the worst of the lot, however nice they may pretend to be. You don't have to believe that to feel the effect of it, if only because the thought lurks in the back of the mind of one's friends and family sadly shaking their heads at the company one has fallen into. The fact that brethren have a gloomy expectation of leavers gathering together to boost each other's confidence, and telling each other that they've done the right thing, tends to induce a determination not to fit into the expected mould, and to do something entirely different.
This contrarian streak does have some definite positive aspects, as an aside: for one thing, it is noticeable that ex-brethren go out of their way to tolerant of obvious differences - though they find minor differences hard to take sometimes - and that has to be a good thing.
However, a passing remark yesterday made me think a bit. It was something to the effect that real friends are people who have some shared history.
I agree. And, that being the case, being as I have left behind everybody who fills that position best, I'd be a fool to ignore those who have some element of shared background - and that means ex-brethren. It's not about bad-mouthing where we've come from, it's about the relief of people knowing what the little references mean, not having to explain, just being ourselves without being wary of being different.
It takes a long time to build up true friendship, but if there is enough in common, then large steps can be taken quite fast. That's enough justification for overcoming a reluctance to become part of a ghetto, which is anyway a ghetto of the imagination, only as real as it's perceived to be.
Besides, I always found the majority of brethren to be decent, pleasant and friendly people, and I'm not surprised to find that those who've left are no different, and keener to show it. I met several for the first time yesterday, and would like to know them better. We barely had time to get past the "oh" as we mutually ditched our mental images for reality.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Whenever Ye Would, Ye Can Do Them Good
Yesterday, while at a birthday party for a Down's Syndrome woman, I was muddling myself pondering the differences in attitude to the disadvantaged between the brethren and outside.
Although I felt a bit out of place, since most of those at the party were quite familiar with each other (it was about half-and-half mentally disabled and carers/parents/friends), it was rewarding to see the interaction and sheer enjoyment. The birthday girl was overjoyed every time she opened another gift and found another token-stye present. I think there's something to learn there.
But what was puzzling me was considering how the brethren think of such people, and trying to decide whether blame outweighs praise or vice versa.
The good side is that anyone disabled in one way or another who is fortunate enough to be born among the brethren, can almost certainly rely on a secure and loving home. All the peer pressure runs in the direction of taking care of one's own, whatever the difficulties, and I have seen many families' devoted care to such disadvantaged people, and how happy they can be. I suspect that the rigid rules and routines also suit the less mentally capable.
But I felt bad on behalf of the community, even though I no longer count myself among them, because anyone on the outside, however needy, gets nothing, not even a thought. Yesterday I saw many people who devote some portion of their lives to making sure that the less fortunate have someone who cares. It may be a large part of their lives, or something they fit in around other things, but it's important in each case. Brethren just do not do that.
And I had never considered before the gain there is to be had from such activity. I'm sure it's selfless, but as with all selfless activity, it has rewards. Seeing a collection of people who could be thought pitiable, all happy and having fun, and displaying their considerable personalities, shifts one's outlook to humanity as a whole, I think. It's no wonder those who spend their time around such people tend to be cheerful and positive. I had always thought that attitude was part of what was required to go in for such work, but now I'm not so sure. I think the work encourages the positivity.
I'm not sure I shall go straight out and volunteer my help in caring for the disabled, but I'm glad to have the opportunity to think over these things, and who knows what the future may hold.
Although I felt a bit out of place, since most of those at the party were quite familiar with each other (it was about half-and-half mentally disabled and carers/parents/friends), it was rewarding to see the interaction and sheer enjoyment. The birthday girl was overjoyed every time she opened another gift and found another token-stye present. I think there's something to learn there.
But what was puzzling me was considering how the brethren think of such people, and trying to decide whether blame outweighs praise or vice versa.
The good side is that anyone disabled in one way or another who is fortunate enough to be born among the brethren, can almost certainly rely on a secure and loving home. All the peer pressure runs in the direction of taking care of one's own, whatever the difficulties, and I have seen many families' devoted care to such disadvantaged people, and how happy they can be. I suspect that the rigid rules and routines also suit the less mentally capable.
But I felt bad on behalf of the community, even though I no longer count myself among them, because anyone on the outside, however needy, gets nothing, not even a thought. Yesterday I saw many people who devote some portion of their lives to making sure that the less fortunate have someone who cares. It may be a large part of their lives, or something they fit in around other things, but it's important in each case. Brethren just do not do that.
And I had never considered before the gain there is to be had from such activity. I'm sure it's selfless, but as with all selfless activity, it has rewards. Seeing a collection of people who could be thought pitiable, all happy and having fun, and displaying their considerable personalities, shifts one's outlook to humanity as a whole, I think. It's no wonder those who spend their time around such people tend to be cheerful and positive. I had always thought that attitude was part of what was required to go in for such work, but now I'm not so sure. I think the work encourages the positivity.
I'm not sure I shall go straight out and volunteer my help in caring for the disabled, but I'm glad to have the opportunity to think over these things, and who knows what the future may hold.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Piazzoforte
I didn't know there was any culture in my town.
So when I discovered an evening of music by piano and string quintet within walking distance of my house, it was worth mentioning to my key new friend. And as she sounded keen too, we arranged to go.
That meant quite a number of new experiences for me. This was my outing, and I haven't been a host before. Nor have I cooked a meal for anybody else. And my visitors, up to now, have been ones who require chairs and answers, no food, no drink, and are determined not to make themselves at home. Having a proper visitor was just a little bit worrying.
I didn't do too well, to be honest, as I missed the time for putting the food on to cook, and we had to bolt a small amount before walking rather more briskly than intended into town. Still, the conversation was good.
The music was much better than I expected, though. Chopin for forty minutes, then an interval, then forty minutes of the tangos of Astor Piazolla. The second half was very interesting to me indeed, and I felt obliged to buy the accompanying CD for further investigation. I'm not sure whether it was the smaller venue, the smaller sense of occasion, the music itself, the fact of having seen live music before, now, or a combination of all these things, but I felt much freer to just relax and enjoy myself this time round. I expended less mental effort on the experience as a whole, and much more on the music.
And I recommend Piazzoforte (the name of the ensemble) to anyone who likes classical music without any pretensions, and isn't too restricted in their opinion of what classical music is. These musicians certainly put their heart into the performance and didn't consider the material second-rate, and I was amazed how good they were.
Being a host will take more practice, though. I hope I get more opportunity.
So when I discovered an evening of music by piano and string quintet within walking distance of my house, it was worth mentioning to my key new friend. And as she sounded keen too, we arranged to go.
That meant quite a number of new experiences for me. This was my outing, and I haven't been a host before. Nor have I cooked a meal for anybody else. And my visitors, up to now, have been ones who require chairs and answers, no food, no drink, and are determined not to make themselves at home. Having a proper visitor was just a little bit worrying.
I didn't do too well, to be honest, as I missed the time for putting the food on to cook, and we had to bolt a small amount before walking rather more briskly than intended into town. Still, the conversation was good.
The music was much better than I expected, though. Chopin for forty minutes, then an interval, then forty minutes of the tangos of Astor Piazolla. The second half was very interesting to me indeed, and I felt obliged to buy the accompanying CD for further investigation. I'm not sure whether it was the smaller venue, the smaller sense of occasion, the music itself, the fact of having seen live music before, now, or a combination of all these things, but I felt much freer to just relax and enjoy myself this time round. I expended less mental effort on the experience as a whole, and much more on the music.
And I recommend Piazzoforte (the name of the ensemble) to anyone who likes classical music without any pretensions, and isn't too restricted in their opinion of what classical music is. These musicians certainly put their heart into the performance and didn't consider the material second-rate, and I was amazed how good they were.
Being a host will take more practice, though. I hope I get more opportunity.
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