In 2018, we stayed at a much more modest place in Pokhara, but I wish that we had at least visited Fulbari.
It’s now facing foreclosure, a victim of the general economic difficulties in Nepal and recently of Covid-19.
The Fulbari resort in Pokhara
Origin stories
Recent conversations
I’ve had recent conversations with two friends my age. These have led me back to the big 5W’s: Who are we? What is our purpose? Where did we come from? When did the universe, life, and consciousness arise? Why are we here?
One writes
One of my more embarrassing memories from high school was a discussion in which two friends revealed that they were atheists. I was beyond shocked. I had never met an atheist before. I was made to go to church every Sunday. I couldn’t believe that these excellent friends had gone to the dark side and emphatically told them that the fact that we exist PROVED that there was a god. I remember one just smiling tolerantly.
Halfway through my freshman year I had an epiphany while reading John Bailey’s Gods and Men: Myths and Legends from the World’s Religions. All that religious nonsense just collapsed in my mind. What a relief! I still have the book.
Both of these friends had expressed concern for my recent cancer. But the second one took that concern in an opposite direction. He recommended Sickness, by J. C. Ryle. It answers the question, “How can there be sickness in a world with an omniscient and omnipotent God,” by saying that all sickness arises from sin, a turning away from God.
The friend also recommended re-reading the Gospel of John as a source of solace and inspiration. He suggested that I ask “Is it possible that Jesus is who He said He was?”
I like and respect both of these friends, especially when they let me express my own muddled views.
Asking important questions
I think of philosophy as the process of asking the important questions in life. In that sense, the scientist fascinated by cosmology, but seeking an explanation other than its divine origin, or the evangelical seeking to understand Jesus through studying the Bible are each practicing philosophy in their own way. The same is true of the Daoist trying to understand the nature of reality or to find a moral order to life, the Hindu seeing God in every aspect of life, the follower of Madhyamaka Buddhism focusing on the “middle way,” and the evolutionist exploring Darwin’s “tangled bank.”
When these paths become dogmatic, their value for philosophical inquiry is diminished. This is essentially the argument of James Carse in The Religious Case Against Belief. Carse is a religion professor at NYU who argues that religion’s greatest value is exactly in those areas where we are uncertain. When it degenerates into fixed beliefs it loses precisely what makes it essential.
On the other hand, when religion stays open to questions, calls forth awe about life and the universe, and helps us understand our common humanity, it becomes our way of making sense of a complex, ever-changing world. Both militant atheism and dogmatic religious beliefs fall short. John Dewey lays out this argument well in A Common Faith.
Seeking new ways of understanding
I may ask each of my conversants to read Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer. As a botanist, she has a beautiful way of integrating scientific and indigenous ways of knowing. That integration goes a step beyond Stephen Jay Gould’s idea of religion and science as “non-overlapping magisteria” (in Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life.)
Another source of insight could come from the Confucius-Mozi debates in early China. Confucius laid out a case for starting with what’s close at hand, e.g., “honor thy father and thy mother.” He imagined ever expanding circles of love. Mozi and his followers challenged the Confucian view. They saw that adherence to family, village, local beliefs, and so on could lead to misunderstanding and disrespecting the cultures of others, and ultimately, violence and war.
Mozi taught that everyone is equal in the eyes of heaven. Mohists questioned Confucianism’s over-attachment to family and clan structures, arguing instead for the concept of “universal love.” That implies acceptance and valuing of others’ belief systems, and not placing one’s own beliefs above those of others. That could be extended to love of all things in nature.
Confucianists thought that Mozi overestimated what was humanly possible. They said that we always put our own families and culture first. The debate continues today and can unfortunately recurs in endless strife between Christians and Muslims, Protestants and Catholics, Hindus and Buddhists, atheists and believers.
The answer
So, I’m not sure how to answer the 5W’s. Spinoza said it was “God or Nature” in his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus. He was condemned by many for this work, but it made a lot of sense to me when I first encountered it in Humanities 100 at Rice.
In favor of Spinoza’s formula is the fact that nature is all around us inviting engagement, astonishment, and enlightenment. There is meaning in the journey. We need but open ourselves to its wonders and accept that our understanding can never be more than partial.
Herring on the run
The lilacs are blooming and the buttercups brighten the river banks, so the blueback herring are swimming upstream to spawn. We counted 89 in one ten-minute stretch this week, thus honoring World Fish Migration Day.
The herring do surprisingly well, despite the constricted tidal flow in the river. Their biggest problem comes at the culverts. Fortunately for them, the one near our count site did not have a snapping turtle, raccoon, or crow waiting on the upstream side.
We love seeing the herring. They tell us that the river, although damaged, is not dead.
A friend and neighbor says that she loves the herring, too, especially when they’re pickled with peppercorns and bay leaves, then served with onions. That was possible in the days when the river flowed freely. Our hope is that fishing, shellfishing, birdwatching, boating, and more can return when the river is restored.
Earth Day: The light flickers
For a hundred fathoms the sun rays penetrate
The sea is warm and full of life
Phytoplankton turn the sun’s energy into food.
The sunlight zone is what we know
Where the dolphins play
It’s the ocean blue.
Varying by season and latitude
Fish and seagulls, squids and jellyfish
Tiny copepods feed giant whales.
Below is the twilight zone
Worthy of Rod Serling
It’s dimly lit and cold, but still supports life.
Bioluminescence
Fish eyes are large, directed upwards
Food silhouettes.
Then there is the deep, the midnight zone
Constant darkness, except what creatures themselves provide
Crushing, almost freezing.
Thousands of feet down
The water’s weight presses down
Yet the sperm whale can dive here.
He searches for food
At depths we can’t imagine
He recycles and moves nutrients.
His carcass stores carbon
Providing habitat and food for others
He’s an ecosystem engineer.
He lights up our life
When he leaves the page
We discover the real darkness and cold.
Section hiking the Appalachian Trail
Section hiking the Appalachian Trail means doing a segment at a time, whenever it’s convenient. It’s not as glamorous as a thru-hike, but it’s still a great way to experience the “footpath for the people.”
Unfortunately, my cancer recovery segments are very short. I may need 21,800 segments to complete the 2,180 miles. That’s going to take a while.
But I’ve accomplished a few already. The photo above was taken two days ago near Great Barrington, MA. The one below is near Becket, MA in January.
Grab some rays
Winter can be harsh,
despite never-ending seeds.
Where do those birds come off––
thinking my feeder is for them?
I need to stretch my bones,
massage my belly,
soak up some rays.
Video: Fulbright Specialist in Nepal, 2019
The Frames film program has produced a short video of my work in Nepal, focusing on the Fulbright Specialist trip in 2019. I hope you enjoy it.
The Frames Film Program provides opportunities for multi-barriered youth (ages 16 to 30) to learn the basics of filmmaking — at no cost. It is an off-site program of Frog Hollow Neighbourhood House. As a Vancouver-based film production and life skills program, it provides opportunities for youth to learn the basics of filmmaking in a supportive, safe and fun environment.
The noisy anorak
I have many embarrassing moments in my life. Here is just one.
In 1993, JIm Edgar was Governor of Illinois. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but two of his predecessors were in prison for misdeeds as Governor and two of his successors went to prison as well. Need I mention that Jim was the only one of the group who failed to get rich in office?
I’ll refer to him as Jim, mostly because it’s easier than saying “the (then) current Governor of the State of Illinois.” Also, he is almost exactly my age.
Jim was invited to speak at the University of Illinois, where I was teaching as a Professor in the College of Education. Coincidentally, his daughter Elizabeth was my lab assistant in the science lab used for preservice and inservice classes in science education.
I was fortunate to get an invitation to a limited capacity event, perhaps 100 attendees. It was to be held from 4 to 5 on a weekday. This presented a problem. I taught class until 4 that day and had a meeting with local school teachers at 5 at a nearby school.
But I figured that I would end class a few minutes early, then rush to the event and stand inconspicuously in the back, being prepared to leave at 4:50. It was a great plan. It would all work out.
The first flaw in my plan came as students had an unusual number of questions that day. So I had to run to the event, still reliant on my plan to stand in the back and skip out early.
When I arrived, I discovered that this was a major media event. There were TV cameras, photographers, news reporters, and all sorts of people in limousines. I say “all sorts” but now, recalling the event, I think the attendees were nearly all men, all in dark suits with ties, all looking very somber until the TV lights came on, when they would flash big smiles. People had come to be seen as much as to hear the speech.
I in contrast was wearing blue jeans and a green, nylon anorak. I loved that jacket. It’s only defect was that it was very noisy when the nylon brushed against something. I stood out, not in a good way. But I still had the plan to stand inconspicuously in the back and sneak out early.
Unfortunately, I was the last to arrive and my plan was immediately rejected by a couple of the many ushers. They pointed to the last remaining seat. It was in row 3 in the exact middle. They insisted that I go to sit there, probably something about not wanting to show an empty seat on TV.
I reluctantly forced my way through the crowd to get to my selected seat. This required rubbing my noisy anorak against other attendees, many of whom were… large. I made a lot of noise and as my arrival pushed us past the nominal start time, all eyes, and TV cameras were on me. Who is this tall guy dressed and acting so inappropriately? Why doesn’t he just sit down and look like all the other dark suits?
I survived that part, although I was hot in my anorak from the run to the event and the embarrassment. I decided to endure that and focus on the speech.
Often a speaker will select an audience member to focus on, rather than trying to meet every pair of eyes at once. Jim did that. I was in the exact middle, and had the most inappropriate garb. I was also genuinely interested. I felt that he was speaking directly to me.
It was actually quite good. Jim related the saga of his failed attempt to provide a floor for funding of schools in Illinois. As in most states, Illinois provided a substantial portion of school funding out of local property taxes. This meant for example, that New Trier High School could spend $15K per pupil per year (not sure of the exact numbers here). They had just installed a new swimming pool. They could hire the best teachers, the fastest computers, and provide the smallest classes. Since area housing was expensive, the local taxpayers got all of this with a lower tax rate and a far lower percentage of their income.
Meanwhile, some rural schools in downstate Illinois could not afford needed repairs. They spent, say $2.7K per pupil per year. Jim’s plan was to seek a balance, $3.5K per pupil per year funded by a progressive income tax.
This was a brilliant initiative. However, it was opposed by politicians from Chicago, who fought for every advantage for their region, by the Democrats who rebelled against anything the Republican Governor would propose, and by his own Republicans who saw it as a giveaway to the poor and could not countenance a progressive income tax.
Note that Jim was taking on one of the most egregious, anti-democratic practices we have in this country. But he did it in a very modest way. There was no idea of truly equalizing funding for the institution that is supposed to offer a level playing field for all citizens, much less the idea that poor students might need extra help.
He worked hard on this for at least a year, but the idea was doomed from the start.
That was the bulk of the speech. Towards the end he turned to a second topic. This was an urging of the university to get more involved with the local community, especially with the schools. I thought “great!” It was exactly what I was doing. In fact at 5:00 I was to meet with local school teachers. I wanted to say that, but couldn’t in this formal lecture format.
But I also realized that if he didn’t wrap it up quickly. I’d be late for that meeting. As much as I didn’t want to further disturb the big gathering, I felt an even stronger obligation to be timely with the teachers and to show respect for their work.
I was obviously fidgeting. I began studying my watch, trying to calculate the precise moment when I would need to leave the meeting regardless of the disturbance. 4:55 was a messy compromise. I knew the big event was scheduled to got to 5:00, but it might easily go on until 5:30. 4:55 would make me a couple of minutes late to the teachers, but if I ran again and didn’t encounter traffic it could all work.
I waited until 4:55:15, then stood up abruptly as Jim was speaking. He paused, other audience members groaned or mumbled invectives, the TV cameras focused in. I thought that nothing could have been more embarrassing until I heard the noisy anorak rubbing against people and seats.
I did manage to escape. The teachers probably wondered why I was so disheveled and probably smelled from all the running.
The next day I saw Elizabeth in the science lab.
Me: I was fortunate get an invitation to your father’s speech yesterday. He did a great job.
Elizabeth: Oh! He’ll be happy to hear that. He worried that he’d gone on too long and said that some audience members were fidgeting.
Reading my own writing
This morning at breakfast, faced with a large stack of unread magazines and newspapers, I realized that I really wanted to go upstairs to my office to work on my own book project instead.
Although my own writing is clumsy and inarticulate, it’s never on a topic that doesn’t interest me. Also, if I don’t like a word choice or phrasing, if an important side point seems left out, I can just fix it right then and there.
It’s never perfect; there’s always some way to improve it.
In contrast, in this great collection of magazines––New Scientist, The Nation, Mother Jones, Natural History, Texas Monthly, Mad, The New Yorker, and more––there are occasionally topics of only minor interest; some articles are too long, some too short.
What can I do if I disagree with a word choice or think an argument is unsupported? Fume? Write a letter to the editor? It feels very passive compared to what I can do with my book project. For me the life of the writer seems far superior, not in a moral sense, but simply in the sense of attracting my time and attention.
But then I flipped through an issue of The New York Review of Books (August 19, 2021). For a reader, that’s always intimidating. Faced with hundreds of interesting new books, my write now strategy looks even more attractive.
I came across an excerpt from a new book by Wisława Szymborska, How to Start Writing (and When to Stop). It’s a collection of the advice columns that she wrote anonymously in the Polish journal Życie literackie (Literary Life) from 1960 to 1981.
My musings about writing over reading stopped cold when I read one letter in which Szymborska decides to console a writer rather than to give him/her some hope of publication.
A splendid fate awaits you, the fate of a reader, and a reader of the highest caliber, that is to say, disinterested—the fate of a lover of literature, who will always be its steadiest companion, the conquest, not the conqueror. You will read it all for the pleasure of reading. Not spotting “tricks,” not wondering if this or that passage might be better written, or just as well, but differently. No envy, no dejection, no attacks of spleen, none of the sensations accompanying the reader who also writes.
She goes on to describe the many benefits of being a reader, rather than a writer:
And there is also this not inconsiderable benefit: people speak of incompetent writers, but never of incompetent readers. There are of course hordes of failed readers—needless to say, we do not include you among them—but somehow they get away with it, whereas anyone who writes without success will instantly be deluged in winks and sighs. Not even girlfriends are to be relied upon in such cases.
So, where to go from here?
I decided that I had read enough; the cantaloupe was finished and the oatmeal was cold. I could still pour some more coffee and return to my writer’s garret. Like the Ancient Mariner:
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
Democratic Education in the 21st Century
A Call for Papers
Guest Editor: Bertram (Chip) Bruce
Editor of Schools: Studies in Education: Andy Kaplan
In an age of climate disasters, extreme income inequality, conspiracy theories, anti-democratic movements, segregated schooling, pandemic, and more, the need for democratic education has never been greater, but it may also seem less viable than ever. Classics such as John Dewey’s Democracy and Education are still relevant but invite us to re-invent education for today.
The symposium
Schools: Studies in Education, published by the University of Chicago Press, plans to host a symposium on this topic to celebrate Schools’ twentieth anniversary of publication. The mission of Schools is to present inquiry into the subjective experience of school life. Unique among academic journals of education, Schools features articles by and about the daily life of classrooms, descriptions and reflections on the meaning of what happens when learning actually occurs.
To celebrate our twentieth year of publication, we propose a symposium on how to think about democratic education in today’s world, and how we should plan for the future. How should issues such as indigenous people’s rights, racism, women’s rights, authoritarian governments, the concentration of wealth, and more make us analyze, discuss, and work to create democratic education?
We highly encourage submissions from classroom educators at all levels, from educators outside the United States, and from educators associated with alternative schools or informal learning.
Deadlines
- November 15, 2021: One-page prospectus for your proposed article
- July 25, 2022: in preparation for the workshop, send first draft, outline, or notes to Andy Kaplan; the folder containing these drafts will be accessible to contributors by August 1
- August 15: online workshop
- October 15: final ms. to be considered for the Spring 2023 issue
- October 31: editors’ review of the ms.
- November 30: outside review of the ms.
- December 31: final, revised copy
- Spring 2023: publication of the first set of articles
- Similar deadlines will apply for the Fall 2023, or beyond, issues
Manuscript preparation
Interested authors should submit a one-page prospectus describing what their project entails. This is to determine appropriateness and balance for the special issue. We anticipate a mix of empirical and theoretical contributions. Completed manuscripts will undergo the usual Schools: Studies in Education review process before final acceptance.
Articles should be a maximum of 8000 words (25 double-spaced pages). Please follow the Schools style guide.
Articles will appear in the Spring and Fall 2023 issues. There is a possibility of a follow-on book publication based on revised versions of the articles, once the symposium has been published in Schools.
Chip's journey 