Missives from Samsara

I finished three books this month, all of which I really enjoyed. Memoir is becoming one of my favorite genres. My current stack, as always, is heavy on the non-fiction and concentrated on history and psychology/self-help. I am slowly making progress on Blackhawk’s book, but not really enjoying it. I’m committed to finishing it, but it won’t get a high grade. On the other hand, I am really enjoying Johnson’s history of the world between 1815 and 1830. Learning a lot. The book about Hitchens will likely be finished next, so I am already having fun thinking about which book I’ll start next.

I am reading an interesting book about one of my intellectual heroes, the late Christopher Hitchens. The book’s author, coming from the political left, argues that Hitchens got a lot right, but erred seriously in his support for both the “War on Terrorism” and the Iraq War during the first decade of the 21st century. Hitchens began his intellectual journey as a socialist and by 2004 was oddly all in on Bush’s foreign policy in the Middle East. The author also critically deconstructs some of the arguments Hitchens' made in debates about religion.

A couple points come to mind as I reflect on Hitchens and his thinking. For one, his mistakes make him more—not less—useful to thinkers today. The book emphasizes that studying where Hitchens went wrong sharpens our own judgment. Heroes aren’t templates; they’re case studies. His intellectual courage, eloquence, and range remain valuable, but so do the cautionary lessons that grew from his rhetorical confidence and general arrogance. Additionally, I am reminded that admiration doesn’t require full agreement about everything—especially with complicated figures like Hitch. Indeed, there is no one I likely agree with on everything. In my mind, Hitchens' error about Iraq does not tarnish his overall body of intellectual work. For instance, I love his book god Is Not Great, but thought his attacks on Buddhism to be feeble and a wasted effort.

But none of this diminishes Hitchens' importance. If anything, it makes him more useful. Hitchens shows us that admiration doesn’t always require absolute agreement and that inspiration doesn’t require perfection. For me, he remains a case study in how a thinker can be both brilliantly right and consequentially wrong—and still worth reading, wrestling with, and learning from.

I agree whole-heartedly with Ryan Holiday’s take on Didion’s quote. I consider myself extremely fortunate about my travel experiences thus far. Indeed, I would even say I am relatively well traveled. That said, most of my close friends have seen more of the world that I have.

I didn’t really travel beyond California until I was in college. I roadtripped with parents once to southern California. Freshmen year I drove out with a friend to Utah. It wasn’t until I went to England for my junior year abroad that I really ‘traveled.’ Luckily, I was able to see a lot of Europe that year. Besides the big cities, I have very fond memories of Bedous, France and Korfu Island, Greece. Since then, memorable places I’ve visited include Chang Mai, Thailand and driving the Al-Can Highway from Portland up to Anchorage.

Having friends that are so well traveled helps keep the travel bug alive. Hearing about their advantures motivates me to keep checking places off my list. My Top 5 list at the moment (it is always changing, of course) of places I want to visit include: 1) Quebec City 2) Nova Scotia 3) Copenhagen 4) Sydney and 5) Anywhere in New Zealand.

Thinking about traveling, I realize there are certain parts of the world I’m just not that interested in visiting. I don’t know what that says about me, but it’s true. I suppose I wouln’t ever turn down an opportunity to go to one of these places, but with so many places to visit, there are definitely tiers of interest that are real for me.

Didion’s quote also lands because it connects with parenting in my mind. I feel like it is a duty of a parent to try and expose their children to as much travel as they can afford. The reason, in my mind, is connected with the argument Holiday was making with Didion’s quote in his book about wisdom. Specifically, seeing other parts of the world, experiencing other cultures, and meeting different people all help us become more wise as we become less insular.

I teach in a public high school so I hear cuss words pretty regularly. I also happen to cuss a fair amount myself, though hopefully not often in earshot of others who might be offended. When I come across the f word in a book, it doesn’t faze me much. It is usually used in an appropriate context and I treat it like any other word.

Recently while reading Bill Belichick’s book On Winning, he redacted the f word in a sentence. I was a bit aghast. As a football coach, I’m 100% sure he cusses regularly and probably does it more than a typical person at work, given his job as a coach of professional (and now college) football players. Honestly, I thought it was pretty lame. Who does he think is reading his book? Who is he trying not to offend? Indeed, to me it was self censorship on behalf of the type of guy who is into football but gets offended by ‘bad words.’ The feelings of such a snowflake should not take priority. Overall, though this is an inconsequential take, it is a lame move in my book. It treats the reader like a child. Just say what you mean, Bill. When the word is redacted but has the ‘f’ in front, the word still appears in the mind of the reader, after all. The redaction doesn’t really work.

Now, Diane Ravitch on the other hand, isn’t afraid to include a four letter word like the f word in her memoir. She is actually quoting the civil rights activist Bayard Rustin, but the fact that she treats her readers like grown ups is appreciated. Also, considering the context, the word’s use is appropriate. Fuck nazis, right?

In Diane Ravitch’s memoir An Education, which I am thoroughly enjoying (!), I came across a word I was not familiar with. The word is ‘quisling.’ Chat bots being my new reading companions, I quickly looked it up.

The word is of relatively recent vintage, being coined during World War II. Apparently, a Norwegian fascist named Vidkun Quisling collaborated with the Nazis in his home country during the war. Thus, the word refers to someone who betrays their own country, or own group, by collaborating with the enemy. Benedict Arnold came to mind immediately when thinking about this. Thus, a quisling is a traitor. **Great word! **

Not surprisingly, Quisling was put on trial after the war for a variety of crimes and was found guilty. He was executed by firing squad in October 1945 in Oslo. He was buried in an unmarked grade, and his surname now is equated with treachery. A fitting end, I’d say.

Napoleon’s soldiers learned that “living off the land” often meant making others starve. Those soldiers were mostly conscripts who had no choice but follow orders and face the gruesome consequences. In America our veterans are volunteers, yet they still know better than anyone that war is not abstract—it’s human, filled with folly and unimaginable human suffering. This Veteran’s Day, let’s honor not only the bravery of those who serve, but their deep understanding of what war actually asks of them, and the world.