September 17th, 2006 by Hoopleton

We go through our lives with certain convictions and passions. Convincing ourselves that our beliefs are more correct then that of others, who are just as devout in their certainty, we transform our convictions into dogma. This dogma is where concepts like religious wars, political revolutions and advertising are born. The more transparent and flawed our fundamentalist beliefs, the more defensive and venomous our reactions.

It’s interesting, for example, that the representative of one set of fundamentalist beliefs, namely Pope Benedict XVI, is practically in hiding for offending another set of fundamentalist beliefs, namely the entire Islamic faith. Oddly enough, the Pope apparently thought Islam was an institution that appreciated criticism. After all, it’s not like the Islamic world is known to blow up at every single disrespectful comment or, hmmmmm… cartoon. And it’s definitely not like the Islamic world remembers past offences for several thousand years.

Dogma versus dogma.

The Pope’s words were not hard to understand. Not much room for misinterpretation. Benedict was quoted as saying that Muhammad had brought the world only “evil and inhuman” things. Almost immediately after a Vatican statement said the Pope was “very sorry” if he offended “esteemed Muslims.”

And they were still angry you say?

So, it was a stupid mistake. It was a comment better made by a barber than the representative of one of the world’s largest religions as well as a major world figure. A world figure, I might add, who has been taken it upon himself to bring the world’s squabbling religions together into a state of harmony. A world figure who is well aware of the well-funded radical agenda of extremist mullahs to portray the West as waging a crusade to destroy Islam.

It was also an ignorant comment. The work of Islamic scholars and artists has been a major benefit to all societies throughout the ages. One could far too easily argue that much like the teachings of Christ the message of Muhammad has too been corrupted by those who have been charged with spreading the good word. I recall the Catholic Church bringing into the world a whole lot of evil and inhuman things.

I also recall something about he who is without sin casting the first stone.

The hypocrisy of dogma is astounding. And yet, the reaction by the Islamic world to what is by all accounts an ignorant, idiotic comment, is just as astoundingly absurd. Death threats. Jihads. Good God, Jihads. The burning of effigies. Armed groups calling for the Pope’s assassination.

Of course the situation is being inflamed by those whose power depends on blind obedience. But it goes deeper, darker. You see, the fundamentalist expressions of any belief must and will always strike out against even the lowliest criticism with brute force and venom simply because to consider doubt is tantamount to the entire house of cards collapsing. For better, or certainly worse, our entire civilization is built upon the weak foundations of dogma. Whether it be religion, our political structures or capitalism. If the faithful lose faith… well, that’s how empires fall.

What is a Muslim? A Catholic? An American? An Arab?

We are all just sacks of bones and flesh who think too much and yet never seem to think for ourselves.

September 14th, 2006 by Hoopleton

Traveling is meant to be a refresher. You’re supposed to hop on a plane, cross vast stretches of water to find meaning in yourself and your life, or forget the meaning you thought your life had.

In every great story the beginning of utter clairvoyance begins when the traveler first boards the plane or ship. By the time they arrive they can begin their search in a state of purity.

The reality of modern travel is a bit different. You do get on that plane with a sense of expectation still, unphased by the pat-downs and long security lines. You try not to stare at the Arabic man sitting to the right of you, who seems to be alone and slightly agitated probably because you keep staring at him. You tell yourself over and over that the screaming kid five rows up doesn’t bother you in the least. You tell yourself you don’t resent the people stretching out in Business Class.

When you finally get there, having watched the same Tom Cruise movie twice and having gotten no sleep at all, you tell yourself that after getting used to the time difference you’ll be ready for self-exploration. A long hot shower and some good natural sleep is what you need. But when you get to the Hotel you find that your room is the size of a postage stamp, your shampoo was stolen from your checked baggage, and your room faces a street clogged by honking cars.

So you go for a walk instead. You convince yourself that maybe a human connection is what’s needed. That to make real sense of things you need to find meaning in someone else. But you’re in a foreign land. You don’t understand anyone even if you know what they’re saying. What’s worse, is that you’re a transient. People around you are living their lives with no care as to who you are or where you’re going. You’re existence is inconsequential to the ebb and flow of the living organisms of community around you. In other words, you might as well not even exist.

Recently I came back from London. I went alone. The trip was fine. It certainly wasn’t great, inspiring or decisive in anyway whatsoever. I did manage a lot of thinking and came to no conclusions at all. I didn’t make any breakthroughs. I didn’t find myself. And despite any expectations, I didn’t find anyone there either.

Sometimes I suppose we make connections in one form but not another. I honestly couldn’t say why things went as awkwardly as they did. So it goes.

The only decisions I did make, involved, I suppose to certain degree my identity, but to a fuller degree what my identity is not. I am an American. I can’t deny that fact. And the truth is, I was glad when my travels were over.

London is an incredible city. The mixture of cultures, languages and customs can be felt absolutely everywhere. Intellectualism and learning are aspirations felt in every stone and every bush. The architecture is magnificent. The vestiges of empire are all encompassing, for better or worse. London is a busy, jumbled metropolis with a wit and personality so complex it might take a person an entire lifetime to fully deconstruct. And I hated almost every minute of it.

You see, my friends, for me a city is more than just architecture and history. It’s more than bustle and life. A city has tension too. A city keeps pumping well into the night. When pubs close at eleven, and strangers greet each other on the street, you can’t help but think that something is incredibly wrong.

I don’t mind friendly cities and to some extent I don’t mind sober ones, though it is still possible to find parties well into the night even in London. What I do mind is the illusion of calm. The illusion of mediated chaos. What I do mind is lies.

All places have their arrogance. All places have their lies, but in London I felt like the cracks in the foundations were barely covered under the streets. It felt like a place without real hope or aspiration. There were plenty of dreams, but few hopes.

Travel is suppose to serve a purpose. To get away from it all. To start from scratch. To push and soar and find meaning, even if it is painful. All I found was a photograph of Bill Clinton in front of the ladies room of the Portobello Pub, and Henry VIII’s girdle. Maybe I was just looking too hard.

Hoopleton.com is back on the air. I apologize for my long silence.