When I was 21, it was a very good year...
Jacques-Louis David: Death of Socrates.
From the first time I read Plato, I knew who my hero was. How completely I recognized myself in Plato's Apology, the account of Socrates on trial, his defense and his account of his life. By a close vote the people of Athens condemned Socrates to death. His honest telling of what he deserved instead of death is the epitome of Socratic irony, and it revealed the wit of Socrates, his sense of humor in the face of being condemned to death. No doubt, many citizens of today's USA would place their thumbs down if I were on trial for the same charges: not believing in the established gods and corrupting the youth.
Let me begin then by an apology concerning present day religion and its gods. When I walked up the path at Delphi to the Temple of Apollo, what did I behold but the rising god himself over the surrounding mountains. It has always made sense that the Sun, warm and magnificent, should be adored as a god by all who benefit and live from the Sun's energy. Does that make him a god? Do I think the Sun cares about us or offers us a life after death? If the Sun is a conscious god, as big as s/he is, isn't it presumptuous of us to think we puny creatures are part of that consciousness? Maybe we should simply find the Sun awesome and expect no selfish rewards or consideration.
What I've held sacred: the great love of my life, my husband of 35 years, Darryl.
If a Sun God is understandable, how baffling all the other popular gods are. My admiration for the prophets of religion, the philosophers that tell us of their ideas of what is sacred, stands. Yet the descriptions of Jupiter and Venus, Jesus and Buddha, Dancing Shiva and the like are so fanciful, so like mere humans, that they all merge into what psychologists call projections of what people want, imagine, or lack in their lives. How comforting to think that our deceased loved ones are sitting at a celestial table with one another, perhaps having some bread and wine, and maybe some fish.
" What else could I say?
Everyone is gay."
If I don't believe in the existence of arbitrary, emotional gods, how do I stand with educating the youth?
First Principle: Like Socrates, consider yourself, as a teacher or professor, to be a midwife. Bring forth the educated, creative mind and reason of the student. Do not try to indoctrinate or impress your own ideas upon a student. That is not to say you must be neutral; say what you think only on the condition of allowing, of encouraging students to think for themselves. Present different points of view on issues. In philosophy, let students consider the rich variety of ideas and world views.
Who knows, the rapport you have with a student, after graduation, could well evolve into friendship and love...
Educators must not censor; let all the ideas be considered. Suppression of history, of philosophy, of science in favor of some religious doctrine is the end of education; it is brain washing in the name of conformity. We've seen it for thousands of years. How else could the people of Athens punish its thinking, reasoning non-conformist, its teacher of questioning authority and creating new ideas? People in power love to enforce conformity, despise questioning.
Take, for instance, homosexuality. Since the time of Emperor Constantine, homosexuality was repressed in proportion to the ascendance of Christianity (never mind that Jesus never mentioned it). Homosexuality is so universally condemned because it may involve a refusal to have a family, to produce children (future citizens) for the state, for the king, for the society. What then is the duty of the educator-- to condemn it? To praise its acceptance under certain restraints? A neutral historical view? Or is the discussion to be of civil rights, of personal freedom, of the dangers of forced conformity?
Lovers. Tomb of the Diver. Greek wall painting in the Etruscan lands of Italy. Created around 500-475 BCE,
Science offers a solution: discuss the Kinsey Scale in which, as Kurt Cobain wrote, "Everyone is gay," at least in part. I've loved eight men in my life, loved their minds and their bodies as they have me. Four are predominately straight, and two of the predominately gay men were also married to women and had children. Jim and Darryl are the only two of the men I've loved who lived fundamentally gay lives.
Add to the principle of giving birth to the educated mind of a student the principle of respecting diversity. If you teach for over half a century as I have, you will discover that no two students are alike. Letting their spirits grow freely and creatively, expressing their true nature, as it were, is the most worthy mission I can think of.
In the traditional form of apology, not as explanation and fair assessment, but as a kind of regret and saying I am sorry, I apologize for being selfish, too self-centered. I apologize for egotistically comparing myself to Socrates. I apologize to my brother and to all my sweet friends. How many times did Darryl say to me, "This is not about you." How many of my thoughtless comments or actions hurt Darryl's feelings, turning a happy moment into one in which we both suffered? With the excuse that my wants and desires are hardly excessive or harmful, I pursued them without fully considering the consequences and the effect on others. I could have had more empathy, a great virtue. Darryl always listened and understood what pleased and meant much to others. What should we buy this person as a birthday present? Darryl always knew the answer. I have failed to see the anxiety, the confusion, the suffering of others, especially those I love whose lives might have been so much better had I been more aware, more appreciative.
In early March, when Darryl began to get ill, I hiked alone to a waterfall. Had I known where his illness was headed, how serious it could be, I would have left Lake Rabun and driven that day straight to Emory Hospital. By March 12 when, at last, I saw how sick he was, I called 911; but Darryl was frightened and refused to go to the hospital. Why was I not more persuasive, more focused on convincing him he must go? He remained home for five more days before agreeing to be admitted. By then, it was too late; even 20 days of ICU and hospital care could not save him. Darryl's life was in my hands from early March until the 17th, and I should have stopped everything, devoted myself to his healing. Instead, we both unknowingly allowed Ozempic to dehydrate and deprive him of nourishment. He told me how waves of nausea made him unable to eat or drink, made him sick. My apology for being blind to the severity of his distress does nothing now.
I apologize for being lazy, for never having the so-called work ethic, for needing rest, relaxation, and the simple pleasures of music, art, walks instead of dedicating my life to some higher purpose. I have taken Camus too seriously, looking at life as too much like the life of Sisyphus, absurd drudgery. I could never imagine Sisyphus happy. The very absurdity of almost every aspect of living today has stunted me, made me repulsed by society with its waste, its illusions, its indifference, its stupidity. Nothing exists that better illustrates the absurdity of the 21st Century than the leaf blower: loud, polluting the air with gasoline vapors, tens of thousands of them here in Atlanta, blowing deadly chemicals dripped from cars onto our streets up into the air, into our noses, our throats, our lungs now nearly every day of the week, for hours, never to remove anything, never to improve anything, violent, destructive, spreading respiratory disease and allergies I see in almost all of my students and myself. It is a symbol for so many useless, destructive mills of evil and waste. It is a money driven incentive to destroy our health, destroy our environment exacerbating the damage of greed and absurdity.
I apologize for being impatient, unforgiving of stupidity, indifference, the will to conform. I apologize for not expressing what I want from life more clearly, not listening and comprehending what others want. Perhaps I haven't always known what exactly I do want, or need; but the love of Darryl and sharing my life with him have always been essential. Yes, I am an elitist, a snob, a hypocrite, unable to refrain from criticism of what I see as foolishness, as living in illusions, as willful ignorance. Seeing how gullible people are in the face of leaders wanting only power and money, seeing the greed and vanity of our society, I have to agree with Sartre that Hell is other people.
If I have a strength, besides being a good teacher, it is loyalty and love. Is being naive a handicap? I have always been unrealistic. Romanticism has always appealed to me. However, my tendency to draw conclusions, whether jumping to them or simply reasoning, is a serious drawback. I do not double down though and am quick to see and confess my errors. I am grateful for the relationships I've had, the deep love shared with me, the superb education and years of worthwhile study. I have had Shakespeare, Keats, Yeats, D.H. Lawrence, Simone de Beauvoir, James Baldwin, Oscar Wilde, Buddha, Botticelli, Egon Schiele, Beethoven, Debussy, to name only a few, in my life. I have been inspired and deeply moved by artists in every branch of the arts and every historic period. It has been a remarkable, rich life of seeing the world with and without loved ones. As Auntie Mame put it: "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death."
Egon Schiele:
Self-Portrait
Like Socrates, I deserve a pension and a comfortable place to retire and live out my life. I always admired how he was surrounded by loving students and friends when he drank the Hemlock. Here I need to apologize for the ghost I have become, not fully invested in material reality, or even social reality. I think I have every right to end my life without protest from others, for without Darryl, without the constant companionship and love he gave me, life seems so diminished and his absence absorbs me.
Friendship from Will has sustained me in this dark time, given me strength, resilience, excitement about future journeys of the mind and into new places. He has given me more love than I deserve; so I must avoid neglecting his needs. Our spirited connection, easily explained by our love of music, our discussions of philosophy, our films and social outlook, our similar eccentricities, our countless walks, our enjoyment of cafe life, is also a mysterious one, poetic, ineffable, Jungian. We have no need to apologize for a love that transcends our age difference, a love that only kindred spirits and true friends of us both will fully appreciate.
We shall revisit New Orleans and I shall return with Will to Asheville for the New Year. I'm up for a few more new years, perhaps. But forgive me for not wanting to become the archetype of an old man living alone, searching his memory, crawling into neediness, loneliness, failing body and mind. Thus, I cannot apologize for not succumbing to the expectation that I will become senile, fragile, and willing to move into a Nursing Home without complaint.
Don't cry for me, Argentina, or Savannah, or any of the places I have lived, people I have known. No crying at all. My life has indeed been a banquet, and a bit of a cabaret, even an academic enterprise of great pith and moment, to quote Jake, quoting Shakespeare-- with irony. Give me a jazz funeral, New Orleans style. Lay my ashes near those of Darryl, high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Come visit this beautiful place, remember the good times, the joys we shared.
Waterfall at Graveyard Fields
Kurt Cobain, Nirvana: All Apologies:
Some more of my favorite human beings:
