Blood Diamond
Saturday night, I saw a very intense, but very well done, movie: Blood Diamond.
If you can handle so much gore (really, you're not supposed to be able to handle it), Blood Diamond conveys powerful themes. It effectively juxtaposes western comfort and abstraction with the hell on which it often depends. The opening scene, for example, flashes between a rebel raid on a Sierra Leon village and a three-piece-suit UN meeting on curbing the flow of conflict diamonds. The western response was farcically disproportionate to reality.
Basically, the movie was about exploitation: of civilians, of the land, of the poor. Often, movies about social justice issues turn out too Michael-Moore-esque, a fate that Blood Diamond avoids. It is not about blaming everyone in particular, or simply conveying a political message; rather, it examines the sordid reality we all inhabit, whether knowingly or unwittingly. In the course of the film, two of the three protagonist discovered how he or she exploited the agony of others; they lived off of hell, either by fueling it or sensationalizing it (through journalism). This they discovered not on a geopolitical level alone, but through their personal interactions with those around them. The third protagonist, one of the damned condemned to hell by forces beyond his control, shone as a ray of hope and redemption. The personal microcosm that made the movie so engaging resonated with my conviction that, when dealing with social justice issues, we must examine our own activity according to the principles with which we critique society: am I looking out for the weakest among us? do I welcome the marginalized among my neighbors? do I encourage others to freely and creatively use their gifts?
Final thought: the movie made me return to an excellent book I read over the summer: War, Evil, and the End of History by Bernard-Henri Levy. This was quite a find in a used bookstore a year ago. Henri-Levy, a French professor of philosophy, parachuted into some of the darkest conflict zones in the world (Angola, Burundi, Sri Lanka, Sudan, and Columbia). There, he interviewed suicide bombers, child soldiers, derelict civilians, and drug lords (it's from his book that I borrow the language of "hell" and "the damned" that I use above; they refer to a place or persons which have lost all meaning, all continuity with the past, all presence today, and all hope for the future). Henri-Levy's mission, as he discovered it in writing his book, was to give voice to those ghosts, not in general (westerners are fond of generalities, which are more comfortable and manageable than personalities), but in particular. In this way, he could give the people he met a small purpose and meaning in life, because someone else would listen to them. By having an audience, they discover their story. His "adventures," as he called them, also shook him out of the comfortable theories of the West by literally dropping him into a world where every neat philosophy he had ever taught went up in smoke. "Evil," in these conflict zones, is not an archaic religious idea, or an event overcome by democracy and human rights, or a matter of perspective; nor are passion and commitment always good, nor are the conquered always victims; evil is not an idea at all, but a reality, or, better yet, a non-reality, for it obliterates reality. It infects those with power, crushes those indifferent to it or powerless before it, enlists the naive, and negates everyone. Without warning, it destroys cities, towns, and families, leaving living ghosts to wander amid the rubble of their lives that will never be rebuilt. Without facing this "reality," we cannot understand redemption or envision its surprising possibility. I am thankful that a movie like Blood Diamond can put us, even for only two hours, in a world where our assumptions and values are sorely put to the test.
If you can handle so much gore (really, you're not supposed to be able to handle it), Blood Diamond conveys powerful themes. It effectively juxtaposes western comfort and abstraction with the hell on which it often depends. The opening scene, for example, flashes between a rebel raid on a Sierra Leon village and a three-piece-suit UN meeting on curbing the flow of conflict diamonds. The western response was farcically disproportionate to reality.
Basically, the movie was about exploitation: of civilians, of the land, of the poor. Often, movies about social justice issues turn out too Michael-Moore-esque, a fate that Blood Diamond avoids. It is not about blaming everyone in particular, or simply conveying a political message; rather, it examines the sordid reality we all inhabit, whether knowingly or unwittingly. In the course of the film, two of the three protagonist discovered how he or she exploited the agony of others; they lived off of hell, either by fueling it or sensationalizing it (through journalism). This they discovered not on a geopolitical level alone, but through their personal interactions with those around them. The third protagonist, one of the damned condemned to hell by forces beyond his control, shone as a ray of hope and redemption. The personal microcosm that made the movie so engaging resonated with my conviction that, when dealing with social justice issues, we must examine our own activity according to the principles with which we critique society: am I looking out for the weakest among us? do I welcome the marginalized among my neighbors? do I encourage others to freely and creatively use their gifts?
Final thought: the movie made me return to an excellent book I read over the summer: War, Evil, and the End of History by Bernard-Henri Levy. This was quite a find in a used bookstore a year ago. Henri-Levy, a French professor of philosophy, parachuted into some of the darkest conflict zones in the world (Angola, Burundi, Sri Lanka, Sudan, and Columbia). There, he interviewed suicide bombers, child soldiers, derelict civilians, and drug lords (it's from his book that I borrow the language of "hell" and "the damned" that I use above; they refer to a place or persons which have lost all meaning, all continuity with the past, all presence today, and all hope for the future). Henri-Levy's mission, as he discovered it in writing his book, was to give voice to those ghosts, not in general (westerners are fond of generalities, which are more comfortable and manageable than personalities), but in particular. In this way, he could give the people he met a small purpose and meaning in life, because someone else would listen to them. By having an audience, they discover their story. His "adventures," as he called them, also shook him out of the comfortable theories of the West by literally dropping him into a world where every neat philosophy he had ever taught went up in smoke. "Evil," in these conflict zones, is not an archaic religious idea, or an event overcome by democracy and human rights, or a matter of perspective; nor are passion and commitment always good, nor are the conquered always victims; evil is not an idea at all, but a reality, or, better yet, a non-reality, for it obliterates reality. It infects those with power, crushes those indifferent to it or powerless before it, enlists the naive, and negates everyone. Without warning, it destroys cities, towns, and families, leaving living ghosts to wander amid the rubble of their lives that will never be rebuilt. Without facing this "reality," we cannot understand redemption or envision its surprising possibility. I am thankful that a movie like Blood Diamond can put us, even for only two hours, in a world where our assumptions and values are sorely put to the test.
Minding Other People's Business
Why Do Good? Brain Study Offers Clues - Forbes.com
I came across this very interesting article in Forbes the other day. It reports a recent study on the neurophysiology of "altruism." The researchers designed an experiment to see what regions of the brain increased in activity in altruistic people, as opposed to selfish people, upon seeing something good happen to someone else. They hypothesized that the "warm and fuzzy" department would increase activity, that is, the region associated with pleasure and reward. This would support the belief I've often heard that all love and service is really self-serving; I help other people because it feels good, or because it gives me something to be proud about.
Surprisingly, the study found that it is not the reward system, but the system that responds to meaningful stimuli in the environment, which is active, for example, when I see something threatening to me. Under the constraints of the experiment, this region was much more active in those who exhibited unselfish than in those who were selfish.
What motivates people to do good, the study suggests, is not self-satisfaction, but a deep, even primal solidarity by which I identify with a neighbor, realizing that "that could have been me." I haven't read the full study, only the report in Forbes, but it leaves me with some new questions. Here are a couple.
What I would study if I were a neurologist:
1) What trains or cultivates the region of the brain in question so that one responds to situations others face? Personal tragedy? Service work?
2) "Altruism" (there must be a more profound word they could have used!) often moves us to make costly sacrifices. How do ascetic practices, such as fasting, affect this region of the brain?
3) How much depends on genetics? How much on the way a child is raised?
Anyway, I was pretty pleased to see that a new scientific study is challenging the widespread assumptions of rational choice theory. Perhaps it will turn out that humans are even biologically a bit deeper than modern economics suggests.
I came across this very interesting article in Forbes the other day. It reports a recent study on the neurophysiology of "altruism." The researchers designed an experiment to see what regions of the brain increased in activity in altruistic people, as opposed to selfish people, upon seeing something good happen to someone else. They hypothesized that the "warm and fuzzy" department would increase activity, that is, the region associated with pleasure and reward. This would support the belief I've often heard that all love and service is really self-serving; I help other people because it feels good, or because it gives me something to be proud about.
Surprisingly, the study found that it is not the reward system, but the system that responds to meaningful stimuli in the environment, which is active, for example, when I see something threatening to me. Under the constraints of the experiment, this region was much more active in those who exhibited unselfish than in those who were selfish.
What motivates people to do good, the study suggests, is not self-satisfaction, but a deep, even primal solidarity by which I identify with a neighbor, realizing that "that could have been me." I haven't read the full study, only the report in Forbes, but it leaves me with some new questions. Here are a couple.
What I would study if I were a neurologist:
1) What trains or cultivates the region of the brain in question so that one responds to situations others face? Personal tragedy? Service work?
2) "Altruism" (there must be a more profound word they could have used!) often moves us to make costly sacrifices. How do ascetic practices, such as fasting, affect this region of the brain?
3) How much depends on genetics? How much on the way a child is raised?
Anyway, I was pretty pleased to see that a new scientific study is challenging the widespread assumptions of rational choice theory. Perhaps it will turn out that humans are even biologically a bit deeper than modern economics suggests.
Natalie's Big Day
Natalie's Baptism
Finally! I've got photos up from Natalie's baptism (plus a few bonus photos from other times during her 7 weeks so far on this side of the womb.
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