(About a 13 minute read)
To oppress a mother is to oppress a democracy, for it is mothers who teach the value of democracy to their children.
Some years ago, if I heard a pounding on my door around 11:30 on a full moon night, I could reliably guess it was Suzanne come by to demand that we go for a midnight hike in the mountains. I always went for — after all — how often do you get to risk becoming a mountain lion’s next meal? Besides, the mountains are magic at night.
Suzanne was, and still is, highly intelligent, creative, beautiful, and resilient. At the time we were taking midnight hikes, however, she was also largely dysfunctional due to an untreated bipolar disorder. That kept me from developing a genuine emotional intimacy with her, for it’s difficult to feel genuinely intimate with someone who — for whatever reason — is wrapped up in themselves. Nevertheless, we did pretty good as casual friends.
One crisp night, we set out for a trail head, but when we got there, a noisy group of about seven or eight people were setting off down the trail, so we decided to drive on. That eventually landed us on a dirt road high up in the mountains. Since it was about two or three in the morning, and no one was likely to be traveling that narrow road but us, we parked the car in the middle of the road, put the top down, and threw a blanket over us in order to stargaze.
The moon soon enough went down behind the mountains. The sky blazed with what seemed like five thousand stars, and Suzanne and I fell into silence. After 45 minutes or an hour, Suzanne spoke. “Why do I have to be in love with Jeff?”
“I don’t know. Have you figured that out?”
“Not yet. I just don’t understand why I get along with you better than I get along him, but I’m in love with him.” After a moment, she went on, “I love you too, of course; just not in the same way.”
Jeff was Suzanne’s boyfriend. Like Suzanne, he was highly intelligent. He was also abusive. Whenever we were together, Suzanne would sooner or later start talking about him. Usually, she spoke of his most recent outrages.
I knew, by that time in my life, that criticizing someone’s partner — even someone’s abusive partner — would most likely achieve nothing more than cause them to rally to the defense of their partner, so I carefully avoided giving Suzanne any hint of how profoundly I loathed Jeff for his abuse of her. “That does seem strange”, I said as evenly as I could, “I mean that you get along with me better than him.”
“I do love him.” She turned to look at me.
“Is he good for you?” I replied, looking at her and trying my hardest not to make my question sound like a challenge. I thought that, if only she would ask that question, sincerely ask that question….
“But I love him!” She protested. “That’s got to count for something, right?” She’d done exactly what I feared: Taken my question for a challenge, rather than genuinely think about whether he was any good for her.
Suzanne was twenty years younger than me. She had yet to learn the difference between genuinely loving someone and merely being emotionally dependent on them. Nor was there anyway I could have explained those things to her that night. Although she never would have expressed it this way, on some level, Suzanne believed the world was fair and just, and that Jeff had to sooner or later come around if for no other reason than she loved him so much.
In time, Suzanne came to her senses and dumped Jeff.
Today, May 11, is the anniversary of Richard Feynman’s birth. He was born 1918 and died 1988. Probably, I think, not only one of the greatest physicists of the 20th Century, but also one of wisest people of that century.
I have a friend who’s an artist and has sometimes taken a view which I don’t agree with very well. He’ll hold up a flower and say “look how beautiful it is,” and I’ll agree. Then he says “I as an artist can see how beautiful this is but you as a scientist take this all apart and it becomes a dull thing,” and I think that he’s kind of nutty. First of all, the beauty that he sees is available to other people and to me too, I believe. Although I may not be quite as refined aesthetically as he is … I can appreciate the beauty of a flower. At the same time, I see much more about the flower than he sees. I could imagine the cells in there, the complicated actions inside, which also have a beauty. I mean it’s not just beauty at this dimension, at one centimeter; there’s also beauty at smaller dimensions, the inner structure, also the processes. The fact that the colors in the flower evolved in order to attract insects to pollinate it is interesting; it means that insects can see the color. It adds a question: does this aesthetic sense also exist in the lower forms? Why is it aesthetic? All kinds of interesting questions which the science knowledge only adds to the excitement, the mystery and the awe of a flower. It only adds. I don’t understand how it subtracts. — Feynman
I think Sarah was fifteen when I met her. She and I were both regular customers at the coffee shop and we often enough sat together at the sidewalk tables. Sarah was one of a small handful of girls who would keep me company even when I was not sitting with any handsome boys their own age. She also struck me as generally cheerful, optimistic, and sensible. The sort of level-headed, but occasionally mischievous, young person who gives you hope for the future.
One sunny morning, about a year after Sarah and I first met, I was sitting by myself when I happened to glance down the street towards the local high school. About two blocks away, a woman was walking towards the shop, and though I couldn’t make out her face at that distance, there was something in the way she walked that made me recognize it was Sarah. I think it might also have been the style of skirt she wore, for Sarah favored long, flowing skirts with a certain kind of print — almost paisley.
As I had guessed, it indeed turned out to be her.
When she arrived, she came straight to my table, and we were soon discussing her jewelry for no other reason than to pass the time of day. “I have the worse luck, Paul. Every piece I own has lost its partner. This ring — see the naked man? This silver ring had a naked woman that went with it. That way you could divide the ring into two pieces, and give one piece to your lover. But I lost the woman. An ex of mine wouldn’t give it back when we broke up.”
“And you see the man in the moon in my earring? I used to have another earring just like it, but I somewhere lost it.” She grinned. “Now I have the moon in one ear, and a dragon in the other.” She turned her head one way and then the other to show me.
We went on like that for an hour or two it seemed: Simply enjoying the sunny, but cool weather. Eventually, she had to go back to school, for though her high school had an open campus policy, she was of course expected to attend classes if they were not study halls.
A few weeks later, Sarah and I were again at the coffee shop together. At some point in our conversation, she decided to draw a dragon for me. She explained as she was drawing it, that she had practiced and practiced drawing the dragon until she could almost draw it blindfolded.
“Ah! Well executed! I know you like dragons.” I remembered her earring.
“Oh yes! Did I tell you about my dragon lamp? I have a lamp that a candle fits inside. When you burn the candle, it casts dragon shadows on the walls. I love it! I use it as a night light.”
It all came together for me one evening a few months after that. Sarah and I were once again at the coffee shop, but this time it was towards dusk. Another man had joined us — a guy about my age, which was twenty-five or so years older than Sarah. He and Sarah were flirting with each other, which rather more bored me than anything else. I became absorbed in watching the sunset.
Presently, the man left to go home, or go to his job, I don’t quite recall which now. Sarah soon turned to me, “I love flirting with older men”, she said. “I know I won’t let it go anywhere. The age difference makes that impossible. But you can learn so much! Should I be ashamed of myself, Paul?”
I don’t remember now exactly what I said to her, but she responded by almost pouting — a very unusual expression for her — and then playfully suggesting that I was a public killjoy for refusing to flirt with people, especially with her. That so surprised me that I felt I needed to make amends! Hence, within a few days, I composed a simple poem just for Sarah.
She’s a woman in the grace of sixteen summers
With skirts flowing in the morning sun
And she speaks of the silver man ringed naked
A dancer who dances alone
For her jewels have all lost their partners
But the moon still laughs in one ear
And she sleeps in the shadow of dragons
With a heart uncorrupted by fear
Physics isn’t the most important thing. Love is. ― Richard Feynman
Some “religious” people are just contrary. They profess to be Hindus or Christians, Muslims or Jews, Buddhists or Taoists, but their real religion is simply to find fault with other people.
God, enlightenment, the Tao are to them little more than concepts that they imagine give them ultimate permission to condemn folks, to dehumanize them. “I speak for God”, they imply. “I speak for the Tao.” Such strange people: Always hiding behind some pillar like “God”, peeking out only to snarl!
But such people are not confined to religions.
No, you find them in the lunatic fringes of every political and social movement, every ideology — including the better ones. What sort of person makes it their life to condemn others? What sort of person lives for it?
It is part of the comedy of our species that we often give them the time of day.
The first principle is that you must not fool yourself and you are the easiest person to fool. ― Richard Feynman
To me, the ultimate goal in life is neither meaning nor happiness, but to be as true to yourself as you can be in a socially and environmentally responsible way. The way I see it, if you shoot for that, then you’ll find what meaning and happiness there is for you in life, like icing on the cake. But I don’t see how living falsely can bring about either meaning or happiness. Of course, all I really know is that it works for me.
I think it’s much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers and possible beliefs and different degrees of uncertainty about different things, but I am not absolutely sure of anything and there are many things I don’t know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask why we’re here. I don’t have to know an answer. I don’t feel frightened not knowing things, by being lost in a mysterious universe without any purpose, which is the way it really is as far as I can tell. ― Richard Feynman
Top 40 Lovers
I listen to the radio play those old two songs:
“How I love him more than life itself” and “How she did me wrong”.
And I think it’s hard to be a simple lover
If the goal’s a cosmic truth.
And I think it’s hard to be a simple friend
If we’re lawyers in the end.
Humans are natural born cartographers. We make maps of the world, which we call “beliefs”. It’s what our species does.
Sometimes, our maps are more or less accurate. And sometimes, they are fantasy maps, like the ones we made as children to show where a pirate’s treasure lay buried in our backyard.
The accuracy of our maps often matters less to us than the fact they are ours. Because, for most of us, our maps are something we think of as us.
I’m smart enough to know that I’m dumb. ― Richard Feynman
“Don, this is Paul. We’re rich!”
“Rich, Don, we’re richer than our wildest dreams!”
“Are you kidding me? What happened? Did you win the lottery?”
“Lottery? You can’t depend on lotteries, Don. This is so much better than a lottery. This is Big! Huge! I’ve had an idea, Don. An idea!”
“Paul, I have always believed you are capable of having good ideas. Which is why I am still patiently waiting after all these years for you to actually have one. But if this is like that last ‘good idea’…”.
“Don’t worry, Don, this one can’t miss. It’s huge! What is the number one complaint people have about foods, Don? The number one complaint?”
“Paul, where is this leading?”
“Don, I’ve been researching this, and nine times out of ten, when people complain about food, it’s because they don’t like the taste. It’s a scientific fact, Don. Nine times out of ten!”
“Six words, Don, six words: Spray-cans filled with liquid nitrogen! Zap that awful taste right out of your mouth! Instantly! Never worry about a bad tasting meal again!
“Don we are going to get rich here! We are going to get so rich! I’ve already called some architects, asked for designs on our office building. Are you excited, Don?
“Don? Damnit, Don! You’re a going to have to get a new phone. Yours keeps dying on me!”