'The Starry Heaven above Me, and the Moral Law within Me.'

('Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing wonder and awe, the more often and the more seriously reflection concentrates upon them: the starry heaven above me and the moral law within me.') - Kant

I have to say, I love atheists. Or at least I love the bright ones. Because, look, they are maintaining a consistent position: either a thing is provable solely by reason, in which case I will believe it, or is not fully accessible to rationality, and then I won't. And if I'm anything (which at my weight is not always certain) I, too, am some kind of Enlightenment-style humanist in many, many ways. Maybe it took me a long time to admit it, but I'm out and proud now. The only catch in my case being that I don't believe humans are the end of it, nor that everything that does or could exist is necessarily comprehensible to or articulable by human reason. Our reason could have limits, just as our sense of smell does relative to a dog's, or a bear's. And, certainly, relative to anything having unlimited powers of every sort.

But I understand the position. And the last point would be an absurd speculation from a rationalist point of view, since what would my reason know about the existence of such anythings? I also think that there are many breeds of atheists, particularly of the Enlightenment variety, who agree on many basic premises about the inhering dignity of man with those who arrive at that position due to a belief about the divine source of that dignity. In either case the 'Man is born free' position holds, and each appends from his perspective the implied-moral-imperative second clause without which the beginning is nothing but a quaint and inert metaphysical claim.

However, the group that does drive me nuts, and has since I was in high school, is the 'spiritual but not religious' crowd, the mass migration of which to Big Sur, the Napa Valley, and beach huts in Costa Rica would leave the greater Seattle area bereft of 70% of its tax base. The rationalist atheists have it hard, and they know it, and they take their responsibility seriously, because they realize it's up to them to figure things out. If one cannot rely on any Authority beyond one's own logic to give guidance, the responsibility is great and the burden a heavy one.

By contrast, the 'spiritual but not religious' people often accept their 'authority' from a multitude of sources: it doesn't have to be right, as a religious person might say; it doesn't have to add up right, as a rationalist might; it just has to feel right, the standards for which are as varied as the number of soi-disant gurus and self-help books in the world. What to me is more chilling to me than the unpleasant aesthetics of that reality is that this 'spirituality' can be as devoid of ethics as the user wishes.

An atheist indeed can be a maniacal Machiavellian egoist, to be sure, but I'm not talking about them, and I have encountered few in my personal experience. I think at the same time that far too many shade-grown-coffee-drinking hemp-clad 'yogis' and would-be bhikkhunis end up, in their ever-fluid quest for self-development or self-enrichment, becoming terrifically self-involved egoists themselves. If, admittedly, extremely bendy ones.

It seems to me that at base the one belief that unites most of these 'spiritual' individuals is this: there is a Power, some sort of divine something, and I owe Him/Her/It/They/Us some form of recognition, but it is up to me to discern what shape this recognition might take in my case. All too rarely does this Divine Power impart an ethical code, because ethical codes are the province of religions, and the 'spiritual but not religious' eschew religion, and religious authority, as being inherently oppressive. But while 'feeling good' is a reasonable criterion for adjudging the after-effects of a yoga class or colon cleanse, it is nonetheless insufficient proof of the moral rightness or wrongness of a given act. It is in no way parallel to the fearless and rigourous self-searching that both rational believers and rational atheists must undertake in order to live an ethical life.

Enlightenment thinkers adjured us to use our own minds and pursue freedom, rather than blindly ceding our will and our powers of reason in deference to the dictates of monarchies or the Church. However, were I forced to cede all my powers of thought, I would rather do so to the likes of thinky ethical atheists like Diderot, Condorcet, Hume, Mille, de Beauvoir, Zizek, Clarence Darrow, Hannah Sheehy Skeffington, James Connolly, Harriet Martineau, and James Rachels than to Oprah, The Secret, 'quantum mysticists,' or anyone aiming a burning hank of sage up at me from the Down-Dog asana.

Crow au Vin?

To follow up on that lengthy introduction, this is the actual story...

As some of you know, I work in food. Some others of you know I volunteer in food. Some even know both, and maybe me, as well. Some know that the service aspect of my life is very important to me, and perhaps that I have tried to incorporate that into my paid work, as well, when the parameters of my job would allow that.

Well, one of my frustrations is that there are a great many people consumed with trying to send money to Myanmar, and now China, while our local food banks are short of both food and volunteers. Another one is that people are terribly worried about buying organic, free-range whatevers* for their own tables at the same time that they show no signs of being concerned about whether their neighbors are eating anything at all. And there are people whose lefty and self-righteous environmental obsessions are so narrow and myopic that they fail to take in the human cost, and the human aspects in the ethical equations that purportedly conscious and conscientious people make when deciding what, where, and how to buy.

And for me, labor issues matter. Fair treatment matters. Decent working conditions matter terribly. And, because I have worked in the often ridiculously poor conditions of commercial kitchens, finished out shifts in kitchens with second- and third-degree burns on the palm my sauteeing hand, worked with people who have previously worked in agriculture and meat processing, and have been an undocumented worker overseas myself, I would argue I have greater experience with the issue, and greater natural, visceral, direct empathy for the workers involved than do most people who simply have neither the experience nor the broadmindedness to consider the whole story of an ingredient, to imagine that the history of their organic, free-range, shade-grown tomato started a long time ago, in a language far, far away from their Whole Foods produce aisle.

So, when I read a disheartening story (you can just NewsGoogle 'Stemilt' and get one million hits, so take your pick) about Washington fruit workers in California having difficult times with a reputable and progressive agricultural firm, fruit producer Stemilt, which, frankly, among big companies has a great record with moving toward more organic practices and being quite decent with workers, I was impassioned, and I wrote a letter. I wrote a terse, angry letter with a (perhaps poetic but) mean closing line.

And a person, a live, human person like me and like the laborers, wrote me back. Okay, fine, Stemilt isn't General Electric, but I'm not Bill Gates, either. And it is a very big company, and I am not. And the letter wasn't condescending, although it had a valuable lesson. And the message 'Don't believe all that you read/hear' is one that we all, most especially myself, need to keep with us as much as we can. I work hard at being both humble and critical, and I think that, relative to many strains in our culture, I'm doing okay at both. That being said, however, we do all have our prejudices, even as we struggle against them, and it is precisely those that are most ingrained -- and thus most powerful in swaying our thoughts, emotions, and actions -- that we are least likely to perceive as they influence us.

Thus, after that terribly dramatic build-up, here are the letters. Mine first, then his, and then my response. While it is true that we live in a world that can be so alienating, and we can go for days or weeks on end without, if we so wish it, any in-person human interaction, and we can have so many 'contacts' in our Blackberries or even our social lives that are fated always to be just that and nothing more, it was shocking and gratifying and satisfying in my soul that someone at Stemilt read my angry words in the very human and compassionate way he did, and responded in such a human way.

To Whom It May Concern:

I applaud Stemilt's contributions to greener agricultural practices, but your treatment of Washington workers in California is disgusting and indefensible. I am a private chef, and my business focuses on local, organic, and seasonal ingredients as much as possible, but both my clients and I can get by just fine without your products from any state. As well, in any case where I am unable to ascertain the origin of product from the vendor, I will simply forgo that fruit, and that dish. My clients will already know why by that point, as I will be giving them information sheets next week about Stemilt's labor practices. We may be more concerned about the environment up here than people in other regions, but we are also concerned with the dignity of our fellow human beings who labor to provide us with the food that sustains our lives. May you reap the fruit of your inhumanity.

(My Name),

All the workers are harvesting the crops today in California as scheduled. No workers were removed. Be careful what you read. Stemilt is who it says it is, both environmentally and socially. Other peoples motives are what are at issue. This orchard attracts lots of great harvest workers because of the income it provides them due to its production and cleanliness. You would need to interview the workers to believe what I am telling you. The owner of this orchard is a humanitarian. It will continue to attract workers in future years because of this orchards environment.

(My Name), we are glad you care about people. There isn't enough of that concern in this world.

I felt compelled to respond to you. You seem like a person that cares,

Stemilt

Wow,

(His Name), thank you very much for responding to me personally. I work alone now, but when I worked in kitchens I really cared about my employees, many of whom were from basically the same demographic as agricultural workers, so I do know that it is possible, even in difficult, dirty, physical jobs, to create an atmosphere where workers feel valued. I also know that even big organizations can create overall cultures that are largely positive or mostly negative, and I applaud any efforts Stemilt makes to engender the former.

As for caring, I do. I think the food industry is unique, different than any other. There are famous artists in it, and there are tons of unskilled and semiskilled, invisible but equally vital contributors, too. And on the one hand, food is something we need every day and don't have to reflect on when we want to grab a hamburger to stop being hungry. On the other, it is an integral part of family celebrations, religious holidays, and rites of passage. And even though the poor can survive without shelter or new clothes, everyone has to eat to live. In fact, I volunteer at meal programs to help poor people get some food, to balance out the feeding-wealthy-people side of my life.

I really thank you for taking the time to respond. It is individuals, whether in a for-profit business or a charity, that make decisions, make personal connections - and make a difference. I'm not famous or influential or anything, but I'll follow the story and eat whatever crow I have to, along with Stemilt cherries, on my blog, http://oisive-vitesse.blogspot.com as it progresses. Again, I know work in the fields is hard, but I applaud you for offering workers housing, and for paying wages that attract new workers.

I can't yet find updated news stories, but I will keep looking. I do know that there isn't much money in broadcasting cheery news, unless it is put at the end of the newscast and involves a child or a pet. Immigrant farmworkers have known for a long time that they're not as cute as they could be.

*This actually happened -- and not at a Whole Foods: I was innocently idling around the bulk-licorice zone (which unfortunately abuts the bulk-coffee zone), doing no harm to anyone, when some Birkenstock-shod, bicycle-helmetted Zen master accosted the poor stock-clerk and assaulted my ears with this unnecessary query: 'While I see on the label that this blend (why must it be 'this blend?' why can he not utter the word 'coffee?' why can none of them? it's so easy to say, only two felicitous syllables that so gently roll off the tongue? cof-fee! coffee! coffffffeeeee! why does it always have to be 'this blend,' or 'this roast' with these people???) is fair-trade and organic, I was wondering if it were also perchance shade-grown, as well?'

Alright, I don't know that he said 'perchance.' Probably he didn't. But he wanted to. And the poor seventeen-year-old grocery-store worker, who probably drinks Mountain Dew and Denny's coffee by the litre and was writing speed-metal lyrics in his head and finally starting to enjoy pouring bulk penne from bags into canisters picturing the bass he's going to put a downpayment on with his next check had to break his fleeting rapturous chain of thought to go grab some higher-up who has somehow managed to memorize all the individual PC attributes of each and every 'blend' the store has, just to let the Coffee Sensei know whether or not he's hit some arbitrary 2008 liberal-coffee-buying trifecta.

Which is just a way of saying that while I think we should be moved to take action when our conscience demands it, and we should strive to do as much good and as little harm in the world as we can, there are also other things that are, simply, overkill and fatuous, and serve primarily to artificially assuage the ego -- and result in very little effect at all. I wonder when the last time for most of the Yoga Coffee Dudes of the world was that they calculated all that they spend on their blends and contributed it to something better, let alone went and 'fair traded' their own labor for free at a very needy, local nonprofit...

It Goes On...

This is from the Weather Underground. I wanted to go down today after work and take pictures of the rhododendrons and bonsai at the rhododendron and bonsai gardens in Federal Way. (That's a city, not a manner of doing things, in this state.) But there is no sun. There was what we call here a 'sunbreak,' perhaps even two, but not enough to justify my trek.

5-Day Forecast for ZIP Code 98117

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Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday	Monday
56° F | 43° F 13° C | 6° C	63° F | 45° F 17° C | 7° C	59° F | 45° F 15° C | 7° C	56° F | 45° F 13° C | 7° C	58° F | 45° F 14° C | 7° C
Chance of Rain 20% chance of precipitation	Partly Cloudy	Chance of Rain 30% chance of precipitation	Chance of Rain 30% chance of precipitation	Chance of Rain 20% chance of precipitation
Hourly	Hourly	Hourly	Hourly	Hourly
Tomorrow is forecast to be Warmer than today.

I love many things about Seattle. And I think that, despite our thousands of new cookie-cutter condo developments and 'Tuscan' subdevelopments that could just as easily be in Anaheim or Shanghai, there still remains much here to set it apart from other cities of similar size, latitude, demographics, etc. And all you hear about our rainfall is not true: we don't get an extraordinary amount. We are 50-something, I think, in US cities: all the leaders are in the Southeastern United States. What we do get is months upon months of unremitting gloom. It's not especially cold here, either, particularly considering that we're almost in Canada. But what our snuggle with the 49th Parallel does mean is that our winter days are as brief as they should be at this latitude. When you add in the fact that we get none of those glorious brisk sunny days most other people get intermittently through the winter, you are faced with the reality that our lot is a bunch of short dark days: even when the sun is out, it's not, and then it's back to complete darkness at half-past-four or something.

What also have is a lot of bars, and a lot of suicides. But then spring comes, and there is a riot of color everywhere, including every conceivable and comforting shade of green. The streets are lined with cherry blossoms, and rhododendron bushes and trees bloom from white to purple in yards everywhere. By the time the two months of summer are upon us, no one in the Puget Sound region cooks a single meal inside, and it takes triple the time to get anywhere, as all the bridges are up and down constantly to allow for the the thousands of sailboats, accompanied by canoes, kayaks, bowriders, converted liveaboard tugs, dinghies, trawlers on hiatus, and the lamentable cigarette boats to pass under in hoardes. White legs that would shame Dublin are everywhere, not a play is produced or a concert offered, and tourists are the only people eating in restaurants. The failed suicides of February are out at Greenlake in preposterously colored clingy clothes, thirty pounds lighter, completely sober, and practicing asanas with the emotional stability and optimism of any Self-Actualized Man worth his mudra.

It's a shocking way of life.

Alexander Pope Was Wrong

Somewhere between Emily Dickinson and Jean Rhys lie most of the rest of us. Between knowing too little about love to know what to hope for and knowing far too much about it to find hopefulness anything but otiose. Between adolescent longings for the miracle that will save you from having to go to sixth period and the eminently adult realization that nothing is going to save you from anything ever again except God as you construe Him/Her/It/They/Us and what scant measure of caution you are still half-able to muster while getting ever more looped in the loops of her hair.

People always talk about jadedness, and much of our discourse makes it sound like an utterly inevitable concomitant of aging: reach a certain year, and not only are you compelled to vote conservative, buy a sportscar, take up yoga or Italian, set at least one of the presets to 'soft jazz' and attempt in largely unsuccessful and risible ways to reclaim your lost youth, but you also arrive at the hitherto unthinkable position that the vast majority of people are irredeemable asses. I don't believe it's age, though; I would venture it's experience, which is not at all the same thing, at least for some people. If you could live in a pleasant box up to that age (which assumes, of course, the complete lack of both 'soft jazz' and middle-aged adolescents in that nice box with you), then you wouldn't be jaded at all. If you never fall in love, never get tromped on or kicked in the teeth, I fail to see how you could manage to be cynical when contemplating your odds for either of the last two happening simply because you were considering doing the first. There would be no correlation for you, let alone the suggestion of causality.

So it's experience, then, and if you have rather little, you may not be cynical -- but the cost is that you are not especially wise, either. And I suppose this is where I find myself. Not quite Emily Dickinson, since I at least get out of my room sometimes, but certainly not Marlene Dietrich or Coco Chanel, either. When it comes to men, or love, I have no idea what I am doing, and so most of the time I do nothing at all.

I've been single most of the time: take my thirties, for example. Or my teens. It's not the same as reclusive, but it's certainly non-average. There were a couple ill-starred, brief marriages in there, and the rare relationship, and a bunch of me going about my business not worrying about coupling, or love, or whether I was starting to become Greta Garbo. No especial yearnings for something I could have felt I was missing, as I was traveling, or going to school, or running a little business, or whatever.

But I'm starting to feel that both the cynical people and the Dickinsons and Garbos of this world are perhaps on to something. That really, frankly, if you can't know what anyone means by anything they say, it doesn't sound like a very sensible idea to listen to any of it. At least in business meetings people offer up flowcharts and spread sheets to back up their point. At academic conferences you cite page numbers, and offer caveats in advance of your (purposively, of course) too-literal translation, or you have slides with the artworks on them glowing behind you while you argue whatever it is you mean to say about the changes in mudras in 18th-century Thai Buddhas. You back it up with something, in other words, because you have to, because that's how it's done.

Not so in the personal realm. I wouldn't hire a mailroom boy just because he insists he is nice, but that is how it works in dating. I'm not going to call your references, even if you were to proffer them. What I get is 'face value,' and no matter how much I like your face that's not very much. And since I don't know you, I have only a general history of interacting with all the humans I've ever encountered to draw upon in figuring out whether I think you're lying about your wife's affair or your girlfriend's craziness or your catharsis in Mumbai or epiphany in the Bronx. And since even a stopped clock is spot on twice a day, there are times when any of us can get it right, or at least not hideously, egregiously, flamboyantly wrong, using our intuition and experience to come up with the right sensation.

But Dietrich would be better at it. And perhaps some modicum of cynicism is actually called for. I could call it scrupulousness, caution, objectivity, reason, or wisdom and make it sound better. But I never do that, take that approach: that's what I do when I'm thinking about a new car, or whether I should use thyme or dill, or if I need to stop at the rest stop or can make it another ninety miles. I don't want to analyze everything a date says! What if we do enjoy each other, and begin to date, and fall in love -- will I then have to continue checking everything he says against observable facts? God save me I should prefer to die now.

Even with trivia it runs counter to my nature: if it is genuinely something I could never care about, and you really want me to believe it, fine. I could never care, so that means I don't now, too. If it has more weight it will always come out, and generally sooner rather than later. If I am to get the sort of relationship I would hope for, it has to be predicated on radical, utter, full, and deep trust. Starting out by checking the alumni register or Googling anything about a date other than best driving routes isn't me. I can't help feeling that if it is my business to know who you are, I will.

And perhaps the same is true with the reticence I offer you in return for all your putative facts and the biography I fail to investigate and countercheck: I could tell you all about me, all I could give you, all the ways that I am, and the things that I've done, and the beauties and terrors that I've seen, and what it is that makes me cry and what it is that I want more than anything -- but however attractive or repellent any of them may be, they don't matter if you can't take them in context, can't take all of me and let each of them emerge in a graceful, organic, meaningful pattern...