Dino [DEEN-oh] is a common nickname for a number of names. This guy must have a sense of humor: “Dino Nosari” sounds like dinosauri – dinosaurs.
photo taken in Mantova
I’d never heard the name Modestino [mod-ess-TEEN-oh] (literally “little modest one”), but it’s rather sweet, especially in combination with his surname, Lieto [lee-AY-toh] – Happy.
photo taken in Lecco
More names from death announcements.
“Maria Bambina” I suppose refers to the childhood of the Virgin Mary, but seems an odd choice of name. No wonder she was nicknamed Mariuccia [mahr-ee-OOCH-ah] (“cute little Mary”). Then she married into the Rats (Ratti).
Nives I’ve heard before, but would have thought it a Spanish name.
Upper left: somebody, widow of Horses
Gustavo is an old-fashioned name, Jorio I’ve never seen before [YOR-ee-oh], Salvatore [sahl-vah-TORE-ay] is very southern Italian, and… Colombina [col-om-BEAN-uh] – Little dove
Heavens, what a name! Altavilla (high villa) Nobili (nobles). At least he gave his kids fairly normal names (Annarita and Franco).
Marshall reminded me of a very funny and supposedly true case in Italy. It requires some explanation: When a woman marries, she is formally known as “Maidenname Firstname in Husband’s Surname,” I guess “in” signifies that she has married into the husband’s family (though I’ve only seen this construction used in death announcements). So there was a lady with the surname Milolava (“I’ll wash it”) whose parents rather cruelly named her Domenica (Sunday). She married a Signor Piazza, so she became “Sunday I’ll wash it in the piazza.” What “it” may signify is up to your imagination.
Really, some parents ought to be shot for how they name their kids. Years ago, in Washington, I had a data entry temp job for an insurance company. One of the records I entered was for a woman named Candy Caine. Evidently her parents wanted her to grow up to be a Playboy Bunny.
Jan 19, 2004
Ivo wrote me about his friends, interestingly surnamed “Della Bella” (of the beauty), who have relatives with the unhappy surname “Della Morte” (of death). So what did these sadistic parents name their child? Angelo.
And another in the series: “What were your parents thinking?!?”
In the Italian online white pages, you can do a reverse lookup (when you know the number, get the name). Some time ago, the following Internet meme was circulating: go to the white pages and look up a certain number. The resulting name, presumably someone’s legal name, was Bocchino Generoso (Bocchino being the surname – names are listed surname first). Bocchino is slang for fellatio, Generoso… well, you can guess. Unless this is the stage name of a gay porn artist, this guy must hate his parents. Interestingly, when I went back to check a few weeks later, the number was no longer listed.
Enrico and I went to Mantova for a weekend getaway. Friday afternoon we drove to Montecchio Maggiore to leave his mother with her cousin Nini’, and visit with some of Nini’s seven children and various grandchildren, including the irrepressible Claudia, now in her fourth and final year of a Fine Arts degree at the Accademia di Venezia. We also went to the home of Rosamaria and Ruggero to see video of their trip last summer through the American southwest – on bicycles. Everyone in Arizona thought they were insane, bicycling up to 100 km per day in the blazing heat. They belong to a local cycling club which covers thousands of kilometers per year. Naturally, both are in incredible condition!
Saturday morning we got up relatively early, drove to Mantova, and checked into the first hotel we managed to find (the town is a labyrinth of one-way streets): Hotel Rechigi, four stars, 130 euros plus another 20 for parking. A bit expensive for what it was, but certainly central – walking distance from everything.
We set out immediately, stopping off for coffee and a traditional tortino di riso(rice cake) at a lovely coffee bar, then on to Palazzo Ducale, the sprawling palace built by the Gonzagas and decorated by, among others, Andrea Mantegna.
Your only choice here is a guided tour. Our guide was apologetic, saying that it would be much nicer for everyone to be able to go at their own pace, but apparently the museum doesn’t have funds for enough guards to keep an eye on everything. (The entrance fee was only 6.50 – perhaps they should raise their prices.) So we had to stay more or less together as a group with our guide, which sometimes meant waiting til another group had finished in a particular room, or being rushed through when we might have liked to linger.
I got confused at one point when we intersected another group in a huge room containing huge paintings (mostly by Rubens). Enrico and I spent a long time there while our group went off somewhere else, and a guard (apparently the only one with a set place in the museum) told us off for listening in on another guide’s explanation. “That’s a private guide,” he said officiously. And I was supposed to know that – how? Pardon me for stealing soundwaves.
I was listening in hopes of an explanation for the paintings around the top of the room – a tromp l’oeil curtained colonnade. The yellow curtains were mostly closed, or slightly drawn but mostly concealing… horses. Generally you could only see legs, though sometimes there was hint of a nose, and in one niche the curtain draped over the horse’s exposed rear end. In no case could you see an entire horse.
I was mystified by this – was the artist unable to paint a whole horse? – but the private guide offered no explanation. When we eventually found our own guide, I asked her about it. “That room is called the Room of the Archers. Local legend has it that the painting refers to a game the archers used to play, where they had to recognize their own horses behind a curtain. But I think actually the painter was trying to imitate Mantegna’s masterly use of perspective, as you will see in the Camera degli Sposi.”
I remain dubious of both explanations. A game of trying to recognize one’s horse by seeing its legs beneath a curtain sounds neither fun nor particularly challenging, but neither is a horse behind a curtain a good way to demonstrate perspective in painting. Boh.
Everntually we reached the famous Camera degli Sposi (Room of the Newlyweds) aka the Camera Pinta (Painted Room), which was stunning. (No photography or filming allowed, so you’ll have to find your own images to refer to.)
Mantegna’s use of perspective was certainly masterly, and undoubtedly astonishing for his day. The room is painted to resemble a curtained loggiafrom which the viewer looks out on scenes of Gonzaga family history, with intricate landscapes beyond (including a charming, though fantastical, view of Rome – Mantegna at the time had never been there). The ceiling is “pierced” by a tromp l’oeil hole, showing blue sky with a few fleecy clouds, and a strange cast of characters, including fat-buttocked cherubs with butterfly wings, looking down into the room. Apparently from their perspective the hole is a well – there’s even a bucket perched on the rim.
There were many more nobly decorated rooms, all blurring together in my memory now except for the fact that most painters of the period seemed to have no idea what a horse’s head actually looked like. In one huge painting of a battle, all the horses had eyes like humans, both in shape and color (blue) and in being set into the front of the horses’ faces. We had been told that the Gonzagas were very fond of horses (part of their fortune was based on their stud farm), so it seemed odd that they would not have said: “Look, here’s a real horse, just paint it, damn you!”
It took nearly two hours to get through Palazzo Ducale; we finished just in time for lunch. Ristorante Broletto, which we happened upon by accident, was quite good. I had the classic Mantovan dish, tortelli di zucca (pumpkin) with sage butter, followed by punta di vitello (roast veal) with chestnuts. I hadn’t expected that cut of veal to be so fatty, but it was very tasty, and chestnuts with meat are a divine combination.
The menu was one of those unintentionally funny ones where someone had relied on a mechanical translation. “Punto di vitello alle castagne” came out as “point of veal to the chestnuts.” I am considering offering a service in which I will translate menus into correct and appealing menu-style English, in exchange for a meal or two.
While at that restaurant, we heard the waiter arguing with a British tourist who was in search of risotto with sausage and red wine. “Risotto alla Mantovana is made with sausage and white wine,” said the waiter. “You won’t find it with red wine around here.” “But we had it made with Teroldego, in Trentino.” “Yes, but not here.” The tourist was rather missing the point of local specialties.
After lunch we walked several kilometers across town to Palazzo Te, a famous example of some kind of architecture, which we had been told was famous because it was built all on one level. But actually it’s on two levels, the second floor having recently been fixed up to house some miscellaneous collections of Italian Impressionist paintings, old coins and official measures, and Egyptiana. I assumed that these (relatively) low-ceilinged rooms under the roof had been intended for servants, though the attendant I asked said that no one knew what they had been used for. (Why are my questions always the difficult ones?)
The fancy rooms on the ground floor were decorated with paintings and frescoes, including the famous Room of the Giants, whose rounded corners contribute to the illusion that you’re immersed in the scene of the giants attacking Mount Olympus (and being repelled by Zeus’ thunderbolts, which bring huge stones crashing down on them). The room is painted from ceiling to floor, but the lower parts of the walls are faded, and etched with centuries of graffiti – sadly, even in 1746 there were idiots roaming about scratching their names on beautiful things.
That was one of the few rooms with a guard on duty, presumably to prevent anyone else following this sad example. Otherwise, Palazzo Te was surprisingly unwatched, so I was able to get away with a bit of filming (maybe it was even allowed – signage isn’t always very good).
There were more examples of the painters of the time playing with perspective, the funniest of which you’ll have to see in the accompanying video. One set of paintings I particularly liked was a series of the Apostles, clearly painted from real, and probably humble, models: the faces were interesting and human, lacking the artificial nobility and sanctity often given to such figures.
Oh, and there were some really good horses, presumably some of the Gonzaga stud, and definitely painted from life (by Giulio Romano). See the video for them as well. (Drat! They didn’t come out well enough in the video to be worth including. You can see some pictures here.)
On the way back from Palazzo Te we stopped at the Casa del Mantegna, just opened to house a historical exhibit celebrating the 500th anniversary Mantegna’s death. The museum is small but well-stocked, with examples of letters from Mantegna to his patrons (“I and my family remain your most devoted servants…”), complaints about the encroachments of a neighbor on his property, about not being paid for his work, etc. There’s a video explaining many of the elements in the paintings in the Camera degli Sposi, and another about the nine-panelled “Triumph of Caesar,” now hanging in Hampton Court Palace (the Gonzaga family sold their entire collection of paintings to England’s King Charles – thankfully, the Camera degli Sposi is frescoed, so the paintings could not be detached and sold off). Adjacent to this were two small canvases by Rubens, superficially copies of two of Mantegna’s panels, but interestingly different in details such as the faces.
All this high art left me with questions to which I currently have no answers. Speculations from the crowd are welcome:
If someone like Mantegna could have painted whatever he wanted to, what would it have been? (In other words, didn’t the great painters ever get sick of religion, portraits, classics, and allegories?)
If he were painting today, what subjects would he choose?
Artists today have absolute freedom to pick their subjects and styles. Whether or not they find buyers is another question, but few have patrons in the old sense. I guess this is a good thing for the artists, but what the hell happened to technique? Most of the modern art I have seen arguably requires creativity and imagination, but little of it involves much technical skill.
And what ever happened to beauty? With all the famous old paintings I have seen, I get tired of the subjects – I have seen enough crucifixions and martyrdoms to last a lifetime – but there is amazing beauty in most of them, even when the subject is depressing or downright horrific. When I look at modern art, my reaction may be: “that’s interesting,” “that’s arresting,” or “that’s shocking,” but rarely: “that’s beautiful.” (Most often, in fact, my reaction is: “That is incomprehensible and ugly.”)
We wandered the streets a little more, rested a bit back at the hotel, then went out in search of dinner. Following our usual technique, Enrico asked a local – a tobacconist, which happened to be the first shop we came across (you don’t ask at a hotel or bar, because they may have a vested interest somewhere): “Where would a real Mantovano go to eat?”
He laughed, and directed us right around the corner to the Trattoria da Chiara (via Corridoni 44/46, phone 0376223568) – and what a find it was. I had apasticcio di melanzane (eggplant casserole with tomato sauce and a bit of cheese, flavored with thyme and lots of olive oil), followed by tagliata alla veluttata di zucca con grana e aceto balsamico (sliced steak on a bed of pumpkin puree with thin slices of grana cheese and balsamic vinegar). Enrico had tagliatelle with wild boar, followed by stracotto di asino (slow-cooked donkey stew) with polenta. It was all wonderful.
Can’t say as much for the hotel that night. Beds in Italian hotels tend to be hard, with small pillows – not a good combination for my back and shoulders. We couldn’t figure out how to turn the heating down; the thermostat on the wall didn’t seem to have any effect at all, so I kept waking up choking with heat and dryness, til I finally opened the window around 4 am. At least the shower was good and hot water plentiful, and the included breakfast not bad.
Sunday it was raining hard and the streets, so crowded the evening before with Mantovani out for their Saturday shopping and socializing, were deserted, except for a group of tourists huddled forlornly under the porticos, straining to hear their guide’s inaudible megaphone.
We visited the archaeological museum, which is only one room, but at least it’s free. Like similar municipal museums all over Italy, it displays relics from millennia of history- neolithic, bronze age, Etruscan, Roman, Gothic, medieval – all collected in the local area. I was particularly taken with a small bronze bas relief of Achilles embracing Penthesilia, looking down into her face. It expressed a tenderness and farewell that strikes to the heart, though I was disconcerted to find, upon looking up the myth, that this scene takes place when Achilles has just killed her in battle, then falls in love with her beautiful corpse. The piece is gorgeous, and I think I now understand collectors’ lust. Unfortunately, I wasn’t even allowed to take a picture of it.
We stopped by the Tourist Information office to find out what else we should do, and were warmly recommended to see the Teatro Bibbiena, a “small jewel” built into the Accademia, of which Mantova is particularly proud because Mozart mentioned in one of his letters that it was the most beautiful theater he’d ever seen. And so it was. It has five or six levels of boxes, with intricate arches and balustrades made almost entirely of wood, but painted convincingly to look like stone.
When we came in, a group of musicians were gathering for a rehearsal (Mozart). The music in that atmosphere was too lovely to resist: I hid in the boxes and snuck footage, not sure whether I was supposed to or not, but no one came to look, in fact the lady who sold us the tickets had told us casually that we could move the rope barriers and go upstairs, anywhere we wanted. We took her at her word.
We left Mantova around 11 am and headed back towards Montecchio. We considered a stop at the castle above Soave, but an outdoor visit in pouring winter rain had no appeal. We drove around on the tiny, windy back roads, following hand-painted signs to “Agriturismo La Baita,” outside a village that we later learned was called Castelcerino. When we finally found it, this proved to be a baita (mountain cabin) with a nice open fire. We had a mixed grill of thin steaks, sausages, and bacon (grilled in a slab, like British gammon steak), and grilled polenta, plus side dishes of salad and roast potatoes, and a quarter liter of the house wine (a thin, bitter Soave). We finished up sharing an apple cake (just to be polite to the hostess…), then had coffee. The total bill was 25 euros – very cheap, by today’s standards.
A friend of mine who works for an electronic components company was feeling punchy one afternoon…he forwarded me his correspondence with a client for whom English was (thankfully) a second language.
from: [client, name withheld]
to: Rose
cc: David
Subject: missed item
Dear Rose,
I hope you are well.
In October, 2004, we ordered the following item from you:
Spacers – 2,000 pcs.
Now we found out that we have not enough NUTs for that screws. So we have enough screws (spacers) and washers but nuts are missed. The difference is circa 700 pcs. We kindly ask you if is possible to send us that nuts to complete that item asap.
Thanks and best regards,
[client]
From: David
Dear Mr. [client]:
As the new manager of the export department I want to thank you for your email. I am sorry to learn of the missing nuts, but is it possible that it has taken you almost a year and a half to discover your nuts were missing? According to point 6d of [company]’s Terms of Sale (see the our website) the purchaser has up to 8 days to report defects or irregularities and such a missing part is an apparent anomaly.
However, I am concerned about your nuts and am therefore prepared to make an inquiry to our warehouse as to where they might be. In the event that our stock shows an abundance of stray nuts, or an inordinately low number of accompanying screws, I will happily forward your missing pieces, proving once again our commitment to the QUALITY of our products and service.
Rose is away on Maternity leave, but she will be happy to know I am doing my best to track your nuts in her absence.
Best regards,
David
[company]
From: [client]
To: David
Subject: Re: R: missed item
Dear Mr. [David],
Thank you for answer. Yes it is possible to find your mistake after one year and half because we do not want to complicate your life and when we received your goods we knew the quantity is not OK. But as manufacturer we have all components in stock and when the quantity limitates to zero we put the order for new quantity. And as we work with your company more than 10 years we intended to ask you for the missed nuts with the next order of spacers but we have not ordered this components until now and now we have more than 700 screws in stock and zero of nuts.
The nuts should be packed in complete with other components like screw and washer, every component should be in the quantity of 1000 pcs in one bag. But in the kit were not enough nuts. So you will not find the special code for nuts in your warehouse but you have only one code as spacers for the kit. So please check with your supplier to send you the nuts to complete the item screws.
Best regards,
[client]
From: David
To: [client]
I have passed your claim to the quality control team that will conduct a rigorous search for your missing nuts. Additionally, they will perform a cross-referenced check to determine if other clients have experienced the dissatisfaction of nutless screws. Correct, we have no special nut code. I have instructed our team to inspect the unit x/xxxxx while paying special attention to the number of nuts in the bag.
I hope to have positive news soon and I promise to keep you abreast of developments!
Some of you will recall my problems with the first iPod I bought (originally for Ross, in 2003). I inherited it when she bought herself a fancier one, and resolved its “computers can’t see me” problems by connecting it via Ross’ new USB cable, instead of the FireWire cable it came with.
The remaining problem was the battery which, like most iPod batteries, was reduced to minimal capacity very quickly. If charged overnight, it would usually last through my morning and evening commute (2-3 hours total playing time), but if I forgot to charge it… And of course that wasn’t enough for long plane flights.
Back around November, the Washington Post or NYT, I forget which, ran an article about replacement iPod batteries from Sonnet Technology. There was the usual problem with the website – the credit form was not set up to accept payment from anywhere but the US or Canada. I wrote to the company, and someone quickly replied that I could put “Italy” into the form and they would process the payment. The battery cost $30, plus an obligatory $10 for FedEx overnight shipment (I had it sent to my friend Stephanie in the US when I was on my way there). An “official” replacement from Apple for an out-of-warranty iPod would have cost $60-90.
The Sonnet Tech kit contained just a battery (necessarily small), two plastic doohickeys, and a CD-ROM with video instructions.
Getting the iPod open was harder than it looked in the video – clearly the one they used had already been opened several times (not that it showed damage). You’re supposed to press the front and back of the case together hard enough to cause a seam on the side to gape a little, just enough to slide in the thin end of one of the doohickeys. You then work the doohickey all the way around the iPod, and eventually you’ll get it open.
After several nervous failures and some damage to the doohickey, I eventually got the thing open (I actually found it easier to start on a corner than on a side as instructed, but this may depend on the individual iPod). It was then easy, following the video instructions, to detach the hard disk and old battery, put in the new battery, put back the hard disk, and press the iPod shut again (the seams aren’t quite as seamless as before, oh well). I charged it overnight, and it’s been working perfectly ever since. I’m not sure how much battery life I actually have now – may or may not be the 12 hours+ that they promise – but it’s a lot longer than before, I can now go many days without charging it and can, as Sonnet’s tagline says “love my iPod even longer.”
“I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.” Stephen Henry Roberts (1901-71)
Dawkins has devoted much of his career to explaining evolution to the general public. He does this extremely well, and richly deserves all the praise and awards he has garnered.
Unfortunately, all his explaining doesn’t seem to be getting through to those who need it most. I share his despair as I look at a world where science can show and explain so many fascinating things – and there is still so much to discover! – yet so many people prize blind faith above independent thought. And we have only to watch the evening news to see what blind faith in religion is doing to us all.
Hence, I suppose, this program. Intelligent, rational, polite, and genuinely puzzled by religious belief, Dawkins visits various religous sites, such as an American mega-church and the “holy land” in Jerusalem, trying to understand what people find in it all. He makes no progress towards mutual understanding, in part because he picks extreme examples: Ted Haggard (an American mega-pastor and supposedly an adviser to George W. Bush), who condescendingly tells him: “Don’t be arrogant.” And then chases him off the property, threatening to take his crew’s film because “you have called my children animals.”
“Well, so I did,” says Dawkins, “in the sense that ALL human beings are animals.”
In Jerusalem, Dawkins manages to get hold of a New York Jew who moved to Israel to help colonize the Gaza strip, then converted to Islam and now wants all “kaffirs” out of the Muslim holy lands. This man’s fundamental problem seems to be an obsession with female lewdness. “Look how you dress your women,” he expostulates.
“I don’t dress my women,” retorts Dawkins,”they dress themselves.”
And there, I think, we come to the heart of the problem with religions: they are mostly run by men desperately afraid of, and therefore seeking to control, women’s sexuality. I’ve written about this before, but in several more years of thought am no closer to understanding why women put up with it.
To say that women must be covered up so as not to present a temptation to men is a profound insult to both sexes: to the men, who apparently couldn’t restrain themselves from rape if they were to see a bare ankle. To the women, who are thought to be unable to say “no” should anyone offer them sex. Have we (men and women) no more self-restraint than dogs in heat, that the slightest sexual stimulus will have us copulating in the public square? Where is the dignity of humankind in that?
<sigh> I shouldn’t even bother. Trying to make sense out of religion is about as useful as banging my head against a wall. Seeing that a recent real head-bang left me with a headache for a week, I shall desist.
I fear that Dawkins is, um, preaching to the choir; his show won’t have been watched by those who need it most (and I doubt it will be shown in the US outside of PBS). But at least he is trying to shed a light of science and sanity in a murky world.
One worrying effect of the Danish cartoons rumpus is statements from governments and the UN that “all religions should be respected,” and calls for laws against offenses to religion. WTF? Italy already has such a law, which has been ridiculously applied to a satirical website showing Pope Benedict in a Nazi uniform.
No, religion does not deserve to be protected or respected under law, any more than any other belief does. If I were to state publicly that, oh, say, the moon is made of green cheese, people would feel free to ridicule that belief, to my face. Much of religion seems equally ridiculous to me, but I am supposed to be polite and not trample on people’s beliefs.
In fact I am polite where I respect the person, if not the belief. I count among my friends a number of deeply religious people. We manage to respect each other in spite of a deep divergence of views in some areas. I also have friends with whom I disagree on politics or economics. It is even possible to discuss our differences, while keeping a firm grip on our mutual respect: all that’s required is an open mind and willingness to listen.
But to enshrine such common-sense civility in law is ridiculous. You never know when you may need to be uncivil about something, especially when the other side is far from civil. I hereby declare and defend my right to be as rude as I damn well please, about religion or anything else. If you’re civil to me – and that includes respecting my rights and freedoms as a human being – I will certainly be civil to you. On the other hand, if you try to tell me that I’m going to hell, or that I should cover myself so as not to tempt men, or that I’m not allowed read or write or do certain things – well, you’ll find out just how rude I can be.
Clarification and Amplification
Feb 28, 2006
In case it needs saying: I do not gratuitously insult any person or religion (except sometimes inadvertently, when I don’t realize what set of beliefs I’m dealing with). I don’t seek fights about religion, though sometimes sorely tempted. But when the fight comes to me… For example, I had a sharp exchange with a Jehovah’s Witness who insisted on proselytizing to me while I was peacefully minding my own business one morning at the Lecco railway station. I neither started nor desired that discussion, but anyone who insists that I cannot attribute the glories of the world around me to anything but God is asking for trouble.
She went on to dismiss certain non-Christian origin myths as “less advanced” than her own beliefs, setting herself up for the obvious retort: “Then surely my belief in no god at all is more advanced than your still needing a god.” (I don’t think I actually said that, but definitely thought it.) As Dawkins says: “We are all atheists about most of the gods that humanity has ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further.”
My article said: “…the heart of the problem with religions: they are mostly run by men desperately afraid of, and therefore seeking to control, women’s sexuality.”
David responded:
“I think you should cut the word ‘women’s’ because they indeed want to control SEXUALITY, PERIOD (in fact, anything that has to do with the human body).
It’s pure POLITICAL CHOICE that the Catholic Church (in Italy and America) drones on and on about homosexuality and abortion – thereby supporting the RIGHT WING government – and never drones on and on (as CHRIST did in the gospels) about PEACE and love of neighbor (ie: the application of that philosophy to the current war on terror) – which would thereby support the LEFT WING government.
In reading the New Testament you’d get the impression Jesus really didn’t care what people did sexually…he seemed way ahead of all that, with his focus on bigger and better goals…just as today the Church is WAY BEHIND all that with a focus on tiny worldly goals of money and power that are so antithetical to the higher philosophies upon which it was established.”
David was the first (of many) to respond to this article and, shortly after reading his email, I was highly amused to receive a call from Ross, recounting her day at school. I don’t explicitly instruct my child to follow in my radical atheist footsteps, and I certainly don’t want her to be rude about it, but she is her mother’s daughter, and has a very low bullshit threshhold.
A Franciscan monk had come to speak in religion class. The original intent of his talk wasn’t clear, but he immediately got up Ross’ nose by trying to act cool, saying he liked teenagers, and trying to prove it by swearing the way they do (but would never dare, in front of their teachers – and he even said that theyweren’t allowed to!).
He also claimed that he liked kids to openly discuss issues with him. 99 out of a hundred teenagers would do no such thing in that situation, but… Number 100 was in the classroom. (At Ross’ new school, religion class is required. The person who normally teaches the class likes her, because Ross applies more real thought to the topics at hand than her Catholic classmates do.)
After some stuff about how beautiful the world is, the monk said that the most beautiful thing in the world is love (amore – for which he gave a totally wrong etymology). Ross asked: “If love is such an important concept and we should all love, why are some types of love not accepted by the Church?”
“Oh, you mean why don’t we accept culattoni?” (a rude word for gays)
After further discussion, the best answer he could come up with was: “Sometimes the concept of love is right, but the object is wrong.” But he refused to define what he meant by ‘object’ …and it was all downhill from there.
“Ross is the class non-conformist,” explained one of her classmates helpfully. (I think he had already figured that out for himself.)
I have been accused of being proud of my daughter’s pagan attitudes. Well, yes. If Christian parents can be proud of their child’s Christianity, Hindus of their child’s Hinduism, etc., then I have a right to be proud that my daughter has grown up as atheist as myself and her father. Am I pleased if she’s rude to people about it? No… but an adult talking down to teenagers through a hypocritical veneer of “I’m one of you” is not giving them credit for much intelligence – an insult unworthy of any adult, let alone one who represents both scholastic and religious authority.
In response, again, to “the heart of the problem with religions: they are mostly run by men desperately afraid of, and therefore seeking to control, women’s sexuality,” Julia wrote:
“Indeed; I think that’s the heart of the problem with most cultures and governments, too. I believe that ultimately almost all wars (gloss for a variety of conflicts) are a struggle for control over resources (which is why reproduction and thus women’s sexuality is involved), and at the same time, almost all wars are “justified” (“sold” to the cannon fodder and their families) by religion (which is sometimes masked by nationalism or racism but is nevertheless the underlying rationale, never mind that it perverts the fundamental tenets of the religion).
And one reason that religion — especially fundamentalist religion — is so useful to convince people to act against their own interests is precisely what you say later in the newsletter: ‘Children raised to blindly follow the dictates of another person, or a book, or a way of life, are less likely to have the critical faculties needed to evaluate every opinion that comes their way.’
Fundamentalism in anything is dangerous.
‘I’ve written about this before, but in several more years of thought am no closer to understanding why women put up with it.’
Well, religion is clearly not rational, so rational thought isn’t likely to bring understanding. I’ve asked the same question. I ask myself whyI put up with it, especially at a time when my own religion is headed by Papa Ratzi, the Gland Inquisitor (I wish I had come up with that one, but it’s the title of an article by William Saletan in the current issue — the one with the two punk lesbians kissing on the cover — ofConscience, a pro-choice Catholic newsjournal I subscribe to). I think the answer is that we don’t just put up with it. Sometimes we are marvelously disrespectful. As part of the larger fight against patriarchy, there are many organizations and people who are constantly struggling against the stupidity of many of the Vatican-down decrees and for a faith community based on the example of Jesus (egalitarian, non-violent). Some of my favorites are:
Like the larger fight, this one is a long and incremental struggle. Sometimes real change (i.e., Vatican II) as well as backlash against it (recent and present situation) can be seen within a lifetime. In the meantime, we often just roll our eyes at the leadership while living our lives and practicing our faith as we see fit.”
Stan wrote: “Just one tweak about freedom of speech. I agree mostly but differ on the right to mock and insult. Turkish law, as I understand it, makes a distinction between criticism, permitted, and insult, not permitted. The Orhan Pamuk case hinged on this.
Related is the issue of the absolute freedom of speech. Does one have the right to say anything at any time, or are there limits? I think most everyone would agree that there are limits. So then the problem is one of determining what the limits are. One thing is clear. Mocking someone else’s religion is hardly the way to commend the right of free speech to him, The “Cartoon War” is a case in point. Perhaps mocking own’s own religion would be different, because the mocker knows, and accepts, what the result might be. Criticism, even of the most tabu matters, has to be protected by the right of free speech. So where is the line between that and being insulting? Your thoughts, please.”
Ooh, that’s a hard one… and not one I am likely to solve. My gut feeling is that it’s best treated as a private matter, even in the media.
First, we can never be sure what another person’s intentions are. The now-infamous Danish newspaper may in fact have intended to mock and insult Islam by publishing those cartoons, but we’ll never know that unless the publisher explicitly says so. The same is true in face-to-face conversation: how many times has someone protested: “I was only joking!” when you know they truly intended to hurt?
Even when there is no intent to offend, anyone publishing anything can never be sure who may be offended by whatever they say – something I’m keenly conscious of when I write potentially incendiary articles like that one. Though I was writing about topics that make me very angry indeed, I thought long and hard about that article and revised it several times, because I care about my relationships with my readers, some of whom, as I mentioned, I know to be deeply religious.
Another reason that I don’t want to gratuitously offend anybody is that it’s not conducive to dialog. I remain baffled by the concept of faith, but I am willing to concede that there has been and can be good in religion. The kinds of people who read my newsletter are more likely to practice religion constructively than destructively, so I’m interested to hear what their belief does for them individually, and how they feel it can be a force for good in the world. If we could collectively find a way to bring religions back to their core concepts (e.g., perhaps, the teachings of Jesus before Paul got into the act) I could live at peace with most religions – and, more importantly, so could the world.
