Following a soft negotiation of price with the rickshaw driver, I finally had initiated my way back home from the Time to Help foundation. Next to a quick introduction of our names, the driver asked me where I was from. I smiled at him. It was an easy-to-answer question for the majority of people, but not for me.

I was born in Russia, but my family left the country when I was only two; so I don’t remember much to feel part of it.

Perhaps I could say India, as I had lived my childhood within its peculiar, sweet but dirty, and adaptable environment. I saw clean walls filled with images of deities adjacent to walls filled with human excrement. I made friends who were Hindu, Christian, Muslim, or Jain. My friends taught me the language that is spoken by nearly 1/3 of the world. I also sang the national anthem with pride in every assembly. “Where there is love there is life,” says Mahatma Gandhi. The colors that covered everywhere in the “Holi” celebration were the clear message of love and joy lived by the people of India. I simply had been part of the “Bollywood” of the world. The Bollywood where I lived my childhood, gained my patience from its traffic, and celebrated diversity from its people and culture.

Yet, I could not ignore what was written in my passport and I could not ignore my parents, who raised me with the language and values of Turkey. The majority of the books I read when I was a child were in Turkish. I learned about Turkey by listening to Turkish songs, reading Turkish literature, and on top of all I spent a full month every year in Turkey, which gave me a chance to observe the country with first-hand experience. I have therefore socialized within a modified and extended family. Turkey was not a place where I felt at home to the fullest, however the importance of all these past experiences were revealed following the coup attempt of 2016 since which we no longer could visit what my father used to call our “place of rehabilitation.” Thus, my visits to Turkey temporarily ended.

For a moment, I looked at the driver as he was in the middle of a phone call. The loud African music playing behind me reminded me of the fact that I have been living here in Tanzania for 6 years now. As Turkey was waning from my annual calendar, I thought to myself, “Hakuna Matata.” Tanzania had been where I had built a character and made hundreds of friends in schools, orphanages, on streets, and with rickshaw drivers such as Emmanuel sitting in front of me. The smile on the faces of little orphans when I speak to them and play soccer with them has been part of my favorite experiences in life. The day I tried to dance like those children had placed me into the rhythm of their tradition and culture. I learned the true meaning of benevolence and gratitude as I observed the joyful moments of villagers approaching their water well when it was filled with a pure water supply, or orphans who untie their gift boxes in extreme excitement. I learned that true satisfaction was found through serving others. I learned that life could be sincerely enjoyed only when one would explore himself or herself. Life was, indeed, different in the eyes of each individual. I saw many of those vulnerable people becoming only “happier” than they used to be, while many people in wealth have lots to complain about. This relation had always enhanced my curiosity over psychology. I always felt that I had to understand myself, my existence, and my own sense of being before trying to benefit others. In Tanzania, I developed an ambition; an ambition of living, so that others may live.

I suddenly regained my consciousness as the driver threw a glance at me, still waiting for a response. I looked at him and answered “Natoka Tanzania siku hizi” (I am from Tanzania these days), and watched him, as he was laughing, in satisfaction of making someone happy at least for some part of his day.

Violence. It surrounds us. It is all over the media. It is so common in our society today that violence has become the norm rather than the exception. Perhaps one out of every ten people in the United States have experienced or witnessed a violent crime. Psychology Today states that homicide is the 5^th most common cause of death in the United States in all age brackets between 1 and 44 years. Violence to one’s self, in the form of suicide, is ranked second only to death by accidental causes. As violence is a behavior, it is common to lay the blame for violence to a psychological abnormality. Unfortunately, that is not the cut and dried case.

The potential for violence exists in all of us. It is part of our biology. Especially in males. Men are far more predisposed to violence than women, and this has been the case since the dawn of time. We were violent to hunt for food, protect ourselves and our families and to maintain order in society. As we can see, violence is still required today to do much the same thing.

Everywhere, we see the potential for violence. In how the police keep the peace, in how the military defends politics and diplomacy across the globe. In how one group seizes property, or food, or people against their will through the use of violence.

While we are predisposed to violence as a species, let us not forget that we haven’t brought ourselves to the point of extinction yet. This is because for all of our violent tendencies, society has developed a moral structure. Whether it’s because of a common belief in a spiritual concept, a religion, or just some inner moral compass, society has evolved with laws. These laws guide us through what is right and what is wrong. Such an evolution has brought some structure to societies, and has maintained some control over humanity’s violent aspects.

While yes, psychology is part of the equation of violence, there are other determining factors that make a person more predisposed to violence. For instance, it has often been discussed that environment, and external influence play a large part in violent behavior. A person who grows up in a violent environment, or around violent people may be more apt to be violent themselves. This can be seen across the United States where people grow up, and live in rough neighborhoods. Young impressionable people tend to go with the flow in order to be accepted by the elder violent natured individuals in their society. Observing aggressive behavior makes children learn new aggressive behaviors, for we tend to imitate the specific behaviors that we see, and start to believe that it is OK to do the same (Bandura 1973).

Influences in that environment could be a constant state of war such as we see in developing countries. It could be gang members who recruit younger people through coercion, or exposure to violence. It could be any number of hate groups who are able to influence people, imparting to them at a young age that one race or another is inferior, or to blame for something. In doing so, such groups are able to convince people that an ethnic group is deserving violence. So it can successfully be debated that environment, and external influence, are definitely keys to violent behavior.

There are others who argue that it is only biology that is the defining factor regarding violent behavior. In an article for Medical News Today, the author writes that the Hypothalamus, the ventrolateral part of the ventromedial hypothalamus, and the Lateral Septum areas of the brain are specifically to blame for violent behavior. Biology can be a factor to understand violent behavior in relation to build-up of electrical impulses that finally get released in a physical expression. But it surely does not help to explain exactly why these impulses get built-up.

In my opinion, I believe it is a combination of factors. I am United States Air Force veteran who has deployed to numerous locations where violence is common, and then spent time as a contractor there. From my exposure to these other cultures, I can say that I believe that environment plays a large part in violent behavior along with external influence. The more people are fed the idea that violence is acceptable, the more they are inclined to exhibit violent behavior.

It is true though that biology is really the tie that binds all of us into a predisposition for violence. Studies have shown that any person placed under enough negative mental stress will react violently to the situation they are in. In effect the Fight or Flight response is triggered. This is because regardless of environment, influence, or predisposition, we are all human and are all hardwired in the same way. Violence is a product of the Fight or Flight response. When presented with a given situation imbued with enough negative mental stress, we will either fight or run. Factors such as environment and influence will either mitigate or exacerbate our response.

To make matters worse, the ingestion of certain drugs such as amphetamines can produce states where the individual is more prone to be violent. The same can be said for alcohol, which is notorious for lowering impulse control. If the condition is chronic, then the individual will become violent over and over again. Again this is a matter of an external influence.

Now having said that, there are certain people who argue that psychology is the only defining factor. According many health professionals, mental illness is widely considered the principal cause for violent behavior.

People with psychotic tendencies who have no real sense of right or wrong are certainly more predisposed to violence. This is especially so in Paranoid Schizophrenics, where people come to believe they are being persecuted. They may then attack the person they believe is persecuting them. The same can be said of people who are sexually deviant. Often they will perform violent acts against other people to satisfy a psychological need. However, there is a standing argument that sexual deviance is a product of both environment, and the individual being a victim of sexual violence themselves. Therefore, potentially, sexual deviance is a result of environment and negative external influence.

The trend of violence in today’s society has reached epidemic proportions. In violent riots, people may act out violently because people around him or her are acting violently. It is perceived as normal to do so in such situations in which peer pressure, an external influence, lowers an individual’s self-control, thus allowing for violent behavior.

A child with a history of parental abuse kills small animals for the sheer enjoyment of doing so. The child has experienced violent behavior and is looking for an outlet to express his or her own violent tendencies. Once the child knows he or she has an outlet, they will continue to find ways to express their violent tendencies. The concern here is that as this person gets older, the need for release will need to be satisfied to a greater degree. Much in the way a drug addict needs larger and larger doses to maintain a high.

A soldier acts out violently on numerous occasions. He has a string of prior violent actions before joining the Army. Because of his violent tendencies, he is more accepted as a soldier. In such a situation, where violence is considered the norm, a person with a predisposition to violence could function for years before anyone caught on that they were actually emotionally disturbed.

A man with an automatic rifle walks in to a church and opens fire, killing dozens of people. Perhaps he has a deep seated hatred for an ethnic group. Or perhaps he has an issue with the religion being preached in the church. What is disturbing is that he has convinced himself over time that his actions are acceptable. He has decided that it is right to render violence to other people.

We see so much violence now that we have become jaded to it. Oversaturation of the topic by the media has made us numb to the violence in our society. We have in fact come to expect it. This is because the media knows that bad news sells better than good news. This is another example of external influence.

It is therefore my opinion that yes psychology does play a part. So does environment and external influence. When these three factors are combined with the fact that we are by nature, and biology violent creatures, the predisposition for violence increases exponentially. A word of caution however in stereotyping people who, based on these factors, are predisposed to violent behavior. We are all capable of violence. It merely depends on the situation we find ourselves in at a given moment in time.

References

• Bandura, A. (1973). Aggression: A social learning analysis. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

·       Fields. R. Douglas. 2016. “The Science of Violence,” Psychology Today.

• https://psychweb.chbs.jmu.edu/Graysojh/pdfs/Volume101-ChildrenWhoAbuseAnimals.pdf
• https://www.traversebaycac.org/2018/06/15/animal-abuse-child-abuse-link/

The worst thing about cancer they don’t tell you?

The aftermath. The shock waves.

It’s surviving the quick earthquake, only to find yourself dodging falling objects and electrical lines for the next few days.

What they failed to mention was that fighting cancer was the easy part.

The real battle was learning to live again.

I got the news of my cancer diagnosis as a young mother, and after we had moved to a new city with no close friends or family. The kids were 3, 6, 11, and 13. Summer break had just begun, and to make things worse, I could not drive. We were in the wilderness and were fighting for our lives.

We went into “survival mode,” literally and figuratively, and assigned each older child to a smaller child with the plan and knowledge that we could survive if each of the “bigs” both did a load of laundry and dishes a day. At one point, I had a goal to drop off the kids at school, so I could get three uninterrupted hours of sleep after my chemo treatment. I had finally dropped off the children at their three different schools, and my head had barely hit the pillow, when I received a phone call from the school.

“Mrs. Estes? You need to come pick up your children. They all have lice!”

Trials, temptations, disease, and now pestilence were hitting our household simultaneously. I remember thinking, “At least I can’t get it since my hair is gone,” and then laughed at the absurdity that we were so low that my “silver lining statement” included the phrase “Praise the Lord I’m bald.”

But that was not the hardest part. Not by a long shot.

The hardest part was after the storm, when the casseroles stopped coming and prayers had grown weary. The hardest part of fighting a deadly battle comes afterwards when the dust has settled and the gunsmoke has cleared and you find yourself standing in total rubble and destruction.

I shouldn’t say total. We had our health and were still married. Most do not escape with that, I learned. But we both were battered and bloodied. I had a visual representation come to mind of an old battleship slowly pulling into port – disfigured and worn, riddled with bullet holes and laden with shrapnel. We were afloat, but barely.

I awoke from my six-month drunken chemo state to find my life in ruins. While the “bigs” had done a wonderful job helping with the “littles,” there were still unmet needs and unspoken questions that the youngest mind’s lips couldn’t form, which resulted in one regressing into wetting his pants again in first grade and the other becoming a hair’s breath away from becoming non-verbal, screaming “Aaaaaa!” fifty times a day. All of this in addition to the “regular” stresses of having four children about to enter high school, middle school, kindergarten and first grade – and not to mention the emotional withdrawal that naturally comes in a marriage during crisis times and having a son with extreme learning disabilities.

At one point, I was finally able to lift my leg again, and I was able to climb the stairs to our second story – after a year. When I entered the playroom, the scene rivaled the ruins of a never-ending frat party, with beer bottles exchanged for sippy cups and ankle-deep trash covering the floor. It was a sign of what the kids had silently felt during our ordeal, and it served as a visual symbol of my life: ruined and messy.

In World War II, my grandfather was part of the company that liberated prisoner of war camps. At one point, he asked one of the prisoners what the difference was between those that made it out and those that did not.

“The ones that made it found something to look forward to – they had a goal,” he replied.

I took that advice and decided that when all the chemo and radiation was over, I would celebrate with the other cancer fighters I’d met while walking through the fire.

None of them made it. It was heartbreaking.

I “made do” by celebrating with all the friends and family who had prayed and supported us through the journey, but the weight was still felt. In addition to feeling thankful, I also shouldered the burden of false guilt from having survived when my other comrades had fought just as hard, sometimes harder. Soldier syndrome had come home to roost.

So, what do you do when you get through the war only to (symbolically) return to your home to find the farm overrun with thorns and that your wife has run off?

You start from scratch. And you begin with baby steps.

God was gracious, providing me with advice from an “older brother” in the church just when I needed it. He himself had come out of a near death, eight-day coma experience. He emerged paralyzed on one side, but no one would ever guess it today. The first thing he advised when I called him in tears was, “small goals, baby steps, little sister!”

When coming through tragedy, we want our life to be like it was “before,” but the “after” contains components the “before” never had. It is an “apples to oranges” comparison and is unfair to expect them to be the same. Life “after cancer” contains side effects such as “less energy” and “Chemo Brain” that affect what and how much can be done for a while. Just as I couldn’t expect to instantly run three miles again, nor should I have expected to jump instantly back into life, either. The girl who used to pay all the bills, pop dinner into the oven, and get all four kids ready for school before breakfast was now merely able to pay the bills by the end of the day. But that was okay, because that was enough.

Second piece of advice: good enough is good enough. Lower your expectations. Gone were the days of thinking “everything has a place, and everything should be in its place.” Life was still, even now, about survival. Gone were the days of a pristine home ready for entertainment at a moment’s notice; the day of “push aside the mess and have a seat” had come. And that is okay. Because, again, you are now living in a different reality. The good news? There is no fairy that is going to come grade you on how tidy or organized your home is. Your home is there to serve you, not the other way around. Feel free to live as such.

In addition, it is imperative to “accept the new reality” and “don’t look back.” At one point in the recovery process, I placed blinder goggles and a bottle of salt beside my bed to remind myself, “Don’t look back, lest you turn to a pillar of salt!” (like Lot’s wife). I was amazed at how many Bible verses there actually were with the theme of “pressing on” and “not looking back.” The message was clear: the past is the past, and the present is the present. Make sure to live in the right one. Thinking back to how things used to be and trying to make your world look now like it did back then is a guaranteed, instant trip to Insanity Land. Accept that now will not look like then, nor is it supposed to. Celebrate every “new” baby step and make recovery a big ol’ party!

One of the hardest pieces of advice to follow is: try to humble yourself. As a natural giver, this concept was the most difficult for me until a friend helped me realize that life is not all about me, and if I do not ask for help, then I am literally robbing givers of the chance to use their spiritual gift to give. Ecclesiastes makes it clear that life is divided into seasons, and this is perhaps your season to be a receiver. Accept it as you would a blessing for it will bless others as they minister to you.

A final word of advice on the journey of learning to live again: have a creative outlet and take time to feed your soul. Anything from songwriting, to painting, to simply coloring will help balm your weary mind as you learn to do things anew again. For me, I finally completed my novel, began songwriting, and never missed a sunset at our local park for three months straight. Learning to live again is like learning to walk again – hard and tiring. You must make the time to restore and renew your mind, spirit, and soul.

Of course, this all goes with the understanding that we are constantly praying and praising God for every single blessing He brings our way. It can be big things, like climbing stairs again – or small things, like hearing the song of a robin or seeing a butterfly. Whatever the size of the blessing that comes your way that day, praise God for it! And remember: like the butterfly in the cocoon, this season, too, is temporary and will pass.

Journey into Europe: Islam, Immigration and Identity explores the mighty continent of Europe by an academic whose origins lie in the Third World. Professor Akbar Ahmed, one of the renowned scholars of Islam, reverses the longstanding tradition of scholars from the Global North studying the Global South.

Professor Ahmed divides the book into three parts. Part I analyses the fundamental character of European society and its various identities; Part II dwells on the Muslim communities in Europe and elucidates their place on the continent; and Part III reflects on the major challenges the continent is facing and offers some incredibly prudent solutions to deal with them.

At the outset, the author juxtaposes the ideas of the twentieth century German sociologist, Max Weber, and those of the fourteenth century Arab sociologist, Ibn Khaldun, and critically examines European identity from their perspectives. He argues that Weber’s works, which evaluate societies on the parameters of modernity, fail to explain the recent developments in Europe, whereas Ibn Khaldun’s theories, which talk of tribal traditions and codes, perfectly sum up the state of affairs on the continent today.

Central to the analysis of Ibn Khaldun, the book highlights, was the nature of tribal society, which is defined through shared bloodlines and bound by what he called asabiyyah, or social cohesion. The book argues that the rise of right-wing politics across Europe is a sign of the re-emergence of the tribal nature of its society, which means that Ibn Khaldun provides the right framework for understanding the direction in which Europe is moving.

It highlights the predominance of the German culture and identity on the European continent and lucidly explains concepts such as Volk, Heimat, janteloven, and hygge that reflect what the author calls “Primordial Tribal Identity” among Germanic peoples. It is argued that these are the precise concepts that take predatory forms and target minorities when the continent is hit by economic and political instability, as is happening now.

The book also addresses, in great detail, “European Pluralistic Identity.” While doing so, the author elaborates the history and legacy of Muslim-ruled Andalusia, where knowledge and learning were highly regarded, and women and religious minorities were deeply respected. It highlights how ilm, or the Qur’anic instruction to seek knowledge, came to characterize the culture of Andalusia. As a result of what the author refers to as the “ilm ethos” of the erstwhile Andalusians, the region developed a pluralistic and inclusive culture, which in Spanish is called la convivencia, or coexistence.

This section of the book is particularly noteworthy as it underlines the direct, causal relationship between the ilm ethos and convivencia. The author rightly points out that “the urge to reach out to God through knowledge, which is embedded in the ilm ethos, is thus translated into an embrace of God’s creation irrespective of racial, religious, or class differences, which may be defined as convivencia.” It reminds us of the importance we need to give to understanding each other’s faith traditions if we want to do away with the conflict and intolerance that our world is today enduring.

The second part of the book explores the distinct Muslim communities of Europe, which are categorized as Muslim immigrants, indigenous Muslims, and Muslim converts.

The discussion over the condition of Muslim immigrants in Europe clearly refers to the stark difference between the character of British and French colonialism, and thereby the status of Muslim immigrants in these countries, the vast majority of whom have origins in their respective former colonies. It is diligently highlighted in the book that although both these countries, which exemplified European imperialism, have histories of atrocities against their colonial subjects, imperial Britain had a relatively inclusive approach which allowed its subjects to find a place and grow in British society while retaining their own identity with integrity; whereas, there was no such possibility for the French colonial subjects. As a result, while there are a number of immigrant success stories in all spheres of British public life, such as Baroness Sayeeda Warsi in politics, Sir Mo Farah in sports, Salman Rushdie in literature, and Abdus Salam in science, it is not possible to find Muslims excelling in such diverse fields in France.

With regards to the indigenous Muslim population of Europe, the book offers its readers a window into the native yet marginalized and forgotten Muslim communities of the continent. The author revives the memory of the horrific genocide against Bosnian Muslims in the early 1990s and quotes a very pertinent question by the former Mayor of Srebrenica, Camil Durakovic, as to whether the European response to it would have been as lethargic as it was if the Bosniaks had not been Muslims.

The social and economic conditions of other marginalized indigenous Muslim communities such as the Turks of Greece and Bulgaria, the Pomaks, and the Albanians; and the forgotten communities like the Tatars, the Roma, and the Cham are also fairly addressed in the book. Despite their long history of loyalty and service to their motherlands, they are not considered as part of the Volk in the nationalist, tribal imagination of Europe.

“The continent that centuries ago launched the crusades against the Muslim world and later colonized it is now, ironically, providing Islam with a new lease of life” (p. 306).

This sentence brilliantly encapsulates the significance of Muslim converts in Europe. At a time when referring to Islam as a religion of barbarity has become a norm, thousands of Europeans, especially women, are wholeheartedly embracing it:

“… Europeans approached the subject of conversion to Islam with intellectual seriousness and careful reasoning. They are in the tradition of the European philosophers in their quest for truth and meaning. … Their conversion is invariable a mixture of head and heart. It should also be noted that European primordial identity – which has reservations regarding morally vacuous materialism, consumerism, and globalization and defines differentiated roles for men and women – finds an echo in the attraction many converts feel toward Islam today” (p. 306).

The final part of the book deals with a range of matters of crucial importance, such as the effect of European primordial identity on Muslims and Jews, the impact of the repugnant terrorist group ISIS on the lives of European Muslims, and the imperative for convivencia on the continent.

This section of the book discusses in great detail how Jews were persecuted, and Muslims appreciated, throughout Europe’s history because of the typical attitude of primordial tribal identity towards religious and ethnic minorities. This attitude has been reflected in the works of German philosophers like Johann Gottfried von Herder. Herder believed that only those who lived in their own lands with the people of their own ethnicity and shared the same cultural traditions were deserving of respect, and therefore he disparaged the Jews for relocating to Europe and admired the Arabs for continuing to live in their original homeland in the deserts of the Middle East.

However, Ahmed notes that the establishment and the rise of the State of Israel has been a formidable force on European politics and perspectives. Simultaneously, the unabated chaos in the Middle East and the consequential refugee crisis have resulted in the dramatic reversal of relationships. Although anti-Semitism is still rife within European right-wing movements, the general European view of Jews, who are now settled in their homeland, is mostly positive; whereas even moderate Europeans view the Muslim community, who have been dislocated from their homelands, with suspicion.

A careful and comprehensive analysis has been done by the author on the issue of ISIS and the support that it garnered from some sections of European Muslims, which is reflected in the fact that over 5,000 of them travelled to Syria and Iraq to join the terrorist group. He argues “that supporters of terrorism are not monolith, and their paths to terrorism are different,” and divides “these Muslims into three categories: those immigrants with a tribal background, those with a modernist Islamic background, and European converts.”

The author gives a set of different reasons that these Muslims had/have for their support of the dreaded terrorist group. For instance, for those with a tribal background where taking revenge is part of the culture, marginalization, constant cultural humiliation, and an utter lack of opportunities in Europe drove some of them to seek revenge through terrorism. For those with a modernist Islamic background, the inability of elders to engage in serious intellectual debates meant they tried to find answers on the Internet, where some ended up reading literature posted by radical groups. Lacking proper guidance about their new faith and its doctrines, new European converts were not taught how to eliminate discrimination and injustice against their new fellow brothers and sisters in faith. In their efforts to find guidance, some were radicalized.

Ahmed’s book also points to the very important fact that support for ISIS is high in places where Islamophobia is high, and it is low where Islamophobia is low. It notes that given Southern Europe has some memory of convivencia and as a result has low Islamophobia, no European Muslims who travelled to the Middle East to join ISIS came from this region.

Based on the fieldwork findings, Professor Ahmed concludes his book with ten immensely valuable solutions. These are meant to contain the crisis that seems to be engulfing Europe. The first among them is reviving the ilm ethos and seeking knowledge about one another, which is extremely close to my heart.

Ahmed’s book is a must-read not only for students of anthropology and sociology but also for the decision-makers, in Europe and beyond.

Journey into Europe: Islam, Immigration and Identity
By Akbar Ahmed
591 pages, hardcover
Brookings Institution Press (February 27, 2018)
ISBN: 978-0815727583

Coming to the Canadian experience, which has no doubt been hovering in the backs of our minds, with a nation requiring so much intellectual mediation, we may well worry that as the memory of the parties who fought on the Plains of Abraham fades into the background of the national consciousness, only homo economicus may survive, who looks to the nation only to optimize consumerism in the quest for status, rationalized as the summa of self actualization.

And we may justifiably worry that the universals of human nature which have obstructed utopian visions will continue to haunt the national dream, among them nepotism, inequality of intellectual and social potential, and the quest for dominance through violence, which is also embedded in our genes. And by the way, on the score of economic man, you’ll be amused to know that the most sophisticated instrument for the study of national identity, called the National Identity Scale, is not the work of academics or Statistics Canada, but of marketing agents. You can google it. Their goal is to profile all of our nationalist sentiments, loyalties, and proclivities in order to target our purchasing inclinations. How ironic is it that interested parties are seeking to brand us as consumers by profiling our diversities of national feeling?

There are other obstacles to national experience and identity worthy of mention. The word itself is derived from “natio” which essentially means birthplace, taken from “nasci,” to be born. We may well wonder whether our place of birth is our life’s destiny. He or she who swears an oath to the Queen in a citizenship court is making a vow that is tantamount to a religious conversion. Yet where people are born remains a huge part of their identity. A group of Canadian nationalist academics back in the 1970s, in a narrow spirit of mind, confirmed that very belief by stating that anyone not born in Canada lacked a true national experience and should therefore be barred from all positions of influence within our university systems. What a doctrine to impose upon an essentially immigrant nation, eager to recruit talent from abroad to maintain its national dream!

Yet that issue will never ultimately die, because we will never ultimately agree about how we construct identity and fashion allegiances, who is really in and who is not. How malleable are we, and how much baggage from our pasts is too much when it comes to forming a new national community? And how much superiority can the native born claim for themselves?

Something once said by George Bernard Shaw cuts both ways: “There is nothing that can be changed more completely than human nature when the job is taken in hand early enough.” The gist of it is that we are indeed malleable, but only when we are young. Each of us here is as apt to speak Japanese as any child born in Japan, had we been born there. Yet nothing makes learning Japanese more difficult than first speaking English, because we were born here. So is birth tantamount to the only nation we can experience? How much plasticity do we have? Can a second language ever equal a first? That debate is likewise yours to discover.

The topic of memory in this context is also significant. It is not possible to dwell on all its complexities here, for memory is both key to the construction of t he self and key to those common experiences that define national identity. But self and nation entail different kinds of memory. A self is a point of view concerning its own lived history. National memories are preserved through books, paintings and pictures, letters, and journals housed in national archives and libraries. A nation emerges only when historical memory becomes personal memory, when the story of a people is internalized, inviting us to feel for and with those who created our national past.

Can a nation shed this component and still be a nation? I ask in innocence. Perhaps we can thrive together on current events. But if we require a deeper historical memory, how is it to be framed and disseminated? It is a real challenge for educators, who must referee among the embarrassing facts, the touchy opinions, and political correctness. Can we even afford an embattled Canadian history? Or do we beat our breasts and construct it as one long trail of colonializing abuse and ethnic misunderstanding? After all, two of our three founding peoples are conquered nations, and much of the history of Canada has been devoted to assuaging the loss of those former identities.

The Quebecois have a dearly-held sense of themselves as a first experience quality of nation centered on birth, language, a common history and culture, and at one time a common religion, yet they too must seek to embrace the contractual, legal, and secular components of a modern pluralistic society. The most intense intellectual debates within Quebec today are concerned with this very question. There is a lot of nostalgia in la belle province, and who can blame them? At some level, we all crave the kind of oneness they hope to find in a society still tenuously held together by a common language and traditions, made urgent by a history of perceived subjugation and collective hope.

Meanwhile, it is easy to imagine how irrelevant those confrontations must seem to newer Canadians who have no stakes in that conversation and can only hope for a second order gesellschaft nation or retreat into former national feelings; our historical solitudes go in many directions. Yet this part of our national experience cannot and should not be pretended away. And thus, how do we shape the collective memory of Canada? An attempt will be made in the transformation of our National Museum of Civilization into a Museum of National History, which I think we all recognize as an effort in nation building, in selectively representing the Canadian past in ways which will instill national pride in all its citizens. But whether this new institution will represent a faithful and comprehensive history or a cheerleading version of it remains to be seen. Behind it all is an admirable goal, to give our national memory a monument or shrine to make visible who we are, and to make it accessible to all the people.

I have thrown up a lot of obstacles to the realization of national identity in modern diversified societies. Unfortunately, I cannot resolve all the stressors and dilemmas which I have raised. I would be bigger than God if I had a band-aid for all our national divisions, and I would be a menacing tyrant if I had the power to imprint nationalist universals by fiat in the mind of every citizen.

What I would venture is that we all desire to be members of a national community—to participate personally in that cluster of ideas which not only holds us together but distinguishes us from all other nations, and to experience it as part of our extended personal identity. It is a level of the self that is big, but not too big, and still within imagining. National sentiments are strong when Canada does well in international ratings concerning our financial fundamentals. We are justifiably proud of our social welfare net, our peacekeeping objectives, or when planes fly overhead in formation, or when we take Olympic medals or win the World Series.

But we sense there is even more pro patria to be felt through education, historical consciousness, generous feelings toward our fellow citizens, and openness to dialogue and exchange. Emotions cannot be coerced, but when we feel them, they can help form the bonds that hold us together. In Canada, a dialogue among cultures has replaced the monolithic orientations of older and more traditional societies, which is now as it must be, but it is an ongoing experiment all the same, with an uncertain outcome. That brings us back to the intercultural and interfaith dialogues sponsored by such organizations as the IDI (Intercultural Dialogue Institute), which are vital to the shaping of our national ethos; we become one in sharing our differences and in understanding just how those differences still pertain both to our common humanity and to our national aspirations. In that regard, we can champion Fethullah Gulen’s great commission when he urges that “Each person who loves his or her country has to be a proper representative of that nation. Every member should invest in its values and put energy and aid into its development, and follow this pathway throughout life.” It is a great reciprocity conducted by granting identity to others and assuming an informed identity for ourselves.

A nation is dialogic. It is made by thinking it together. My purpose has been to think about the self and its experience in the context of nation, and how buying in cognitively adds to our experiencing of the self as a thinking participant. I can’t imagine a working nation without conditions like respect for law and the rights of others, respect for democratic institutions, and fiscal integrity. And here we get into the hard points for discussion. We need working languages to avoid our own Tower of Babel; thus it seems reasonable that we foster the two official languages of Canada as efficient vehicles of communication. We need citizens with religious sensibilities, even if they are confirmed atheists, but we must be wary of guiding ourselves in matters of the collective secular nation by religious principles more specific than generic ethics and civic morality; the French Revolution got that right. We need residents who imagine the common good and respect the dignity of life by instinct. And I would add my support for extending the historical consciousness of the nation, because Canada has had a rich history in its scant 400 hundred years of urban settlement. Canada has been pluralistic from its inception, yet we have forged a sense of a single dominion historically grounded and tied to a precious social and political formula based on reason and the spirit of order and cooperation. Yet I think we can remain true to our inspiring cultural diversity through discussion and sharing. Upon such a heritage, minds can build a nation.

I seem to recall that it was a beer company that branded us with a bit of national self-affirmation through its “I am Canadian” campaign. It was a “good feeling” ad. But Gulen said it more eloquently: “It is vital for citizens of a nation to say, ‘this is my country.’ The altruism of today will lead to the happiness of tomorrow’s generations.” And all this we do with our brains and minds in the most remarkable and mysterious of ways are, as a cognitive philosopher, are matters of eternal fascination to me. Nation-building we accomplish only by synchronizing our minds. We build an invisible yet compellingly real national community just by thinking in a collective way. Nation, in that sense, is a cognitive and emotional opportunity for the construction of the self, and clearly as a collective idea, nation has its adaptive value as a point of view from which we exercise our interests in the world. That alone gives grounds for the instauration of national bonds.

Donald A. Beecher is Chancellor’s Professor at Carleton University, Ottawa, Canada.
Editor’s note: The first part was published in the previous issue #99.

So when it comes to self identity, in what kinds of groups are we most likely to flourish? And if the sociological truism holds that we bond first with those who confirm our identities by being most like us, how large is that group likely to be?

Steven Pinker, in The Blank Slate, states that “The universality of ethnocentrism and other forms of group-against-group hostility across societies, and the ease with which such hostility can be aroused in people within our own society” is one of the greatest obstacles to the extension of identity communities.

Still, for an opener, you can see self and group formation at work in high school cafeterias as clusters of the like-minded create an identity by excluding outsiders, largely through gossip, sometimes around matters as trivial as a dress code, or who owns the latest electronic gadgetry. In effect, they are behaving like little tribes or nations. The fascinating part is the emotional drive to belong, and the fear of exclusion, even from groups arbitrarily defined and ephemeral, including those created in cyber space. These same principles pertain to the 700 gangs which form the social fabric of south-central Los Angeles. Yet, arguably, this same group-making process, through intellectual imagination, might be extended all the way up to the world nation or global community, with each echelon defined by shared interests, activities, values, and memories. A nation, among them, is a mutuality of thinking among persons sharing common purposes. Yet as a principle of social cohesion, it is also emotional, allegiance-oriented, exclusionary, and collectively administered. There is no nation without those who are not members. Nations may also entail chauvinism, loyalty tests in time of threat, and hostility toward non-members. Karl Deutsch famously defined a nation as “a group of people united by a mistaken view about the past and a hatred of their neighbors.” In his view, national groups lie to themselves about who they are as warriors or victims in order to justify their aggression. They can act as gangs. That is an unnecessarily dark view of the national experience, but it gets much brighter as we go along.

According to the traditional dictionary definition, a national bond arises, not only because people share a common geographical territory, but because they practice the same mores, speak the same language, worship the same gods, fight common enemies, participate in the same identifying rituals and traditions, share a common stock of stories and a common history, and are often related to each other through blood ties. Cohesion around sporting events and beer preferences is merely a parody of bedrock national identity, although in a self-effacing manner, Canadians like to start there. But it is inversely conceivable that diverse peoples with diverse allegiances may somehow share a common territory without a sense of national identity, because most of those listed characteristics typically defining a nation are simply not shared by the members of pluralistic societies. So if such populations are to find an identity center for themselves in a nation, they really have only three options.

One is to redefine themselves around more vague, generic and inclusive categories of nationhood. Another is to impose uniformity through the melting pot, the Lord Durham solution, through enforced and universal education, imposed official languages, an official history, and official social rituals in the search for a common brand of allegiance. A third is to choose a new concept under which they can unite themselves as a secular community and forget about being a nation altogether. In my view of Canadian practice, we are currently pursuing all three solutions at once. The third option entails falling back upon the universals of our humanity. We might simply acknowledge the common desires and instincts of all humankind as members of the global village, and we might view Canada as a piece of this village in which we listen to each other’s first national stories in a spirit of good will. Is that not the mandate of the Canadian ministry of multiculturalism? To be sure, it would seem only right that we remain free to express the national imperatives of our birthplaces, our mother tongues, our religions, and our respective ethnicities, yet such practices appear to obstruct the formation of a specifically Canadian national identity-or maybe not? The point is very much up for discussion.

Let’s return for a moment to the second option, the nationalist teach-in for all citizens. While recognizing diversity, national governments may also recognize the value in proactively promoting a national brand, but it is a challenging enterprise, because a meaningful nationalism cannot be bought with jingoism, cheerleading, and trinkets, or bread, circuses, and revisionist history. Identity as a mind-state entails a combination of pride and duty that is somehow earned and experienced, who knows exactly how? It is something we instinctively desire, yet identity arises only when we feel emotionally drawn to the collectivity of minds, values, and practices that constitute a nation-the argument becomes circular. We may well wonder how such emotional allegiances may best be fostered. It is a point to which I will return. But it must also be lamented that nations may also include stories of failure; in fact, our literature is full to overflowing with them, and they are studied in our university classrooms with empathetic attention. From that perspective, a lament for our national failure to create a national home for new Canadians may be our most common and unifying characteristic; it is an obsession among our literary critics.

There are many stories to choose from, but I am most immediately reminded of a touching personal narrative written by Elena Maccaferri and translated by her sister as A Bench on Which to Rest. Maccaferri came to Canada from a small village above Bologna, lured to a better life by an Italo-Canadian who promised marriage, but failed to meet her at the dock upon her arrival. A hard and lonely life followed, until she was at last found by a man who had also come from her village. She went on to raise children here, who grew up Canadian in soul and spirit, but Elena could never find a true home away from her native mountains, and was overwhelmed by nostalgia. At last, when her children were grown, she returned to Italy, only to discover that all she once knew had vanished. Canada had found no place in her emotions, but had succeeded only in alienating her even from her own children.

Thomas Henricks stated that “for the most part, people experience personhood in the terms that their host societies offer them.” But that does not always happen, and when that host society somehow fails to offer acceptable terms around which personal values can flourish, the story becomes tragic, as it was for Maccaferri. It was a crisis in personal identity in relation to a nation. And while I’m telling stories about the inability of a host nation to inspire allegiance, I’ll mention another, which goes back to my bachelor days as a young Carleton professor. I had just exhausted my resources on a six-bedroom fixer-upper in Ottawa south with rooms left over to rent out to students. In that little community we had a mysterious roomer who never joined in our collective kitchen exploits and conversations. That was not a problem in itself, but his place in the household came to a strange crisis, nevertheless, when one afternoon a couple of the other students found him in the kitchen counting out huge piles of change. He explained simply that if the laundromat owners were so stupid in their choice of coin boxes, they deserved to be robbed. In no time I had a report upstairs, and went down for an account of my own. It was a sad litany: that his father had come to Canada with promises and expectations, and that to his mind this country had ruined him, giving him only custodial work to do. In his disappointment, he had trained his children to blame the entire country, giving them carte blanche to recover his losses any way they could. The laundromat theft had been conducted as a grievance against the nation. Any Canadian was thus a fair target, and revenge could be taken indiscriminately. What bizarre turns the idea of nation can take; it is a reminder that dialogue can help.

When social groups are organized around adhesion to extended clans or tribes, as they were among the First Nations of the New World, we have an early example of the tribal-nation as a tight working survival community sharing a single culture, and calling for unflinching loyalty. But it was only after the long hiatus of the Dark Ages, and a pre-Renaissance period characterized by city states and assorted feudal principalities that the modern nation emerged in conjunction with the political institutions that framed the autonomous state.

The sixteenth century was the first great age of nation building, with England leading the way under the Tudors. And what an experiment it was. A poem I teach nearly every year is entitled The Faerie Queene, written by Edmund Spenser. It was, unabashedly, a national epic which, by chivalric and allegorical example, set out to teach its readers the great civic virtues upon which the new nation could build, including loyalty to the queen and a sense of duty in the cause of right and justice.

Of course, there is nothing like war and the threat of invasion to quicken a sense of common cause and rouse a sense of national fervor. This is simply a by-product of the craving for self- protection which can only be realized where there is a feeling of all-for-one and one-for-all. Canadians still construct some of their strongest moments of national identity through recollections arising from the First and Second World wars. They are noble stories in which we all can share, dealing with a nation coming of age through the baptism of sacrifice. And we have been reminded at times that the nation expects such matters to be treated with ultimate respect and honor. On these occasions the self is lost for a moment in the experience of the nation, and in that regard it is an experience of extended identity, a national ritual that contains the self within the group. The spiritual philosopher, Fethullah Gulen, extends that loss of self in a nation into a hope for a collective future: “Any nation that liberates itself from the deadly web of selfishness and egoism, stereotyping, excessive entitlements, fear of the future, long-lasting hatred and hostility, and at the same time respects the freedom of ideas and beliefs, while turning away from oppressors, as well as giving rights to the innocent, will surely experience long life.” That requires not only self-investment, but collective monitoring and the mastery of the dialogic self in each member. Such a nation must seek to amplify the positive qualities of experiential identity at the national level. But how to extend that experience to the optimum level of respectful allegiance is a challenging formula to meet.

We are, in fact, discussing a rather elusive state of mind. What is it like to experience an ideal national allegiance? How will it feel to be a participating member? One part of our nature seeks a spontaneous glow of unconditional brotherhood in a community of homogenous values. Another part realizes, intellectually, that we have a mutually beneficial contractual arrangement with fellow citizens only at a legal and organizational level. The German terms for these, often employed by scholars, are gemeinschaft for the former, and gesellschaft for the latter. The contrast can be understood historically. In the Middle Ages, rural populations spent their entire lives within view of their parish church steeples; their thought preoccupations were concerned with fixed or received views invested in work, rituals, and customs which remained unchanged throughout generations. Such communities had little need for debate or discussion, because everyone knew what the others were thinking. These were societies entirely integrated through common religious festivals, language, history, and traditions. These were experiential quality nations generating a sense of gemeinschaft.

Renaissance societies worked outwards from this communal base toward new identities based on restraint in a secular, legislated, legal, and impersonal society. This new order we might call a second experiential quality of nation, conceived as a partnership or a social contract to promote political and economic order. Both the communal nation and the legal nation are principles of group organization and experience, but they do not share a common ethos. For better or for worse, the modern plural nation has been compelled to redefine itself as a society regulated by law, charters, and citizenship-a gesellschaft. My point is that as societies foster libertarian individualism, much of that intuitive and communal sense of the first experiential quality of nation disappears. We have heard much, since the nineteenth century, about alienation, solipsism, existentialism, the anxieties of modernity, the breakdown of the nuclear family, rapid mobility, and transnationalism.

The longing for a tribal structure in size and cohesion prevails even in modern societies. We might try to replace that feeling at the national level through an equitably administered legal society, through education, and through health and welfare support. But that returns us to the awkward crux. Does a true sense of brotherhood and identity emerge only when there are collective bonds that include language, religion, customs, food and festivals, and life on a village scale? States may structure themselves around welfare nets, global educational systems, and the legal protection of opportunity for all, but there remains intense anxiety over the oneness of our collective national experience.

Donald A. Beecher is Chancellor’s Professor at Carleton University, Ottawa, Canada.
(Editor’s note: A follow-up of this article can be find in the 100th issue of The Fountain Magazine)

If you want to know why some of us are so poetic, while others are strictly straightforward, then read on this unprecedented discussion and see how the Left Brain and the Right Brain discuss their differences.

Moderator – Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we have two guests that have long been the focus of media attention: Left Brain and Right Brain. We are going to discuss their opinions on various issues. Without losing much time, I want to get to the first question. Many public figures who have inspired people go through a period of self discovery, after which they define their identities and their surroundings anew. Did you have a similar self-discovery period? And if yes, how do you define yourself now?

Left Brain – I guess I never had a distinct enlightenment period, but I kept building on top of what I already knew about myself. So, my self discovery starts with my babyhood, really. For example, as the eyes gained the ability to distinguish colors and to focus on objects at different distances, I realized that I can collect information about the outside world through colors, shapes, and distances. As the muscles became stronger, I felt free to move my body and developed the notion of being distinct from other things around me. I also realized that I can gather data about what is where, how I can find what I need… When I learned to speak, I developed the notion that there are other people like me out there, for whom I am the other. And so on…

Right Brain – Before I say anything, I would like to bring to your attention that the way I am named is not something I came up with or something I am delighted by. For me, there isn’t a left-right distinction. There is a brain, and that’s it. And actually, I would not call the eyes separate organs. They are only a different part of the same organ, i.e. the brain. Muscles are alike. They are not distinct entities. We are all part of the same organ. So, for me too, self discovery started with my babyhood, but realizing my new abilities forced me to redefine myself, again and again. For example, when I discovered my legs, I did not become a brain with legs, but opened my eyes to a new dimension of my existence. I realized that I was not just about what I thought I was. The same goes for vision, or smell. When you smell something for the first time, that is a creative act. When you taste a fruit for the first time, that is an invention for you. All these culminate in a notion in which everything unifies. Walking is thinking, thinking is walking. Seeing is tasting, tasting is seeing. So, for example, if you cannot solve a problem, try smelling it, tasting it, walking it.

Left Brain – Let’s not get poetic here. If you cannot solve a problem, that’s because you either haven’t gathered enough data or haven’t yet developed a known pattern of solution. It’s also possible that your attention, in the moment, is distracted, due to things like walking, smelling, tasting; you know what I mean?

Moderator – Let’s not lose our focus here. The next topic I want to bring forward is a little more subtle: love and marriage. What do you think love is, and why are marriages today more restrained than before?

Left Brain – There are different categories of love. For instance: the love between couples, the love between parents and their children, and the love between friends are not the same kinds of love. So I am assuming that you are specifically talking about the one between couples. Even in this type of love, there are various facets. Sometimes, it means dedication to support each other. Sometimes it is being valued by the other. You can extend this list. Love is like light. The same phenomenon can display itself in different colors and strength. Today, there is a lot of research about the physical manifestations of love, and the properties of successful marriages. There are also studies on divorces. It seems that, for the moment, there is no predictor of the fate of a given marriage in the long run. Having said that, I should admit that there are some proxies of an imminent divorce. For instance, addiction or a lack of intimacy often lead to divorce. Aside from the factors that are related to the conscience of individuals, there are more subtle factors that need extra focus. The fast pace of change in modern life versus the slow change of cultural settings definitely brings stress to many couples. The norms and expectations from each other depend on one’s cultural and emotional baggage. Whether one can fulfill those expectations given the modern conditions is another story. All these are playing a role in restraining the family in our times.

Right Brain – Like anything else in the universe, we look for unity. If you love someone, you want to be with them, because love is a realization that part of your existence is in the other. We all crave for being one with those we love. But why don’t we feel such emotions for anyone but only for certain people? Perhaps, this is one of the points where the veils before destiny are pulled open. When we tell someone that we love them, we actually mean, “I need you… and I need to be needed.” This is a two-way hunger which is quenched by the unity of the lovers. This is why love inherently demands continuity; for unity is only established when all separations in time and space are eliminated. And this is why, perhaps, marriages are most troubled today. Life conditions and individual choices are not made in order to nourish continuity. Staying side by side is mistaken for unity.

Moderator – Have you ever fallen in love?

Left Brain – Is there anyone who hasn’t? As one colleague of mine says, “we are wired for love and belonging; that’s why we are here.” Love is one way of becoming a part of something bigger than us: having a family, raising children, and contributing to the well-being of our society through various love-inspired activities. Even ascetics and saintly people pursue a path of love inspired by God. So, love is all around us.

Moderator – But I asked if you ever “fell in love.” I understand if you don’t want to go that deep into your private life.

Left Brain – (pauses for a second) … I might have felt special things for some people. But, in the long run, I saw that those feelings did not bear any meaning for the real life. And this realization gave me immunity towards those special feelings. If you can stand back, and take a deep breath… Oh yes, and let me say this as an aside: this is how love works. You cannot step away from the situation and breathe deeply or think clearly. Love only works when you can’t think clearly. This loss of brain power is eliminated when you hit the bottom of the love you are falling into. So, what was I saying? If you stand back and take a deep breath, you’ll see that there are thousands of people with whom you can get along with at least as well as the one you are with at that moment. Nobody is irreplaceable. There is always another one more beautiful, friendlier, more generous, more sacrificing, etc. There is always going to be another love following the current one. So, no need for falling!

Moderator – What about you, Right Brain? Have you ever fallen in love?

Right Brain – I can’t breathe without love! For me, life and everything in it gains meaning only through love. And this meaning is not always visible at first sight. “L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. On ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur.” As the fox tells the Little Prince, what’s essential is invisible to the eye; one only sees well with the heart. So, falling in love reveals the meanings hidden behind objects and events. It’s not that you fall in love with something that is extraordinary, but that love makes the ordinary things extraordinary. It is the intertwining of their destinies that make people special for each other. Imagine this: the Great Author of the universe is writing a love story of you and your beloved one. What greater meaning can you ask for? For me, each and every person I fell in love with is special, no matter how the story ended. I always keep a room reserved for them in my heart.

Moderator – In the last century, scientific thought and technological achievements led many people to question their religious teachings and affiliations. Their faiths were shaken as a result of their experiences in intellectual and social areas. I even remember a book titled Youth’s Faith Is Stolen by Questions. My question to you is: how do you define the relationship between religion and science?

Left Brain – This question has been asked on many other occasions. For me, this is a straightforward issue. Personally, I am a believer. For me, science gathers information about the outside world. Religion tells me about the purpose of the world. A more cliché way of saying the same thing is, “science answers how, religion answers why.” Therefore, I don’t see why the two should contradict or clash. You can have a user’s manual for a car or a computer. But what you are going to do with it is totally up to you. Science and technology are like that manual. From them, we learn to make use of what is available here in this world. But religion guides us in what we should do, or how we should do it.

Right Brain – If you go back in history, you’ll see that religion and science were not different entities. Even the several branches of science we have today were united as a single body. If you were a knowledgeable man, you knew everything. Of course, with the accumulation of more and more information, a classification was needed, but unfortunately this classification led to oblivion among these different classes. Nowadays, people are rediscovering the value of the unity of knowledge through interdisciplinary studies. The same, I think, is true for religion and science. Had things taken a different route in history, one in which the sense of unity was essential, the definitions we are using today would have been completely different. Science would not be the study of how the universe functions but how God executes his will in the physical realm. Similarly, instead of being perceived as a set of rules that bound both God and people, the laws of nature would be defined as the stable patterns (straight paths) of creation that host the travelers in life. Accordingly, those stable paths would be a restriction for us, as humans, but not for the Lord of the worlds. Such an understanding would have, perhaps, fostered a completely different history than what we have now. Reading the creation as verses from the Perfect Designer, treating life events as personal instant messages from the closest Friend would transform our journey in this world from a merciless struggle of survival to being the hero of our stories, which are produced by the Supreme Sustainer.

The same goes for how religion is perceived and practiced. Instead of becoming a set of precise actions and words, religion would be the way to educate our conscience and will in order to be respectful lovers of God. Instead of becoming a formula that “ensures” heaven solely for its followers, religion would be the means to spread peace and prosperity to everyone, just like the All-Merciful one sustains even those who deny His existence.

Moderator – Finally, I would like to ask you the ultimate question. Where is the world headed regarding its current economic, ecological, and political unrest? Do you see hope for the future?

Left Brain – Oh, absolutely! People have been voicing similar concerns for such a long time. Even when the world population was a third of what it is now, there were debates on whether food would be enough, and so on… But today, we are here with 7 billion people. It may be painful, but I am sure in the long run, things will get settled.

Moderator – Painful? What do you mean by that?

Left Brain – Of course there are wars , and there is a disparity in the distribution of wealth, and healthcare is not accessible in many places. So, it is going to take some time until a global welfare and healthcare system is established to cover everyone. But with the advent of technology in communications and transportation, this is going to become easier over time, and we’ll get there. Until that point, though, there are going to be losses.

Right Brain – There is an old saying: “If He didn’t want to give, He wouldn’t give us the need to ask from Him.” I think the fact that we are yearning for a better tomorrows is a sign that we’ll get there.

Moderator – Then, would you blame the turbulence of today to yesterday’s lack of desire for better tomorrows?

Right Brain – You’re making me smile. Desire for a better tomorrow is not the same thing as desire for a better income. If everybody dreams for a better tomorrow, then this becomes a global prayer for peace and prosperity. If everybody wants what’s best for themselves, things don’t add up. This is even worse if some people think of their prosperity at the expense of others. So, in this sense, I think we can talk about a lack of desire for a better tomorrow, which governed the world for most of the last century. Today, though, through the growing means of communication and transportation, interfaith and intercultural dialogue activities are blossoming. These carry the potential to initiate a global prayer for peace and prosperity. When that happens, I am hopeful that that prayer will be answered.

Moderator – Thank you Left Brain and thank you Right Brain for allowing us to have a peek into your personal worlds.

There are so many blessings in life, granted to us free of charge, which we take for granted. Eyesight, being able to see near and far distances, most certainly tops the list. But we do not have to be deprived of our sight in order to understand its wisdom and functioning, and to contemplate upon its true value and worth.

Years of research and hard work were dedicated to develop cameras and multi-featured objective lenses. Initially, one to three lens objective cameras were used for simple shots, whereas today, objectives with seven to ten lenses are being used to take better photographs from a snow drop falling onto a flower to a buzzing bee resting on a flower. I wonder to what extent human beings are aware of the pair of eyes that has been bestowed upon them by God, and its ability to see different colors and shapes both near and far. Unfortunately, as people who often understand the true value of things once they are lost, we understand the blessing of being able to see near after the age of forty when we cannot read the newspaper without glasses and when we cannot put a thread through a needle.

So why is it that we can still see far after the age of forty but fail to see near? In order to understand this we need to examine the structure of the eye and its functions.

The structure of the eye and the ability to see

The exterior part of the eye is made up of a translucent layer (cornea) at the front and a white protective layer (sclera) behind it. The vascular layer of the eye (uvea) is located in the middle of the sclera. The most inner part of the eye is made up of the retina, the light-sensitive layer of tissue responsible for converting light rays into electrical signals. The hole located in the center of the iris, the colored part of the eye, is called the pupil. Behind the pupil is the crystalline lens. For a clear vision, lights reflected from objects need to be focused on the central part of the retina (fovea). While cameras have lens systems to focus the image on the film, it is the cornea and crystalline lens that are responsible for the same function in the eye.

Refraction power of cornea is constant and around 43 diopters. The refraction power of the eye lens when resting is around 20 diopters. Light rays coming from outside refracts at a set ratio and manages to focus on the retina. The light rays coming at the retina are then coded into electrical signals. Afterwards these signals are routed towards related regions of the brain via optic nerves. Most of the stimuli relayed by the optical nerve arrive at the visual center of the brain (occipital cortex). These coded electrical signals then become vision when they reach the optical lobe of the brain.

The function of the lens and accommodation

The refraction power of both the cornea and the lens (43+20+63 diopters) is sufficient to focus an image on the retina when looking at objects farther than 6 meters. Extra refraction power is needed for closer distances in order to focus images on the retina. Mobile lens systems enable this job to take place in camera objectives. Since refraction power of the cornea in human eye does not change, this additional task of refraction is set to be provided by the ocular lens. It is built as a flexible structure without any blood vessels. Aqueous humor (lens fluid) which is secreted by the ciliary body is responsible for lens nourishment, removal of waste products and toning of the eye since the lens does not contain any blood vessels. This internal fluid has low oxygen concentration therefore the lens is made to derive its energy supply mostly from anaerobic metabolism.

The iris is positioned in a suitable place where it can change the shape of the internal lens behind the pupil. The lens in this special place is suspended into position via zonule of zinn ligaments attached to the eye as a ciliary body. The ciliary body contains ciliary muscles where zinn ligaments are attached. Only 0.5 mm of space exists between the lens and the ciliary body. Zinn ligaments are tight when ciliary muscles are resting and this enables a flatter configuration of the lens. Upon contraction of ciliary muscles, zinn ligaments become relaxed and the diameter of the lens decreases along with an increase in its thickness. Thicker lens becomes more globular and this increases its refractive power, thus enabling vision of the closer distances. This increase in refractive power of the lens in order to see closer objects is called “accommodation.” If the stimuli of the ciliary muscles expire, ciliary muscles then relax making zinn ligaments tighter, reducing thickness of the lens, making it flatter and therefore less refractive. This reshapes it to focus on distant objects for a clearer vision.

Accommodation mechanisms and loss of accommodation during aging

The vision blurs temporarily when one takes an immediate shift from staring at an object in the distance to another object nearby. As soon as this blurry image reaches the occipital cortex, stimuli generated here arrives first at the Edinger-Westphal nucleus via special nerve tracks and then to the ciliary muscles of the eye. In a very short time, this blurry vision is corrected and becomes clearer without us even noticing with optimal increase of refraction in the internal lens. In a time as short as 0.35 seconds, for thousands of times in a day, this mechanism is set to function in such a perfect manner to spur those thoughtful minds into reflection and wonder.

Accommodation ability is at its highest point in children and this feature of the eye decreases with age. Refractive power of the lens can increase up to 34 diopters with a 14 diopters accommodation power along with 20 diopters of resting refraction during childhood. This way, children can clearly see objects as close as 7 centimeters. Accommodation power decreases with age. It reduces to 4-8 diopters after the age of 40 and 2-3 diopters around the age of 50. It is widely accepted that refractive power disappears entirely after the age of 60.

In the advanced stages of aging, the eye lens loses its transparency, becomes cloudy as it develops cataract. Eye lens in this poor transparent stage is removed via cataract surgery, to be replaced with an artificial lens to carry out the refracting task. Unfortunately today, technology is still unable to produce an artificial lens that is capable of all the tasks that a human eye can perform. Artificial internal eye lenses that are used in surgeries today cannot carry out accommodation functions. Majority of these lenses can only focus on one point at a near or far distance. Newly developed multifocal lenses can utilize various mechanisms to see both near and far distances yet they are not in any position to replace the human lens completely.

Ocular motions when looking near and far

Thanks to ocular movements, we do not have to move our head constantly while looking around. The eye movement involving both eyes in which each eye moves in the same direction is referred to as version type movements. Another movement type is called vergence, and this is when both eyes move in opposite directions. Vergence type movements are a type of ocular motility coded in a special center part of the brain. It is called convergence because the eyes get closer to each other when looking at closer distances, and called divergence when both eyes focus on the same spot by directing away from each other. If eyes only moved in the same direction without this convergence mechanism, both eyes would not be able to focus on closer points and would not be able to develop three dimensional visions (depth perception).

In addition to accommodation and convergence, when we look closer, our pupils get smaller (Miosis). Light rays coming from outside objects get improved focus on the retina via this constriction of the pupils. This way, a clearer image is provided.

When we look closer, accommodation, convergence and miosis all happen at the same time in a synchronized manner to provide a clear vision. The details of these complicated chains of events have yet to be understood.

Conclusion

The fineness of refractive power of the eye with a single lens, accommodation ability and sensitive balances of ocular motility is only a few of the blessings of the eye granted to humankind. The ability to see near being at its peak during young ages when learning is most active is another dimension to this miracle. These wisdom-filled capacities given to the eye makes one ponder upon the importance of the eye for survival, in addition to being a reminder to those with an open mind and heart to gaze upon the natural world and contemplate upon the Almighty.

No matter how fast or how far a person runs, the horizon will always be beyond them. This being the case, the real distance and depth of the horizon is inside a person, it is in their mind and perception…

A race I will always remember

Not too long ago, when I was still a little boy, I found myself running from my father’s village to my mother’s, and from my mother’s to another and to another, in the hope of catching up with something that was neither a ball, some other toy, nor a bird, but rather the point, the line where the sky seemed to touch the earth. We call it the “horizon.” That line, that “place,” first presented itself to me hiding right behind the trees to the left of my father’s house. I started out that day walking rather leisurely because the distance between me and the horizon seemed so short. When I observed that the sky had moved, or rather seemed to have moved further away, I hastened my steps. Then I noticed that the sky moved further and further away. Well, being determined to reach the place where the sky certainly touched the ground, I kept walking faster and faster until I found myself running.

I ran for quite a while until I realized that “there”, where the sky and the earth met, was still further away, that it would take me more time and effort than I had thought. I went back—I had to go back—to my father’s village, back to my usual village life because I saw that perhaps much more was involved, that maybe much more effort was called for in order to achieve what I desired, namely, to get to the point where I could touch the sky, where I could climb the sky. I went back to the ordinary, the normal life and experience of the village and of my people. But I did not tell anyone, I did not discuss the experience with anyone, even though I did not stop and could not stop thinking about it. I thought to myself that perhaps a week, a month, maybe a year would suffice for me to reach the place where the sky and the earth embraced. I was absolutely certain that right there in front of me, over there, not too far away, the sky touched the ground. And I thought that perhaps all I needed to do was keep walking, keep running, and keep racing forward, without stopping, without interruptions, without distractions in order to get to where the sky kissed the ground.

Today, thirty-five years later, I have realized that I was not wrong. I was right. The sky did touch the ground. It touches the ground all the time. You may ask “but where and how?” The sky touches the ground in our perception. Look across from your window into the distance. What do you see? Or, go outside and look in the distance. What do you see? The sky is right there, over there, touching the ground, the road, the houses, the trees, the mountains, the sea, and remaining there. But keep in mind that this is all happening in our perception. In perception, things are the way they appear, the way they seem. No rigorous, critical thinking is involved. And this happens so many times, and in fact is happening now; it happens every time that we are not thinking deeply, with attention and effort. It happens every time we fail to allow other perspectives, other possibilities and other possible interpretations to emerge.

The sky touches the earth, embraces and kisses the ground, right there in a fixed position, as long as you do not move. Once you move, it moves. And when you run after it, it too runs, not towards you though, but rather away from you. If you stand still, it stands still. If you stay where you are, it remains where it is. If you move even an inch, it will move. It will never allow you to catch up with it, to touch it; it will never allow you to possess it, to tame it; it will never allow you to take possession of it. And yet, it is always there, “putting everything into perspective.” By that I mean the horizon enables us to see, for without horizon one cannot see much of anything. Think about it! Everything presents itself in horizon. Everything dwells in the horizon, everything is within the confines of the horizon, and depends more or less on this phenomenon. And if I may borrow an expression from Saint Paul’s speech at the Areopagus (Acts 17:28) and be at liberty to use it as I see fit in this context (just as some scholars say he himself was at liberty to do with the same expression from the writing of Epimenides of Knossos (6th Century B.C.)), one can say that “that in which we live and move and have our being” is the horizon.

Standing still, remaining in one fixed position is not in the nature of the horizon. Its every stop (or what appears to be its end, its boundary) is temporary and transitory, like a pilgrim’s stop on a journey whose destination is still far away. It keeps moving, and it invites us to keep moving too, keep working, keep meeting people, keep exploring, keep digging, keep sowing, keep cultivating, keep harvesting, keep looking, keep reading, keep writing, keep thinking, keep talking, keep wondering.

We hear, not infrequently, the expression, “on the horizon/in the horizon.” What does it mean? It means in view, in the possible future, in sight. That which is in or on the horizon appears close, and seems to be approaching; it is as if it’s right there among the things that one hopes to do soon, as something squarely within one’s reach, among the things that one’s abilities can handle. What is in the horizon, then, is something that appears “present” and seems quite achievable.

What is a horizon? And what does it do?

A horizon is inseparable from a living, perceiving human being who is in the open or in the frontier of the open. There are no horizons in closed spaces, closed places. The distance between a living human being and the line where the sky and the earth meet is very wide. It is infinite. It is far, far away. You can only measure it with your eyes, your mind and your soul. You can figure out how long it is only to the extent that your eyes, your mind and your soul can go. An application of any other measuring device will only frustrate you because the moment you start going after it to measure it, it will recede. But the truth is that what you are actually seeing of the horizon is only a small part of it. The bigger part is on the other side of the horizon. Every horizon has at least two parts: a front and a back. The front of the horizon consists of the part you are seeing, and its back consists of the part hidden from you because of the hills and mountains, the earth, the road, the trees, the sea. In fact, the line where the sky seems to touch the earth is really only a perceived curve or a perceived point of contact, but the horizon really goes far and farther away, without end: it stretches into infinity.

All the things we are seeing are in fact standing in the way of the horizon. Similarly, all the things we are thinking right now, all our thoughts and ideas, everything that is presently on our minds can be an obstacle to a deeper and fuller understanding and appreciation of the horizon. We have to let go of all of these things in order to begin to have an idea of the depth and richness of the horizon.

For now, let us focus on the part of the horizon that is visible to us. It is a world, the world that we live in or would like to live in. Normally, it consists of people, people of different religions and/or of no religion at all, people of different languages and cultures, different experiences, different states and walks of life, different situations and aspirations, people driven by different desires, values and visions, people of very deep opinions, inspirations, beliefs and deep convictions other than our own, people heading in a thousand and one directions. This world, this visible side of the horizon also includes animals of many different types and habitats, which eat different kinds of food and have different spans of life. It also includes many different trees, bushes and flowers, and different types of grasses, etc. Mountains and hills and valleys too, rivers and big oceans, streams and creeks, are all part of this side of the horizon. Small and big houses, low and high buildings, shelters and palaces, mud houses and ghettoes are all part of this side of the horizon that we are seeing. But we do not actually see everything that we know is out there, that is all around us, that is over there in front of us…

How do we even know that there is anything out there, that other people are out there? A long walk, travels, meeting people, doing business with people, education, etc. confirm that there are other people out there, other lifestyles, other ways of thinking, other ways of doing things, other attractions, other things that people consider as very precious and worth dying for. We read about these things, have actually met and seen them with our own eyes, have lived with people of different orientations and values, have had some great opportunities to exchange ideas with them. But neither our reading and studying nor our investigative and explorative eyes can exhaust the visible side of the horizon because even the visible side has its own invisible aspects and invisible faces. Let us take for example persons, situations and objects.

From time to time, a person whom I have known for many years, not only surprises me, but also seems to be a surprise to herself/himself whenever s/he says something or does something I could never have thought or imagined her or him doing. And people of this nature are not uncommon.

How about situations? They are similar. Even the most familiar situations often have aspects that are new and different, which we can see if and when we look with more attention and care. And the moment we become used to these, even newer different aspects of the same situation emerge. The same goes for things such as books, clocks, chairs, doors, and so on. A book often presents us with information that we did not see the first time we read it. And if you read it again, you will again see something you missed the second time you read it. If you wish, you can read it again and again, and you will see something new every time. The book will never fail to make you see something new and/or think something new.

Can a chair or a door do something similar? That is, can a chair or a door make you see something new or think something new every time you encounter them? Let us see. A chair, unlike a book, seems to have no generative power. It seems mute and sterile. But can a chair speak and make us think? The answer is yes, it can speak and make us think. No one would disagree that the chair of Pontius Pilate, the chair of a Court Judge, the chair of Saint Peter, and so forth do have a powerful message. Although these chairs I have cited are special, every chair can say something to us and really make us think. For example, chairs for children and for adults make us think different thoughts, which by the way, make us give children appropriate chairs and to adults what is suitable for them. If we did not think differently of these chairs, chances are we would give adults the chairs meant for children and vice-versa, or give the same kind of chairs to everybody, children and adults alike, seriously compromising comfort. And some chairs would even fall apart (that is, if children’s chairs are given to heavy people like me to sit on).

Doors too make us think. For example, the Door of No Return in Goree Island in Dakar, Senegal, and the Door of Hope in Johannesburg, South Africa, makes every visitor think. But again, although these specific references are special, every door, including those that may seem unimposing and insignificant, can really make us think. Every door has a message.

The bottom line is that even the most visible side of the horizon can have aspects that may not be totally obvious and immediately accessible. Therefore, the visible, that which seems completely clear can still make us think because it often has layers, folds, dimensions, messages that lie beneath its surface. There are always other meanings, other messages behind the obvious. And the moment we finish harvesting one message, the moment we finish reading one meaning, the horizon presents us another one, and yet another, and so on and so forth. Inexhaustible indeed, this horizon can constantly give new meaning, hope, color, shape, style, texture, depth, taste and strength to our lives for endless joy and delight, even under very difficult circumstances. Why? Because the horizon has power to liberate us from the present, the immediate, the obvious. As it draws back, so to speak, that is, when we attempt to respond to its invitation into the open, when we dare to go after it, go with it into the deep, when we allow ourselves to move with it and flow with it, then it can open new doors, generate new ideas, launch new beginnings, reveal inroads, illuminate new bridges, disclose exits, uncover new faces, make terrains of other possibilities visible, make cooperation and collaboration possible, make teamwork possible, bring along other solutions, other fertile soils. With the horizon, there are no closed doors, no human being is a finished project, no done deal, no finished once-and-for-all discussions, no insurmountable barriers. The horizon’s open field stretches into infinity.

All of this is but an invitation to read between the lines, i.e., “to resist simplistic interpretations that dogmatically ascribe fixed significations to [things]” (G. Weiss, Refiguring the Ordinary, Indiana University, Bloomington, 2008, p.58).

It is about the need to go on researching other possible meanings and interpretations of a text, to go on searching for other possible answers to certain problems, to appreciate the expanding limits, and to devote more time and energy to the lifelong project of exploration of self and of the world (and of God) (see P. Okogie’s “Horizon: the birthing world” in the Journal of Horizons of Horizons, Vol. 1, no. 1, Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, 2012, p.10).

Rev. Dr. Okogie is Assistant Professor of Philosophy and Bioethics, University of Saint Anselm, Rome, Italy.

Let us imagine two people of similar economic status, one of whom donates a considerable amount of money to a charity organization willingly, while the other hesitates but eventually donates the same amount of money with relative difficulty. Which action deserves the real moral praise? Intuitively, the willing donor seems to get our praise and sympathy more than the other; yet, it might require more virtue to choose the right action in the face of adverse inclinations. Acknowledging that this question is more difficult than it first appears lets us go back several millennia to hear what Aristotle, the great philosopher and ethicist, has to say on this issue.

Aristotle use the terms virtue, continence, incontinence, and vice in order to account for diverse attitudes present in individuals when confronted with ethical dilemmas. “Virtue” is an excellence of the soul that helps one to achieve complete harmony between one’s reasoning and desires. Whenever the virtuous person chooses an action as the rationally best option, he performs this action pleasurably. Yet this is a pleasure of a higher status, a noble joy, one that stems from appreciating the intrinsic value of the virtuous action and thus coming to love it. In other words, the virtuous person’s emotions and reason point at the same direction and there is no inner conflict that haunts his soul. This results in a noble and complete joy; a cultivated ability to see the intrinsic value embedded in the virtuous act through gaining a second nature. This second nature begins with having joy in doing the right thing rather than primarily being after the satisfaction of the bodily desires.

Unlike the state of virtue, the cases of continence, incontinence, and vice all include conflict to some degree between one’s reason and desires. Within this spectrum, some people better resist these counter-rational desires than others, and they are able to act in the same manner as a virtuous person, as in our example above. Aristotle calls such individuals “continent” (enkrates) and he distinguishes them from the fully virtuous. Their distinctive characteristic is that they struggle inside, but they end up doing the morally right thing. Yet, unlike the continent, some people are less successful in resisting their inner desires, and they end up doing the wrong action even though they are rationally aware of its wrongness. These individuals are called “incontinent” (akratês). Their reason and appetites drift them in opposite directions, and they find themselves in a miserable position. In the very last category, vice, are the individuals who refuse to do what an ethically virtuous person would do because they have become convinced that justice, temperance, generosity, and the like are of little or no value; Aristotle calls such people evil (kakos). This last category is demarcated from other categories sharply by the lack of any struggle against the dark side of the soul. These people both begin and end up on the negative side. Despite the fact that vicious people might seem to possess an inner harmony since both their wills and acts are in accord, Aristotle portrays them as deeply divided, because they cannot help but become dissatisfied as a result of the over-dominance of the irrational part of their souls. Aristotle assumes that if someone is in the habit of making bad decisions about how to live his life, his failures are caused by psychological forces that are less than fully rational. It is probable that his desires for pleasure, power, or some other external goal have become so strong that they make him care too little or not at all about acting ethically. It can be claimed that the vicious person lacks internal harmony because he cannot implement his rational side properly in making decisions. This reminds us of the famous chariot allegory of Aristotle’s teacher, Plato, in which he paints the picture of a charioteer driving a chariot pulled by two winged horses: one of them representing the rational and moral impulses and the other irrational appetites. The charioteer is like the human soul that needs to balance and keep the chariot going in the path towards enlightenment. While it is not easy to keep the two fighting horses in check, a human soul is better off whenever it is guided through reason, the charioteer. Yet, the evil person suffers from an imbalance and is perpetually drifted away by the whims of the bad-behaved horse. This, in the long run, results in unhappiness and sickness of the soul.

Cultivation of dispositions

Now that a brief sketch of Aristotle’s four types of ethical subjects is drawn, there is an inevitable question that awaits us. We have seen that all three of these positions involve some lack of integrity; it is only the life of a virtuous person that possesses internal harmony, and all other lives deviate to some degree from this ideal. Yet, one cannot help but wonder how we could attain this ideal state? According to Aristotle, in order to achieve the state of virtue, we need to develop proper habits and emotional responses starting from early childhood. Although full virtue is a rare achievement for human beings, it is only attainable through employment of continence persistently in life. Aristotle divides the virtues into two categories, the natural and the true virtues, and whereas the former comes by nature, the latter is cultivated through habituation. Aristotle’s truly virtuous man has cultivated (habituated) emotions rather than possessing immediate impulses to do good. Aristotle famously tells us that “action” leads to the corresponding character states; just as to be a good painter, you have to paint, and to be a good shoemaker you need to make shoes, you need to do virtuous actions to become virtuous. In Aristotle’s words, we become “just by doing just actions, and temperate by acting temperately.” (NE II.4.)

Virtue is “made perfect by habit and by practical wisdom,” and this makes the virtuous person’s position superior to that of the merely continent person. This conception of virtue as an ongoing, developmental process implies that individuals cannot typically will to feel certain emotions at a moment’s notice, but they can choose to cultivate certain emotions over time as a significant part of developing moral character.

Although Aristotle advises that virtue be our ultimate aim, he still esteems the continent person to some extent. A lack of complete harmony between reason and desires is often inescapable for human beings. We can only want or choose to do the virtuous thing, but we cannot make ourselves take pleasure from doing it. In fact, continence is often the only state we are capable of achieving, even though we might want to do the right thing cheerfully. To make an analogy, Aristotle encourages the cultivation of virtues just like the flourishing of a flower. Growing flowers require time and great care; likewise, virtuousness does not always come by nature but it is gained through cultivation and care.

Reason as the guide

The Aristotelian virtuous person is the one whose rational part overrides and guides the appetitive part. Accordingly, as long as the person is guided by his rational part, his actions are virtuous; whenever the rational side of the person is weaker than his appetitive side, it leads to moral weakness (incontinence). The idea of acting from the rational part of the soul is pivotal in Aristotle’s ethics; he ties human arête (virtue) to reasoning. For Aristotle, virtuous action must definitely originate from reasoning since it is the human arête (virtue) to be guided by the rational part of the soul. “Like every other creature in the world, man has a particular nature and the best way to live is to live up to his nature, which is to be directed by a rational soul.” Therefore, by “desiring to do the virtuous thing” Aristotle does not claim that this person should have a natural inclination to do the right thing; instead, it requires adoption of rational desires that are in line with virtuous actions.

One-way road to happiness: From continence to virtue

How can we make ourselves enjoy doing the virtuous things according to Aristotle? For instance, how can we “enjoy” giving to charity? As Aristotle proposes, we become just by doing just actions, we become temperate by acting temperately; so, the only way to arrive at true virtue goes from acting in conformity with duty even if we do it with continence. Aristotle assumes every individual begins the journey by continence and tries to arrive at virtuousness, which is a complete harmony of will and reason. In a way, Aristotle’s virtuous person is someone who walked up the ladder from continence to virtue. No one ascends to the state of virtue without first being continent. It is important to note that, for Aristotle, doing the better thing willingly is a better position to which we should aspire, but climbing up the ladder of virtue is already sufficient to make someone a good person. Full virtue and complete harmony could only be the destination we reach after a long journey of cultivation of emotions.

Yet, the question still remains: how can we make our souls come to love and enjoy being virtuous? Aristotle’s answer is that when your will and reason are in complete harmony, you do the desirable thing with pleasure. Otherwise, it is continence, which is a state with a lesser degree of moral worth. Let us assume we have cultivated our emotions and habituated ourselves to do the virtuous thing. Now, I always “want” to do the right thing. Still, one cannot help but wonder how we can make ourselves “enjoy” being virtuous. Aristotle’s reply would be simple: the virtuous person, upon moral deliberation, rationally chooses the virtuous thing to do, and because he is acting in conformity with his rational part and because his rational part has supremacy over the emotional part, he is expected to perform the action pleasurably. However, this is not totally convincing; no matter how many times we “choose” or “want” to do the right thing, we might still not be able to “take pleasure” from doing the right thing. I might be able to acquire the habit of sleeping less after considerable effort, but I cannot get myself to “enjoy” this. If we define a virtuous person as the one who both “wants” and “does” the virtuous thing, then this is understandable. Yet, when it comes to “enjoying” or “taking pleasure from” the virtuous action, we are usually short of actualizing this at will.

Then, is it ever possible to be truly virtuous? Evidently, Aristotle is optimistic on this issue. He believes true virtue is possible as long as proper cultivation is provided. Nonetheless, virtue does not come without effort; it requires time and tender care — being virtuous is not possible without persistently doing the right thing and trying to strengthen our rational part so that it will have supremacy over the appetitive part. Only then can people ascend to true virtue rather than staying at the level of continence. And this journey is not something we could afford to overlook, since it harbors true happiness.

Despite Aristotle’s invaluable contribution to ethics, he falls short of providing satisfactory answers to many intuitive questions regarding how and why the human soul enjoys being virtuous. His ultimate answer revolves around the happiness of the soul and there is no greater gain other than having the best possible life that is characterized as the eudaimon life. This is not a bad ideal, but its significance is quite negligible compared to the greater ideal of gaining an immortal life of happiness and beauty. Yet, since Aristotle does not believe in an immortal soul, his arguments do not include references to eternal happiness. Given this, no matter how convincing the ethicists’ arguments are, there will always remain a question: Why would I care so much about a life that is doomed to end? Why should I take the trouble to fight with my desires and make myself a so-called virtuous person? Moreover, complete happiness is almost impossible to attain in a life that we know to be short. Even though we could lead a happy life through virtue, knowing that it will last merely for this life makes it bittersweet at best. Without immortality, we are like birds that are kept in cages in this finite world, trying to find the best way to lead a good and happy life–a small and finite goal. Instead, finding the real eternal Divine source of why our souls find happiness and peace in virtuous actions and knowing that this joy is to last forever, can grant us true happiness. Whenever we act virtuously, say, giving to the poor without expecting anything in return, we are actually imitating and aspiring to the character of the Divine who is the most Generous. Similarly, whenever a person forgives another, he would be acting in accordance with the Divine mercy that is exemplified in the name of the All-Merciful. Hence, engaging in such virtuous acts gives the person unprecedented joy of the soul because such participation in the Divine goodness is greater than other sorts of pleasure. Furthermore, with immortality such acts do not merely stay in this life; on the contrary, performing these virtuous acts become the key to eternal happiness. Acting virtuously is good because these acts derive from God’s character Who is the source of all goodness, truth, and beauty. As long as a human soul can reflect this beauty as a mirror, his actions gain intrinsic value, and she can reach true happiness, not only in this life but also in the eternal afterlife.