Behind the Mask: Myth and History

I just watched the movie Gandhi again, for what must be my fourth or fifth time. I used to rent it all the time from the public library back in high school. It's a pretty long movie, so I would watch parts of it before I went to be every night, and it might last me a whole week. It would bring me a small boost of desperately-needed peace of mind that was in such short supply back then. Not that I have a bountiful stock now. But some, perhaps.

Watching it again, I found myself intrigued and drawn to the same ideas and principles that I found so engaging in high school. Not so much of me has changed. Practically nothing, really. I've gained a lot of perspective, I would like to think. But really isn't all "perspective gaining" really just "perspective changing"? Maybe for me, maybe not for you. I wonder what that says about me. Fritjof Capra, author of The Tao of Physics, says that high energy particle physics doesn't create new particles but simply rearranges energy--nothing fundamental going on. But that's another topic...

Anyhow, I started looking into Gandhi biographies, thinking I might increase the credulity of my admiration for Gandhi and his ideas. Immediately, I came across Gandhi: Behind the Mask of Divinity by G.B. Singh. The book's thesis is that Gandhi is more myth than man in both Western and Indian culture (a point I'm willing to hear out and probably concede) and that the Gandhi propaganda machine of the last 60 years has clouded our vision of a man who had many shadowy secrets, including being a racist.

Even before really understanding this point of view (and I still don't have the full argument), I was crushed a little. This idol of mine, this bronze statue of idealism was already tarnished with the sins of a mortal man. Woe, unto me, the theologian in a scientist's lab coat.

And that's always been the case for me, hasn't it? To latch on, to idolize the ideals of great thinkers, to be taken in by the schemes and scams of great books? Ayn Rand, George Orwell, Robert Pirsig, Douglas Hofstadter, my pantheon of intellectual gods could go on... Michio Kaku, Carl Sagan, Umberto Eco. Sad little alchemist, always joining the cults of those writers, always buying into their idealogical agendas, just waiting for them to turn the lead of the Real World into the gold of an Ideal World.

Evidently, the bitterness is not gone. I can admit that. Being pegged as an intellectual follower has haunted me and not without good reason. I can see their point, in a certain way (ah, yes, the perspectivist's curse: to understand one's opponent and thus be vulnerable to agree with them). I happen to see the beauty, full and deep, rich and multi-structured in great works. And the wisdom in them can overtake me. While some can brush off the value of Orwell as oft-trodden ground, let sit the greatness of Gandhi's Satyagraha (nonviolent resistance), or question the originality of Pirsig's "Quality", these are things that resound in me so loudly that they are impossible to ignore.

And sneaking up behind such thoughts is, "Why I am the odd one? Why did I get all the stares?" In the back of my mind, I always felt I was in the right. That these things are the priceless treasures of our society--these ideas are proof that humanity is an asset to the universe, not a liability.

But I am slowly moving on from such idle perigrinations. Now, I have begun to wonder about the importance of reality and myth-- their relationship and partnership in history.

Richard Attenborough's Gandhi is, if anything, an epic movie. There are all the classic elements: huge scenes of violence, battles over land and over freedom, political in-fighting, long periods of people's lives, their friends and enemies, and even an innvocation to the gods of sorts, with long visual proems of medidative water bookending the movie.

So if this movie is an epic, who is Gandhi? The main star no doubt; a man on an odyssey, with a mission and an unthinkably large foe, who is doomed to fail. Just like Troy, so goes British imperialists. But not so much like Troy. And Gandhi...not so much like Achilles or even Odysseus.

Well, you may or a may not see where I am going, so here it is: Gandhi may be an epic movie in a style that would be fully-identifiable to an ancient greek (if it were told orally, in greek meter). Yet, Gandhi leads a fight with no weapons. You may have already gathered the historical significance of this, but...have you? An epic warrior who achieves victory by showing his enemy its own horrific evil. Truly a mind-bending idea and something I'm not sure the greeks would have understood.

So, what then, of the real Gandhi? If G.B. Singh has done his research-- as the few amazon.com reviews claim--then perhaps Gandhi, the man, was not nearly as heroic and saintly as Gandhi, the myth. I recognize that this idea is a familiar one for all legendary people, but frankly that's not the point. The point is this: Gandhi, as a myth, has brought something new to our culture--a mode of conflict resolution that does not claim to be perfect and peaceful, but nevertheless provokes a fundamentally different response in humans. When two clans run at each other with swords, there's no ethical discrepancy. When one group is unarmed and unwilling to respond blow with blow, a huge social problem erupts.

As a myth, Gandhi exemplifies the power of humanity's ability to abide by a collective morality. Moreover, he proves that the unified morality of the general populace is a powerful force, and that, with the right approach, can move to correct injustices which may have gone unnoticed if the victimized group used violence.

I am pretty spent on this topic, but this is not all I've got. Stay tuned for more.

The Ins and (consequently) Outs of an Italian Klein Bottle

I am not posting anything coherent right now, so don't expect as much.

My life is like the shadow of a four-dimensional cube, a representation of an impossible image, a glimpse of the unseen thing, but not the thing itself.

My metaphors are like my science-overwrought with obvious conclusions, thus offending the whole logical process.

My style is like the smoke off a Humphrey Bogart cigarette-taken for granted, but would be missed if it weren't omnipresent, filling the air between the stars.

Fractals are jumping out of my mind. Don't be scared, they often break through into the infinities beyond our comprehension.

My mind is awash in monks: Monks from the apocalyptic future, who toil away in desert abbeys, saving scraps of siliconian blueprints and illuminating manuscripts of algebra texts. Monks from the past who hide in their Italian monestaries, in fear of the giants who hurl bolders like manna from the nearby mountain.

New Rome, Old Rome, and above them all floats My Rome, the idea that became corrupt even before I left the city, yet is somehow pristine in my mind. The Rome of fruit vendors, performing bums, and clashing layers of history gently peeling from within crumbling city walls...it all exists in my mind and assuredly somewhere out there, beyond the sea.

But the more I think on it, the more I realize that Rome truly is an idea as much as it is a place--and not every place can be said to have an idea attached to it, let alone one that rivals the meaning and importance of the place itself. Yet, Rome does have an idea, nay, many ideas attached to it, many ideas, which both blend together and peel apart like the layers of history from the city's buildings or the paint on the aging facades of those very buildings.

And what's the end result? A harmonically-fused "idea-place" named Rome, which has multiple meanings and layers, a fractal pattern of "Rome-cities" begetting "Rome-ideas" over the centuries twisting in on itself like a double-helix, never straying too far from its core, yet all the while evolving and growing.

Perhaps somewhere in a Platonically-inspired, higher dimensional realm, where ideas and things are conjoined, the Rome of All Time exists, in a state that- like the four-dimensional cube whose only representation we can understand is its shadow- is so far beyond us that we can only dream of it in tiny, disjointed pieces.

A More Global Gator Nation (My Column)

We have heard it a lot in the last few days: UF is strapped for cash. The administration was blindsided by the Florida Legislature with a substantial 4-percent decrease in state funding, prompting the current hiring freeze, as well as the tightening of budgets all over campus. I’m not here to generalize about the huge impact that this will undoubtedly have on the entire school, but rather focus on one seemingly small event that, to the dismay of dozens of foreign students, will not take place this semester.

I am talking about the International Coffeehouse.

The International Coffeehouse is (or was) a casual gathering during GatorNights that provided a low-pressure and friendly environment for international students to meet up with friends or make new ones. The coffee wasn’t amazing, and there were never enough cookies, but the company couldn’t be beat. In one small meeting room in the Reitz Union, you could meet an Austrian astronomer, a Chinese geneticist, an Italian business student, and everyone in between. The event began two years ago by the UF International Center, and began to pick up serious steam in the last few semesters—often attracting as many as 200 people a night.

For a while, I thought that the administration actually cared about programs like the International Coffeehouse. Clearly that was why they gave the UFIC a brand-spanking-new office in the heart of the HUB. Obviously that’s why Bernie Machen spoke on the promise of UF’s international community during the UFIC dedication in April. Surely the importance of fostering a global culture was not lost on those in power. Surely.

Well, maybe they remembered it in April, but forgot it in August. Maybe they decided that the International Coffeehouse was really not so important to the future of a more globalized Gator Nation. I later learned that several employees, including my own UFIC mentor, and the International Student Speakers’ Bureau were considered equally unimportant and had also been axed.

A few days ago, I spoke with Debra Anderson, the coordinator of international student services, about these cuts. Ms. Anderson explained to me that the UFIC has traditionally been a bureaucratic body, focused on the paperwork for helping domestic students study abroad and foreign students study here. The concept of using the UFIC to promote an international culture on campus was something they had just begun to explore. Therefore, when push came to shove, these more experimental programs were the first to go.

Ms. Anderson did leave me with one encouraging piece of news: The Reitz Union is considering covering the tab for the International Coffeehouse and moving it into the Orange and Brew. It’s not a done deal, but there is hope.

It is understandable that, in times of financial hardship, the university has to trim the fat, and that may cause complaints no matter where they do it. Nevertheless, if the UFIC cannot foot the bill for the International Coffeehouse, then let’s not give the Reitz Union a chance to say no. And I would hope that the new event becomes not simply an International Coffeehouse, but a Multicultural Coffeehouse—a place for students, domestic and foreign alike, to make cross-cultural bonds and embrace the diversity that exists right here in Gainesville. The world is becoming more connected every day. Let’s make sure that the Gator Nation can keep pace.