ColumnSome people experience overwhelming awe in church, some on magnificent mountaintops, some in elegant equations. But some of us tend to get “it” when witnessing stunning examples of our human footprint. If that sounds like you, you just might be a humanist—something with very down-to-earth implications.  

“I was blown away.” The phrase is used so often it’s a wonder we’re all not aloft. “Awesome!” A term so ubiquitous, you might find yourself yearning for the run of the mill. Indeed, if every OMG! were an honest-to-god conjure of what’s holy, His/Her/Its omnipresence would be completely and finally undeniable.

Of course it’s easy to pick on our culture’s most overused overstatements. (OMG aside, the above are certainly part of my vocabulary). But if we dial down the hyperbole for a moment and honestly think about the things that make us dizzily reach for the nearest handrail, we’re likely to learn a lot about who we are and what makes us tick.

Consider that second glance, the super serious one, that says, “No, really! I was blown away!” This usually features earnest and pleading eye contact that begs you to believe and embrace the gravity of what the speaker is gushing about. The subtext: “I’ve experienced something beyond words.” (So to speak.)

For most of us, the varieties of religious experience are evidenced as many. (I use the term “religious” advisedly, requesting some latitude from my fellow nonbelievers.) We know this because, hopefully, we know a variety of people. I, for one, have dear and respected friends who have been knocked off their horses by the Judeo-Christian King of Kings, both with and without the help of his also-divine son. Other believers I know have experienced more creedless, less-moderated Big Moments with what they perceive to be supernatural forces. Alas, such supernatural events have never happened to me.

Others tend to have their wow episodes in or considering nature, sitting on a mountaintop, watching the ocean’s waves or simply staring up at the vastness of the cosmos on a starry night. These happenings reportedly include a number of overwhelming sensations (smallness, bigness, existence, nonexistence, self, non-self) and a feeling of oneness with the universe. For a range of folks, from Buddhists to Gaians to Newtonians, our natural world offers up awe like candy, if we only take the time to look, pay attention and feel.

Unlike being touched by the supernatural, these natural episodes have happened to me. It would be something if they didn’t, living as I do in Northern California where a four-hour radius from my front door offers up glories like Yosemite and the shores of the Pacific. Over my lifetime, too, I’ve had the great fortune of experiencing marvels ranging from the Arctic Circle to the Gobi Desert. I’d have to be pretty thickheaded not to have been occasionally swept away. I, too, can be floored by the awe and joy of being a part of the universe and it’s clockwork workings, whether known, yet to be known or forever unknown. Yet despite its power, nature, per se, is not my biggest mind blower.

To Each His Swoon

The name of this column, HyperKulture, refers to a psychosomatic phenomenon that presents “rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations when an individual is exposed to an experience of great personal significance, particularly viewing art.” In its debut, “In Swoon’s Way,” I wrote about a recent trip to Europe during which I had experienced a number of such events (healthily upright though I remained). Today, looking back at those moments and holding them up alongside similar events throughout my life, a pattern has emerged.

What sends my mind off its rails are the awesome things we humans do. (Yep. Awed. For real.) This goes back to what prompted my first swoon—Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon (though this is probably a swoon-after memory of a memory given the fact that I was only 5 when it happened). In fact, I remain blown away by that historic feat; just conjuring it in my mind for more than few moments can make me dizzy and if I really push it, even a little teary. I mean, the dude left the earth and walked on the moon. WTF?!

Over the course of my lifetime, I’ve had a number of these man-made experiences. Visiting Atelier Brancusi, listening to the Beatles’ “Dear Prudence,” reading Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina,” enjoying a dinner once prepared for me by Chef Paul Prudhomme—all head-spinning. Even imagining indirect experiences—Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, MLK’s Dream, the idea of Amelia Earhart taking off into the ether—can totally spin me out when I give them more than just passing thought.

Don’t get me wrong. It takes a lot for someone or some deed to set me off—and sometimes it’s unpredictable. Why did that Caravaggio at the Met that one day spike my BP and send me running out to the street for air when all the other masterpieces I saw before it left me relatively unshaken? And what was it about that one time at the Jefferson Memorial in Washington? Why was that visit so different than all the other times I stood inside its colonnade? Who knows what kind of perfect brainstorm has to occur to rock my world?

In any case, to my religious friends: Some of your prophets. Holy shit! The idea that actual people have had that kind of impact on the world? That their ideas would hold such power and sway? Wow, man. It still baffles me that the Buddha came up with what he came up with. And to my science-focused friends, about those elegant equations that so turn you on? Given that the math is way above my pay grade, it’s the scientists themselves who suffered and slaved to arrive at such beautiful truths who ignite my wonder. Newton. Einstein. Hawking. When I think about what these people accomplished and the impact they’ve had on how we live every day—oh my!

Yep. For me it’s the humans. How about you? Have you been set asunder by Homo sapien heroics? World-renowned feats of wonder aside, are there people in your life who have done the unimaginably awesome? Your grandfather’s charity? Your mother’s unconditional love? Your aunt who lived gracefully with disease and died with strength and dignity? Maybe the person with whom you shared your first kiss? For those of us who have this mortal-creature-based swoon pattern, may I suggest that perhaps we have—heaven forbid!—an ism.

Us and (Just) Us

There’s no simple, all-purpose definition of humanism. Its many facets include historical, academic and philosophical angles dating back to well before the term came into use during the early Renaissance. But for these purposes, let’s use one that seems to be recurring and general enough to get the job done: “A system of thought that focuses on humans and their values, capacities and worth.”

Of course, there’s nothing in those words about the type of “religious” experiences I’m speaking of here. In fact, most definitions of the philosophy (or worldview or whatever you choose to call it) allude to it being distinctly rationalist and secular (big draws for me). But if we can agree with the idea that there are instances of experience in our lives that at least seem to be transcendental, then perhaps it’s okay to go ahead and give humanism its religiousy due.

Einstein here: “The most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man.”

The great scientist was speaking broadly and, of course, addressing rapture emanating from far beyond our actions on the ground. And let’s be clear: No one would go so far as to call humanism a religion. But for those of us who ascribe to this philosophy in its secular form, we can indeed point to our very own swoons and appreciate our awesomeness in what some might go so far as to describe as a spiritual way.

However you characterize the idea of humanist rapture, if you’re going to go ahead and claim the ism there are ramifications of such a throw-down—there is no doubt a yang for this yin. While most definitions of the philosophy speak to our ability (and even inclination) to make the world a better place, there is another side of the equation that speaks to something darker about our ability to achieve.

Yes, our capacity for evil is awesome too. While there are heroes who can truly make us swoon, just watch and listen and know about the bullies, as well. The beheaders, the fundamentalists, the reactionaries—know that the visceral shudder you get when you see their “achievements” is just rapture turned upside down. We humanists can’t offload the sublimely destructive on a less-than-benevolent god, the weather or the downside of an equation. If you’re anything like me, this dark side of our awesomeness can be as mind-blowing as the brilliant side. Oh, the humanity—and the voodoo that we do.

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott at adelson dot org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

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HyperKulture: Living in the Past – You Can’t Go Back… Why Would You Want To?

HyperKulture: Making Space for Your Inner Homebody – A Case for the Great Indoors

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Images: Aldrin Apollo/Public Domain (top), Smithsonian Institution (middle), Footsteps on the sand from Shutterstock (bottom).

The post Do People Blow Your Mind? You Just Might Be a Humanist: HyperKulture appeared first on EcoSalon.

ColumnFrom culture and politics to sex and relationships, too many of us spend too much time living in the past. Looking back with a wink and a nod is one thing, but nursing nostalgia is quite another.

I don’t recall exactly when I first heard a song from “my era” on an oldies radio station, but I couldn’t have been much older than 30. I’m going to say it was the mid-’90s, and it was probably my own fault in the first place for playing it too loose with my channel choices. (I mean, who listens to oldies radio?) I do, however, remember a Casey Kasem-esque pop-announcer harkening back to “years ago when this classic gem was number one. And now here’s The Clash, with their popular number, ‘London Calling.’”

I wasn’t at an age to lament growing old, so that angle of grief didn’t rear its woeful head. So I skipped the denial stage and went straight to anger. “Jesus, who is this fucking announcer?! It’s so over, anyway. Coopted. Mainstreamed, tagged and shelved.” And then the real classic: “They don’t make music like this anymore.”

I imagined myself back in the pit. (We called it slam dancing, if we called it anything at all. Not moshing). I thought, how great would that be?

Nostalgia—“a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations”—is a funny thing. (For you etymology buffs, it’s from the Greek nostos [home] plus algos [pain]. Homepain. Yummy.) It can hit you at any age about anything. From culture and politics to sex and relationships, it taps into macro- or micro-eras from your past when things had a distinct and (it seems now) pleasurable feel. The rush of compelling remembrance and desire can be so vivid that you would pledge your soul to somehow turn back the clock.

On top of that, the sensory assault can come from anywhere at any time. Someone’s perfume or the smell of a fresh croissant, rereading the novel that blew you away in high school or hearing a lost recording of the band you hung out with in college. It can happen when you realize you can’t afford something you once could. It can possess you in a cynical instant when you sense that you now know something about which you were once blissfully naïve.

Truth is, it doesn’t take long for a moment to fade in terms of time (long ago can happen fast), while somehow remaining closer than it appears in your rearview mirror. If you’re a parent you’ve done the math and pondered: “I wonder if my kid sees the ’80s the way I saw the ’50s? Does he think about R.E.M. the way I thought of The Platters?” Consider this: If the Beatles were breaking up today, they would have landed at JFK, all mop-topped and black & white, in 2007. Hell, the Gulf War is to today’s youth what the Korean War was to me. I am so not ready for M*A*S*H* 1990.

Mind-bending timeframes aside, if we’re between 35 and 65 and nostalgic feelings begin to wash up quickly and en masse, we often call it a mid-life crisis. The crisis part comes from how desperately we want to return to “like it was,” be it in bed, on the road, or simply when everything looked and sounded so, so good. If we only had the money, we’d buy it all back. Some do, in fact, in the form of a fire-red sports car or a sudden quit-job-join-Peace Corp play or the procurement of a boy- or girl-toy(s) whose youth is still being (poor things) wasted on the young. (I like to say that as much as I wanted one, I couldn’t afford a mid-life crisis.) In any case, this first wave can be startling and disorienting. Bright shiny objects from your past suddenly seem to be everywhere. It’s not just about history. It’s about loss. And it can quickly become unhealthy.

Bargaining: Train in Vain

When nostalgic cravings come up, it’s useful to remember how much we like to rewrite the past. Was that thing or time or person truly as warm and fuzzy and downright perfect as you remember? How much of the memory is infused with nostalgia itself, part of a vicious cycle of live, glorify, (try to) repeat. Fact is, most experiences weren’t quite as lovely (or awful, as the case may be) as they now seem to be.

I remember listening to a one-time travel-mate recall for an audience (holding court in a bar is nostalgia heaven, is it not?) the grandeur of some of our youthful “Third World” wanderings. “Man, we were great.” We were, in many ways, though I secretly remembered that my journeys were far from invariably glorious. (Maybe I passed on that last Jäger that night.) I thought to myself: Would I really take a do-over on that third-class train ride up the Nile? And getting busted in Burma pretty much sucked. And no, I didn’t get laid that one night and in truth I fought like a bandit with a pal about some dumb thing and pretty much wanted to bail on the whole adventure. These nostalgia-in-perspective thoughts didn’t diminish fondness for my road days, but to quote (the always great) Dorothy Parker, “I hate writing. I love having written.”

It’s true that we all enjoy a good rework of times gone by now and again—or at least our built-in forgetter takes charge for a variety of reasons. If it weren’t your music or your movie, would you really still think that band rules or that flick was the greatest ever? Sure, some stuff stands the test of time (I click like on everything Patti Smith or Tom Robbins), but to confess some more of my own nostalgia-meets-truth reality, The Psychedelic Furs were a great band but not the voice of a generation and high school was not cool like “Dazed and Confused.” (In fact, it was often a cesspool of fear and loathing.) Really, for those who were there, was Dirty Old 1970’s New York City all fun and games? And VH1 celebratory bullshit aside, were the ’80s the good old days? Speaking of that lovely decade, did the blow rock, or what? Was that God we saw or the bottom of a toilet bowl?

On the collective side, our attention-span-challenged nation is no stranger to massive, group-grope, creative cultural reimaginings, as well. There were the “simpler” 1950s, when a man was a man and Sundays meant church (and civil rights were still a dream). The ’60s—awesome color and light, man (and you could still “be the first one on your block to have your boy come home in a box.” Killer tune, no?). Political revisionism? Pick a side and pick a myth. Reagan. Clinton. Already the truly horrible Boy George (the reworked watercolorist, not the also-often-revisited crooner) is enjoying an alarmingly real-time re-do for when America most recently wielded its great big stick. Give it another decade and we’ll be looking back fondly at Dick Cheney.

One more quick but important over-the-shoulder shot before knocking off the past-bashing—let’s talk about sex, baby. Next time you see someone that reminds you of your magnificent hook-up daze, ask yourself if you were “better” then or now. I once heard an unconfirmed (but sounds like him) Norman Mailer story. When asked what he knew as an older man that he could have used when he was 18, his answer was “the key to great sex—lighting.” Are there things you know now—or didn’t know then—that get in that way of how you’d like to remember your alleged prime? And on a let’s-be-honest-it’s-only-somewhat-related note, was that true-love relationship as paradisiac as you remember? Even if he or she still somewhat resembles that 10-year-old pic on their Facebook profile, you broke up for a reason right?

Acceptance: A Brand New Cadillac

Enough with retro-assault; it surely wasn’t as bad as all that. In fact, let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that everything you’re nostalgic about was as great as you remember. Let’s even call it better. The question remains, do you really need it back, or is being here now a better play? My ’68 Mustang rocked, but when it died, it died. Hard. And this (relatively) new Prius? Runs great. Super mileage. And most important, it draws zero attention from the cops—a population among us for whom I have zero nostalgia. (They seemed particularly drawn to the Detroit muscle. No need to relive that.)

Her words may seem trite, but I have to hand it to my shrink who without fail responds to almost every “I want” with a solid-citizen-like, “What’s wrong with what you have?” (Sage direction. Semi-affordable.) One thing I noticed when that unaffordable midlife crisis abated, as most crises do, was that it had something to do with my no longer being interested in grabbing at what I once had, but instead began enjoying memories for what they are—information. By that, I mean they inform us about who we are now. Even the most wonderful and deservedly-cherished memories—mom’s embrace after school, uncontrollably stoned laughter at the Dead show, “Midnight in Paris” when all the pensions were booked—are all disappeared elements of your life that should color you in without defining who you are—and help you look forward as only humans do.

Here’s the thing about nostalgia: Like any drug that takes us out of our present reality, if left unchecked, it’ll grab you by the throat. It’s certainly true that most of our suffering comes down to unhealthy attachments. Nostalgia, in the end, is like any bright shiny object—and your relationship with it can be healthy, or not, depending how desperate you are to go backwards—and get away from where you’re at.

I have an uncle who’s 10 or so years older than me. I remember when he turned 30. It seemed so old to me back then, and my 20s loomed large like the Promised Land. I asked about how he felt about his new decade. Was it a drag getting older? “Fuck that,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to do 29 again for nothing. I’m moving on.” Amen. As for that old gem, London Calling, you bet it called. But I doubt it has my cell.

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a monthly column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott at adelson dot org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

Related on EcoSalon

HyperKulture: Making Space for Your Inner Homebody – A Case for the Great Indoors

HyperKulture: You May Ask Yourself, ‘How Did I Get Here?’ – The Pitfalls of Passion Drift

Hyperculture: Yes Means Yes Means What? – Miley, Rihanna and Me

HyperKulture: Read This F*&%ing Story! – Spinal Tap Headlines and You

HyperKulture: Dear Oprah, Please Tell Us Who We Are — Atheists, Feminists And Other ‘Others’ Need To Know

Images: Katie_photographer (top), chris m. (center), IFCAR (bottom)

The post Living in the Past – You Can’t Go Back…Why Would You Want To? HyperKulture appeared first on EcoSalon.