mahiwaga

I understand I’s point about the Art of Not Wanting smacking of rationalization and sophistry, but I think there is some profound truthfullness to the Art. One, there is the fact that it is one of the central tenets of Buddhism—without desire, there is no suffering. Two, it also ungirds much of the philosophy of Taoism—desire can only lead to imbalance, but desire is unnecessary because all that you need has already been provided for. The Way is all you need. (I find it interesting that Jesus Christ sometimes refers to himself as the Way.)

The way I’ve looked at it is that God always manages to balance things out. (Or, if you prefer the atheistic approach, the universe always exists in equilibrium, because imbalance rapidly dissipates due to the Laws of Thermodynamics.) The example I think of is silly and does not really describe the real universe, but I find it a useful intellectual exercise.

I think of the city of Metropolis in the DC Universe of comics. All sorts of bizarre catastrophes happen in it, things that don’t really have realistic counterparts in the real world. If the frequency of disaster present in Metropolis were to occur in the real world, most cities would long ago have been obliterated. I think mostly of Superman II, where the criminals from Krypton somehow magically end up on Earth. If an ultra-powerful alien race ever landed on Earth in the real universe and they desired to dominate us, we’d be screwed. Not so in the movie. Superman is there to defend us.

So I tend to think (somewhat teleologically, I know) that God never forces us to face crises that we are unable to handle. If ultra-powerful aliens show up, they are balanced by Superman. Or, to think of an even more subtle sense of balance, the aliens are highly susceptible to viruses that we find benign. Somehow, there is always hope in all conflicts. Nothing is inexorable.

Now it might seem strange that someone like me in the throes of a deep crisis of faith will nonetheless still evoke a God that I may or may not believe in, and, in truth, I’m not so sure I’m as optimistic as all that. So my real take on things is a touch more cynical. I still do believe in the serendipitous balancing-out of everything, though. Not because there is necessarily a benign force operating in the background of the universe, but because the laws of physics simply dictate that it must be so.

With the Laws of Thermodynamics, imbalance rapidly dissipates. If imbalance exists, it’s because there is some sort of energy consuming process that maintains it. Imbalance requires the use of energy. It is equilibrium that is the natural state of things. The end of the universe will be governed by equilibrium, which is, in a convoluted way, another way to express entropy.

Entropy always wins in the end.

But, in a twisted way, Nietschze was right: “That which does not kill you only makes you stronger.” I tend to look at it a lot more pessimistically: “That which does not kill you only delays the inevitable.” We’re all going to die. That’s just fact. Call it the Laws of Thermodynamics, call it the Will of God, it amounts to the same thing.

In times of extreme crisis, like life-and-death situations, I can’t help observe that survivors survive no matter what the odds, no matter what obstacles lie in their path. Those who don’t survive die.

I find this sentiment evoked perfectly by Douglas Adams (of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fame):

What to do if you find yourself stuck in a crack in the ground underneath a giant boulder you can’t move, with no hope of rescue: Consider how lucky you are that life has been good to you so far. Alternatively, if life hasn’t been good to you so far, which given your current circumstances seems more likely, consider how lucky you are that it won’t be troubling you much longer.

You either make it, or you don’t.

But, perhaps less cynically, and more healthily, it comes down to that prayer from Alcoholics Anonymous:

God, give me the serenity to accept the thing I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

The Art of Not Wanting isn’t just about surrender. It’s mostly about learning to not want the things that you can’t have.

Watching “Batman Begins” I am reminded of what struck me first about Chicago in 1998 (never knowing that I was actually end up there for a substantial portion of my life. Also interesting that they chose Chicago instead of NYC for their depiction of Gotham.) It’s the lower level of the city, reserved for truck shipments and serving as a quasi-expressway leading into the Loop. For the longest time, it was a haunted appearing place, since the intersection of Lower Wacker Dr and Lower Michigan Ave had been dismantled, in the process of retrofit. It reminded of the section of Midgar (from Final Fantasy VII) which lay completely underneath the “Plate,” which is the upscale downtown district overlying the slums.

There was something intriguing about those deserted corridors, perpetually lit by the awful neon orange of the sodium lights, seemingly now abandoned. This changed drastically when the reconstruction of Lower Wacker Dr was completed. Now you had a direct route just off of the Eisenhower Expressway that quickly took you to the Magnificent Mile, with very little cross traffic in between. (You will likely recognize Lower Wacker Dr if you watch one of the chase scenes in “Batman Begins.” It is also, apparently, the site of the famous “Blues Brothers” chase sequence which I never got to watch.)

The other part of Wacker Dr. that I find interesting is that final elevation that dead ends right next to the Hilton. It reminds me of the unconstructed superhighways in Midgar, and it seems like Wacker Drive was supposed to connect with Lakeshore Drive, possibly as a full interchange rather than just an intersection. If you were to barrel down Upper Wacker Dr at, say, 100 mph, you would easily launch yourself, only to crash down on top of Lakeshore Drive traffic. Or you might actually end up in Lake Michigan.

The only other city that I can think of that has a multi-tiered downtown area is L.A. Because the modern central business district is built on top of Bunker Hill, there is a bizarre maze of bridges and tunnels, stairs, and funiculars, and it is not always clear where perpendicular streets actually intersect. For example, there is the 4th Street causeway that avoids most of the major north-south streets. Then there is the 2nd Street tunnel that does the same. The Grand Ave. overpass meanwhile avoids many of the major east-west streets. If you watch enough car commercials, you will frequently see downtown L.A. (I think the Grand Ave. overpass and the 4th Street causeway are popular streets to film, although the most interesting are the multifarious bridges that cross the L.A. River.)

Because the streets are so absurdly wide, and because of the King of Spain’s original decree that the city’s grid should be laid out on a 45° angle with respect to the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west, the streets underneath the shadows of the skyscrapers never get quite as cold and gloomy as do the streets of, say, Manhattan, or the Loop, or of San Francisco. But downtown L.A. is a diurnal city, quickly emptying after rush hour, leaving only the denizens of Skid Row there. While better than the 1990s, there still isn’t that much of a nightlife there, at least not compared to Hollywood just a few miles northwest, and definitely not compared to Chicago’s Mag Mile or to Manhattan. (Although, really, is there that much to do in the Downtown area?)

But I can’t help but wonder, as sprawl becomes more and more difficult to maintain and businesses find it once again more reasonable to return to the central city, as law enforcement becomes balkanized and more and more likely to be taken over by private companies because of economic reality, making it more useful to just patrol the commercial districts, and to let jungle law rule the suburbs, with the movements to revitalize central city districts and making them places not only to work, but to live as well, just how dense can places like Manhattan get? In NYC, will there someday be a part of town that literally never gets sunlight, because there is no sky above?