Author Archives: Matthew Taylor

The Seductiveness of the Lie, Part 1

Posted on by under Compassion, Critical Thinking

In 1978, I remember seeing an issue of Time magazine in my dad’s study. On the cover was the lead story for the week: over 900 members of the Peoples Temple in Jonestown, Guyana, killed themselves by drinking poison at the command of their organization’s leader, Rev. Jim Jones.

They killed themselves because of a lie, or more accurately, a culture of lies. The lies involved allegations that people were out to get them and “capitalist pigs” were going to destroy what they had built. That anyone outside the Peoples Temple community could not be trusted.

Photo courtesy of The Jonestown Institute, http://jonestown.sdsu.edu.

None of this was true. What was true was that the conditions at Jonestown were deteriorating and concerns were being raised about human rights violations, gaining the attention of politicians and the press.

It has been reported that Jones was going off the rails, engaging in drug use and increasingly extreme forms of control over the members of the Peoples Temple. By 1978 he had such a firm grasp on his followers that they were willing to commit murder for him and lay down their lives in response to his lies.

***

In 1954 the leader of a fringe sect in Illinois announced that the world would end on December 21. Word had been received by Dorothy Martin (a.k.a. Marian Keech; later known as Sister Thedra) that was allegedly from Jesus who was now living on an undiscovered planet called Clarion. The message was that a flood would inundate significant portions of the Earth beginning December 21, covering most of the United States, Russia, and other nations. Spacemen from the planet Clarion would arrive just before the flood to rescue the faithful, take them into flying saucers, and bring the safety on Clarion.

People found this believable, and the faithful prepared for the end of the world, many giving away all they had since they would no longer need it. They gathered to greet their rescuers on December 21. The day came, the day went, and needless to say, the spacemen did not appear, nor did the flood happen.

Confusion reigned. The prophesy was reconfigured. Followers gathered to sing Christmas carols in order to renew their resolve. Within days, Martin was threatened with criminal charges.

Martin never admitted fraud, repented, or otherwise took responsibility for the damage she did in the lives of her followers. She moved around a lot after the spacemen from Clarion failed to appear, changed her name, and eventually passed away in Sedona, Ariz.

***

Adolph Hitler–a man who needs no introduction–almost single-handedly managed to convince a nation that they were destined for greatness, if only they could eliminate the Jews and anyone else who stood in their way.

The origins of Nazi Germany have been studied extensively. I will just say that the one of the key elements of its success from 1933 to 1945 (and the groundwork that was laid in the preceding decade) was feeding people a lie, or set of lies, so attractive that they informed on their neighbors, committed genocide, and did nothing to stand up to fascism and domestic terrorists out of fear for their own lives and livelihoods.

***

People will believe lies. People will go so far as to destroy their own lives and the lives of others for a lie.

This unfortunately is a sad fact of human nature. Often our need to belong to something–a religion, a movement, a political organization–is so compelling that it short circuits the other things we ought to be doing in our lives. Things demanded of us by religion and civil society, such as showing compassion, thinking for ourselves, working together, rising above our differences, being kind.

Success That Writers Crave

Posted on by under Compassion, Connection

A few years ago, I posted a couple times in reaction to an article in the Washington Post. Not to beat a dead horse, but I have a bit more to say.

The article was written by Cynthia McCabe, who was e-mailed by a man, a complete stranger, announcing his intention to commit suicide. The reasons this man gave were that he, as a writer, had “said everything I wanted to say and consider my work finished.”

In my posts, I take issue with McCabe’s inability to relate to the man’s situation. Specifically, I found it strangely insensitive that a fellow writer could not sympathize with that man’s desire to have his writing read, and in that way find some measure of community that understood him.

Instead, McCabe’s article calls the man narcissistic and selfish, perpetrating an emotional mugging.

Narcissistic, just for wanting some success in his writing career. Success that all writers crave at some level, right?

In case further proof were needed, the latest magazine and course catalog from my local writers’ center includes a piece by a writer named Anu Altankhuyag, who has this to say:

I knew I wanted to continue writing as more than a hobby. I wanted to one day be able to walk through a bookstore and see my name on the shelf. Every writer does.

Including, one would assume, Cynthia McCabe. But seeing that desire in a fellow writer was too much to ask.

The Enigma of Departure

Posted on by under Family, Health Care, Loss

Most of the time, when you part company with someone, you fully expect to see them again the next time.

It’s just part of how human interaction works. The expectation of continuity allows so many of our institutions, from family to employment to government, to function.

And yet sometimes, there is a high probability that you could be saying your last goodbye. Managing that is not easy.

My mother is 88 years old this year. She had a stroke over four years ago that has left her disabled and dependent. She lives in a retirement home of her own choosing in California. Each time I visit, saying goodbye requires that I both believe I will see her again and know that I may not.

My father turned 90 years old in January. Obviously, he is in his twilight years. I haven’t seen him in person in four years, for a variety of reasons including, of course, the global pandemic. But we talk frequently on the phone. Each time I say goodbye, I hope we will speak again in a few days but also wonder if I have said all that I feel I need to say to him.

My sons are both adults and mostly independent. They come and go as it suits them. All it would take is some careless driving or an undiagnosed health condition to make that casual wave as they go out the door be the last time we see each other.

My wife was in a hospital in Baltimore, struggling to recover from a serious health emergency during the first half of this year. I was visiting her almost every day. But each time I left for the day, I carried with me the possibility that she might not make it until the next day. If I knew for sure that she was dying, I would not go home. But the doctors and nurses assured me that she’d be there when I returned. I had to trust them. And I know myself enough to know that if I try to get by with my reserve of energy at zero, I won’t survive either. That helps nobody.

So the goodbyes are loaded with silent meaning and unspoken hopes and fears. There is no other way it can be. I cast all my bets on there being a tomorrow with my wife, my children, my father, my mother. And then spin the wheel.

Giorgio de Chirico painting artwork

Eating Dinner in La Mesa

Posted on by under Accepting, Family

It had been a couple years since my mother was confined to a nursing home due to a stroke.

I was visiting her, as I had been off and on. With her in San Diego and me in Maryland, the visits had to be planned and scheduled based on when I could get time off and when I could get decent air fare.

University Blvd. in La Mesa, California, just down the street from my adequate hotel.

After a long day of being with Mom, I was ready for some time to myself. I decided to have dinner at the relatively new farm-to-table restaurant in La Mesa. Mom had taken me there just before her stroke, so I knew she would have approved.

It was an easy walk from my two-star hotel up La Mesa Boulevard to the restaurant. The place was busy, so I opted to eat at the bar. The bar there has both  indoor and  outdoor seating, and the outdoor stools were less crowded. This being the San Diego area, the dry air was brisk but not unpleasantly cold. I didn’t mind.

It was just me for dinner. I had been working all day to keep Mom engaged and to understand her way of communicating post-stroke, which isn’t easy. I was ready for just letting myself enjoy the moment.

I ordered a margarita for starters, something I usually order in California but hadn’t yet this trip. The bartender was competent but, to be frank, inattentive. She seemed preoccupied by something — perhaps just focusing on her job. But her customers seemed to be an afterthought.

The inattentive barkeep eventually took my dinner order — the vegetable risotto that I’d had when I ate there with Mom. It’s very good and one of the least expensive options on the menu.

I also ordered a glass of red wine to go with it. The margarita was doing it’s thing, but I really thought the wine would be a nice addition to the meal.

When the meal arrived, I enjoyed it while listening to the local news program on the bar TV and observing the bartender and the two women chatting across from me. The risotto steamed in the cool evening air. It was just what I needed.

Except that I could have used a bit more. I could have used some companionable conversation from the bartender, or a fellow diner. It is unsettling to be a paying patron at a restaurant, eating alone, without anyone really taking notice.

I mean really noticing. I can understand a fellow patron not being all that interested in engaging. But the bartender’s job is to tend the bar, yes? Tend to the customers who have arrived at the end of God knows what kind of day for a drink and a meal. Some consideration would be appreciated. Maybe I just didn’t look like the type. Who knows?

Everyone is dealing with something. Bartenders are no different, it seems.

I finished my meal more drunk than I had intended. But the twilight walk back to the motel was pleasant and uneventful. Past the local social services office, past the mini-mall with the Mexican joint and the nail salon. Back to the barely adequate hotel that nonetheless feels safe and peaceful at night.

I got a good night’s sleep.

Do You Have the Password?

Posted on by under Uncategorized

I don’t know when this started happening — maybe it’s been happening all along and I just didn’t notice until recently — but Americans have code words and pass phrases that are intended to signal one’s political beliefs. It was when I was visiting my aged mother in California that I finally understood what was going on.

My mother lives in a retirement community where the residents are mostly White people who are politically conservative and go to church regularly (“Christian” in some circles).

My mom introduced me to some of her neighbors and the usual questions were asked of me: Where do you live? Do you have children? What do you do for a living?

At some point in the conversation, one of them asked me whether I thought there was too much regulation in this country. Keep in mind that I read and interpret federal and state regulations for a living, so I thought that they were legitimately asking my professional opinion on the topic.

So I said “It depends — California is a highly regulated state.” I was about to ask whether there was some regulation that they had in mind that they thought was a step too far, but this person dropped the topic entirely and the subject was changed.

In the moment, I found this curious. But later I realized what had happened: I had not passed the test.

If I had said “Yes, there is too much regulation” then I would have been accepted as one of them. Since I didn’t do that — since I wanted to actually talk about the topic instead of using it to signal my belief system — they realized I was not one of them and they didn’t therefore want to have anything more to do with me (“Christians,” remember).

In other words, “too much regulation” is a shibboleth.

A shibboleth is a password used to test someone’s identity. If the question is answered correctly or incorrectly, or if the right code words are used or not used, then identity confirmed! No more discussion required. No need to spend anyone’s time probing further into why people have the views they do. If you’re not part of the clan, then you’re no longer interesting or safe.

There are several shibboleths in play right now, in addition to “too much regulation,” that are used to signal one’s conservative politics:

  • political correctness
  • identity politics
  • pro life
  • voter fraud
  • gay agenda
  • affirmative action
  • government handout
  • entitlements
  • all lives matter
  • parents’ rights (or parental rights)
  • government is the enemy

These words and phrases have been almost entirely stripped of any true meaning and have instead become buzzwords and code.

In other words, one cannot use any of these phrases to in good faith talk about the actual underlying issues because their meaning is now tainted by the underlying associations. It is similar to how the swastika used to be just a Hindu design motif. But now any use of the swastika in any context will immediately represent Nazism, Hitler, and the slaughter of millions of Jews.

If you come across any of these words or phrases, beware. An agenda lies beneath whatever the speaker claims to be saying. And it’s not an agenda of inclusion.

And if you want to in good faith use, for instance, “identity” in the same sentence as “politics” then be very careful how you approach that. You may accidentally be signaling that you are a Trump supporter.

It’s interesting to note that the word “shibboleth” comes from a Bible story (Judges 12: 1- 6). The story is that the Gileadites used the word as a pass code to figure out who was from Gilead and which people were Ephraimites, the enemy du jour. The Ephraimites could not pronounce the word correctly and thus were outed as being not from Gilead. Once outed, they were killed. “Forty-two thousand Ephraimites were killed at that time.” (Judges 12:6).

Pretty harsh for a sacred book that allegedly is about the love of God.

And what can be said about conservatives? There once was a concept of “compassionate conservatism.” But as I look around, I don’t see much compassion for those who don’t pass the test. Instead, the wagons are circled, discourse is cut off, and lives are dismissed.

Not very Christian.