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VOLUME XXXVIII, NO. 16 APRIL 17, 1985 THE REFORMERS WHO are the successful reformers? To ask this question inevitably leads to an inspection of present world conditions and to a wondering if there have been any successful reformers. Yet the impulse to work for reform seems to be an inalienable human endowment—not, it is true, actively present in all but sufficiently in a number of individuals to supply the very stuff of history. Such individuals, it may be said, are driven by a motive springing from within to work for improvement of the human condition. The drive to improve one's personal condition is common enough to be regarded as universal, and various theories of human nature, including doctrines for the guidance of human groups, grow out of the presence of this drive. The reformer, one could say, seeks to broaden the base of self-interest to include the entirety or a very large portion of the human race. The Christian injunction to "love your enemy" is an instance of this effort. We know how extensive and powerful is the resistance to this advice, yet from the time of the Buddha until the present there have been those who repeated and attempted to practice it. Today, for example, there is an alliance of Christians called "New Abolitionist Covenant" which invites Christians to show "what they will embrace and what they will refuse because of Jesus Christ." They point out that in the nineteenth century in America Christians united "to turn away from the institution of slavery, to refuse to cooperate with it, and to work for its abolition," going on to say that "Christian acceptance of nuclear weapons has brought us also to a crisis of faith." We are Christians who now see that the nuclear arms race is more than a question of public policy. We believe that the wholesale destruction threatened by these weapons makes their possession and planned use an offense against God and humanity, no matter what the provocation or political justification. . . . As the foundation of national security, nuclear weapons are idolatrous. As a method of defense, they are suicidal. To believe that nuclear weapons can solve international problems is the greatest illusion and the height of naiveté. . . . We covenant together to examine ourselves. To shed the light of the gospel on the nuclear situation, we will examine the basic decisions of our personal lives in regard to our jobs, lifestyles, taxes, and relationships, to see where and how we are cooperating with preparations for nuclear war. . . . The purpose of the covenant is to place before the churches the abolition of nuclear weapons as an urgent matter of faith. The nuclear threat is a theological issue, a spiritual question. It must be brought into the heart of the church's life. This is not a statement to sign but a covenant to be acted upon. Among the groups which originated this Covenant are the Fellowship of Reconciliation, Pax Christi, a Catholic association, and the Sojourners, all committed to nonviolence as the means of resolving conflicts. Their work represents the awakening of a sense of moral urgency arising in individuals rather than any transformation of institutional Christianity. Another kind of awakening is occurring in the schools, again, evident in individuals, not in the institutions where they work. An article which appeared in the Monterey (Calif.) Peninsula Herald last year describes the "War and Peace" class conducted since 1971 by Rodger Halstead in the Cupertino Homestead High School. He may introduce the subject by saying that in the history of civilization wars have killed more than one billion people, asking: Why? The class began, he said, in response to student demand. The Herald story says: About 170 seniors out of a class of 500 are expected to enroll in the course next fall. And his fame is spreading outside the classroom. Over last year, Halstead has spoken to numerous students, teachers and general audiences in Northern MANAS Reprint - LEAD ARTICLE 2 California about his class. The class is divided into three major areas posed as questions: Why is there war? Why war and violence? Should there be limits to war? In the first lecture on conflict, he begins by asking the students to suppose that he has a list of their death dates before him on a sheet. If he had such a list, would they look at it? "This gets the kids talking about death on a personal level," he said. He then gives them war statistics and reminds the students that the war casualties are also human. "It helps brings the statistics home." . . . "I try to bring the class around to talk about their own conflicts and ask them how they resolve them. We talk not only about war but about personal violence. . . . The way inherent conflicts in the classroom are resolved is the way I teach peace," he said. Students are also introduced to the teachings of Gandhi who was virtually unknown to younger people until the recent movie came out, he said. "The movie was a real boon to the class." He recalls that when he went to see the movie with his wife and teen-age daughter, more than 100 students showed up to watch it with them. . . . Halstead said he has a question that always stumps his students: "How do you conquer evil?" "There is only one way to conquer evil," he said, "and that is with good." Meanwhile, scholarly inquiry into the relation between war and human progress has been proceeding throughout this century—a time of agonizingly destructive wars. Frederick J. Teggart's The Processes of History was published in 1918, at the end of a great war which shocked the whole world. It led Teggart to a serious inquiry into the causes of war. He was troubled by an apparent dependence of progress on war, but was able to say at the end of this volume: Indeed, it is only when we take a further step and come to ask how conceivably usurpation of territory, or war, or admixture of peoples could affect intellectual advancement, that the underlying problem is brought to light. It cannot well be assumed that either the intermarriage of different stocks or the Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 struggle of battle will of itself bring about this result; and while it is said that "if you would change a man's opinions—transplant him," it does not follow that the change will be effected by the scenery. In short, the "change" that leads to advancement is mental. What, then, is of importance to notice is that when enforced migration is followed by collision, and this by the alien occupation of territory, there ensues as a result of the conflict the breaking down or subversion of the established idea systems of the groups involved in the struggle. The breakdown of the old and unquestioned system of ideas, though it may be felt as a public calamity and a personal loss, accomplishes the release of the individual mind from the set forms in which it has been drilled, and leaves men opportunity to build up a system for themselves anew. This new idea system will certainly contain old elements, but it will not be like the old, for the consolidated group, confronted with conflicting bodies of knowledge, of observances, and of interpretations, will. experience a critical awakening, and open wondering eyes upon a new world. Thus it is not the physical contact of men that is of supreme importance in human advancement, but the overthrow of the dominance of the traditional system in which the individuals composing the group have been trained, and which they have unconditionally accepted; though advancement seems rarely to have been possible in the past, save when diverse groups have been set face to face in desperate struggle. . . . From this circumstance many investigators have inferred that war is, in itself, a blessing—however greatly disguised. We may see, however, that this judgment is based upon observations which have not been pressed far enough to elicit a scientific explanation. War has been, times without number, the antecedent of advance, but at other times, as when Buddhism was introduced into China, the same result has followed upon the acceptance of new ideas without the introductory formality of bitter strife. As long, indeed, as we continue to hold tenaciously to customary ideas and ways of doing things, so long must we live in anticipation of the conflict which this persistence must inevitably induce. It requires no lengthy exposition to demonstrate that the ideas which lead to strife, civil or international, are not products of the highest knowledge available, are not the verified results of scientific inquiry, but are "opinions" about matters which, at the moment, we do not fully understand. In a later book, Rome and China, also published by the University of California Press (in MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 3 1939), Teggart spoke of sources of wisdom—the works, we could say, of certain great reformers— which seem to have been largely neglected by historians: . . . I may point to the great religious movements associated with the names of Zoroaster in Persia, Laotzu and Confucius in China, Mahavira (founder of Jainism) and Gautama Buddha in India, the prophets Ezekiel and Second Isaiah, Thales in Ionia, and Pythagoras in southern Italy. All these great personages belong to the sixth century B.C., and their appearance certainly constitutes a class of events. Yet, though the correspondence of these events has frequently been observed, no serious effort has ever been made, so far as I have been able to discover, to treat the appearance of these great teachers—within a brief compass of time—as a problem which calls for systematic investigation. But without this knowledge how are we to envisage or comprehend the workings of the human spirit? The history of human achievement, indeed, displays extraordinary variations of advance and subsidence. How are the outstanding advances of men at different times and places to be accounted for? Einstein wrote somewhere that everything has changed save our mode of thinking, and that unless we can learn to think in another way, there is little hope for mankind. Is our mode of thinking beginning to change? Recently a popular novelist in one of his mystery stories had one of his characters say: " . . . whoever committed that murder acted from reason, but a reason founded on, and growing out of, the same vast insanity that brought wars—a superstructure of coherence that gathered more and more followers, those who never looked to see that their belief was founded on insanity." (Rex Burns, in The Avenging Angel, 1983.) This seems a recognition of what the pioneer psychologist, Trigant Burrow, said much earlier in this century, comparing the neurotic's self-justification with its parent social selfdelusions: "Society has its elaborate system of defense mechanisms, its equivocations and metonymies, its infantile make-shifts and illusions. The difference is that society's counterfeits possess the advantage of universal currency, and Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 so the record of its frailties is set down under the name of custom rather than of pathology." One sign of serious thinking going on in the United States is publication by Sojourners, a Christian magazine devoted to change, of a book titled Crucible of Hope, a "study guide for the churches on Central America." It has 146 pages of report and commentary on the four Central American nations "most deeply embroiled in the current conflict"—El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala—all countries whose histories since 1898 "have been dominated by the interests of the United States rather than their own." Thoughtful Christians are doing what they can to help the peoples in these countries, and readers who feel ill-informed about what is going on there will find the contents of Crucible of Hope both informing and horrifying. The magazine Sojourners is itself a sign of awakening conscience. It covers "everything from the struggles of migrant farm workers to raising our children, from the threat of nuclear war to advice to new communities, to the renewal of worship, from the pursuit of justice in the inner city to the contemplative inner life." (There are eleven issues per year—at $15—Sojourners, P.O. Box 29272, Washington, D.C. 20017.) We turn now to a rather different magazine— to, that is, the "Talk of the Town" section in the New Yorker, where we often find encouraging things to read. The editorial excellence of the New Yorker is indeed something to puzzle about. The magazine is in one sense the most successful advocate of sophisticated consumerism that exists, yet its editorial pages are often remarkable for insight, wit, and good taste. Reading them makes you realize that very good material can appear in what may seem unlikely places, giving pause to assumptions to the contrary. For example, "Talk of the Town" for the issue of last July 30 began: Not so long ago, people on the right used to warn us all against "creeping socialism." The phrase could be used to characterize almost any government measure for social improvement; such measures were seen as the first step in a march toward full-fledged MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 4 Communism and Gulag Archipelago. Today—with greater accuracy and in a more cheerful spirit—we can, in speaking of a surprisingly large number of countries, adapt the phrase, and speak of creeping democracy. Democracy creeps today in Chile. It creeps in the Philippines. It creeps in Poland. It is proving to be at least as insidiously infectious as Communism is said to be. In Spain, Greece, Portugal, and Argentina, democracy has crept all the way to its goal—liberty itself, constitutionally guaranteed. The writer says that a distinguished Hungarian novelist, George Konrád, is now author of a book, Antipolitics, in which he argues "that democratization in Eastern Europe and nuclear and other disarmament in all Europe should proceed hand in hand." Konrád is that rarity in political discourse—a fresh voice. For him, democratization and disarmament are soul mates. As he sees it, democratization is, in fact, a kind of disarmament, in which "we take our violently self-assertive passions and submit them to the common rules of the game, written and unwritten—deliberating, negotiating, and reaching agreement." Democratization, therefore, takes the form not so much of a victory of the forces of light over the forces of darkness as a sort of healing. As befits an advocate of social betterment, Konrád has an optimistic streak in him. Fully aware that "history . . . consists of nothing but mutual killing, robbing, deceit, and humiliation"—of "pious talk and crimes to match"—he nevertheless goes on to ask, "But is crime the only thing that has happened?" And he answers, "History takes no note when a woman feeds her family. . . . Men beat their wives, but that's the exception; more often they kiss them. Goodness is all around us, unnoticed as the earth and the air." That everyday goodness gives the democrat and the disarmer something to work with. The method Konrád recommends is to build up and strengthen the sphere of daily life, and thus constrict the sphere of the political oppressors and manipulators. He sees this happening in his native Hungary—one more country in which democracy is, apparently, on the creep. Konrád notes that even under the Hungarian Communist dictatorship, to which he freely accords credit for its liberal tendencies, there are many directions in which the human spirit is free to advance: "There are so many kinds of goals to strive for, so many kinds of successes to console ourselves with! . . . Culture Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 doesn't wax and wane in proportion to economic growth. We can excel there even if we are not very numerous or rich or menacing. The fact that we live in a small country doesn't place us at any disadvantage in trying to understand ourselves and explore the fundamental questions of life." What actually happened in those countries where democratic "creeping" has been going on? Konrád says that "nothing has happened except that the iceberg of power was melted from within." When things like this happen in the modern world, you might say that they make Socrates less of a failure, Gandhi more of a prophet. In fact, when you ask the question we asked at the beginning, whether there have been any successful reformers, you need also to ask where the increment of success—we speak, of course, of degrees of success—is stored. Surely the "history" Konrád speaks of—"nothing but mutual killing, robbing, deceit, and humiliation"— is not the place to look for it. But it may somehow be in people, in their common humanity, and be amplified and strengthened by the work of great reformers, although by means hard to discern. And can we suppose that all the men who actually died for freedom of body and mind—Jesus, Socrates, Bruno—and the victims that Amnesty International tells us about, who often suffered torture before they were killed— can we really believe that their sacrifice was merely wasted because they had no historical impact, or none that we can see? Another "Talk of the Town" item (this one in the last Sept. 24 issue) tells the story of Abdul Ghaffar Khan, a Pathan of the Northwest Frontier Province of India who, to the British, "became an unbeatable, unbearable goad; to Mahatma Gandhi . . . the closest of disciples and the best living proof of the power of nonviolence—in fact he was called the Frontier Gandhi." While Gandhi has been dead for nearly forty years, Ghaffar Khan is still alive, at ninety-four or ninety-five, living in Pakistan under house arrest. (One out of every three days in his life has been spent in jail.) For this report the New Yorker writer draws on a book MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 5 by Eknath Easwaran due to be published about now by a small California firm (Nilgiri Press), A Man To Match His Mountains. How did Ghaffar Khan persuade the feuding Pathans to become non-violent? A cult of revenge dominated their lives. But they had a principle in their lives—honor, in their language Izzat! That principle could have another, better use: To make a very long story much too short, Khan set out to help his people, first by educating them and talking to them about how to end their poverty. He trekked ceaselessly from village to village, talking and teaching, setting up schools, winning followers. He came under the influence of Gandhi's writings, and began to understand that the violence that rent his people prevented their progress. Khan knew his people well enough to figure out how to convert them to nonviolence. He organized an army, with soldiers and officers but no weapons; all who joined had to vow they would not fight. . . . So well did they keep their vows that hundreds were killed by the British. . . . Eventually, Khan's fight paid off: the Northwest Frontier Province won the right, for the first time, to set up its own provincial government—a small concession perhaps, but one that a century of infinitely bloodier battling had not extracted. And before long the British quit India, fleeing Gandhi and those who, like Khan, followed him. Khan, like Gandhi, opposed the partition of India, although the Muslim Pathans became part of Muslim Pakistan, and his continuing struggle for Pathan rights led him to jail again and again. The author of the book about him hopes that telling his story will help to make him "a shining figure for the people in Iran and Iraq and Afghanistan and Syria" and many other places. So the spirit of reform goes on—against terrible odds—but it goes on. There are times when simply the survival of vision is a kind of success. Those who work for this vision are likely to say, when questioned, "What else is there to do?" Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 6 REVIEW THE PROJECT OF PEACE UPROOTING WAR, a three-hundred-page paperback by Brian Martin, is not likely to be found in bookstores (except those conducted by anarchists). The price is 4£, the publisher, Freedom Press, Angel Alley, 84b Whitechapel High Street, London E1, U.K. The author, a fairly young man, was born in Gary, Indiana, and migrated to Australia after graduating from Rice University in 1969. He went to Australia to avoid being drafted into the army. He earned a Ph.D. in nuclear physics and now lives in Canberra. What are the roots of war? They are not the weapons or the soldiers or the political or military elites. Take these away and new ones would soon take their places. The roots of war are the institutions which maintain centralized political and economic power, inequality and privilege, and monopolies over organized violence to protect power and privilege. Some of the key roots of war are the state system, bureaucracy, the military and patriarchy. When I refer to war, I refer to "modern war": the organized violence of professional military forces on behalf of states. "War" is not a timeless and unchanging category: it reflects historical and institutional conditions, such as the prevailing forms of technology and the gender division of labor. In addressing the modern war system it is necessary to concentrate on the contemporary institutions most implicated in it. Most antiwar campaigns have not focussed on changing such institutions. The state system, for example, is usually seen as an inevitable part of the social and political landscape, rather than being addressed as a dangerous institution in need of replacement. It is very difficult not to agree with this analysis. Apart from the material necessities of life, nothing has so firm a grip on human beings as the institutional forms in which they live. For the most part, it is by these institutions that we obtain our practical needs, more or less. But some questions need to be asked. After all, institutions are human creations. They are originally thought of and shaped as tools. They begin, then, by being Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 useful. They remain so, although in diminished degree, after they have become the patterns of behavior we take for granted as a necessary, or even "natural," part of the landscape, as Martin says. People cling to institutional ways because those ways seem all they know, and because it is difficult to imagine life without them. Changing institutions involves what has been called a "revolutionary" state of mind. This comes about when the conditions imposed by institutions become more painful and threatening than the prospect of change. This feeling that change must be sought does not arrive at the same time for all. Hence the need for organization on the part of those who have decided that change must take place. Theory, planning, and action are the requirements. The task of instituting change begins with popular education, as for example the writing of Common Sense by Thomas Paine toward the end of the eighteenth century. Paine called for armed revolt and a break with the ancestral authority and control of Britain, a step for which many of the colonists were not ready, although most of them gradually became so. Thus the Americans fought their war of Independence and won, then made a Constitution by which they have lived, socially and politically speaking, ever since. But war, today, is no longer available as a rational means of social and political change. War has become, as Randolph Bourne said years ago, "the health of the state." Meanwhile the states of the modern world are determined to retain war as their means to security. One could say that states are now addicted to war, since the simplest of intelligence shows that war is no longer a means to any desirable end. A nuclear war is only a means to virtual suicide. War as a tool, as an institution, has to go. This is the ground of Brian Martin's argument. The state, which is the maker of war, must somehow be abolished. (This is no doubt why he found an anarchist publisher.) He says: The first problem is that of creating antiwar public opinion. In a way, the job of convincing MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 7 people about the dangers of war is already complete. Most people agree that war is a horrible thing. But going from there to questioning the necessity of war and preparations for it is a big step. The point of promoting an "antiwar public opinion" is to discredit the assumptions about the necessity or inevitability of war and the military and thereby undermine the legitimacy of arguments and groups supporting the war system. The two words that Martin seems to use most are "elites" and "grassroots." The elites are the people who have a stake in the existing system, and are determined to keep it going. The grassroots are people with little stake in the system who are, or ought to be, able to see the necessity of change. The idea is not to oblige the elites to see the light—which is not likely to be possible, but to remove their power to make decisions for all. Martin seems well aware of how difficult this will be, but says, in effect, what else is there to do? He points out: There are several ways in which elites can act to dampen crescendos of public concern over war. One way is just by doing nothing. This is the usual procedure. Surges of public concern based on outrage are easily becalmed. The solid core of committed people as a social movement must be quite substantial, well motivated, and ready for a long term struggle, otherwise business-as-usual policies by governments will outlast the periodic waves of public concern. Another way in which elites dampen social movements is by entering government-to-government negotiations. Negotiations give the appearance of government concern and action, and a focus on them can drain social concern. Prior to the 1982 United Nations Second Special Session on Disarmament, many antiwar groups around the world put enormous effort into focussing attention and citizen concern on the conference, which turned out to be a dismal failure. In terms of demobilizing public concern, even more effective than negotiating failures are minor negotiating victories. The treaty in 1963 which banned tests of nuclear weapons in the atmosphere was a major contributing factor to the decline in public concern over nuclear war which had been heightened since the late 1950s by antiwar activists. The treaty had little impact on the ongoing nuclear Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 arms race, since the nuclear weapons establishments had made ample preparations to continue, and indeed expand, nuclear testing programmes underground. The election of a reform government is yet another potential dead end for antiwar efforts built around mobilizing public opinion. If attempts to alter the views of governments, of the men who run them, prove inadequate, what alternative remains? Martin says: A yet more promising approach to the problem of war is to use nonviolent action to mobilize people against war. This approach goes beyond reliance on public opinion, which is easily manipulated, to the use of nonviolent action not only to testify to others about deep concern, but also to provide meaningful and motivating experiences for those involved in the nonviolent action. However— A sizeable portion of symbolic nonviolent action is aimed directly at elites, in an attempt to prick the conscience of individual elites. This use of nonviolent action suffers the same defect as other methods of influencing elites: the institutions of the war system are not addressed, but rather reaffirmed through a focus on the decision-making role of those at the top. More important is the role of demonstrations, vigils and acts of civil disobedience in bringing the issues to the attention of the public. The actions show that a deep moral concern is felt by at least some people, and that public opposition is an available option. But these techniques do not, or at least have not yet, become part of the lives of the bulk of the populace. . . . Another problem with many nonviolent action campaigns is that there is no clear underlying conception of how disarmament will be achieved through convincing the public of the necessity to act against war. Will the public swamp the government with letters opposing war and elect the antiwar candidates? Or will workers in arms factories and soldiers go on strike for peace? To bring about the end of war, it will be necessary to dismantle militaryrelated establishments and to create new social and political institutions which make impossible the regrowth of smaller establishments. What Martin seems to be calling for here is the development and spread of moral attitudes which would make the growth and support of war-making institutions a practical impossibility. MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 8 There seems a sense in which the criticisms of the weakness or failure of efforts for peace are really a complaint about the moral backwardness of mankind. The growth of tyrannical and destruction-tending institutions, focussed on obtaining conformity and organization for war, either directly or indirectly, outruns the slowly dawning moral perceptions of the people at large. The peace-makers hope to hasten awakening, and this book is an investigation of how it may be done. Martin attempts to catalog the various options open to workers for peace, and to show the probable consequences of each of these approaches. The goal, for him, is the reshaping of institutions. This means the actual dissolution of the state, which inclines him to give clear recognition of the movement of ecologists and decentralists in this direction. Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 9 them. Other writers he cites, not often included in lists of peace literature, are James Robertson, Ivan Illich, and Leopold Kohr. COMMENTARY RIGOROUS REQUIREMENT STOPPING war, which is the purpose of Brian Martin (see Review), is not something that will be accomplished easily. His book has the distinctive virtue of facing and analyzing the major obstacles to peace, showing that they lie mainly in our dependence upon the prevailing institutions, which are nearly all conscious or unconscious embodiments of the habits which make war inevitable. The fundamental issue, however, remains: the formation of human character. This will have to precede the development of better institutions. How can we do without the institutions which lend their mechanisms to the war-making process? The answer must be: Only by replacing their function in our life-support systems. This is like saying that we must go back to the primitive sort of existence of the first settlers who came to this country. Stake out our own land, raise our own food, kill our own game if we want meat, and guard our security. The fact is, we can't imagine doing all this for ourselves; and yet, somehow, it must be done if we want peace. The only possible alternative is to separate ourselves gradually from a great many present-day "necessities," and at the same time, by ingenious improvisation, devise means of an austere sort of survival which will place less and less reliance on existing institutions. One way to make a beginning is to study the lives of those who set an example of how to move in this direction. Thoreau is the one to whom we turn most frequently as pointing the way. Scott Nearing was another. Then, today, there is an increasing number of pioneers working out on the land, some of them showing how to make the genius of technology serve self-reliance on a small community scale. John Todd has been doing this for years. Brian Martin is not unaware of the valuable potential of the active decentralists. His excellent bibliography includes texts by such individuals as Karl Hess, David Morris, and Kirkpatrick Sale. Detlef Kantowsky's book on Sarvodaya is among Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 10 CHILDREN . . . and Ourselves A BOOK, A PAMPHLET IT is something of a pleasure to discover that a literary and philosopical figure of the past, well known to readers, had the endearing quality of compassion for all animals. This is an unexpected aspect of a book for reading to children, Friends of All Creatures, by Rose Evans, with delighting illustrations by Valeria Evans. The author tells, for example, about Plutarch—famous for his Lives of distinguished Greeks and Romans—born about 47 B.C. in Greece, where he had a farm in the town of Charonea. He had horses and dogs, and oxen to pull the ploughs and wagons on his farm. Out in his pastures, you could see the powerful working beasts—and among them some old, worn-out animals. They had been too old to do any useful work for a long time. Plutarch would never sell them or have them slaughtered, because, he said: "We must not treat living creatures like old shoes or dishes, and throw them away when they are worn out or broken with service." . . . Plutarch believed that the role of Greek education was to make the world more humane. He was concerned about justice and humanity for human beings. And he was unusual in his time and place because he said that animals also deserve justice and humanity. . . . Plutarch says that people could recognize the rights of animals and still make fair use of them, by raising animals to work, and for wool and milk, which can be used without harming the animal. He disliked hunting because it strengthens the urge to kill, and deadens pity. Plutarch detested the popular Roman entertainments, the gladiatorial games, in which hundreds of thousands of people, and even more animals, were killed for entertainment. He wanted them stopped. A story from our own time would appeal to families in which civil disobedience is a recourse when the state adopts policies requiring cruel behavior. In 1977, two young men broke into a marine laboratory in the middle of the night, removed two female dolphins from their isolation Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 tanks, carried them in a van to the beach, and turned them loose in the Pacific Ocean. Why? Because they were students of animal psychology and couldn't stand the mistreatment of these two dolphins. They were attending the Institute of Marine Biology in Honolulu where the dolphins were denied companionship either with other dolphins or humans, as a "behavioral experiment." They were overworked and their food rations had been reduced. Even their toys had been taken away. Puka was beating her head on hard objects in her tank until it was bloody, like those dolphins who are so unhappy that they kill themselves. The students knew quite a lot about dolphins. They knew that dolphins are very intelligent, affectionate and social. They knew about the positive feelings that dolphins have for human beings. Dolphins have frequently resmed people who were in danger of drowning. Dolphins have visited beaches to play with humans, especially children. A dolphin will not hurt a human being. The two students, Steven Sipman and Kenneth Le Vasseur, called a press conference afterward and explained what they had done and why. Then, charged with a felony, they were convicted, one of them sentenced to six months in jail, but on appeal this was commuted to four hundred hours of community service. Other dolphins are being mistreated in the same way, Rose Evans says, and it seems an outrageous irony that these creatures, "who never do anything but good to human beings," for this reason are made the victims of painful experiments. Even captivity proves hard on dolphins, and they often give up and die, by beating their heads against the sides of their tanks. Kindness to animals is a principle of all the high religions. There are forty-one stories of individuals and groups in this book, practically all of them revealing strong character and gentleness. From Mahavira, founder of the Jains, to Albert Schweitzer, we learn things about the concern for animals that have never occurred to us and which not only command adult respect, but appeal to the sympathetic quality in children. The Foreword is MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 11 by Catherine Roberts, author of The Scientific Conscience, who has often been quoted in these pages. She says: In all ages, from ancient times down to the present, there have been men and women distinguished by a certain nobility of spirit expressing itself as as a moral commitment to befriend the earth's defenseless creatures and to prevent their abuse. These courageous individuals, most of whom professed a particular faith, seem moved to action by deep spiritual insight into the common essence of all religions. In serving suffering beings, they disclosed the existence in the universe of a close relation between the human and the divine. Their intuitive sense of justice, compassion, and what is eternally right points to the reality of a divine ethic that leads us on. Whether recognized as such or not, our present global concern for the living environment is a component of this spiritual ascent towards the Good. Friends of All Creatures is published by Sea Fog Press, P.O. Box 210056, San Francisco, Calif. 94121-0056. The price is $7.95 in paperback. We should add a word about the illustrations which accompany each "chapter." These drawings, while they seem a bit stiff, will touch the hearts of both young and old. They convey a sense of living people, kind people, loving people. You go back and look at them again and again for the pleasure they bring. The author, Rose Evans, teaches school in San Francisco. The publisher puts into print works "that promote reverence for life." While on the subject of pictures, we call attention to a recent Pendle Pamphlet (No. 257), Artist on the Witness Stand, providing a selection of eight wood engravings with a text by the artist, Fritz Eichenberg, born in Cologne in 1901, who came to this country in 1933. The prints are striking and unforgettable. (Pendle Hill Pamphlets come out six times a year and are available at $9.00 for a subscription, from Pendle Hill Publications, Wallingford, Pennsylvania 19086.) The quality of Eichenberg's work is suggested by what he has done, which made him "well-known as an artist, educator, print-maker and illustrator Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 of many important books for children and lovers of classics." His work includes interpretations of the works of Shakespeare, Swift, Poe and the Brontës as well as of the great novels of Pushkin, Tolstoy, Turgenev and Dostoevsky. More recently he has written a textbook on the Art of the Print. . . . His prints, mostly wood engravings, are in major collections here and abroad. Among other Pendle Hill pamphlets worthy of note are two which we cherish and frequently refer to. One is The Iliad or The Poem ot Force (No. 91), an essay by Simone Weil which is among the most moving of appeals for an end to war, and perhaps the best introduction to a girl genius who inevitably recalls, by her wisdom and penetration, that other girl genius, Hypatia, of Alexandria in the fourth and fifth centuries. Then there is Harold Goddard's exquisite study, Blake's Fourfold Vision (No. 86), the best brief essay on Blake that we know of. The illustrations for Eichenberg's pamphlet include "Portrait of Tolstoy," an imaginative scene showing Lao tse riding away on his bullock, "The Orphans," which he did for an edition of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre, a pictorial version of the Grand Inquisitor, a print honoring Dorothy Day, "The Long Loneliness," and a fanciful portrait of Isaiah titled "The Riddle of the Peaceable Kingdom." A concluding passage in his text may be of interest: Considering our topic Artist on the Witness Stand, one should pay tribute to a species not recognized in the art world, although their work is signed, widely distributed, and most often syndicated. They are the cartoonists of the daily press whose work is seen and published all over the country, and probably abroad as well. They are the heirs of Thomas Nast and Art Young; the Oliphants, McNallys Herblocks, Auths and many others who are doing a yeoman's job to pillory the shenanigans of our politicians, elected or self-appointed. There are no Goyas, no Daumiers on the scene yet—there is no satirical magazine like the famed pre-Hitler Simplicissimus with its weekly hard-hitting and highly artistic attacks on the mores of society, politics, militarism, and other plagues. MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 12 with an inventory of world resources already in short supply in 1984. FRONTIERS The Public Interest FOR at least twenty years, writers have been calling attention to the increased "selfconsciousness" of the modern world, and the effort toward greater "awareness." It now seems evident that this tendency on the part of thoughtful men and women also finds expression in conscious awareness of the earth, which is, after all, our collective "body." The awareness of body is apparent in the preoccupation with health and fitness, in the emergence of self-reliant modes of healing and in the dozens of groups seeking independence of the medical habit of treating diseases instead of people. Meanwhile, the "advance" of industrialism and technological exploitation of the resources of the earth has become very nearly a geologic factor of change, compelling attention to the planet's need for health. Already, "think globally" has become a cliché, and we realize that countries and regions are no longer isolated from the rest of the world. If we think of ourselves as living "at the center of things," which seems almost inevitable for most people, we are gradually made to understand that what happens at the periphery has nonetheless an impact on our lives. One remembers the cattle rancher in Colorado who, speaking of the decline of the price of beef on the international market—over which he has absolutely no control—said mournfully: "We lose at least $50 every time a calf hits the ground and starts sucking." That is one way, in which the interdependence which results from living in "one world" impresses itself upon us; there are others, for example the unemployment in Detroit and the number of Datsuns and Toyotas on the road. Shortages of both renewable and non-renewable resources are reported in such studies as Limits to Growth, and now we have the series, State of the World, published annually by the Worldwatch Institute (1776 Massachusetts Ave. N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036), which began last year Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 In part, State of the World is made up of the periodically published Worldwatch Papers, studies issued as pamphlets of some 64 pages. No. 62, by Sandra Postel, came out last December. The title is Water: Rethinking Management in an age of Scarcity. Appropriately, it starts out like an exercise in geophysics—how much fresh water the earth has, where it comes from, where it goes, and how it is replaced. While there is theoretically plenty of water, it isn't all accessible: The volume of fresh water annually renewed by the water cycle could meet the material needs of 5 to 10 times the existing world population. Yet lack of water to grow crops periodically threatens millions with famine. Water tables in southern India, northern China, the Valley of Mexico, and the U.S. Southwest are falling precipitously, causing wells to go dry. Rivers that once ran year-round now fade with the end of the rainy reason. Inland lakes and seas are shrinking. How does the water get used up? Agriculture claims the lion's share of world water use accounting for about 70 per cent of total withdrawals. As fertile land became more scarce, irrigation enabled farmers to get higher yields from existing fields, essentially substituting water for new cropland. . . . Besides demanding a large share of any region's available supplies, irrigation results in a large volume being "consumed"—removed from the local water supply through evaporation and transpiration. Crops must consume some water in order to grow, but typically much more water is transported and applied to fields than the crops require. Often less than half the water withdrawn for irrigation returns to a nearby stream or aquifer, where it can be used again. . . . Industry is the second major water-using sector, accounting for about a quarter of water use worldwide. Producing energy from nuclear and fossil-fueled power plants is by far the largest single industrial water use. Water is the source of steam that drives the turbogenerators, and vast quantities are used to cool power plant condensers. Unlike as in agriculture, however, only a small fraction of this water is consumed. Most existing power plants have "once through" cooling systems that return water to MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 13 its source immediately after it passes through its plant. . . . Excluding energy production, two thirds of the remaining industry withdrawals go to just five industries: primary metals, chemical products, petroleum refining, pulp and paper manufacturing, and food processing. In countries with established industrial base and water pollution laws in effect, withdrawals for these industries are not likely to increase. In "developing" countries, the story is different. With hardly any exceptions, Latin American countries discharge municipal sewage and industrial effluents into streams and rivers without treatment. Cleanup is postponed because of its cost. Cleaning Colombia's Bogota River, one of the most contaminated in South America, would cost $1.4 billion—more than a debt-ridden country feels it can pay. But the people won't have water fit to drink unless something is done. One serious mistake in the United States is the using up of underground water in the arid Southwest. These subterranean storage areas are called aquifers and the principal one is the Ogallala which underlies portions of eight states. The mistake is using more water than can be replaced. The Ogallala is now half depleted. Of course, the first mistake was in allowing so much settlement in dry country and then growing crops requiring large amounts of water, such as corn, sorghum, and cotton. industries are being required by law to adopt recycling technologies. Israel has largely reduced industrial pollution in recent years. Yet extensive water users nowhere pay amounts for water close to the cost of its delivery to them. American farmers pay about a fifth of this cost, with the taxpayers charged the rest. Sandra Postel concludes by describing the conception of "public trust," known to the ancient Romans, who believed that private interests have a responsibility to protect the public welfare and should be obliged to do so. A "public interest" law approved in California in 1983 declares that the state must protect "the people's common heritage of streams, lakes, marshlands and tidelands," and the city of Los Angeles may some day be called upon to restore Mono lake to a normal level, now down about a third. Los Angeles bought the land above the lake and then piped to the city water from its tributaries. The writer warns: "Oasis cities such as Phoenix and Los Angeles can no longer expect to grow and thrive by draining the water supplies of other regions. Conservation and better management can free a large volume of water—and capital—for other uses. Thus far, we have seen only hints of their potential." According to some estimates an excess of irrigation in lands around the world is resulting in salinization and waterlogging. This is happening in Mexico, Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, the North Plain of China, and Soviet Central Asia. Again according to estimates, deforestation is costing— in declining crops from uncontrolled runoff—as much money as is being used to construct new dams and reservoirs. The latter part of the booklet tells about constructive measures. Water agencies in California have been recharging ground waters since the 1920s—least costly of all the conservation methods—and manufacturing Volume XXXVIII, No. 16 MANAS Reprint April 17, 1985 ... - [detail] - [similar]
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