Random Thoughts from a Nonlinear Mind: Volume 2: The Athena Chapters,
Chapter Twelve:
Gellhorn
Have you noticed how many times I have said that chapter such and such is the last essay in this volume? I have done that three or four times, at least. In my mind, it has been a lot worse. I was so disappointed when I didn’t hear from Athena after I wrote Chapter Three that I was certain that I was done. I knew it was time to move on to other projects, but then I had my little episode in the swamp. That changed things. I decided I had nothing to lose. All people, but especially people on borrowed time, might as well make sure they have no regrets, right?
Finally, I am at the end. This is it. I am standing tall as I face my “post first line of my obituary” existence. I have no idea where that will lead me; I will just put my head down and work on Volume Three, my baseball book. I sincerely hope that the name Athena doesn’t show up anywhere in there. I wouldn’t think that I would be able to write about her in a book like that. Of course, if I am thinking about her, then I will surely try to fit her in somehow. She might pop her head up, but I really hope there is no trace of her. That would be best.
I realize that I have not included a lot of biographical information about myself in this series of books. That is on purpose. It won’t come as a big surprise, at least I don’t think so, to learn that Ryan-Tyler N. Mason is a pen name, a nom de plume to protect all the innocent people who have shown up in these essays. Yes, I know, it is also protecting the guilty ones; and there are some guilty individuals. I used a pen name because I enjoy my privacy and, also, I really don’t want anyone figuring out who Athena is. I don’t think that would work out well for her, me, or anyone else.
I have decided to give up a little about myself, not much, but some. In a former life, I was a scientist. I was on the faculty of a medium-sized university. The students were terrible; they were impossible to engage, almost every one of them was floating, killing time until the school told them it was time to leave. The faculty? That is a story I would rather not tell. I will just mention that most of them saw a dramatic increase in class attendance on the days that they gave exams. When you are too damn lazy to change your tests decade after decade, that is what happens. The students, as sluggish as they were uninspired, got their hands on old tests, and memorized the answers. This really benefited both parties; it created a lot of free time to drink until you are too drunk to stand. Both groups took ample advantage of the situation, and everyone seemed happy and content with the status quo. Enough said. OK, I will say one more thing: I couldn’t run fast enough to get out of there.
The previous little paragraph is the perfect setup for the next part of the essay. Have you ever heard the term “Exile From Eden?” I sure have, I have first-hand experience with it. Graduations at Harvard aren’t just festive occasions; there is always an undercurrent of sadness. The students old enough to see beyond the end of their noses know that life will never be the same. Sure, they are hopeful of the future, excited by the possibilities, but the fact remains that they, that very day, are being exiled. They are summarily kicked out of Eden, shown the door, told that it is time to leave. As one who was kicked out twice, I can tell you the footprints on my butt still sting. Salve and ointment do not help at all.
Once, while in Eden, I took a seminar on Darwin that I want to mention as this project comes to a close. We went through various editions of The Origin of Species; we did this because Darwin’s thought process about evolutionary topics “evolved” through the years. Interestingly enough, he was the closest to correct in the first edition; he strayed further away with each subsequent release. He got influenced by arguments (thank you Fleeming Jenkin) that have since been dismissed as incorrect, arguments mainly about genetics. Remember, Mendel had published during Darwin’s life; in fact, Darwin had a copy of his paper on his shelf, but he had never read it. Back then, the journals were produced such that the pages had to be cut for the articles to be read. The journal pages in Darwin’s copy were uncut. It wasn’t until years after Darwin’s death that Mendel’s work was rediscovered, and the field of genetics was born. Isn’t it astounding how much Darwin was able to discover without having any clue that there were things called genes? It really is astonishing.
I am bringing up that seminar because we had spirited discussions about the role of intentionality in the evolutionary process. Clearly, there is none; there is instead lots of randomness. The most important thing that the process of natural selection does is to choose individuals in a given species that are better adapted than others to the current local environment. If the weather patterns drastically change over deep time, that is tough luck for those species that are not plastic enough to change along with it. There is one aspect of the process, though, that I have always struggled with. Finally, in the last essay, I can put my meeting with Athena within this important context.
The hardest thing for me, the thing I have to keep reminding myself about, is that nature is not cruel; it is simply indifferent. Watch any nature videos lately? If so, then you know what I am talking about. I love the ones where the gazelle is giving birth, and the hyenas are starting to eat the newborn right as it arrives in the world. When I see things like that I constantly have to remind myself nature is not cruel, it is indifferent. When I see dying children, cancer eating them from the inside out, I fight to remind myself that nature is not cruel; it is indifferent. When I see the news coverage of natural disasters, when the hurricanes and the tornadoes indiscriminately destroy whatever and whoever is unlucky enough to be in its path, I tell myself that nature is not cruel; it is simply indifferent. I keep telling myself that, I have to because all the evidence points in that direction.
The odd thing is that as I constantly remind myself of these simple facts, I also keep checking my email. You just never know who might shoot off a quick message, right? I am inclined to believe that at some point, those “watch this” moments randomly and inexplicably mutate into something positive. It is a simple matter of mathematics, isn’t it?
As you might guess, I have spent a lot of time thinking about evolutionary theory and how it informs various aspects of my experience as a simple human being. This is where things get fun; statistically, philosophically, and socially. What I am getting at are the implications of Darwinian Theory when it comes to my own life. I want to end this volume with a brief discussion of Martha Gellhorn and what it means to be a footnote in a Darwinian world.
Martha Gellhorn was a world-class writer. She is remembered mainly for her work as a war correspondent; you will find that a major journalistic prize is named after her. She was also a novelist. Oh yeah, Nicole Kidman played her in a major film. Not too bad.
Why would anyone make a film about a female war correspondent? What did she do that was so exceptional? She had to have done something extraordinary, right? Well, the one thing I neglected to mention is that she was the third wife of Ernest Hemingway. The film, Hemingway and Gellhorn, isn’t bad. The fact is, no matter her accomplishments, she would never have had a movie made about her if she hadn’t married Hemingway. That ugly little fact brings us to the conclusion of this collection of essays.
Later in life, when Gellhorn truly understood that the major reason she was famous was because of her ex-husband, she took stock of the issue. She, like me, refused to be a footnote in the life of someone else. Her work was too important to be understood in terms of another person. As she got older, she insisted that anyone writing about her not mention that she was once married to Hemingway. She wasn’t kidding; she required that guarantee to do the interview. The irony, and it is a big one, is that if she had never married him, then the movie never would have been made, and I most certainly would never have heard of her. After her death, it seems that her life is understood in terms of a man she was married to for only a few years. She, unfortunately, has become the footnote she so desperately did not want to be.
Gellhorn and I are kindred spirits. I have thought a lot about what being a footnote means. My outlook, while similar to hers, is based more on the rules of the natural world; it is informed by a Darwinian perspective. Anyone who has bothered to study the topic knows that only one thing matters to the Evolutionary Gods. In a system based on differential reproduction, there is only one thing that can matter; it is the only measure of fitness and success. Nothing, and I mean nothing else is relevant. And those somewhat cryptic, yet undeniable, statements lead directly to the conclusion.
At the beginning of this book, in the introduction, I included the original paragraphs I had written when this was only supposed to be a small section in another book. Originally, I was going to place the first three essays in Volume One of Random Thoughts From A Nonlinear Mind. I kept writing until I reached Chapter Seven, which then became the new (albeit temporary) end. What follows is the original conclusion that I wrote after completing Chapter Seven. Such is life, eh?
CONCLUSION
I simply gave up, that is the ultimate conclusion to my story. I have lots of reasons why and I have decided to detail just a few of them here. I added this short section because I concluded that it wasn’t right for me to leave everyone hanging. After all, it sure looked like I was Jonesing for that lunch date.
I will start by stating I am at the point in my life where time is no longer a friend; it is something I can no longer take for granted. Realizing this, I woke up the other day and immediately defriended my former ally; not only that but I placed that bastard directly on a Nixon-esque type enemies list that I created just for this occasion. There it will remain. That decision was an easy one.
The next choice I had to make was not so easy. I had to decide if I had waited long enough for Athena to say yes or no to a straightforward request for a lunch date. Month after month went by with her saying nothing at all. I guess I just reached the point where I had enough. I really thought it was important that we try to get to know each other, but she obviously holds a slightly different view. I mean, come on, I gave her over a year, and she still wouldn’t just say “no.” So, I have decided to say “no” for her.
Many people have asked me what is going to happen if she calls me down the road; will I answer, if I don’t answer will I bother to reply? My guess is that I will not. I have invested more than enough time and energy into this fiasco; I really don’t have much more to give. I just don’t see any point to it. Anyway, I don’t think it is going to be an issue. If she was going to call, she would have a long time ago, don’t you think?
So, what now? Am I unhappy that I went to the concert that changed my life? No, I am not. I am glad I got to meet her; I remain totally, completely, and utterly undone. The Random Pulses of Bliss are still hitting me nearly constantly (I just got three of them while typing that last sentence). I was a different person leaving that dive bar than I was walking in; that is a simple fact.
There is one thing that makes me more than a little sad. I will admit that I am disappointed by the fact that we will never get to know each other. When the story of her life gets written, I won’t even be a footnote; I will be nowhere to be found in that tale. Strangely enough, if things keep going the way they have been; if she keeps inspiring me like she has; if the inexplicable mojo doesn’t wear off; if the Random Pulses of Bliss don’t return to the unknown dimension from whence they came; if hope continues to spring and recoil; if a faithless man can successfully keep just a little faith then she will be the central (albeit mysterious) figure in an explosion of creativity that will certainly come to define my life. Her presence will be felt between the lines of every sentence on every page when the story of my life is written. The only thing I will need to do is to keep searching for someone to help me write it.
Sigh. So much for the original conclusion. The year of waiting has turned into two and a half years of sustained silence. The silence is getting more and more eerie. Not surprising, though, I stopped sending her drafts of these essays a long time ago. She has no idea I have written an entire book about what has happened to me since I met her. I don’t have a clue as to how she will ever find out. I am not going to tell her, and I seriously doubt the few people who know who she is will find her and let her know. It is done, all of it. This is over.
I think the only remaining issue is the one I briefly wrote about in the original conclusion. Am I still glad I met her? Well, while meeting her was easily the most important thing that has ever happened to me, I am not so sure it was one of the best things I have ever experienced. I now know there is another person out there on the same wavelength as me, but there is something to be said for the bliss of ignorance. If you have no idea what you are missing, then how can you possibly miss it? I guess all I am saying is things were a lot easier, quite a bit simpler, before I met her.
