Query: Is the existence of a supreme being necessary for morality?
If you read much, you've probably read somewhere (and I'm paraphrasing) "In a universe without God, all things are allowable." Why is that so? It doesn't seem to make sense, when you think about it. Is it allowable to cancel the law of gravity? Is it allowable for mammals to breathe Malt-O-Meal instead of oxygen? I mean, in the most ridiculous sense of the word "possible" it is possible for those things to occur, but the existence or non-existence of a supreme being doesn't seem to make much difference.
Some of the most moral - and rational - people ever to live have been non-believers. I hasten to point out the distinction between a non-believer and an atheist. A non-believer (agnostic, if you will) hears a religious person say "I firmly believe in the existence of God," to which a non-believer would say "I'm not sure I believe that," or "I really don't see sufficient evidence either to confirm or deny the existence of God, therefore I have formed no belief either way." An atheist would say, "You're wrong. There is no God." For believers this has become a distinction without a difference. An agnostic is an atheist is an agnostic, ad infinitum.
Now, of these three possible attitudes, which is the most honest? Well, the agnostic of course. Believers in God readily admit that there is no proof of God's existence. Same deal with atheists. Well, if there's no proof there's no reason to form a belief. Yeah, yeah, I've heard all the sophistry from both sides. Do you have to go visit your money in the bank to believe it's there? No, but neither am I betting the entire future of the universe and everything in it on whether or not my money's in the bank. Also, if I kept going to the bank and asking for my money and they kept telling me "You just have to have faith that your money's here," I would have some serious doubts and a demand for proof - probably in the form of total withdrawal and relocation of all my money - would ensue shortly. Atheists have an easier row to hoe, in that it is impossible to prove a negative, but the belief formed from a total lack of evidence is a pretty flimsy belief. Imagine your watching Law & Order: Sam Waterston's questioning Jerry Orbach: "Detective, what led you to believe that the accused committed this heinous crime?" "Why, that would have to have been the complete lack of evidence as to who committed the crime, sir. Based upon that, it could only have been the accused. Thank God we caught him."
Ok, that argument may have itself been sophistry, but that's only because this question invites it more than any other. The point I'm trying to make is that, if honesty is to be considered a moral value, and it is more honest to say "I am not able, based upon the available evidence, to form a belief one way or the other regarding the existence of God," then morality must be possible absent the existence of God. That statement - just because it contains the word absent - does not pre-suppose that God does not exist, it merely admits the possibility that God does not exist. Whether believers understand it or not, any admission that there is no proof of God's existence is, in and of itself, an admission of the possibility that God does not exist.
'Bet you wish I go back to talking about "the Last Waltz," huh?
Adios, gentle reader
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
The Band's Last Waltz
My son gave me the DVD of "The Last Waltz" for Father's Day. We watched it on Sunday, and I was taken with the idea that the Band somehow had the uncanny - almost mystical - ability to introduce us, as Americans (Americans of the late 60's and early 70's, at that - anarchic Americans) to our agrarian, post-Civil War, southern redneck selves. Quite odd, when you consider that most of them were Canadian. But Levon Helm . . . Levon Helm was that voice - the voice of innocent bigotry. The voice of "don't know no better." The voice of a white man whose family was probably not, at least economically speaking, much better off than many of the Southern blacks he (not Levon himself - I don't know the guy - just the kind of Southern everyman he seemed to represent) purported to be better than.
Why do I say this? Well, just think of their most successful songs and the images they bring to mind. "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" is pretty obvious, but when you hear Levon Helm singing about the Civil War its as though it just happened yesterday, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. The hurt for the land torn asunder, the lost brother, the lost peace. "The Weight," on the other hand is Black gospel. Each of the Band's singers takes a turn at a verse, and in the movie Mavis Staples and Pop Staples of the legendary Staples Singers take their own verses. Pop's verse is the flip side of Levon Helm. A "just a regular guy" black man singing about everyday sadness. Mavis, on the other hand, sounds as though God is in the room with her - and listening intently. Unfortunately for the audience at Bill Graham's Winterland, this performance was done in a studio, and wasn't heard by the attendees to the Last Waltz concert. At the end, Mavis Staples just b r e a t h e s the word: "Beautiful." She couldn't be more right. Then there's "Up on Cripple Creek," one of the sexiest songs ever written, and it sounds like it was written somewhere between 1929 and 1939 - as if Woody Guthrie could've had a grand ol' time singing around the campfire while he and some Okie's passed a jar.
When you look at the Band's personnel, its as unlikely an aggregation as you could imagine. Robbie Robertson - a drop-dead handsome Canadian with a queer cosmopolitanism about him, as well as a certain undercurrent of depravity; Rick Danko and Richard Manuel, two non-urban Canadians with a crazed look in their eyes that makes you wonder if they didn't spend one winter too many snowed in in a cabin by themselves. Garth Hudson, the American North-Easterner so innocent he made the other guys in the band pay him ten bucks a week for "music lessons" so he wouldn't have to lie to his parents (he had to have been in at least his mid-twenties at the time) about getting the money from playing in a band. And Levon Helm, the raw-boned Southerner with a vocal delivery as spare and honest as it is possible to find, and near-demonic sense of drive as a drummer.
When you see them accompanying Bob Dylan on the couple of tunes he performs in the movie, you can feel them holding back, trying not to overwhelm Dylan with their group energy. And Dylan must have known just how outclassed he was, from the standpoint of musicianship. Neil Young, on the other hand, despite his similarity to Dylan in compositional style and vocal style, seems quite comfortable with the Band and turns in one of the best performances of the concert.
But the grand prize must go to Joni Mitchell. I always wonder if it galled her to be so often identified as a "chick singer" when she could so effortlessly outclass most of the male musicians she worked with. Her performance of "Coyote" puts the Band in a place their listeners would never expect to find them - the edge of modern jazz - and they sound quite comfortable, even accomplished in a genre that certainly wasn't their meat and potatoes.
Van Morrison's performance is a revelation, as well. You can almost watch the Band's members looking around at each other and remembering what its like to play Soul music behind a really fine singer - and entertainer. Morrison works the crowd as though he's the opening act at a Chitlin' Circuit roadhouse. Like Avis, they must try harder.
If you haven't seen "the Last Waltz," no matter what your age, its worth a look. You'll see a time - one of the last times, perhaps - where passion and virtuosity met in popular music; where it was no surprise to band members that there might be times when they wouldn't eat, but that was ok; and a time where the audience viewed musicians with both a sense of awe, and a sense of fond familiarity.
Take 'er easy, gentle reader
My son gave me the DVD of "The Last Waltz" for Father's Day. We watched it on Sunday, and I was taken with the idea that the Band somehow had the uncanny - almost mystical - ability to introduce us, as Americans (Americans of the late 60's and early 70's, at that - anarchic Americans) to our agrarian, post-Civil War, southern redneck selves. Quite odd, when you consider that most of them were Canadian. But Levon Helm . . . Levon Helm was that voice - the voice of innocent bigotry. The voice of "don't know no better." The voice of a white man whose family was probably not, at least economically speaking, much better off than many of the Southern blacks he (not Levon himself - I don't know the guy - just the kind of Southern everyman he seemed to represent) purported to be better than.
Why do I say this? Well, just think of their most successful songs and the images they bring to mind. "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" is pretty obvious, but when you hear Levon Helm singing about the Civil War its as though it just happened yesterday, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. The hurt for the land torn asunder, the lost brother, the lost peace. "The Weight," on the other hand is Black gospel. Each of the Band's singers takes a turn at a verse, and in the movie Mavis Staples and Pop Staples of the legendary Staples Singers take their own verses. Pop's verse is the flip side of Levon Helm. A "just a regular guy" black man singing about everyday sadness. Mavis, on the other hand, sounds as though God is in the room with her - and listening intently. Unfortunately for the audience at Bill Graham's Winterland, this performance was done in a studio, and wasn't heard by the attendees to the Last Waltz concert. At the end, Mavis Staples just b r e a t h e s the word: "Beautiful." She couldn't be more right. Then there's "Up on Cripple Creek," one of the sexiest songs ever written, and it sounds like it was written somewhere between 1929 and 1939 - as if Woody Guthrie could've had a grand ol' time singing around the campfire while he and some Okie's passed a jar.
When you look at the Band's personnel, its as unlikely an aggregation as you could imagine. Robbie Robertson - a drop-dead handsome Canadian with a queer cosmopolitanism about him, as well as a certain undercurrent of depravity; Rick Danko and Richard Manuel, two non-urban Canadians with a crazed look in their eyes that makes you wonder if they didn't spend one winter too many snowed in in a cabin by themselves. Garth Hudson, the American North-Easterner so innocent he made the other guys in the band pay him ten bucks a week for "music lessons" so he wouldn't have to lie to his parents (he had to have been in at least his mid-twenties at the time) about getting the money from playing in a band. And Levon Helm, the raw-boned Southerner with a vocal delivery as spare and honest as it is possible to find, and near-demonic sense of drive as a drummer.
When you see them accompanying Bob Dylan on the couple of tunes he performs in the movie, you can feel them holding back, trying not to overwhelm Dylan with their group energy. And Dylan must have known just how outclassed he was, from the standpoint of musicianship. Neil Young, on the other hand, despite his similarity to Dylan in compositional style and vocal style, seems quite comfortable with the Band and turns in one of the best performances of the concert.
But the grand prize must go to Joni Mitchell. I always wonder if it galled her to be so often identified as a "chick singer" when she could so effortlessly outclass most of the male musicians she worked with. Her performance of "Coyote" puts the Band in a place their listeners would never expect to find them - the edge of modern jazz - and they sound quite comfortable, even accomplished in a genre that certainly wasn't their meat and potatoes.
Van Morrison's performance is a revelation, as well. You can almost watch the Band's members looking around at each other and remembering what its like to play Soul music behind a really fine singer - and entertainer. Morrison works the crowd as though he's the opening act at a Chitlin' Circuit roadhouse. Like Avis, they must try harder.
If you haven't seen "the Last Waltz," no matter what your age, its worth a look. You'll see a time - one of the last times, perhaps - where passion and virtuosity met in popular music; where it was no surprise to band members that there might be times when they wouldn't eat, but that was ok; and a time where the audience viewed musicians with both a sense of awe, and a sense of fond familiarity.
Take 'er easy, gentle reader
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)