Several Streams of Thought: On Ukraine, Politics, A Sad Japanese Cat Story, My Grandpa, and Rebekah in the Hebrew Bible

 

The danger of a little information

I used to be really prideful about knowing a lot about the world. In high school, I competed in Policy Debate, which meant I maintained tubs-full of article and book snippets on every conceivable topic linked to an annual debate topic. I also competed in an event that required me to speak extemporaneously on one of three international topics with just 30 minutes of prep time. As an adult, I’ve consistently taken the time to be updated about current events, to use the tools of analysis I picked up in college poli-sci to figure out what makes the world tick in all it’s various ways, and to try to promote good public policy by voting, contacting officials, and writing into the void about my political opinions. 

By “used to be” I mean that I was like this until about 6 months into the Biden administration. 

The election of Donald Trump in 2017 and the way the Republican Party seemed to conform around him with cult-like passion around the man and his utterly kooky agenda really simplified my voter strategy. I used to abhor the idea of “straight-ticket” voting where you just vote for every Democrat (or every Republican) no matter the office or the candidate seemed so ridiculous. But when the two dominant parties are Trump-publicans and Democrats, it started to seem pretty obvious that the right choice in just about every case was the Blue one. Even if in a given race, the Democrat is kind of sleazy and the Republican is quite principled, still the force that an individual office-holder gives her or his party as a whole doesn’t make a great case for voting across the aisle. And like it or not, third-party voting in a two-party system is partial support for a main political party if the election is close by any stretch of the imagination. 

Of course, there are primaries, letters to send, phone calls to make, leaders to keep accountable, and I kept up with all that for a while into the latest whitehouse. I was very passionate in early 2021 about not letting Joe Biden get away with anything on account of him not being as bad as Trump, and I wrote to my representatives and senators frequently about issues I felt passionate about. But after too many pat responses from officials and an understanding of the complexity of electoral politics, I started getting a touch desensitized. And then I started getting more and more passionate about interests of the far-from-current variety, and by the time 2022 rolled around, I wasn’t reading much about the goings on around the world at all. 

But now of course, there’s a war on the brink of much wider escalation in Eastern Europe. Some people are throwing around the words “World War III.” I figured it was time to climb out of my hole a little and see what all the fuss is about. 

And just as I have been dusting off my IR knowledge, refreshing my understanding of the history of Ukraine, and re-calibrating my reliable sources radar, it has hit me ever more powerfully, the danger of being informed–at least to the level the average citizen is capable of. 

There are several videos going around of some really bad takes on Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. But the thing is, if you have just a little information (along with major unknown-to-you gaps), these takes are not totally ridiculous. On Monday, Putin gave a speech about how he views Ukraine just days before he started the invasion, and if you don’t know much about the situation, and you know people on the other side of the political aisle from you hate the man, then I can totally see how you would come to some terrible conclusions aligning with that smooth talking snake. 

Of course, we’ve all seen what a little information can do during a global pandemic. We’ve seen the cries to “do your own research” which roughly translates to, “read only sources that run contrary to the majority of experts simply by virtue of not accepting the mainstream.” And if you didn’t get far beyond high school biology, then I can totally see how a little viral conspiracy theorizing can get to you. And a lot of the viral misinformation has attached itself to a particular worldview, making it even harder to pry the bad stuff out of people’s mental clutches. 

The thing is, I’m not immune to the danger of a little information. Sometimes I’m still really prideful: me with my bachelor’s degree minor in political science, handful of classes on International Relations, and a literal high-school debater’s shallow understanding of a very wide variety of topics. And I find myself discriminating good information often based on what has attached itself to my political worldview. To a large extent, I (and everyone) can’t help it. We all see the world through our personal biases. But it just scares me. I read a few articles and compared it to what I know about Ukraine and Russia and I started developing opinions, when in all reality, I have absolutely no clue what we should do about Ukraine. Even most experts with way more knowledge about the situation than me are likely a little lost right now. 

But I have awakened my desire to understand–a desire that has floated out of it’s bottle and cannot be put back in. I’m back to nearly obsessively checking the news and trying to understand as much as I can about the crisis. But mostly, I’m striving to follow one of the most striking (to me) lines of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”: 

Now I will do nothing but listen,

To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.

You really can write anything in a book

Trigger warning: Violence against animals, Violence against Humans

I’ve been reading an extremely intriguing Japanese novel called Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. It alternates between two stories that are connected in eerily unclear ways. One story is about a teenage boy named Kafka who runs away from his home in Tokyo and spends most of his time trying to untangle a complex relationship with his past, his parents, and his dreams. The other story is about an elderly man named Nakata who experienced a traumatic event in childhood that left him with quite severely-limiting mental illness but also the ability to talk to cats–provided they decide to speak up to him. 

Nakata uses his ability to speak to cats to run a successful cat finding business, and in search of a cat named Goma for a client, he learns of an infamous cat catcher. The cat catcher’s dog finds Nakata and leads him to the catcher’s house. The cat catcher’s name is Johnny Walker, and not only does he catch cats, but he also–and this is why I decided to title this section of today’s post what I did–paralyzes the cats while maintaining their ability to feel pain, cuts out their hearts, eats their hearts, then decapitates them, and freezes their heads. He does all this so he can collect the cat souls and create a magical flute only he can hear which will allow him to collect human souls for an even more powerful flute. 

Walker wants to die, so he compels Nakata to (and I quote) “Strike me down.” like he’s Emperor Palpatine. Nakata refuses, so Walker performs his wicked ritual in front of him, something Murakami describes for readers in grotesque detail. Just before he gets to Goma, Nakata loses control and does what Walker asked of him. He murders Johnny Walker with a steak knife. 

I read this chapter sitting on a toilet seat and supervising my children’s bath time and I don’t know if I’ve ever been so shocked by the content of a book. I like to write, and I don’t mind a little outlandish prose, but I cannot imagine imagining that kind of story and putting it down on paper to be published. I just keep thinking two thoughts: 

• The most grotesque atrocities are committed by individuals who are committed beyond flexibility to their own imaginary systems of thought. This I think is a rough approximation of a central theme of the novel, which becomes more and more clear as I continue to read. 

• You really, truly, can write anything in a book. 

Grandpa Chandler

I’m a big crier. I sob through slightly inspiring TV commercials. One memorable Christmas, I cried my way through the Arnold Schwarzenegger action comedy “Jingle all the Way.” And I feel a little bad for my wife when I get news that someone I even sort-of know has passed away. She really cares about me and it’s a shame that when she asks what she can do when I’m a puddle of sadness and I have no good answers. 

But my Grandpa Chandler has been dead a week and I haven’t shed a tear–and it’s not even for any logical reason. 

Grandpa grew up in Idaho. He went to Ricks college, the school where my parents met that would become BYU-Idaho before I attended there. He got his mission papers and his draft papers on the same day. The draft agent was a member of the church and let him defer his enlistment until after his mission in the Eastern States Mission. He worked for the Boy Scouts of America, which led him to California where he eventually left the BSA and was a county social worker. He remained devoted to scouting though. 

Just about every time he visited us in Nevada, he brought with him something we could do together that would satisfy a scouting requirement of some kind. We built an ottoman together, did leatherworking, bird watching, coin collecting, and outdoor exploring. 

One summer he invited me and my cousin Doug to go with him to Bryce Canyon and the Grand Canyon. It made me feel special that he invited me and not my brothers (sorry bros). He and Doug picked me up and we hit the road. I have the most random memories of that trip. We visited a ghost town Hollywood set where we posed with various western pops. He taught me how to use a wind-up camera and how to get the film developed at Walmart. He told me not to drink Lemonade first thing in the morning and I ignored that advice and I felt every little chapped cut in my lips. I 

We stopped at McDonalds once on the trip and each ordered a meal from the menu with large drinks and large fries. It was maybe the first time I had ever ordered a numbered item at McDonalds and I was thrilled at the amount of food I had all to myself. By the time we left, both Grandpa and Doug had most of their fries left to eat and they asked if I wanted them. Heck yes I did, so I dumped both their fry portions into a to-go back and we headed out the door. On our way out, I noticed next to the ketchup dispenser, some little sealed cups labeled “Half-and-half.” I didn’t know what that meant, but with just a moment’s thought it was absolutely clear to me that it meant half ketchup and half mayo–the traditional Utah (and Mormon) fry condiment that I’ve always enjoyed. I grabbed a big handful of half-and-half cups and got in the car. 10-minutes down the road I spilled half-and-half (which was not fry sauce) all over Grandpa’s back seat. I don’t think he showed a single sign that he was upset. 

Grandpa also shared his love of Family History and the gospel with me. Often, he would bring some kind of genealogical document with him on visits. He talked through fan charts he had hand-written going back generations on both his and my grandma’s sides. He showed me old pictures of ancestors dated as far back as photography, their names scribbled on the back relative to their positions in the photos. He gave me my own copies of these kinds of documents and a handmade box with a masterlock on the side to keep them in. In the box he included old books that had been passed down from generation to generation. He introduced me to the term “Family Heirloom,” with books that were a part of my ancestors’ conversions to the church as well as scouting sashes, vests, and badges from his scouting days and his dad’s scouting days. 

Most of his trips corresponded with some kind of advancement in the gospel. Though he lived over a 10 hour drive away, he was present at almost all of my church ordinances and priesthood advancements. When I was ordained an Elder, he gave me a copy of my Melchizedek priesthood line of authority. 

Once when I was in high school and close to mission age, he asked me on one of his visits what scriptures I would share with someone who said they didn’t believe in the church anymore. I don’t remember what answer I gave, but I remember putting serious thought into the question–and also speculating over which family member might be falling away. It was way before any noticeable sign of this, but Grandpa didn’t attend my sealing in the temple. He told me he wasn’t worthy of a temple recommendation anymore. I wonder if even years earlier he was asking for those scripture verses for himself. He didn’t miss the reception though. 

Now with my own struggles with my faith, I look to my Grandpa as an example of goodness and light regardless of one’s status in the church. As I matured, I realized that he always put on a sort of playful, grandfatherly air, and I kind of wish that I had seen more of his serious side. He was always joking–”What’s that?” He’d say, pointing somewhere on my shirt. “Ope!” His finger went up and booped me on the nose–He seemed almost more like an elderly Winnie the Pooh than a fully realized, emotional human. 

I did see some breaks in his emotion though. The time he sat in our living room while we watched the movie Mean Girls, and I saw his face fill with disgust. “See that girl, Joshua. You deserve better than that.” He left the room. The one time I saw him raise his voice. I was running around his house playing some kind of game one Easter and had gotten into his bedroom. The time an old war movie brought him to ugly tears late at night. 

But the ugly tears haven’t flowed yet for me after his passing. Mostly I just feel annoyed with every possible emotional response. It sickens me when people say stuff like “well at least he’s no longer in pain.” The past few years have been very rough for his health and it is true that his living suffering was unfair. It just feels so dismissive of the reality of death. I’m often annoyed with my church’s collection of trite recitations of comfort, so “now he’s with his wife Shirleen,” doesn’t do it for me either. And how could you even know? But sadness doesn’t feel right either. Anger feels totally out of place. 

Regret? That’s something I can feel. I recently started doing a lot more family history and I have been thinking for a year now that I’d like to talk to him about his memories of his parents and Grandma’s parents, to see if he has any documents worth uploading to familysearch.org. I should have at least written him a letter. Every time I have, I’ve gotten a hand-written response, some nature-themed stamp pasted in the corner. The last letter I received from him, years ago now, was when I expressed a little interest in bird identification. He described in detail the birds he had seen that week around his neighborhood. 

But mostly I just feel like I’m too busy to feel much, at least deeply. We’ll see what happens at the streamed funeral on Friday. 

Rebekah

I didn’t study the Bible quite as much this week as I have in weeks previous. The instigating factor in that is that I over-read last week on accident. I thought last week’s reading went all the way through Genesis 27. No wonder I had such trouble fitting all my thoughts in last week!

So this week, I kind of used that as an excuse to focus my thoughts on non-biblical reading (like that Japanese novel I’ve discussed above. I did read through the reading once or twice this week though and pondered a little and I really just have one more thing to add from last week. 

Rebekah is rad. I mentioned last week that the voice of God is missing from the story of Isaac in many places where you would expect it. In my estimation, God speaks to Isaac once in the entire reading this week, and even then, he really just repeats what he had said to Abraham. Was that the voice of God, or was Isaac just likening the scriptures to himself? 

In any case, the only direct, unique word of God in these chapters is to Rebekah, and I find that significant. Genesis 25:23 says, 

And the LORD said to her, 

To nations are in your womb, 

and two peoples born of you shall be divided; 

the one shall be stronger than the other, 

and the elder shall serve the younger. 

Extra points to the LORD for speaking in verse. 

I find this significant because it breaks with an established pattern in the Bible so far that privileges maleness, especially in couples. Yes, Hagar receives revelation in the desert–but the revelation is to return to the house of Abraham. Yes, Sarah convinces Abraham of certain things, but Abraham always has the last word. Abraham gets all the revelation for the path the family should take. But in the Jacob and Esau story, it’s Rebekah who supplants the will of the male prophet with her own personal revelation from God about her children. For whatever reason, she doesn’t even try to convince Isaac of the revelation–at least in the text. Maybe she did try and he refused to listen, preferring Esau’s manly hunting skills to Jacob’s ways. And so she took matters into her own hands. Is it wrong to trick someone into doing something they don’t indent? I don’t know, maybe, but she uses her own power, her own intellect to make the will of God happen, as revealed to her in pregnancy. 

Today, there are plenty of times when we priveledge the word of prophets over the word of individuals–maybe for good reason. But overriding the will of a prophet–even by deception is not unprecedented. 

Today we also privilege the male voice over the female’s, and the story of Rebekah give us an exemplar for subverting the patriarchy, even when you can’t deconstruct it entirely. 

Some kind of conclusion

My main purpose in writing this blog is to synthesize what I’m learning and thinking about each week, mostly in relation to the Bible, but, you know: Anything goes. 

This week has been eventful, busy, complicated. My brain is being pulled in all sorts of directions. But I think if I had to pick a theme for the week, it would be that certainty and rigidity of mind is overrated. People are complex, systems are complex. Sometimes there needs to be exceptions for even the most basic principles. Sometimes things are not as straightforward as they appear. 

And I think we need to expect and prepare for that complexity, because more of it is coming.