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Aspen Times, CO
May 30 2005
A reprieve from the 'weltschmerz'
By Paul Andersen
May 30, 2005
It was peaceful in the kiva last weekend. The static roar of
industrial civilization could hardly penetrate the thick stone walls
and mud thatch roof. Except for the occasional thunder of a
commercial jet, all was serene.
A kiva is an underground ceremonial chamber with a geometric log roof
covered with willow sticks and adobe mud. The one I visited was high
on a ledge under a broad overhang of sandstone in a wilderness
canyon.
Even in the 100-degree heat of the day the kiva felt air-conditioned
because of the radiant coolness of a billion tons of sandstone. I
climbed down into the darkness on a rickety wooden ladder and found
relief for my conscience.
Escaping from contemporary life may not be why the Anasazi Indians
built this kiva a thousand years ago, but this room of transcendence
still serves as a vital grounding place far from the noise and tumult
of the world.
The allure of remote, quiet places grows stronger in me with each
increment of disappointment. A knowing friend suggested that I'm
stricken with "weltschmerz," a German word that has no succinct
English equivalent.
Weltschmerz translates to pessimism, hopelessness, depression. It
means world pain, global angst, a feeling of universal gloom.
What a joy I must be around the house bearing my mantle of
weltschmerz. What pleasant company I must provide while eulogizing
mankind and despairing the state of the world. Surely it's nothing
that a stiff drink and a few hours of sitcoms wouldn't cure.
I would rather stew in it, attributing my weltschmerz to an aggregate
of feelings about things over which I have little or no influence,
issues for which there are no appeals, no higher courts, no just
solutions. Weltschmerz reflects my sense of life's tragedies.
The impact of these tragedies is cumulative. Each grim revelation
gnaws into my soul. I'm not crying in my beer every night, or taking
Prozac. My weltschmerz provides a subtle emotional release, a coping
mechanism for inner truths that are difficult to bear.
My weltschmerz comes from Darfur, Bosnia, Rwanda, Nazi Germany,
Armenia and the grim specter of history. It is contemporized in
Afghanistan, Iraq, the Guantanamo "gulag," Israel, Palestine, and
wherever the blatant erosion of the rule of law and human rights
damns us all.
A bumper sticker reads: "If you're not outraged, you're not paying
attention." Anyone who comprehends war, poverty and the ruthless
exploitation of human beings and nature must feel a pang of
conscience, must feel something.
Weltschmerz is outrage dulled by futility and passivity, a forlorn
tolerance for wrongs that have gone un-righted. Weltschmerz lives in
the realization that fatal flaws underlie human brilliance,
creativity and productivity.
This deep sorrow for human failure, this pained regret of the shadow
side rises from a holistic conscience that implies compassion.
Weltschmerz is a life-force, a pure emotion that touches something
universal and sympathetic. Weltschmerz acknowledges universality.
Martin Luther King said: "We are caught up in an inescapable network
of mutuality, tied to a single garment of destiny."
That destiny determines our worth as a people. When that destiny
turns tragic, an outpouring of weltschmerz seeps into the common
conscience like the dull roar of a jet finding its way into the cool
sandstone of the kiva.
Paul Andersen thinks mutuality is the ultimate cause. His column
appears on Mondays.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
May 30 2005
A reprieve from the 'weltschmerz'
By Paul Andersen
May 30, 2005
It was peaceful in the kiva last weekend. The static roar of
industrial civilization could hardly penetrate the thick stone walls
and mud thatch roof. Except for the occasional thunder of a
commercial jet, all was serene.
A kiva is an underground ceremonial chamber with a geometric log roof
covered with willow sticks and adobe mud. The one I visited was high
on a ledge under a broad overhang of sandstone in a wilderness
canyon.
Even in the 100-degree heat of the day the kiva felt air-conditioned
because of the radiant coolness of a billion tons of sandstone. I
climbed down into the darkness on a rickety wooden ladder and found
relief for my conscience.
Escaping from contemporary life may not be why the Anasazi Indians
built this kiva a thousand years ago, but this room of transcendence
still serves as a vital grounding place far from the noise and tumult
of the world.
The allure of remote, quiet places grows stronger in me with each
increment of disappointment. A knowing friend suggested that I'm
stricken with "weltschmerz," a German word that has no succinct
English equivalent.
Weltschmerz translates to pessimism, hopelessness, depression. It
means world pain, global angst, a feeling of universal gloom.
What a joy I must be around the house bearing my mantle of
weltschmerz. What pleasant company I must provide while eulogizing
mankind and despairing the state of the world. Surely it's nothing
that a stiff drink and a few hours of sitcoms wouldn't cure.
I would rather stew in it, attributing my weltschmerz to an aggregate
of feelings about things over which I have little or no influence,
issues for which there are no appeals, no higher courts, no just
solutions. Weltschmerz reflects my sense of life's tragedies.
The impact of these tragedies is cumulative. Each grim revelation
gnaws into my soul. I'm not crying in my beer every night, or taking
Prozac. My weltschmerz provides a subtle emotional release, a coping
mechanism for inner truths that are difficult to bear.
My weltschmerz comes from Darfur, Bosnia, Rwanda, Nazi Germany,
Armenia and the grim specter of history. It is contemporized in
Afghanistan, Iraq, the Guantanamo "gulag," Israel, Palestine, and
wherever the blatant erosion of the rule of law and human rights
damns us all.
A bumper sticker reads: "If you're not outraged, you're not paying
attention." Anyone who comprehends war, poverty and the ruthless
exploitation of human beings and nature must feel a pang of
conscience, must feel something.
Weltschmerz is outrage dulled by futility and passivity, a forlorn
tolerance for wrongs that have gone un-righted. Weltschmerz lives in
the realization that fatal flaws underlie human brilliance,
creativity and productivity.
This deep sorrow for human failure, this pained regret of the shadow
side rises from a holistic conscience that implies compassion.
Weltschmerz is a life-force, a pure emotion that touches something
universal and sympathetic. Weltschmerz acknowledges universality.
Martin Luther King said: "We are caught up in an inescapable network
of mutuality, tied to a single garment of destiny."
That destiny determines our worth as a people. When that destiny
turns tragic, an outpouring of weltschmerz seeps into the common
conscience like the dull roar of a jet finding its way into the cool
sandstone of the kiva.
Paul Andersen thinks mutuality is the ultimate cause. His column
appears on Mondays.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress