The Nothingness of Being

Ronald Green, in his book Nothing Matters, makes a distinction between nothing and nothingness. Nothing, he claims, is the absence of everything, whereas nothingness is the absence of something. An important distinction. But how do we distinguish, then, between something and nothingness?

 How much room is there in the human consciousness? For everything added, must something else be erased? How much love are we capable of giving? Can we have multiple relationships without one coming at the expense of another? Can we spread our love evenly between our children, without one receiving more, and the other less? When we learn things, must we forget others? Is consciousness the something and the sub-consciousness the nothingness? Whereas nothing appears to be absolute, nothingness is not. We appear able to slip in and out of nothingness. But what comes first - something or nothingness, the chicken or the egg? Can we only conceive of nothingness after we have conceived of something and recognized its absence?

As an example of slipping in and out of nothingness, I’ll take you back to an earlier blog entry - Why Guinness always tastes better in Tel Aviv. There I told you about how Ronald and I would reach great moments of enlightenment over pints of Guinness at Molly Blooms only to have these amazing revelations quickly evaporate into nothingness on our separate ways home. At the time, I thought they were gone for good, but I was mistaken. They resurfaced somehow in two separate books: Ronald’s Nothing Matters which delves deep into the concept of nothing, offering a clear, comprehensive and in-depth study of non-fiction; and my As I Died Laughing which sets out in a dysfunctional and fragmented exploration into the distinction between something and nothingness, supposedly a work of fiction.

It seems as if we are constantly moving back and forth into nothingness and the something which generated it. In leaving country, language and culture behind, my new Israeli identity has erased many parts of the Canadian identity which preceded it. The longer I have lived here in Israel, the further back into nothingness one would expect the exile of my Canadian self to be. But this hasn’t been the case. Recently I have found parts of my Canadian identity, which I thought were lost, fighting their way back into consciousness. I hear that this is not a phenomenon unique to my own personal expatriate existence. Apparently many people find themselves on a curve in their acclimatization to a new country and culture. They struggle to adapt to their new country, and just when they reach  the pinnacle of feeling almost native to the new language and culture, they enter into a period of recession - their former identity subtly reappearing out of their nothingness. And the main difference is that they no longer feel the need to apologize for, or try to stifle, this something that had apparently never gone away.

Which brings us to the concept of being. What does all this matter if we are going to die? And then everything becomes nothing - earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust - from nothing we came, and into nothing we return. But can we refer the concept of nothing to the concept of being? If nothing is absolute - the absence of everything - then how could anything be created out of it? If our being was nothing before our conception in birth, how could we have ever come about? And if nothing is the absence of everything, how can we enter into the state of nothing after we die. Something surely cannot become a part of nothing. This is probably unexpectedly comforting to many - linking our being to nothingness rather than nothing - believing that by slipping into nothingness, we can slip back into something again. All religions seem to have built their basic premise on this belief, although they all label it differently. For me, personally, I have no room in my vocabulary for an omnipotent being. I have enough of a problem trying to come to terms with my own being. Rather, at this point, it is simply a matter of logic; albeit human logic.

Understanding being, even without taking into account the state of being before our conception and after our death, has puzzled thinkers throughout the ages. A child cannot differentiate between itself and a separate world at first. It goes through a cognitive development where it suddenly becomes aware of objects separate from itself. And then later, it is also able to differentiate between these objects. Is this something that the child is taught, or acquires through experimentation in this new world? Or is it a part of our cognitive programming? And if so, why does it take time for this programming to be activated? Is our cognitive programming the nothingness through which all somethings are recognized? Does this help us understand which comes first - the chicken or the egg?

If something came from nothingness, then the process could hypothetically be reversed. Under special circumstances, we might find ourselves returning to a womb like state. Let us consider the example of Gilad Shalit, a young Israeli soldier who has been held in captivity for the last five years by the Hamas, and who will apparently be released in a few days. Gilad has had no real human contact in the last five years. He has been confined to a solitary cell where his only reality is the things inside these four walls that he can see, hear, touch and smell. Over time, the construct of this reality must have slowly filled his consciousness, pushing back everything he had known before then into nothingness. And in Gilad’s case, we must ask ourselves if there is a point of no return, where something is pushed so far back into nothingness that it is lost forever. For Gilad has come as close as possible to nothing - the absence of everything - as appears humanly possible. Upon his release, will he capable of recognizing a world he once new? Or will this once again become a learning experience? For Gilad, his being hasn’t changed. But for his family and closest friends, they will search for a being that they recognize,and they may have to come to the realization that he is now a stranger. Must we then divide being into two? Who we know ourselves to be and how others see us? After we die, if we do still exist in nothingness or in something, the recognition of our present being is in our eyes only. Others still recognize our being, even after our death, but they only recognize what they remember of us.

Life is frail. There is no doubt about that. And it is finite - no matter what we do. Yet we never give up on our search for meaning. Maybe we just have to learn that meaning can come out of nothingness, just as much as it can come out of something. Or maybe we need to take one step further and come to the realization that there isn’t any real difference between the two.

I’m sorry ... I’m Canadian

It is said that Canadians apologize all of the time, even when there is no reason for apology. Why is it then that I don’t feel the urge to do the same? Could it be that I have lived so long in Israel that this essential part of my Canadian identity has been erased? Israelis do not apologize. Even if an Israeli steps on your foot, he will find a reason for claiming that it is your fault.

But surely we are overgeneralizing. How can we say that a whole nation has an obsessive tendency to apologize? True, a few Canadians have told me that they even apologize to a table when they bump into it. But I am sure that if we dig deep enough we will find a few Canadians who rarely apologize, if at all. The thing is, we like our stereotypes, don’t we. Americans are chauvinistic, Canadians struggle with an inherited inferiority complex; Americans are crass, Canadians are cultured but too laid back; Americans keep guns at home to shoot burglars, Canadians apologize to the burglar for locking the door ...

But, for the sake of argument, let’s say that Canadians do have an irrational desire to apologize for … well, just about anything. Why is it then, that this came about?

One of my guilty pleasures is watching the reality show “So you think you can dance.” The Canadian finale is in another few days and in discussing two of the top contenders (Lindsay and Melissa) with a good Torontonian friend of mine, he commented that Lindsay comes across as very modest, which is a very endearing trait to Canadians,whereas Melissa shows fierce determination and consistency, qualities that would ensure her victory if it were the US voting.  But this is Canada, and the shy Lindsay speaks to Canadians much more.

Why do Canadians feel it is wrong to aggressively assert themselves? If a Canadian and an Israeli are standing talking to each other, you will see the Canadian continually moving backwards, as the Israeli continuously steps forward into his coveted space. Israelis like things right up front; Canadians prefer them a little more laid back. Israelis live the moment and are continually checking the hourly news to see what new trauma/disaster/flock of rumours have transpired. Canadians may read the morning or evening newspaper, and catch the 6 o’clock or 10 o’clock news, but this is more of an afterthought. If something really important is happening, someone will tell them … sooner or later. There is no such thing as a real waiting line in Israel. Israelis are consumed with how to work the line so that they can make their way up to the front as quickly as possible. Canadians come with a sandwich and a book to read in preparation for the long wait. Israelis act at times as if there is no tomorrow. Canadians often act as if there is no today.

Is the Canadian lack of aggression simply a matter of being polite, or is it a sign of lack of confidence? Canadians are meek, but will the meek really inherit the earth?

In my early years, I remember a Canada which suffered greatly from an inferiority complex. We watched American television and movies, listened to American rock and pop, studied British history and World Geography rather than Canadian, ate at fast food joints that were a part of American chains. And when it came to football, we tried to create our own field dimensions and number of downs, and once again felt the need to apologize afterwards. And even though our North American cultural identity was mostly borrowed from the States, we hated it when people told us that there was little difference between Canadians and Americans.The one thing that did instill confidence in Canadians, though, was our belief in our ice hockey superiority. Everyone knew that Canadians learned to skate even before learning to walk. But that confidence was badly shaken when we just managed to scrape by and win the first hockey competition between the NHL and Russia. Until that point, we were sure that we could crush any competition.

And what else did we have to brag about at the time? Brador beer? Much stronger than the American watered down stuff, but you could only get it in Quebec. There were stories of success, Canadians who had made it: Lorne Greene ... William Shatner. But they had to go and live in the States first. It seemed that a Canadian hadn’t “made it” until he was recognized outside of Canadian borders. Otherwise we continually questioned his worth. But we are finally past all that ... aren’t we?

I thought so until this season of “So you think you can dance, Canada”. My doubts began to surface when the Canadian judges on the show not only applauded the Canadian talent, but went on to say that this talent was just as good as anywhere else in the world. That, in itself, was not the reason for doubt. Quiet affirmation of our own worth should be commended. But the week after, and the week after that, the judges came out more and more vehemently in claiming that Canadians were not only just as good, but even better than dancers outside of Canada. It appeared to me that they were trying very hard to convince themselves, more than anyone else. How far had we really come?

So, if you are Canadian, the next time you feel the urge to apologize - stop for a moment and ask yourself “why?” I am not saying that you should claim the world “as your oyster”, as Israelis are so apt in doing. But stand your ground. Remember, the Americans have been eyeing Canadian territory for some time and they never really did learn from The War of 1812.

As for me, I’m sorry if any of this offends your Canadian, American or Israeli sensibilities.
Whoa... I just apologized. There may be hope for me yet.

Pardon me while I check if I exist

I don’t know about you, but I enjoy my privacy … that is, if I really have a choice between being alone or being with others. Isn’t that what it is all about … choices?

Last night there was a power blackout in our small community down here in the desert. Started in the evening and by 10:30 pm I decided that it was time to give up to the higher powers and go to bed. At midnight I was awakened by the barking of dogs. I thought that the electricity must have come back on, but no – pitch black. I buried my head deep into the pillow and somehow got back to sleep. This morning the electricity had returned and while nursing a morning coffee I received an SMS from my wife who is presently in the States.

“I hear you’ve had air raid sirens.”

“Don’t know,” I replied, thinking back to the barking dogs in the middle of the night. “No electricity.”

I checked the news on the net and apparently rockets were falling everywhere. I checked the radio and all I got were songs that are usually played when we are at war. No connection to the outside world for a night and see what happens.

War is not a laughing matter, but sometimes the only thing we can do is laugh. (More about that when my book comes out. Stay tuned.) We struggle our way through the 24 hours of the day, with choices that we make and choices that are made for us. Choice is not something that we really appreciate until it is taken away from us. 100 TV satellite stations, Internet connection to every small corner of the world, and poof … the power goes out.

“Why was the power out?” my wife SMS’s me.

“Don’t know,” I helpfully reply.

“Just wanted to be sure that it wasn’t because they are dropping bombs on you,” she reassures me.

“Whatever.”

With that I go to make myself another cup of coffee while we still do have electricity. Although I could make coffee on the gas heater, if needed. At least there, there is a backup plan. Nothing like low tech, eh?

These sad Israeli songs are killing me. It’s time for some Pink Floyd, Neil Young … I’d even settle for the Moody Blues. So much for that, I tell myself, shutting off the radio. “You see, I had the choice to listen or not.”

“If I am in the middle of the desert and I lose my Internet connection, do I really exist?”

I can hear a thousand voices scoffing at this idea, but wait, think about it for a moment. Note that I said lose my Internet connection, which is different from not having an Internet connection in the first place. My id has been extended into my virtual identity. And without it, I am lost in the wilderness. (This is where the rotten tomatoes start flying through cyberspace in my direction.) But think about it, those of you who are brave enough to stare into the crater. What makes up the essence of you? If you have found your way somehow to read these words, you must be connected to this virtual world of elusive proportions in some way. Are you merely visiting, or are you inhabiting virtual space?  

“Truly you exaggerate,” you tell me, after having a moment to digest my flagrant statement. “Existence is not so fragile as to depend upon a lost Internet connection, or even on a sweeping power blackout. Whether or not you can hear the news or lend your voice, a world exists out there, regardless.”

“Whether a world exists out there or not is not the point at hand,” I reply. “Actually, I favour the idea of parallel universes. And I am not asking for proof that they exist. What is significant at this point of time is how they are relevant to me.”

“That is a pretty big ego, you have,” you remark.

“Yes,” I say, “it must encompass a whole world.”

Would a radio station exist if absolutely no one was listening to it? Surely the line would go dead. Or would its radio beam extend out into infinite space, where finally it would be picked up by an alien on a Sunday drive out who would smash his spacecraft into a small asteroid out of pure manic depression upon listening to this slew of sad Israeli songs.

My existence doesn’t necessarily depend upon other people. By writing this blog, I may be fooling the gods into believing that someone really is listening to me simply by speaking into the wilderness. But note that last night, when I still had about two hours of battery power left to generate my laptop, I could have written this blog then. But there didn’t appear to be any point then. “No one there to hear me.”

“But you are writing it offline, you twit,” an invisible voice says. “No one will read it until you put it online, in any case.”

“You are missing the point,” I say.

What is the point? It must go back to choices, and the choice of privacy. As some of you may know, I am a social outcast, mainly by choice, and partly because of a dysfunctional personality in any setting where any more than two people gather. Yet I have been running a successful virtual community for the last 15 years. After 21 years on the net, one might say that my virtual personality is firmly entrenched, with roots spreading out everywhere. But unlike the so-called real world, I choose when to connect and when not to. Unless there is a power blackout.

And here is my most difficult question for you.

“Are you a different person, now that you have a virtual identity?”

The faint of heart need not respond. For those of you who want to make yourselves heard, talk to us.

“Stare into the crater.”

Am I an expat, really?

It took me over 35 years of living in Israel before I took on the name of expat. But can I really claim this title after having lived abroad for so many years?

If it weren't for this blog, I probably wouldn’t have adopted this title even now. In my online search for similar ramblings by Canadians living abroad, I discovered the term expat (expatriate). The dictionary definition of expat is "someone living in a country that is not their own country". But this definition leads to even more questions.

What do we mean by "their own country"? Is this defined simply by citizenship? I have dual citizenship: Canadian and Israeli. Am I now a Canadian expat when living in Israel, but  an Israeli expat when living in Canada? Or maybe it is defined by which citizenship came first. In my case it was Canadian, but my children were born both Israeli and Canadian –as they were born in Israel to a Canadian father. Can they then be called Canadian "expats", even though they have never lived in Canada? And what if we had moved half a year after their birth in Israel to live permanently in Canada - which country would they then call their own?

Confusing, eh?

So, who deserves the term "expat"? And when can you begin to call yourself an expat, and when should you stop? Perhaps this all comes down to "nationality". Can nationality really be imported or exported? Take me, for example. Why should I still be considered Canadian after living abroad for over 35 years? It appears that this is exactly the type of question that Canadian legislators have recently begun to ponder. In 2009, they passed new legislation by which individuals can now become Canadian citizens by descent only if one of their parents was either a native-born citizen of Canada or a foreign-born but naturalized citizen of Canada. This new law limits citizenship by descent to one generation born outside Canada, whereas before there was no such limit. And maybe they will soon go further than this. By law, you can become a naturalized Canadian citizen after living a certain number of years in Canada. Why then shouldn't there be a law where you become a denaturalized Canadian citizen after living a certain number of years abroad? I mean – fair is fair.

Personally, I am quite happy that my children are automatically recognized as Canadian citizens, because of me. I see this as one of my better gifts to them, even though they may never end up living in Canada, and their experience of Canadian culture may only be limited to their father's nostalgic ramblings and their short visits to the mother country. One might then ask – "Do they have a Canadian identity?"

Does identity come with citizenship? And do we lose identity when we lose citizenship?

In my expatriate searches, one of the most refreshing sites that I have come across, so far, is "I was an expat wife" - http://iwasanexpatwife.com/ . Upon moving back with her family to Canada, Maria defines herself as a Canadian repatriate. This opens up a whole new Pandora's box of possibilities.

I don't know what I am. Call me what you will. In recent deliberations over a few pints of Guinness with fellow expats (not only Canadian expats), we came to the conclusion that the longer you are away, the lesser chance you have of ever finding your way back. Somewhere along the line, there is a cutoff point. The problem is: none of us ever read the fine print.

Just how English are you?

 Don’t you love ambiguous sentences? One of my favourites is “The peasants are revolting.” Interpretation often depends on your point of view. Sometimes we even miss the ambiguity. We can roll these linguistic creations around on our tongue and dissect them, right down to their deep structure. I used to love creating and labeling each structural node, drawing out of it a new branch, or a series of branches. Life made sense then, in first year Linguistics, until we were told that we were studying something which had already been discarded, Chomsky opting out for something much more abstract.

So, what does “English” mean for you? For some, it is just a language. For others, it has also historical and geographical connotations.

Watching the preparations for The Royal Wedding, I was reminded of the early years - my early years, that is. Canadians were just beginning to believe that they deserved a unique identity and culture. No attempt had been made to teach Canadian history before then. We learnt English (British) history and world history. Most of the few TV channels that we could receive were from the American side of the border, and what Canadian channels we did receive showed little Canadian content. Our exposure to literature was the English classics. A successful Canadian artist was regarded as an oddity (“Do you know that Lorne Green and William Shatner are Canadians?”) And even then, they could only reach stardom when they went to the States to live. We didn’t have our own flag, or anthem, and had to stand for the playing of “God Save the Queen” at public events. Which caused endless embarrassment for my parents, as I would slump back into my seat, grab a hold of the arm rests, and refuse to get up. “David, stand up!” my mother would urge in a hushed voice, giving me a gentle nudge with her foot. “She’s not my queen!” I’d mutter in return, sitting proud for Canadians everywhere. I believed, then, that I was a part of an invisible band of Canadian rebels, about to overthrow the monarchy on Canadian soil with such brave acts of defiance. And when, a few years later, our high school introduced an experimental scholastic literature program of “contemporary literature”, including not only Hemmingway and Steinbeck, but also contemporary Canadian authors, I credited this directly to my efforts.

But it was only after I had left Canada that Canadian culture came into its own. Wayne Gretzky, Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen, Second City, the Royal Canadian Air Farce, This Hour has Sixty Minutes… Suddenly successful Canadian artists, both in Canada and abroad, weren’t such a rarity anymore. Actually, it was often the case that I left a better world behind me after leaving. My parents got their first colour TV and a new washer (and very first) dryer after I left the house. But this was not always the case. The kibbutz was privatized after I left – actually the whole kibbutz movement fell apart. And Toronto never did win the Stanley Cup again. But I already told you that (although it is worth repeating).

So, how does the emergence of a real Canadian culture affect the Canadian perception of The Royal Wedding? After the fairy tale wedding extravaganza of Charles and Diana, a marriage which turned into a disaster, can anyone look at the upcoming wedding without at least a touch of suspicion? And maybe we should even ask ourselves if  the English Monarchy still holds any relevance for Canadians, at all. It appears that the older generation, who watched Elizabeth change from a young, somewhat naive monarch into a stern, yet commanding Queen, feels that the monarchy has exerted a significant influence on Canada as a whole. But for those of us who know the Queen only as a somewhat humourless and dour personality, very similar to a high school English teacher I once had, we see no reason for the monarchy at all, at least not in Canada. And yes, we were among those who were amused by Trudeau’s famous pirouette.

A lot of it is about presentation. Maybe William and Kate can be cute enough as a couple to convince people, not only in Canada, but also in England, that there is a reason for the monarchy to continue: Kate with her fashionable, attractive look and William with his awkward boyish British charm, somewhat similar to Hugh Grant in any one of his many movies. But will any of this matter if Charles is still to become King after his mother’s death, unless she outlives him out of spite for what he put her through with Diana? Neither Charles nor Camilla are about to win anyone over, let alone a nation. Calls are already being heard to appoint William as next in the line of succession, instead of Charles. Follow up on the excitement of The Royal Wedding, they say, as well as the Oscar buzz around “The King’s Speech”.

Otherwise, the monarchy may finally be recognized for the dinosaur it is, and we may be left with only a democratically elected Parliament in England – a scary thought, indeed. Oh, but then we have the House of Lords. So all is not lost.