Myth 3: God is sacrifice
Many people seek the path of sacrifice and self-immolation, stating that we must suffer in this world in order to find happiness in the next. Now, if this world is a blessing from God, why not try to enjoy to the full the delights that life offers us? We are very accustomed to the image of Christ nailed to the Cross; but we forget that his Passion lasted only three days. The rest of the time he spent travelling, meeting people, eating, drinking, and preaching his message of tolerance, so much so that his first miracle was, in a sense, 'politically incorrect', for when the wine ran out at the Cana wedding, he turned the water into wine. He did this, I believe, to demonstrate to us all that there is nothing wrong with being happy, enjoying yourself, joining in with the party, because God is much closer to us when we are with others. Mohammed said: 'If we are unhappy, we bring unhappiness upon our friends also.' Buddha, after a long period of trial and renunciation, was so weak that he almost drowned; when he was rescued by a shepherd, he understood that isolation and sacrifice distance us from the miracle of life.
Myth 4: There is only one path to God
This is the most dangerous of all the myths, for from it spring all the many explanations of the Great Mystery, as well as religious strife and our tendency to judge our fellow men and women. We can choose a religion (I, for example, am Catholic), but we must understand that if our brother chooses a different religion, he will eventually reach the same point of light that we are seeking in our spiritual practices. Finally, it is worth remembering that we cannot shift responsibility for our decisions onto priest, rabbi, or imam. We are the ones who build the road to paradise with each and every one of our actions.
My Father-in-law, Christiano Oiticica
Shortly before he died, my father-in-law summoned his family.
'I know that death is only a journey, and I want to make that voyage without sadness. So that you won't worry, I will send you a sign that it really is worthwhile helping others in this life.'
He asked to be cremated and for his ashes to be scattered over Arpoador Beach while a tape recorder played his favourite music.
He died two days later. A friend arranged the cremation in Sao Paulo and, once back in Rio, we went straight to the beach armed with a tape recorder, tapes, and the package containing the cremation urn. When we reached the sea, we discovered that the lid of the urn was firmly screwed down. We tried in vain to open it.
The only other person around was a beggar, and he came over to us and asked: 'What's the problem?'
My brother-in-law said: 'We need a screwdriver so that we can get at my father's ashes inside this urn.'
'Well, he must have been a very good man, because I've just found this,' said the beggar.
And he held out a screwdriver.
Thank You, President Bush*
Thank you, great leader George W. Bush.
Thank you for showing everyone what a danger Saddam Hussein represents. Many of us might otherwise have forgotten that he had used chemical weapons against his own people, against the Kurds, and against the Iranians. Hussein is a bloodthirsty dictator, and one of the clearest expressions of evil in today's world.
But this is not my only reason for thanking you. During the first two months of 2003, you have shown the world a great many other important things and, therefore, deserve my gratitude.
So, remembering a poem I learned as a child, I want to say thank you.
Thank you for showing everyone that the Turkish people and their parliament are not for sale, not even for 26 billion dollars.
Thank you for revealing to the world the gulf that exists between the decisions made by those in power and the wishes of the people. Thank you for making it clear that neither Jose Maria Aznar nor Tony Blair give the slightest weight to, or show the slightest respect for, the votes they received. Aznar is perfectly capable of ignoring the fact that 90 per cent of Spaniards are against the war, and Blair is unmoved by the largest public demonstration to take place in Britain in the last thirty years.
Thank you for making it necessary for Tony Blair to go to the British Parliament with a fabricated dossier written by a student ten years ago and present this as 'damning evidence collected by the British Secret Service'.
Thank you for sending Colin Powell to the UN Security Council with proof and photographs, thus allowing for these to be publicly refuted one week later by Hans Blix, the Inspector responsible for disarming Iraq.
Thank you for adopting your current position, thus ensuring that, at the plenary session, the anti-war speech of the French Foreign Minister, Dominique de Villepin, was greeted with applause - something, as far as I know, that has only happened once before in the history of the UN, on the occasion of a speech by Nelson Mandela.
Thank you, too, because, after all your efforts to promote war, the normally divided Arab nations, at their meeting in Cairo during the last week in February, were, for the first time, unanimous in their condemnation of any invasion.
Thank you for your rhetoric stating that 'the UN now has a chance to demonstrate its relevance', a statement that made even the most reluctant countries take up a position opposing any attack on Iraq.
Thank you for your foreign policy, which provoked the British Foreign Secretary, Jack Straw, into declaring that, in the twenty-first century, 'a war can have a moral justification', thus causing him to lose all credibility.
Thank you for trying to divide a Europe that is currently struggling for unification. This was a warning that will not go unheeded.
Thank you for having achieved something that very few have so far managed to do in this century: the bringing together of millions of people on all continents to fight for the same idea, even though that idea is opposed to yours.
Thank you for making us feel once more that, though our words may not be heard, they are at least spoken. This will make us stronger in the future.
Thank you for ignoring us, for marginalizing all those who oppose your decision, because the future of the earth belongs to the excluded.
Thank you, because, without you, we would not have realized our own ability to mobilize. It may serve no purpose this time, but it will doubtless be useful later on.
Now that there seems no way of silencing the drums of war, I would like to say, as an ancient European king said to an invader: 'May your morning be a beautiful one, and may the sun shine on your soldiers' armour, for in the afternoon, I will defeat you.'
Thank you for allowing us - an army of anonymous people filling the streets in an attempt to stop a process that is already underway - to know what it feels like to be powerless, and to learn to grapple with that feeling and transform it.
So, enjoy your morning and whatever glory it may yet bring you.
Thank you for not listening to us, and for not taking us seriously; but know that we are listening to you, and that we will not forget your words.
Thank you, great leader, George W. Bush.
Thank you very much.
The Intelligent Clerk
At an airbase in Africa, the writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery made a collection amongst his friends to help a Moroccan clerk who wanted to go back to the city of his birth. He managed to collect one thousand francs.
One of the pilots flew the clerk to Casablanca, and when he returned, he described what had happened.
'As soon as he arrived, he went out to supper in the best restaurant, gave lavish tips, ordered drinks all round, and bought dolls for the children in his village. The man had absolutely no idea when it came to looking after his money.'
'On the contrary,' said Saint-Exupery, 'he knew that people are the best investment in the world. By spending freely like that, he managed to regain the respect of his fellow villagers, who will probably end up giving him a job. After all, only a conqueror can be that generous.'
The Third Passion
During the last fifteen years, I have had three consuming passions, of the kind where you read everything you can find on the subject,
talk obsessively about it, seek out people who share your enthusiasm, and fall asleep and wake up thinking about it. The first was when I bought a computer. I abandoned the typewriter for ever, and discovered the freedom this gave me (I am writing this in a small French town, using a machine that weighs just over three pounds, contains ten years of my professional life, and on which I can find whatever I need in less than five seconds). The second was when I first used the internet, which, even then, was already a larger repository of knowledge than the very largest of conventional libraries.
The third passion, however, has nothing to do with technological advances. It is...the bow and arrow. In my youth, I read a fascinating book entitled Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel, in which he described his spiritual journey through the practice of that sport. The idea stayed in my subconscious until, one day, in the Pyrenees, I met an archer. We chatted away, he lent me a bow and some arrows, and, ever since, I have hardly let a day go by without practising shooting at a target.
At home, in my apartment in Brazil, I set up my own target (the sort you can take down in a matter of minutes when visitors come). In the French mountains, I practise outside every day, and this has so far landed me in bed twice - with hypothermia, after spending more than two hours in temperatures of [?]6degC. I could only take part in the World Economic Forum this year in Davos thanks to powerful painkillers: two days before, I had caused a painful muscle inflammation just by holding my arm in the wrong position.
And where does the fascination lie? Being able to shoot at targets with a bow and arrow (a weapon that dates back to 30,000 bc) has no practical application. But Eugen Herrigel, who first awoke this passion in me, knew what he was talking about. Below are some extracts from Zen in the Art of Archery (which can be applied to various activities in daily life).
When you apply tension, focus it solely on the thing that you require the tension for; otherwise, conserve your energies, learn (with the bow) that in order to achieve something, you do not need to take a giant step, but simply to focus on your objective.
My teacher gave me a very stiff bow. I asked why he was starting to teach me as if I were a professional. He replied: 'If you begin with easy things, it leaves you unprepared for the great challenges. It's best to know at once what difficulties you are likely to meet on the road.'
For a long time, I could not draw the bow correctly, until, one day, my teacher showed me a breathing exercise, and it suddenly became easy. I asked why he had taken such a long time to correct me. He replied: 'If I had shown you the breathing exercises right from the start, you would have thought them unnecessary. Now you will believe what I say and will practise as if it were really important. That is what good teachers do.'
Releasing the arrow happens instinctively, but first you must have an intimate knowledge of the bow, the arrow and the target. When it comes to life's challenges, making the perfect move also involves intuition; however, we can only forget technique once we have mastered it completely.
After four years, when I had mastered the bow, my teacher congratulated me. I felt pleased and said that I was now halfway along the road. 'No,' said my teacher. 'To avoid falling into treacherous traps, it is best to consider that you have covered half your journey only when you have walked ninety percent of the road.'*
The Catholic and the Muslim
I was talking to a Catholic priest and a young Muslim man over lunch. When the waiter came by with a tray, we all helped ourselves, except the Muslim, who was keeping the annual fast prescribed by the Koran.
When lunch was over, and people were leaving, one of the other guests couldn't resist saying: 'You see how fanatical these Muslims are! I'm glad to see you Catholics aren't like them.'
'But we are,' said the priest. 'He is trying to serve God just as I am. We merely follow different laws.' And he concluded: 'It's a shame that people see only the differences that separate them. If you were to look with more love, you would mainly see what we have in common, then half the world's problems would be solved.'
Evil Wants Good to Prevail
One day, the Persian poet, Rumi que Mo'avia, the first of the Ommiad caliphs, was sleeping in his palace when he was woken up by a strange man.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'I am Lucifer,' came the reply.
'And what do you want?'
'It is the hour for prayers, and yet you are still asleep.'
Mo'avia was amazed. Why was the Prince of Darkness, who seeks out the souls of men of little faith, reminding him to fulfil his religious duties?
'Remember,' Lucifer explained, 'I was brought up as an angel of light. Despite everything that has happened to me, I cannot forget my origins. A man may travel to Rome or to Jerusalem, but he always carries the values of his own country in his heart. Well, the same thing happens with me. I still love the Creator, who nourished me when I was young and taught me to do good. When I rebelled against Him, it was not because I did not love Him; on the contrary, I loved Him so much that I felt jealous when He created Adam. At that moment, I wanted to defy the Lord, and that was my downfall; nevertheless, I still remember the blessings bestowed on me and hope that, perhaps, by doing good, I can one day return to paradise.'
Mo'avia replied: 'I can't believe what you're saying. You have been responsible for the destruction of many people on earth.'
'Well, you should believe it,' insisted Lucifer. 'Only God can build and destroy, because He is all-powerful. When He created man, He also created, as part of life, desire, vengeance, compassion, and fear. So when you look at the evil around you, don't blame me; I merely reflect back the bad things that happen.'
Mo'avia was sure that something was wrong, and he began to pray desperately to God to enlighten him. He spent the whole night talking and arguing with Lucifer; but despite the brilliant arguments he heard, he remained unconvinced.
When day was dawning, Lucifer finally gave in and said:
'You're right. When I came yesterday to wake you up so that you would not miss the hour of prayer, my intention was not to bring you closer to the Divine Light. I knew that if you failed to fulfil your obligations, you would feel profoundly sad and, over the next few days, would pray with twice the faith, asking forgiveness for having forgotten the correct ritual. In the eyes of God, each one of those prayers made with love and repentance would be equivalent to two hundred prayers said in an ordinary, automatic way. You would end up more purified and more inspired; God would love you more; and I would be still further from your soul.'
Lucifer vanished, and an angel of light took his place:
'Never forget today's lesson,' the angel said to Mo'avia.
'Sometimes evil comes disguised as an emissary of good, but its real intention is to cause more destruction.'
On that day, and the days that followed, Mo'avia prayed with repentance, compassion, and faith. His prayers were heard a thousand times by God.
The Law of Jante
'What do you think of Princess Martha-Louise?'
The Norwegian journalist was interviewing me on the shores of Lake Geneva. Now, generally speaking, I refuse to answer questions that are unrelated to my work, but there was, in this case, a motive behind his curiosity: the princess had had the names of various people who had been important in her life embroidered on a dress she wore for her thirtieth birthday - and mine was amongst those names (my wife thought it such a good idea that she decided to do the same for her fiftieth birthday, adding the credit 'inspired by the Princess of Norway' in one corner).
'I think she is a sensitive, courteous, intelligent person,' I replied. 'I was fortunate enough to meet her in Oslo, where she introduced me to her husband, who, like myself, is a writer.'
I paused, but then decided to continue.
'There's one thing I don't understand: why has the Norwegian press started attacking his literary work now that he's the princess's husband? Before, he used to get very positive reviews.'
This was not really a question, more a pro
vocation, because I could already imagine what the reply would be. The reason the reviews had changed was envy, that most bitter of human emotions.
The journalist, however, was more sophisticated than that.
'Because he broke the Law of Jante.'
Since I had clearly never heard of this law, he explained what it was. As I continued my journey, I came to realize that it was, indeed, hard to find anyone in the Scandinavian countries who had not heard of the law. It may have existed since the beginning of civilization, but it was only officially set down in written form in 1933 by the writer Aksel Sandemose in his novel A Fugitive Crossing His Tracks.
The sad fact is that the Law of Jante doesn't only exist in Scandinavia. It is a rule that applies all over the world, however much Brazilians may say: 'This could only happen here', and the French may affirm: 'That's just the way it is in France.' Since the reader must, by now, be getting irritated - having read half of this and still having no clear idea what this Law of Jante is - I will try to summarize it here, in my own words: 'You are worthless; no one is interested in what you think, therefore you had better opt for mediocrity and anonymity. Do this, and you will never face any major problems in life.'
The Law of Jante puts into context the feelings of jealousy and envy that can prove so problematic to people like Princess Martha-Louise's husband, Ari Behn. That is just one negative aspect of the law. There is, however, another far more dangerous one.