"Where are all the good men dead?"
Where are all the good men dead? In the heart or in the head?
From "Grosse Point Blank"
This tidbit is stuck in my head, bouncing around my grey matter on the heels of a rousing conversation this afternoon about "faith" and believing/not believing and the why's for both. The above comment/query was made by Minnie Driver's character in the movie. It's that juxtaposition of head vs. heart that feeds my muse tonight, along with the observation that often seems true, like any good stereotype -- that most good men seem to be dead in the one or dead in the other. And let's not accuse me of misandry just yet. I will, as always, offer some corroboration to support my muse.
But first, a recounting of today's conversation, which took place between myself (a female and avowed atheist) and a male (who is an avowed "Believer.") (I use a capital letter because in referring to themselves, "Believers" often distinguish between themselves and those who do not believe, whom they call "Nonbelievers." This seems like significant labeling to me, and I'm proud enough to be labeled thus, so there you go.) It matters not what flavour of belief he ascribes to; it only matters that he believes in a deity that is bigger and better and smarter than he is.
What started our conversation was my suggestion that "faith" is merely a succor or a comfort at its base, really a crutch like innumerable others and nothing more. It's a crutch much like anything we, as humans, endow with sacred or life-altering power. A building, a moment in time, a talisman or memento. A book. A story. A hero. And like a drug, like that proverbial crutch, this belief provides comfort, distraction, pain relief, escape. He wanted to deny that observation, but his own example of the horror of a victimized child and having no answer for such events, his faith comforted him, in that he surrendered to a reality where "he couldn't know the why of everything." Ah, yes, because Poppa God has a reason for making children suffer, presumably.
His appeal or entreaty to me was that I was not "using my heart" in this issue, I was only using my head. What planet are we on? Aren't mature Earthlings supposed to use BOTH heart and head to make decisions and come to conclusions? It was only when I was younger and less mature that I managed to make ill-thought-out decisions influenced by just one organ or the other. His point, presumably, was that matters of "faith," which require a leap away from logic, are not the purview of the mind but of the heart. In his world I suppose the heart and the gut -- what I call instinct or more accurately intuition -- are synonymous, but truly, my gut is yet a THIRD harbinger of truth. Thus I require a trifecta of head, heart, and instinct to form my decisions. And as reality would have it, my trifecta does not buy into the pretty picture of god, heaven, and so on.
Which brings me to my final point, about men being out of touch with one organ or the other, "dead" as Minnie said. I have had several presumably permanent relationships with a varied selection of four different men, not including the boyfriends and just-a-date-or-two. In every single instance, each man was dead in heart or head. The first fellow: totally dead in the heart. A crueler, more insensitive bastard I have not met since. The second: totally dead in the head. He could not behave responsibly or predictably, regardless of the stakes. The third: dead in both, actually. He had buried his heart under so much emotional baggage and junk, he could not express any emotion, and his head he had firmly shoved up his backside. The fourth, and final, fellow: he was dead in the heart. No romance, no nuance, no appreciation for any emotion other than satisfaction in getting something done quickly. His head worked okay, but there was a profound disconnect between the topside and the center.
It could easily be argued that three of the four dudes I just mentioned were not "good men." (The fourth was definitely good, and he'd have been worth keeping if he could have made the heart/mind connection within himself.) However, I know plenty of good men now (whom thankfully I do not have to share intimate space with), and not a single one of them seems well rounded on the heart/mind thing. Is this a function of testosterone? Of the impossible demands placed on men by modern culture? I don't know.
All I know is that there are lot of unhappy men walking around out there. And the good ones don't seem any better off than the bad.
I close this lumpy juxtaposition of rampant disconnection, both within us and without, with another quote, this time with a lyric from one of my most favourite bands of late, "Sick Puppies:"
"Another piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit."