The Decline and Fall of the Italian Republic

The sea of history is a stormy one. At particular moments high-tides bring cultures and nations to positions of influence and cultural dominance, only for the inevitable ebb and flow of time to see them retreat, shrink and waste away in the waters of the centuries. This phenomenon spawned Gibbons’ masterpiece “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” and countless other literary studies, but its relevance for modern cultural and political debate is too often overlooked.

The great Russian historian and ethnologist, Lev Gumilev is a master of the topic, and his            “passionary” theory of ethnogenesis describes how each nation goes through certain historic moments which define its economic and military rise, its breakthroughs in the arts and sciences, but also the nation’s eventual decline and death. We have witnessed numerous of such rises and downfalls throughout history. As noted above, Gibbons entered history by writing precisely of the fall of the previously potent and flourishing Roman Empire in 193. Not only did the former Roman Empire never regain its “passionary” energy in modern history, its modern incarnation – the Italian Republic - is now rapidly losing much of its economic power and political weight on the European continent. While other nations, like Russia, China and India profited from the latest financial and economic crisis and are regaining their “passionarity” (growing into the aspiring leaders of the new world), some European countries seem to be in a continuous economic decline or stagnation. Despite various efforts the waters of their culture and economy remain stagnant.

On August 6 the Italian government confirmed that the country had slipped back into recession. The GDP fell by 0.1% and by 0.2% in the first two quarters of 2014 respectively, which is the weakest growth since 2000. Italian GDP has never returned to pre-crisis growth, au contraire, it’s still 9% lower than the 2008 GDP level. Meanwhile the country’s public debt has risen from 116% of its GDP (in 2010) to an astronomical 133% this year. Italy’s unemployment rate is one of the highest in Europe. Italy’s youth unemployment rate is horribly high and has increased to 43.70% in June of 2014 with an even higher rats in the poorer southern regions. While the Spanish government, facing a similar problem, has taken active measures to reform its labour market – it limited companies’ use of short-term contracts, which previously let companies easily fire their employees; and offered government subsidies to companies which hired jobless employees offering them long-term contracts. After the legislation was enacted in 2010, it has brought visible results by the summer of 2014 when the unemployment rate has started to decrease. The Italian unemployment rate, on the other hand, not only did not decline, it has been gradually growing, which can only aggravate Italy’s overall economic situation. What is especially alarming is the malodorous fog of social disaffection, which is now hanging in the air.

The figures quotes above are ugly numbers that confirm the worst predictions of Matteo Renzi’s most fervent opponents. Mr Renzi should be greatly concerned about the demoralizing effect of those numbers on the already pessimistic Italian people who have gone through countless government changes from right to left and back to center. They have watched with bored resignation governments come and go but the substance has always remained invariable. It can be no secret that the great slogan of the cynically powerful was written about Italy (Sicily to be precise) by an Italian – Lampedusa’s “Everything must change so that nothing changes”.

It’s almost as if Italians have grown old and tired in the absence of real choice. In this context of cultural and economic penombra a 39 year-old former mayor of Florence, Matteo Renzi ermerged as ashining light -  a promising candidate who, many hoped, had a fresh view and energy which might bring Italy back to its “passionarity”.  Some experts sustain that the reason for the country’s GDP decline and public debt rise are not just the austerity measures introduced by Brussels. In fact, if we were to dig deeper into the reasons of Italian economic malfunctioning we would have to go 20 years back in time. It was in the 90s that the country started to regress inexorably. The stagnation in economic growth and the unconvincing political attempts to revive the economy in the last 20 years with massive government cash flows have created an enormous public debt, which like an over-heavy anchor pulled the good ship Italy down at the first signs of the 2007 financial crisis.

The current economic recession may jeopardize the necessary political reforms planned by Renzi who came to office in February. Many hopes were placed on his plan to boost economic growth and to give the corrupt Italian political system a much needed structural reform, including the change of the electoral law that would guarantee a more effective and stable form of government.

What Mr Renzi has done so far is almost invisible in economic terms. The government has cut income tax by 80 euro a month for lower-paid workers, a move which was introduced right before the European elections in May. It is fair to suggest that this measure might have brought him victory but it will not have any or at most an infinitesimal impact on domestic consumption. So far the new promising government who earlier this year made European investors feel “cautiously optimistic” toward Italy, is turning into another “puppet” at the local political theatre.

There are several reasons which point in ethnogenetic terms to Italy’s “imminent death”: the public debt, the productivity shortfall, lack of competitiveness, the corrupt and malfunctioning political system and the enormous economic and cultural abyss between the South and the North of the country. The country’s economy is dominated by small and medium sized businesses. Yet in the first quarter of 2014, 3600 small and medium sized businesses went bankrupt (numbers released by UnionCamere). The rate has grown by 22% since last year, which means that something like 40 Italian companies cease to exist every day. It’s interesting that more than 80% of these companies either has no website at all, or if they did, it was only in Italian. Such small companies are rarely efficient or competitive, or even visible on the global or regional (European) market. Traditions, what we often admire about Italians as the way of leading their family lives, need to be combined with digital innovation and an embrace of the English language when it comes to business. Only 17% of all Italian companies promote their products online or on social networks.

But even the evident lack of efficiency doesn’t explain the absence of growth. Companies that are efficient and competitive on the Italian market are still trapped by unbelievably high income taxes (the highest in EU). This is coupled with a culture of non-payment of taxes which leads to the penalizing of the innocent for the evasion of the guilty, and a further round of cynical anti-government feeling. Taxes must be cut significantly to encourage companies to grow regionally (within the EU) and globally. The taxation system must also be simplified and completely reorganized in order to boost economic growth.

Some of Italy’s troubles arise from its geography. In 1861 Giuseppe Garibaldi, hero for some and a cold-hearted, clever businessman for others, united North, South and Centre (each variously sub-splintered into various duchies and kingdoms) into one country. Some had trouble adjusting to the new political reality, others still haven’t got used to the new economic reality and dramatic difference between the formerly rich South and the present day rich North. GDP per capita is more than 40% higher in the North than it is in the South. This brings obvious social tensions, and gulfs in citizens’ experience in such areas as unemployment and black market labour.

Few can hold out much hope that the glory that was Rome will be reincarnated in the reality that is modern Italy, even with “Emperor” Matteo Renzi in office. A few years ago all Italian troubles were supposed to pass with the end of Berlusconi era. Until recently the economic recession was due to the “eurozone and the economic crisis”. What excuse is hidden in Renzi’s pocket, we shall see. For now, it is clear that the “passionarity” flame has abandoned the land kissed by the sun and moved on to other, more promising and more efficient lands. Gumilev would have understood this very well. It is doubtful if Italy’s ageing and corrupt political caste is similarly aware.

"The war of the worlds"

Dostoevsky wrote once that no enemy was more dangerous for Russia than another Slavic country allied with the West. After having witnessed how former Soviet Baltic countries welcomed NATO forces on their territory, Georgia attacked South Ossetia under the Saakashvili regime and Ukraine started a nationalist war against pro-Russian “sub-humans”, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that Dostoevsky was right.

Since the end of the nineteenth century when Dostoevsky wrote that all Russia’s problems in Europe arose from being misunderstood and “our intentions are misinterpreted as aggressive”, little has changed. The Russian people, according to Dostoevsky, are at the head of the united Slavic populous, and “will speak their own new, wholesome, and as yet unheard of word… to the entire world”. Is this another prophecy that will soon come true? Have we finally reached the historic moment when Russia will save Europe from a “general, common and terrible fall”?

In order to respond to this question, it is crucial to fully understand the catalysts for the civil war in Ukraine and the origin of the bloodshed. Much of the responsibility must lie with the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN), which, since it was formed in 1928, has been an illegal secret group of anti-communist Ukrainian nationalists who during World War II collaborated with German Nazis and were later prosecuted for the massive ethnic cleansing that killed tens of thousands Jews and Poles in Poland in 1942-1944. The group was also involved in massive homicide on the territory of Eastern Ukraine. Most members are Galician Ukrainians who from 1920 to 1939 were Polish. That territory, Galicia, was later annexed to the Soviet Union by Stalin and became a part of Ukraine. Ever since Galicia was annexed, it has been a recipient region, existing only through the support of the Eastern regions. At the beginning of the last century the relationship between Russia and Ukraine was a strained one. Russians thought of Ukrainians as disloyal and unworthy of their trust and Ukrainians wanted to liberate themselves from Russian dominance and protection. Having identified the aspiration for independence and the anti-Russian sentiment, the Third Reich promised that the Ukrainians would be freed and become independent from the Soviet Union in return for support. The promises served Hitler for tactical reasons: a traitor in Soviet territory would simplify Germany’s attack and would bring closer the “Blitz Krieg” dream. Stepan Bandera, who was a leader of the OUN in the 1930s and 1940s, and Andrei Melnik, leader of the faction of the original OUN,  and other Ukrainian nationalists knew perfectly well that German Nazis intended to exterminate half of the Russians, Ukrainians and Belorussians and to send the other half to Siberia, so as to later populate the territory of Ukraine and the European part of Russia with Germans. Despite Nazi Germany’s close collaboration with members of the OUN and the UPA, in their private exchanges and correspondence, they referred to them as “Ukrainian gangsters”.

Why have the Galician nationalists of the OUN and the 1942 partisan army, the UPA, always fought so bitterly against Russia, Eastern Ukraine and Belorussia?

Galician Ukrainians are not ethnic Ukrainians. They are foreign to Slavic life and culture and are opposed to the Orthodox Church.  After the end of the Second World War members of the OUN and the UPA engaged with Western secret agencies in the US and England.  Dozens of OUN secret agents were sent to the former Soviet Union with a mission to ruin the USSR.  They were later arrested on their home territory, Galicia. It can be argued that to this day, modern Ukrainian nationalists act in the interests of the United States of America.

Some deputies of the Ukrainian Supreme Council have made attempts to vote for the rehabilitation of Stepan Bandera, calling him a national hero, and rewarding the OUN and the UPA organizations with the title “Veterans of the Great Patriotic War.” Both organizations claim now during World War II they were engaged in the fight against two “evil regimes”: Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union.  The OUN and UPA “veterans” are thus recognized as a “resistance movement” and honoured as “fighters for the freedom and independence of Ukraine”. Needless to say, such statements are not accepted by Eastern Ukrainians, who felt deceived and terrified at the idea of an ever greater division of the country. The fear was that the terror against the Russian population of Ukraine and those who do not support the nationalists would grow, become more aggressive and subsequently become a civil war.

Despite their provenance, Galician “gangsters” present themselves as native Ukrainians, believing this gives them the right to destroy and demolish monuments and memorials dedicated to the Russian victory in World War II.  Ukrainian nationalists openly express their anti-Russian moods to the point of absurdity, as, for example, when they demanded that the former Russian ambassador in Ukraine Viktor Chernomyrdin speak Ukrainian at international press conferences. Their main goal as stated by ex president Viktor Yushchenko in 2003, when he was the leader of “Our Ukraine”, was “to change the leading power in the country at all costs” shifting power to Galician nationalists “at all costs” (meaning at a cost of people’s lives too and intimidating the ordinary Ukrainian population, especially those living in the Eastern regions). In 2010 Yushchenko rehabilitated both fascist organizations OUN and UPA as “heroes of the War” and proclaimed OUN’s leader Stepan Bandera “a national hero”. This led to a bitter reaction from Poles, Jews and Eastern Ukrainians who still preserved the memory of their industrial scale  homicide. Worryingly, newly-elected president Poroshenko has recently expressed the same views of how he understands their role in history. Despite their evident anti-Russian views and statements, the fact remains fact essentially Ukraine exists thanks to Russia and its close economic ties with the great “Slavic brother”.

Ukraine is re-writing centuries of history of co-existence and economic co-operation with the centre of Orthodox Christendom, namely Russia. All the traditional Orthodox values and traditions are being substituted with the faux liberalism of the West that (just like Nazi Germany did with OUN and UPA) has taken full advantage of people’s ignorance to alienate Russia and cut it off from the rest of the world.

It is interesting how the civil war in Ukraine came at the same time as China’s rapid economic growth and Russia’s strengthened geo-political position. China becoming the number one economic power in the world is just a question of time and Russia is strong and influential on the rest of the world politically. However, given its evident economic dominance in world markets, China remains only an economic power which, in order to further develop, chooses to remain politically silent. Thus, China is hardly likely to threaten global hegemony.

However that could change if Russia were to choose to ally itself with China on both political and economic grounds. In such a case the union would present a very real danger to the dominant Western cultural, economic and military coalition. Without Russia’s support, China’s dominance is unlikely. Following this logic the West might have tried to ally itself with Russia and thus become stronger politically and economically, but the picture we see now is completely different. The West is trying to weaken Russia’s political influence by isolating it.

But if the West fears China’s strength, why does it choose not to seek a ready ally in Russia? Pragmatically speaking, this would have been a wise decision and a great step forward to creating a new “world order” and a new (alternative to the dollar) world currency. However, as Dostoevsky wisely underlined, Russia and the West will never understand or like each other. So the reason for the failed companionship lies in cultural and moral principles rather than savvy political reasoning. What the West failed to comprehend was the Russian national character, their inherent unwillingness “to serve” or be “undermined” by another nation. Some experts offer a different explanation, saying that the West is simply afraid of losing its power if everyone sees the world as being in some sense ruled by Russia. Such a possibility strikes fear in those who fear it could prove attractive to non-aligned nations and lead to a dilution of western liberal ideas. America would instantly lose its self-defined raison d’etre if it was unable to “bring democracy” to the world anymore. American national identity, as summarized by the likes of  Henry Kissinger, is principally based on the idea of their role as global policeman and the absolute right to get involved in all world affairs, whenever the affairs of “the rest of the world” concern them. In this light the article written by president Putin and published in the the NYT last year caused a harsh and severe reaction in the US. Putin underlined that “It is alarming that military intervention in internal conflicts in foreign countries has become commonplace for the United States. Millions around the world increasingly see America not as a model of democracy but as relying solely on brute force, cobbling coalitions together under the slogan “you’re either with us or against us.”

The country is hanging by a thread given the latest wars created or financed by the White House in order to “liberate people and give them Western values”. What is going to happen to the world geoeconomic and geopolitical picture if Americans and Europeans, constantly fooled by the mainstream media, suddenly open their eyes and see that the principle building ingredient for their “new democracy” is human blood?

Dostoevsky didn’t write about America and so we are left to imagine what he would define as the greatest threat to the US and its way of life.  Perhaps the answer lies deep within a psyche that defines itself as “the land of the free and the home of the brave” without ever defining freedom or questioning the wisdom of bravery.

The greatest mystery of life. Death.

 

Death is the greatest mystery of the human condition. Shakespeare called it “the unknown country”, the land from which no man returns. Every culture has faced the problem of death in its own way, and in contemporary Western culture it still remains the ultimate mystery, though  shrouded in a polite but ineffectual attempt to ignore it.

But should we be really afraid of death? Since the first man appeared on earth, he would look at the night sky asking himself questions about life, its meaning and what constitutes the universe. That first wondering moment was surely the instant when philosophy was born. It was born together with man and his mind, capable of comprehending and processing more information than any other inhabitant on the planet. We still catch ourselves observing those stars, the wonders of nature, its laws and mysteries, trying to comprehend who we are and what is the” nature  of our nature”.

My own belief is that everything started with the sun, or Ra, the major god in ancient Egypt, the creator, the source of all life on this planet. Homo sapiens, thinking man started observing how the day would start and end, how the sun would rise and set. And since those first stirrings of time next to nothing has changed. New life appears like the sun at dawn, it reaches its bloom at the midday and then slowly fades away until this life, devoid of vitality, fades into the complete darkness of the night, in the darkness of the Universe.

It soon became clear that death was an inevitable part of life. It is understood by all humans and yet not fully accepted. We still live as though there is no end, as if death was designed for anyone but us or people we’re close to. Like that first primitive man looking at the bright stars on a cloudless night we still raise our heads to the heavens (note the euphemism/imagery) looking for an answer to the main question – is there anything beyond death? Or better: Is there a life after life?

If we think about death, then the first question that comes into our mind is surely: what is death? And what does it really mean to die? Can our death be described only as the process of decomposition? Can death be only explained as the termination of life? Can we ignore the possibility that a person is more than just a body?  Thus we reach one of the most arguable questions of Western philosophy: Is there a soul?

There are two main theories on the existence of the soul. The first one says there is no soul; a person is just a body with a certain array of functions - emotions, creativity and the ability to process information – and all that does not come from the outside, rather than from the inside, from the physical organ of the brain. And when a person dies, his heart stops pumping blood and the blood doesn’t reach the brain, then the “mind” dies together with the body. The brain – they contend - should not be confused with the mind. The human brain is a part of the body that is the house to our “mind” . And while the mind is destroyed by death the brain is still there intact but inert. This is the materialist point of view. It is the view shared and accepted by probably the majority of writers on science and medicine.

Yet mental properties and mental processes are clearly not physical. Just as our internal processes, such as digestion or breathing cannot be considered physical objects. Humans have minds, but it doesn’t follow that minds are genuine persisting objects. Just as humans have minds, they also have personalities, but no one imagines that human personalities are persisting objects, even if they were of the non-physical nature.

Putting aside the soul theory and admitting that human mind is a purely physical object, what role does it play in personal self-identity? This question arises from the confrontation between the body theory and the personality theory. While the body theory argues that if the physical body stays the same, then personhood persists; the personality theory says that it is the human mind that makes us unique. A fascinating test for this theory is the possibility of brain transplant. Would individual personhood subsist in a person with the mind (and therefore personality) of another?  

The body can change: a person can lose weight, even  have his organs replaced,  but such change will not, all things being equal, alter mind properties and functions. Thus the personality theory concludes that the brain is still the key part of the body and is responsible for the uniqueness of each person. The person stays the same even if his set of values or interests may alter throughout life. The enduring personality is the key to personal identity, which can be accepted by both physicalists and dualists.

While materialists believe that life terminates together with the termination of all the vital processes in the body and the separation of the brain and the mind, the dualists believe death to be the moment of separation between the body and the soul. The main difference between the two, then, lies in how they view the “mind”. While materialists believe the mind to be a product of brain activity represented by an array of different functions, the dualists say the mind is essentially the soul, an immaterial object, something that is breathed into the physical body by God. The body is animated by the soul. Christian theologians go further and define the soul as the home of the memory, the intellect and the will.

Free will (our determination and ability to make a certain choice) is one of the strongest arguments for the existence of the soul. The logic to this argument is as follows: all purely physical objects are subject to determinism and nothing subject to determinism has free will. Therefore if we possess the ability of making certain decisions, we are not a purely physical system. Most physicalists challenge dualists  by posing another question: what if our thinking that we might have done something differently is only an illusion?

A dilemma automatically arises from the comparison of these two opinions – if the materialists view  death as the separation between the brain and the mind doesn’t it mean that the mind is something that comes from the outside “to activate the apparatus” – our body?

This difficulty of understanding the difference between the mind and the soul is highly misleading. I would even dare say that the materialists are contradicting their own theory but not willing to admit it. Official science has not yet proved the existence of the soul. But neither can it demonstrate the soul’s non-existence! The question clearly cannot be framed in scientific terms.

In Western philosophy  questions about the soul were formulated and discussed for the first time in the writings of Plato and Aristotle  and to some extent arose from the significant developments occurring in the Greek thought in the 6th and 5th centuries BCE. The soul was thought of as the source and bearer of moral qualities such as temperance and justice. It is the soul that is engaged in thinking and planning. However belief in the afterlife in mainstream fifth century BCE Greek culture was weak and unclear. We can clearly see these developments in Plato’s myth Phaedo.  “Men find it very hard to believe what you said about the soul. They think that after it has left the body it no longer exists anywhere, but that it is destroyed and dissolved on the day the man dies” (Cebes says at Phaedo).

In his Phaedo Plato describes at length the discussion that took place before Socrates’ death. This myth is not so much the question of the existence of the soul as the question of its immortality. The mere fact of the existence of the soul does not automatically mean that the soul won’t die together with the body. The existence of the soul is taken for granted. Moreover, apart from the question of immortality the Phaedo myth has another argument to consider: does the soul have a certain power and wisdom after the body stops functioning? Socrates answers both questions by saying that not only is the soul immortal but it also contemplates truths even after its separation from the physical body. Another important discussion that Socrates airs in the Phaedo is that of the reincarnation of the soul. Not only is every soul reincarnated over and over again, but he also suggests that his current reincarnation could be his last.

Another of Plato’s myths which bears attention even today is Er (found in Plato’s Republic). The myth is the tale of a warrior, Er, the son of Armenius, by race a Pamphylian. He was slain in battle, and when the corpses were taken up on the 10th day already decayed, his was found intact, and having been brought home, at the moment of his funeral, on the twelfth day as he lay upon the pyre, it revived, and after coming to life related what he had seen in the world beyond. According to the myth, the souls of those judged to have lived justly are sent upwards to heaven to enjoy a beautiful sight for a thousand years. The souls of those who have been unjust, by contrast, go under the earth to be punished.

In Plato’s myths, the soul has an important property – immortality. Plato does not so much discuss the existence of the soul as its immortality.

Thus he proposes an existent and unstated objection about the indestructibility of certain objects, the Platonic forms. The Platonic forms are pure ideas that cannot be physically destroyed. These ideas, as Plato puts it, exist before our birth and after our death. An example of a Platonic form that comes to mind is number, the idea of a number,  even in the case of nuclear war will continue its existence and will never disappear or dissolve. The Platonic forms can also represent  pure moral ideas, perfect virtues, such as beauty, justice, goodness or health. We do not meet these ideas in the pure form in the empirical world yet somewhere inside our souls we have a clear vision of what they are. Thus, argues Plato, these ideas can be the direct proof of the existence of the soul and its immortality.

In his Republic Plato goes on to argue that the soul has at least three different parts. There is a rational part that is in charge of reasoning; there is a spirited part – the will; and there is a part that has to do with appetite, desires for food, drink and sex.

When the body dies and is separated from the mind, the soul goes to this Plato’s heaven, where it can have more direct contact with these forms. The soul is perfect and immaterial, cannot be destroyed. Plato is clear: in life prepare for death. That’s why Socrates is happy to go to heaven, he is joyful.

Thus Socrates launches his most elaborate and final argument for the immortality of the soul, which concludes that since life belongs to the soul essentially, the soul must be deathless – that is, immortal.

Rene Descartes was a Platonist and a dualist who believed the soul to be located in the centre of the brain, in the so-called pineal gland. This organ often contains calcifications which makes it easily identifiable in X-ray images of the brain. He suggested that nerves were hollow tubes filled with animal spirits. They contained – he posited - small fibres or threads which interact with each other and connect the sense organs with certain small valves of the brain. Thus the stimulated image is projected on the surface of the pineal gland. In his “Treatise of man” he wrote: “My view is that this gland is the principal seat of the soul, and the place in which all our thoughts are formed”. The reason for this belief, as he explained it, was the fact that the pineal gland is the only part of the brain that is not double. We have two eyes, two ears but everything in the brain is united in one part, which Descartes defined as the soul. In “The Passions of the Soul”  Descartes determines the soul as “anything in us which we cannot conceive in any way as capable of belonging to a body”. The pineal gland played an important role in Descartes’ account because it was involved in sensation, imagination, memory and the causation of bodily movements.

While Western philosophy still questions the existence and the immortality of the soul, Tibetan culture offers us a unique guide through what we shall define as the afterlife, Bardo Thodol, better known as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”. Unlike the Egyptian book of the dead, Bardo Thodol does not divide men into gods and primitive men but is dedicated to normal people. Bardo Thodol is not a book about the dying ritual but rather a collection of instructions for the dead and the living who throughout their whole life should be preparing themselves for the inevitable. The book of the dead is a guidebook, a manual to prepare for the afterworld, a map to the world of life after life. It is a guidebook to the Bardo world where a soul is meant to stay for 49 days after the death of the body before it is reincarnated. Our present life is important but not as important as the next life.

Bardo Thodol gives some simple yet very profound lessons to everyone who is preparing to die:

1) consider every moment of your life as your last;

2) when a person dies you should chant mantras and thus guide his soul through the Bardos and help him resist the last temptations and find the right path to enlightment;

3) after a person’s death the family members and friends must not mourn his loss but rather stay calm and joyful and try to help his soul through a very difficult path through the Bardos. Mourning for a person who is dead can be highly misleading and even cause a deep depression.

Another important lesson that we grasp in Bardo Thodol teachings is accepting birth and death as something natural and inevitable, something that continuously happens to our souls. Every moment of our lives something is dead and something is born inside us.

Bardo Thodol is not only dedicated to people who are ill or close to death. It is a teaching that must be read during a person’s youth while there are still many years to live. The sooner we start studying “The Book of the Dead”, the sooner we start living according to the laws of the soul, the sooner we realize the true meaning of our lives and accept the inevitability of death. Meditation on the teachings can lead the student to the highest level of spirituality and liberate from all the unnecessary material values that have been imposed  throughout life. Bardo Thodol is victory over death.

To the Western world the concept of the soul is, per se, a scary idea. Living in the world of things, we build our lives around things, around material objects, assuming the fact that we have to do something with these objects. Whatever is out of the material world is not to be considered as real. Bardo Thodol teaches us that in everything material depends on the spiritual and not vice versa.  Unlike in Western philosophy, where the soul is diminished by material objects and thought to be influenced by things or events happening in life, the wisdom of Bardo Thodol lies in understanding this simple truth: we are not bodies possessing a soul, but rather souls that “rent” a body for a certain period of time and that body should be used and thought of as an instrument of the soul. Therefore death is nothing but a process of the soul’s liberation from the body and all the things that used to surround the person in this life and “enslave” the soul.  The theory is that the soul, being a divine particle, is constantly involved in the process of the creation of things and events. In other words, we create our lives, our own universe (something almost incomprehensible for a Western mind).

In his psychological comment on “The Book of the Dead” Carl Gustav Jung meditates on the difficulty of accepting the idea of man as creator of his own life. It is a lot simpler, he says, to look at events and things as being imposed on us, something that is inevitable and meant to happen rather than accept the idea of being completely responsible for one’s own life and seeing oneself as its creator. Jung: “For the Western world the soul is something small, subjective, not worthy of attention, something personal. Therefore the word “soul” is often called and described as “the mind”.

Another argument for the existence of the soul is found in Jung’s teachings – mostly in his idea of the archetypes. According to Jung, archetypes constitute the direct proof of the existence of the soul. The archetypes are those core components that stay the same and do not alter from person to person, same as the bodily organs. Jung calls the archetypes organs of the unconscious soul.

Reports of near-death experiences are not a new phenomenon. A great number of them have been recorded over a period of thousands of years. The ancient religious texts such as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”, the Bible and the Koran describe experiences of life after death which remarkably resemble modern near-death  experiences.

Leaving aside the most obvious example of a NDE described in Plato’s myth “Er”, I want to focus on another remarkable personality mentioned above,  Austrian world-renowned psychiatrist Carl Jung, and his own NDE. In 1944 Carl Jung had a heart attack in a hospital in Switzerland which was followed by a near-death experience. His vivid encounter with the light and intensely meaningful insights led Jung to conclude that his experience came from something real and eternal. “This is eternal bliss. This cannot be described; it is far too wonderful”, wrote Jung.

His incredibly accurate view of the Earth from outer space was described about two decades before astronauts in space first saw and filmed and confirmed it. Later Jung recalled the meditating Hindu from his near-death experience “I knew he expected me” and read it as a parable of the archetypal Higher Self, the God-image within. In his memoirs Jung wrote: “I saw blocks of tawny granite, and some of them were hollowed out into temples. My stone was one such gigantic dark block. As I approached the steps leading up to the entrance into the rock, a strange thing happened: I had the feeling that everything was being sloughed away; everything I aimed at or wished for or thought, the whole phantasmagoria of earthly existence, fell away or was stripped from me – an extremely painful process. I consisted of my own history and I felt with great certainty: this is what I am. I am this bundle of what has been and what has been accomplished. This experience gave me a feeling of extreme poverty, but at the same time of great fullness. There was no longer anything I wanted or desired. I existed in an objective form”.

Among Jung’s post-life recollections there was a premonition of his doctor’s death. Jung saw his doctor in his primal form as basileus of Kos (the king). Many times he tried to explain to the doctor that it meant a very high risk to his life. Jung persisted in telling him that he had to watch himself because his life was in jeopardy but the doctor wouldn’t listen. Some days later Jung’s doctor died of septicaemia.

In 1975 an American psychiatrist Raymond Moody published a world bestseller entitled “Life after Life” that shook the foundations of official science. The book represented a summary of his interviews with 150 people who had undergone near-death experiences. The “witnesses of death” for the first time openly shared their stories, while in scientific circles the question of the material nature of the soul was raised once again.

This question has been the main research subject for some of the most prominent minds of the last century, such as Vladimir Bechterev and his granddaughter Natalia Bechtereva and even a group of psychiatrists lead by Carl Jung. Vladimir Bechterev’s thoughts on the immortality of the soul are still of great interest, especially the mystery permeating his most famous words: “There is no death, gentlemen”.

Another worldwide bestseller that deserves our attention is a near death experience narrated by a Harvard neurosurgeon Alexander Eben “A Proof of Heaven”. Eben’s brain was infected with a ferocious E. coli meningitis which almost took his life and plunged him into a week-long coma. The interest of this book is not in the description of the afterlife itself, as the description of it by a scientist. As a sceptical neurosurgeon, Eben can judge both materialistic and the dualist opinions on the question of death. Therefore his story about “magic butterflies and the birds signing in heaven” must count as a significant support to the idea that our life does not end the moment our heart stops pumping blood.

My own near-death experience is a deeply personal recollection that I rarely share with others for the obvious fear of being misunderstood.

When I was 16 years old my grandmother was very sick. That summer she was very unwell. Her illness was eating up a previously energetic and stoic person who in her life had survived more than anyone I have ever met. That August I knew I was seeing her for the last time. She couldn’t leave her bed, her face was growing paler but what impressed me most of all was the look in her eyes. It seemed as though she had absolutely no interest in life and she knew the sufferings would be over very soon. But together with that apparent calm I also noticed an unusual light of wisdom. Her eyes could speak while she could barely open her mouth to say a word. It wasn’t clear to me and I had no explanation for what was happening but I felt that my grandmother was going to die and that she knew it would not be over for her. I had a feeling she was storing her energy for this transition. She would not care for “this” world anymore, her mind was occupied with the preparation for the “after” world.

A few days after our visit while we were in our summer cabin we had an early morning call. The moment the phone rang I already knew. My father was completely distraught even though he had had time ‘to prepare’. But is it possible to be ready for someone’s death? He rushed to help my uncle with the funeral routine. I was left at the summer cabin with my mother and our two cats. That morning right after the phone call I had been feeling strong pains in my stomach. Initially I thought it could be indigestion and I decided to wait. But the pain grew stronger until it became impossible to wait. At night my father returned to take us to the city. My pain was impossible to sustain and I had fever. By midnight the fever was at 41 and I was taken to the hospital, where I was visited by numerous doctors but none of them was completely sure what the problem was. They suggested a laparoscopy. My parents asked them to do whatever was best for me, wondering what kind of procedure could save my life. They asked me what I thought was best to do and the only answer I could give at that moment was “Do whatever you want. You can even kill me. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore”. My body was shivering, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk. I was fading.

In the course of the laparoscopy the surgeons found out that I had a devastating intestinal infection that inflamed my lymph system. As we discovered later the infection was passed to me from our cats who had constant contact with mice and rats in the village where our summer cabin was. The infection I had was lethal to humans. I was left in the hospital for more than a week and had a very intense antibiotic treatment.

I have described what happened to my physical body. What happened to my soul during that night was a very different experience. In my vision I was taken to a place full of light and peace. It was a feeling I had never felt before – the feeling of euphoria and pure joy, happiness and fulfilment. I knew it was exactly what I was aiming to obtain in life but somehow I couldn’t. Everything was complete now, all the senses were filled and at the same time it seemed that  feelings were absent. I didn’t have any feelings and yet I felt everything,  the whole range of emotions. It seemed as if I was at last liberated from all earthly bonds and all my desires and my intentions I had throughout my life were completed.

I find myself in a very difficult position trying to describe what I exactly felt that night. However I realize that it might be impossible to find the right words to describe the place I was taken to. This difficulty is explained by the fact that what I experienced did not belong to “this” world therefore using “earthly” words may not be enough.

If I think of what it felt like I most often think of Plato’s definition of heaven. In his “Phaedo” Plato argues that the soul is rational and can think of pure ideas such as the idea of beauty, goodness, justice or health. Nothing of what we experience in the empirical world is perfectly beautiful but we still can think of the pure ideas, such as perfect justice. However we do have a recollection of what pure ideas are. When we encounter something partially beautiful or just, we feel pure joy at the thought of being close to the perfect form of beauty or justice. These perfect virtues our mind can think of are better known as the platonic forms. At the moment of our physical death when the mind is separated from the body, the soul goes to Plato’s heaven where all the ideas are found in their pure (Platonic) forms. What I experienced in my visions was the euphoric feeling of having reached all the pure forms at once. Nothing bothered me anymore, nothing required my attention. I finally felt what I wanted to feel all my life – I felt complete, content and empty of any desires all at the same time.

In a moment I saw all the 16 years of my life pass before my eyes in an instant. I don’t think it lasted any longer than just an instant but I literally saw everything from the moment of my birth to my most recent recollections. The vision of my past life ended with the sound of the deep masculine voice that was coming in my left ear. The sensation it gave me was almost physical and indescribable. It said “It is too early for you to go. You still haven’t done what you had to do”. Although I couldn’t feel, I knew I was very disappointed because it meant I couldn’t remain in that peaceful place. I had to go back and I struggled with that idea. The moment after I heard the voice, I saw my grandmother who passed away that same day. Her expression was calm. She wasn’t smiling or trying to talk to me. Of all the things I ever saw I shall never forget the expression of her eyes. Her eyes were talking to me but their language would be incomprehensible to any living human. Her eyes were filled with peace and wisdom, the look was somehow very distant. I knew she had to remain in that place and this appearance would be the last time I could see her.

The vision of my grandmother was followed by the vision of my own body seen from the window of the room where I was lying. I saw myself from the distance and felt sucked back in. My vision was over and I had to open my eyes and I instantly thought of people I wanted to see, people who were important.

After my near death experience my life changed drastically. It almost felt as if there were two different persons before and after it. I know I have been given a second chance to complete my mission on earth and every day that passes is a reminder that the end is nearer and I still haven’t done enough. Almost all the time I feel hungry for life, for knowledge. I am hungry to experience and learn new things, anything that I can apply in my life which can be helpful to other people too. I am aware I won’t live forever, but as long as I am alive I must be thankful for this gift and try to make the most of each day.

Regarding life after death we always hear the same words: “Those who are not permanently dead cannot make any judgments or assumptions about death. If no man who was permanently dead comes back to life, how can we know what exactly will happen to us once we die?” It is often said that people who experience near-death experiences may  not have died at all or moved “to another land”; perhaps  they were standing on the edge but still could have an impression of what death is like. The recollections of near-death experiences may not be seen as a scientific proof for the existence of the soul and its immortality but they do give us a glimpse of something that is beyond our comprehension.

Discussions about the possible life after life are never over and unconsciously I believe we are all striving to gain more knowledge in this field.  The “afterlife” already in its name hints at the sense of impossibility in its study by empirical methods; however this doesn’t mean we should not give up trying to glimpse that what is beyond our immediate understanding.

It is the poet rather than the physicist who responds best to that thirst for what lies beyond … “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy” (Hamlet; Shakespeare).  

 

 

Salviamo Pompei

Io ricordo Pompei da quel bellissimo libro sulla cultura degli antichi romani, era magnificamente illustrato e mi fu regalato da mio padre. Fu un regalo splendido, talmente prezioso che le sue pagine io sfioravo con delicatezza cercando di preservarlo più a lungo possibile. Fu conservato nella casa dove ora ci abitano i miei genitori. È ancora li, sulla mia scrivania, aperto sulla pagina intitolata Pompei, che come ho capito nel corso degli anni non fu soltanto la pagina del libro, ma l'intera pagina della mia vita. 

Oggi, come tante altre volte decido di andare a Pompei. Lo faccio spesso, "troppo spesso" se mi paragono ad una persona italiana. Questa volta, invece della comodità della macchina, scelgo il treno per capire come vive tutta questa esperienza un turista, uno straniero. Aspettando il treno mi sento abbracciata da una folla internazionale. Il treno ha 30 minuti di ritardo; alcuni turisti sbagliano i binari e viaggiano in una direzione sbagliata. Non ci sono indicazioni ben precisi per i turisti, tutta l'informazione viene annunciata in italiano. Qualcuno si avvicina a me, appena nota che parlo l'inglese. Si riuniscono in un piccolo gruppo dei turisti indifesi, spaventati dalla realtà e eccitati dal pensiero di vedere un miracolo che è Pompei.

Il treno si riempie come un barattolo di acciughe, dove l'aria viaggia attraverso il sudore. Le porte si aprono alla stazione Barra, facendo entrare un uomo quarantenne con il figlio di circa tre anni. Il bambino mantiene il mandolino e il padre raccoglie le monetine "di pietà". Io guardo gli occhi del bambino e il cuore smette di battere. Perdo il respiro. Chiudo gli occhi. Ma il sudore  che avvelena l'aria attorno me non mi fa perdere la coscienza. Così mi giro dall'altra parte e guardo la strada. Il treno attraversa le campagne, case abbandonate e le immense discariche di spazzatura nelle vicinanze di Bosco Trecase. Cerco di non affrontare gli sguardi di quei turisti norvegesi, quelli che alla stazione mi chiedevano l'informazione. C'è sempre domanda nel loro sguardo, ma questa volta la domanda è ben diversa. 

Siamo finalmente arrivati. Passeggio per le strade di 2000 anni fa, accarezzando ogni mattone di ogni palazzo, immaginando che qualcuno lo faceva molto prima di me. Le lacrime sono pronte a scappare e non li fermo più. Oramai lo capisco: la mia Pompei sta scomparendo. 

Qualcuno si ferma su una piazza o l'altra, ma io non mi fermo più. La devo rivedere tutta, tutta intera. Ma non posso esplorarla ed amarla come tante altre volte. Pompei è distrutta, è chiusa. Le strade, le case che prima erano aperti ai miei occhi affamati, si sono chiuse davanti a me. Pompei rimane sempre uno di quei luoghi dove non stancherei mai di andarci. Semplicemente perché è un luogo di un'energia particolarmente forte, di una storia triste e conosciuta in tutto il mondo. Pompei per me è un confine fra la vita e la morte, che rappresenta fra l'altro il mio modo molto personale di connettermi ad essa. 

Siamo tutti d'accordo sulla necessità di salvare gli scavi di Pompei. Ma su una cosa non siamo ancora d'accordo. Da cosa esattamente la dobbiamo salvare, o meglio da chi? 

Oggi noto innumerevoli cartelli che indicano lavori di ristrutturazione. Su molti ci sono indicate le date di consegna. 2011, 2012, 2013.. Siamo già al marzo del 2014 è quei lavori sono ancora in corso. Chi dovrebbe controllare questi lavori? 

Vado avanti ma a questo punto è meglio chiudere gli occhi. Sugli scavi di Pompei, sulla parte del patrimonio di UNESCO, quella parte che deve essere ancora scavata, viene coltivata l'uva! A due passi da una strada romana che emerge dal verde, passa un camion, come se niente fosse. 

Non c'è assolutamente nessun tipo di controllo nella zona. Ora che lo noto, non mi meraviglio più che un vandalo riesce a rubare un pezzo di un affresco antico. 

La mia Pompei oggi è in un lutto profondo. Come se non le bastasse morire una volta ed essere seppellita sotto decine di metri di ceneri, ora sta morendo nuovamente. È questa sua morte, non è dovuta al potente Vesuvio, ma alla mano dell'uomo, che non l'ha saputa amare e proteggere. 

Guardate nel vostro cuore e ditemi sinceramente: Possiamo davvero correre il rischio di perdere LEI, la nostra storia? 

Intanto la pagina del mio libro intitolata Pompei resta ancora aperta, e lo sarà finché Pompei non sarà salvata dagli italiani. 

In search of a form

We have become so refined, so elegant in our choices of form, that the books we 

read must necessarily be complicated like crosswords where authors do nothing 

else but lay one word on another and create new unknown forms of crosswording. 

Poets do the opposite. They simplify things to the most insignificant levels of 

language, creating verses that remind you of the first words of a toddler 

"You. Me. We". Artists are too rarely like poets. Too many paint the compulsory black square and call it infinity or even worse, they become victims of new styles and fashions, and therefore create images they themselves rarely comprehend.

But what about the content of art, whichever form it takes, must it not have a content? 

Mustn't there be something hidden behind the beautiful (or ugly) facade of a book or a painting? 

Why do I struggle with myself everytime I open a modern day "bestseller"? I 

start reading it: short sentences, confused meanings,  crosswording plot, simple 

words. I close the book, go for a walk, rest my eyes and start again. My eyes 

struggle through the next 3 pages and in the end I shut the book once more. It's 

dull from the start, and completely pointless. I read "fifty shades" and it 

instantly puts me to sleep ; I open "Love Lives 3 Years" and I laugh 

hysterically thinking that a grown-up man cannot and should not write what 

a teenager could have written. 

No wonder these are international bestsellers. They are easy to digest, no 

reflection is required. They are literature for the hard of thinking.

"How can you not love Fifty Shades?" I was asked by a close friend the other day 

"The book has it all: the Cinderella story, love, sex and the perfect prince". Strange that I never noticed!

"You must go and see L'amour, it's such a beautiful and tragic story of true 

love" I say to another friend. The response is predictable: "Why do you like these complicated and emotional films?"  

"Dostoevsky is nothing compared to Calvino" - a professor of Italian literature told me today. No offence to Calvino, but I was astonished. 

"Monet was not really an artist" I am told by a friend ( an artist) who thinks black circles make more sense than     colour-swirled ode to beauty that is Giverny. 

Of course, you will tell me, art is a personal perception of reality, just an 

opinion. And I will nod and say "Yes, you are right". But beneath my well-mannered smile I scream internally. What is the form we are talking about? What about the content? 

If you explain to me why "fifty shades" is such a great book (judging only its 

content) , if you will explain to me why two forks on a canvas can make an enduring work of art, if you explain to me how on earth Calvino (with all due respect) can substitute Dostoevsky in the great canon of world literature, then I will surrender to your judgement.

I may even treat you to what must surely rank, according to your criteria, as a supreme example of that other art form - the culinary masterpiece. At McDonalds.

"The Pianist" Wladislaw Szpilman

It’s difficult, or perhaps impossible, not to talk about and remember our history. No matter how hard we try to forget, wherever we go, almost every city in the world brings back memories of the most tragic war in the history of humanity and we are constantly reminded of the vastness of destruction it brought.

Yet sadly, one thing I have noticed lately is the profound sense of indifference towards the issue. The younger generation seems not to care as much as it should about the obvious and less obvious victims of the last world war and what sometimes frightens me even more is the growing tendency in younger people to turn to fascist and ultra-right wing nationalist movements in times of economic crisis.

So my post today is mostly dedicated to younger people, those who vaunt their national identity in the face of the rest of the world, and who lack respect for other cultures, other languages and other races.

Alas I didn’t get to know Wladislaw Szpilman as a talented pianist and a composer, but rather as the narrator of a dramatic story in Roman Polanski’s “The Pianist”. Then, back in 2002, not only did the film astound the jury at the  Cannes festival, it stirred the whole world. Only afterwards did I learn that beneath the striking images of Warsaw occupied by the Nazi invaders, was hidden the true story of a man who not only survived the war with human dignity intact, but also narrated all the events between 1939 and 1945 in his diary which was published the year after the end of the war and entitled “The Pianist. The Warsaw diaries 1939-1945”.  First published in 1946 the book was rapidly banned. The name of Spzilman became famous again in 1998 when the book was published again in Germany (!) and this time was translated in 8 languages.

Before the war Wladislaw Szpilman had been a talented pianist working with Polish radio in Warsaw and was massively successful and famed for his Chopin performances. In Poland he was also known as a composer who wrote symphonies, composed scores for a number of films as well as many chansons and songs, which,  according to his son Andrzej Szpilman, were very popular at that time, many of them going on to become great national hits.

The beginning of the war found Wladislaw Szpilman in Warsaw, where he remained throughout, and where most of the events described in his book take place. Szpilman narrates his memories chronologically, starting from September 1939 but there is no precision and there are no exact dates. It seems as though he picks out the most important, life-changing moments which define the shape of the whole book. Specific memories invade his mind in vivid imagery (similar to a scene in a film) and become separate chapters.

For his chapters he chooses strong, almost disturbing, names, such as, “The Hour of the Children and the Mad”, “A Chance for Survival”, “In a Burning House” and the most heartfelt “Nocturne in C-sharp minor”.

From the very first lines of “The Warsaw Diaries” Szpilman offers us a very disturbing and uncomfortable description of his own personal impressions of occupied life against the wider background of the empowered Nazis and the repressed Jews. We soon understand the delicate character of the man behind those lines. From the manner of his writing (it can feel as though the author is not personally involved, such is the educated and attentive style of writing even about his most obvious enemies) we soon understand the extreme delicacy and sensitivity of his soul. Szpilman is completely detached and surprisingly reserved; it seems that he could see the whole objective picture only by suppressing his very subjective impressions. The way he tries to repress his own resentments, showing himself as a man of strong will and a great noble heart is absolutely unique and this alone would be reason enough to read his book.

Szpilman’s diaries expose the naked truth about life in occupied Warsaw, the unbearable life in the ghetto, the hunger, the illnesses and death. He lays out the most personal details about the loss of his family and does so with dignity and respect. It seems that Spzilman survived all possible dramas: he perseveres amid  numerous illnesses, hunger, the death of his entire family in Treblinka and complete isolation. It is almost unbelievable how one man could escape the clutches of  death in its many guises, so many times.

Throughout the book we are in awe at his incredible luck and fear it might end tragically at any moment. But no -  Szpilman withstands it all. He goes through hell and back  and survives to tell us how easy it is to destroy a life and, perhaps more surprisingly, how easy it can be to save it.

The last chapter of the book entitled “Nocturne in  C-Sharp minor” shows us a true hero of the story, the German officer Wilm Hosenfeld. Hosenfeld will go down in history as an anti-Nazi German, one who saved countless Jews from death, and Wladislaw Szpilman was lucky to be one of them. In January 1945 Hosenfeld was taken prisoner by the Soviets and sentenced to 25 years in prison. Szpilman petitioned the Soviets for Hosenfeld’s release. The Soviets refused to consider the petitions and in 1952 Hosenfeld died after a series of strokes in a Soviet prison near Stalingrad.

In his own personal diary Wilm Hosenfeld wrote: “For all this, for all the murders we committed, for all the misery we brought, we, our whole nation will pay… We will be forever cursed. We do not deserve pardon. We are all responsible for this”.

For a long time Wladislaw Szpilman refused to talk about the war, he refused to remember. The book of memories published in 1946 was an absolution and a deeply personal revelation about the darkest moment in the history of humanity, a revelation of the war which, like the blood red colour has left an indelible stain on the canvas of history and humanity.

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PHILOMENA: What does it mean to be a Christian?

Every person is a Moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.

-Mark Twain.

It was a question designed more to wound than to inquire … “Why don’t you go to church more often?” she asked me, giving me a daring look. “Why don’t you pray at night or wear a cross?”

My mind was blurred. “Should I really go to church and learn every prayer to call myself a Christian?”  I thought but hesitated to answer, murmuring something unclear like I always do under pressure.

She was grinning with a deep self-satisfaction at seeing my puzzled and slightly flustered facial expression. At that moment I felt lost and beaten. Yet, although I had lost the verbal skirmish something inside me was whispering the truth. That whisper grew stronger over time but remained silently sleeping inside my mind until the night I saw “Philomena”.

“Philomena” is not only a profoundly touching story of a mother who embarks on a 50 year long search for her son. It is a heartbreaking story of a forced separation. And in many scenes we perceive and stand in awe at the power of the indestructible love that was once an umbilical cord. No matter how far her son is, Philomena remains strongly attached to him by the umbilical spirit which remains long after the physical cord has been snipped.  Even after Antony’s birth, once the cord was cut and they were physically separated, there always was an invisible force that brought them together in their thoughts and prayers. And what may seem the main theme of the film – an almost inexplicably strong telepathic connection between  mother and child and the constant never-ending search for each other – should be viewed as a secondary theme.

Yet something that remains hidden between the lines and in my opinion constitutes the main message of the film.

Philomena is a young pretty girl in 1950s Ireland who falls in love and gets pregnant. Her father - ashamed of her sins and the social judgments they will engender - leaves the daughter at a convent with nuns. Her life at the convent is hard especially considering her pregnancy. There is no doctor present when she is giving birth to her child – given the baby’s podalic position this is a fearful absence.. Philomena is often humiliated and constantly reminded of having committed a deadly sin. The  waves of condemnation continue to engulf her even at the moment of birth, which is almost a moment of death given the risk to the baby’s life.

Having experienced a cruel separation from her son and learned of his adoption, Philomena leaves the convent and starts a new  life hiding her secret from everyone who knew her. Until one day she cannot handle the pain anymore and reveals the hard truth to her daughter and a BBC journalist Martin.

Being the opposite of her, Martin represents the majority of us. He is the one who insists on unveiling the truth about the adoption of Antony and he is the one who is determined to find him, separating “the good” from “the bad”.

Thanks to Martin we find out the ugly truth about the convent policy and the adoption business they operated for many years. We can at last see the dark side of the Church’s operation. We see the religious order that had no scruples or regrets about separating children from their mothers and being paid a thousand pounds for each baby. We see the organization that never gave a penny to the desperate mothers and hid all the information on the adoption. We see the nuns who left pregnant women “in the hands of God” and in many cases let them and their children die while giving birth.  In short we see the Church that hides its own sinful practices behind the sins of suffering mothers, mothers who will never find peace or pardon.

What we see happen to Philomena is a unique story, but not because the pain caused to her was unique. She was not the only mother who was cruelly separated from her child. What makes her story unique is her ability to stay Christian even in a world where the “Holy Mother Church” is far from perfect, and even further from giving good example as a “Holy Mother”.

Philomena is so affected by the idea of being a sinner, of being inferior to other people that when her son is taken away from her and adopted without her permission, she still bears no anger towards the nuns. She manages her anger so well that sometimes it seems unfair not to have it. And in many scenes we see Martin express the hate, anger and suffering which are really hers. But in the end, while Martin remains a slave of all the negativity he feels towards the Church and the world, Philomena liberates herself by forgiving everyone who ever brought her any suffering.

Her ability to forgive the sins of others and her ability to see only the good in everyone she meets outweighs the persistent guilt of her “dreadful sin”. The film brilliantly exposes the irony of a Christianity obsessed with punishment for sins while leaving aside the most important rule Jesus ever taught us: the power of forgiveness and giving another chance to start again ....

As I watched the film, as it moved me internally, a question kept echoing round my mind. The question asked with such pharisaical satisfaction by the woman on the street.

Does it really take to wear a cross or recite formulaic prayers to be a Christian? Is it enough to cross the confines of a church to be reunited with the divine spark within us? Can one still be Christian and not belong to any religious confession? What is the relationship between religious affiliation and belief in God?

While most of the people sitting  next to me in the cinema discussed the power of the mother’s love (an obvious message) and some even said they were falling asleep (!), I was astonished to hear none of them speak of Philomena’s outstanding humanity. Her humanity moved me, it touched deep layers of my consciousness, it  deserved my gratitude which I am expressing here. I am grateful to her and all the other people whose beauty may never be revealed to the majority. But, in the end, what does the majority know about beauty, if they condemned Jesus?

That is a question I would like to ask the woman who stopped me in the street.

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