Take a moment and try to remember your first conversation
using words. No, really pause
and see if you can recall your very first conversation. And by that, I mean when you knew that you
were using language, logic, and your capacity to formulate organized thought
with another person. How long ago was
that conversation? Where did it
happen? Who was around when it happened?
I think my first memory of a conversation was on March 7,
1970. I was standing in the Mexican
desert in the State of Oaxaca near the town of Mitla. It was sometime between 11:38am CST and
11:41am CST. I know that I was proudly proclaiming
to anyone who was within earshot something to the effect of “my daddy has a
telescope”. I was about 4 years
old. The day before, I had a staring
contest with a cactus that was about my size.
During that week, I had climbed the 75 meters up the Pyramid of the Sun
in Teotihuacan. It was during totality
of a solar eclipse. And some mix of all
these exceptional experiences fuses in my mind the capacity to recall the artifact
of a conversation with remarkable precision.
I remember that there were around 5 people to whom I addressed my
comments. I remember that one of them
was a little Mexican girl about my age who was wearing a yellow and orange
dress. I remember a man who was crouched
down looking at the pin hole shadow of the eclipse on a board laid out on the
ground. This memory is 48 years old.
Most scholars would suggest that the first record of the
recollected (not witnessed) words of Jesus were written somewhere around 57AD. The appearance of the story of Jesus’
conversation with his disciples recounted in Matthew 16:13-20 was probably originally
written around 80-90AD. Suggesting that
anyone could “quote” a recollected conversation received through hearsay across
5 decades is beyond implausible.
Consider your own fallibility in the exercise above. If you haven’t considered it, redo the exercise
and see how memorable YOUR OWN MEMORIES are.
But let’s set that aside for a moment.
That’s not the point. In Matthew,
after a host of acts regarded as unexplained phenomenon by their witnesses,
Jesus asks his disciples, “But who do you say that I am?” In the story, this question arises in exasperation
from his observation that people were trying to figure out who he was after he had
fed 5,000 with 5 loaves of bread and 4,000 with 7 loaves of bread. I’ve yet to hear anyone talk about the
appetite of the 4,000 which required so much more bread! And worse than that, his own disciples were
thinking that they were in trouble for not packing a lunch on their boat trip. For those of you who didn’t grow up with the eschatological
obsessions that characterized my childhood, I’ll connect some dots.
According to the Gospels, Jesus spent his life living
and explaining
values that were an “ideal”. He didn’t
apply titles to his person or his actions.
He simply lived and tried to explain the philosophy behind the “how”. It was his observers who insisted on
titles. “Messiah”, “Prophet”, “Healer”:
all attributes suitable in a moment in the context of what had just transpired but
none of them descriptors of his full essence.
And this irritated everybody – especially those in his closest circles. “It’s hard to explain what you do,” one can
imagine them protesting after their last conversation about the guy they were
hanging out with. Was he a
carpenter? Fisherman? Seafarer?
Water-walker? Vintner? Sommelier?
Physician? Prophet? Friend?
Revolutionary? Iconoclast?
The Second Commandment in the 10 Commandments is the prohibition
of idols or graven images. Language
generally – and our obsession with classifier nouns specifically – represents the
most insidious idolatry of our time. A
label on a person, a group, a movement, an institution and suddenly nuance is
replaced with reflexive duality. Our
capacity to see metaphoric coherence in pluralistic expression diminishes with each
passing “cause” or “outrage”. With
definition comes dissonance. Few comedies
have matched the comedy of idolatry itself.
Around 726, Emperor Leo III decreed that all images and icons should be
removed from churches with all veneration of the same outlawed 4 years later. Fifty years later (and with the lobbying of
those who found veneration quite a profitable venture), the Second Council of Nicaea
(or the Seventh Ecumenical Council) reinstated icons and veneration. Somewhat ironically, Constantine V – who had
outlawed veneration of images – had a carve out sanctioning the preservation of
images of the emperor! Funny how that
pissed off the folks the Byzantine and Roman churches who saw themselves demoted
in favor of the emperor who monopolized the iconography of the day. On October 13, 787, the council specifically
authorized the, “manufacture of sacred vessels, tapestries, vestments to be
exhibited on the walls of churches, in homes, and in all conspicuous places, by
the roadside and everywhere, to be revered by all who might see them.” The business of propaganda justified the
rejection of Second Commandment. Oh, and
in 1536, John Calvin found himself siding with Leo III and re-banned images in
favor of, you guessed it, words. And this father of the Protestant movement
had the decency of burning at the stake those who would challenge his
words.
What is it about nouns that leads to murderous obsession,
flagrant inhumanity, ostracization, and all manner of destruction of the human
family? I find it amusing that the text
in Matthew shares an eerie resemblance to another biblical text – Genesis 2:19. “Now out of the ground the Lord God had formed
every beast of the field and every bird of the heavens and brought them to the
man to see what he would call them. And
whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name.” In our common myth, the FIRST thing we do on
earth is name stuff! Seriously? To be human is to exert dominion by
classification? And when an ideal
human is doing some amazing things showing humanity what is possible
(against the carnage of the Roman occupation of Palestine), his followers
insist on “naming” him at least as the story is told? Seriously?
Isn’t it funny that the only term Jesus reportedly used to describe
himself is “I am”? That’s right, whether
you think of him as divine, deific, inspirational or delusional, the only title
embraced by him is the evidence of his being and doing. Is a giraffe more “giraffe” or “tall spotted,
furry, gangly quadruped leaf eater that looks pretty damn funny bending over to
take a drink”?
Over the past 45 years, I’ve been plagued by well-meaning
people who want to know “what” I am. Countless
branding experts have been brought in or offered their services to package me
so that others can “get it”. “When I
look at your company’s website, I don’t “get it”,” I hear with monotonous
regularity. “Do you run and non-profit?”,
I’m asked by those who see the work I’ve done in conflict-torn and marginalized
communities. “So you’re an investor,”
conclude those who see the work I do in the capital markets. “Are you a quant?” inquire people mystified
by the fact that I developed the world’s leading large cap equity index. “So you are a doctor?” concluded a group of people
who recently saw me attend to the injured and one fatality that died in my
hands at a car accident. “So you’re a
futurist,” concluded a friend who saw a video from 2006 in which I detailed the
precise cause and consequence of the 2008 global financial crisis. Speaker, futurist, doctor, polymath, healer,
joker, idiot. One recent commentator on
my criticism of the hype around Tesla raged, “Who does this guy think he is?” before
suggesting that I should be silenced with a gun.
What’s wrong with, “I am”?
I had an interesting experience in Indiana in the late
80s. There was a high school athlete who
was an exceptional quarterback setting records for yardage and touchdowns with
nearly 4,000 yards and 30 touchdowns in his senior year. His success attracted the attention of a
prominent university where he received a football scholarship. As the football season was coming to a close,
his success as a point guard in basketball pulled him between the snowy fields
and the steamy gyms. And with the playoffs
in basketball bleeding into the baseball season, his role as star pitcher
called his attention again. Oh, and he
was homecoming king, popular… and resented.
He was too good at too many things.
“You have to focus,” the university coached yelled at him after telling
him not to play baseball for a State Championship team. I watched as this great kid “focused”. At university, he set records for career touchdowns,
all-time total offense and slipped away from basketball and baseball. In 1993 he was drafted to the NFL where he
set the rookie record for attempts, completions and yards. In each subsequent year, his performance
diminished. Seven years and 4 teams
later, this all-around athlete retired.
Did he “need” to focus?
Did he have to “choose”? Or was
it us who couldn’t wrap our head around
someone that was just skilled at everything he
touched? Was Rick a great
quarterback? Sure. But wasn’t there something more? Wasn’t it the case that he was a master of
greatness? He knew the value of persistence,
valued excellence over mediocrity, embraced discipline and effort over
entitlement. And did we all lose the
real impact of his genius by a world that made him conform to what we could productize?
History tells us that Joseph was a spoiled brat. He was a favorite son and rocked some cool
threads. This pissed off his brothers
who beat him, stripped him of his coat and sold him as a slave to Potiphar – a jailor
in Egypt. He worked hard, looked amazing
and gained the favor and attention of his master (and unfortunately, his master’s
wife). After refusing her advances, she
unleashed the venom of sexual harassment and Joseph wound up in prison on death
row. His ability to interpret dreams put
him on pharaoh’s radar and he became the originator of history’s first recorded
commodity exchange and reserve bank and in so doing, saved the Egyptian
population – and his duplicitous family – from 7 years of famine. What was he?
A brat? A fashion icon? A slave?
A general manager? A fortune
teller? A politician? A commodities trader? A Central Banker? A Governor?
No. He was. That’s it.
He just brought his excellent stewardship to each situation and,
combined with his integrity and power of analytic discipline, put in motion the
culture that once received a young woman on a donkey, a Palestinian carpenter,
and their son when they were refugees from a Roman occupation near Bethlehem. There’s no Jesus without Joseph. And there’s no Joseph without all the “I ams”
that came before them!
In the Ramayana, after proving his devotion to Rama in the epic
battles and against the humiliation of the military generals, Hanuman is asked
by Lord Rama, “How do you look upon me?”
Hanuman’s triangulated answer is instructive.
“From the perspective
of my physical body, I am your faithful servant.
From the perspective
of the soul, I am a spark within your eternal Light.
From the perspective
of pure truth, you and I, my Lord, are one in the same.”
For those of you who are familiar with the ordinates of Integral
Accounting, you will undoubtedly see in this answer the polarities of Alchemy,
Eidos, and Gnosis. From the perspective
of matter and energy (commodity), my
value is service. From the standpoint of perception (custom & culture) my shared experience
is propagation of light (technology). And from the knowledge of truth, I have identity with everything in the universe
(well-being).
So, who am I? Well,
here’s the paradox: from which perspective
are you asking the question? Because the
answer is that I understand matter and energy and align it to productive
service. I see things in the multi-dimensional
contexts and create reproducible ways for others to engage and benefit from
these perspectives. And, thanks to the
countless wisdoms to which I’ve been exposed, I finally know that I am.
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