Category: Reflections

America’s 250th Birthday: Reflections

Next year, America will mark its 250th birthday. Unfortunately, this historic milestone is likely to be politicized, with competing narratives of our past reflecting the deep polarization of our present.

But this need not be our path. If we are to bridge rival ideologies and transcend partisanship, we must come together—not in denial of our differences, but in honest recognition of both our shared ideals and our collective shortcomings.

As true patriots, we can celebrate the birth of a free nation while also acknowledging the ways in which we have fallen short of the Declaration’s enduring promise: “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Our nation was forged in both hope and violence. The challenge before us is not only to remember, but to reckon. To share openly what we love about America—and what we do not. And to commit ourselves to remedying the ills that still confront us.

History taught from the periphery, filtered through rigid ideology or simplified into monolithic narratives, is intrinsically dangerous. It rests on a priori assumptions and is too often promulgated with dogmatism. True understanding requires nuance, humility, and courage.

In a very real sense, our genesis as a nation continues. That reality carries both hope and foreboding—hope, if we can get the conversation right; foreboding, if we fail to heed the lessons of our past. As Jefferson warned: “When once a Republic is corrupted, there is no possibility of remedying any of the growing evils but by removing the corruption and restoring its lost principles; every other correction is either useless or a new evil.” Politicians, take heed.

With this in mind, I eagerly await Ken Burns’ six-part PBS documentary on the American Revolution this November. It may be a vital first step in rekindling the national conversation we so urgently need—and in recovering the promise of the American dream.

RJoly

Remembering Edmund White (1940-2025)

I’ve just come off reading Edmund White’s 2005 New Yorker essay, “The Women I Dated as I Tried to go Straight.”

Whatever your sexual orientation, reading Edmund White’s essay is worth your time—the unchecked wit; the metaphoric grace; the vivid, often astonishing anecdotes; the shimmering brilliance that makes experience palpable. Like essayists Orwell, Woolf, or Sontag, he has that rare ability to make you pause, reassess, change course.

Above all, there’s his candor.

This morning I was heartened to see The New York Review of Books commemorating him by featuring six of his essays, written for them over the years.

Just a few weeks ago, June 3, 2025, White slipped into eternity. He had long faced declining health: a heart attack, a stroke, and his decades-long reckoning with HIV. He was 85.

I read somewhere that Vladimir Nobokov, that other preeminent prose prodigy, admired White’s literary acumen, so much like his own. What writer wouldn’t relish Nabokov’s compliment, bestowed upon so few.

White was the high priest of gay literature, writing prolifically on its themes and torments, addressing with fearless clarity the culture’s imposed shackles of shame.

Across five decades, he authored thirty books—novels, memoirs, plays, hundreds of essays, many of them distilling the gay journey into a language of self-acceptance and grace.

A devoted Francophile, he spent nearly twenty years in France, where he would write his erudite The Flâneur and Genet: A Biography.  

In A Boy’s Own Story, a blend of fiction and autobiography, White chronicles the interior landscape of a young gay man confronting the burden of identity.

His 2005 autobiography, My Lives, unflinchingly narrates his first 65 years.

With the essay “The Women I Dated as I Tried to Go Straight,” White reflects on his early sense of same-sex desire, repressed under the weight of cultural condemnation: “In the past, when homosexuality was still considered shameful, I was slow to confess my desires to anyone.”

To atone for those hidden desires, “the fire in the crotch,” White dated women—many drawn to his intellect, good looks, and sensitivity. Empathy pervades his essay as he recalls these women, acknowledging the structural inequities they faced, confronted with a patriarchal hegemony: “I came to think of men as monsters with absolute power, the darlings of the Western world, and of women as their unfortunate victims.…This was what distinguished me from the straight men I knew, who, it seemed, were united in their ability to treat women badly and then laugh it off.”

White’s sympathy undoubtedly owes its genesis to the gay community’s own troubled quest for validation.

I found his retrospective vignettes of women moving, bringing alive each woman’s individuality in vivid, lyrical prose replete with introspective finesse:

Sally was celebrated for her big breasts and her face, which was that of the Apollo Belvedere—bow-shaped lips, a long, straight nose, a wide, domed brow, an ensemble that was classical and noble and oddly mature. She looked like a woman, a grownup woman, not a raddled adolescent. She said little, but she smiled dreamily with veiled eyes. Her smile had a way of lingering two beats too long, after the conversation had moved on to a different mood. Was she lost in her own thoughts and not paying attention? Had someone told her that she was at her best when she smiled? She never guffawed or squealed or made violent movements, though catty classmates told me that when boys weren’t around she was a real sow, rolling on the floor, drinking beer, and giggling with the other girls at obscene speculations about penises they had known or divined through Speedos.

He thinks that had he not been gay, he might have fulfilled their myriad longings: “Unhappy women! How many of them I’ve known. Sniffling or drinking with big reproachful eyes, silent or complaining, violent or depressed—a whole tribe of unhappy women have always surrounded me.”

For most of my life I’ve been a shoulder to cry on, and all of that time I’ve wished I could do more to ease the pain of the women in my life. If I were straight, I could have married one of them. I would have known how to comfort her. I would have worked hard to provide her with the security and even the luxury she required. I would never have run off with another woman. I would have been as sensitive to her needs as a sister, as protective as a father. And I would always have told her where I was going and exactly when I’d be coming home. This was what distinguished me from the straight men I knew, who, it seemed, were united in their ability to treat women badly and then laugh it off.

White remembers falling in love with fellow schoolmate Marilyn Monroe, a recollection tender and adolescent, full of longing and projection:

In the middle of my sophomore year, I was sent to boarding school, at the Cranbrook School for boys, in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, where I fell in love with Marilyn Monroe. I knew that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and yet she was in pain, in need. She was unhappy. I believed that I could help her. My fantasies weren’t specific as to what I would actually say to her or do for her. I never got beyond her little smiles of love and recognition, which burned with a brighter and brighter glow.

My favorite daydream was that she’d come with me to my senior prom. All the other guys would be astonished: the toad, Eddie White, was really a prince. I pictured her on my arm, her sequinned gown glittering, her voluptuous body undulating as we entered the dining hall, which had been transformed by crêpe paper into a ballroom. It was like a mermaid’s visitation. The thin boys with their brush cuts and spotty faces, their dinner jackets and burgundy cummerbunds with matching bow ties, would gape at us. No way, man, the biggest dweeb of them all with . . . Marilyn!

Fortunately, not all the women in his life were unhappy. Some lived fulfilled lives outside a dependency on men, easing his guilt:

What I loved about Anne and Marilyn {another Marilyn}, even Alice, Sally, and Gretchen—was that they weren’t unhappy. Marilyn wanted nothing from me but my friendship, and she has it still.

Because she and the others I’ve written about here were the first women I knew who weren’t unhappy, who never once made me feel guilty, they showed me the way to friendship with women. 

White’s essay emerges a paean to women across the years who were there for him in the hard places, lending solace and fostering courage.

I will miss Edmund White keenly, a voice in the wilderness.

—rj

 

Finding the Virtuous in Troubled Times

Reading the news, we’re likely to despair of finding good people who inspire through example. But they exist—people like John Woolman, Oskar Schindler, Nelson Mandela, Jimmy Carter, the Dalai Lama, and Pope Francis. This morning, I was reminded of this in reading Marcus Aurelius’ observation:

“When you need encouragement, think of the qualities the people around you have: this one’s energy, that one’s modesty, another’s generosity, and so on. Nothing is as encouraging as when virtues are visibly embodied in the people around us, when we’re practically showered with them. It’s good to keep this in mind” (Meditations, Book 6).

As my favorite journalist, Nicholas Kristof, writes in his superb memoir, Chasing Hope, “I’ve interviewed warlords and terrorists, but the people who have left the deepest impression are the saints who give their all to make this a better world”

—rj

Finding Myself and Contentment, Too

Time moves swiftly, and I’m astonished that twenty years have passed since I retired from teaching. On the whole, these years have been rich and fulfilling, offering me the space to rediscover myself, travel widely, and immerse myself in new pursuits—whether delving into meditation, completing a course on the Brazilian basin, or exploring the ever-expanding frontiers of AI. Most recently, I’ve taken up the challenge of learning to read Italian.

I read voraciously across a vast range of subjects, continually captivated by the alchemy of syntax and the resonance of wisdom—each new insight opening doors to deeper understanding, heightened empathy, and more meaningful conversation.

In essence, I’ve spent these years following my own path, embracing the art of self-cultivation, and discovering a quiet, enduring contentment—even in a world often burdened with turmoil.

rj

The Greek Ideal We Need Today

The Greeks called it aretè, a concept I’ve never forgotten since my beloved early professor, Thomas Pappas, introduced me to it.

Often translated as “virtue,” it encompasses far more—not just moral goodness, but the pursuit of excellence in every endeavor. Plato expanded the idea to include wisdom, justice, and self-control.

Aristotle, in turn, emphasized that aretè arises from reason and consistent practice. As he put it, “Moral excellence comes about by cultivating habit. We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts.”

Examples of aretè abound in classical literature. Take Odysseus, for example, in The Odyssey, undertaking a ten year journey to reach home, overcoming every obstacle thrown his way through intelligence, resilience, courage and leadership.

Antigone provides another example of aretè. Defying King Creon’s decree, denying her brother burial, Antigone exemplifies moral courage in defying the autocratic king.

Does aretè exist today?

Nelson Mandela comes to mind. Imprisoned for 27 years, Mandela opted for reconciliation over bitterness, unity over revenge in post-apartheid South Africa, reflecting aretè in its highest moral and political form.

Aretè isn’t reserved for just the famous; it can be seen in frontline workers, teachers, activists, and individuals who strive for excellence in their fields, steadfast in upholding ethical principles.

In all things, excellence matters, and in these tumultious times, we need areté more than ever.

—rj

When the Shades Are Drawn: The Decline of Literary Reading

I’ve been an avid reader of cerebral Virginia Woolf for many years, enjoying not only her novels, but her highly polished essays such as “A Room of Her Own.” Thanks to the Yale Review Archives, I’ve just read “How Should One Read a Book?” (September 1, 2026). It was a different world then, absent of electronic media.

Today, reading is in sharp decline. According to the National Assessment of Educational Progress (February 2025), 33% of eighth graders lack basic reading skills, and only 14% of students read daily. Among adults, just 40% read a literary book.

This trend exacts a cost, as literature cultivates empathy and instills humane values. Active readers are more engaged in civic and cultural life. They contribute to their communities. In contrast, electronic media foster shorter attention spans and weaken intellectual skills (National Endowment for the Arts Assessment).

With AI increasingly doing our cognitive heavy lifting, our ability to think critically is further eroding.

If Woolf believed literature offered us a window into the world, today it seems the shades have been drawn.

—rj

Putin’s Aggression, Trump’s Betrayal, and Europe’s Challenge

  • Photo by Ukraine.ua on September 07, 2023.

You may not have heard of Tim Snyder, but he’s worth knowing. A Yale professor of Eastern European history and authority on the Holocaust, his vitae includes sixteen books and many academic awards. A Brown and Oxford graduate, he speaks five European languages and reads in ten.

I mention him because of his ardent defense of a free Ukraine, whose fate now lies in jeopardy. This month he’s been in Ukraine, a participant in a dedication of a new underground school for children a mere twenty miles from the front and within twenty second reach of Russian cruise missiles.

Today marks the end of three years of Ukraine’s brave resistance to its Russian invaders, who now occupy twenty percent of its land. The school has to be underground, as Russian targets include schools as well as hospitals, civilian housing, energy infrastructure, and even shopping malls.

Now Ukraine confronts its most insidious danger—Trump’s abandonment of Ukraine. Snyder reminds us that Trump cares little about Europe. What matters is making deals in exchange for profit as seen in his demand Ukraine grant rights to fifty percent of its minerals. Like Gaza, Greenland, and the Panama Canal, it’s about adding real estate to his portfolio.

Ukraine’s destiny now lies in European hands, but their commitment isn’t assured. Rewarding Kremlin aggression makes more aggression likely, particularly involving the Baltic nations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, each with a considerable Russian minority similar to that of Ukraine.

There are ways you can help Ukrainians. Snyder sponsors Documenting Ukraine, which affords Ukrainians a voice. There is also Come Back Arrive, supporting Ukrainian soldiers; RAZOM assisting civilians; and United 24, the Ukrainian government’s site for donations.

Few will read my lengthy post, but for those who do, donate, if you can—and while at it, join the resistance. You know what I mean.

—RJoly

Defending Democracy: What We Must Do

A year ago this month, Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny died in a labor camp under circumstances that strongly suggest Kremlin involvement. His courageous fight against Russian despotism should have inspired a global recommitment to democracy. Instead, we see authoritarianism advancing—both abroad and at home.

Donald Trump, long an admirer of Vladimir Putin, has once again echoed Kremlin propaganda, calling Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky a “dictator” and blaming him for the war—simply because Zelensky rejected his negotiating Ukraine’s surrender on Putin’s terms.

Unsurprisingly, Russian state media has embraced Trump as a political rock star, amplifying his rhetoric to weaken Western resolve.

Meanwhile, here in the United States, our own democratic values are under siege, the rule of law undermined, institutions eroded, and authoritarianism on the rise.

The threats we face today, both at home and abroad, make the world more dangerous for all who believe in freedom.

But we will not stand idly by. We must resist—through the courts, in Congress, and in the streets through peaceful protest.

The fight for America’s soul is far from over. If we stay united, we will prevail. In two years, we have the opportunity to reclaim Congress, hold those who threaten democracy accountable, and ensure that America remains a beacon of freedom—not an ally to autocrats.

—R Joly

When the Pen Speaks: The Buried Life

Some years ago, I was a National Humanities Seminar student at Claremont Graduate University in southern California.

It was an eight week seminar devoted to myth study, meeting several times weekly. On a given day, one of us would be responsible for introducing a thematic topic, followed by extended discussion, monitored by a chair nationally recognized for excellence in the subject.

My presentations differed from that of my cohorts, who confidently offered their insights orally, a few notes at the most. For some reason, I’ve always preferred a text, perhaps from being a very deliberative person, mindful of nuance and wanting to find a way of simplifying complexity. I like sorting out enigmas, something requiring reflection and precise articulation, all the bits and pieces I fear I’m likely to omit without a text.

I’ve often felt remorse for this, envying those who verbalize freely. It’s a gift I lack. Were I a more relaxed person, more confident in myself, maybe I could pull it off.

But then I remember that some of the greatest presentations, motivating a nation, inspiring action, were delivered from chiseled texts. We dub their articulators “orators,” but they spoke from manuscripts. Abraham Lincoln, Frederic Douglas, Winston Churchill, John Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, Barack Obama; perhaps the most eloquent of them all, Martin Luther King.

One day, a seminar member told me I became another person when I spoke from a text. I wasn’t offended. I knew its truth.

Franz Kafka comes to mind: “I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.”

And that’s perhaps the best excuse I can offer for my addiction to a text. When I take a pen in hand, I become a stranger to myself. Myriad voices tumble forth, competing to be heard. Writing taps an oceanic source, deep, fathomless, a wellspring the ancient Greeks called daimon, not evil, but spirit entities acting as intermediaries between man and the gods, or what Matthew Arnold termed “the buried stream” :

The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life’s flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
…
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes (“The Buried Life”).

Older now, I no longer view my reliance on text as a shortcoming but as a conduit that allows me to distill complexity and find precision in the tumult of thought. Perhaps I do become another person when I read from a text, but maybe that person is closer to the truest version of myself.

Writing is not a retreat from spontaneity, but an invitation to clarity; not a crutch but a way of channeling what might otherwise remain unspoken. If history remembers its greatest orators as voices of change, it also remembers the words that gave them their power—carefully chosen, painstakingly shaped, delivered not despite their deliberation, but because of it.

–rj

David Lynch: Visionary Filmmaker, Advocate for Inner Peace

Famed director, screenwriter, and actor David Lynch died on Thursday at age 78. Accolades have praised his visionary, surreal contributions to the film industry, featuring productions such as Mulholland Drive and the TV hit series Twin Peaks.

Although no official cause of death has been announced, informed sources suggest he may have been a victim of the LA fires. Forced to evacuate his home, his chronic emphysema reportedly worsened. In November, he said he required oxygen for “walking across the room” (Lynch death). A year earlier, he told sources he was unable to leave his house.

I owe a personal debt to Lynch. A few years ago, I began exploring ways to lessen my daily anxiety. Cognitive behavioral therapy, though offering insights for changing my mindset, hadn’t sufficed. I didn’t want medication with its potential side effects. I wanted to be me.

I turned to meditation, having been impressed by multiple neurological brain imaging studies at Harvard and Massachusetts General Hospital. They showed that meditation conducted on Transcendental Meditation practitioners facilitated anxiety reduction by promoting pacifying beta brain waves.

Looking first for a way to begin, I came across Lynch, who’d begun TM in 1973:

“I started Transcendental Meditation in 1973 and have not missed a single meditation ever since. Twice a day, every day. It has given me effortless access to unlimited reserves of energy, creativity and happiness deep within. This level of life is sometimes called ‘pure consciousness.’ It is a treasury. And this level of life is deep within us all,” he wrote.

Lynch dedicated himself to spreading the word, establishing the David Lynch Foundation for Consciousness Based Education to financially assist adults and children throughout the world to learn TM.

Convinced, I hired a TM instructor and did the training. But it’s important you have the right teacher. I did not.

I couldn’t stop the incessant mental gossip known as “the monkey mind.” That is, until I read Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s The Joy of Living. Everything fell into place. You listen to the chatter, returning to your mantra or breath when the mind engages or pursues.

I learned technique, using any of the five senses.

But it was Lynch who did the convincing. As he said, “If you don’t already meditate, take my advice: Start. It will be the best decision you ever make.”

–rj