Lost in Translation

 "The roots of physics, as of all Western science, are to be found in the first period of Greek philosophy, in the sixth centruy B.C., in a culture where science, philosophy and religion were not separated. The sages of the Milesian school in Ionia were not concerned with such distinctions. Their aim was to discover the essential nature, or real constitution, of things which they called "physis." The term "physics" is derived from this Greek word and meant therefore, originally, the endeavor of seeing the essential nature of things.

This, of course, is also the central aim of all mystics, and the philosophy of the Mileasian school did indeed have a strong mystical flavor. The Milesians were called "hylozoists" or "those who think matter is alive," by the later Greeks, because they saw no distinction between animate and inanimate, spirit and matter. In fact, they did not even have a word for matter, since they saw all form of existence as manifestations of the "physis," endowed with life and spirituality. Thus Thales declared all things to be full of gods and Anaximander saw the universe as a kind of organism which was supported by "pneuma," the cosmic breath, in the same way as the human body is supported by air."

- Fritjof Capra (1977), "The Tao of Physics"

SwissMexican in Haiti

The Argentinian Consul was a jolly fellow, raised Catholic, a self-proclaimed atheist and great conversationalist. I liked running into him at the diplomatic cocktails my mother took me to in Haiti's capital Port-au-Prince. I enjoyed having philosophical exchanges with him. He had a passion for languages and translated for fun. He agreed to translate into Spanish a few chapters from my favorite book, The Serpent and the Rainbow by Wade Davis.

The Consul seemed open-minded, intelligent and interesting. He was charming and twice as old. An unmarried, childless middle-aged man. I was a recently corrupted young twenty-something with nothing to lose. I loved to argue with stately gentlemen about the meaning of life, the human condition, and, sure why not, politics. I put out my point of view shamelessly. I thought the US-marines were the most stubborn interlocutors. They were also kind hosts with patriarcal protective impulses that pissed off the feminist in me. I never changed their mind on anything, and we had a good time.

The Consul asked my mother, who was the Mexican Ambassador, for permission to take me out. We agreed. I was excited to spend a friendly evening of fun conversation. He took me to a popular French restaurant owned by the parents of one of my friends. Petion-Ville, the elevated fancy end of town, was a teeny tiny world, which was experienced under a magnifying glass on the small Caribbean half-island nation.

The front door by the parking lot was locked for some reason. We stepped in through the patio entrance. I was delighted to see two of my friends ready to dine as well. I knew they were dating in "secret". We were seated at the table across from them. We didn't greet formally. No words were spoken. I mean, they weren't supposed to be seen like that together. In silence, we kindly aknowledged each other's presence. Who knows what they thought of my companion.

The rich, flavourful, refreshing and creamy delicious French Carribean food was to die for. I would have loved to eat there all the time if I could have. But I didn't return to the place again after that evening. You see, people don't want to frequent a public place and be caught with certain company. Like the cheating chief of mission with one of his many secretaries. Or the divorcee who felt ashamed to have a lover. Or the old friends who started having sex. Yes, Petion-Ville was like a magnifying glass and you had to watch out.

The conversation with the Consul, of course, quickly turned deeply philosophical. I trusted sincerely in the Atheist's ability to reason freely, detached from expectations. Just for fun, maybe. I imagined naively that deductive games would be as delightful to him as they were to me. Or, at least, that he might understand how they're played. His wit and humor had been palpable in our previous exchanges. Was it all just a facade? What was really beneath it all? What was his philosophical heart? I wondered.

Things began to get tense as I made critisizing remarks of the Catholic Church and shared my own personal Jesus. I was surprised. Hadn't he argued he was atheist? As the subject of God got slapped onto the table, the tables turned. "There is nothing." He insisted there was no force nor any other universal phenomenon omnipresent and omnipotent that flowed through everything for that matter. In fact, all matter was proof, as it was dead and not alive. He pulled physics and other science, as he understood it, out of the hat. "Let's call it energy, then." I insisted. What flows through everything, is in everything, and is "alive"? Particles are alive, atoms are alive. They move, don't they?

At some point he grabbed his head with both hands and ten tense fingers like he wanted to pull out his hair. He'd been getting louder and louder for a while. My friends at the table vis a vis looked at me strange, like "What is wrong with him?". Or, what is wrong with me for freaking out this poor man with diabolical notions? No, my friends knew well enough how I talked. 

The Consul used the word "devil" towards me, amongst other things. It didn't bother me, I'd been called that before. 

"Take this spoon, for example," I tried to explain to him visually, after having failed with other metaphors, so he might calm down. "It has energy. Thus, it exists..."

"Whaaaaaat!!!?" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "You're saying the spoon is aliiiiive?!!! That God is in the spooooooon???!!!!" Some people's heads began to turn uneasily. No one wanted to look.

"I'm saying that it, too, has energy, or whatever you want to call that which exists in everything in the universe. Look, from holding it in my hand it has become warm..."

His face was red, and he was shaking. I stayed cool and collected, in disbelief at his unfolding. Felt shock and awe all at once.

The Consul had an anger attack. He threw his napkin on the table and stood up so frantically that the chair almost flew into the patio window behind him. He got out of his seat cussing and cursing. My friends glanced at me desperately with big eyes. I silently shrugged as I turned my attention back to the Consul's disgruntled circus of public rage. He stomped off with big short-man steps to the front door leading to the parking lot.

The door was still locked. He danced around the empty entrance violently attempting to force the door nob open. To no avail. It all happened fast. He threw a fit like a toddler and almost kicked in the door. He made me think of Donald Duck's legendary tantrums, and I laughed inside. One or two heads turned ever so slighty. Most ignored him. Why would a diplomat behave in such a manner? Nothing to see here. Nobody knows anything about anything in this place anyway.

When the staff threatened to approach, he appeared to come to his senses. He realized that there was no way out the front. He had trapped himself in a dead end.

The Conscul decided to come back to the table and sit down. He stayed mad at me. There was no dessert. Awkward silence on the drive home. He dropped me off. I thanked him. We parted ways diplomatically. And never talked again. In the name of diplomacy, he would engage with my mother. But now he seemed to be afraid of me. I stayed at a distance. Didn't mean to upset him. Did my compassionate smile ever reach him?

Weeks later, I received the promised translations in an unaddressed envelope from my mother's hands. It touched my heart.