Bio: Henrik Ibsen

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Henrik Ibsen
Henrik Ibsen by Eilif Peterssen, 1895
BornHenrik Johan Ibsen
20 March 1828
SkienTelemarkNorway
Died23 May 1906 (aged 78)
Kristiania, Norway
(modern Oslo)
OccupationWriter, playwright
GenresNaturalism
Notable worksPeer Gynt (1867)
A Doll’s House (1879)
Ghosts (1881)
An Enemy of the People (1882)
The Wild Duck (1884)
Rosmersholm (1886)
Hedda Gabler (1890)
SpouseSuzannah Thoresen (m. 1858)
ChildrenSigurd Ibsen
RelativesKnud Ibsen (father)
Marichen Altenburg (mother)
Signature

Henrik Johan Ibsen (/ˈɪbsən/;[1] Norwegian: [ˈhɛ̀nrɪk ˈɪ̀psn̩]; 20 March 1828 – 23 May 1906) was a Norwegian playwright and theatre director. As one of the founders of modernism in theatre, Ibsen is often referred to as “the father of realism” and one of the most influential playwrights of his time.[2] His major works include BrandPeer GyntAn Enemy of the PeopleEmperor and GalileanA Doll’s HouseHedda GablerGhostsThe Wild DuckWhen We Dead AwakenRosmersholm, and The Master Builder. Ibsen is the most frequently performed dramatist in the world after Shakespeare,[3][4] and A Doll’s House was the world’s most performed play in 2006.[5]

Ibsen’s early poetic and cinematic play Peer Gynt has strong surreal elements.[6] After Peer Gynt Ibsen abandoned verse and wrote in realistic prose. Several of his later dramas were considered scandalous to many of his era, when European theatre was expected to model strict morals of family life and propriety. Ibsen’s later work examined the realities that lay behind the facades, revealing much that was disquieting to a number of his contemporaries. He had a critical eye and conducted a free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. In many critics’ estimates The Wild Duck and Rosmersholm are “vying with each other as rivals for the top place among Ibsen’s works”;[7] Ibsen himself regarded Emperor and Galilean as his masterpiece.[8]

Ibsen is often ranked as one of the most distinguished playwrights in the European tradition,[9] and is widely regarded as the foremost playwright of the nineteenth century.[9][10] He influenced other playwrights and novelists such as George Bernard ShawOscar WildeArthur MillerJames JoyceEugene O’Neill, and Miroslav Krleža. Ibsen was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1902, 1903, and 1904.[11]

Ibsen wrote his plays in Danish (the common written language of Denmark and Norway during his lifetime)[12] and they were published by the Danish publisher Gyldendal. Although most of his plays are set in Norway—often in places reminiscent of Skien, the port town where he grew up—Ibsen lived for 27 years in Italy and Germany, and rarely visited Norway during his most productive years. Ibsen’s dramas were informed by his own background in the merchant elite of Skien, and he often modelled or named characters after family members. He was the father of Prime Minister Sigurd Ibsen. Ibsen’s dramas had a strong influence upon contemporary culture.

Early life and background

Family and childhood

Charitas, the ship captained by Henrik’s grandfather of the same name when he died at sea outside Grimstad in 1797. The Dannebrog was the common flag of Denmark-Norway.

Henrik Johan Ibsen was born on 20 March 1828 in Stockmanngården into an affluent merchant family in the prosperous port town of Skien in Bratsberg. He was the son of the merchant Knud Plesner Ibsen (1797–1877) and Marichen Cornelia Martine Altenburg (1799–1869). Both parents’ belonged to the city’s and county’s elite; Ibsen’s ancestors were primarily merchants and shipowners in large cities, or members of the “aristocracy of officials” of Upper Telemark. Henrik Ibsen later wrote that “my parents were members on both sides of the most respected families in Skien” and that he was closely related to “just about all the patrician families who then dominated the place and its surroundings.”[13][14] He was baptised at home in the Lutheran state church—membership of which was mandatory—on 28 March and the baptism was confirmed in Christian’s Church on 19 June.[15] When Ibsen was born, Skien had for centuries been one of Norway’s most important and internationally oriented cities, and a centre of seafaring, timber exports and early industrialization that had made Norway the developed and prosperous part of Denmark-Norway.[15]silhouette (ca. 1820) of the Altenburg/Paus family in Altenburggården, with Ibsen’s mother (far right), maternal grandparents (centre) and other relatives. It is the only existing portrait of either of Ibsen’s parents.

His parents, though not closely related by blood, had been reared as social first cousins, sometimes described as near-siblings in a social sense.[16] Knud Ibsen’s father, ship’s captain and merchant Henrich Johan Ibsen (1765–1797), died at sea when he was newborn in 1797 and his mother Johanne Plesner (1770–1847) married captain Ole Paus (1766–1855) the following year; Knud grew up as a member of the Paus family. His stepfather Ole Paus was a descendant of the “aristocracy of officials” in Upper Telemark; as a child Paus had been taken in by a relative, Skien merchant Christopher Blom, and he had become a ship’s captain and shipowner in Skien, acquiring the burghership in 1788. Like Henrich Johan Ibsen before him Paus became the brother-in-law of one of Norway’s wealthiest men, Diderik von Cappelen, whose first wife Maria Plesner was Johanne’s sister. In 1799 Ole Paus sold the Ibsen House in Skien’s Løvestrædet (Lion’s Street), which he had inherited from his wife’s first husband, and bought the estate Rising outside Skien from a sister of his brother-in-law von Cappelen. Knud grew up at Rising with most of his many half-siblings, among them the later governor Christian Cornelius Paus and the shipowner Christopher Blom Paus. In the 1801 census the Paus family of Rising had seven servants.[15]The roof and one of the windows of Altenburggården can be seen in the middle of the picture. Altenburggården was Marichen Altenburg’s childhood home, and Henrik Ibsen lived there aged 3–8Venstøp outside Skien, originally the Ibsen family’s summer house, where they lived permanently 1836–1843. It was a reasonably large farm with large, representative buildings.

Marichen grew up in the large, stately Altenburggården building in central Skien as the daughter of the wealthy merchant Johan Andreas Altenburg (1763–1824) and Hedevig Christine Paus [no] (1763–1848), who was the sister of Knud’s stepfather. Altenburg was a shipowner, timber merchant and owned a liquor distillery at Lundetangen and a farm outside of town; after his death in 1824 the widow Hedevig, Henrik’s grandmother, took over the businesses. During Henrik’s childhood the families of Ole and Hedevig Paus were very close: Ole’s oldest son, Knud’s half-brother Henrik Johan Paus was raised in Hedevig’s home, and the children of the Paus siblings, including Knud and Marichen, spent much of their childhood together. Older Ibsen scholars have claimed that Henrik Ibsen was fascinated by his parents’ “strange, almost incestuous marriage,” and he would treat the subject of incestuous relationships in several plays, notably his masterpiece Rosmersholm.[17] On the other hand, Jørgen Haave points out that his parents’ close relationship wasn’t that unusual among the Skien elite.[15]

In 1825 Henrik’s father Knud acquired the burghership of Skien and established an independent business as a timber and luxury goods merchant there with his younger brother Christopher Blom Paus, then aged 15, as his apprentice. The two brothers moved into the Stockmanngården building, where they rented a part of the building and lived with a maid. On the first floor the brothers sold foreign wines and a variety of luxury items, while also engaging in wholesale export of timber in cooperation with their first cousin Diderik von Cappelen (1795–1866). On 1 December 1825 Knud married his stepfather’s niece Marichen, who then moved in with them. Henrik was born there in 1828. In 1830 Marichen’s mother Hedevig left Altenburggården and her properties and business ventures to her son-in-law Knud, and the Ibsen family moved to Marichen’s childhood home in 1831. During the 1820s and 1830s Knud was a wealthy young merchant in Skien, and he was the city’s 16th largest taxpayer in 1833.[15]

In his unfinished biography From Skien to Rome Henrik Ibsen wrote about the Skien of his childhood:

In my childhood, Skien was an extremely joyful and festive town, quite the opposite of what it would later become. Many highly cultured, prosperous families at that time lived partly in the city itself, partly on large farms in the area. Close or more remote kinship connected most of these families amongst themselves, and balls, dinner parties, and musical soirées came one after another in rapid succession both during winters and summers. […] Visits from strangers were almost a constant occurrence at our spacious farmhouse and especially around Christmastime and the market days, our townhouse was full and the table was set from morning to nightfall.— Henrik Ibsen[18]

When Henrik Ibsen was around seven years old, his father’s fortunes took a turn for the worse, and in 1835 the family was forced to sell Altenburggården. The following year they moved to their stately summer house, Venstøp [no], outside of the city.[19] They were still relatively affluent, had servants and socialised with other members of the Skien elite, e.g. through lavish parties; their closest neighbours on Southern Venstøp were former shipowner and mayor of Skien Ulrich Frederik Cudrio and his family, who also had been forced to sell their townhouse.[15] In 1843, after Henrik left home, the Ibsen family moved to a townhouse at Snipetorp, owned by Knud Ibsen’s half-brother and former apprentice Christopher, who had established himself as an independent merchant in Skien in 1836 and who eventually become one of the city’s leading shipowners.[20] Knud continued to struggle to maintain his business and had some success in the 1840s, but in the 1850s his business ventures and professional activities came to an end, and he became reliant on the support from his successful younger half-brothers.[15]

Myths and reassessment

Older Ibsen historiography has often claimed that Knud Ibsen experienced financial ruin and became an alcoholic tyrant, that the family lost contact with the elite it had belonged to, and that this had a strong influence on Henrik Ibsen’s biography and work. Newer Ibsen scholarship, in particular Jørgen Haave‘s book Familien Ibsen [The Ibsen Family], has refuted such claims and Haave has pointed out that older biographical works have uncritically repeated numerous unfounded myths about both of Ibsen’s parents, and about the playwright’s childhood and background in general.[15]

Haave points out that Knud Ibsen’s economic problems in the 1830s were mainly the result of the difficult times and something the Ibsen family had in common with most members of the bourgeoisie; Haave further argues that Henrik Ibsen had a happy and comfortable childhood as a member of the upper class, even after the family moved to Venstøp, and that they were able to maintain their lifestyle and patrician identity with the help of their extended family and accumulated cultural capital.[15] Contrary to the incorrect claims that Ibsen had been born in a small or remote town, Haave points out that Skien had been Eastern Norway’s leading commercial city for centuries, and a centre of seafaring, timber exports and early industrialization that had made Norway the developed and prosperous part of Denmark-Norway.[15]

Haave points out that virtually all of Ibsen’s ancestors had been wealthy burghers and higher government officials, and members of the local and regional elites in the areas they lived, often of continental European ancestry. He argues that “the Ibsen family belonged to an elite that distanced itself strongly from the common farmer population, and considered itself part of an educated European culture” and that “it was this patrician class that formed his cultural identity and upbringing.”[21] Haave points to many examples of both Henrik Ibsen and other members of his family having a condescending attitude towards common Norwegian farmers, viewing them as “some sort of primitive indigenous population,”[15] and being very conscious of their own identity as members of the sophisticated upper class; Haave describes Henrik as a boy who was pampered by his father, who liked to be creative in solitude, and who provoked peers with his superiority and arrogance.[15] Haave points out that the Ibsen family—Knud, Marichen and Henrik’s siblings—disintegrated financially and socially in the 1850s, but that it happened after Henrik had left home, at a time when he was establishing himself as a successful man of theatre, while his extended family, such as his uncles Paus, were firmly established in Skien’s elite.[15] Haave argues that the story of the Ibsen family is the story of the slow collapse of a patrician merchant family amid the emergence of a new democratic society in the 19th century, and that Henrik Ibsen, like others of his class, had to find new opportunities to maintain his social position.[15]

Literary influence of his childhood

Many Ibsen scholars have compared characters and themes in his plays to his family and upbringing; his themes often deal with issues of financial difficulty as well as moral conflicts stemming from dark secrets hidden from society. Ibsen himself confirmed that he both modelled and named characters in his plays after his own family.[20][22] However, Haave criticizes the uncritical use of Ibsen’s dramas as biographical sources and the “naive” readings of them as reflections of his family members.[15]

Early career

Grimstad years

At fifteen, Ibsen left school. He moved to the small town of Grimstad to become an apprentice pharmacist. At that time he began writing plays. In 1846, when Ibsen was 18, he had a liaison with Else Sophie Jensdatter Birkedalen which produced a son, Hans Jacob Hendrichsen Birkdalen, whose upbringing Ibsen paid for until the boy was fourteen, though Ibsen never saw Hans Jacob. Ibsen went to Christiania (later spelled Kristiania and then renamed Oslo) intending to matriculate at the university. He soon rejected the idea (his earlier attempts at entering university were blocked as he did not pass all his entrance exams), preferring to commit himself to writing. His first play, the tragedy Catilina (1850), was published under the pseudonym “Brynjolf Bjarme”, when he was only 22, but it was not performed. His first play to be staged, The Burial Mound (1850), received little attention. Still, Ibsen was determined to be a playwright, although the numerous plays he wrote in the following years remained unsuccessful.[23] Ibsen’s main inspiration in the early period, right up to Peer Gynt, was apparently the Norwegian author Henrik Wergeland and the Norwegian folk tales as collected by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe. In Ibsen’s youth, Wergeland was the most acclaimed, and by far the most read, Norwegian poet and playwright.

Ibsen as a theatre director

He spent the next several years employed at Det norske Theater (Bergen), where he was involved in the production of more than 145 plays as a writer, director, and producer. During this period, he published five new, though largely unremarkable, plays. Despite Ibsen’s failure to achieve success as a playwright, he gained a great deal of practical experience at the Norwegian Theater, experience that was to prove valuable when he continued writing.

Ibsen returned to Christiania in 1858 to become the creative director of the Christiania Theatre. He married Suzannah Thoresen on 18 June 1858 and she gave birth to their only child Sigurd on 23 December 1859. The couple lived in difficult financial circumstances and Ibsen became very disenchanted with life in Norway.

Years in exile

One of the oldest photographs of Ibsen from ca. 1863/64, around the time he began writing BrandIbsen (far left) with friends in Rome, ca. 1867

In 1864, he left Christiania and went to Sorrento in Italy in self-imposed exile. He spent the next 27 years in Italy and Germany and would only visit Norway a few times.

His next play, Brand (1865), brought him the critical acclaim he sought, along with a measure of financial success, as did the following play, Peer Gynt (1867), to which Edvard Grieg famously composed incidental music and songs. Although Ibsen read excerpts of the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard and traces of the latter’s influence are evident in Brand, it was not until after Brand that Ibsen came to take Kierkegaard seriously. Initially annoyed with his friend Georg Brandes for comparing Brand to Kierkegaard, Ibsen nevertheless read Either/Or and Fear and Trembling. Ibsen’s next play Peer Gynt was consciously informed by Kierkegaard.[24][25]

With success, Ibsen became more confident and began to introduce more and more of his own beliefs and judgements into the drama, exploring what he termed the “drama of ideas”. His next series of plays are often considered his Golden Age, when he entered the height of his power and influence, becoming the center of dramatic controversy across Europe.[citation needed]

Ibsen moved from Italy to Dresden, Germany, in 1868, where he spent years writing the play he regarded as his main work, Emperor and Galilean (1873), dramatizing the life and times of the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate. Although Ibsen himself always looked back on this play as the cornerstone of his entire works, very few shared his opinion, and his next works would be much more acclaimed. Ibsen moved to Munich in 1875 and began work on his first contemporary realist drama The Pillars of Society, first published and performed in 1877.[26] A Doll’s House followed in 1879. This play is a scathing criticism of the marital roles accepted by men and women which characterized Ibsen’s society.

Ibsen was already in his fifties when A Doll’s House was published. He himself saw his latter plays as a series. At the end of his career, he described them as “that series of dramas which began with A Doll’s House and which is now completed with When We Dead Awaken”.[27] Furthermore, it was the reception of A Doll’s House which brought Ibsen international acclaim.

Ghosts followed in 1881, another scathing commentary on the morality of Ibsen’s society, in which a widow reveals to her pastor that she had hidden the evils of her marriage for its duration. The pastor had advised her to marry her fiancé despite his philandering, and she did so in the belief that her love would reform him. But his philandering continued right up until his death, and his vices are passed on to their son in the form of syphilis. The mention of venereal disease alone was scandalous, but to show how it could poison a respectable family was considered intolerable.[28]

In An Enemy of the People (1882), Ibsen went even further. In earlier plays, controversial elements were important and even pivotal components of the action, but they were on the small scale of individual households. In An Enemy, controversy became the primary focus, and the antagonist was the entire community. One primary message of the play is that the individual, who stands alone, is more often “right” than the mass of people, who are portrayed as ignorant and sheeplike. Contemporary society’s belief was that the community was a noble institution that could be trusted, a notion Ibsen challenged. In An Enemy of the People, Ibsen chastised not only the conservatism of society, but also the liberalism of the time. He illustrated how people on both sides of the social spectrum could be equally self-serving. An Enemy of the People was written as a response to the people who had rejected his previous work, Ghosts. The plot of the play is a veiled look at the way people reacted to the plot of Ghosts. The protagonist is a physician in a vacation spot whose primary draw is a public bath. The doctor discovers that the water is contaminated by the local tannery. He expects to be acclaimed for saving the town from the nightmare of infecting visitors with disease, but instead he is declared an ‘enemy of the people’ by the locals, who band against him and even throw stones through his windows. The play ends with his complete ostracism. It is obvious to the reader that disaster is in store for the town as well as for the doctor.

As audiences by now expected, Ibsen’s next play again attacked entrenched beliefs and assumptions; but this time, his attack was not against society’s mores, but against overeager reformers and their idealism. Always an iconoclast, Ibsen saw himself as an objective observer of society, “like a lone franc tireur in the outposts”, playing a lone hand, as he put it.[29] Ibsen, perhaps more than any of his contemporaries, relied upon immediate sources such as newspapers and second-hand report for his contact with intellectual thought. He claimed to be ignorant of books, leaving them to his wife and son, but, as Georg Brandes described, “he seemed to stand in some mysterious correspondence with the fermenting, germinating ideas of the day.[30]

The Wild Duck (1884) is by many considered Ibsen’s finest work, and it is certainly one of the most complex, alongside Rosmersholm. It tells the story of Gregers Werle, a young man who returns to his hometown after an extended exile and is reunited with his boyhood friend Hjalmar Ekdal. Over the course of the play, the many secrets that lie behind the Ekdals’ apparently happy home are revealed to Gregers, who insists on pursuing the absolute truth, or the “Summons of the Ideal”. Among these truths: Gregers’ father impregnated his servant Gina, then married her off to Hjalmar to legitimize the child. Another man has been disgraced and imprisoned for a crime the elder Werle committed. Furthermore, while Hjalmar spends his days working on a wholly imaginary “invention”, his wife is earning the household income.[citation needed]

Ibsen displays masterful use of irony: despite his dogmatic insistence on truth, Gregers never says what he thinks but only insinuates, and is never understood until the play reaches its climax. Gregers hammers away at Hjalmar through innuendo and coded phrases until he realizes the truth; Gina’s daughter, Hedvig, is not his child. Blinded by Gregers’ insistence on absolute truth, he disavows the child. Seeing the damage he has wrought, Gregers determines to repair things, and suggests to Hedvig that she sacrifice the wild duck, her wounded pet, to prove her love for Hjalmar. Hedvig, alone among the characters, recognizes that Gregers always speaks in code, and looking for the deeper meaning in the first important statement Gregers makes which does not contain one, kills herself rather than the duck in order to prove her love for him in the ultimate act of self-sacrifice. Only too late do Hjalmar and Gregers realize that the absolute truth of the “ideal” is sometimes too much for the human heart to bear.[citation needed]Letter from Ibsen to his English reviewer and translator Edmund Gosse: “30.8.[18]99. Dear Mr. Edmund Gosse! It was to me a hearty joy to receive your letter. So I will finally personally meet you and your wife. I am at home every day in the morning until 1 o’clock. I am happy and surprised at your excellent Norwegian! Your amicably obliged Henrik Ibsen.”

Late in his career, Ibsen turned to a more introspective drama that had much less to do with denunciations of society’s moral values and more to do with the problems of individuals. In such later plays as Hedda Gabler (1890) and The Master Builder (1892), Ibsen explored psychological conflicts that transcended a simple rejection of current conventions. Many modern readers, who might regard anti-Victorian didacticism as dated, simplistic or hackneyed, have found these later works to be of absorbing interest for their hard-edged, objective consideration of interpersonal confrontation. Hedda Gabler and A Doll’s House are regularly cited as Ibsen’s most popular and influential plays,[31] with the title role of Hedda regarded as one of the most challenging and rewarding for an actress even in the present day.

Ibsen had completely rewritten the rules of drama with a realism which was to be adopted by Chekhov and others and which we see in the theatre to this day. From Ibsen forward, challenging assumptions and directly speaking about issues has been considered one of the factors that makes a play art rather than entertainment[citation needed]. His works were brought to an English-speaking audience, largely thanks to the efforts of William Archer and Edmund Gosse. These in turn had a profound influence on the young James Joyce who venerates him in his early autobiographical novel Stephen Hero. Ibsen returned to Norway in 1891, but it was in many ways not the Norway he had left. Indeed, he had played a major role in the changes that had happened across society. Modernism was on the rise, not only in the theatre, but across public life.[citation needed]. Michael Meyer’s translations in the 1950s were welcomed by actors and directors as playable, rather than academic. As The Times newspaper put it, ‘This, one may think, is how Ibsen might have expressed himself in English’.

Ibsen intentionally obscured his influences. However, asked later what he had read when he wrote Catiline, Ibsen replied that he had read only the Danish Norse saga-inspired Romantic tragedian Adam Oehlenschläger and Ludvig Holberg, “the Scandinavian Molière”.[32]

Critical reception

Ibsen caricatured by SNAPP for Vanity Fair, 1901

At the time when Ibsen was writing, literature was emerging as a formidable force in 19th century society.[33] With the vast increase in literacy towards the end of the century, the possibilities of literature being used for subversion struck horror into the heart of the Establishment. Ibsen’s plays, from A Doll’s House onwards, caused an uproar: not just in Norway, but throughout Europe, and even across the Atlantic in America. No other artist, apart from Richard Wagner, had such an effect internationally, inspiring almost blasphemous adoration and hysterical abuse.[34]

After the publication of Ghosts, he wrote: “while the storm lasted, I have made many studies and observations and I shall not hesitate to exploit them in my future writings.”[35] Indeed, his next play An Enemy of the People was initially regarded by the critics to be simply his response to the violent criticism which had greeted Ghosts. Ibsen expected criticism: as he wrote to his publisher: “Ghosts will probably cause alarm in some circles, but it can’t be helped. If it did not, there would have been no necessity for me to have written it.”[36]

Ibsen didn’t just read the critical reaction to his plays, he actively corresponded with critics, publishers, theatre directors and newspaper editors on the subject. The interpretation of his work, both by critics and directors, concerned him greatly. He often advised directors on which actor or actress would be suitable for a particular role. (An example of this is a letter he wrote to Hans Schroder in November 1884, with detailed instructions for the production of The Wild Duck.[37])

Ibsen’s plays initially reached a far wider audience as read plays rather than in performance. It was 20 years, for instance, before the authorities would allow Ghosts to be performed in Norway. Each new play that Ibsen wrote, from 1879 onwards, had an explosive effect on intellectual circles. This was greatest for A Doll’s House and Ghosts, and it did lessen with the later plays, but the translation of Ibsen’s works into German, French and English during the decade following the initial publication of each play and frequent new productions as and when permission was granted, meant that Ibsen remained a topic of lively conversation throughout the latter decades of the 19th century. When A Doll’s House was published, it had an explosive effect: it was the centre of every conversation at every social gathering in Christiania. One hostess even wrote on the invitations to her soirée, “You are politely requested not to mention Mr Ibsen’s new play”.[38]

Death

On 23 May 1906, Ibsen died in his home at Arbins gade 1 in Kristiania (now Oslo)[39] after a series of strokes in March 1900. When, on 22 May, his nurse assured a visitor that he was a little better, Ibsen spluttered his last words “On the contrary” (“Tvertimod!”). He died the following day at 2:30 pm.[40]

More at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henrik_Ibsen

Bio: Mangas Coloradas

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Mangas Coloradas
Mimbreño Apache leader
Succeeded byDelgadito (killed 1864)
Personal details
Bornc. 1793
DiedJanuary 18, 1863 (aged 69–70)
Military service
Battles/warsApache WarsBascom AffairBattle of Pinos AltosBattle of Apache Pass

Mangas Coloradas or Mangus-Colorado (La-choy Ko-kun-noste, alias “Red Sleeve”), or Dasoda-hae (“He Just Sits There”) (c. 1793 – January 18, 1863) was an Apache tribal chief and a member of the Mimbreño (Tchihende) division of the Central Apaches, whose homeland stretched west from the Rio Grande to include most of what is present-day southwestern New Mexico. He was the father-in-law of the Chiricahua (Tsokanende) chief Cochise, the Mimbreño chief Victorio and the Mescalero (Sehende) chief Kutu-hala or Kutbhalla (probably to be identified with Caballero). He is regarded as one of the most important Native American leaders of the 19th century due to his fighting achievements against the Mexicans and Americans.

The name Mangas Coloradas is the reception of his Apache nickname Kan-da-zis Tlishishen (“Red Shirt” or “Pink Shirt”) by the Mexicans and is Spanish for ‘red sleeves.’ A Bedonkohe (Bi-dan-ku – ‘In Front of the End People’, Bi-da-a-naka-enda – ‘Standing in front of the enemy’) by birth, he married into the Copper Mines local group of the Tchihende and became the principal chief of the whole Tchihende Apache division. His influence also included the neighboring Mimbreño local group of the Warm Springs Tchihende, directly led by the famous chief Cuchillo Negro (in Apache language, Baishan), second chief of the whole Tchihende Apache division and his long-time companion.Mangas Coloradas’ son and namesake (1884).\\[1]

Apache war chief

During the 1820s and 1830s, the Apaches’ main enemy were the Mexicans, who had won their independence from Spain in 1821. By 1835, Mexico had placed a bounty on Apache scalps. After Juan José Compa, the leader of the Coppermine Mimbreño Apaches, was killed for bounty money in 1837 in the massacre at Santa Rita del Cobre, Mangas became a war leader and a chief, joining forces with his friend and long-time companion (and possibly brother-in-law) Cuchillo Negro (Spanish: Black Knife).[A] They began a series of retaliatory raids against the Mexicans, around the mining town and sieged Santa Rita, attacking the column of fleeing Mexicans and slaughtering a large number. Mangas Coloradas became the principal leader of the Coppermine Mimbreños and led them for about 25 years while Cuchillo Negro led the Warm Springs Mimbreños.

In 1846, when the United States went to war with Mexico, the Apache Nation promised U.S. soldiers safe passage through Apache lands. Once the U.S. occupied New Mexico in 1846, Mangas Coloradas signed a peace treaty, respecting them as conquerors of the hated Mexican enemy. An uneasy peace between the Apache and the United States lasted until an influx of gold miners into New Mexico’s Pinos Altos Mountains led to open conflict.

In 1851 the settlement at Santa Rita del Cobre of the U.S. delegation (with John Russell Bartlett) in the Mexican-American Border Commission[2] and the reopening of the Santa Rita del Cobre copper mines increased tensions as well. Mangas Coloradas, like Cuchillo Negro, Delgadito, Ponce, Coleto Amarillo, and the most important Tchihende and Ndendahe chiefs, had to face new problems. In June 1851 Mangas Coloradas, Delgadito, Ponce, and Coleto Amarillo met Bartlett in Santa Rita del Cobre; the discussions continued until the Apaches no longer felt disappointed and betrayed by the newcomers. According to John C. Cremony’s book, Life Among the Apaches, in 1861, near the Pinos Altos mining camp, Mangas Coloradas was attacked by a group of white miners who tied him to a tree and severely flogged him.[3] Yet historian Edwin R. Sweeney finds issue with this claim in his biography of the chief: if it was true, Geronimo, who spent a great deal of time with Mangas Coloradas during the 1850s and 1860s, would have likely mentioned it to his biographer.[4] The killing of Cuchillo Negro by U.S. troops at Canyon de los Muertos Carneros in May 1857 was a further slight.[citation needed]

In December 1860, 30 miners launched a surprise attack on an encampment of Bedonkohes on the west bank of the Mimbres River. Historian Edwin R. Sweeney reported, the miners “… killed four Indians, wounded others, and captured thirteen women and children.” Shortly after that, Mangas began raids against U.S. citizens and their property.

Mangas Coloradas’ daughter Dos-Teh-Seh married Cochise, principal chief of the Tsokanende or Chiricahua Apache. In early February 1861, US Army Lieutenant George N. Bascom, investigating the “Indian” kidnapping of a rancher’s son, apparently without orders, lured an innocent Cochise, his family and several warriors into a trap at Apache Pass, southeastern Arizona. Cochise managed to escape, but his family and warriors remained in custody. Negotiations were unsuccessful and fighting erupted.

This incident, known as the “Bascom Affair“, ended with Cochise’s brother and five other warriors being hanged by Bascom. Later that year, Mangas Coloradas and Cochise struck an alliance, agreeing to drive all Americans out of Apache territory. They were joined in their effort by middle-aged Delgadito and NanaVictorioJuh and Geronimo. Although the goal was never achieved, the White population in Apache territory was greatly reduced for a few years during the Civil War, after federal troops had been withdrawn to the east.

More at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mangas_Coloradas

Book: “They Can’t Find Anything Wrong!: 7 Keys to Understanding, Treating, and Healing Stress Illness”

They Can't Find Anything Wrong!: 7 Keys to Understanding, Treating, and Healing Stress Illness

They Can’t Find Anything Wrong!: 7 Keys to Understanding, Treating, and Healing Stress Illness

by David D. Clarke 

Since 1983, Dr Clarke has successfully cared for thousands of patients with stress illness. He uses fascinating, inspiring stories from his practice to help readers uncover the hidden stresses in their own lives and learn about treatments.

(Goodreads.com)

What?

“Don’t just do something, sit there.”

–Dr. John Stracks

Dr. John Stracks is an Integrative Family Physician and an Assistant Clinical Professor of Family Medicine at Northwestern University.

Dr. Stracks graduated with honors from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine in 2005. He completed both a residency in family medicine and a fellowship in integrative medicine at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor; he is board certified in both fields.

Dr. Stracks has spent his entire medical career focusing on integrative strategies for healing. He is especially interested in the effect of emotions on physical symptoms; complex thyroid disorders; hormonal issues, including menopausal symptoms; chronic pain; chronic fatigue; mental health issues; and digestive issues. His goal in all cases is to use medication only as a last resort and to use a combination of dietary changes, supplements, vitamins, stress reduction, hormones, and psychology to help optimize the body’s natural tendency to heal.

He has previously done research on the physiological effects of loneliness, intuitive eating strategies, and mind-body solutions for fibromyalgia. Dr. Stracks has lectured nationally on mind-body strategies of healing chronic pain and was the co-organizer of two international conferences on this subject. He also lectures on holistic treatments for depression, traumatic brain injury, celiac disease, and other integrative medicine topics.

Dr. Stracks lives in Wilmette, Illinois. When he’s not working with patients on integrative health strategies, he enjoys spending time with his wife, Lisa, and two children, Anneke and Harrison; reading; coaching youth sports; jogging; and barbecuing. 

Book: “The House of God”

The House of God

The House of God

(House of God #1)

by Samuel ShemJohn Updike (Introduction) 

The hilarious novel of the healing arts that reveals everything your doctor never wanted you to know.

Six eager interns—they saw themselves as modern saviors-to-be.   They came from the top of their medical school class  to the bottom of the hospital staff to serve a  year in the time-honored tradition, racing to answer  the flash of on-duty call lights and nubile  nurses.

But only the Fat Man—the Clam, all-knowing resident—could sustain them in their struggle to survive, to stay sane, to love and even to be doctors when their harrowing year was done.

(Goodreads.com)

Talk of toxic masculinity puts the blame in all the wrong places

Talk of toxic masculinity puts the blame in all the wrong places | Psyche

Boys having fun at a street party in Ledbury, England. Photo by Seamus Murphy/Panos Pictures

Heidi Matthewsis an assistant professor of law at Osgoode Hall Law School at York University in Canada. She researches and teaches in the areas of the law of war, international criminal law, criminal law, and law and sexuality. She splits her time between Toronto and rural Newfoundland and Labrador.

Edited by Sam Haselby

7 JULY 2021 (psyche.co)

As a new parent of boy/girl twins (at least as they were assigned at birth), I puzzle about the cultural pressure to scrutinise my infant son’s burgeoning masculinity lest it emerge as ‘toxic’. I catch myself watching and wondering, resisting the urge to police his interactions with his sister: He took the toy she was playing with, is this aggression that will stifle her confidence? She seems unbothered and has quickly snatched it back – phew! Is it bullying or an early form of manspreading when, both of them vying for the same object, he moves into her space and pushes her aside?

Today, popular parenting messaging, from Instagram to The New York Times, is suspicious of and concerned about boys. ‘Boys are broken,’ we are told. Boys underperform girls in school and college, and are more likely to engage in behaviour that is harmful to both themselves and others. Boys fight, bully, take dangerous risks, and sexually harass. From school shootings to incel-inspired terrorism, white boys in particular perpetrate mass acts of violence.

If left unchecked, so the reasoning goes, these boys will grow into gender dysfunctional men. Curiously, in ‘toxic masculinity’ discourse, antisocial and poisonous gender performances are the cause and effect of much of the harm both faced and perpetrated by men. That the same basic idea is the starting point for both pop feminist and men’s rights approaches to today’s so-called crisis of masculinity is a red flag that something is amiss with our framing.

According to the American Psychological Association (APA) ‘Guidelines for Practice with Boys and Men’ (2018), ‘gender role socialisation practices [are] associated with violence and problem behaviours for boys and men’. The APA specifies masculinity as implicated in men’s overincarceration, propensity for addiction, disproportionate vulnerability to suicide and poor health outcomes. Further, the APA warns, men are more likely to comply with masculinities characterised by ‘anti-femininity, achievement, eschewal of the appearance of weakness, and adventure, risk, and violence’ where they suffer from childhood insecurities. Role models, they maintain, offering healthy examples of alternative masculinities are essential so boys can avoid becoming victim and perpetrator of toxic masculinity.

Anti-toxic-masculinity activism is compatible with commitments to protect white female innocence at the cost of Black boys’ freedom

Portraying toxic masculinity as a problem that can be solved through early intervention by parents, caregivers and teachers sublimates a series of institutional and political contests into the ‘private’ realm of choice and childrearing. Ironically, this task will fall differentially to women, who do most of the childrearing and school teaching, and mothers in particular. ‘Why are mothers so often held accountable for the ills of the world?’ asks Jacqueline Rose in Mothers: An Essay on Love and Cruelty (2018), including ‘the breakdown in the social fabric, the threat to welfare, to the health of the nation’. If men are toxic, the thinking goes, perhaps their mothers are at least partly to blame.

The work of raising good men will also not be evenly distributed. Heads of single-parent households and precarious families, who are disproportionately racialised and feminised, spend more time outside the home, often working dangerous frontline pandemic jobs. As such, those who have the time and resources to focus on attachment parenting and gender hygiene are more likely to be white and affluent. When we place the blame for men’s abusive and harmful behaviour at the feet of their masculinity gone awry in this way, we construct a solution that is likely to retrench background power structures that already overpolice, oversurveil and overdiscipline the behaviour of poor, Black, Indigenous and racialised boys. Anti-toxic-masculinity activism is entirely compatible with age-old commitments to protect white female innocence at the cost of Black boys’ freedom.

‘Toxic masculinity’ also at times relies on a biological sex essentialism that, thanks in good part to the work of queer and feminist writers, most liberal people reject. It is also interesting that toxic masculinity has captured our attention at the same time as awareness around the lived realities of transgendered persons has increased our understanding of gender diversity. In today’s context, it is unclear why we are talking about boys and girls as though these are fixed identities to which masculinity and femininity naturally attach, unless to speak in these terms promotes a form of gender moralism, or gender dogma.

It is also unclear that gender is as important a form of social difference as toxic masculinity ‘theory’ suggests when it comes to mapping how oppression takes root under the current conditions of capitalism. Indeed, a main purpose of toxic masculinity is to distract us from race and class by preoccupying us with gender, where gender difference is itself divorced from processes of capitalist value creation.

It offloads on to individuals the responsibility for countering the real problems of wealth and power distribution that lie at the heart of gender inequity

Researchers have studied hegemonic and ideological masculinities for decades. It’s only recently that some of these analytic frames have been translated into ‘toxic masculinity’ as a catch-all phrase for male bad behaviour. It’s obviously caught on. In the wake of #MeToo, which has provided a public forum for debating problematic masculinities, this totalising category is alluring. It is probably true that some men act out in harmful ways in part because they are isolated, alone, insecure and fearful. But these psychological states offer little help explaining system-level inequalities such as the gender wage gap, the undervaluation of feminised domestic and care labour, or access to reproductive health services.

As Michael Salter pointed out in ‘The Problem With A Fight Against Toxic Masculinity’ (2019) in The Atlantic, focusing on the culture of masculine expression as the cause of gender-based injustices and violence obscures more than it reveals. Specifically, it excludes the material conditions that produce and encourage dysfunctional performances of masculinity themselves. Confusing the symptom for the cause in this way creates the risk that ‘people who oppose toxic masculinity can inadvertently collude with institutions that perpetuate it’. The popular idea that toxic masculinity can be both prevented and cured by instructing boys and young men in acceptable or healthy forms of masculinity is an unhelpful simplification. It offloads on to individuals the responsibility for countering the real problems of wealth and power distribution that lie at the heart of gender inequity.

As childhood has become increasingly commercialised, so too has parenthood. Products are a key medium through which kids learn about, form and express their gender identity. In turn, parents partake in an economy of childhood gender socialisation. We are meant to create and give meaning to our own identities through the consumer choices we make for our children. Today, parental choice is marketed not only as the ability to opt for blue or pink, Barbies or Tonka trucks, but also to resist these stereotypical gender frames.

Buying into toxic masculinity discourse is easy because it gives parents a readymade, off-the-shelf way to virtue signal in a way that is broadly aligned with middle-class political commitments. The outpouring of ‘How To Not Raise A Sexist Pig’ pieces to post or share lends itself to performative social media activity where ‘great moms’ pledge to ‘raise our sons better than today’s men’. In a recent viral TikTok video, new mother Sarah Lynes in California shows viewers the children’s books she bought her infant son, Bennett, ‘to help prevent him from growing up to be… awful.’ Showcasing her knowledge of pop feminism, these picture books include C Is for ConsentWill Ladybug Hug? and I Clean Like Daddy.

The core idea is that, with the right consumer choices and antibullying protocols, parents and teachers can train boys and young men to be more in tune with their inner selves and their vulnerabilities. The deceptively uncomplicated premise is that this will then make boys more able to express their emotions rather than repressing them.

Focusing on superficial, spontaneous eruptions of anger and violence as manifestations of male toxicity is the product of a dangerous misconception about the nature of power

Instructing men and boys on how to embrace weakness is at least as marketable as ‘girl boss’ versions of feminism where giving your daughter an iconic feminist name, such as Hillary, Ruth or Michelle, is sold as inspirational and empowering. (I took the opposite tack, calling my daughter after my grandmother who had limited literacy.) Toxic masculinity, like what the scholar Catherine Rottenberg has called neoliberal feminism, ‘recognises gender inequality … while simultaneously denying that socioeconomic and cultural structures shape our lives’. As a result, those who oppose ‘toxic masculinity’ see it as systemic, but they don’t seem to see the system. If we were really interested in combating male violence, we would take seriously calls to defund, or otherwise dismantle, the police-industrial complex.

Focusing on superficial, spontaneous eruptions of anger and violence as manifestations of male toxicity is the product of a dangerous misconception about the nature of power. The men who hold the most power in our society are able to do so in large part due to intense institutional networks of affirmation, acceptance and protection. While we easily categorise behaviour such as catcalling as toxic, the world’s truly destructive yet charming and polished men – eg, Henry Kissinger or Tony Blair – are not so described. Additionally, Brett Kavanaugh rose to power in spite of, not because of, his shouty, obstinate performance at his US Supreme Court confirmation hearing. The real toxicity of the Kavanaugh episode can be found in how elites mobilised professional discourses of expertise to cleanse his behaviour and shore up their own privilege, and in how his alleged sexual assault was permitted to overshadow his objectionable judicial record on labour rights, environmental protection and healthcare.

Portraying individual men and boys’ inability to be vulnerable, to express their authentic selves, and to form meaningful interpersonal relationships as toxic is a form of gentility or class politics, in which departures from educated middle-class gender norms are seen as pathological and dangerous. It relies on a middle-class disdain for working-class mores expressed in exchange for the perception of power.

It is no surprise that the fight against toxic masculinity is rooted in modes of parenting and schooling. Few practices are more class-segregated. Initiatives that receive public funding, such as Men of CODE, ostensibly designed to prevent intimate partner violence, trade in militaristic ideals of chivalry and fraternal brotherhood to popularise their message, and primarily target Black youth. Research shows that discourses of school safety have also resulted in the disproportionate surveillance and policing of racialised and poor children.

Anti-toxic-masculinity projects masquerade as progressive and equality-seeking. In reality, they turn our attention away from the structures of power that enable the worst and most widespread harms inflicted on people, such as war and economic brutality. In so doing, they make some of the most vulnerable men and boys, whom they purport to protect, objects of scrutiny and discipline.

On Children: Poignant Parenting Advice from Kahlil Gibran

By Maria Popova (brainpickings.org)

kahlilgibran_theprophet.jpg?fit=320%2C462

In the final years of his long life, which encompassed world wars and assassinations and numerous terrors, the great cellist and human rights advocate Pablo Casals urged humanity to “make this world worthy of its children.” Today, as we face a world that treats its children as worthless, we are challenged like we have never been challenged to consider the deepest existential calculus of bringing new life into a troubled world — what is the worth of children, what are our responsibilities to them (when we do choose to have them, for it is also an act of courage and responsibility to choose not to), and what does it mean to raise a child with the dignity of being an unrepeatable miracle of atoms that have never before constellated and will never again constellate in that exact way?songoftwoworlds3.jpg

Art by Derek Dominic D’souza from Song of Two Worlds by physicist Alan Lightman.

A century ago, perched between two worlds and two World Wars, the Lebanese-American poet, painter, and philosopher Kahlil Gibran (January 6, 1883–April 10, 1931) addressed these elemental questions with sensitive sagacity in a short passage from The Prophet (public library) — the 1923 classic that also gave us Gibran on the building blocks of true friendshipthe courage to weather the uncertainties of love, and what may be the finest advice ever offered on the balance of intimacy and independence in a healthy relationship.

When a young mother with a newborn baby at her breast asks for advice on children and parenting, Gibran’s poetic prophet responds:

2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.pngYour children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

crescendo010.jpg

Art by Alessandro Sanna from Crescendo.

Complement with Susan Sontag’s 10 rules for raising a child and Crescendo — an Italian watercolor serenade to the splendid prenatal biology of becoming a being — then revisit Gibran on authenticitywhy we make art, and his gorgeous love letters to and from the woman without whom The Prophet might never have been born.

What should humans take to space (and leave behind)?

May 2021 (Ted.com)

One day, humans will explore space en masse and live scattered across the solar system on planets like Mars and beyond. Inspired by his time as artist-in-residence at the European Space Agency, TED Fellow Jorge Mañes Rubio wants to rethink what we need to bring on this grand journey — and more importantly, what we should leave behind. Mañes Rubio takes us on an Earthbound journey through cultural practices and his own designs that blend science, art and ritual, encouraging a bold reimagining of what a future free of prejudice and exploitation could look like.

This talk was presented at an official TED conference, and was featured by our editors on the home page.

ABOUT THE SPEAKER

Jorge Mañes Rubio · ArtistJorge Mañes Rubio creates artworks that rethink humanity’s relationship with the universe and all the beings that live in it — whether human, nonhuman, material or spiritual.

Free Will Astrology for week of July 8, 2021

Capricorn-born poet Kenneth Rexroth wrote about about having “a crooked guide on the twisted path of love.” (Courtesy Internet Archives)

Capricorn-born poet Kenneth Rexroth wrote about about having “a crooked guide on the twisted path of love.” (Courtesy Internet Archives)

Capricorn, to cultivate interesting intimacy, make efforts to appreciate nuance and complexity

ARIES (March 21-April 19): Poet Joshua Jennifer Espinoza writes, “i name my body girl of my dreams / i name my body proximity / i name my body full of hope despite everything.” I love her idea that we might give playful names and titles and descriptors to our bodies. In alignment with current astrological omens, I propose that you do just that. It’s time to take your relationship with your beautiful organism to a higher level. How about if you call it “Exciting Love River” or “Perfectly Imperfect Thrill” or “Amazing Maze”? Have fun dreaming up further possibilities!

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): The English language, my native tongue, doesn’t ascribe genders to its nouns. But many languages do. In Spanish, the word for “bridge” is puente, which is masculine. In German, “bridge” is Brücke, which is feminine. A blogger named Tickettome says this is why Spanish speakers may describe a bridge as strong or sturdy, while German speakers refer to it as elegant or beautiful. I encourage you to meditate on bridges that possess the entire range of qualities, including the Spanish and German notions. In the coming weeks, you’ll be wise to build new metaphorical bridges, fix bridges that are in disrepair, and extinguish fires on any bridges that are burning.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Académie Française is an organization devoted to preserving the purity and integrity of the French language. One of its ongoing missions is to resist the casual incorporation of English words, which the younger generation of French people is inclined to do. Among Anglicisms that don’t have the Académie’s approval: podcast, clickbait, chick-lit, deadline, hashtag, marketing, time lapse and showrunner. The ban doesn’t stop anyone from using the words, of course, but simply avoids giving them official recognition. I appreciate the noble intentions of the Académie, but regard its crusade as a losing battle that has minimal impact. In the coming weeks, I advise you to refrain from behavior that resembles the Académie’s. Resist the temptation of quixotic idealism. Be realistic and pragmatic. You Geminis often thrive in environments that welcome idiosyncrasies, improvisation, informality and experimentation—especially now.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): Cancerian author Vladimir Mayakovsky wrote a poem about how one morning he went half-mad and conversed with the sun. At first he called the supreme radiance a “lazy clown,” complaining that it just floated through the sky for hours while he, Mayakovsky, toiled diligently at his day job painting posters. Then he dared the sun to come down and have tea with him, which, to his shock, the sun did. The poet was agitated and worried—what if the close approach of the bright deity would prove dangerous? But the visitor turned out to be friendly. They had a pleasant dialog, and in the end the sun promised to provide extra inspiration for Mayakovsky’s future poetry. I invite you to try something equally lyrical and daring, dear Cancerian.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): A blogger named Bunny-Gal writes, “I almost completely forgot who I was there for a while. But then I dug a hole and smelled the fresh dirt and now I remember everything and am OK.” I recommend you follow her lead, Leo—even if you haven’t totally lost touch with your essence. Communing with Mother Earth in the most direct and graphic way to remind you of everything you need to remember: of the wisdom you’ve lost track of and the secrets you’ve hidden too well and the urgent intuitions that are simmering just below the surface of your awareness.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): I can’t understand the self-help gurus who advise us to relentlessly live in the present moment—to shed all awareness of past and future so as to focus on the eternal NOW. I mean, I appreciate the value of doing such an exercise on occasion for a few moments. I’ve tried it, and it’s often rejuvenating. But it can also be downright foolish to have no thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow. We need to evaluate how circumstances will evolve, based on our previous experience and future projections. It can be a deadening, depleting act to try to strip ourselves of the rich history we are always embedded in. In any case, Virgo, I advise you to be thoroughly aware of your past and future in the coming days. To do so will enhance your intelligence and soulfulness in just the right ways to make good decisions.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Psychotherapist and author Clarissa Pinkola Estés poetically refers to the source of our creativity as “the river under the river.” It’s the deep primal energy that “nourishes everything we make”—our “writing, painting, thinking, healing, doing, cooking, talking, smiling.” This river beneath the river doesn’t belong to any of us—it’s potentially available to all—but if harnessed correctly it works in very personal ways, fueling our unique talents. I bring this to your attention, Libra, because you’re close to gaining abundant new access to the power of the river beneath the river.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): In formulating personal goals, Scorpio author Brené Brown urges us to emphasize growth rather than perfection. Trying to improve is a healthier objective than seeking flawless mastery. Bonus perk: This practical approach makes us far less susceptible to shame. We’re not as likely to feel like a failure or give up prematurely on our projects. I heartily endorse this strategy for you right now, Scorpio.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): In a letter to Jean Paul Sartre, author Simone de Beauvoir described how she was dealing with a batch of challenging memories: “I’m reliving it street by street, hour by hour, with the mission of neutralizing it, and transforming it into an inoffensive past that I can keep in my heart without either disowning it or suffering from it.” I LOVE this approach! It’s replete with emotional intelligence. I recommend it to you now, since it’s high time to wrangle and finagle with parts of your life story that need to be alchemically transformed and redeemed by your love and wisdom.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): In one of his poems, Capricorn-born Kenneth Rexroth complains about having “a crooked guide on the twisted path of love.” But in my view, a crooked guide is the best kind. It’s unwise to engage the services of a love accomplice who’s always looking for the simplest, straightest route, or who imagines that intimate togetherness can be nourished with easy, obvious solutions. To cultivate the most interesting intimacy, we need influences that appreciate nuance and complexity—that thrive on navigating the tricky riddles and unpredictable answers. The next eight weeks will be an excellent time for you Capricorns to heed this advice.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Aquarian singer Etta James (1938–2012) won six Grammy Awards and is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Grammy Hall of Fame and Blues Hall of Fame. She testified, “Most of the songs I sing have that blues feeling in it. They have that sorry feeling. And I don’t know what I’m sorry about.” Wow! I’m surprised to hear this. Most singers draw on their personal life experience to infuse their singing with authentic emotion. In any case, I urge you to do the opposite of Etta James in the coming weeks. It’s important for the future of your healing that you identify exactly what you’re sorry about.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): “Sometimes you win, sometimes you learn,” writes Piscean self-help author John C. Maxwell. His statement is useful, but it harbors a problematic implication. It suggests that you can experience either winning or learning, but not both—that the only time you learn is when you lose. I disagree with this presumption. In fact, I think you’re now in a phase when it’s possible and even likely for you to both win and learn..

Homework: Send word of your most important lesson of the year so far. Newsletter@freewillastrology.com.

Book: “Humankind: A Hopeful History”

Humankind: A Hopeful History

Humankind: A Hopeful History

by Rutger Bregman (Goodreads Author), Elizabeth Manton (Translator), Erica Moore (Translator) 

From the author of Utopia For Realists, a revolutionary argument that the innate goodness and cooperation of human beings has been the greatest factor in our success

If one basic principle has served as the bedrock of bestselling author Rutger Bregman’s thinking, it is that every progressive idea — whether it was the abolition of slavery, the advent of democracy, women’s suffrage, or the ratification of marriage equality — was once considered radical and dangerous by the mainstream opinion of its time. With Humankind, he brings that mentality to bear against one of our most entrenched ideas: namely, that human beings are by nature selfish and self-interested.

By providing a new historical perspective of the last 200,000 years of human history, Bregman sets out to prove that we are in fact evolutionarily wired for cooperation rather than competition, and that our instinct to trust each other has a firm evolutionary basis going back to the beginning of Homo sapiens. Bregman systematically debunks our understanding of the Milgram electrical-shock experiment, the Zimbardo prison experiment, and the Kitty Genovese “bystander effect.”

In place of these, he offers little-known true stories: the tale of twin brothers on opposing sides of apartheid in South Africa who came together with Nelson Mandela to create peace; a group of six shipwrecked children who survived for a year and a half on a deserted island by working together; a study done after World War II that found that as few as 15% of American soldiers were actually capable of firing at the enemy.

The ultimate goal of Humankind is to demonstrate that while neither capitalism nor communism has on its own been proven to be a workable social system, there is a third option: giving “citizens and professionals the means (left) to make their own choices (right).” Reorienting our thinking toward positive and high expectations of our fellow man, Bregman argues, will reap lasting success. Bregman presents this idea with his signature wit and frankness, once again making history, social science and economic theory accessible and enjoyable for lay readers.

(Goodreads.com)