Civil disobedience is also plenty scary. At least to me it is. I have never felt one bit brave even in thinking about it. It involves a strange and risky paradox: You and your friends will be exploiting your obvious powerlessness to recover to your cause, and to your own citizenship, a just measure of power. But your acknowledged condition is powerlessness. Your commitment to nonviolence makes you vulnerable to violence. You can get hurt, or worse. It is fearful also to make yourself available to be treated with contempt. And you are, in effect, volunteering to go to jail.
Wendell Berry, a lifelong Baptist, has nonetheless seen the destruction that Protestantism’s dualistic separation of soul and body has done to the earth, to agriculture, to humanity. In fact, the quote is from The Unsettling of America in a chapter called “The Body and the Earth” which convincingly demonstrates the damage caused by a mentality that thinks the soul and body can be isolated from each other, the body (and then the earth) devalued while the soul remains valued.
An optician from Lexington, Ky., Meatyard had a lifelong interest in visual perception.
An antiquarian and forager, he made violet jam and elderberry wine and kept a list of unusual or funny names gathered from a London phone book. Extremely well-read, he was connected to a circle of poets and writers that included Wendell Berry, Thomas Merton and Guy Davenport, and his work is rich in literary allusions.
Dolls and masks were a predominant theme of his work and he often photographed his wife and three children posing in abandoned houses and landscapes around his home in Lexington. Surreal and complex, his images dwell on contrasts between youth and age, childhood and immortality, familiarity and strangeness, innocence and corruption, the accessible and the hidden.