12/8/09
I went to a session today led by a multifaith organization at a university. It was an interesting window to gaze through. It was started by a white Tibetan Buddhist and a Sikh working together, but it quickly brought in a lot more folks, all of whom were incredibly articulate and dedicated. They talked about where they were coming from, which was the most astonishing part – a small-sect Muslim from Pakistan whose father was being tried for the death penalty for a friend of his converting to his sect. The father had had friends over to watch a TV channel that showed programming related to that sect, and apparently with the ensuing discussions, the gentleman decided to join up. The father very regretfully moved his immediate family to Australia, leaving his beloved family. That young man was now amazed to see different faiths working together, and he was really dedicated to permaculture. There were many other compelling stories. I was impressed with their desire to spread it around, and how they were grappling with some serious issues: they were torn about starting a soup kitchen, because on the one hand, it can support the status quo, and on the other, it can be a helpful stepping stool.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
12/8/09
I was sitting in a session yesterday, and I was mesmerized by how fancy the Powerpoint presentation was; all these custom graphics, even bullet points. All this in one huge room of probably about 20, with chairs set up perfectly, such that red chairs made diagonal lines throughout the room. Then three volunteers were disagreeing on how best to run the lights.
A self-identified Hindu Christian on the panel expressed his appreciation for the fact that people were willing to come from all over the world to do the work here (a sentiment that I’ve heard expressed in probably every session). The American rabbi, in summarizing and reorienting the conversation, made a passing comment about “all of us schlepping over here,” and the woman two seats to my right scoffed a few times before commenting scornfully, “We didn’t all have to travel far.” Then, a bit louder, “America’s not the center of the universe, you know!” We were at the back, so the speaker couldn’t hear her, but people a few rows up likely could have.
Clearly, her emotions were not directed simply to the rabbi. The comment initially struck me as being insensitive to the individuals from Europe, India, and Asia, and perhaps those outside of Melbourne. Seems like it had been boiling for some time; I don’t know if there’s a larger Australian resentment (seems like there might be; I saw maps posted at one table with a “corrected map” of the globe in which Australia is depicted at the top right rather than the bottom right), or if it was more at the conference itself (pretty likely: apparently most of the scholars here are Americans).
Rev. suggested that she was also pissed off at the way the rabbi was leading the panel: he was often brought the panelists back on track with a dry sense of humor. I liked him a lot, even if I was a bit intimidated by his incredible intelligence and communication skills. But I could see how such a person could get on one’s nerves.
The first session I went to was about the Sarvodaya Shramasena movement, and it was actually presented by A.T. Ariyaratne himself. Though literally hundreds of thousands of people attend his meditation retreats in Sri Lanka, there were only about 25 people in the session. He’s doing some incredible work, and he had a number of movies to talk about it. I was left with a lot of questions, however. He made it sound very simple in the beginning, but as he went on, a complex portrait of government interaction came into being, and the complex system of village organization became apparent, with the organization owning farms, property, and the like. It sounds like a lot more than the simple grassroots movement that he put it forth to be, and I’d like to know how he went about deciding what to do.
The idealized movies about their successes put me off. One opened up with children running through a field, with idyllic music playing. “In the beginning, there was peace… Everyone got along” or some such. “Then… the war began.”
Was it really perfect before? Perhaps it was a lot more harmonious, I don’t know. But I nevertheless am doubtful when folks make claims about how things were perfect at one time; it seems like it could set a dangerous precedent which could shift to a fundamentalism once things get worse. Conditions change; there’s not a “past” we can get back to. And so I’m also doubtful about people working together on some service projects and then concluding that peace has been won. The video talked about how Tamils, Hindus, Buddhists, and Muslims all came together to cooperate on projects, and what a wonderful effect this had for mutual respect. I don’t know that just working together could truly smooth things out; I think they could easily overestimate their success. Building a road together doesn’t mean that the resentments have cleared.
And yet, I think it does create a sense of shared identity, it promotes humility and listening. It sounds like they weren’t just building roads; the kids played sports together, and men and women work on the same projects. Perhaps when people come together like that, it really can smooth tensions.
Looking back, this is a similar problem I have with the conference as a whole. Yes, people are coming from all over the world “to do the work.” But it’s often superficial, in the way that religion is for a lot of people. It can be lip service, and leave underlying tensions unaddressed. Is it the case that flying a bunch of people to Australia will really make things any better with regard to water and food supply? No. It might open up some networking, but I think that among religious, there’s often a willingness to look like one is acting compassionate, because that is mandated in the tenets, but that does not reach the depths of the heart’s commitment. People do it because they are supposed to do it, and as a result, if no one is holding them accountable, the job will not be done in the way it needs to be.
I was sitting in a session yesterday, and I was mesmerized by how fancy the Powerpoint presentation was; all these custom graphics, even bullet points. All this in one huge room of probably about 20, with chairs set up perfectly, such that red chairs made diagonal lines throughout the room. Then three volunteers were disagreeing on how best to run the lights.
A self-identified Hindu Christian on the panel expressed his appreciation for the fact that people were willing to come from all over the world to do the work here (a sentiment that I’ve heard expressed in probably every session). The American rabbi, in summarizing and reorienting the conversation, made a passing comment about “all of us schlepping over here,” and the woman two seats to my right scoffed a few times before commenting scornfully, “We didn’t all have to travel far.” Then, a bit louder, “America’s not the center of the universe, you know!” We were at the back, so the speaker couldn’t hear her, but people a few rows up likely could have.
Clearly, her emotions were not directed simply to the rabbi. The comment initially struck me as being insensitive to the individuals from Europe, India, and Asia, and perhaps those outside of Melbourne. Seems like it had been boiling for some time; I don’t know if there’s a larger Australian resentment (seems like there might be; I saw maps posted at one table with a “corrected map” of the globe in which Australia is depicted at the top right rather than the bottom right), or if it was more at the conference itself (pretty likely: apparently most of the scholars here are Americans).
Rev. suggested that she was also pissed off at the way the rabbi was leading the panel: he was often brought the panelists back on track with a dry sense of humor. I liked him a lot, even if I was a bit intimidated by his incredible intelligence and communication skills. But I could see how such a person could get on one’s nerves.
The first session I went to was about the Sarvodaya Shramasena movement, and it was actually presented by A.T. Ariyaratne himself. Though literally hundreds of thousands of people attend his meditation retreats in Sri Lanka, there were only about 25 people in the session. He’s doing some incredible work, and he had a number of movies to talk about it. I was left with a lot of questions, however. He made it sound very simple in the beginning, but as he went on, a complex portrait of government interaction came into being, and the complex system of village organization became apparent, with the organization owning farms, property, and the like. It sounds like a lot more than the simple grassroots movement that he put it forth to be, and I’d like to know how he went about deciding what to do.
The idealized movies about their successes put me off. One opened up with children running through a field, with idyllic music playing. “In the beginning, there was peace… Everyone got along” or some such. “Then… the war began.”
Was it really perfect before? Perhaps it was a lot more harmonious, I don’t know. But I nevertheless am doubtful when folks make claims about how things were perfect at one time; it seems like it could set a dangerous precedent which could shift to a fundamentalism once things get worse. Conditions change; there’s not a “past” we can get back to. And so I’m also doubtful about people working together on some service projects and then concluding that peace has been won. The video talked about how Tamils, Hindus, Buddhists, and Muslims all came together to cooperate on projects, and what a wonderful effect this had for mutual respect. I don’t know that just working together could truly smooth things out; I think they could easily overestimate their success. Building a road together doesn’t mean that the resentments have cleared.
And yet, I think it does create a sense of shared identity, it promotes humility and listening. It sounds like they weren’t just building roads; the kids played sports together, and men and women work on the same projects. Perhaps when people come together like that, it really can smooth tensions.
Looking back, this is a similar problem I have with the conference as a whole. Yes, people are coming from all over the world “to do the work.” But it’s often superficial, in the way that religion is for a lot of people. It can be lip service, and leave underlying tensions unaddressed. Is it the case that flying a bunch of people to Australia will really make things any better with regard to water and food supply? No. It might open up some networking, but I think that among religious, there’s often a willingness to look like one is acting compassionate, because that is mandated in the tenets, but that does not reach the depths of the heart’s commitment. People do it because they are supposed to do it, and as a result, if no one is holding them accountable, the job will not be done in the way it needs to be.
Monday, December 7, 2009
12/7/09
Some really cool programs. "Blogistan," a panel of three Muslim bloggers talking about how media = power, and this grants immense power to those who have access to the media. They talk about their success, for example, with the Ft. Hood shootings: these bloggers immediately got out information about the situation, and referred the journalists to whom they should speak.
This morning, I went to a program that had A.T. Ariyaratne speaking. He's hugely famous in Sri Lanka for his grassroots movement, with literally hundreds of thousands of people attending his meditation events (though his main thing isn't meditation). His group has gotten Tamils, Muslims, Buddhists, and Hindus all working together to help the villages, and has done a lot to improve living there. But only about 25 people came.
By contrast, the panel on apostasy and homosexuality was packed; had to be a couple hundred people in the room. And it was a great talk. Really incredible people.
I caught a classical music concert that was spectacular. I can't remember her name at the time, Manjiri or something like that, and then there was a flautist, too, who played separately. Really nice.
And my thoughts about religion and spirituality and stuff, there's been a lot of challenging things to consider. And the professors are amazing. Rev. and Christian got into a big debate about racism and the future today. Rev. was saying that he is not hopeful about there being the change that needs to happen in America in his lifetime; so many people say they are well-meaning, but they're just treating the symptoms, and missing the profound racism and fear of black people that continues today. The condition of blacks' lives are getting worse.
Christian is hopeful: he feels like Bonner will be able to effect the change that needs to happen. Rev. doesn't think so, but he is grateful for the little help they're providing.
Mr. Ariyaratne was asked about his criticism of the government. He said the government hadn't been able to do anything to him in his 51 years of work, because "a government is a temporary collection of clever people." They come and go, and they try to win their politics, but they can't do anything to his organization "because we have the higher morality." It was a beautiful thing to hear, even if I am somewhat skeptical of it. (Can EVERYONE in the organization really always be so selfless?) But it's touching that they could be so dedicated to doing what is right, and not getting lost in what is expedient.
Some really cool programs. "Blogistan," a panel of three Muslim bloggers talking about how media = power, and this grants immense power to those who have access to the media. They talk about their success, for example, with the Ft. Hood shootings: these bloggers immediately got out information about the situation, and referred the journalists to whom they should speak.
This morning, I went to a program that had A.T. Ariyaratne speaking. He's hugely famous in Sri Lanka for his grassroots movement, with literally hundreds of thousands of people attending his meditation events (though his main thing isn't meditation). His group has gotten Tamils, Muslims, Buddhists, and Hindus all working together to help the villages, and has done a lot to improve living there. But only about 25 people came.
By contrast, the panel on apostasy and homosexuality was packed; had to be a couple hundred people in the room. And it was a great talk. Really incredible people.
I caught a classical music concert that was spectacular. I can't remember her name at the time, Manjiri or something like that, and then there was a flautist, too, who played separately. Really nice.
And my thoughts about religion and spirituality and stuff, there's been a lot of challenging things to consider. And the professors are amazing. Rev. and Christian got into a big debate about racism and the future today. Rev. was saying that he is not hopeful about there being the change that needs to happen in America in his lifetime; so many people say they are well-meaning, but they're just treating the symptoms, and missing the profound racism and fear of black people that continues today. The condition of blacks' lives are getting worse.
Christian is hopeful: he feels like Bonner will be able to effect the change that needs to happen. Rev. doesn't think so, but he is grateful for the little help they're providing.
Mr. Ariyaratne was asked about his criticism of the government. He said the government hadn't been able to do anything to him in his 51 years of work, because "a government is a temporary collection of clever people." They come and go, and they try to win their politics, but they can't do anything to his organization "because we have the higher morality." It was a beautiful thing to hear, even if I am somewhat skeptical of it. (Can EVERYONE in the organization really always be so selfless?) But it's touching that they could be so dedicated to doing what is right, and not getting lost in what is expedient.
12/7/09
It was a long flight, but I enjoyed it. It’s amazing how different travel is when you’re not in a lot of pain. I got a wretched headache at one point on the flight from Philly to San Francisco, but outside of that, it really wasn’t bad. I used to have so much back pain and head pain and stomach pain, but it’s really improved this year.
Melbourne is a beautiful city; we walked only a bit through it, and I already fell in love. It feels like spring here right now; yesterday it was 70 degrees and sunny, and everyone is walking around in their summer clothes, musicians are playing on the promenade by the river, so much is going on. It’s just alive, and that’s such a shock compared to spending time in Collegeville. I can’t believe how nice it is just to see people, and to see them relaxing is especially nice. Back home, everyone is so embroiled in their work or what have you, they’re just cut off. It’s nice to slow down.
It was about a twenty or thirty minute walk from our hotel to the exhibition center. Walking there, we saw bhikkunis headed in the same direction as us, and we saw folks in selwar kameez and kurta pajama, and Sikh men and Muslim men, and it was just very refreshing. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps my longing for India?
A gentleman was outside doing some kind of ritual with beautiful smelling incense, next to what looked like a big dead dragon. There was a gentleman in a hazmat suit standing with a sign that said, “A dead planet will have no jobs.”
Walking in, there were tons of booths, talking about so much. Christian things, Zoroastrian things, New Age things, Indigenous things, Pagan, UU… The Sikhs, and the Scientologists had really fancy set-ups with huge screens playing things, and the Sikhs had a map of the world covered in sparkling LED lights.
Despite not having slept in a very long time, I felt really good in that area. It had a very calm, warm vibe, which I’m surprised I felt, since I don’t ordinarily pick up on such things. Perhaps my jet lag was contributing somehow. Nonetheless, I felt freaked out somewhat. I was worried that people would approach me and try to convert me, and there were a number of New Age and Japanese things that I found very disturbing.
I was worried about the Scientologists with regard to this, but I was also very curious to see how they presented themselves, so headed over. They had a declaration of their beliefs about rights (the right to free expression, the right of the soul over the right of the man [still dunno what that means, maybe I can ask], and a lot of other ones that sounded good), things about Thetans and dimensions and definitions of Scientology (the study of knowing). Emotional grades and stuff, too. Really fancy displays, really huge. There was a woman sitting with two kids in front of what I guess was an e-reader, and I felt very averse to this, the way she was acting with these kids. I don’t know that she was doing a reading or anything, but it seemed very business-like. I didn’t get to look at everything for too long, because a tall gentleman in a suit approached me. I’ve forgotten his name, it was something like Robert Adams, and after I said I was a Religious Studies major from Philly, he talked a lot about how he was a former Pittsburgh Steeler, he had studied religion, he was now the Vice President of Scientology International. He talked for a bit too long about the beauty of studying cultures, studying meaning, and so forth, and how things were going great for Scientologists in 165 countries. He seemed like a nice guy, but I was exceedingly distrustful. I kept finding my mind probing his face to find some sign of profound tension, some sign that he was untrustworthy, some way to legitimate my prejudice, I suppose. But he just looked ordinary, no more tension than anyone else, and no less, either. I didn’t feel threatened at all by what he said, even as I kept preparing for him to say something where my guard would have to go up.
As I was talking to him, I realized how defensive I was being, and I felt a little bad about that. I was being very prejudiced. I find something viscerally frightening about the idea of a cult, even though I realize that the idea of a cult often goes far beyond the reality. I think that the main thing that I fear about Scientology, New Age movements, and these Japanese things is that their world views seem so deeply incongruent with what I experience, and in particular, they have an optimism about their tradition that I feel I cannot trust. In Oboler’s Sociology of Religion class, we read an article by a guy who was asking people to reconsider the stigmatization of cults, and the only real criticism he expressed was exactly what freaks me out about them: that they profess to so happy, so content, and they invite you to join them in it, but they don’t look happy. It looks forced. I’ve seen it a lot, among people from all backgrounds, not just in what folks call cults. There is something else in their face that tells you that the weight of the world is still there, that they’re not so liberated as they seem.
I guess there’s something about that kind of emotional denial that I find distrustful. I think that there’s an assumption that what a person’s subtle body language is telling you is what is more true than what their voice is telling you, and though I don’t have any particular reason to know that to be the case, I genuinely feel like that’s true. If they can make their lips into a smile and say they are happy, but their eyes and demeanor still seem tense, I feel like they are not so joyfully free as they make themselves out to be.
And so I find myself fearing such people, because I find that kind of emotional disparity very disturbing. I’d like to shout at them, “But you don’t look happy!” I feel that way towards people in a lot of religious groups, and even exercise programs and dietary regimens.
I have to say, though, that there’s something complicating it. These people are able to do some beautiful things because of their optimism. They support some endeavors that are really admirable, and that disturbs me, too. Part of me does not want to see such emotional denial yielding such good worldly results. Is it really better, then, to live in accord with one’s deeper feelings, but to be paralyzed by them?
I think so, and for a number of reasons, but I have to get going. I think I will spend some more time around these folks who I find off-putting. It seems like a good thing to study.
It was a long flight, but I enjoyed it. It’s amazing how different travel is when you’re not in a lot of pain. I got a wretched headache at one point on the flight from Philly to San Francisco, but outside of that, it really wasn’t bad. I used to have so much back pain and head pain and stomach pain, but it’s really improved this year.
Melbourne is a beautiful city; we walked only a bit through it, and I already fell in love. It feels like spring here right now; yesterday it was 70 degrees and sunny, and everyone is walking around in their summer clothes, musicians are playing on the promenade by the river, so much is going on. It’s just alive, and that’s such a shock compared to spending time in Collegeville. I can’t believe how nice it is just to see people, and to see them relaxing is especially nice. Back home, everyone is so embroiled in their work or what have you, they’re just cut off. It’s nice to slow down.
It was about a twenty or thirty minute walk from our hotel to the exhibition center. Walking there, we saw bhikkunis headed in the same direction as us, and we saw folks in selwar kameez and kurta pajama, and Sikh men and Muslim men, and it was just very refreshing. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps my longing for India?
A gentleman was outside doing some kind of ritual with beautiful smelling incense, next to what looked like a big dead dragon. There was a gentleman in a hazmat suit standing with a sign that said, “A dead planet will have no jobs.”
Walking in, there were tons of booths, talking about so much. Christian things, Zoroastrian things, New Age things, Indigenous things, Pagan, UU… The Sikhs, and the Scientologists had really fancy set-ups with huge screens playing things, and the Sikhs had a map of the world covered in sparkling LED lights.
Despite not having slept in a very long time, I felt really good in that area. It had a very calm, warm vibe, which I’m surprised I felt, since I don’t ordinarily pick up on such things. Perhaps my jet lag was contributing somehow. Nonetheless, I felt freaked out somewhat. I was worried that people would approach me and try to convert me, and there were a number of New Age and Japanese things that I found very disturbing.
I was worried about the Scientologists with regard to this, but I was also very curious to see how they presented themselves, so headed over. They had a declaration of their beliefs about rights (the right to free expression, the right of the soul over the right of the man [still dunno what that means, maybe I can ask], and a lot of other ones that sounded good), things about Thetans and dimensions and definitions of Scientology (the study of knowing). Emotional grades and stuff, too. Really fancy displays, really huge. There was a woman sitting with two kids in front of what I guess was an e-reader, and I felt very averse to this, the way she was acting with these kids. I don’t know that she was doing a reading or anything, but it seemed very business-like. I didn’t get to look at everything for too long, because a tall gentleman in a suit approached me. I’ve forgotten his name, it was something like Robert Adams, and after I said I was a Religious Studies major from Philly, he talked a lot about how he was a former Pittsburgh Steeler, he had studied religion, he was now the Vice President of Scientology International. He talked for a bit too long about the beauty of studying cultures, studying meaning, and so forth, and how things were going great for Scientologists in 165 countries. He seemed like a nice guy, but I was exceedingly distrustful. I kept finding my mind probing his face to find some sign of profound tension, some sign that he was untrustworthy, some way to legitimate my prejudice, I suppose. But he just looked ordinary, no more tension than anyone else, and no less, either. I didn’t feel threatened at all by what he said, even as I kept preparing for him to say something where my guard would have to go up.
As I was talking to him, I realized how defensive I was being, and I felt a little bad about that. I was being very prejudiced. I find something viscerally frightening about the idea of a cult, even though I realize that the idea of a cult often goes far beyond the reality. I think that the main thing that I fear about Scientology, New Age movements, and these Japanese things is that their world views seem so deeply incongruent with what I experience, and in particular, they have an optimism about their tradition that I feel I cannot trust. In Oboler’s Sociology of Religion class, we read an article by a guy who was asking people to reconsider the stigmatization of cults, and the only real criticism he expressed was exactly what freaks me out about them: that they profess to so happy, so content, and they invite you to join them in it, but they don’t look happy. It looks forced. I’ve seen it a lot, among people from all backgrounds, not just in what folks call cults. There is something else in their face that tells you that the weight of the world is still there, that they’re not so liberated as they seem.
I guess there’s something about that kind of emotional denial that I find distrustful. I think that there’s an assumption that what a person’s subtle body language is telling you is what is more true than what their voice is telling you, and though I don’t have any particular reason to know that to be the case, I genuinely feel like that’s true. If they can make their lips into a smile and say they are happy, but their eyes and demeanor still seem tense, I feel like they are not so joyfully free as they make themselves out to be.
And so I find myself fearing such people, because I find that kind of emotional disparity very disturbing. I’d like to shout at them, “But you don’t look happy!” I feel that way towards people in a lot of religious groups, and even exercise programs and dietary regimens.
I have to say, though, that there’s something complicating it. These people are able to do some beautiful things because of their optimism. They support some endeavors that are really admirable, and that disturbs me, too. Part of me does not want to see such emotional denial yielding such good worldly results. Is it really better, then, to live in accord with one’s deeper feelings, but to be paralyzed by them?
I think so, and for a number of reasons, but I have to get going. I think I will spend some more time around these folks who I find off-putting. It seems like a good thing to study.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Pain and Religion
This Rein guy is deep.
I think it's easy to see how the whole mysterium tremendum et fascinans could be similar to the experience of pain for its inability to be communicated, but I think Rein's point about how very isolating pain is goes much further. Pain can mean a lot of things, and it can provoke a lot of reactions. It is so close to us that we have no idea how to communicate it. It is too immediate, too deep, and too powerful for us to speak about it. It's certainly the case that we don't have a lot of language to discuss it, and I think part of that is our usual attitude about it: it doesn't matter what it is, just get rid of it. It doesn't need to be studied, it just needs to be removed. When pain is chronic, it begins to become profoundly confusing: Is this real? Where is this coming from? Why is it here? Is it all in my head? What makes it come and go? Such questions would never arise in the absence of pain, but once pain becomes constant, the mind can't help but return to the pain. What's more, the pain can take so many forms. There are times when it might feel the same, and yet feel totally different.
I don't know about everybody, but I think that religion and religious experience can operate in similar ways for people. It's so close, it can often be unobservable; it's so real, yet it's so ambiguous and questionable. It operates on its own schedule; the religious moments in our lives come in a flash, and in the most unexpected places. It's impossible to adequately study, it's hard to tell what is religion and what isn't.
Obviously, the Catholic approach that Orsi observed was a little different. The approach to pain that he portrays is even more ambiguous: it's simultaneously embraced and disdained. I wondered a lot about the embracing of it. The welcoming of pain that he described seemed ignorant to me. It struck me as something that was done because that was the right way to regard pain, and it could only be done because the individuals hadn't truly appreciated the full power of pain. Which was why a lot of anger spilled over into criticism of the afflicted. “I’m living with pain and not making a fuss. Jesus did and a bajillion saints did it. Why can’t you?” In this language, the same statement that is supposed to regard pain with awe and humility is in fact fighting it. If someone has truly appreciated pain, they understand it in all of its forms, whether it takes the form of despair, complaining, or impatience. I think that’s why pain could be so educational, so spiritually advancing; but one needs to face it in a self-surrendering way. No room for ego when every moment is agony.
Nathan asked what cultural approaches there can be to pain (the labels I use are ideals, not representational):
- The medical one, which sees pain in purely bodily terms. Nerves are stimulated, the brain is informed. It’s best to rectify the problem in the body, but if that can’t be done, it’s better to quiet the brain.
- The masculine one, for lack of better label: Push it away, men take their pain and ignore it. All the heroes in the movies will be in total pain, but they still stand up and shoot the bad guy in the face.
- The victimized one: Your pain entitles you to special treatment. Nice things should be done to you so that you can feel better. Your responsibilities are put aside, your only goal is to come out of the pain.
- The Vipassana one: Pain is inevitable, but suffering is a mental imputation. Observe the pain, observe the mind, observe the self, see how they are interrelated, and stop turning pain into suffering.
- The Catholic one: Your pain is a gift from God to bring you closer to Him, a chance to come out of sin.
There are more, but I have to go!
I think it's easy to see how the whole mysterium tremendum et fascinans could be similar to the experience of pain for its inability to be communicated, but I think Rein's point about how very isolating pain is goes much further. Pain can mean a lot of things, and it can provoke a lot of reactions. It is so close to us that we have no idea how to communicate it. It is too immediate, too deep, and too powerful for us to speak about it. It's certainly the case that we don't have a lot of language to discuss it, and I think part of that is our usual attitude about it: it doesn't matter what it is, just get rid of it. It doesn't need to be studied, it just needs to be removed. When pain is chronic, it begins to become profoundly confusing: Is this real? Where is this coming from? Why is it here? Is it all in my head? What makes it come and go? Such questions would never arise in the absence of pain, but once pain becomes constant, the mind can't help but return to the pain. What's more, the pain can take so many forms. There are times when it might feel the same, and yet feel totally different.
I don't know about everybody, but I think that religion and religious experience can operate in similar ways for people. It's so close, it can often be unobservable; it's so real, yet it's so ambiguous and questionable. It operates on its own schedule; the religious moments in our lives come in a flash, and in the most unexpected places. It's impossible to adequately study, it's hard to tell what is religion and what isn't.
Obviously, the Catholic approach that Orsi observed was a little different. The approach to pain that he portrays is even more ambiguous: it's simultaneously embraced and disdained. I wondered a lot about the embracing of it. The welcoming of pain that he described seemed ignorant to me. It struck me as something that was done because that was the right way to regard pain, and it could only be done because the individuals hadn't truly appreciated the full power of pain. Which was why a lot of anger spilled over into criticism of the afflicted. “I’m living with pain and not making a fuss. Jesus did and a bajillion saints did it. Why can’t you?” In this language, the same statement that is supposed to regard pain with awe and humility is in fact fighting it. If someone has truly appreciated pain, they understand it in all of its forms, whether it takes the form of despair, complaining, or impatience. I think that’s why pain could be so educational, so spiritually advancing; but one needs to face it in a self-surrendering way. No room for ego when every moment is agony.
Nathan asked what cultural approaches there can be to pain (the labels I use are ideals, not representational):
- The medical one, which sees pain in purely bodily terms. Nerves are stimulated, the brain is informed. It’s best to rectify the problem in the body, but if that can’t be done, it’s better to quiet the brain.
- The masculine one, for lack of better label: Push it away, men take their pain and ignore it. All the heroes in the movies will be in total pain, but they still stand up and shoot the bad guy in the face.
- The victimized one: Your pain entitles you to special treatment. Nice things should be done to you so that you can feel better. Your responsibilities are put aside, your only goal is to come out of the pain.
- The Vipassana one: Pain is inevitable, but suffering is a mental imputation. Observe the pain, observe the mind, observe the self, see how they are interrelated, and stop turning pain into suffering.
- The Catholic one: Your pain is a gift from God to bring you closer to Him, a chance to come out of sin.
There are more, but I have to go!
Friday, November 20, 2009
I posted this to the wrong blog before.
From Nov. 4th:
I like A New Religious America. The historical info is helpful, and the wide variety of examples is really valuable. Eck's a good writer, as well.
I remember talking to an old and dear friend of mine about the influence of religion in government. He strongly felt that there needn't be a separation between religion and state. If the religion is being properly embodied, there should be no conflict. People would do what is in the best interest of everyone, and be guided by a strong sense of morality.
Eck's examples of tolerance in early America based on Christian values reflects this, I think. They weren't acting in a secular manner: they were being good Christians by limiting the exclusive power of religion. It's an interesting claim, and one that seems correct to me.
I'm uncertain about where I stand in regard to how involved religion should be with the state. I do deeply wish that politicians were dedicated to an egoless, other-concerned, moral service; I think it'd transform our society for the better. But religion doesn't always seem to mean that. Indeed, religion seldom seems to mean that. There's a lot of ego in reducing the ego.
I'm not done the reading for the Hindu chapter yet, but I was contemplating Eck's claim that Hinduism is inherently pluralistic. Sounds right given what I learned in World Religions, but it seems clear to me that the Authentic Practice / and Understanding of a Particular Religion doesn't always match up with what the people themselves embody. I think of the BJP, for example. Definitely exclusivist, and growing in power. I guess you could question if they are proper stewards of Hinduism, but, eh, I don't feel like getting into that debate. I'm exhausted.
I like A New Religious America. The historical info is helpful, and the wide variety of examples is really valuable. Eck's a good writer, as well.
I remember talking to an old and dear friend of mine about the influence of religion in government. He strongly felt that there needn't be a separation between religion and state. If the religion is being properly embodied, there should be no conflict. People would do what is in the best interest of everyone, and be guided by a strong sense of morality.
Eck's examples of tolerance in early America based on Christian values reflects this, I think. They weren't acting in a secular manner: they were being good Christians by limiting the exclusive power of religion. It's an interesting claim, and one that seems correct to me.
I'm uncertain about where I stand in regard to how involved religion should be with the state. I do deeply wish that politicians were dedicated to an egoless, other-concerned, moral service; I think it'd transform our society for the better. But religion doesn't always seem to mean that. Indeed, religion seldom seems to mean that. There's a lot of ego in reducing the ego.
I'm not done the reading for the Hindu chapter yet, but I was contemplating Eck's claim that Hinduism is inherently pluralistic. Sounds right given what I learned in World Religions, but it seems clear to me that the Authentic Practice / and Understanding of a Particular Religion doesn't always match up with what the people themselves embody. I think of the BJP, for example. Definitely exclusivist, and growing in power. I guess you could question if they are proper stewards of Hinduism, but, eh, I don't feel like getting into that debate. I'm exhausted.
I was sitting in Sociology of Religion today, and Chris was giving his presentation on women converting to conservative traditions, such as Orthodox Judaism, conservative Protestantism, and (some forms of) Islam. A lot of it struck me as similar to what I was researching: monasticism in the US. The key word in these conversions, he said, was "disenchantment," particularly with modernity. That's the key word in monasticism, too.
And I was thinking about how it's a pretty key word in my life, too. These women turn away from perceived depravity (Chris often highlighted a dissatisfaction with modern approaches to female sexuality) and embrace something that they see as authentic, true, and whole. Given what I've learned about religions, I have a hard time taking those kinds of claims at face value. But I remember a quote Nathan once referred to us from Reverend Rice, something along the lines of "Something doesn't have to have happened in order to be true." It seems to me that it's a shift of priority of values. Us folks in the academic establishment hold having an accurate picture of what has happened in the world to be of more worth than what inspires us to act in the world and make decisions. And it should do that; we need people to incessantly probe and find what is true, even to the extent that nothing can be found to be true. We need to incessantly test and doubt in order to bring to light what is inaccurate and false, even if that means totally undermining our foundations.
But I think that there's a fundamental problem with it, as well. If one only denies, and never avers, never says, “Well, I don’t know, but let’s give this a shot,” then that, itself, is a profound injustice. To sit on a peak and criticize everything below without contributing anything substantive is, in many ways, equivalent to doing nothing at all. It steps outside (as if one could) and presumes that other people will do the work that needs to be done. Honestly, what is the worth of having an accurate picture of the world in one’s head if nothing ever becomes of it? What’s it matter if someone knows the deepest, most profound truth, if it does not in some way help others? What is the worth of pieces of paper when rape, murder, starvation, addiction endure? I don’t know if I’m making much sense, my stomach is really bothering me right now.
So, sitting in class, I was thinking about my own faith. I was attracted to Buddhism, like many other Americans (as I’ve learned due to my allegiances to the academic establishment!), because it affirms certain principles while not presuming to hold the undeniable truth. “Don’t cause harm, don’t take what’s not given, don’t commit sexual misconduct, don’t drink or do drugs, don’t be deceptive. These things are not evil in their deepest reality, but they harm others and they harm you, so avoid them like the plague, unless they can do some good.” Looking at this, even before getting to the other important aspects of Buddhism, I could question it deeply: How do I decide which precepts to follow? How do I avoid “shopping for religion?” Isn’t it a modern principle that divorces the breaking of precepts from their karmic implications? (That’s not directed so much at myself as at other folks; I do believe in the [conventional] reality of karma.) Isn’t it such a Tibetan approach to Buddhism that I’m taking?
And what’s the point of all of that questioning? Will it really get me anywhere? Perhaps, but perhaps not. What a maddening idea it is that I will die someday. What if I do not have the opportunity to perfectly settle everything before I start practice? Surely, you can’t. Moreover, practice, itself, is supposed to show what is true; you can’t have the ideas correct before you start.
And so I do meditate, and I do other practices, and yet I still doubt myself. I hear about middle-class white kids perverting profound Buddhist teachings in order to justify their social justice efforts, I hear about folks finding in Buddhism a safe place to express their desire for ceremonial ritual, I hear people say that monastics are people who are disenchanted with their lives, with the implication that all they need is a little more serotonin in their lives. And I wonder, is that me, too? Are they seeing me more accurately than I see myself?
They could very well be right. They could be portraying an accurate picture of things. But they might also be missing things. And, more importantly, I just think they’re full of bullshit. People can criticize and find all of what’s wrong, but what if they are missing the beauty, as well? Yes, a lot of Buddhists shy away from the teachings about the nonexistence of the self, but what if they’re finding other things in it? Gracious, I have no idea what to even think. I mean, I, myself, have found myself mentally criticizing other Buddhists for an incomplete portrait of it. And, as I write this, and feel very tired and ill, I wonder if, when I come back to this tomorrow, I will think, “Wow, I was just pissed off, and reifying my sense of self around selflessness.” And of course, even to identify with that is a total contradiction, because it is that self which in the first place is finding the problems.
I am critical of a lot of religious practices, but there is something about many of the more conservative branches that I profoundly respect: they move forward in the face of doubt. They act and do what they understand to be right. That’s something beautiful and worthwhile, even if I think a lot of them could take a lesson from the more liberal ones regarding self-reflection. The answer’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose.
And I was thinking about how it's a pretty key word in my life, too. These women turn away from perceived depravity (Chris often highlighted a dissatisfaction with modern approaches to female sexuality) and embrace something that they see as authentic, true, and whole. Given what I've learned about religions, I have a hard time taking those kinds of claims at face value. But I remember a quote Nathan once referred to us from Reverend Rice, something along the lines of "Something doesn't have to have happened in order to be true." It seems to me that it's a shift of priority of values. Us folks in the academic establishment hold having an accurate picture of what has happened in the world to be of more worth than what inspires us to act in the world and make decisions. And it should do that; we need people to incessantly probe and find what is true, even to the extent that nothing can be found to be true. We need to incessantly test and doubt in order to bring to light what is inaccurate and false, even if that means totally undermining our foundations.
But I think that there's a fundamental problem with it, as well. If one only denies, and never avers, never says, “Well, I don’t know, but let’s give this a shot,” then that, itself, is a profound injustice. To sit on a peak and criticize everything below without contributing anything substantive is, in many ways, equivalent to doing nothing at all. It steps outside (as if one could) and presumes that other people will do the work that needs to be done. Honestly, what is the worth of having an accurate picture of the world in one’s head if nothing ever becomes of it? What’s it matter if someone knows the deepest, most profound truth, if it does not in some way help others? What is the worth of pieces of paper when rape, murder, starvation, addiction endure? I don’t know if I’m making much sense, my stomach is really bothering me right now.
So, sitting in class, I was thinking about my own faith. I was attracted to Buddhism, like many other Americans (as I’ve learned due to my allegiances to the academic establishment!), because it affirms certain principles while not presuming to hold the undeniable truth. “Don’t cause harm, don’t take what’s not given, don’t commit sexual misconduct, don’t drink or do drugs, don’t be deceptive. These things are not evil in their deepest reality, but they harm others and they harm you, so avoid them like the plague, unless they can do some good.” Looking at this, even before getting to the other important aspects of Buddhism, I could question it deeply: How do I decide which precepts to follow? How do I avoid “shopping for religion?” Isn’t it a modern principle that divorces the breaking of precepts from their karmic implications? (That’s not directed so much at myself as at other folks; I do believe in the [conventional] reality of karma.) Isn’t it such a Tibetan approach to Buddhism that I’m taking?
And what’s the point of all of that questioning? Will it really get me anywhere? Perhaps, but perhaps not. What a maddening idea it is that I will die someday. What if I do not have the opportunity to perfectly settle everything before I start practice? Surely, you can’t. Moreover, practice, itself, is supposed to show what is true; you can’t have the ideas correct before you start.
And so I do meditate, and I do other practices, and yet I still doubt myself. I hear about middle-class white kids perverting profound Buddhist teachings in order to justify their social justice efforts, I hear about folks finding in Buddhism a safe place to express their desire for ceremonial ritual, I hear people say that monastics are people who are disenchanted with their lives, with the implication that all they need is a little more serotonin in their lives. And I wonder, is that me, too? Are they seeing me more accurately than I see myself?
They could very well be right. They could be portraying an accurate picture of things. But they might also be missing things. And, more importantly, I just think they’re full of bullshit. People can criticize and find all of what’s wrong, but what if they are missing the beauty, as well? Yes, a lot of Buddhists shy away from the teachings about the nonexistence of the self, but what if they’re finding other things in it? Gracious, I have no idea what to even think. I mean, I, myself, have found myself mentally criticizing other Buddhists for an incomplete portrait of it. And, as I write this, and feel very tired and ill, I wonder if, when I come back to this tomorrow, I will think, “Wow, I was just pissed off, and reifying my sense of self around selflessness.” And of course, even to identify with that is a total contradiction, because it is that self which in the first place is finding the problems.
I am critical of a lot of religious practices, but there is something about many of the more conservative branches that I profoundly respect: they move forward in the face of doubt. They act and do what they understand to be right. That’s something beautiful and worthwhile, even if I think a lot of them could take a lesson from the more liberal ones regarding self-reflection. The answer’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose.
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