pantheon

Random stream of consciousness.

Pantheon is a really good show. It’s an animated mix of sci-fi and thriller connecting multiple characters in a corporate conspiracy involving uploaded intelligence and how corporations and governments would use them as slave labour and weapons while ignoring the socioeconomic complexities and ethics of utilizing uploaded human consciousness in these ways.

And it’s 100% believable. We continue to let virtually unaccountable and unlimitedly powerful CEOs and governments do what they will at our peril, often utilizing new technologies to capture market shares from economic competitors and gain a military advantage over national ones.

And a large moral of the story is that our world will never look like the paradise we imagine it could be if we don’t figure out a way to create an equitable socioeconomic system and find a way to bridge our divisions. It’s one of the reasons I’ve long been interested in things like the Buddhist teaching of dependent co-arising, Spinozan philosophy, Jewish theology, and panentheism—within all of these, an essential point in that all things are deeply interconnected (and arguably one), and our actions have consequences whether or not they’re causally determined.

Our actions are like ripples in the quantum field that reverberate throughout it, interacting with other ripples. And in the same vein, our intentions affect the nature of those ripples. Our actions are like ripples in the quantum field that reverberate throughout it, interacting with other ripples. And our intentions affect the nature of those ripples, the ways they interact, and the results of those interactions—i.e., the future.

The depth of life and reality itself are staggering.

barbara

Today was the funeral service for Barbara Harrison, a deeply wonderful soul. Barbara was a good personal and spiritual friend. She was also a very important person to me at a difficult and transitional point in my life.

When I first met Barbara in 2014, she was the director of faith formations at St. Philip Neri Catholic Church among other things. At the time, I was expanding my spiritual knowledge and exploring new dimensions of religious belief and practices and decided to take their RCIA class. I didn’t know much about Christianity and had been led by circumstances such as a visit to Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist monastery and meeting Dorothy Bruck outside of St. Philip Neri to explore it. Barbara led the RCIA classes, and she loved sharing her knowledge and experiences with others.

I liked her a lot. She was smart and funny and surprisingly open to every question and disagreement I had with Catholic dogma. (The same was true of her husband, James, who was also very active in the church.) In many ways, she had a very Jewish spirit and would wrestle with much of it herself. There was never a time when I felt judged or unsupported in my spiritual journey, and I eventually found myself being welcomed into the community. But not long afterwards, my mom died and my world was turned upside down. I didn’t handle my mom’s death well. And I was already struggling with my own inner demons of depression and anxiety. But Barbara let me know that she was there for me if I needed her. I saw her often on Sundays and we talked a lot then, but I also met with her one-on-one occasionally. Before her role as maven of St. Philip, she’d been a counselor and she helped me talk about my mom’s death and what I needed to heal. I didn’t necessarily make the best decisions then, but it was an important beginning to a long process of putting myself back together and moving on.

The thing I loved most about Barbara was her personality. She reminded me a lot of my mom in the way she didn’t suffer fools gladly and stood her ground when she thought she was right. She was stubborn as hell, yet also patient and always able to find goodness even in difficult circumstances. She had an amazing laugh. And I’ll never forget the look she’d give you and the tone of her voice when she thought you should know better or you said something stupid—it still makes me smile thinking about it. I really enjoyed talking with her, and she helped me find my own path to God.

As I wrote after her husband, James, died since it’s equally as true for her: I didn't know Barbara as well as many, but she certainly had a big impact on my life with her presence. So I know she'll be missed immensely, because I can only imagine the impact she had on those even closer to her. She was a shining example of a true follower of Christ, forever altering my perception of what it means to be one—to be imperfectly perfect, to share the gifts we have with others, to learn from our mistakes, to live a life of love, compassion, and mercy, and to leave the world a little better than we found it.

Looking back through my old writings, this is one of the first references I have of Barbara in my online blog journals, dated 10/8/2014:

The topic of today's inquiry class was pretty interesting: our image of God and what influences that image. Barbara began by asking us to think of some of the names of God we know. She then asked us to think of some attributes that we want God to have and to think of examples in our life where we might see that.

I had a hard time thinking of things besides the typical ones of love and compassion, which were some of the first things mentioned by others. One thing that I thought about was the present moment and the feelings of joy and happiness that I sometimes get when surrounded by solitude and quiet. When those feelings arise, the presentness of everything overwhelms me. But then I thought of the emptiness and loneliness I sometimes feel as well, which I suppose could reflect the absence of God. Or maybe both are God, the latter emptying myself of 'self' so that I can then be filled with the former.

The idea was basically to see how we all see God from different perspectives and how different experiences colour that perception. Using the Old Testament as an example, she pointed out how tribal life was tumultuous, and how God often takes on an angry or vengeful persona based upon the experiences of the ancient Israelites. They were trying to describe their experience of God in that context, and we have to take that into consideration.

It's something to think about, in my opinion. I think we tend to put God in a box, however we conceive the idea, and that picture is influenced by our experiences and biases, how we were raised, the things we've read, the ups and downs in our lives, etc. But the subject transcends whatever box we try to place it in. Our point of view is limited; but at the same time, we want to express how God appears to us in our lives.

Some of the ways she talked about God reminded me a bit of nibbana in the sense that God is something which is always there, and the more we allow our preconceived notions to fall away, the more we experience God. To me, it's similar to the idea that nibbana, the unconditioned, is always there, the experience of it simply being obscured by our clinging to views (think Nagarjuna) and our defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion.

As for myself, from past experiences with conservative Christians and a few unpleasant Bible passages, I've had a rather negative view of God as a fictional, angry, petty old man for a long, long time. But after things like talking to my Orthodox friend about the way he sees God in his interactions with people and reading things like In the Spirit of Happiness and parts of the Philokalia, I started to form a completely different picture.

I'm still not sure if there's a God, but I feel more drawn towards the idea than I ever have before. And the picture I have is growing bigger and more complex, yet simpler. My perspective is evolving. Sometimes I think about my interactions with people and I occasionally see them the same way my friend does. (Barbara said something similar about God constantly throwing us together.) Sometimes, in quiet and solitude, I think I feel what a lot of the mystics and contemplatives talk about. And I liked Barbara's definition of God as what draws us towards virtue.

Near the beginning of the class, they gave out copies of the New American translation of the Bible; at the end, Barbara gave us some homework: to ask ourselves every night, Where did I see God today? For me, I think it'll be an exercise in seeing goodness around me. "God doesn't work against himself." Look for the goodness.

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, Dayan HaEmet. Yehi zichra mahapecha. (“Blessed are you God, king of the Universe, the True Judge. May her memory be a revolution.”)

After significant reflection, though, the experience highlighted for me the vast distinction between the spiritual traditions of Christianity and Judaism and where I truly belong. As I sat and listened to the funeral mass, I was reminded of all the things I struggled with in Christianity and Catholic dogma. I never felt quite at home with a deified Jesus, but always saw him as a spiritual teacher—a rabbi, a proverbial finger pointing towards the moon. I certainly respected him and his teachings, but always fell short of seeing him as God. And as I absorbed the liturgy after a long, long absence, I knew instinctively that it was always meant to be a stepping stone to something else.

I certainly don’t regret my time at St. Philip Neri or with the wonderful people there. I was where I was supposed to be at that moment in my life. I 100% agree with Fr. Charlie about that point. All the same, I know it’s not where I was meant to stay. But I do owe Barbara a great debt for helping instill in me a love for God and righteousness that’ll forever remain a part of who I am.

the goldfinch

I finished reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt today… Reading it has honestly been an emotionally difficult experience for me. It’s hard to articulate why on a deeper level, but more superficially, the main character’s life contains a lot of similarities to mine—dead mother, abusive and often neglectful father, drug and alcohol abuse to essentially self-medicate and go on living, a self-destructiveness and feeling of pointlessness to life and wishing I were dead that came out most predominantly after I’d had too much to drink, etc… Even though I’m now in a much better place than I was in my teens and early twenties, it brought up some of the most difficult times in my life... Rebecca even mentioned the main character, Theo, reminded her of me a bit. It’s a well-written book, and I loved her other book The Secret History; but it’s just too real for me in ways that are hard to explain even though I wish I could.

Here's a poem partially inspired by it, though, that glimpses an aspect of the nihilistic elements it invokes:

I’m trying to find the motivation to deal with tomorrow and all the pain it has in store for me.
Caged.
Trapped.
Hopeless. Helpless.
Dangling from a wire above an ocean of black with no reason to hold on but no courage to let go.
Weakness.
Brokenness.
Abandoned. Alienated.
Every day deluding myself tomorrow will somehow be different, better, a life worth it.
A person without a people; a place without a name; a road with no destination—nothingness personified.
Apologies.
Eulogies.
Regrets. Resentments.
Digging myself a hole to crawl into to hide, to die, to just rot away for the eternity of punishment due.
Smiles.
Tears.
Sadness. Stillness.
“Life is catastrophe,” and it's only in the space between mind and reality where beauty can be found.

the purpose of philosophy

Insomnia sucks, but at least I’m catching up on my podcast backlog. I just finished one that featured a debate on analytic philosophy vs. continental philosophy and it got me thinking about philosophy in general.

I think philosophy itself is multifaceted. On the one hand, it’s a methodology for approaching truth, and I think both analytical and continental philosophy have compatible characteristics that are unfortunately hampered by the politics of the institutions that dictate who gets jobs in those fields, which is primarily teaching at universities and getting published—thus, the biases of those institutions dictate what ideas and methods are promoted à la Marx: “The ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch the ruling ideas, i.e. the class which is the ruling material force of society, is at the same time its ruling intellectual force” (The German Ideology).

But philosophy can also be radical, subversive, and revolutionary, making one think and question more deeply than before in their search for truth and meaning. Meaning is inherently subjective, and one can find meaning in many places and different ways, e.g., in relation to one’s work, family, political and social engagement, etc. But truth, I think, is an objective reality, unlike what vulgar postmodernism would have us believe.

I honestly think that the truth is something we’re working towards realizing from multiple angles, scientifically, philosophically, psychologically, etc. Nevertheless, real philosophy isn’t just some kind of intellectual, academic circle jerk of published papers and professors. Real philosophy is also a motivating force, and one of the potential side effects of real philosophy is that it causes you to live your life differently. My philosophical views rooted in Hasidic mysticism and Marxism, for instance, have led me to live a Jewish life and be politically engaged with a critical eye towards dominant power structures and ideologies.

If someone’s philosophy doesn’t discernibly influence the way they live their life, then it’s unlikely a real love of wisdom.