Thanksgiving. It can be hard for many to appreciate the mindset of gratitude or thanksgiving when they're confronted by the history of the holiday itself. The mythologized celebration at Plymouth in 1621, for instance, belies the tragic fate of the indigenous peoples of the Americas that unfolded under colonialism, Manifest Destiny, the 19th century policy of native population removal, and countless broken treaties. And Lincoln's creation of a national day of "Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens" in 1863 was set within the bloody context of what many consider to be the deadliest war in American history, containing within it the hope of some future peace and harmony.
Today, it seems like it's more about food, football, and a prelude to the consumeristic orgy of Black Friday than a recollection of all the things that we're grateful for, mythologized or not. At least that's how it seems to me. But the idea of gratitude itself is something I've grown to appreciate. My life hasn't always been the best, and I haven't always been the best person; but there are numerous people and things I find myself grateful for if I reflect on it, yet I find that I rarely seem to have the time or mindfulness to cultivate that sense of gratitude and appreciation. It's not really a priority in our culture, and it's an easy thing for us to overlook. I'm reminded of the Buddha's words in AN 2.118: "These two people are hard to find in the world. Which two? The one who is first to do a kindness, and the one who is grateful and thankful for a kindness done."
The world can be a harsh and lonely place sometimes, and there are so many people I'm thankful for, too many to list. I just feel terribly grateful at this moment for the many acts and words of kindness given to me over the years. I'm especially grateful for the people who have helped me expand my knowledge over the years, so that I'm not only aware of the somber history that my high school textbooks completely glossed over but my own agency in fighting to change things and right past wrongs. And I'm also grateful for the many people who have entered my life and made it one worth living, including those who sent me such kind messages today.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
king diamond!!!
I imagine everyone has their favourite artist or band and their own stories for why they mean so much to them. I'm certainly no different. When I was younger, between the ages of 13 to 18, music was extremely important to me. It was how I expressed myself and dealt with all the emotions I was feeling, some of them dark and painful. But just as in real life, I had trouble finding where I fit in musically. There were things I liked, but there wasn't anything I truly loved until I found King Diamond.
My first exposure to King Diamond was the music video for "Egypt." I'd never heard nor seen anything quite like it. I was immediately drawn towards the overt mythological and occult overtones; but I was completely captivated by King Diamond himself. His theatrical and almost operatic vocal range, which could go from hauntingly low and demonic to piercingly high shrieks and screams. His makeup, black and white and completely over-the-top, upside down cross and all, yet somehow still sinister. His lyrics, invoking Osiris, Anubis, and Ammit, and centred around one’s fate in the afterlife. The moment I saw that video, I knew I'd found my musical soulmate. It was love at first sight.
I was already familiar with the flamboyant and controversial philosophy of Anton LeVey by then (I mean, what rebellious preteen could resist picking up The Satanic Bible at their local bookstore?), and King Diamond personified it to a T. His music and its occult subject matter, combined with his distinctive look and its liberal use of black leather and satanic symbolism, further stoked my rebelliousness against the conservative, Judeo-Christian culture that dominated Michigan suburbia, inspiring me to foster my own individuality rather than suppress it in order to conform with what was expected of me, and to explore the possibilities of what might lie on 'the other side.'
While I'd later move away from LeVey's philosophy, finding a better spiritual fit first in the likes of Aleister Crowley and later in Buddhism and Christian mysticism, it nevertheless helped me survive high school without losing myself or my mind. It helped me to find pride in myself, and to find strength in the things that set me apart from everyone else. As King Diamond often made clear in interviews, it’s ultimately about questioning authority and doing what thou wilt as long as it’s not hurting anyone else. Our individual lived realities and beliefs can be different, and that’s ok; just don’t be an asshole.
My first actual King Diamond album was Abigail. It was also my first concept album. I can't even begin to explain the impact this album had on me. It's more akin to a revelation than anything rational, but it definitely changed my life for the reasons mentioned above re: In the Shadows and much, much more. A horror story set to music, I'd often listen to it, along with Them and The Eye, at night. It was like the King himself was singing me nightmarish bedtime stories as I drifted off to sleep, transporting me into supernatural worlds where I could temporarily escape from the pressures of being an awkward teen who never quite fit in. Later, I'd go on to realize that women play a prominent role in many (if not most) of his concept albums; and that regardless of whether they're the hero, villain, or victim, they're always powerful in their own right.
I was known throughout my high school years for my obsession with King Diamond. His music and persona became a part of my identity. From there, I'd later go on to fall in love with black metal, which bands like Mercyful Fate helped to inspire. Seeing him live and getting the chance to meet him was an amazing experience, an experience my younger self would have sold his soul for. Today, I met one of my heroes, and arguably one of the greatest musicians, artists, and storytellers of my generation.
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
impeachment 2019
I just can't get into these impeachment hearings. Like, as 'historic' as they may be, I find myself completely uninterested in them because we already know that Trump is guilty of a number of impeachable offenses since his administration has basically admitted half of them on live TV, we already know that the Republicans are going to try to obstruct the proceedings as much as possible and just flap their biscuits with their fingers in their ears, and we already know that the Democrats are going to proceed as if we're not living in a time when one side is still trying to play by the old rules and norms while the other side is entirely ambivalent, even hostile, to those rules and norms and routinely violates them with impunity.
The only hope of Dems succeeding is for them to get enough of the American people angry enough to force the hand of senate Republicans to vote to impeach, because the latter doesn't care about optics and won't give up their power willingly. Instead of great prosecutors, they need great orators to speak to the people. Because the people are the true power, and they're sure as hell not going to sway Republicans with logic or an airtight case against the present administration's corruption, incompetency, and abuse of power. On the plus side, if impeachment fails, there's an opportunity (however slim) for people to see just how corrupt and toxic our political system is and for all the built up anger and frustration people feel to be directed towards mass protests and a nationwide general strike pushing for a new socio-economic order—a fairer, more democratic socio-economic system that addresses things like racial and gender inequality as much as broader economic inequality. I mean, it's happening in Chile as we speak.
The only hope of Dems succeeding is for them to get enough of the American people angry enough to force the hand of senate Republicans to vote to impeach, because the latter doesn't care about optics and won't give up their power willingly. Instead of great prosecutors, they need great orators to speak to the people. Because the people are the true power, and they're sure as hell not going to sway Republicans with logic or an airtight case against the present administration's corruption, incompetency, and abuse of power. On the plus side, if impeachment fails, there's an opportunity (however slim) for people to see just how corrupt and toxic our political system is and for all the built up anger and frustration people feel to be directed towards mass protests and a nationwide general strike pushing for a new socio-economic order—a fairer, more democratic socio-economic system that addresses things like racial and gender inequality as much as broader economic inequality. I mean, it's happening in Chile as we speak.
Monday, November 11, 2019
happy birthday, dostoyevsky
Today marks the birthday of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Despite his failings as a person, Dostoyevsky was one of the most influential writers of the last 200 years, as well as my personal favourite. His works speak to me like no others do. More than that, his works were the first to help me to see the way literature often strives and succeeds to express the inexpressible realities of life, the existential joys and agonies we all act out in our minds and in day-to-day lives, and how our imaginations can bring these worlds to life within us.
I realized while reading his works, especially things like The Brothers Karamazov, Demons, and The Idiot, that literature isn't just art or entertainment, it's also a means of self-discovery and a doorway to insights about being human that science and rationality alone are unable to unlock. Literature immerses us amongst these places and people in a way that allows us to live them from all sides and experience them in their fullness, seeing equally into the ecstatic and tormented hearts and minds of each and every character, and what I think ultimately amounts to a collective reflection of ourselves and the many contradictions that embody our humanity.
We are a multitude, with each character reflecting aspects of our own psyches and potentialities, each giving voice to our shared desires and fears, joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, and everything else in between. Some dominating over others and standing out as being more relatable to our own experience. Some making us laugh or cry. Some serving to inspire us in who we wish to become. Still others sobering us to the evils we're all capable of 'if but for the grace of God.' We live through them; but more than that, they live in us, are us, and we can begin to see ourselves more clearly through them.
And that's what truly amazes me—the paradoxical way these fictional accounts of fictional people can somehow express reality better than reality itself often can. How they can enlighten us about ourselves and the world, about the experience of life itself, and make us feel so much so deeply. These stories communicate things indescribable in objective ways. In essence, I increasingly find myself marvelling at great authors less for their artistry and more for the way their art reveals truth. And I have Dostoevsky to thank for that.
I realized while reading his works, especially things like The Brothers Karamazov, Demons, and The Idiot, that literature isn't just art or entertainment, it's also a means of self-discovery and a doorway to insights about being human that science and rationality alone are unable to unlock. Literature immerses us amongst these places and people in a way that allows us to live them from all sides and experience them in their fullness, seeing equally into the ecstatic and tormented hearts and minds of each and every character, and what I think ultimately amounts to a collective reflection of ourselves and the many contradictions that embody our humanity.
We are a multitude, with each character reflecting aspects of our own psyches and potentialities, each giving voice to our shared desires and fears, joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, and everything else in between. Some dominating over others and standing out as being more relatable to our own experience. Some making us laugh or cry. Some serving to inspire us in who we wish to become. Still others sobering us to the evils we're all capable of 'if but for the grace of God.' We live through them; but more than that, they live in us, are us, and we can begin to see ourselves more clearly through them.
And that's what truly amazes me—the paradoxical way these fictional accounts of fictional people can somehow express reality better than reality itself often can. How they can enlighten us about ourselves and the world, about the experience of life itself, and make us feel so much so deeply. These stories communicate things indescribable in objective ways. In essence, I increasingly find myself marvelling at great authors less for their artistry and more for the way their art reveals truth. And I have Dostoevsky to thank for that.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
cooperation > competition
An interesting excerpt on Medium from Douglas Rushkoff's upcoming book, Team Human:
Evolution Made Us Cooperative, Not Competitive
This is something Peter Kropotkin and Stephen J. Gould both argued—something I personally agree with myself. Life is a struggle. It continually fights against decay, entropy, and catastrophe in the tiny space it occupies within the incomprehensible vastness that is the universe. But somehow, we've learned over time to thrive despite the harshness of it all. And the main way we've done this, I believe, is through increasingly-greater levels of cooperation and an ever-expansive sense of community.
Our history is ultimately one of an intricate and interconnected web of ideas, events, and social relations that have given rise, over numerous generations, to civilization as we know it today, with its beauty and its horrors, its triumphs and its tragedies, its heroes and its monsters. So many mistakes have kept us in a state of nature that's often savage, distrustful, and broken. But the stronger our bonds, the greater our achievements and the higher we ascend. And our biggest mistake is that we've grown accustomed to seeing ourselves as isolated, individual atoms that simply swerve here and there and bump into one another in a chaotic dance of self-interest.
Yet, nature isn't limited to this kind of dance. Individual atoms also cooperate, bond together to create molecules that themselves combined with other molecules again and again to eventually form the myriad of things we can see and hear and taste and touch and contemplate. The stronger their bonds and the more complex (and cooperative) their structures, the more amazing the things they create, even the mystery of life itself. And looking at the state of the world around me, from the threat of catastrophic climate change to the destructive power of war, the only hope for the future I see is a higher degree of cooperation and a more expansive sense of community than we currently have now, as individuals and as nations, overcoming barriers and borders in the struggle to create something altogether new.
Despite whatever fears we may have about the world and one another, and about the harshness of life we're sometimes confronted with, we must abandon our atomistic and overly competitive ways of living and begin to more fully embrace all the positive forces that bind us together. If not, everything that we see and love and hold close to our hearts, our whole world based on interconnectedness, will fall apart in the chaotic dance of self-interest.
Evolution Made Us Cooperative, Not Competitive
This is something Peter Kropotkin and Stephen J. Gould both argued—something I personally agree with myself. Life is a struggle. It continually fights against decay, entropy, and catastrophe in the tiny space it occupies within the incomprehensible vastness that is the universe. But somehow, we've learned over time to thrive despite the harshness of it all. And the main way we've done this, I believe, is through increasingly-greater levels of cooperation and an ever-expansive sense of community.
Our history is ultimately one of an intricate and interconnected web of ideas, events, and social relations that have given rise, over numerous generations, to civilization as we know it today, with its beauty and its horrors, its triumphs and its tragedies, its heroes and its monsters. So many mistakes have kept us in a state of nature that's often savage, distrustful, and broken. But the stronger our bonds, the greater our achievements and the higher we ascend. And our biggest mistake is that we've grown accustomed to seeing ourselves as isolated, individual atoms that simply swerve here and there and bump into one another in a chaotic dance of self-interest.
Yet, nature isn't limited to this kind of dance. Individual atoms also cooperate, bond together to create molecules that themselves combined with other molecules again and again to eventually form the myriad of things we can see and hear and taste and touch and contemplate. The stronger their bonds and the more complex (and cooperative) their structures, the more amazing the things they create, even the mystery of life itself. And looking at the state of the world around me, from the threat of catastrophic climate change to the destructive power of war, the only hope for the future I see is a higher degree of cooperation and a more expansive sense of community than we currently have now, as individuals and as nations, overcoming barriers and borders in the struggle to create something altogether new.
Despite whatever fears we may have about the world and one another, and about the harshness of life we're sometimes confronted with, we must abandon our atomistic and overly competitive ways of living and begin to more fully embrace all the positive forces that bind us together. If not, everything that we see and love and hold close to our hearts, our whole world based on interconnectedness, will fall apart in the chaotic dance of self-interest.
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
religion and politics: my journey to the left
On the topic of religion and politics, I feel like I'm a bit of an odd duck in that my interest in philosophy and religion is what initially got me interested in leftist politics, and my contact with Catholicism in particular has reaffirmed my belief in, and energized my support of, anti-capitalist movements and politics. I don't know many who have had the same experience. And I feel even more like an odd duck since most of the leftists I've known have been dogmatic atheists, while most of the religious people I've known, especially Christians, have been politically very conservative. I often feel like an outsider on both ends of the spectrum.
For most of my young adult life, however, I was completely apolitical. Politics was like the Juggernaut, an entity that I couldn't move, but which had the power to move the whole of society. It was just so big and out of my control. Decisions were made by people who were groomed to make them, while I was a nobody. I didn't think I had a voice, because in the grand scheme of things, I didn't think I mattered. I wasn't rich. I wasn't college educated. I wasn't from an important family. I wasn't ruling class. I just did my best to get through the day and find something fun to do with my friends after work. My philosophy of life was very limited and pragmatic and bordering on the hedonistic, with a focus on survival and pleasure, not caring if the world around me burned.
My interest in philosophy and religion really began when I realized how unhappy I was, which was admittedly a selfish motivation to find relief from the suffering I was experiencing at the time. I wanted to be happier. I wanted to be a better person than I was. Sleepwalking through life and self-medicating just wasn't cutting it, and I decided to try something different. That journey led me to learning about things like meditation and philosophies of living a good life. Enter Buddhism and Stoicism. Buddhism plus Marcus Aurelius are what I mostly credit for my eventual political awakening, because I really did feel like I woke up to the existence of the greater world around me through them.
Buddhism helped open me up to politics primarily through my work with compassion, mindfulness, and the concept of interdependence. Developing compassion — one of the four divine abodes along with loving-kindness, sympathetic joy, and equanimity — helped me by breaking down the barrier between self and other so that I became more and more aware of, and receptive to, the suffering of others, which in turn gave rise to a growing desire to help ease that suffering. It seems like common sense, something we should all just know instinctively, and I thought I was already compassionate and whatnot. But my practice of Buddhism really showed me how disconnected from the world I truly was. Mindfulness helped me to better see my intentions and how they influence my actions and what I expect to come from them. (We lie a lot to ourselves about our motives.) That kind of constant self-reflection was also important for giving me the space to grow and open my mind to new things rather than always think and act on autopilot. And interconnectedness helped me to see the web of interconnectivity we're all a part of and how my actions affect those around me, which did a lot to counteract the hyper individualism I absorbed through American culture that I think prevents many of us from fully realizing our social nature as a species, and encourages self over others, competition over cooperation, profit over need, and the like.
This was all on an more individual and internal level, however, which is where Marcus Aurelius comes in. Aurelius was big on self-discipline and not focusing on the forces in life we have no control over. But he was also big on duty, and I was particularly inspired by his view of the duty of a citizen to be civically engaged, our duty to others within the society in which we live, a duty I had previously ignored. And I connected that to my individual Buddhist practice, which manifested as a conscious effort to do what I could to help address the suffering of others and make the world a better place through my actions. Interestingly enough, the Pali word Dhamma, often defined as the laws of nature or the way of right living, can also mean duty. I saw that I had a voice; I was simply failing to use it. That I had a duty to myself and to others I was shirking. And by using my voice collectively with others, I realized that I could be better heard and make more of a difference than if I were to simply stand alone. And all of this eventually led me to figure out where I stood politically, so that I could be more civically engaged, which quickly led me to discovering Eugene Debs and socialism and the religious/political mantra of, "From each according to their ability, to each according to need." That search also introduced me to the many Christian socialists and things like liberation theology, which I admittedly ignored at first due to the religious underpinnings of their socialist politics.
But years later, through my interest in monasticism and contemplation and my flirtation with Christian socialists, I began to explore Christianity in a less antagonistic way, which led me to discover Thomas Merton and his mixture of contemplative monasticism and social justice, the inclusiveness of Jesus' message in the gospels, and seeing in his words and actions a radical politics of compassion that ultimately challenges politics and systems of purity (which includes things like ideological purity, orthodoxy, etc.). Here, I'm particularly indebted to Marcus Borg's Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time and Paul Knitter's Without Jesus I could not be Christian, both of which had a big impact on me.
I mean, reading the gospel accounts, Jesus was a pretty radical figure. He was essentially a pre-industrial communist, preaching unconditional love, equality, and care for all, particularly the 'least among us,' the poor, the sick, and the oppressed (Mt 25:31-46), which is the spiritual heart of liberation theology and its "preferential option for the poor." He condemned greed and hypocrisy (Mt 23), standing up the religious ruling class and monied elites of his time, going so far as flipping tables and driving the latter from the temple with shouts and whips (John 2:13–16). He was a feminist-like ally, ministering to women in ways that were forbidden for men (John 4:4-42), and refusing to judge women by the harsh, patriarchal laws of his time (John 8:1-11). He associated with those whom his society feared, shunned, and looked down upon out of ignorance and prejudice, from those considered unclean to outcasts and sinners (Mark 1: 40-45, Mark 2:13-17), which many found scandalous. He lived counter to almost every expectation and social norm of his time and invited others to follow his lead. He stripped down all the religious bureaucracy and legalism of his day, teaching that God's law is fulfilled in keeping one simple precept, 'love your neighbour as yourself' (Gal 5:13-14). He chose all of his closest disciples from amongst the working class (fishermen), those looked down upon for their occupations (tax collector), women, and revolutionary zealots rather than the class of religious elites. And his mission, inherited from his heavenly father and voiced by his mother, Mary, included throwing down the rulers from their thrones, uplifting the lowly, and sending the rich away empty (Luke 1:46-55).
And in that story, I found something inspiring as well as unifying. All are one with the universal Christ, and Christ is one with all (Gal 3:28), which is radically egalitarian. Next to loving God, loving our neighbour as ourselves is the greatest commandment (Mt 22:34-40), which is radically compassionate. And the relational nature of God in the form of the trinity itself reflects the interdependent nature of humanity, the aspect of individuals as communal species-beings. Pope Francis himself once said something in an interview that I think perfectly summarizes why I'm drawn to both Christianity and communism, and why I see in Jesus a revolutionary of the people:
And that resonates with me because I believe that kind of equality and freedom requires both a political (external) and spiritual (internal) foundation, a radical material and mental shift in our understanding of, and approach to, the way society is structured because both matter and spirit are intertwined. In a similar vein, Pope Francis has also said that the gospel requires Christians to reject an economy that exploits, that:
And if that's true, then I think it most certainly require them to reject capitalism, because the god of capitalism is the profit motive, Mammon in the abstracted-flesh. As critics of capitalism such as Marx point out, capitalism thrives on the exploitation of labour and resources, and its internal logic is characterized by contradictions that sow the seeds for things like inequality, poverty, unequal social relations between capital and labour, massive capital accumulation into smaller and smaller hands, and the drive for accumulation for accumulation's sake. It conditions people to be slaves to money, and fosters the metastasizing of a consumeristic culture and a thing-oriented society rather than a people-oriented society with an overall focus on production for profit rather than human need. And my reading of the gospel concurs with that critique from a spiritual point of view, seeing in Jesus a radical and transformative figure who valued people above all.
All of that said, the negative contributions of religion shouldn't be ignored or understated. Religious ideas and institutions have been the basis for an incredible amount of intolerance, oppression, and violence. One can rightly criticize much about religion in general, especially in its institutionalized forms, from how it's turned many away from rationality and promoted bigotry, individualism, and conservatism to how it oppresses certain marginalized groups within society; and I'd agree with all of those criticisms. But much of that comes from the church (or equivalents) as an institution of privilege and power, and one can see the same effects in other institutions, even Marxist ones. (There are as many sects of Marxism as there are Christianity, and many of them are just as concerned with orthodoxy and intolerant of what they consider heretical or heterodox as any dogmatic Christian denomination.) So this isn't something limited to religion alone. A religious institution is just one of many social institutions of power that can, and often do, run on a politics of purity and utilize various divisions (class, cultural, economic, ethnic, religious, etc.) to maintain power for those at the top, which in the west has historically been wealthy, white, male elites. And the logic of any institution is first and foremost to preserve itself, regardless of the form it takes.
Ultimately, though, I see religious language and stories as symbols pointing us towards something deeper, to a moral knowledge that I feel is rather intuitive, and to a unitive and even psychologically-healing experience that pierces the illusion of our dualistic way of thinking, the illusion of separation between subject and object, between the non-spiritual and the spiritual, between matter (body) and spirit (mind). I know that many people grasp these symbols and stories too tightly, or else hold them in the wrong way, so that they turn to bite them like the proverbial snake, creating fanatics and fundamentalists; and I share the concerns of others about those kinds of people, and about those forcing others to agree with them. But that doesn't mean there isn't something of value here, that they haven't helped our progress as much as they've served to hinder it. Historically speaking, the religious and philosophical seekers of the time were often its best scientists. And science itself is just as easily capable of destroying whole cities as religion if held inappropriately.
In essence, religion is something that's not only helped me to be a better version of myself, but it's a huge part of what got me interested in politics, and leftist politics at that because I think they best reflect the material means by which a world characterized by peace, love, and equality can be realized. And I've found that a lot of my fellow religious seekers are of a like mind, particularly those drawn towards mysticism. I'd even go so far as to say that, after studying and practicing in multiple spiritual traditions, I've come to the conclusion a truly spiritual person with a mature understanding of what lies at the heart of all religious traditions will necessarily be empathetic, inclusive, and ultimately, intersectional in their politics, but more importantly in their actions regardless of what their politics are. I think this can be seen from the lives of people like Giro Seno'o, Dorothy Day, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Thomas Merton, Oscar Romero, Malcolm X, Thich Nhat Hanh, Gustavo Gutierrez, MLK Jr., Rachel Held Evans, and countless others. As Franciscan friar and author Richard Rohr puts it:
And in my case, I am naturally drawn towards realizing a loving global community, with no needy person among us, all living "from each according to their ability, to each according to need."
For most of my young adult life, however, I was completely apolitical. Politics was like the Juggernaut, an entity that I couldn't move, but which had the power to move the whole of society. It was just so big and out of my control. Decisions were made by people who were groomed to make them, while I was a nobody. I didn't think I had a voice, because in the grand scheme of things, I didn't think I mattered. I wasn't rich. I wasn't college educated. I wasn't from an important family. I wasn't ruling class. I just did my best to get through the day and find something fun to do with my friends after work. My philosophy of life was very limited and pragmatic and bordering on the hedonistic, with a focus on survival and pleasure, not caring if the world around me burned.
My interest in philosophy and religion really began when I realized how unhappy I was, which was admittedly a selfish motivation to find relief from the suffering I was experiencing at the time. I wanted to be happier. I wanted to be a better person than I was. Sleepwalking through life and self-medicating just wasn't cutting it, and I decided to try something different. That journey led me to learning about things like meditation and philosophies of living a good life. Enter Buddhism and Stoicism. Buddhism plus Marcus Aurelius are what I mostly credit for my eventual political awakening, because I really did feel like I woke up to the existence of the greater world around me through them.
Buddhism helped open me up to politics primarily through my work with compassion, mindfulness, and the concept of interdependence. Developing compassion — one of the four divine abodes along with loving-kindness, sympathetic joy, and equanimity — helped me by breaking down the barrier between self and other so that I became more and more aware of, and receptive to, the suffering of others, which in turn gave rise to a growing desire to help ease that suffering. It seems like common sense, something we should all just know instinctively, and I thought I was already compassionate and whatnot. But my practice of Buddhism really showed me how disconnected from the world I truly was. Mindfulness helped me to better see my intentions and how they influence my actions and what I expect to come from them. (We lie a lot to ourselves about our motives.) That kind of constant self-reflection was also important for giving me the space to grow and open my mind to new things rather than always think and act on autopilot. And interconnectedness helped me to see the web of interconnectivity we're all a part of and how my actions affect those around me, which did a lot to counteract the hyper individualism I absorbed through American culture that I think prevents many of us from fully realizing our social nature as a species, and encourages self over others, competition over cooperation, profit over need, and the like.
This was all on an more individual and internal level, however, which is where Marcus Aurelius comes in. Aurelius was big on self-discipline and not focusing on the forces in life we have no control over. But he was also big on duty, and I was particularly inspired by his view of the duty of a citizen to be civically engaged, our duty to others within the society in which we live, a duty I had previously ignored. And I connected that to my individual Buddhist practice, which manifested as a conscious effort to do what I could to help address the suffering of others and make the world a better place through my actions. Interestingly enough, the Pali word Dhamma, often defined as the laws of nature or the way of right living, can also mean duty. I saw that I had a voice; I was simply failing to use it. That I had a duty to myself and to others I was shirking. And by using my voice collectively with others, I realized that I could be better heard and make more of a difference than if I were to simply stand alone. And all of this eventually led me to figure out where I stood politically, so that I could be more civically engaged, which quickly led me to discovering Eugene Debs and socialism and the religious/political mantra of, "From each according to their ability, to each according to need." That search also introduced me to the many Christian socialists and things like liberation theology, which I admittedly ignored at first due to the religious underpinnings of their socialist politics.
But years later, through my interest in monasticism and contemplation and my flirtation with Christian socialists, I began to explore Christianity in a less antagonistic way, which led me to discover Thomas Merton and his mixture of contemplative monasticism and social justice, the inclusiveness of Jesus' message in the gospels, and seeing in his words and actions a radical politics of compassion that ultimately challenges politics and systems of purity (which includes things like ideological purity, orthodoxy, etc.). Here, I'm particularly indebted to Marcus Borg's Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time and Paul Knitter's Without Jesus I could not be Christian, both of which had a big impact on me.
I mean, reading the gospel accounts, Jesus was a pretty radical figure. He was essentially a pre-industrial communist, preaching unconditional love, equality, and care for all, particularly the 'least among us,' the poor, the sick, and the oppressed (Mt 25:31-46), which is the spiritual heart of liberation theology and its "preferential option for the poor." He condemned greed and hypocrisy (Mt 23), standing up the religious ruling class and monied elites of his time, going so far as flipping tables and driving the latter from the temple with shouts and whips (John 2:13–16). He was a feminist-like ally, ministering to women in ways that were forbidden for men (John 4:4-42), and refusing to judge women by the harsh, patriarchal laws of his time (John 8:1-11). He associated with those whom his society feared, shunned, and looked down upon out of ignorance and prejudice, from those considered unclean to outcasts and sinners (Mark 1: 40-45, Mark 2:13-17), which many found scandalous. He lived counter to almost every expectation and social norm of his time and invited others to follow his lead. He stripped down all the religious bureaucracy and legalism of his day, teaching that God's law is fulfilled in keeping one simple precept, 'love your neighbour as yourself' (Gal 5:13-14). He chose all of his closest disciples from amongst the working class (fishermen), those looked down upon for their occupations (tax collector), women, and revolutionary zealots rather than the class of religious elites. And his mission, inherited from his heavenly father and voiced by his mother, Mary, included throwing down the rulers from their thrones, uplifting the lowly, and sending the rich away empty (Luke 1:46-55).
And in that story, I found something inspiring as well as unifying. All are one with the universal Christ, and Christ is one with all (Gal 3:28), which is radically egalitarian. Next to loving God, loving our neighbour as ourselves is the greatest commandment (Mt 22:34-40), which is radically compassionate. And the relational nature of God in the form of the trinity itself reflects the interdependent nature of humanity, the aspect of individuals as communal species-beings. Pope Francis himself once said something in an interview that I think perfectly summarizes why I'm drawn to both Christianity and communism, and why I see in Jesus a revolutionary of the people:
It has been said many times and my response has always been that, if anything, it is the communists who think like Christians. Christ spoke of a society where the poor, the weak and the marginalized have the right to decide. Not demagogues, not Barabbas, but the people, the poor, whether they have faith in a transcendent God or not. It is they who must help to achieve equality and freedom.
And that resonates with me because I believe that kind of equality and freedom requires both a political (external) and spiritual (internal) foundation, a radical material and mental shift in our understanding of, and approach to, the way society is structured because both matter and spirit are intertwined. In a similar vein, Pope Francis has also said that the gospel requires Christians to reject an economy that exploits, that:
"The worship of the ancient golden calf has returned in a new and ruthless guise in the idolatry of money and the dictatorship of an impersonal economy lacking a truly human purpose. The worldwide crisis affecting finance and the economy lays bare their imbalances and, above all, their lack of real concern for human beings."
And if that's true, then I think it most certainly require them to reject capitalism, because the god of capitalism is the profit motive, Mammon in the abstracted-flesh. As critics of capitalism such as Marx point out, capitalism thrives on the exploitation of labour and resources, and its internal logic is characterized by contradictions that sow the seeds for things like inequality, poverty, unequal social relations between capital and labour, massive capital accumulation into smaller and smaller hands, and the drive for accumulation for accumulation's sake. It conditions people to be slaves to money, and fosters the metastasizing of a consumeristic culture and a thing-oriented society rather than a people-oriented society with an overall focus on production for profit rather than human need. And my reading of the gospel concurs with that critique from a spiritual point of view, seeing in Jesus a radical and transformative figure who valued people above all.
All of that said, the negative contributions of religion shouldn't be ignored or understated. Religious ideas and institutions have been the basis for an incredible amount of intolerance, oppression, and violence. One can rightly criticize much about religion in general, especially in its institutionalized forms, from how it's turned many away from rationality and promoted bigotry, individualism, and conservatism to how it oppresses certain marginalized groups within society; and I'd agree with all of those criticisms. But much of that comes from the church (or equivalents) as an institution of privilege and power, and one can see the same effects in other institutions, even Marxist ones. (There are as many sects of Marxism as there are Christianity, and many of them are just as concerned with orthodoxy and intolerant of what they consider heretical or heterodox as any dogmatic Christian denomination.) So this isn't something limited to religion alone. A religious institution is just one of many social institutions of power that can, and often do, run on a politics of purity and utilize various divisions (class, cultural, economic, ethnic, religious, etc.) to maintain power for those at the top, which in the west has historically been wealthy, white, male elites. And the logic of any institution is first and foremost to preserve itself, regardless of the form it takes.
Ultimately, though, I see religious language and stories as symbols pointing us towards something deeper, to a moral knowledge that I feel is rather intuitive, and to a unitive and even psychologically-healing experience that pierces the illusion of our dualistic way of thinking, the illusion of separation between subject and object, between the non-spiritual and the spiritual, between matter (body) and spirit (mind). I know that many people grasp these symbols and stories too tightly, or else hold them in the wrong way, so that they turn to bite them like the proverbial snake, creating fanatics and fundamentalists; and I share the concerns of others about those kinds of people, and about those forcing others to agree with them. But that doesn't mean there isn't something of value here, that they haven't helped our progress as much as they've served to hinder it. Historically speaking, the religious and philosophical seekers of the time were often its best scientists. And science itself is just as easily capable of destroying whole cities as religion if held inappropriately.
In essence, religion is something that's not only helped me to be a better version of myself, but it's a huge part of what got me interested in politics, and leftist politics at that because I think they best reflect the material means by which a world characterized by peace, love, and equality can be realized. And I've found that a lot of my fellow religious seekers are of a like mind, particularly those drawn towards mysticism. I'd even go so far as to say that, after studying and practicing in multiple spiritual traditions, I've come to the conclusion a truly spiritual person with a mature understanding of what lies at the heart of all religious traditions will necessarily be empathetic, inclusive, and ultimately, intersectional in their politics, but more importantly in their actions regardless of what their politics are. I think this can be seen from the lives of people like Giro Seno'o, Dorothy Day, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Thomas Merton, Oscar Romero, Malcolm X, Thich Nhat Hanh, Gustavo Gutierrez, MLK Jr., Rachel Held Evans, and countless others. As Franciscan friar and author Richard Rohr puts it:
"If we are going to have truly prophetic people who go beyond the categories of liberal and conservative, we have to teach them some way to integrate their needed activism with a truly contemplative mind and heart. I’m convinced that once you learn how to look out at life from the contemplative eyes of the True Self, your politics and economics are going to change on their own. I don’t need to teach you what your politics should or shouldn’t be. Once you see things contemplatively, you’ll begin to seek the bias from the bottom instead of the top, you’ll be free to embrace your shadow, and you can live at peace with those who are different. From a contemplative stance, you’ll know what action is yours to do—and what is not yours to do—almost naturally."
And in my case, I am naturally drawn towards realizing a loving global community, with no needy person among us, all living "from each according to their ability, to each according to need."
Monday, January 7, 2019
tea
Last night, I drank some of the tea my mom had gotten me the last Christmas she was alive, pretty much the last time I saw her and really talked to her before she died. She got me a lot of cool stuff that year, among which were a couple of boxes of Oregon chai. I was really into tea that year, especially chai. I'd dipped into the boxes here and there in the following months, steeping the bags in hot water and milk and adding some honey, my favourite winter beverage. But after she was gone, I couldn't bear to drink anymore of it. It reminded me too much of her, and I wasn't ready to let go of these physical representations of her love and thoughtfulness. The wound was too fresh, too painful to even acknowledge.
The bags themselves expired in 2016, yet I still kept them, tucked away in the back of the cupboard. And last night, for some reason, I finally pulled them out and made a cup to drink on the way to run some errands. Even now, over three years later, it's still hard for me to part with them. It's like I hold onto them because it's a way to hold onto her. But they were a gift meant to me enjoyed, and I was finally able to bring myself to part with at least one bag. I made it just the way I used to, and each sip I took reminded me of her life and love and thoughtfulness, and to enjoy the fleeting moments of love and kindness we so often overlook, the moments that give life meaning.
The bags themselves expired in 2016, yet I still kept them, tucked away in the back of the cupboard. And last night, for some reason, I finally pulled them out and made a cup to drink on the way to run some errands. Even now, over three years later, it's still hard for me to part with them. It's like I hold onto them because it's a way to hold onto her. But they were a gift meant to me enjoyed, and I was finally able to bring myself to part with at least one bag. I made it just the way I used to, and each sip I took reminded me of her life and love and thoughtfulness, and to enjoy the fleeting moments of love and kindness we so often overlook, the moments that give life meaning.
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