For My Class Blog

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.

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 just saw some Google ads for spiritual healing. "Learn the secret to unlocking the mind's natural healing power!"

I had turned to Buddhism because it seemed like my last hope, the last place I could trust to "cure me," to take the agony of life away. It seemed like the only trustworthy one, and I wondered if, perhaps, the secret was hidden there.

It's such a compelling thought, really. "What if someone has it? What if someone found the secret to happiness, to freedom? Where is he or she? Can they teach me?" But the thought is before all that... It's something deeper, more primal. Just the thought that out there somewhere is deliverance, is freedom. It's so powerful, so energizing; you could follow it to the edge of the world, if it stayed fresh.

Buddhism can't "cure me." It has made my life far better, doubtlessly, and perhaps by following the prescriptions, I will find relief. But what a bizarre path it is...

It'd be weird to be Virginia Poe, and have the salient historical fact of your life be your sickness and death.

One night, we went to a place near Pennypack. It was winter, I think, but the weather wasn't bad. We found a hunter's platform, a ditch with deer corpses, a crumbling stone building with farm equipment. It felt so dead. Was there dead winter overgrowth? I can't remember... I feel like there was.

In my mind's eye, it seems so far away. So false: who went there? Was that me?

I feel as though I can't speak. Yet there's something that wants to be spoken. I feel a strong urge to be around another person this evening, but it is late, and there's nothing I could say to anyone. I just want to be near someone.

One day, I got angry at my mom over something. Perhaps she spoke shortly to me or something. It was in the afternoon... Oh, God, I felt so ashamed, so angry, I swore I'd never come back. I walked for a few hours. I felt ashamed for leaving, and I felt ashamed for worrying my mother, too.

And as I look back now, I feel so deeply sorry for my family. I was in so much pain, how could they know what to do with me? I was so full of hatred, so full of the agony of emotion, what could they possibly do for me? How could they not be somewhat afraid of me, even though they wished I didn't have to feel that way... My poor mother, how could she tolerate seeing both her husband and her son reeling like that? What did I do to our home?

Four little creatures, intersecting in a house. All know a lot about each other, yet remain so confused.

I'm so sorry. They would say it's not my fault, but still, I caused them pain, and I wish I didn't.

My father told me on Saturday that he felt so ashamed, so sorry, because he felt responsible for the agony I felt. He said that before he had kids, he prayed to God that he would not pass on the pain he experienced.

What a thing to wish. What a thing to have to wish... What a mysterious world this is...

What puzzling years these have been. So confusing. So... so strange. Tears come to my eyes when I think of the last few years. Gosh... The pain has been less acute in the last four years or so (four years already?), but the weight I carry... The struggle has still been endless.

Am I ready for a shift? In the last few months, the reality of a different life has only just dawned upon me. I know that it is not something I, myself, can generate. It will come when I am ready. But perhaps it may be soon.

I leave in a few days for Texas. I'll be doing a meditation retreat. I am curious to see what comes up.

Is love an activity of the mind, or is love when I feel those golden drops melting my chest? Is joy a freedom that is independent, or is it the heavy storm clouds under my scalp turning to a refreshing mist?

Mike H., Dan A., Jesse A. and I went to Roychester and threw around a baseball, and hit the ball with a bat. Heavy storm clouds gathered all around, and lightning was in so many clouds. Sometimes it was a bolt, sometimes it was an ambiguous sparkle, sometimes it was a red that lit the whole field.

Thank you for listening, I just needed to write.