8/26/14

Finally had time to finish The Seven Storey Mountain. On the whole, I enjoyed the book. I see a lot of similarities between myself and the early Merton: the struggles with lust and pride and anger; the inner conflict between living a worldly life and the call to a contemplative one; the confusion and indecision; the convergence of seemingly random coincidences and happenstances leading one in an unforeseen direction, and the suffering of rebelling against one's very nature; etc. It was easy for me to see my own spiritual journey in his, as I think is the case for many who read it. And as I was finishing the book, one paragraph in particular, on 'active' vs. 'contemplative' orders, stood out to me:

This means, in practice, that there is only one vocation. Whether you teach or live in the cloister or nurse the sick, whether you are in religion or out of it, married or single, no matter who you are or what you are, you are called to the summit of perfection: you are called to a deep interior life perhaps even to mystical prayer, and to pass the fruits of your contemplation on to others. And if you cannot do so by words, then by example.

I think in some shape or form, we all feel this call, and much of our existential suffering is caused by either fighting against it or else being unable to answer it. One of the reasons I think monastic life appeals to me, for example, is that I have trouble answering that call living in the world. Some people have worldly vocations that, for them, satisfies this, not only enriching their own life but the lives of the people around them. But some, like myself, never seem to find that place in the world, being pulled between renouncing the call to contemplation in order to satisfy our material and social responsibilities and renouncing worldly life in order to head the call to this interior life.

Ideally, I want to find a balance between the two. But at the same time, I find so much in the world alluring and distracting that I rarely seem able to pull myself away and dwell in a spirit of contemplative solitude. I suppose it's a form of moral weakness on my part, which is why the external trappings of monasticism appeal to me—they impose upon one externally the discipline one may not be able to impose upon themselves internally. For me, monastic habits/robes are like a symbolic shield against worldly vices and distractions, reminding one of their contemplative vocation and acting a kind of psychological talisman against the temptations we're all but powerless against.

In some ways, I think that I idealize monastic life; and in reading Thomas Merton's spiritual autobiography, I'm again reminded that even though the monastic life provides a certain kind of spiritual freedom and protection on the external level, we take all of our flaws and weaknesses with us behind those 'four walls of freedom' as well as our strengths. Eventually they'll catch up to us, and that's where the real challenge lies. In that external solitude, which in turn helps to cultivate internal solitude, we're confronted with ourselves, good, bad, and everything in between. Monastic life is an aid to an ongoing internal transformation and life of contemplation, not an end in and of itself.

One of the things this book has done for me is to inspire me to learn more about Christian monasticism, and the Trappists in particular. It's not something I ever explored even though I've always been fascinated by films and books focusing on monastic life or the various orders of monks and nuns. Much like Merton, who'd come into repeated contact with these things for years before actually investigating them, I simply appreciated them from afar, in a more or less abstract way. But now, I want to learn more. I want to see and read and experience what they have to offer. I want to make a similar journey and follow the call 'to the summit of perfection' and a deep interior life of contemplation.

8/25/14 (renunciation)

Both Jesus and the Buddha encouraged their followers to renounce the world. This doesn't mean, of course, that one must literally run away from the world and go hide in a cave. It's primarily a kind of attitude, a shift in the focus of one's life. To renounce the world is to play by a different set of rules, to go against the current of selfishness and craving, and live a life that others may not understand.

To live in the world is to be fully immersed in sensuality, to live for the sake of experiences and pleasure and according to the whims of worldly opinions. To live in the world is to be moved by the eight worldly winds of gain and loss, status and disgrace, censure and praise, pleasure and pain, to be swept away by the passions of the world. To live in the world is to seek happiness and satisfaction in the conditioned, that which is impermanent, subject to change and dissolution.

The Buddha said that life is uncertain, that death may come at any moment, so we should practice heedfulness, "the path to the Deathless," and freedom from the yokes of sensuality, becoming, views, and ignorance. In the Bible, too, one can find this kind of exhortation to live a life against the current of worldly passions and concerns for the sake of a greater happiness, to live heedfully and with wisdom:

What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is not the source your pleasures that wage war in your members? You lust and do not have; so you commit murder. You are envious and cannot obtain; so you fight and quarrel. You do not have because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, so that you may spend it on your pleasures. You adulteresses, do you not know that friendship with the world is hostility toward God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. Or do you think that the Scripture speaks to no purpose: "He jealously desires the Spirit which He has made to dwell in us"? But He gives a greater grace. Therefore it says, "God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble." Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Be miserable and mourn and weep; let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves in the presence of the Lord, and He will exalt you.

Do not speak against one another, brethren. He who speaks against a brother or judges his brother, speaks against the law and judges the law; but if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge of it. There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the One who is able to save and to destroy; but who are you who judge your neighbor?

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit." Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that." But as it is, you boast in your arrogance; all such boasting is evil. Therefore, to one who knows the right thing to do and does not do it, to him it is sin. (James 4)

It's the craving for sensual desires that give rise to greed, hatred, and delusion, leading to quarrels and conflict. To live by the whims of these passions, one 'makes a friend of the world' and turns away from the noble life, from truth and peace and the deathless. Our actions and intentions must be cleansed, purified. We must give up some of the short-term happiness and pleasure we experience from following our passions because they lead to long-term harm and suffering; and we must do what might initially be difficult for us to do because it'll ultimately lead to our long-term welfare and happiness. We must be honest and practice right speech. And above all, we must not be heedless.

Although many have escaped into the forests, mountains, caves, and other remote places of the earth to help them renounce the world, which can be helpful, 'the world' itself goes with them. One can't escape the world simply by fleeing from civilization. Renunciation, then, is ultimately an internal turning away from our craving and desire once we begin to discern the drawback of sensual pleasures and the limitations of feeding our hunger for pleasant feelings and experiences.

Unfortunately, renunciation is often perceived as a negative word, especially in the West—a word that implies depriving oneself of something essential to living a full and happy life. But in the Buddha's dispensation, as well as in the teachings of Christianity, renunciation actually means the opposite of this—it's a word implying the relinquishment of something unessential to living a full and happy life.

One of the main reasons I find monasticism so appealing, I think, is that it's a way of life specially designed to help foster this kind of internal renunciation on the external level. Monastic life is like a spiritual training ground for those who either have trouble cultivating this spirit of renunciation while living a worldly life (like me) or who simply desire to devote themselves fully to a life of renunciation.

8/24/14 (10/7/12)

An old blog post I dug up from October of 2012 that I happened to be thinking about today.

It seems like I’ve spent the majority of this weekend at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral, where the 61st annual Portland Greek Festival is being held, which, if you know me, is kind of funny considering how much I used to shun churches in my younger days. But whereas I used to scoff at organized religious institutions, particularly Christian ones, I've since found myself increasingly drawn towards spiritual people and places of all kinds, often getting a feeling of expansive peace and interconnectedness whenever I come into contact with deeply spiritual people and teachings of all faiths.

Eastern Orthodox churches seem to especially draw me in, not only because of their beautiful iconography, but because of some of the symbolism underlying them as well. Some of them (like the one depicting Jesus' descent into Hades, for example) are quite philosophically complex, and I find them intriguing to contemplate, not unlike Christian koans in a way. The concept of theosis is also appealing to me, i.e., the idea of trying to emulate the life of Jesus, and genuinely putting into practice his teachings on forgiveness, generosity, renunciation, and unconditional love in order to become more god-like, to become one with the best aspects of our humanity and share a deep sense of communion with one another.

Of course, there are certainly many Christian ideas and theological aspects that I don't like and will probably never agree with; but I respect Christianity and the Christian community for what it is or potentially could be to people. It's a guiding light in times of darkness, and a source of comfort and a place of refuge in difficult ones. It's a journey towards wholeness for those who feel incomplete. It's a celebration of life and happiness in a world filled with sadness and death. It's a philosophy, a riddle, a vehicle for gnosis. And deep down, it can be characterized by one simple commandment, which Jesus gave to his Apostles at the Last Supper: love one another.

It's hard not to appreciate this commandment and the spirit it was given, or the people who sincerely endeavour to follow it. It speaks to the salvific power of love, and reflects the idea that there's something special, something divine, in our interactions with other people—an idea that's mirrored in bible passages such as, "Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love" (John 4:8) and echoed by Church Fathers like Augustine of Hippo: "Once for all, then, a short precept is given you: Love, and do what you will: whether you hold your peace, through love hold your peace; whether you cry out, through love cry out; whether you correct, through love correct; whether you spare, through love do you spare: let the root of love be within, of this root can nothing spring but what is good."

8/24/14

I decided to attend mass at St. Philip Neri today. I liked it a lot more than St. Michael, but not as much as St. George, which is an Antioch Orthodox church. The homily was thought-provoking, though. The main theme was about the importance of asking questions to make one's faith a living one, especially Jesus' question to Peter, "Who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16:15).

Much like the Buddha for Buddhists and others, Jesus is many things to many different people. I was confronted with the question myself, unsure of my answer. I know what Peter's response was, but what's mine? It's hard for me to say at this point. I don't know if I can go as far as Peter, that he's the Messiah, the son of God; but I liked what Fr. Brunick said about Jesus being an example of how to live: God, incarnated on earth, acting as a divine inspiration, living in the spirit of charity, love, and forgiveness, and encouraging his disciples to do likewise. I, for one, could use all the positive reinforcement I can in that area.

One of the things that originally attracted me to Buddhism was the way the Buddha taught all who came to him, and how the example of his enlightened activity was motivating, inspirational, and at once practical and transcendent. I see the same in Jesus; and more than anything, I want to one day radiate as much peace, joy, and goodness as each of them. I want to know and understand the intimate truth that the saints and arahants have.

8/23/14

Looking back at my superficial understanding and criticisms of other religious traditions, I realize how immature they were. I suppose I've finally reached a point where I think it's far more advantageous to focus on the similarities between religious traditions than their differences, and where I'm more receptive to those commonalities.

In trying to express this shift in my point of view to others, however, I'm running into the same kind of superficial criticisms I myself used to make about Christianity and can now see how they, and the views underlying them, are a lot like Maslow's hammer, pounding away at the whole of Christian thought and practice because, from their point of view, everything looks like a nail. Certainly they're valid when it comes to the type of 'folk Christianity' that's so prevalent among many; but Christianity itself has a solid and rich spiritual core that I'm learning to recognize and appreciate, and I think it's a shame so few are aware of it.

I'm starting to think that religious triumphalism is more a sign of spiritual immaturity and/or intellectual arrogance than anything else, and feel somewhat embarrassed about my own sectarian and triumphal attitudes.

8/22/14

Sat in on the Friday Portland Friends of the Dhamma group today. The format has changed somewhat now that Matthew is leading the group. The meditation period is about 10-15min shorter, and the focus is on investigating certain weekly themes. Tonight's theme was contentment, and Matthew offered this passage for reflection: "For one who is not content, unwholesome, unskillful qualities arise and wholesome, skillful qualities decline. For one who is content, wholesome, skillful qualities arise and unwholesome, unskillful qualities decline."

For me, contentment is something I have trouble cultivating. I'm more often than not quite discontent with things and wish them to be otherwise. My inner critic is quite loud and vocal, and I can see the truth of the Buddha's words. Lately, I've been less than content at work, and I notice that I find myself more irritable, judgmental, and liable to lash out with unskillful actions of body, speech, and mind because of it. A grumble here. A mean thought there. A sour disposition the majority of each day, and sometimes being short with both coworkers and customers.

One of the things that's helped, when I've been able to at least, is to be more aware of the amount of energy I put into those negative mental states and remind myself that it's not worth putting the energy towards thinking mean things and feeding my discontent. Doing so helps me counteract some of those unskillful qualities and even cultivate more skillful ones. I'm not always successful, though, and I wish I had more patience. My short temper and lack of patience are two of my biggest character flaws.

8/20/14

I sat in on the B- Catholics group tonight, and it wasn't an unpleasant experience.

The group, consisting of several people including myself, was rather informal, and the conversation ran in all kinds of directions, everyone jumping in whenever they had something to say. The general topic of the evening was tolerance, which was inspired by the recent events in Ferguson and the shooting-death of Michael Brown. Fr. Michael, who usually leads the group, wasn't there today, so a lady originally from Cleveland, Kathleen, headed it.

One of the things Kathleen offered at the beginning was a handout about meditation from Fr. Edward Hays. Then the discussion turned towards prayer and what forms of prayer people found inspiring. Next the discussion meandered into people's retreat experiences. And towards the end, the conversation centred on police abuses, race relations, and prejudices.

In general, they seemed to agree that the police are often in the wrong in these kinds of situations, and that people have a reason to be afraid of them (especially if they're black), some with firsthand experience of friends being killed. But their views about rioting and how people should react to systemic oppression was a bit naive and simplistic, in my opinion. They lacked the true scope of economic, social, and political forms of oppression that people of colour have had to experience for generations, and that are still present within society today, just less out in the open.

At the end, everyone stood in a circle, held hands, and said the "Our Father" while praying for those in their thoughts. It was a bit awkward, but also nice. Before I left, I said hi to Dorothy, and told Kathleen, who was worried I thought poorly of the group, that I enjoyed it and would come back again. I think I may have possibly found a parish to visit regularly. Will definitely have to attend mass soon to get a better feel for it, but I think this could be the right place for me.

It might just be the fact that I'm reading Thomas Merton's biography, but I half wonder if my strong desire to go to Oregon when I was younger, and my strong attraction to monasticism, is part of my fate or 'God's plan' for me. There are a lot of seemingly random coincidences and happenstances coalescing around my being here, especially my discovery of Our Lady of Guadalupe and my growing interest in the contemplative tradition of the Trappists, and it's hard to ignore them.

God, am I really thinking about becoming Catholic? At the very least, I find myself comparing aspects of Christianity and Buddhism and finding them less antagonistic and incompatible than I once did, expanding my understanding of the former, particularly the more contemplative and mystical aspects relating to Christian spiritual life.

In The Seven Storey Mountain, for example, Merton writes about seeing his father in the hospital near the end of his life and the suffering he experienced, a suffering characteristic of people "without faith in the presence of war, disease, pain, starvation, suffering, plague, bombardment, and death” (91), which immediately reminded of the first noble truth: "Birth is suffering, aging is suffering, sickness is suffering, death is suffering, sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering; association with the loathed is suffering, dissociation from the loved is suffering, not to get what one wants is suffering — in short, suffering is the five categories of clinging objects" (SN 56.11).

Later on, when describing his month-long attempt to devote himself to St. Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises, he recollects St. Ignatius' notion of 'indifference' to "all created things in themselves": "Wherefore it is necessary that we make ourselves indifferent to all created things, in so far as it is permitted to our free will ... in such a way that, as far as we are concerned, we should not desire health rather than sickness, riches rather than poverty, honor rather than ignominy, a long life rather than a short life, and so on, desiring and choosing only these things which more efficaciously lead us to the end for which we were created" (294). Which is strikingly similar to the Buddha's teachings on the middle way between sensual indulgence and self-mortification and dispassion towards the conditioned.

Even one of the more controversial teachings of the Buddha, that of anatta or not-self, has its parallels in Christianity. Merton speaks of the inescapable anguish arising from of the "shame at the inescapable stigma of our sins" as long as there's any self-love left in us, that, "Only when all pride, all self-love has been consumed in our souls by the love of God, are we delivered from the things which is the subject of those torments" (323). And in the book In the Spirit of Happiness by the monks of New Skete, while discussing the real meaning of asceticism and some of the more 'negative' sounding passages in the New Testament like Mark 8:34-35 and John 12:24-25, they mention that:

"Dying to self" is spiritual shorthand for rooting out all manner of exaggerated self-interest, characteristics of ourselves that constrict us in narcissism and blind self-centeredness. This is the self within us that, while all too real, is what nonetheless must die, the "false self," which must give way to the new life we are called to attain. The false self embodies the very characteristics we loathe in our better moments. Were we to look at ourselves honestly, we would see how petty, thoughtless, and loveless we can be at any given moment. We might have an occasional, fleeting insight that we will never attain any real happiness unless we come to terms with what really counts in life. One doesn't have to search far to find pathetic examples of individuals who struck it rich by the standards of "the world," yet whose personal lives were utterly miserable. (86)

Both of which I think are apt descriptions of the proper use of the teachings on not-self, albeit in Christian terminology—an approach that's quite similar to the way Thanissaro Bhikkhu approaches the teachings on not-self in his short book Selves & Not-selves.

I'd say that what 'dies' during awakening in the Buddhist context is a self built on, or influenced by, ignorance and the defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion; and what's left is a mind that's liberated, unbound, freed from grasping and self-centredness, and expressive of love, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity. Nibbana, then, isn't a kind of annihilation or state of nothingness as I think many mistakenly believe it to be based upon the numerous 'negative' references as to what it's not; it's the experience of the fullness of life free from the suffering that arise from clinging

Where God fits into this, I can't say for certain; but it's interesting that nibbana, the final goal of the path to liberation, which is ineffable and beyond concepts and language, is described in terms such as the deathless, the unborn, the unbecome, the unmade, the unfabricated. And the Dhamma that the Buddha teaches should be our island, our refuge, and which his teachings point towards, is none other than the laws of nature, the reality of things as they truly are, truth. If that's not an apt definition of God, I don't know what is. Submitting to God, then, is akin to aligning oneself with the Dhamma that the Buddha taught, submitting oneself to mindfulness, wisdom, and a spirit of harmlessness.

I suppose that in Christianity, I see these ideas presented from a more revelatory point of view, arising out of a peculiar Semitic (and later, Greco-Roman) culture, replete with its own religious traditions and worldviews in which they're framed. And in Buddhism, I see these ideas presented from a more philosophical and/or empirical point of view, arising out a peculiar Indic culture, replete with its own religious traditions and worldview in which they're framed. But I think both fingers are pointing towards the same proverbial moon.