I take wisdom and inspiration from wherever I find it. I'm a Catholic Buddhist whose current spiritual home is an ELCA Lutheran church with a pastor who's just as comfortable using her love of DnD in her reflections as she is her passion for social justice and equality.
Today was the first in-person service they've had since the pandemic began, and it was nice to be back. Everyone who came was masked and socially distanced, and the theme perfectly fit the moment, both lamenting the suffering and hardships we've had to endure and celebrating the sense of hope and community that has helped keep us going.
One of the aspects of Christianity I find the most meaningful is the communalism underlying it. It's all about being united as one and caring for one another. And despite being an introverted person who enjoys being alone, we're still a social species and there's something powerful about the bonds we share. It just felt really good to be there today.
Sunday, August 15, 2021
Saturday, March 20, 2021
3/20/21
A rambling rebuttal of Martin Hagglund's intro to This Life.
To start, I don't think that the dichotomy Hagglund makes between the finite and the infinite is necessarily as solid as he affirms. God or Nature or the Infinite can be seen as a ground of being out of which a finite world arises and in which both existence and experience are possible (think of the Kabalistic conception of tsimtsum). In addition, that existence and experience is arguably all about relationships (this idea is embedded within the theology of social trinitarianism), and as such, our fragile life together in this place where the infinite is paradoxically transcendent and immanent is the stage on which these relationships are acted out and performed. The connection often made between art and the divine is made, I think, in relation to this creative activity, of striving to create and to connect with others or something greater. And it can be further argued that our ultimate purpose is fulfilled in and by these relationships.
Take Christianity, for instance. This idea of fulfillment through relationships is made explicitly in places like the New Testament, where Jesus compares what we do to one another to what we do to God, connecting not only the finite (secular) and infinite (religious) together, but making what we do within the context of our finite, shared lives together the centerpiece of religious life. To dismiss this is to dismiss the true heart of many, if not most, religions. In Christianity, once again, we have lines such as: "Love your neighbor as yourself." "Do to others whatever you would have them do to you." "What you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me." Etc.
In essence, instead of seeing the secular and religious, or finite and infinite, as two separate, antagonistic, and ultimately incapable categories, they should be seen as complementary, as two sides of the same coin. Buddhists might say things like samsara and nirvana are the same. Christians might say things like all are one under Christ. It's a nondual POV in which we find a synthesis between these two seemingly contradictory ideas or realities.
Another criticism Hagglund has with eternity or the infinite is the lack of motivation one would have once it was realized or immanent. But in a sense, the quest for eternity is never-ending, always unfolding, giving us an endless motivation, much like with the idea of progress. We are always striving towards this idealistic goal that may never be fully realized by us finite beings, nevertheless we strive on. And this motivation translates to the finite world precisely because that is the world in which we live and breathe and are stewards of. Because of the intimate connection between the finite (secular) and the infinite (religious), to disrespect the finite world and harm it or anything in it is to disrespect the divine and harm our connection to it. If God is love, and God is immanent in the world, then our love must extend to that world and each reflection of God contained therein, finite or otherwise. If the earth and all life on it is sacred, then even religious life (as opposed to secular life) can care about and be committed to the flourishing of finite life as we conventionally experience it as an end in itself. I'd even go so far as to say that, to live a truly religious life, you must learn to truly love others regardless of their finitude or eternal nature (assuming that's even a thing). Not out of fear or obedience or for some reward, but as an end in itself. "Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love." That is where I think both secular faith and religious faith meet. An immature understanding of religious faith is individualistic, transactional, and/or focused mainly on the infinite. A mature understanding of the religious, on the other hand, is communal, relational, and focused on interconnectedness.
Hagglund states that freedom requires finitude, and eternity equals unfreedom. But I think that's a false dichotomy in many ways. For one, as human beings, in terms of our bodies and personalities, we are finite, conditioned beings, and it's our surroundings and our own actions that condition and shape us. And I think religious faith is ultimately the same as Hagglund's secular faith in that the primary question of religious faith is the freedom and ability to ask what ought to be done with our time. The difference to me is that religious faith specifically asks a more pointed question, in my opinion, best articulated by the Buddha as exemplifying the beginnings of wisdom: What when I do it will be for my long-term welfare and happiness? In addition, eternity is better understood as lying outside of time. And while we are subject to time in these finite forms we call minds and bodies, regardless of whatever our innate nature may be, it is certainly not unintelligible to ask either question, particularly the latter. In fact, it is eminently intelligible to ask what will lead to long-term welfare and happiness and seek to do those things as religiously (i.e., consistently) as possible. Moreover, there's no guarantee of reaching the other shore of nirvana or union with God from our POV, only the possibility of achievement or realization of this independently existing reality or dimension, assuming such an experience itself is possible.
In the end, I look at this secular vs. religious dispute dialectically. The religious or philosophical 'musts' that Hagglund rails against are for the spiritually immature (children/synthesis), the 'oughts' that he champions are for the spiritually mature (adults/antithesis), and the experience of nondual consciousness is the domain of the awakened (wise elder/synthesis). And freedom also has its levels or dialectical relationships. The freedom of the undisciplined person, of a conditioned agent that lacks an ethical framework, is an immature kind of freedom. The freedom of a disciplined person, of a conditioned agent informed by an ethical framework, is a more mature kind of freedom. And the unconditioned transcends even the very idea of freedom or agency or time and space itself.
From the religious POV, it's not so much that eternity is absent; it's more so that our vision of it is obscured and we strive to no longer have to strive to glimpse it. And a large part of that striving is precisely what Hagglund argues we should do: use our freedom to ask what we ought to do, acknowledge our interconnectedness with those around us and embrace our shared vulnerability, and to act with love. Ultimately, however, either approach can be used skillfully or unskillfully. A secular approach can lead to nihilism and indifference as easily as a sense of responsibility. And a religious approach can lead to worldly indifference as easily as it can that same sense of responsibility born out of love.
To start, I don't think that the dichotomy Hagglund makes between the finite and the infinite is necessarily as solid as he affirms. God or Nature or the Infinite can be seen as a ground of being out of which a finite world arises and in which both existence and experience are possible (think of the Kabalistic conception of tsimtsum). In addition, that existence and experience is arguably all about relationships (this idea is embedded within the theology of social trinitarianism), and as such, our fragile life together in this place where the infinite is paradoxically transcendent and immanent is the stage on which these relationships are acted out and performed. The connection often made between art and the divine is made, I think, in relation to this creative activity, of striving to create and to connect with others or something greater. And it can be further argued that our ultimate purpose is fulfilled in and by these relationships.
Take Christianity, for instance. This idea of fulfillment through relationships is made explicitly in places like the New Testament, where Jesus compares what we do to one another to what we do to God, connecting not only the finite (secular) and infinite (religious) together, but making what we do within the context of our finite, shared lives together the centerpiece of religious life. To dismiss this is to dismiss the true heart of many, if not most, religions. In Christianity, once again, we have lines such as: "Love your neighbor as yourself." "Do to others whatever you would have them do to you." "What you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me." Etc.
In essence, instead of seeing the secular and religious, or finite and infinite, as two separate, antagonistic, and ultimately incapable categories, they should be seen as complementary, as two sides of the same coin. Buddhists might say things like samsara and nirvana are the same. Christians might say things like all are one under Christ. It's a nondual POV in which we find a synthesis between these two seemingly contradictory ideas or realities.
Another criticism Hagglund has with eternity or the infinite is the lack of motivation one would have once it was realized or immanent. But in a sense, the quest for eternity is never-ending, always unfolding, giving us an endless motivation, much like with the idea of progress. We are always striving towards this idealistic goal that may never be fully realized by us finite beings, nevertheless we strive on. And this motivation translates to the finite world precisely because that is the world in which we live and breathe and are stewards of. Because of the intimate connection between the finite (secular) and the infinite (religious), to disrespect the finite world and harm it or anything in it is to disrespect the divine and harm our connection to it. If God is love, and God is immanent in the world, then our love must extend to that world and each reflection of God contained therein, finite or otherwise. If the earth and all life on it is sacred, then even religious life (as opposed to secular life) can care about and be committed to the flourishing of finite life as we conventionally experience it as an end in itself. I'd even go so far as to say that, to live a truly religious life, you must learn to truly love others regardless of their finitude or eternal nature (assuming that's even a thing). Not out of fear or obedience or for some reward, but as an end in itself. "Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love." That is where I think both secular faith and religious faith meet. An immature understanding of religious faith is individualistic, transactional, and/or focused mainly on the infinite. A mature understanding of the religious, on the other hand, is communal, relational, and focused on interconnectedness.
Hagglund states that freedom requires finitude, and eternity equals unfreedom. But I think that's a false dichotomy in many ways. For one, as human beings, in terms of our bodies and personalities, we are finite, conditioned beings, and it's our surroundings and our own actions that condition and shape us. And I think religious faith is ultimately the same as Hagglund's secular faith in that the primary question of religious faith is the freedom and ability to ask what ought to be done with our time. The difference to me is that religious faith specifically asks a more pointed question, in my opinion, best articulated by the Buddha as exemplifying the beginnings of wisdom: What when I do it will be for my long-term welfare and happiness? In addition, eternity is better understood as lying outside of time. And while we are subject to time in these finite forms we call minds and bodies, regardless of whatever our innate nature may be, it is certainly not unintelligible to ask either question, particularly the latter. In fact, it is eminently intelligible to ask what will lead to long-term welfare and happiness and seek to do those things as religiously (i.e., consistently) as possible. Moreover, there's no guarantee of reaching the other shore of nirvana or union with God from our POV, only the possibility of achievement or realization of this independently existing reality or dimension, assuming such an experience itself is possible.
In the end, I look at this secular vs. religious dispute dialectically. The religious or philosophical 'musts' that Hagglund rails against are for the spiritually immature (children/synthesis), the 'oughts' that he champions are for the spiritually mature (adults/antithesis), and the experience of nondual consciousness is the domain of the awakened (wise elder/synthesis). And freedom also has its levels or dialectical relationships. The freedom of the undisciplined person, of a conditioned agent that lacks an ethical framework, is an immature kind of freedom. The freedom of a disciplined person, of a conditioned agent informed by an ethical framework, is a more mature kind of freedom. And the unconditioned transcends even the very idea of freedom or agency or time and space itself.
From the religious POV, it's not so much that eternity is absent; it's more so that our vision of it is obscured and we strive to no longer have to strive to glimpse it. And a large part of that striving is precisely what Hagglund argues we should do: use our freedom to ask what we ought to do, acknowledge our interconnectedness with those around us and embrace our shared vulnerability, and to act with love. Ultimately, however, either approach can be used skillfully or unskillfully. A secular approach can lead to nihilism and indifference as easily as a sense of responsibility. And a religious approach can lead to worldly indifference as easily as it can that same sense of responsibility born out of love.
Sunday, January 31, 2021
1/31/21
I started reading a copy of Henry David Thoreau's Walden and Civil Disobedience today, and there was a line in the introduction that stood out to me:
I especially found myself agreeing with the sentiments of Transcendentalists like Thoreau and Emerson regarding the materialistic mundanity of society as we know it, that "there is a spirit of cowardly compromise and seeming, which intimates a frightful skepticism, a life without love, and an activity without an aim." Or as the modern saying goes, we live to work rather than work to live. This reality may not have begun with capitalism, but the logic of such certainly seems to require and actively nurture this spirit. And it is this spirit which I find I must constantly fight against, but more often than not lose to; it is this spirit that is the cause of so much of the turmoil and suffering I experience within my heart.
As a society, we seem to have sacrificed the development and discipline of our souls for the comforts of daily drudgery and escapes into fantasy, for we have been led to believe that things like productivity, the experience of pleasure, and lack of want are the greatest goods in life. But when we are confronted with the quiet and solitude of our own minds, free from distractions, we begin to realize what lies underneath it all—an untrained soul not unlike a frightened child who is fragile and defenseless and needs to be entertained or else they will burst into tears. We discover in this state that we lack true peace and freedom, but not having the proper tools to fix it, we tend to retreat back into the familiarity of our daily routines and daydreams rather than investigate these feelings in more depth. We turn once again towards the pleasures and fancies and intoxications that shield us from having to face the darkness that lies beneath, a darkness that brings with it the fear of self-reflection and truth, but which is also the only gate through which we can pass into the kingdom of God and find true peace and happiness and freedom.
When Paul writes, "Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?" (1 Cor 3:16), I think he is saying something similar. God cannot be found in simply following the “societal values and public rituals” that we are taught and cling to and make room for on Sunday, but must be found within. Yet we are afraid to take that plunge into the darkness of our hearts and open ourselves up to that spirit and the luminosity that is our true self and which is also God. We are afraid of the unknown, of being unworthy perhaps, or of losing ourselves, or discovering that our existence has no meaning. That darkness is the veil between ourselves and the Garden, from which we have effectively exiled ourselves from and to which we long to return. But our hearts as they are, skeptical, aimless, asleep, and lacking true love, cannot bear to confront that darkness, so we pursue the comfort given to us by indulgence in sensual pleasures and the daily routines of life in our things-oriented society, where we have been taught to value the wrong things and are detoured from our calling by money, disapproval, or fear instead of working in faith, instead of waking up to truth. "What will it take for us to finally wake up?," I often wonder.
And then there is this interesting and complimentary paragraph from the beginning of Walden:
I find much to sympathize with here, too. We spend so much time and energy working to make a living that we have little of either to pursue our own self-development and are thus unable to enjoy the 'finer fruits' of life. We become slaves to our own whips of frugality and productivity, shackled by the morals of a society that values all the wrong things, trading the freedom of our souls for the bondage of material comforts. As he says earlier, "By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, [we] are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as [we] will find when [we] get to the end of it, if not before." It is at this point that we look back and find ourselves full of regrets about the life we did not live and a fear of death because we have wasted the time we were given to search for something deeper within, something more profound, something deathless.
In essence, I see it as a potent warning about eschewing a principled life for a life of mudanity and hedging our bets. Yet as much as I agree with the warning, I still find myself among those laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal, always thinking of 'tomorrow.' And I wonder as I read these words if I will ever have the strength or courage or wisdom to live a more meaningful life and search for a deeper truth, or if, instead, I will more likely than not be counted among the foolish and regretful souls who have squandered their time letting the opinions and expectations of others direct their lives for them.
Emerson's essay on "The Transcendentalist" provides a revealing profile of Thoreau's personality. The essay was written in 1841 while he lived in Emerson's house, and though Thoreau is not mentioned in it, his presence is evident in Emerson's description of the "exacting and extortionate critics" whose "insatiable expectations" demand they withdraw from societal values and public rituals. These youthful Transcendentalists have "found that, from the liberal professions to the coarsest manual labor, and from the courtesies of the academy and the college to the conventions of the cotillion-room and the morning call, there is a spirit of cowardly compromise and seeming, which intimates a frightful skepticism, a life without love, and an activity without an aim." Their temperaments and principles cause them to reject the world's work for their own, and with Thoreau that meant writing. Like the exemplary heroic individual that Margaret Fuller searched for on July 4, 1845, Thoreau was not to be detoured from his calling by money, by disapproval, or by fear, because he worked in faith. The pond was to teach him that the art of writing and the art of living were inseparable.
I especially found myself agreeing with the sentiments of Transcendentalists like Thoreau and Emerson regarding the materialistic mundanity of society as we know it, that "there is a spirit of cowardly compromise and seeming, which intimates a frightful skepticism, a life without love, and an activity without an aim." Or as the modern saying goes, we live to work rather than work to live. This reality may not have begun with capitalism, but the logic of such certainly seems to require and actively nurture this spirit. And it is this spirit which I find I must constantly fight against, but more often than not lose to; it is this spirit that is the cause of so much of the turmoil and suffering I experience within my heart.
As a society, we seem to have sacrificed the development and discipline of our souls for the comforts of daily drudgery and escapes into fantasy, for we have been led to believe that things like productivity, the experience of pleasure, and lack of want are the greatest goods in life. But when we are confronted with the quiet and solitude of our own minds, free from distractions, we begin to realize what lies underneath it all—an untrained soul not unlike a frightened child who is fragile and defenseless and needs to be entertained or else they will burst into tears. We discover in this state that we lack true peace and freedom, but not having the proper tools to fix it, we tend to retreat back into the familiarity of our daily routines and daydreams rather than investigate these feelings in more depth. We turn once again towards the pleasures and fancies and intoxications that shield us from having to face the darkness that lies beneath, a darkness that brings with it the fear of self-reflection and truth, but which is also the only gate through which we can pass into the kingdom of God and find true peace and happiness and freedom.
When Paul writes, "Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?" (1 Cor 3:16), I think he is saying something similar. God cannot be found in simply following the “societal values and public rituals” that we are taught and cling to and make room for on Sunday, but must be found within. Yet we are afraid to take that plunge into the darkness of our hearts and open ourselves up to that spirit and the luminosity that is our true self and which is also God. We are afraid of the unknown, of being unworthy perhaps, or of losing ourselves, or discovering that our existence has no meaning. That darkness is the veil between ourselves and the Garden, from which we have effectively exiled ourselves from and to which we long to return. But our hearts as they are, skeptical, aimless, asleep, and lacking true love, cannot bear to confront that darkness, so we pursue the comfort given to us by indulgence in sensual pleasures and the daily routines of life in our things-oriented society, where we have been taught to value the wrong things and are detoured from our calling by money, disapproval, or fear instead of working in faith, instead of waking up to truth. "What will it take for us to finally wake up?," I often wonder.
And then there is this interesting and complimentary paragraph from the beginning of Walden:
Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them. Their fingers, from excessive toil, are too clumsy and tremble too much for that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men; his honor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be anything but a machine. How can he remember well his ignorance—which his growth requires—who has so often to use his knowledge? We should feed and clothe him gratuitously sometimes and recruit him with our cordials, before we judge him. The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly.
I find much to sympathize with here, too. We spend so much time and energy working to make a living that we have little of either to pursue our own self-development and are thus unable to enjoy the 'finer fruits' of life. We become slaves to our own whips of frugality and productivity, shackled by the morals of a society that values all the wrong things, trading the freedom of our souls for the bondage of material comforts. As he says earlier, "By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, [we] are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as [we] will find when [we] get to the end of it, if not before." It is at this point that we look back and find ourselves full of regrets about the life we did not live and a fear of death because we have wasted the time we were given to search for something deeper within, something more profound, something deathless.
In essence, I see it as a potent warning about eschewing a principled life for a life of mudanity and hedging our bets. Yet as much as I agree with the warning, I still find myself among those laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal, always thinking of 'tomorrow.' And I wonder as I read these words if I will ever have the strength or courage or wisdom to live a more meaningful life and search for a deeper truth, or if, instead, I will more likely than not be counted among the foolish and regretful souls who have squandered their time letting the opinions and expectations of others direct their lives for them.
Monday, November 30, 2020
11/17/20
I haven't written anything in a long time. Partially because I just didn't have much on my mind, but mostly because I've been so busy. The last year has been mostly taken up with work, school, and being shut in for most of the year due to the pandemic. I was so unhappy at work that I was looking to leave, and just happened to get an email about a scholarship to Providence's medical assistant program and thought what the hell. After jumping into that, I ended up in the ER with a spontaneously collapsed lung. And then after that, a global pandemic hit. But somehow, I managed to pass all my classes, graduate, and pass the national accreditation exam and am officially a medical assistant! In all of that time, though, I've felt spiritually dead. Most churches and other places are closed. My time has mostly been full of school work and studying. And with a few exceptions, the way people have acted has made me doubt the goodness of human beings. There just doesn't seem to be room for truly spiritual people.
About a week ago, for example, a caregiver at work killed themselves by jumping off of the top of the parking garage. Providence didn't really address the incident beyond a short email that was never even sent to my department. But everyone knew about it, and it's been on my mind a lot. Who knows why they did it (part of it was apparently work related according to a note that was rumoured to have been left behind), but it makes me think about how many people out there are suffering. How many are labouring under the weight of depression or some other form of mental illness? How many people are unable to cope with the omnipresent stresses that they experience on a daily basis, whether from abuse or privation or some limitation on their life that makes life difficult to bear?
And it makes me think how sick our society is and the inhumane ways we treat others, whether through conditioning or because it gives us some advantage in our lives. The poor and houseless. BIPOC. Women. The mentally and physically ill. The elderly. LGBTQ+ people. People with disabilities. Those who fall outside of our homogeneous social groups. Etc. It's diseased all the way through and I'm honestly not sure it's even curable anymore. The world that we've created isolates us. It pits us against one another, whether out of bigotry or competition. It turns our relationships into transactions and feeds off our vitality like a vampire, leaving us tired and drained and empty inside, and making any sadness or despair we may feel that much deeper.
It's also built upon the exploitation and oppression of various segments of society and physically destroying our planet in the process. And it doesn't take people's health seriously, treating access to care of any sort as a commodity. Is it any wonder that people are increasingly unable to connect with one another and find no meaning in their own existence or hope for the future? I know that there's not much we can do as individuals to save the world or prevent someone who is determined to end their life from doing so, but besides working with others to try to make the world a place worth living, we can strive to connect with, respect, and love those close to us. And I hope I can do a better job of that, too. But if I'm being honest with myself, I feel like I'm just as self-absorbed and cynical as the rest of the world. While I glimpse the goodness and desire to strive towards it, I'm caught up in the same rat race, working all day at a job I don't love so I have enough money to keep a roof over my head and spending the rest of it trying to keep myself sane and get a modicum of enjoyment out of being alive.
It's a depressing thought, but I don't treat people much better. I'm always stressed and feeling stretched thin. I'm short with people because they're short with me, trapped in the same cycle of acting and reacting negatively, making the mental ruts deeper and deeper and harder to get out of. And like many others, I self-medicate with things like alcohol and Netflix, doing whatever I can to escape my own life through distraction and imagination. Truly spiritual people seem like an endangered species that's confined to a few secluded habitats, monasteries and hermitages that house the last of those who have the courage and strength to truly renounce this world to strive for a better one. And as much as I wish I were one of them, I can't seem to work up the courage or the strength.
About a week ago, for example, a caregiver at work killed themselves by jumping off of the top of the parking garage. Providence didn't really address the incident beyond a short email that was never even sent to my department. But everyone knew about it, and it's been on my mind a lot. Who knows why they did it (part of it was apparently work related according to a note that was rumoured to have been left behind), but it makes me think about how many people out there are suffering. How many are labouring under the weight of depression or some other form of mental illness? How many people are unable to cope with the omnipresent stresses that they experience on a daily basis, whether from abuse or privation or some limitation on their life that makes life difficult to bear?
And it makes me think how sick our society is and the inhumane ways we treat others, whether through conditioning or because it gives us some advantage in our lives. The poor and houseless. BIPOC. Women. The mentally and physically ill. The elderly. LGBTQ+ people. People with disabilities. Those who fall outside of our homogeneous social groups. Etc. It's diseased all the way through and I'm honestly not sure it's even curable anymore. The world that we've created isolates us. It pits us against one another, whether out of bigotry or competition. It turns our relationships into transactions and feeds off our vitality like a vampire, leaving us tired and drained and empty inside, and making any sadness or despair we may feel that much deeper.
It's also built upon the exploitation and oppression of various segments of society and physically destroying our planet in the process. And it doesn't take people's health seriously, treating access to care of any sort as a commodity. Is it any wonder that people are increasingly unable to connect with one another and find no meaning in their own existence or hope for the future? I know that there's not much we can do as individuals to save the world or prevent someone who is determined to end their life from doing so, but besides working with others to try to make the world a place worth living, we can strive to connect with, respect, and love those close to us. And I hope I can do a better job of that, too. But if I'm being honest with myself, I feel like I'm just as self-absorbed and cynical as the rest of the world. While I glimpse the goodness and desire to strive towards it, I'm caught up in the same rat race, working all day at a job I don't love so I have enough money to keep a roof over my head and spending the rest of it trying to keep myself sane and get a modicum of enjoyment out of being alive.
It's a depressing thought, but I don't treat people much better. I'm always stressed and feeling stretched thin. I'm short with people because they're short with me, trapped in the same cycle of acting and reacting negatively, making the mental ruts deeper and deeper and harder to get out of. And like many others, I self-medicate with things like alcohol and Netflix, doing whatever I can to escape my own life through distraction and imagination. Truly spiritual people seem like an endangered species that's confined to a few secluded habitats, monasteries and hermitages that house the last of those who have the courage and strength to truly renounce this world to strive for a better one. And as much as I wish I were one of them, I can't seem to work up the courage or the strength.
Sunday, October 4, 2020
10/4/20
Pope Francis just released a new encyclical that, among other things, highlights the contradictions inherent in the modern institution of private property and the suffering and inequality it engenders. While in practice, the institutional church has long been geared towards the support of power and oppression and covering up abuse and has lost much of its moral authority, the theological and historical basis of Christianity itself has always been a universal call to the common good and solidarity with the poor and oppressed.
Maybe it's just because I agree with it and find it close to my own political point of view, but I think the encyclical itself is surprisingly good and filled with much of that universal call to fraternity and the common good. It calls for justice; for a radical change both in thought and the material ways we create and distribute wealth; for us to envision a new, more socialized humanity; and for us to "aspire a world that provides land, housing and work for all," harkening back to the early community of believers mentioned in Acts 2 and 4. I think this part in particular demonstrates that:
While I think it has some weak areas, such as its lack of inspiration from women and little in the way of addressing the way they and others are often marginalized by the church and world in general, it goes a long way towards summoning the heart of the gospel into our present consciousness. It points to ways that others are being harmed by the world we have created, letting greed and impersonal market forces dictate how people are treated more so than love and compassion.
It also highlights the material forces that facilitate this and condition our own hearts and ways that we think and act, making us care more about ourselves than our neighbours and turning a blind eye to their suffering. It holds a mirror up to us that, if we're honest, reflects back to us our own failings and shows us that more often than not, we are the priest passing the wounded man by. That we, collectively, are complicit in the existence of this world dominated by things like exclusion, greed, and markets and the compulsion to accumulate and consume rather than produce and share.
I think it's a fitting tribute to Saint Francis on his feast day.
Maybe it's just because I agree with it and find it close to my own political point of view, but I think the encyclical itself is surprisingly good and filled with much of that universal call to fraternity and the common good. It calls for justice; for a radical change both in thought and the material ways we create and distribute wealth; for us to envision a new, more socialized humanity; and for us to "aspire a world that provides land, housing and work for all," harkening back to the early community of believers mentioned in Acts 2 and 4. I think this part in particular demonstrates that:
ENVISAGING THE SOCIAL ROLE OF PROPERTY
118. The world exists for everyone, because all of us were born with the same dignity. Differences of colour, religion, talent, place of birth or residence, and so many others, cannot be used to justify the privileges of some over the rights of all. As a community, we have an obligation to ensure that every person lives with dignity and has sufficient opportunities for his or her integral development.
119. In the first Christian centuries, a number of thinkers developed a universal vision in their reflections on the common destination of created goods.[91] This led them to realize that if one person lacks what is necessary to live with dignity, it is because another person is detaining it. Saint John Chrysostom summarizes it in this way: “Not to share our wealth with the poor is to rob them and take away their livelihood. The riches we possess are not our own, but theirs as well”.[92] In the words of Saint Gregory the Great, “When we provide the needy with their basic needs, we are giving them what belongs to them, not to us”.[93]
120. Once more, I would like to echo a statement of Saint John Paul II whose forcefulness has perhaps been insufficiently recognized: “God gave the earth to the whole human race for the sustenance of all its members, without excluding or favouring anyone”.[94] For my part, I would observe that “the Christian tradition has never recognized the right to private property as absolute or inviolable, and has stressed the social purpose of all forms of private property”.[95] The principle of the common use of created goods is the “first principle of the whole ethical and social order”;[96] it is a natural and inherent right that takes priority over others.[97] All other rights having to do with the goods necessary for the integral fulfilment of persons, including that of private property or any other type of property, should – in the words of Saint Paul VI – “in no way hinder [this right], but should actively facilitate its implementation”.[98] The right to private property can only be considered a secondary natural right, derived from the principle of the universal destination of created goods. This has concrete consequences that ought to be reflected in the workings of society. Yet it often happens that secondary rights displace primary and overriding rights, in practice making them irrelevant.
Rights without borders
121. No one, then, can remain excluded because of his or her place of birth, much less because of privileges enjoyed by others who were born in lands of greater opportunity. The limits and borders of individual states cannot stand in the way of this. As it is unacceptable that some have fewer rights by virtue of being women, it is likewise unacceptable that the mere place of one’s birth or residence should result in his or her possessing fewer opportunities for a developed and dignified life.
122. Development must not aim at the amassing of wealth by a few, but must ensure “human rights – personal and social, economic and political, including the rights of nations and of peoples”.[99] The right of some to free enterprise or market freedom cannot supersede the rights of peoples and the dignity of the poor, or, for that matter, respect for the natural environment, for “if we make something our own, it is only to administer it for the good of all”.[100]
123. Business activity is essentially “a noble vocation, directed to producing wealth and improving our world”.[101] God encourages us to develop the talents he gave us, and he has made our universe one of immense potential. In God’s plan, each individual is called to promote his or her own development,[102] and this includes finding the best economic and technological means of multiplying goods and increasing wealth. Business abilities, which are a gift from God, should always be clearly directed to the development of others and to eliminating poverty, especially through the creation of diversified work opportunities. The right to private property is always accompanied by the primary and prior principle of the subordination of all private property to the universal destination of the earth’s goods, and thus the right of all to their use.[103]
The rights of peoples
124. Nowadays, a firm belief in the common destination of the earth’s goods requires that this principle also be applied to nations, their territories and their resources. Seen from the standpoint not only of the legitimacy of private property and the rights of its citizens, but also of the first principle of the common destination of goods, we can then say that each country also belongs to the foreigner, inasmuch as a territory’s goods must not be denied to a needy person coming from elsewhere. As the Bishops of the United States have taught, there are fundamental rights that “precede any society because they flow from the dignity granted to each person as created by God”.[104]
125. This presupposes a different way of understanding relations and exchanges between countries. If every human being possesses an inalienable dignity, if all people are my brothers and sisters, and if the world truly belongs to everyone, then it matters little whether my neighbour was born in my country or elsewhere. My own country also shares responsibility for his or her development, although it can fulfil that responsibility in a variety of ways. It can offer a generous welcome to those in urgent need, or work to improve living conditions in their native lands by refusing to exploit those countries or to drain them of natural resources, backing corrupt systems that hinder the dignified development of their peoples. What applies to nations is true also for different regions within each country, since there too great inequalities often exist. At times, the inability to recognize equal human dignity leads the more developed regions in some countries to think that they can jettison the “dead weight” of poorer regions and so increase their level of consumption.
126. We are really speaking about a new network of international relations, since there is no way to resolve the serious problems of our world if we continue to think only in terms of mutual assistance between individuals or small groups. Nor should we forget that “inequity affects not only individuals but entire countries; it compels us to consider an ethics of international relations”.[105] Indeed, justice requires recognizing and respecting not only the rights of individuals, but also social rights and the rights of peoples.[106] This means finding a way to ensure “the fundamental right of peoples to subsistence and progress”,[107] a right which is at times severely restricted by the pressure created by foreign debt. In many instances, debt repayment not only fails to promote development but gravely limits and conditions it. While respecting the principle that all legitimately acquired debt must be repaid, the way in which many poor countries fulfil this obligation should not end up compromising their very existence and growth.
127. Certainly, all this calls for an alternative way of thinking. Without an attempt to enter into that way of thinking, what I am saying here will sound wildly unrealistic. On the other hand, if we accept the great principle that there are rights born of our inalienable human dignity, we can rise to the challenge of envisaging a new humanity. We can aspire to a world that provides land, housing and work for all. This is the true path of peace, not the senseless and myopic strategy of sowing fear and mistrust in the face of outside threats. For a real and lasting peace will only be possible “on the basis of a global ethic of solidarity and cooperation in the service of a future shaped by interdependence and shared responsibility in the whole human family”.[108]
While I think it has some weak areas, such as its lack of inspiration from women and little in the way of addressing the way they and others are often marginalized by the church and world in general, it goes a long way towards summoning the heart of the gospel into our present consciousness. It points to ways that others are being harmed by the world we have created, letting greed and impersonal market forces dictate how people are treated more so than love and compassion.
It also highlights the material forces that facilitate this and condition our own hearts and ways that we think and act, making us care more about ourselves than our neighbours and turning a blind eye to their suffering. It holds a mirror up to us that, if we're honest, reflects back to us our own failings and shows us that more often than not, we are the priest passing the wounded man by. That we, collectively, are complicit in the existence of this world dominated by things like exclusion, greed, and markets and the compulsion to accumulate and consume rather than produce and share.
I think it's a fitting tribute to Saint Francis on his feast day.
Thursday, July 2, 2020
7/2/20
I enjoyed this recent article from bell hooks, which connects Buddhism, love, and social engagement. I think that what she's talking about is what led me to become politically and socially engaged in the first place. I think in many cases, developing compassion, empathy, and love will naturally inspire one to address the suffering of others when possible, and that many of the ways love is expressed coincides with what we'd label ‘leftist’ political and social movements precisely because such movements are often motivated by love and a desire to protect and uplift others. They're less focused on 'me' and more on 'us' in the sense of all of our lives and predicaments being interconnected.
Love compels us to move away from things like greed, selfishness, and competition and towards generosity, compassion, and cooperation. That's at least why I was drawn towards social engagement and more to left-leaning politics, because that's where love and compassion directed me. A mind suffused with love, for example, will see someone struggling with injury or illness within a system that makes it difficult for them to afford and access care and be inspired to help, whether through charity or through supporting a more accessible and universal healthcare system.
That doesn't mean I think that only people who are politically active or on the left end of the political spectrum are capable of love, only that I see why she connects love to the end of domination, and how that tends towards movements and ideas that we associate with the label 'leftist' today. Alternatives to capitalism. Universal healthcare. Addressing climate change. Gender equality. Black Lives Matter. Etc. Because much of that domination is rooted in fear and anger and greed. Systems and institutions and cultures have been built to protect what we have from others and to maintain positions of privilege for certain segments of the population, and love compels us to confront and end those things because of the suffering they engender—from sexism and racism to imperialism and militarism and the profit motive.
Love is also a key component of most spiritual traditions, and it suffuses their soteriology. And I'd even go so far as to say that, after studying and practicing in multiple spiritual traditions myself, a truly spiritual person who follows the underlying message of their respective faiths will necessarily be empathetic, inclusive, and ultimately, intersectional in their politics, but more importantly in their actions, as a result of the presence and development of love regardless of what their politics are. I think this can be seen from the lives and works of people of faith like bell hooks, Giro Seno'o, Dorothy Day, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Thomas Merton, Oscar Romero, Paul Tillich, Malcolm X, Thich Nhat Hanh, Gustavo Gutierrez, MLK Jr., Rachel Held Evans, and countless others. As Franciscan friar and author Richard Rohr puts it:
Love moves us to act against suffering and injustice, because love motivates us to try and heal rather than harm. Love moves us to swim against the current of what she terms "dominator thinking and practice," which "relies for its maintenance on the constant production of a feeling of lack, of the need to grasp"; and that conversely, "Giving love offers us a way to end this suffering—loving ourselves, extending that love to everything beyond the self, we experience wholeness" and through that "we are healed." And that love can be expressed in many ways, not just in the realm of the political. It can be expressed in any number of daily personal interactions and small acts of kindness and generosity.
Love compels us to move away from things like greed, selfishness, and competition and towards generosity, compassion, and cooperation. That's at least why I was drawn towards social engagement and more to left-leaning politics, because that's where love and compassion directed me. A mind suffused with love, for example, will see someone struggling with injury or illness within a system that makes it difficult for them to afford and access care and be inspired to help, whether through charity or through supporting a more accessible and universal healthcare system.
That doesn't mean I think that only people who are politically active or on the left end of the political spectrum are capable of love, only that I see why she connects love to the end of domination, and how that tends towards movements and ideas that we associate with the label 'leftist' today. Alternatives to capitalism. Universal healthcare. Addressing climate change. Gender equality. Black Lives Matter. Etc. Because much of that domination is rooted in fear and anger and greed. Systems and institutions and cultures have been built to protect what we have from others and to maintain positions of privilege for certain segments of the population, and love compels us to confront and end those things because of the suffering they engender—from sexism and racism to imperialism and militarism and the profit motive.
Love is also a key component of most spiritual traditions, and it suffuses their soteriology. And I'd even go so far as to say that, after studying and practicing in multiple spiritual traditions myself, a truly spiritual person who follows the underlying message of their respective faiths will necessarily be empathetic, inclusive, and ultimately, intersectional in their politics, but more importantly in their actions, as a result of the presence and development of love regardless of what their politics are. I think this can be seen from the lives and works of people of faith like bell hooks, Giro Seno'o, Dorothy Day, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Thomas Merton, Oscar Romero, Paul Tillich, 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.
Love moves us to act against suffering and injustice, because love motivates us to try and heal rather than harm. Love moves us to swim against the current of what she terms "dominator thinking and practice," which "relies for its maintenance on the constant production of a feeling of lack, of the need to grasp"; and that conversely, "Giving love offers us a way to end this suffering—loving ourselves, extending that love to everything beyond the self, we experience wholeness" and through that "we are healed." And that love can be expressed in many ways, not just in the realm of the political. It can be expressed in any number of daily personal interactions and small acts of kindness and generosity.
Friday, December 6, 2019
12/6/19
God is a concept that people pack all kinds of ideas into. Some see it as representing a conscious, all-powerful being. Some see it as analogous to nature, the universe, the ground of being and existence and the mysteries that it contains. Some see it as a delusion. It can mean many things to many people. To me it represents the second, and beyond that, I don't know. I like the way Jesus talks about it, however.
He speaks of God as compassionate (Luke 6:36), which comes from the Hebrew word for womb-like love. He says that the clean of heart will see God, and that peacemakers will be called the children of God (Mt 5:8-9). He's very clear about God and how our relationship with God is mirrored in our relationship to each other. Just as the rain falls on everyone equally, so too does God's love (Mt 5:43-48). It's a more immediate, experiential, and relational understanding of God as a unifying force and ground of being in which we all share our existence. Beyond that, it's all angels and pinheads.
Do I think a lot that's said about God is contradictory? Yes. Do I think a lot of it is untrue? Yes. Because these ideas and writings are the product of evolving human thought and experience over many centuries, and they're trying to express something that's ultimately inexpressible and incomprehensible. But it's also not as illogical as people make it out to be, as science itself is full of paradoxes and contradictions that make no sense to us, from the illusion of time to the bubbling cauldron of empty space. For example, let's take the idea that God is all good, powerful, and knowing.
Many have argued against the existence of God, for instance, on the grounds that human beings encounter things we generally find evil, such as pain and suffering. So the logic goes, if God is all-powerful and allows evil to exist, then God isn't good and unworthy of being called God. God is basically evil for allowing bad things to happen. And if God doesn't have the ability to remove evil from the world, then God isn't all-powerful and not worthy of being called God. God is basically impotent or irrelevant so why think about it? The 'problem of evil' is something everyone from Voltaire to Bertrand Russell have used to ridicule the belief in God. But others, like Leibniz, argue something interesting, that we live in the best of all possible worlds. How can that possibly be?
I've thought about this a lot myself, and I've become partial to one answer: that we live in the best of all possible worlds because we sit in between the world of perfect order (pre Big Bang) and the world of perfect disorder (the entropy at the end of the universe), and it is in this present middle that our existence is possible. Because at both ends of this spectrum time loses its meaning, and change is impossible as there's either static order or the chaotic, logical conclusion of entropy. And this could be a logical foundation for the claim that God is all-good and all-powerful, if God is the reason or mechanism of this state of reality and we assume existence is better than nonexistence, since God's power and goodness brought the possibility of existence itself into being, is being itself. And to intercede too much would destroy the laws that govern and make possible this reality and our existence within it.
In essence, to make the world as perfect as possible (i.e., the most conducive to creating and supporting conscious beings capable of choice), the world has to be as such. A perfectly orderly universe free of the things we see as evil, things like aging, illness, death, accidents, harmful actions, etc., would be effectively static. Nothing could change or grow, and there could be no choice in any meaningful sense. A completely chaotic world would prevent the necessary order needed for the formation of galaxies or the evolution of life.
So the middle way between these two is our causally-conditioned world that's ordered by natural laws and also subject to the underlying chaos of quantum level uncertainty, which together allows for the order necessary for life and the freedom and flexibility of choice. Things can grow and change, and consciousness can arise and be self-aware and make choices. However, that means that the things we see as evil from our POV are simply necessary components of this existence and constitute the best of all possible worlds, because the causes and conditions for this 'best possible' world are so complex and messy and must be allowed to play out on their own. If we were made perfect in a perfectly ordered world, we'd be little more than puppets.
Furthermore, when we look around, we see a causally-deterministic world. God is said to be omnipotent, yet we perceive a world where things follow physical laws. Anything can happen, yet only certain things do. Miracles, things which tend to defy scientific explanation, seem few and far between, which got me thinking that maybe God doesn't work in the ways we sometimes assume. Events appear to require causes, so perhaps miracles are simply events with causes that we're unable to perceive, God being the mechanism of all causal relationships.
We're not just puppets within a pre-deterministic world, though. Or at least that's not how it seems to us. We intend. We make choices and experience the results of those choices. We exhibit self-agency. Somehow God's omniscience allows for this. How so? One way is, maybe God is the totality of the infinite number of possibilities that exist in the quantum world. From God's point of view, all possibilities are. But paradoxically, when all possibilities are, nothing effectively is—there'd be no order, no continuity, no being as we know it. Yet out of God, this infinite, chaotic all, comes a casually-deterministic world where both order and intention can play out and unfold, from the Big Bang (creation out of nothing and everything) to the ever-present now. It's almost as if God limits their infinite potentiality so that our finite actuality can manifest itself, making space for us within this totality.
With this act of creation and self-limitation, then, much like in the Kabbalistic doctrine of tsimtsum, God is able to create the only world in which history is possible, one in which we're able to evolve and grow and help complete and perfect the world through acts of charity and loving-kindness. God isn't a cause separate from its effect, nor is God some kind of celestial tyrant; God is more like Paul Tillich's "ground of being manifest in existence," which I think also corresponds to the Kabbalistic saying, "God is the Place of the world, but the world is not God's place." Paradoxically immanent yet transcendent.
In addition, there are many in the scientific field, from Albert Einstein to Julian Barbour and Carlo Rovelli, who suggest that time as we know it is an illusion, with some arguing for a timeless world (Barbour) and others arguing that all moments of time exist together from the standpoint of physics (Rovelli). The latter I find especially intriguing. We experience time flowing like a river towards the future. Events seem to happen in one direction, into an unknown and as yet uncreated future. But while we see time flowing forward from our limited POV within time and space, and experience the future in, well, the future, from the standpoint of a being or consciousness aware of the wholeness of all the universe (or the universe itself, all of which can be called God), time doesn't really flow as all things simultaneously exist in a 'block universe,' allowing for what we'd classically refer to as omniscience.
I don't know if such a being exists and if they are conscious of us and care one way or the other, but it's not inherently illogical to posit one, although it may be improbable or unnecessary. And to be honest, I can't really fault 2,000-5,000 year old tribal cultures for not always expressing such ideas coherently and logically-consistently without the benefit of science and the same level of history of logic, philosophy, and science we're privy to, but rather their own ancient observations and imaginations about reality. Modern generations have no such excuse, however, and I think we have to get rid of a lot of our irrationality and prejudices. But I also believe there are some things we can know from experience and intuition. That doesn't mean I think this proves that God exists, or any other kind of religious claim, only that we may on some level sense or know things about reality we can't quite intellectually understand or prove but can experience in some way, which we then attempt to articulate into words, hence much of religion. And I find it fun to think about that.
The world isn't perfect per se, because unpleasant things happen. But I find it incredible that it even exists considering everything we do know about the craziness of the universe. And I think our conscious interactions with it all are equally as incredible. I sometimes wonder if the universe itself is conscious and what that might mean. And I don't pretend to know or understand what the truth of it all is, but I definitely find enjoyment in contemplating what it might be like and why it could potentially be the best of all possible worlds even though we feel like it could be immeasurably better. Maybe it could be. And maybe it's our job to make it so.
He speaks of God as compassionate (Luke 6:36), which comes from the Hebrew word for womb-like love. He says that the clean of heart will see God, and that peacemakers will be called the children of God (Mt 5:8-9). He's very clear about God and how our relationship with God is mirrored in our relationship to each other. Just as the rain falls on everyone equally, so too does God's love (Mt 5:43-48). It's a more immediate, experiential, and relational understanding of God as a unifying force and ground of being in which we all share our existence. Beyond that, it's all angels and pinheads.
Do I think a lot that's said about God is contradictory? Yes. Do I think a lot of it is untrue? Yes. Because these ideas and writings are the product of evolving human thought and experience over many centuries, and they're trying to express something that's ultimately inexpressible and incomprehensible. But it's also not as illogical as people make it out to be, as science itself is full of paradoxes and contradictions that make no sense to us, from the illusion of time to the bubbling cauldron of empty space. For example, let's take the idea that God is all good, powerful, and knowing.
Many have argued against the existence of God, for instance, on the grounds that human beings encounter things we generally find evil, such as pain and suffering. So the logic goes, if God is all-powerful and allows evil to exist, then God isn't good and unworthy of being called God. God is basically evil for allowing bad things to happen. And if God doesn't have the ability to remove evil from the world, then God isn't all-powerful and not worthy of being called God. God is basically impotent or irrelevant so why think about it? The 'problem of evil' is something everyone from Voltaire to Bertrand Russell have used to ridicule the belief in God. But others, like Leibniz, argue something interesting, that we live in the best of all possible worlds. How can that possibly be?
I've thought about this a lot myself, and I've become partial to one answer: that we live in the best of all possible worlds because we sit in between the world of perfect order (pre Big Bang) and the world of perfect disorder (the entropy at the end of the universe), and it is in this present middle that our existence is possible. Because at both ends of this spectrum time loses its meaning, and change is impossible as there's either static order or the chaotic, logical conclusion of entropy. And this could be a logical foundation for the claim that God is all-good and all-powerful, if God is the reason or mechanism of this state of reality and we assume existence is better than nonexistence, since God's power and goodness brought the possibility of existence itself into being, is being itself. And to intercede too much would destroy the laws that govern and make possible this reality and our existence within it.
In essence, to make the world as perfect as possible (i.e., the most conducive to creating and supporting conscious beings capable of choice), the world has to be as such. A perfectly orderly universe free of the things we see as evil, things like aging, illness, death, accidents, harmful actions, etc., would be effectively static. Nothing could change or grow, and there could be no choice in any meaningful sense. A completely chaotic world would prevent the necessary order needed for the formation of galaxies or the evolution of life.
So the middle way between these two is our causally-conditioned world that's ordered by natural laws and also subject to the underlying chaos of quantum level uncertainty, which together allows for the order necessary for life and the freedom and flexibility of choice. Things can grow and change, and consciousness can arise and be self-aware and make choices. However, that means that the things we see as evil from our POV are simply necessary components of this existence and constitute the best of all possible worlds, because the causes and conditions for this 'best possible' world are so complex and messy and must be allowed to play out on their own. If we were made perfect in a perfectly ordered world, we'd be little more than puppets.
Furthermore, when we look around, we see a causally-deterministic world. God is said to be omnipotent, yet we perceive a world where things follow physical laws. Anything can happen, yet only certain things do. Miracles, things which tend to defy scientific explanation, seem few and far between, which got me thinking that maybe God doesn't work in the ways we sometimes assume. Events appear to require causes, so perhaps miracles are simply events with causes that we're unable to perceive, God being the mechanism of all causal relationships.
We're not just puppets within a pre-deterministic world, though. Or at least that's not how it seems to us. We intend. We make choices and experience the results of those choices. We exhibit self-agency. Somehow God's omniscience allows for this. How so? One way is, maybe God is the totality of the infinite number of possibilities that exist in the quantum world. From God's point of view, all possibilities are. But paradoxically, when all possibilities are, nothing effectively is—there'd be no order, no continuity, no being as we know it. Yet out of God, this infinite, chaotic all, comes a casually-deterministic world where both order and intention can play out and unfold, from the Big Bang (creation out of nothing and everything) to the ever-present now. It's almost as if God limits their infinite potentiality so that our finite actuality can manifest itself, making space for us within this totality.
With this act of creation and self-limitation, then, much like in the Kabbalistic doctrine of tsimtsum, God is able to create the only world in which history is possible, one in which we're able to evolve and grow and help complete and perfect the world through acts of charity and loving-kindness. God isn't a cause separate from its effect, nor is God some kind of celestial tyrant; God is more like Paul Tillich's "ground of being manifest in existence," which I think also corresponds to the Kabbalistic saying, "God is the Place of the world, but the world is not God's place." Paradoxically immanent yet transcendent.
In addition, there are many in the scientific field, from Albert Einstein to Julian Barbour and Carlo Rovelli, who suggest that time as we know it is an illusion, with some arguing for a timeless world (Barbour) and others arguing that all moments of time exist together from the standpoint of physics (Rovelli). The latter I find especially intriguing. We experience time flowing like a river towards the future. Events seem to happen in one direction, into an unknown and as yet uncreated future. But while we see time flowing forward from our limited POV within time and space, and experience the future in, well, the future, from the standpoint of a being or consciousness aware of the wholeness of all the universe (or the universe itself, all of which can be called God), time doesn't really flow as all things simultaneously exist in a 'block universe,' allowing for what we'd classically refer to as omniscience.
I don't know if such a being exists and if they are conscious of us and care one way or the other, but it's not inherently illogical to posit one, although it may be improbable or unnecessary. And to be honest, I can't really fault 2,000-5,000 year old tribal cultures for not always expressing such ideas coherently and logically-consistently without the benefit of science and the same level of history of logic, philosophy, and science we're privy to, but rather their own ancient observations and imaginations about reality. Modern generations have no such excuse, however, and I think we have to get rid of a lot of our irrationality and prejudices. But I also believe there are some things we can know from experience and intuition. That doesn't mean I think this proves that God exists, or any other kind of religious claim, only that we may on some level sense or know things about reality we can't quite intellectually understand or prove but can experience in some way, which we then attempt to articulate into words, hence much of religion. And I find it fun to think about that.
The world isn't perfect per se, because unpleasant things happen. But I find it incredible that it even exists considering everything we do know about the craziness of the universe. And I think our conscious interactions with it all are equally as incredible. I sometimes wonder if the universe itself is conscious and what that might mean. And I don't pretend to know or understand what the truth of it all is, but I definitely find enjoyment in contemplating what it might be like and why it could potentially be the best of all possible worlds even though we feel like it could be immeasurably better. Maybe it could be. And maybe it's our job to make it so.
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