Phronema

The more I think about it the more I come to realise the importance of LeDoux’s theory of the emotions being hardwired into the amygdala.* We are led by our feelings. Normally we respond to the tasks that have to be done – job, looking after children etc. In my case, with the whole day in front of me, I have to set myself tasks. I write in the morning and, in theory, walk, or garden and do reading and research in the afternoon and evenings. Whether I do any or all of these depends on my mood. And so I often arrive, as this morning, with a feeling of having wasted the last few days and accomplished nothing. This tends to lead to a feeling of depression – that my life is non-eventful and nothing is being achieved, that my life now has no meaning, that I am wasting my time etc., etc.; a general feeling of uselessness and purposelessness.

All this went through my mind this morning during meditation. I had just been reading Kadowaki on karma and sunyata (emptiness). One reads ideas but one is very slow to see how these ideas might exist in the reality of one’s own life. I think I am still too much of an idealist, in the Platonic, or Hegelian sense – that power does reside in the conscious mind, if only one can learn how to access it. I now realise that a) the conscious mind has no control over the emotions and b) that emotions and feelings shape the what, the how and the meaning we attach to living. All the conscious mind can do is to choose to ignore or to go along with the push and pull of the emotions. I see I am being very Platonic here in assuming a tripartite structure in the mind. I am not sure how independent the will is of he emotions.

Previously I had gone along with Freud and Jung and accepted that the unconscious is the repository of unwanted, or too-uncomfortable-to-bear emotions and memories. I thought that all one had to do was allow these to be aired, look at them objectively in the light of day, and their power to hurt, or to control would be dissipated. I think this may be true for memories. I know that in meditation allowing forgotten memories to come to the surface and dissipate robs them of their power to hurt. I had thought that this then gave control over that particular feeling, be it anger, or hate, or lust, or whatever. I now see that is not the case. Memories can be healed but the feelings are still there, autonomous and powerful. Given the appropriate stimulus they will be triggered with all their power. If one doesn’t want the feelings then one has to avoid the stimuli – what in traditional spirituality used to be called the occasions of sin. This has all sorts of drawbacks. I remember an old monk telling me that whenever he went out he had either to wear his habit or a dog-collar. He didn’t trust himself not to do something sinful otherwise. So avoiding the occasions of sin may help avoid sin but it does not help one to grow, to become integrated and whole.

I am beginning to understand what Zen calls the Great Death. In meditation one is face to face with naked feelings. Because there is no escape into day-dreaming, or ratiocination, the impact of feelings can be very powerful and often make the continuing of meditation impossible, or seem to be impossible. Not to go along with their impulse, simply to sit, focused on awareness of the body and all that it is feeling, is like dying. One is detached from the body in the sense that one is not responding to instinctive impulses, and yet totally attached in the sense that the body is the focus of awareness. Then, in this attached detachment, aware of bodily and mental limits as limits, the possibility of a beyond all limits arises.

*http://www.cns.nyu.edu/ledoux/

Reading Kadowaki: Zen and the Bible* on the similarity between Zen and Christianity. He compares the Buddhist ‘elusive passion’ (klesa) with the effects of original sin. As an aside he says that original sin cannot be known from experience. It is a datum of revelation. He goes on to say that man went against what he was originally meant to be. All this I find surprising and hard to accept now, though once I took it all uncritically. Many questions come to mind. How can one know what was ‘originally meant to be’? Even if one accepts the original paradisical situation of man as a revelation of what God intended can one go on to say that its passive, non-self-conscious existence was God’s final intention for man? Surely the state of ‘original sin’ is no more than the alienation which must inevitably result from individual self-consciousness. Again we come back to the question of what it means to be a human person.

*Kadowaki, J. K., Zen and the Bible: A Priest’s Experience, Routledge, London 1980

Reading William Johnston on the Dark Nights* – it is interesting how much John of the Cross has to say about sexuality. I would like to read more on the psychology and the philosophy of sex, not Freudian stuff, but something more balanced. There is no doubt that it is something that goes right to the very depths of the psyche. It is more, far more, than a mere biological function. It has to do with identity but it also has to do with how we relate. Identity, in that we are all sexual persons and our sexuality determines the mode in which we relate to others and to life itself. Pornography and rape are symptoms of a sense of isolation such that only through fantasy or violence can the person concerned try to achieve a feeling of union or completeness but, because of the nature of violence and fantasy, this is forever frustrated. Philanderers, I suppose, are people who find mere sexuality unsatisfactory and are either trying to make up for lack of content through sheer volume, or are seeking the ultimate union.

Whatever, our sexuality both opens up our yawning incompleteness and points a way towards fulfilment. We are, however, such complex beings that achieving the balance of body, mind and spirit is very difficult. Any overemphasis in a single dimension can lead to disastrous consequences. It is interesting that William Johnston, following John of the Cross holds that sexuality has a spiritual dimension and in mystical experience this is transformed. This is quite counter to the traditional Western and Eastern Orthodox traditions which rigorously exclude any form of sexual expression, going so far on Mt. Athos, for example, as to forbid even female animals. Is it the case that so powerful are sexual feelings that it is felt the only way they can be controlled is to exclude them totally? Not healthy. In the East there has always been a tradition which focused on the spiritual dimension in sexuality – Kundalini in Hinduism and Tantric Yoga in Buddhism. I think the West has always looked slightly askance at these as though people were trying to have their cake and eat it too. On the other hand celibacy and contemplation do go together remarkably well and in all traditions a celibate religious life has an honoured place. Perhaps the Indian tradition has the right balance with its four ages. In the first two sexuality finds its full physical and emotional expression in love, marriage and bringing up a family. In later life, when the children have become independent, the person turns towards contemplation, withdrawing more and more from involvement with others. In any case it is a topic that needs exploring and certainly forms a major part of what it means to be human.

*William Johnston, Mystical Theology: The Science of Love, Harper Collins, London 1995

Came across a definition of dharma which suddenly illuminated it. The trouble with dharma is that it is one these multi-faceted terms which one thinks one has grasped but, in truth, has not. Picked up The World of Buddhism in the library. Richard Gombrich in the Introduction defines it as at once the way things are and the way things have to be; ultimately these two have to coincide. It can also mean phenomenon, law, the Buddha’s teaching. These last I knew, but it was Gombrich’s explanation which clarified much that I had been mulling over in my mind. Why, for example, ethical behaviour is of absolute importance. Why there is the tension between what is and what would be. It is similar to the idea of Natural Law. Once again it points out the parallels between Buddhism and Christianity. The way things are is the world of samsara, of original sin. The way things have to be is what Bhuddhists would call Buddha nature and Paul would call ‘living according to the Spirit’.

To be a human person means that one has been formed and shaped by human relationships, that relationships are the most meaningful thing in a person’s life, that personal fulfilment is only achieved through coming to know one’s relationship with Ultimate Reality. Anything that deifies the individual, absolutises him, elevates him above other individuals is unethical. It is acting contrary to one’s true nature. A saint is no more than a person who is fully human, who lives his humanity to the full.

I am almost finished reading Evolving the Mind by A.G. Cairns-Smith. It is subtitled ‘on the nature of matter and the origin of consciousness’. It is probably the best book I have read yet on consciousness. Certainly he seems to have read all the relevant literature and thought deeply about it. A lot of the maths and the physics I do not understand and never will. It is quite clear that we are a long, long way from understanding what consciousness is. We know a great deal about the working of the brain and there is no doubt that quantum effects are involved but we have not the faintest idea how the electro-chemical stimulation of the visual cortex is translated into a beautiful sunset. I will carry on with the reading but I am becoming more certain that the intellectual approach is not going to deliver the goods.

The fact that the cosmos is more akin to an organism than a mechanism is mind-boggling; that there is some sort of (‘awareness’ is perhaps not quite the right word) instant communication pervading it; that every event is a cosmic event and not just a local happening; that mind and observation are essential elements in it – all this is not just of scientific interest but of profound religious significance too. In the human sphere we are becoming more aware that every human action has ramifications going far beyond the individuals concerned. It is becoming more and more clear that ‘No man is an Island, entire of it self.’ is true. Donne is quite right. The ironical thing about these insights is that they are being made at a time of unparalleled individualism, perhaps in reaction to a perceived threat to individualism. No, it must be more than that. In reaction, yes, but to a whole complexity of things – population pressure, competition for resources, death of community, materialism. Modern life has become incredibly complex and this complexity demands vast material and financial resources. It brings great benefits, enormous benefits. Here I am, listening to music on my stereo, writing on a powerful computer, able to be in touch with others all over the world almost instantaneously through the Internet, able to eat strawberries in winter and apples in summer should I wish, still alive because medical interventions twice prevented me from dying. I do not have to fear going hungry or being cold in the winter. Yet these are bought at a price. When I was young stress was a word applied to materials under tension, now it has become an almost universal human condition. Life with free and uncluttered time to perceive and enjoy the beauty of the world and people, this has now become a rarity and it does not seem to be compatible with modern living.

The holiday season. Lots of young families with little children. Feelings of nostalgia for those days of innocent children and more energy than I now possess. If only I… Easy to think but would we really do things better if we had another time around. Probably. We can learn from our mistakes. The trouble with being a parent is that the baby does not arrive with an instruction manual. You have to learn on the job, making it up as you go along. Then you arrive at the stage when they have minds of their own and your influence is more wishful thinking than real.

I keep thinking about the need for a theology of what it means to be human. I suppose the nearest thing we have to it is moral theology. But this is a practical guide to the do’s and don’t’s of living. It is not a metaphysics of human existence.

Part of the problem is that we have inherited the idea that a person is an individual entity, an ens, an individuum which inheres in the body, soul, person or whatever; that there is an irreducible substratum which is the real me and which perdures through all the growth, development and decline of the body. However, I don’t think there is an unchanging kernel. I think the Buddhists are more correct with their doctrine of anatta. Whatever ‘I’ am it is not a thing, an ens. First of all I am an agent; I act. Secondly, this agency is drawn into conscious existence in the first two years after birth. It is at first inchoate, blind, dumb and uncomprehending. Then, gradually, it becomes the nexus of a whole series of relationships which help it to refine its gross gropings, expand its perception and teach it to communicate both to itself and to others.

I say ‘I’ and ‘it’ for lack of better words. These terms are misleading if they are taken to imply an ens, a thing. They apply to the subject whose essence is that it is not a thing but a relationship. Here, again, the Buddhist idea of co-dependent origination can help.

One of the advantages of teaching is that sometimes you get asked questions which have been nagging away at the back of the mind without a satisfactory answer. But the asking of it in class and the need to produce a response of some kind sometimes elicits a solution. Lately we were discussing what it means to be human and comparing the Freudian, Sartrian and Christian interpretations, among others. I was trying to get across the idea that we are a process rather than an enduring entity such as a soul; that this process is a complex of constantly changing and interacting relationships; that it is not possible to say that we are, that we exist, in our own right independently, but that we are in the process of becoming what we are and are going to be; that this process cannot be considered apart from all the relationships which constitute it. ‘No man is an island etc.’ I was then asked about reincarnation and I suddenly saw clearly, for the first time, that reincarnation is not possible. I could not have existed in a previous incarnation because the unique set of relationships which make me never existed before. I was then asked – what about babies who die shortly after birth? They are inchoate, not yet fully persons. I saw that there is more to this tiny bud which has not yet opened and experienced the richness of life and relationships. Here too is a complex of relationships, smaller and simpler than the rich intricacy of an adult, but beautiful nonetheless and with a place in the living tapestry we weave with our lives.

I had a dream this morning just before waking up – very vivid and clear. I was at some sort of meeting. It was very crowded with very interesting people – very cosmopolitan, with lots of arty types. There were so many that the room was crowded to the doors and there was no room. I decided to go off and do something else. Then someone came up to me and said that I was one of the speakers. I felt very annoyed. No one had told me, or asked me and I did not even know what the subject was. I walked up and down the corridor. It had a highly polished wooden floor and the sun was pouring in from the windows. I began to work out what I was going to talk about. This part was particularly lucid.

Now it is not so clear, though I can remember the main point. I would begin by explaining why I was unprepared and then I would go on to talk about involvement in human affairs. I am not quite sure how I got to this topic though it flowed quite logically in the dream. I think it is partly the result of the thinking I am doing about myself and what I am doing with my life. The only part that is clear now is using the example of Christ who was involved deeply with people and yet not involved with the factions, religious and political, of the times. At the back of my mind is that Buddhist poem

Bending neither to the rain
Nor to the wind
Nor to snow nor to summer heat,
Firm in body, yet
Without greed, without anger,
Always smiling serenely
Eating his four cups of rough rice a day
With bean paste and a few vegetables.
Never taking himself into account
But seeing and hearing everything,
Understanding
And never forgetting.
In the shade of a pine grove
He lives in a tiny thatched hut:
If there is a sick child in the east
He goes and tends him:
If there is a tired mother in the west
He goes and shoulders her rice sheaves:
If there is a man dying in the south
He goes and soothes his fears:
If there are quarrels and litigation in the north
He tells them, ‘Stop your pettiness.’
In drought he sheds tears.
In cold summer he walks through tears.
Everyone calls him a fool.
Neither praised
Nor taken to heart.

That man
Is what I wish to be.

Also at the back of my mind is the problem of being a Christian and being involved. There are always factions and to be in favour of one is to be opposed to others. The problem for the Christian is to be for others, to be with them in their hopes and aspirations for all that is good but to avoid being caught up in what divides people. There are some things, however, which cannot be avoided, some causes which are so important that whatever the opposition one cannot but be involved.

Thinking about God during Mass this morning. Nothing like troubles and problems to turn the mind to transcendental matters and fundamental questions. What individuates God? It suddenly struck me that it is the body which individuates us. If no body, what happens to the soul? Rahner, I remember discusses this in one of his books. He said that after death the soul still bears a transcendental relationship to the body until the last day and the general resurrection. St. Paul talks about a spiritual body – whatever that means. The real answer is that neither knows and instead of really addressing the problem of a bodiless spirit they suppose a body substitute which will somehow individuate the soul. The problem remains though and it applies to God. How does an infinite pure spirit relate to the universe, to us? It is hard to avoid pantheism. What is the difference between pantheism and pan-en-theism? Is it more than playing with words? If God is really infinite there cannot exist anything which is not God, or of God. Perhaps this is the difference between pantheism and pan-en-theism – the difference between what is God and what is of God.

The other thing that struck me was knowing, what it means to know, to observe, to see. Each person opens out onto and can see, grasp, something of the infinity of the cosmos. I am a centre of awareness which can somehow hold the immense and awesome vastness of the universe. This also works the other way. Each person opens into infinite depths – it is not possible, ever, to get to the bottom of a person; mainly I think because there is no hard, irreducible kernel that is me, or I, but each of us is a nexus of relationships, each relationship opening out into another person.

The more I think about these questions the more I wonder about death. I am not sure what I believe any more. It is strange being in Mass and listening to the metaphors and religious language of the Bible and the liturgy. It would be nice to have a simple faith. I can see why there has always been such a strong anti-intellectual element in the Church. I can also see why the Buddhist tradition places so much emphasis on meditation. Words are not adequate, nor are simple concepts.

Coming out of Mass tonight, as we were driving away I overheard two men talking. We were driving very slowly and my window was open. One was saying, “I asked the priest why God allows mentally handicapped people to be born. Do you know what he said?” I didn’t hear what the other replied. The first went on, “He said that they are the luckiest people in the world; they don’t know the difference between right and wrong.”

It set me thinking. We had Father — for Mass and I wondered if it was he the man was talking about. I always wish when I hear things like this that I was in the situation so that I could point out what I think. What a theology of man is included in such a view!! The mind boggles. What a tragedy it would be to be born not knowing the difference between right and wrong. The essence of being human is to know right from wrong. Never to have to wrestle with good and evil, to choose between better or worse, between selfishness and love; such a person would never achieve maturity; such a person could never become a saint, never aspire to the heights.

Then I began to think a little further. Is this the ideal that the Church, or at least this priest, is presenting? Perfection is innocence – never to have known evil. Does this mean never to have known good? Are they not two sides of the same coin? To be an untouched virgin, a child in spirit. I can see why the hierarchy would want to put across this ideal. If the institutional Church were made up of such it would have few or no problems, no dissent, just meekness and obedience. Is this why the cult of the Virgin is promoted? And does it go deeper, I wondered? Is there a longing on the part of such priests for a return to the protection of childhood innocence and the insulation from responsibility that went with it? I wouldn’t be surprised. There is something very deep here which needs to be further thought out.

Then there is the, unforgivable really, mistaken idea of what it is like to be mentally handicapped. No comprehension of the agony, the unending frustration, the daily torture of being a prisoner of a wayward brain, of malfunctioning chemistry, of errant genes. It may well be that some live in a state of bliss but you only have to look at the agonised faces and afflicted bodies to know that they are not many.