All people walk around carrying
inside them, homes.
Within, their couches,
their living rooms, dinette sets
all organized in a concentric circle
around the hearth,
like courtiers around the throne.
And in those homes wherein
there no longer sits
a gargantuan, gaping mouth
a fiery hole in the plaster wall
there is a television.
Eternally, supportively, for all, always
there is this focal point on the wall.
And it either holds the heated, flaming god,
conviviality and jollity and a secret,
or the vapid empty
blue-tinged;
the silent song
of an empty sun.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Exploratory: Comparing the Confucian Analects and the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung
This is a short paper that I wrote in response to two readings that I did for my Chinese religion class. It's pretty conversational and a little disorganized, but I think that the last two paragraphs do a pretty elegant job of summing up the differences and the interactions between spirituality, religion, and "ethical" or political thought.
The sets of lists at the beginning of the Ta Hsueh that fade into and crescendo out of one another display not only a religiosity (as Ken commented on in our reading maps), but also an order that is nothing short of staggering in its impressiveness. I began doing the reading before looking at the reading map (for shame!), but in this incident I actually appreciate the result of my inattentiveness: I came to an understanding of the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung as being quasi-religious on my own, and as a result it is slightly different from and therefore contrastable to the perspective you provided. The qualities of the Hsüeh neatly exemplify the hazy line that exists between “religion” and “spirituality.” Drawing the Analects into the comparative mixture only strengthens the broth in the melting pot of ethics, politics, religion, and ritual that the three texts in concert create.
The first two characteristics that one immediately notices about the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung is their attention to linear organization and the texts’ focus on the individual. Especially in comparison to the Analects, the personal level of propriety is quite stressed and detailed; as is explicated in the diagram on pages five and six of the Hsüeh, the openness and flexible stability of an individual’s mind is the necessary and primary cause for, ultimately, world peace. In comparison to the emphasis placed on filial piety and ritual propriety in the Analects, the deeply personal advice of the “supposedly” ethically-focused Hsüeh seems much more spiritual than the “religious” Analects.
It is very frustrating to me that, so often, ethics, spirituality, and religion become so polarized from each other. As a person who unabashedly refers to herself and identifies as spiritual, it makes me really uncomfortable when people a) accuse spiritual practice of being “religious” and b) assume that because spirituality is an integral part of the religious experience for many people, that the spiritual cannot be present in the moral or ethical, as the latter two are supposed to be “rational” and ideologically neutral realms. Letter “a” addresses the first question on the reading map; I think that it is inappropriate to call the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung religious. Although the tone of the works is certainly transcendental and the content prescriptive to a realm that most people access only through deep intuitive focus, the advice in the Hsüeh fits into the Chinese system of ethics as ascribed by its context more than it fits into the religious sphere. I say this for two reasons: first, that Chinese ethics are clearly grounded in the perfection of the individual, and such work can only happen vis a vis the advice given in the Hsüeh; and second that, as is shown in the Analects, personal, spiritual enlightenment is clearly not the prerogative of the religious realm. Ritual practice and the ancestral cult combined make up the keystone of Chinese religion, and as is written in P. 1215 of the Analects, “if there is filial piety in serving one’s parents and obedience in heeding orders and these are set into the world, then everything will get done.” Clearly, ritual and ancestor worship clearly serve the purpose of teaching and maintaining filial piety, which is itself the cornerstone of Chinese social cohesion. Thus, it would appear to Western eyes that the Hsüeh and the Analects serve one another’s purpose, and are thus improperly cross-catalogued with one another; that the religious text serves to teach about social conduct and ethics, and that the ethical text serves as a guideline to personal spiritual growth.
My response to the above statement is: and what is so wrong about that?! Reading a corrupting “religious” bias into a text that espouses personal enlightenment and the “cultivation of [one’s] own character” is the Western knee-jerk reaction to centuries of tension between the Western Church, which serves to instruct personal morality, and the State, whose primary function, via the Law, is to prescribe guidelines that engender social organization. When one truly analyses and compares the respective social functions of religion and ethics/morality, the characteristics of the Hsüeh and the Analects actually start to make a lot more sense.
In a very widespread and popular social setting, as is noted in the Analects themselves, order and the collective become very important. As we discussed in class on Friday, people who are attempting to function successfully in large groups need to operate like individuals gears in a vast network of emotional machinery, constantly checking and redirecting themselves in order to match with the rhythm of the whole. Thus, the importance of ritual; having a prescribed and set way of doing things is pretty much the only way to guarantee social cohesion when you’re working with a large mass of individuals. In order for the rules of the ritual to be followed, they must be esteemed as very important, and it is at that moment of endowing severe significance to ritual practice that it crosses over from the quotidian province of the handshake to the awesome and mysterious realm of religion. However, because the alchemical process that transforms ritual into religion is often non-linear and definitely not obvious, the two can often become almost indistinguishable. The common trait that ritual and religion always have in common is personal involvement, and hence personal investment, the ritual and the religious often end up being characterized together as being inherently “emotional,” and thus irrational, disorderly, and therefore not applicable to politics.
The extreme order of the Ta Hsüeh in particular clearly shows that the path to emotional transformation can be anything but erratic. The wisdom of the Hsüeh, however, lies beyond the order that it espouses. As evidenced by the great emotion that religion inspires, rules are best followed when they hold personal appeal to those they attempt to sway. Thus, it makes good sense that ethical systems should also be rooted in personal conviction. It’s true that when left simply at that the door is left over for all sorts of types of crazy fundamentalism, religious included, but when personal emotional involvement is prescribed, as it is in the Hsüeh, it becomes completely possible for the political sphere to encompass the personal. Indeed, regardless of how messy the outcome, the personal and the political always intertwine; making space for emotion in politics actually seems to be the most peaceful and productive way to allow the two to coexist.
In sum, the “spiritual” (a silly term which, at this point, can act as shorthand for the deep, emotionally involved and intuitive state that the advice in the Hsüeh seeks to engender) and the “religious” (which, in this context, refers to the active, collaborative social enactment of the order created by doing “spiritual” work) are separated by their form much more than their function. The same is true when one compares religion and politics in China. Due to the role that filial piety plays in both religion and politics, political action can be seen simply as the result of what one learns from religious instruction: how to properly engage with one’s family. Ultimately, the “spiritual” and the political” in Chinese society are almost indistinguishable, as they are related on every level; “the cultivation of one’s individual character constitutes the core of all attainment” because it s successful development allows the individual to operate on the “correct conceptual grid.” Thanks to the Analects, we know that the mental state being referred to in the Ta Hsüeh is that which espouses filial piety; it is the incredibly reverent, respectful, open, and sincere countenance necessary to approach the ancestors in the shrine. Finally, proper filial piety is the key to maintaining order in the state, as the family is the guiding metaphor for Chinese government.
In conclusion, (and in the context of the Analects and the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung in particular) although spirituality, religion, and politics superficially appear to engage radically different parts of the human psyche, such is not actually the case—as is brilliantly outlined in the Ta Hsüeh, the three are actually just building blocks that work off of one another to ultimately manifest as the same unified and contained whole: personal, familial and, ultimately, political peace.
The sets of lists at the beginning of the Ta Hsueh that fade into and crescendo out of one another display not only a religiosity (as Ken commented on in our reading maps), but also an order that is nothing short of staggering in its impressiveness. I began doing the reading before looking at the reading map (for shame!), but in this incident I actually appreciate the result of my inattentiveness: I came to an understanding of the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung as being quasi-religious on my own, and as a result it is slightly different from and therefore contrastable to the perspective you provided. The qualities of the Hsüeh neatly exemplify the hazy line that exists between “religion” and “spirituality.” Drawing the Analects into the comparative mixture only strengthens the broth in the melting pot of ethics, politics, religion, and ritual that the three texts in concert create.
The first two characteristics that one immediately notices about the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung is their attention to linear organization and the texts’ focus on the individual. Especially in comparison to the Analects, the personal level of propriety is quite stressed and detailed; as is explicated in the diagram on pages five and six of the Hsüeh, the openness and flexible stability of an individual’s mind is the necessary and primary cause for, ultimately, world peace. In comparison to the emphasis placed on filial piety and ritual propriety in the Analects, the deeply personal advice of the “supposedly” ethically-focused Hsüeh seems much more spiritual than the “religious” Analects.
It is very frustrating to me that, so often, ethics, spirituality, and religion become so polarized from each other. As a person who unabashedly refers to herself and identifies as spiritual, it makes me really uncomfortable when people a) accuse spiritual practice of being “religious” and b) assume that because spirituality is an integral part of the religious experience for many people, that the spiritual cannot be present in the moral or ethical, as the latter two are supposed to be “rational” and ideologically neutral realms. Letter “a” addresses the first question on the reading map; I think that it is inappropriate to call the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung religious. Although the tone of the works is certainly transcendental and the content prescriptive to a realm that most people access only through deep intuitive focus, the advice in the Hsüeh fits into the Chinese system of ethics as ascribed by its context more than it fits into the religious sphere. I say this for two reasons: first, that Chinese ethics are clearly grounded in the perfection of the individual, and such work can only happen vis a vis the advice given in the Hsüeh; and second that, as is shown in the Analects, personal, spiritual enlightenment is clearly not the prerogative of the religious realm. Ritual practice and the ancestral cult combined make up the keystone of Chinese religion, and as is written in P. 1215 of the Analects, “if there is filial piety in serving one’s parents and obedience in heeding orders and these are set into the world, then everything will get done.” Clearly, ritual and ancestor worship clearly serve the purpose of teaching and maintaining filial piety, which is itself the cornerstone of Chinese social cohesion. Thus, it would appear to Western eyes that the Hsüeh and the Analects serve one another’s purpose, and are thus improperly cross-catalogued with one another; that the religious text serves to teach about social conduct and ethics, and that the ethical text serves as a guideline to personal spiritual growth.
My response to the above statement is: and what is so wrong about that?! Reading a corrupting “religious” bias into a text that espouses personal enlightenment and the “cultivation of [one’s] own character” is the Western knee-jerk reaction to centuries of tension between the Western Church, which serves to instruct personal morality, and the State, whose primary function, via the Law, is to prescribe guidelines that engender social organization. When one truly analyses and compares the respective social functions of religion and ethics/morality, the characteristics of the Hsüeh and the Analects actually start to make a lot more sense.
In a very widespread and popular social setting, as is noted in the Analects themselves, order and the collective become very important. As we discussed in class on Friday, people who are attempting to function successfully in large groups need to operate like individuals gears in a vast network of emotional machinery, constantly checking and redirecting themselves in order to match with the rhythm of the whole. Thus, the importance of ritual; having a prescribed and set way of doing things is pretty much the only way to guarantee social cohesion when you’re working with a large mass of individuals. In order for the rules of the ritual to be followed, they must be esteemed as very important, and it is at that moment of endowing severe significance to ritual practice that it crosses over from the quotidian province of the handshake to the awesome and mysterious realm of religion. However, because the alchemical process that transforms ritual into religion is often non-linear and definitely not obvious, the two can often become almost indistinguishable. The common trait that ritual and religion always have in common is personal involvement, and hence personal investment, the ritual and the religious often end up being characterized together as being inherently “emotional,” and thus irrational, disorderly, and therefore not applicable to politics.
The extreme order of the Ta Hsüeh in particular clearly shows that the path to emotional transformation can be anything but erratic. The wisdom of the Hsüeh, however, lies beyond the order that it espouses. As evidenced by the great emotion that religion inspires, rules are best followed when they hold personal appeal to those they attempt to sway. Thus, it makes good sense that ethical systems should also be rooted in personal conviction. It’s true that when left simply at that the door is left over for all sorts of types of crazy fundamentalism, religious included, but when personal emotional involvement is prescribed, as it is in the Hsüeh, it becomes completely possible for the political sphere to encompass the personal. Indeed, regardless of how messy the outcome, the personal and the political always intertwine; making space for emotion in politics actually seems to be the most peaceful and productive way to allow the two to coexist.
In sum, the “spiritual” (a silly term which, at this point, can act as shorthand for the deep, emotionally involved and intuitive state that the advice in the Hsüeh seeks to engender) and the “religious” (which, in this context, refers to the active, collaborative social enactment of the order created by doing “spiritual” work) are separated by their form much more than their function. The same is true when one compares religion and politics in China. Due to the role that filial piety plays in both religion and politics, political action can be seen simply as the result of what one learns from religious instruction: how to properly engage with one’s family. Ultimately, the “spiritual” and the political” in Chinese society are almost indistinguishable, as they are related on every level; “the cultivation of one’s individual character constitutes the core of all attainment” because it s successful development allows the individual to operate on the “correct conceptual grid.” Thanks to the Analects, we know that the mental state being referred to in the Ta Hsüeh is that which espouses filial piety; it is the incredibly reverent, respectful, open, and sincere countenance necessary to approach the ancestors in the shrine. Finally, proper filial piety is the key to maintaining order in the state, as the family is the guiding metaphor for Chinese government.
In conclusion, (and in the context of the Analects and the Ta Hsüeh and Chung Yung in particular) although spirituality, religion, and politics superficially appear to engage radically different parts of the human psyche, such is not actually the case—as is brilliantly outlined in the Ta Hsüeh, the three are actually just building blocks that work off of one another to ultimately manifest as the same unified and contained whole: personal, familial and, ultimately, political peace.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
the antipodes
I am concentrating, furiously, all the time. I get so frustrated and distracted by interruptions and minor details because every moment is a holy moment, or at least I try to make it so. I am so tired because I'm always in the process of making the Kirkegaardian leap; I am always on a quest to one of the finite provinces of meaning, in hopes that I can learn something there
out of the reach of this watered-down reality.
I realized last night that I need to re-discover the grace of being alone. I realized that I have been left so untrained in morality that I (along with so much more of the world) turn simply to the whims and mores of the collective to proscribe what is and is not right. I realize that I have to stop. I realize that it's going to be the same mountain over and over again. I will become hopefully sisyphean in my quest for self-knowledge and self-defined thought. Learning morals is to become a battle eternally fought and seldom won. But I will push my way up the hill. I will become my own hive-mind. I can no longer be tossed around by a mutant and nameless system of thought. I am not a scrap of paper on the wind. I am a solid body. I am a physical presence. My actions have consequences, and I want to be taught.
out of the reach of this watered-down reality.
I realized last night that I need to re-discover the grace of being alone. I realized that I have been left so untrained in morality that I (along with so much more of the world) turn simply to the whims and mores of the collective to proscribe what is and is not right. I realize that I have to stop. I realize that it's going to be the same mountain over and over again. I will become hopefully sisyphean in my quest for self-knowledge and self-defined thought. Learning morals is to become a battle eternally fought and seldom won. But I will push my way up the hill. I will become my own hive-mind. I can no longer be tossed around by a mutant and nameless system of thought. I am not a scrap of paper on the wind. I am a solid body. I am a physical presence. My actions have consequences, and I want to be taught.
Alone
Somewhere, there is mud without a boot-print.
Somewhere, there must be zones that
get tracked only by small muskrat
pawprints and doe-hooves.
Somewhere, there is still a wild
and a secret--a hidden shade plant
loamy and dark.
Like a rolling drop of water to a well
will I be there, becoming groundwater;
adding to the yellow spring
that permeates the quiet soil.
I will grow a wood-ear.
I will board up my bellowing mouth.
My body will sleep silent
and glory in the feeling of being alone.
Somewhere, there must be zones that
get tracked only by small muskrat
pawprints and doe-hooves.
Somewhere, there is still a wild
and a secret--a hidden shade plant
loamy and dark.
Like a rolling drop of water to a well
will I be there, becoming groundwater;
adding to the yellow spring
that permeates the quiet soil.
I will grow a wood-ear.
I will board up my bellowing mouth.
My body will sleep silent
and glory in the feeling of being alone.
Truth or Consequeces, NM
There are places that still have two names
The first may be starchy
and ill-fitting like a paper gown, made
for the figure of no one.
The other is earth-brown,
left over from when,
as if before birth,
the land still bore the placental name
it wore while lying
un-touched
under water.
The first may be starchy
and ill-fitting like a paper gown, made
for the figure of no one.
The other is earth-brown,
left over from when,
as if before birth,
the land still bore the placental name
it wore while lying
un-touched
under water.
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