I tried to describe it once in a more creative fashion:
It was far more pleasurable to pity and be pitied. Comfort often comes at the expense of truth.
And love? It was the opportunity to feel sorrow, to risk. Nothing more.
He paused. Did he really believe that? Was that really the truth? It sounded so dark, so depressing, and yet somehow so right. He wanted to believe that he was a martyr, blighted for a noble cause that merited some form of applause or recognition. He wanted to wear his wounds with pride, to carry the sorrow like a crown of thorns that he could say he suffered for the sake of something equally glorious.
But it wasn't true. He wore it for nothing, and he hated that realization because it was far more convenient for him to think that this self-crucifixion, this travesty against his soul was worth something even if was self-inflicted. It let him feel that he, and he alone, could bear something of this magnitude. That he was, if only by suffering, someone who did something special.
But it wasn't true. He suffered needlessly and stupidly, without wisdom and without reason. This was the bane of his existence and he clutched it with a desperate dignity, hoping against hope that there was a fragment of the admirable in his pride.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Mysticism without superstition
A few years go, I went out to eat chinese food a few days before a big organic chemistry exam. I hadn't done too well on previous exams, so before opening the fortune cookie I thought to myself, "Let's see if this fortune applies to my test; I could use some luck."
The fortune read, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."
The incident comes to mind every time I think about superstition. Curiously enough, the English word for superstition finds its roots in religious practices. According to wikipedia:
The earliest English uses of the word in the modern era refer critically to Catholic practices such as censing, rosaries, holy water and other practices that Protestants believed went beyond - or were set up above - their own interpretation of the New Testament practices of Christianity. From there the uses of the term expanded to include non-Christian religious practices, and beliefs that seemed unfounded or primitive in the light of modern knowledge.
This entry is not meant as a criticism of Catholic practices. From my own experiences with Catholicism, I see in their symbols - rosaries, genuflection, holy water - many rich reminders of the presence of the divine through mundane means. In commenting on superstition, I only mean to say that when I am superstitious, I am relying on a particular action, ritual, or incident to bless me with good fortune. I pray before an exam for good results; I prepare my heart for communion so that I am not struck dead; I read my Bible so that it will make me into a better person. In the end, superstition becomes a way through which I can manipulate the divine.
Contrast this to the wikipedian definition of mysticism:
Mysticism is the pursuit of achieving communion, identity with, or conscious awareness of ultimate reality, divinity, spiritual truth, or God through direct experience, intuition, or insight. Traditions may include a belief in the literal existence of dimensional realities beyond empirical perception, or a belief that a true human perception of the world goes beyond current logical reasoning or intellectual comprehension. A person delving in these areas may be called a Mystic.
I believe that God is fearsome precisely because he is unpredictable. I believe that we are at the whim and will of a God who is untouchable, unseeable, and often unknowable. I believe that he intends to, perhaps even delights in, tearing apart our sad and pathetic attempts to categorize and manipulate him... to move us away from superstition and towards mysticism. I believe his best and favorite tool for this is suffering.
This is made abundantly clear whenever massive tragedy strikes: a terrorist attack, a tsunami in Southeast Asia, a hurricane in New Orleans, an earthquake or forest fire in California. So-called prophets will raise themselves up and declare, "This was an act of divine justice that was meted out as punishment for these particular sins." But will they be able to tell you when the next round of justice will come, as Daniel or Jonah or the angels at Sodom & Gomorrah did? Can they explain to you the divine mechanics that determine why the innocent suffer and the wicked go free? The answer is a resounding, "No!" In Luke 13, Jesus himself said, "Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend wrote this recently in his blog:
Several months ago a colleague of mine told me about a case he was working on. Four years ago a 14 year old orphan girl in Moyamba district, Sierra Leone, was offered “love” by a young man. She rejected him. Later when she was going to collect palm wine, he ambushed her, attacked her with a cutlass and raped her. As a result of her injuries, she menstruates every month through her nose and nipples. She needs to be hospitalized every month, and recently has been going into a severe fit every time.
After the initial attack, the man said he’d take medical responsibility for her. No surprise he didn’t. Instead, a year ago he attacked and assaulted her again. She’s now confined to a safehouse and a hospital every month when she menstruates. He’s living in his town, out on bail.
Since I heard about this girl in Moyamba, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about her. It’s with me wherever I go.
Perhaps the most powerful purpose behind suffering is its meaninglessness and capacity for terror. It reminds us that we are helpless and powerless despite the intensity and ferocity of our own protests. I cannot explain it. I cannot rationalize it. While doing so may bring temporary relief in the guise of sanity and purpose, in the end it strips suffering of its power and denies validation to those who have been cursed by it.
This is precisely why it is insane, appalling, and terrifying to believe that God himself suffers.
Christianity resonates so strongly with reality because at its center is the belief that Christ himself became a helpless babe in a manger, wept at the tomb of Lazarus, was tortured and beaten and maimed in such an appalling and senseless way. It is utterly incomprehensible why God himself would willingly choose to enter into such a condition, and in the moment we are struck by that paradox we come to understand what Love is. We are enabled into the presence of the divine, for there is no way in hell that we would choose such a fate for ourselves.
We would do well in our modern, evangelical Christianity to regard worldviews and systematic theology with care to avoid a pharisaaical sort of pride in their tidy and logical frameworks. I have come to believe that the most difficult thing to accept in faith is not the existence of God but the suffering of God. It does not take much to believe in whether something exists or not, but it takes everything I am to believe that God suffers because it means believing that I no longer have an excuse for exemption.
Only Christianity is bold and daring enough to demand, "Commune with suffering if you wish to commune with God; embrace death if you wish to embrace resurrection." For what is the entire process of communion about if not the consumption of flesh and blood? Again, it is utterly beyond our comprehension. It is mystical, not superstitious. Its goal is not comfort or a well-defined theology or the manipulation of means towards ends but an entire process of moments in which we are drawn out of our sane and structured and logical and just systems into an alternative reality where God definitively and absolutely demonstrates his authority.
And perhaps, just perhaps, when we are drawn into such a communion, we will be rescued from perishing.
The fortune read, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."
The incident comes to mind every time I think about superstition. Curiously enough, the English word for superstition finds its roots in religious practices. According to wikipedia:
The earliest English uses of the word in the modern era refer critically to Catholic practices such as censing, rosaries, holy water and other practices that Protestants believed went beyond - or were set up above - their own interpretation of the New Testament practices of Christianity. From there the uses of the term expanded to include non-Christian religious practices, and beliefs that seemed unfounded or primitive in the light of modern knowledge.
This entry is not meant as a criticism of Catholic practices. From my own experiences with Catholicism, I see in their symbols - rosaries, genuflection, holy water - many rich reminders of the presence of the divine through mundane means. In commenting on superstition, I only mean to say that when I am superstitious, I am relying on a particular action, ritual, or incident to bless me with good fortune. I pray before an exam for good results; I prepare my heart for communion so that I am not struck dead; I read my Bible so that it will make me into a better person. In the end, superstition becomes a way through which I can manipulate the divine.
Contrast this to the wikipedian definition of mysticism:
Mysticism is the pursuit of achieving communion, identity with, or conscious awareness of ultimate reality, divinity, spiritual truth, or God through direct experience, intuition, or insight. Traditions may include a belief in the literal existence of dimensional realities beyond empirical perception, or a belief that a true human perception of the world goes beyond current logical reasoning or intellectual comprehension. A person delving in these areas may be called a Mystic.
I believe that God is fearsome precisely because he is unpredictable. I believe that we are at the whim and will of a God who is untouchable, unseeable, and often unknowable. I believe that he intends to, perhaps even delights in, tearing apart our sad and pathetic attempts to categorize and manipulate him... to move us away from superstition and towards mysticism. I believe his best and favorite tool for this is suffering.
This is made abundantly clear whenever massive tragedy strikes: a terrorist attack, a tsunami in Southeast Asia, a hurricane in New Orleans, an earthquake or forest fire in California. So-called prophets will raise themselves up and declare, "This was an act of divine justice that was meted out as punishment for these particular sins." But will they be able to tell you when the next round of justice will come, as Daniel or Jonah or the angels at Sodom & Gomorrah did? Can they explain to you the divine mechanics that determine why the innocent suffer and the wicked go free? The answer is a resounding, "No!" In Luke 13, Jesus himself said, "Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend wrote this recently in his blog:
Several months ago a colleague of mine told me about a case he was working on. Four years ago a 14 year old orphan girl in Moyamba district, Sierra Leone, was offered “love” by a young man. She rejected him. Later when she was going to collect palm wine, he ambushed her, attacked her with a cutlass and raped her. As a result of her injuries, she menstruates every month through her nose and nipples. She needs to be hospitalized every month, and recently has been going into a severe fit every time.
After the initial attack, the man said he’d take medical responsibility for her. No surprise he didn’t. Instead, a year ago he attacked and assaulted her again. She’s now confined to a safehouse and a hospital every month when she menstruates. He’s living in his town, out on bail.
Since I heard about this girl in Moyamba, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about her. It’s with me wherever I go.
Perhaps the most powerful purpose behind suffering is its meaninglessness and capacity for terror. It reminds us that we are helpless and powerless despite the intensity and ferocity of our own protests. I cannot explain it. I cannot rationalize it. While doing so may bring temporary relief in the guise of sanity and purpose, in the end it strips suffering of its power and denies validation to those who have been cursed by it.
This is precisely why it is insane, appalling, and terrifying to believe that God himself suffers.
Christianity resonates so strongly with reality because at its center is the belief that Christ himself became a helpless babe in a manger, wept at the tomb of Lazarus, was tortured and beaten and maimed in such an appalling and senseless way. It is utterly incomprehensible why God himself would willingly choose to enter into such a condition, and in the moment we are struck by that paradox we come to understand what Love is. We are enabled into the presence of the divine, for there is no way in hell that we would choose such a fate for ourselves.
We would do well in our modern, evangelical Christianity to regard worldviews and systematic theology with care to avoid a pharisaaical sort of pride in their tidy and logical frameworks. I have come to believe that the most difficult thing to accept in faith is not the existence of God but the suffering of God. It does not take much to believe in whether something exists or not, but it takes everything I am to believe that God suffers because it means believing that I no longer have an excuse for exemption.
Only Christianity is bold and daring enough to demand, "Commune with suffering if you wish to commune with God; embrace death if you wish to embrace resurrection." For what is the entire process of communion about if not the consumption of flesh and blood? Again, it is utterly beyond our comprehension. It is mystical, not superstitious. Its goal is not comfort or a well-defined theology or the manipulation of means towards ends but an entire process of moments in which we are drawn out of our sane and structured and logical and just systems into an alternative reality where God definitively and absolutely demonstrates his authority.
And perhaps, just perhaps, when we are drawn into such a communion, we will be rescued from perishing.
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