Showing posts with label Wild Iris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wild Iris. Show all posts

Saturday, April 25, 2015

NON-JUDGMENT DAY: AGAINST PUNISHMENT

WILD IRIS

Here’s what slipped into my heart:
that crested yellow tongue

down the runway of parched truth:
and those petals’ pulsing blue,

the excitable color of now:
like coming on a meadow of wild iris.

Long ago in dank woods,
I blundered on a dell

of lilies-of-the valley:
white lovers palm to palm

between leaves. That’s why God
must be forgiven, and why Dante puts

those who weep when they should
rejoice in a muddy pocket of hell

near the wood of suicides. After youth’s
‘love is pain’, that blue-purple flight.

On Non-Judgment Day, in the Valley
of Saved Moments,

I will bloom, the wildest iris.

~ Oriana, © 2015

One flower redeems the world — yes, I believe this. Against all suffering, the beauty of one iris. Because pain passes, but beauty remains.

To me beauty is the kind of consolation that religion never was. Religion was about being manipulated by the carrot and stick: the pie in the sky (pardon the mixed metaphor) versus eternal torture in hell. Beauty made no demands. I didn’t have to go down on my knees and beat my breast: my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault. Beauty has been an unconditional gift.

“After youth’s ‘love is pain’, that blue-purple flight.” I wouldn’t be able to find that meadow again, especially with the drought. But it is enough to have seen it once.

Still, the most important phrase in the poem is “Non-Judgment Day.” This signals perhaps the most important shift in the history of humanity. As I explain later: “Arguably the most important revolution in modernity has been away from seeing people as evil sinners who need punishment rather than as wounded human beings who need healing.”

Do we have the right to punish people? Billions would reply “Yes” without hesitation. Parents certainly think they have the right to punish children. “Justice” is just a nicer word for revenge. Of course it sounds better to say, “We want justice” than “We want revenge. We want the “bad guy” to suffer enormously. Yes, even forever. Payback!!

And yet I think that at least in terms of the “creeping enlightenment” I’ve observed over the decades, there has been a movement away from cruelty. It is not as legitimate as it used to be. We seem to have finally understood: THE WISH TO PUNISH STEMS FROM THE DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


A strange thing, our punishment! It does not cleanse the criminal, it is no atonement; on the contrary, it pollutes worse than the crime does. ~ Nietzsche, The Dawn
 

*
 
It’s not just corporal punishment that’s increasingly in disfavor. Flogging was once a standard practice; now it appalls. Bullying and emotional and sexual harassment are behaviors we struggle to eliminate, not accept as part of life. Rather than yell at a child and hit him, a parent is more likely to try to explain that certain behaviors harm others — and thus, ultimately, ourselves —  and invoke the Golden Rule. Respect for children is one of the frontiers in the battle against the “might makes right” mentality. It’s been said that we are entering the “dignitarian era” marked by respect for the humanity of another rather than desire for revenge.

Note the word “entering.” We are mere beginners when it comes to addressing problems in non-punitive ways. B.F. Skinner, an atheist psychologist appalled by the concept of hell, was one of the under-recognized founding fathers of the anti-punishment movement. He was a strong advocates of using rewards instead. Animal training changed radically due to Skinner’s influence. Eventually children benefited as well, though his name is rarely mentioned in connection with more humane child-rearing practices. Of course many other psychologists also emphasized the importance of affection and the harm caused by the punitive approach. 

B.F. Skinner in pale color. Why only B.F.? Because his Calvinist parents called him Burrhus Frederic -- another example of parents putting some "ideology" -- perhaps wanting to honor an ancestor named Burrhus -- ahead of the child's welfare.
 
Religion and punishment were closely related in my mind as I was growing up. The deity presented to us was the god of punishment, his power resting on the threat of eternal torture in a demon-filled hell. (Actually, that’s what the power of the church rested on, but I was too young to differentiate.) I came to see myself as a hopeless sinner and lived in the dread of hell.

At 14 I had the insight that changed my life: “It’s just another mythology.” But for quite a while I still admitted the possibility, small but terrifying real, of being wrong. I decided that if I was wrong and the Judeo-Christian deity existed, filling hell with billions of "wrong-believers," then I was ready for my fate rather than worship a monster much worse than Hitler.

Of course the odds that such a cosmic being exists are essentially zero, and it helps to re-read the excellent chapter in Dawkins “Why God Almost Certainly Doesn’t Exist” should the "hell trauma" revive even for seconds (at some point I did reach certainty that the monster did not exist). The teachings about hell are not only child abuse, they are emotional abuse across the board, including adults. And those who have been abused tend to become abusers or perpetual victims — unless they are healed and transformed, inclined to show affection rather than to punish (verbal abuse counts as abuse). Arguably the most important revolution in modernity has been away from seeing people as evil sinners who need punishment rather than as wounded human beings who need healing.

A car with bad brakes is not “punished” for being an evil, sinful, fallen (LOL!) car. It’s taken in for repairs. It’s only common sense.

The whole notion of punishment still needs a lot of review. Modern psychology sees people as basically good, but likely to have been damaged by negative experiences -- fundamentalist parenting included (funny, I never clearly put Catholicism in the fundamentalist camp, but Catholicism is fundamentalist in its essence; it couldn't be called "liberal Christianity"). A damaged person does not need punishment; s/he needs healing. The only god I could accept would understand this 100% and deliver healing. Not even Hitler (most likely he was mentally ill) would be punished.

It would be a turning point for humanity if someone radically re-wrote the story of Abraham and Isaac. First Abraham should try to negotiate — he showed himself to be good at that. If Yahweh still insists, then Abraham should say, “Fuck you, Yahweh. I'm not going to murder my son to please you or prove anything. My boy's life is more important than you are, you swinish monster. No Führer or Supreme Leader comes first, no ideology, no tribal religion of exceptionalism, no Great Cause, no country. Human life is more important than any of these. I'm not going to worship you, you impostor with no empathy and no ethics. No father worthy of the name would sacrifice his child, so fuck you, god.”

Apologies for the language — it’s needed for impact. A god who tells you to kill your child, or harm any living thing, is not worthy of respect, much less worship. 

The bloodthirsty archaic cruelty must vanish from human mentality.


Getting rid of the violent, vengeful god means seeing the bible as the work of men livingwithin the confines of their Ancient Near East culture. As one former priest put it:

“Belief in infallible bible leaves us stuck with a violent God, which can instill fear that’s carried through life like a mild depression, only to become worse when facing death and the thought of appearing before this vengeful God. However, this can be avoided when we understand the bible to be inspired but not infallible, written by humans from a different culture who had an agenda.”
http://www.leavingthepriesthood.com/August_2013_Violent_God.pdf

 
Rembrandt, Abraham and Isaac, 1634
 
That the concept of hell even exists in the 21st century is disquieting. I predict that it will be more and more confined to the lunatic fringe. That's why I also occasionally post on Facebook about those semi-insiders, like ex-priests, who are trying to drop the concept of vengeance and punishment, and instead conceptualize an all-loving Christ (I prefer to use "Christ" in this instance because of greater distance from all the Jesus baggage, especially the Second Coming and Last Judgment that will finally, for all times, divide the small in-crowd of the Elect from the multitudes of those supposedly in the clutches of Satan).

The “sanitized Christ” is just as imaginary as any other deity, but for those who have a great emotional need to worship someone invisible who's totally idealized, a figure of non-judging, non-punishing gentleness is much better than the vengeful god of punishment.

**

What about those who are a danger to society? Just as we wouldn’t allow someone to drive a car with faulty brakes, we need to protect society from those would would indeed be a danger. Even under the best conditions, we’ll probably need some form of incarceration. But instead of thinking in terms of punishment, we can shift the focus to protection (and that would mean safely isolating the offenders) and efforts to rehabilitate those who harm others (often because of having been abused — “we are the victims of victims.”

*

WHAT ABOUT THOSE WHO FEEL NO NEED FOR GOD?

For me, the beauty of the world — of the universe — is enough.

Recently I re-discovered this ancient poem of mine:

B FLAT

A black hole hums as it spins,
astrophysicists announced. It sings
one melancholy note, B flat —
many octaves too low

for the human ear, tuned in
to mother’s voice,
birds predicting the weather,
a creak of a branch.

Perhaps the low B flat
is a greeting to other black holes,
singing to each other
across the black void.

*

That’s before the yet undetected
birth song of new stars being born
in the nest of the black hole,
not just the mournful anthem

of everything leaving everything —
galaxies rushing off
to more important places;
a lover quickly walking away.

~ Oriana, © 2015

~ You can tell this poem was written during the phase of my life when love was still mostly pain — before the discovery of love as a pact of nonaggression and non-abandonment. There are circumstances under which it might be best to leave a lover — but it can be done in the spirit of nonaggression, respect and gratitude.

The positive message of the poem is that new stars are being born: our consolation is beauty and creativity.

 
“NOTHING TO FIGHT FOR, NOTHING TO DIE FOR” — BUT PLENTY TO LIVE FOR

John Lennon’s “Imagine” is still totally radical. Not even in the West have we admitted that human beings come ahead of not only an imaginary god, but ahead of loyalty to various “great causes.” No cause is great enough to justify the slaughter of war (unless self-defense in the case of invasion; some would argue that some ideologies are just too vicious and must be exterminated, but this is a very difficult separate topic).

There remain many things to live for. For me, it’s simply poetry and beauty. For a scientist, it’s the pursuit of knowledge. For a physician, it’s healing — and so on. In addition, there are people and animals we love. Whatever it is, we must cultivate our garden.

And — have you noticed? — life is basically unfinished. We rarely run out of things to do, things to live for. Here is another early poem — I yield to this kind of temptation perhaps too easily. Reader, be warned: I hate the very concept of punishment, but I do love poetry. 


UNFINISHED HOUSE

I walk through a skeleton forest,
the ribs of studs and crossbeams.
I pass through doorless doors,
lean from the empty bay window,
climb the unrolled staircase.

There’s a smell of wounded wood,
sawdust and nails on the floor.
I think of men balancing on planks,
laying pipes and cables.
Soon this will be an ordinary house.

Unfinished, it could still be a castle.

*

For years I’ve had a dream
of wandering through a house,
discovering new rooms,
walking through unfinished
solitudes.

These are not guilty
labyrinths, but sanctuaries.
I want to find
not the way out,
but the way deeper in.

The cabinets are empty,
a state of grace.
My study has no furniture.
I stretch my arms
and lean against the light.

I walk on, the house multiplies:
walls divide, corridors
lead to doors. At last I
understood: I build these rooms
just by entering them.

*

A copy store clerk who secretly
read my work once asked,
“Are you a poet,
or are you only learning?”

~ Oriana © 2015

Not ‘only learning’, but ‘always learning’. And mostly just by entering. 


I have gotten away from the theme of punishment, but I like this shift from the theme of aggression and punishment to learning by entering. After all, life is not about reward and punishment. Mainly, it’s about learning. And learning should be an unpredictable adventure, and a  joy. 



“HEAVEN IS A PLACE WHERE EVERYONE IS KIND”

Michael:

In 1989 the United Nations adopted the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and opened it to signatories. The CRC requires member states to “act in the best interests of the child.” The world seems to agree we’ve evolved to a better understanding of how to do this—well, most of the world—190 countries have ratified the CRC, and it is binding under international law. Significantly and admirably, Sierra Leone was the seventh country to sign. As of 2009, only three member states have not signed: Somalia, South Sudan, and—embarrassingly and shamefully—the United States. This is ironic because the US was a participant in drafting the CRC. Such is politics.

The religious right and home-school lobbies have had the power to stop the US from signing. Ironic, isn’t it, that Christians, fearing the loss of their god-given right to beat their own children (Spare the rod, spoil the child…), indirectly increase the suffering of all children. There is a bumper snicker that reads, Jesus is coming, and boy is he pissed. Add this to the reasons why.

In the US, parents, before physically punishing a child, would often say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” As children, we thought this stupid and wrong. But there is some truth to it. Those violating another human being violate themselves. When we move beyond physical punishment, everyone wins.


Oriana:

When I was around twenty, I had a sudden insight: We have no right to punish anyone. It was more  an intuitive feeling rather than a reasoned argument, and it seemed esthetic more than ethical: it was so ugly to leash out at another with deliberate malice. It hurt to watch. It isn’t only the victim who suffers. The violation goes both ways, and includes passive witnesses as well. Thank you, Michael, for pointing it out.

Now I know some supportive arguments, based mainly on the view that we are not evil sinners by nature. Studies of infants showed that we are essentially good, wired for empathy and cooperation, and have an innate sense of fairness (this is typical of social species, and we are the most social among such species). Alas, we are vulnerable to damage from negative experiences, especially if we don’t get empathy after the traumatic event. “We are the victims of victims” and it’s not easy to break the generational cycle of passing on emotional damage that results from child abuse. Cruelty breeds cruelty — until a mother or a father discovers the joy of kindness and breaks the chain — or a child manages to enter an environment where kindness is the rule.
As I've already mentioned, at first my insight that we have no right to punish anyone seemed esthetic rather than ethical. I instantly understood what Oscar Wilde meant when he said, “I know why America is such a violent country. It’s because your wallpaper is so ugly.” A household that cultivates beauty will not be a brutal one. 

A washing machine helps. Carpets and vacuum cleaners are allies of less-punitive culture. Even soft toilet tissue helps. Kindness includes kindness to oneself. 

A harsh environment "hard times" — poverty, warfare, crime, threats of any sort increase stress. More stress results in more cruelty — simply because parents are more likely to have "melt-downs" and scream and hit whoever is too weak to hit back. The abused children then become parents themselves. 

But wait — it's not entirely hopeless and automatic. Less stress helps. More pleasure helps. Awareness helps. It can take centuries, but then it can take only one generation to produce a huge cultural change. Make people's lives easier, decrease stress, and children will get more love and less punishment. Organized religion, as always, will try to oppose progress, but eventually old clergy are replaced and religion becomes "softer." The god of punishment is gradually pushed off his throne that's rooted in hell.




*

It is a horror, that “god-given right to beat one’s child.” As Sam Harris observed, religious moderation is the result of taking the “holy” scriptures less and less seriously. He asks,”So why not take it less seriously still? Why not admit the the Bible is merely a collection of imperfect books written by highly fallible human beings?” The men who wrote the bible lived in a world permeated with cruelty. Harsh punishment even for minor crimes only added to the burden of cruelty. The horrible treatment of those at the bottom of the hierarchy perpetuated the “nasty, brutish, and short” condition of their lives.

Thinking about it, I sometimes wonder how we in the West made it to modern consciousness after all. I used to be puzzled: no more floggings — when did we decide it was barbarian? And effective law enforcement to stop and prevent most violence — when did it dawn on us that a safer world is worth the tax money it takes to pay the police? Not that things are perfect; nevertheless, we are enjoying the most secure period in Western history. With less hardship and less menace in the environment, we can focus on the beauty of life and enjoy gentle child rearing and gentleness in human relations in general. 


Again, things are not perfect — a snarly medical receptionist does not promote a kinder world — but in general, yes. There is more respect for the rights of others than a century ago — not to mention the horror of two or three centuries ago where roving gangs of thugs made city streets too dangerous for walking.

It takes many factors, such as a healthy economy and a social safety net, AND a conscious collective effort to create the kind of culture where people are mostly kind to one another. I wish I remembered who said it: “Heaven is a place where everyone is kind.” 


Michael:

I hope one day a politician will have the courage to take on prison reform — one of the next frontiers for reform of misplaced/unjust punishment.

Oriana:

I am not holding my breath. But maybe half a century from now . . .  It will be revolutionary to get away from the concept of punishment. But note that the mentally ill used to be treated with utmost cruelty. Treatment still falls short, but progress in the field of mental health gives me hope that prisons will be next.

Charles:

This is the most powerful and shocking blog yet. Shocking because of "F U God.”
At the same time there is so much truth and wisdom.
In Rembrandt’s Abraham and Isaac, notice how feminine Isaac.
Most of ll I love your segueway from punishment to beauty.

Oriana:

Vulgarity was the strongest way I could state it, and it needed to be stated with utmost clarity. We have to stop making excuses for the archaic god. Granted that any deity is a human concept, a concept of a cruel god must be condemned as completely out of keeping with modern ethics. Nightmare stories of obeying a voice telling you to kill your son keeps reinforcing the idea that obedience to god comes ahead of everything, even the parent’s duty to protect the child. This translates into obedience to the clergy, prophets, and cult leaders. No way!

The story can still be told as part of a mythology — with the explanation of how it reflects the culture of the Ancient Near East (deities were routinely appeased with sacrifice; altars flowed with blood; animal sacrifice at the Jerusalem Temple continued until the Romans destroyed the Temple), and how the myth was created and eventually written down by fallible men.

I suppose that Rembrandt wanted to emphasize Isaac’s tender youth and beauty.

And speaking of beauty, I am so glad that the rather wild transition worked for you. For me, there is a connection between being able to appreciate beauty and kindness. Beauty and ugliness are involved in how others are treated.
 

Sunday, May 6, 2012

GOD’S HEARING: READING THE SIGN LANGUAGE OF THE UNIVERSE



      
A few days ago I received Joseph Frank’s enormous biography of Dostoyevski – five volumes condensed into one. A thought crossed my mind: if I don’t like the book, I can always use it for weight-lifting exercise. Imagine, instead of meaningless dumbbells, lifting the weight of Dostoyevski’s life!

This morning I opened the book at random, and found the story that Dostoyevski records in his Writer’s Diary: a poor seamstress, in despair over not being able to rise from poverty, jumps to her death, holding an icon in her hands. She knows she’s committing a mortal sin, but still clings to the faith that she will be forgiven and admitted to the “better world.”

This made me think of my own impoverished youth and my frequent impulse to jump:

In my twenties, I could never look
from a high window or a roof 
and not feel a gathering leap.

~ but since I had no hope of a happy afterlife, I always chose my misery over nothingness. Gentle Reader, when I say that atheism saved my life, I am not trying to be witty.  

But the story also reminded me of the desperate prayers of the Auschwitz inmates. My grandmother Veronika told me of one such evening of communal prayer – diminished in horror because it contained some humor. My grandmother always chuckled a bit when quoting the kapo.

GOD’S HEARING

One evening in Auschwitz
the women in her barracks began to pray.

Their prayer grows and grows,
a chant, a hymn, a howl –
it carries far

into the searchlight-blinded,
electric wire-razored night.
The Kapo rushes in and shouts,

Not so loud!
God is not hard of hearing!

And my grandmother laughs.
Then she begins to sing:
Many have fallen

in the sleep of death,
but we have still awakened
to praise Thee,

she sings to the God of Auschwitz.
Her voice does not quiver.

~ Oriana © 2012




 



















My grandmother Veronika, first ID photo after Auschwitz

**

The previous ending to this poem was quite different, but it got trashed at an expensive East Coast workshop. I agree that the current ending is stronger, and the right closure to the sequence about my grandmother and her strength of character (a Victorian expression, isn’t it). But the original ending also had something to offer:

but we have still awakened
to praise Thee,

she sings to the God of Auschwitz.
God is not hard of hearing,
but speaks another language –

replies with the dawn’s
wounded aurora.

I meant that the redness of dawn (with all the metaphoric meanings of both red and dawn) is the divine reply, not understood by humanity. The “language” of nature – its cycles of death and rebirth, its sublime beauty –that’s where we may find a consoling answer.

Recently I found a similar idea in Louise Glück’s poem, “Sunset,” from The Wild Iris. The poem is spoken in the persona of god.

SUNSET

My great happiness
is the sound your voice makes,
calling to me even in despair; my sorrow
that I cannot answer you
in speech you accept as mine.

You have no faith in your own language.
So you invest
authority in signs
you cannot read with any accuracy.

And yet your voice reaches me always.
And I answer constantly,
my anger passing
as winter passes. My tenderness
should be apparent to you
in the breeze of the summer evening
and in the words that become
your own response.

~ Louise Glück, The Wild Iris, 1992

This is basically a naturalistic attitude, equating god with nature, proclaiming that nature is benevolent. A poem like this makes me think that Glück would reply to Einstein’s famous question by saying yes, the universe is friendly.

A Zen poet makes a similar comment:

Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
and endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
how to read the love letters sent
by wind and rain, snow and moon.

~ Ikkyu, from Ikkyu and the Crazy Cloud Anthology, trans. by Sonya Arutzen



On the other hand, those signs and natural wonders are not always aligned with what we wish for. Here Hafiz winks at us, in effect saying “que sera, sera.”

If the way the Milky Way revolves
Ignores your desires for a day or two,
Do not sink into sadness –
All turning goes as it will.

No matter what happens, our brain will automatically interpret it in whatever way makes it easier for us to carry on – even if it’s “this too shall pass.” In any case, we are not responsible for what happens, only for our response to what happens.

**

Reading the sign language of the universe reminds me of Steve’s comment in the Negative Infinity post: after making a choice, watch if the universe supports your choice. I go by the feeling of serenity (sometimes even a kind of quiet ecstasy) versus agitation. I tend to watch the universe before making a decision. Sometimes I go as far as to say, “I navigate by omens.”

Some might object that this talk about “watching the universe” and “attunement” is just religion in a new guise, one superstition exchanged for another. Yes, we are the children of the universe, but the universe doesn’t care. To steal from Kurt Vonnegut’s The Sirens of Titan, trusting the universe is like worshipping in the church of God the Utterly Indifferent. That god isn’t just hard of hearing; he’s deaf and blind.

It doesn’t matter, I reply. The human brain is wired to seek meaningful patterns. Sometimes the greatest blessing is having “fate” choose for us. A further blessing awaits if we then read meaning into fate (call it “circumstances beyond our control”). Or, as Szymborska says, “My apologies to chance for calling it necessity” (“Under One Small Star”).

This brings me to Viktor Frankl, the author of the unforgettable Man’s Search for Meaning. His favorite quotation was from Nietzsche: “He who has a why can endure almost any how.” People may have their why, their central meaning in life, without clearly realizing it. When clients brought him stories of their woes, Frankl would ask them, “Then why don’t you commit suicide?” Cornered, the client would usually come up with a reason s/he had to continue living. It seems that, just as no one ever lacks a reason to commit suicide, so, conversely (except for cases of painful terminal illness), no one lacks a reason for NOT committing suicide.

In my youth I thought of suicide every day. So, why didn’t I end it once and for all? I received one answer in an unforgettable dream. I had decided to commit suicide and was walking around a generic college campus, saying goodbye to strangers (if this scene seems like something out of a novel by Dostoyevski, I can only say that sometimes I feel like a character out of Dostoyevski). Finally I stopped in front of the library, a huge building with floor to ceiling windows. I see the rows of stacks. I stood in awe, saying out loud, “So many books! So many books!”




University of California, San Diego, Geisel Library

Now and then I still ask myself what keeps me alive. Each time I give a different answer. Sometimes I say, “I want to see what happens next.” At other times it might be, “It’s because of the beauty of the sunset – I never get tired of sunsets.” Or, if I’m in a more musical mood, it might be, “So I can listen again to Pollini play the Revolutionary Etude.”


At times I grow more abstract: “There is an elementary pleasure in existing, in having a consciousness.” When I was teaching, I realized that if my students learned that I committed suicide, I’d be a terrible role model for them, and I didn’t want to fail in that way; that’s not how I wanted to be remembered. Now that my chief identity is that of a writer, I may say that I enjoy sharing what I have learned with others – though I’m not too confident in the altruistic glow of that reply. So let me be a shameless hedonist and admit that I love the process of writing prose. I love the way content starts arriving from the most unexpected places, and anything I touch opens up another infinity, to quote Nietzsche again. This is a change from the years when what I wanted most was to grow as a poet, to see how far I could advance in the skill, and how my themes would change (or not change) with time. Or from my intellectually promiscuous twenties when I craved to develop in all directions.

Ultimately, it’s all of the above. I hear many answers. Some have to do with enjoying the beauty of the world, others with being of service in a satisfying way, and still others with my never-ceasing pleasure in having an inexhaustible inner life. It’s an embarrassment of riches.

If I absolutely had to choose, I’d probably say “beauty.” Here is a passage from Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning that I instantly identified with:

“If someone had seen our faces on the journey from Auschwitz to a Bavarian camp [Dachau] as we beheld the mountains of Salzburg with their summits glowing in the sunset, through the little barred windows of the prison carriage, he would never have believed that those were the faces of men who had given up all hope of life and liberty. Despite that factor – or maybe because of it – we were carried away by nature’s beauty, which we had missed for so long.”

Sure, you may say, the Alps – who could fail to respond, even when starved? But the passage that follows moves me even more:

“One evening, when we were already resting on the floor of the hut, dead tired, soup bowls in hand, a fellow prisoner rushed in and asked us to run out to the assembly grounds to see the wonderful sunset. Standing outside we saw sinister clouds glowing in the west and the whole sky alive with clouds of ever-changing colors and shapes, from steel blue to blood red. The desolate gray mud huts provided a sharp contrast, while the puddles on the muddy ground reflected the glowing sky. Then, after minutes of moving silence, one prisoner said to another, ‘How beautiful the world could be!’”


But I hear you, dear Philosophical Reader: “Oriana, you really can’t start with your grandmother in Auschwitz and then travel with Frankl to Dachau only as a pretext to talk about your favorite things: mountains and sunsets.” I know. The names of the camps stand for the heart of darkness, for ultimate evil. And I need to get more serious about addressing the question of god’s hearing.

**

In “Treatise on Theology,” Milosz says:

Whoever considers as normal the order of things in which the strong triumph and the weak fail, and life ends with death, accepts the devil’s rule.

. . . Whoever places his trust in Jesus Christ waits for His coming and the end of the world, when the first heaven and the first earth pass, and death is no more. (Second Space, p. 57-58)

For all his doubts and heresies, Milosz could indeed sound quite orthodox (though it’s important to remember that he admired Dostoyevski’s ideal of presenting a polyphony of voices, e.g. Ivan Karamazov the intellectual and Alyosha the believer). Here is something that can’t be passed over by exulting over the sunrise and sunset.

The idea that “death is no more” has a tremendous appeal. On the other hand, the whole Apocalyptic state of mind expresses a huge rejection of this world as a “vale of tears.” Yet Milosz admitted that modern man can’t accept the  idea that true life begins only after death, the way medieval monks renounced any enjoyment of this life for the sake of the afterlife. Nor does the Western man fully accept Buddha’s most famous saying, “Life is suffering.” Life also contains great joy. And people who enjoy life do NOT want the world to end. The love New York (or San Francisco, or Paris, or Vilnius) and couldn’t care less about the promised New Jerusalem. They love the earth as it is, and life as it is, the joy inseparable from pain, but joy nevertheless.  

Would we even know joy if not for some knowledge of pain? But I’m not arguing on behalf of pain. It’s precisely the diminishment of pain through progress in medicine, technology, and the establishment of social safety nets that has made our earthly life a lot more comfortable and precious to us. The countries where life is most secure have the highest percentage of people who describe themselves as secular.

Likewise, to agree with Milosz that the strong should not triumph means to assume that the strong are synonymous with the wicked. For Milosz, the strong meant the Nazis and the Red Army. But the United States cannot be compared to the Nazi Germany. Questions about ethics arise, but at least they are the subject of a public debate.                        

By the way, the original title of Frankl’s book was Despite Everything to Say Yes to Life. In spite of mortality and suffering to say Yes to life – all else follows.

ANOTHER DREAM ABOUT MY EXECUTION


All of us at a long school desk.
We’re told to tilt back our heads
and slowly say, “Ouch, mother.”
A capsule is dropped down our throats
sometime during the vowels.

I fade out. Yet soon I walk, I love
the trees silver after rain.
The downtown hovers, half-cloud,
the bridge across the bay
spun with beams of light.

This is my world, my pearl,
my kingdom within and without.
And dying in the night, what is it
but another self being born
to help us carry the questions.

I wake up refreshed
in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Since childhood I have climbed
mountains; my sinews and bones
know that going downhill is the killer,

not the drunkenness of heights.
I have died more than once,
and look: I walk, I dream.
Siehe, ich lebe, “See, I live,”
I repeat after Rilke,

in the exquisite, horrifying tongue
of those who were executioners.
How close leben sounds to
lieben, the long liquid notes
of the same song: Siehe, ich liebe, 

See, I love: it’s the story
of my life, of many lives.

~ Oriana © 2012

**


Hyacinth:

In your poem I love "god is not hard of hearing."

There is much to admire about the original ending. What was the objection to it? Maybe you could combine some of the lines??

Nature and god seem inseparable and mankind has always worshipped god through nature.

He or she seems more accessible and believable in nature. I have witnessed northern lights, green flash, double rainbows, geysers, icebergs, moons and sunsets to name a few and feel blessed by the sightings. Even Nature at its cruelest is astounding. Man's inhumanity is the exception.

“BLIND WORK” LIKE “BLIND FAITH”

Oriana:

The line you love was actually spoken by a woman kapo in Auschwitz. One friend of mine said, "To me the concentration camps are as unreal as the Middle Ages." For me both are a horrid reality, and I rush to think "in the past, in the past. The past is ashes." Yes, so many bodies to burn.

The objections to the original ending of “God’s Hearing” were not clear to me. It was more the facial expressions, as if people were disappointed with it. It fell flat – perhaps because it departed from grandmother, god not being of much interest any more, an archaic ghost in a secular age. Maybe the “language of nature” ending made me seem religious and defending god's deafness? As if I were saying – and based purely on the text I can see how strangers might assume that – that god exists and is not hard of hearing, just replies in another language . . .  I guess that sounds weak when we contemplate the atrocities of the camps. When the inmates at Dachau watched the spectacular sunset, they didn’t think that god was trying to console them, or convey a message. But they saw how beautiful the world could be if only we eliminated human cruelty.

Humanity worshipped nature for thousands of years, but monotheism put an end to it. Nature was no longer sacred; man was to have “dominion” over it. The Romantics and Transcendentalists tried to restore the sacredness of nature, but what could they do against industrial capitalism and the kind of fundamentalist religion that sees environmental protection as contrary to the bible (think of Senator Santorum’s attack on environmentalism as a religion not based on the bible).

The insufficiency of nature as an object of worship was noted by Robert Frost in “The Most of It”:

. . . all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried

Nevertheless, the only notion of god that still makes some sense to me is simply equating god with the universe. Nature is amazing, and beyond good and evil. Alternately, I might entertain the possibility of a meta-cosmos, something inherent in the universe that has some attributes that humanity traditionally bestowed on its gods. New Age people speak about “cosmic laws” and “cosmic intelligence” and “the Light” in this manner, and try to cobble together various world religions so that only the best is preserved. But it’s still wishful thinking with no supporting evidence, The Secret as its best-selling bible (outselling Frankl’s book: no surprise).

Nevertheless, that “fusion of the East and West” approach had a lot of appeal for me until I went to a lecture on karma and saw the old idea of justice as vengeance, and the old dogmatism (during the Q&A period, questions about the validity of the concept of karma were not permitted), along with blaming the victim. The speaker (an American Jungian psychologist who’d lived in India for a while) seemed taken aback by how much the audience treasured THIS life, rather than being eager to die and experience the wonders of the astral world (I’ll never forget his saying, “The flowers here on earth are nothing compared to how beautiful astral flowers are”).

Re: Viktor Frankl. Is meaning necessary for survival? It helps a lot and it can work wonders (e.g. when I knew why I was working so hard to master English, and could see how exceptional effort leads to outstanding results). But then for almost 20 years I had only a weak and shifting sense of meaning -- and a haunting memory of how wonderful it was to have a strong sense of purpose, a powerful goal.

When I had my perception shift re: depression, I threw myself into work even though it had no meaning for me – practically none. I wanted to be productive rather than stagnate in despair. Productive for what purpose? I had no answer. I decided to do it blindly (e.g. write the blog), without allowing myself to wonder why I'm doing it (and a friend didn’t help by saying, “Enjoy writing your blog. That’s all it’s good for”). Normally people are sustained by meaning, but at that point I did not have a sense of meaning. Meaning emerged later. 

That first months after closing the door on depression were very exhausting. It was work, work, work. Nothing gave me much pleasure, and my memories of positive experiences were still blocked. But working hard was the only thing I knew how to do. That particular summer was very rich and brought me much writing material, though I couldn't afford to think if anyone would ever want to read what I wrote. I said to myself, work blindly; don't ask why am I doing this, don't ask where am I going. Even though I’m extremely introverted, I managed to established my no-thinking zones. I had to stop thinking, except in terms of what to do or write next.

So I both agree and disagree with Frankl: it's wonderful to have a meaning, but based on my experience I say that it's possible to survive without a meaning in life, at least for a time, if you throw yourself into work simply to be doing something and kill self-centered cogitation – the answer lies outside. When I focused on what lay outside the suffocating labyrinths of my psyche, I could function quite well. Even such "blind work" (maybe analogous to "blind faith") can be salvation. Meaning doesn't have to precede activity, but can emerge from it, and/or from the healthier state of mind brought about by being active.

Of course I was very lucky to have had the skill and to have forged my own venue. And to have the intelligence and the talent, both mostly genetic. Luck all around!

And that has been one of my life's great surprises: after having regarded myself as unlucky almost as long as I can remember (with two magnificent exceptions: the last year in Warsaw, and the last year in Los Angeles – the beauty of it before loss), I came to perceive myself as exceptionally lucky.