Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, Chanted in a Church on the Cours Mirabeau

1.

A friend of mine is an ardent meditator. She belongs to the Soka Gokkai sect of Buddhism, also called Nichiren Buddhism.  The two main practices of this sect are regular chanting, often together as a group, and the veneration of an altar, called the Gohonzan, located at home, in a temple, or at any Nichiren gathering; the altar contains excerpts from the Lotus Sutra, including the famous chant, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, which is a Japanese translation of the Sanskrit title of the sutra, Saddharma Pundarika Sutra.    Another core belief is that chanting not only changes the chanter, but affects the environment as well.  One is encouraged to expect good things to come to one from both the inner and outer worlds.

When I was recently in France, I met a couple each of whose families had emigrated from Japan a few generations back.  During a walk through lovely Provence countryside,  we discussed many things; at one point, I abruptly changed the subject. What do you think of Nichiren Buddhism?, I asked, knowing that this sect has had a long and notable history in Japan.  The husband told me that he had never heard of it, and that they were both Presbyterians!  Maybe a little background of this sect is in order, since many are quite unfamiliar with it.  (It is not a small group.  I was told by a group member that the number of current adherents world-wide is about the same as the number of Jews.)

Nichiren, 1222-1282, was an iconoclastic Japanese monk who founded this eponymous sect of Buddhism. He taught that everybody has a diamond of enlightenment within,  however much covered in mud,  which is everyone's central nature.  All are able to uncover this gem in their present lifetime.  The most efficacious way of doing this is chanting the title of the Lotus Sutra, which, along with the Heart Sutra, are the chief sects of Mahayana Buddhism.   (Nichiren reminds me a little of Bal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism; in each case, religion was brought directly to the people, bypassing those in authority, whether they be rabbis or monks.)

I hadn't meditated in a while and was feeling somewhat agitated.  (I was a little like the man in a Woody Alan film, who, in a state of panic, was trying to reach his guru from a phone booth.  "Somebody's gotta help me," he said,  in a very agitated voice, "I forgot my mantra!")

My friend invited me to the New Members Meeting, which meets every other week at a member's house in Baltimore.

2.

There were eight present at the Nichiren gathering; two of those present were visitors, including myself.  An orientation was given.  One of the members had a large pasteboard, reminding me of presentations by followers of Chinmaya Swami, which I had heard on occasion in India; important points were written on a poster and presented to the audience by a speaker wielding a large pointer.   (The speaker at the Buddhist gathering,, somewhat younger than I, mentioned the Five Aggregates, a core teaching of all schools of Buddhism.  This has inspired me to write an essay about these five aspects of individuality, of which I am very familiar.  I think the five aggregates, or skhandas, are very important and are very much unknown. Other members of the group, when questioned about the skhandas, were completely unaware of their importance.  I hope this essay will be helpful to them and to others; it will be posted soon.)

We chanted the famous mantra and excerpts form the Lotus Sutra in Japanese.  After that, members presented personal testimonies of how chanting changed their lives and environment, helping to make the world a better place.  (This reminded me of testimonies given in group meetings of evangelical Christians; chanting made such and such happen in one case, Christ made such and such happen in the other.)

As you might expect, I remained a doubting Thomas regarding such aspects of Nichiren Buddhism.   I had no doubts about the beneficial effects of meditation--scientific research, after all, is in complete agreement.  I do not, however, believe in any form of supernatural intervention--science agrees with me here as well. I needed to meditate again, however, so I made the following "scientific" proposal to the host of the group.  I would meditate, chanting nam myoho renghe kyo, for twenty minutes twice daily and would return to the group in a few months with a report of any internal or external changes in my life for the better. At least I would be meditating again.

3.

It's been about two months since that meeting, and with only one or two exceptions, I have kept my promise. (Well sort of--I didn't chant the prescribed mantra during most of my meditations.  Some were breathing meditations, mindfulness meditations, silent meditations, etc.  Each time, whenever possible, I sat down in a half-lotus position.  At home I sit half-lotus on a Muslim prayer rug I bought in Turkey.  Before me is a lit soy candle from Target, burning before a statue of Shiva Nataraja which I obtained in India.  I also have a little picture of the aunt of my Indian brother-in-law, who was canonized by the Catholic Church and is now known as Saint Alphonsa.  Yes, I am quite ecumenical.)

I must admit that not only did I become calmer, as one might expect, but some good things did happen in my life.  (I make no claims, however, that the occurrences were "statistically significant.") But this article isn't about them.  It's about what happened one morning when I chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo in a Catholic Church in Provence.

4.

A few days after the Buddhist meeting, my wife and I were off to Aix-en-Provence, France, for a three week stay.  The program, sponsored by the University of California, provided us with an apartment in the heart of Aix.  We were with a very congenial group of people, mostly around my age, and mostly affiliated in some way with the University of California; the main aspect of the program was classes in French at a local school for foreigners.

Aix is a wonderful town.  Its yellow-colored buildings, many hundreds of years old, and narrow streets were always full of--but never crowded with--(mostly) young, well-dressed pedestrians having a good time.  (Aix is a very pedestrian-friendly city.  The food, as you can imagine, was great.  Nearly everything about our stay there was, well, magical.  We had free time to travel about--we took the rapid train (TGF) to Lyon one weekend with a couple from the group--but that's another story.  The people we were with were not only very interesting, but good, friendly, people as well. Our program director, Carlotta, was exceptional.)

Aix is small.  The main avenue is called the Cours Mirabeau, lined with stately plane (sycamore) trees,  the "Champs Elysées of Aix"--an exaggeration, of course.  Our apartment hotel was located near one end of the Cours; our school was a few blocks away from the other end.  In this part along the Cours, just opposite the famous statue of King Rene, the last independent king of Provence, was the Catholic Church in which  I chanted.

I meditated each morning and night at the apartment.  On the morning in question, I decided to do my meditation in the church, which I had visited previously.  I left the apartment at 8 a.m.; classes would begin at 9.

The name of the Jesuit church is l'Église de la Mission.  It is a Baroque church, nothing special--that is, for France.  Like most churches in France, they provide excellent space for meditation--beautiful structures with very few visitors.  (Church attendance in France is so low that even in the villages, where a Catholic Church is almost always located in a prominent position, Sunday services often do not take place at all, due to lack of interest and due to an acute shortage of priests.  One village, often on a rotating basis, offers services on Sunday, to which people from several surrounding villages must travel.  Times have changed!  You may recall, that Pope John Paul II, on a visit to France, wondered aloud what happened to the country that once was "the first daughter of the Church."  (The answer: plenty.)

The church in Aix, like many others, was almost always empty, despite being at the center of a bustling town.  It could seat hundreds.  The undecorated stone walls rose to a height of about 60 feet; the central dome, with a plain glass window at the top, rose another twenty-five feet or so above that.  To the right of the transept was a larger-than-life statue of a man in a robe holding a cross, which was larger than him, the base of which rested on the floor of the niche.  (I had seen pictures of men like these; they were the missionaries, who declared that the land they were visiting was now Catholic, whether the native population liked it or not.)  On the opposite side was the statue of a saint.  On the altar, was a brass statue of the crucified Jesus wearing a gilded loin cloth.  His head was lowered; he looked very dead.

Nobody was in the church when I entered at around 8:15 a.m.  I sat on the left side of the church, not far from a large cross before which a young man was kneeling on stone for a very long time the day before.  I began to chant to myself.

No one was around, so I began to chant aloud.  As I became aware of the echoes which the church walls provided, I chanted louder and louder--and louder.  Soon NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO reverberated and filled the entire church.  I had the feeling, during this chant, that the missionary guy would have been more than a bit miffed if his stone-cold ears had been real; I also felt that Jesus would have smiled.

Twenty minutes had passed.  I stopped and felt great.  I still had a few minutes to "come down" for class.

At this moment, a light came on to the right of the altar.  Then a little lady came out of the sacristy door and proceeded to light two candles on the altar. (The door is clearly visible in the picture.) After this, she promptly left.  I was taken aback--There was no chance that she hadn't heard my loud chanting!  A few stragglers came in--about four old ladies, half as many old men,  and one rather desperate-looking young man.  I figured that there would be a nine o'clock mass and that this was a typical congregation for a weekday service.  I thought that she must have been quite irritated with me.  If she was, I certainly couldn't blame her.  I was prepared to apologize.

A few more of the faithful came in.  Then the little old woman came out of the sacristy again and headed in my direction.  I'm in for it, I thought; then I noticed her lovely smile.

When she reached the place where I was sitting, she spoke to me in an angelic voice with the expression I would imagine that many of the statues of the Virgin Mary would have, if statues, like the picture of Dorian Gray, aged as we do--The lady's face was quite wrinkled.

"Monsieur, je voudrais que vous feriez la lecture pendant la messe."  ("Sir, I would like you to give the reading during the mass.")

I was dumbfounded not only by the invitation, but by her presence, which exuded rays of kindness and serenity in my direction.

I told her. in French,  that it would be a great honor, but that I'm neither French nor Catholic, and had to leave presently for a class in conversational French.

She smiled again.  "J'espère que vous revendriez, Monsieur!"  ("I hope you will come back. Sir!") Without another word she left, still looking very pleased.

(I did return several times, but never saw her again.)

At the school, our teacher asked me why I was late.  (Our advanced class had only three students.)  I explained.  She thought I refused the old lady's request for some religious reason.  I told her that I respect people of all religions--I also respect atheists.  I told her that I interpret all religions symbolically, and, on a symbolic level, they all make sense. 

D'accord, she replied.  "Now let's turn to the subject of the day," 
--French pop music.  She proceeded to show us videos of her favorite contemporary French singers, including two featuring an African-Belgian rapper.  Both were first-rate.

For some reason, the incident at the church had made me feel like a man of twenty again--combined with the wisdom of a man nearly seventy.  I had the distinct impression that it had a similar effect on the old lady.

The Nichiren Buddhists teach, as previously mentioned, that chanting has a positive effect not only on the individual, but on others, too.  I learned my lesson in a Baroque church; they're absolutely right.

ET TU, BUDDHE?

Alas, Buddhists are doing it too.  No doubt about it The Song of the Evil Urge includes us all.  No exceptions.  The song is a parody of a Cole Porter standard, the content of which seems to be behind a lot of what's going on these days.  I will explain.


l.
Cole Porter was a great genius of American song.  Rarely have a gift for melody and a gift for language been so delightfully combined--like Wagner, he wrote the music and the words  One of his greatest songs is Let's Fall In Love which begins as follows:

                                        Birds do it, bees do it,
                                        Even educated fleas do it;
                                        Let's do it, let's fall in love.

While reading the news, I often hear a parody of this song, seemingly composed by the Zeitgeist, which I call The Song of the Evil Urge:

                                           You do it, I do it,
                                           Christians, Muslims and Hindus do it,
                                           Let's do it, let's act like thugs!

I am certainly not amiss in including Christians as prominent examples in the history of thuggery.  It is said, with reason I think, that a good way to evaluate the decency of a people is in the way they treat minorities.  To put it mildly, Christians have not treated Jews very well during the course of their common history.  Muslims must be included, too--there are hordes of unhappy, underemployed young people who do horrible things in the name of Islam.  (Islam is at fault just as much as Christianity is at fault in the first example.) Hindus, of course, aren't innocent either.  Often admired for their religious tolerance, Hindus have not scored high on social tolerance; yea, they do it too, and, increasingly, alas! in the name of their religion.

The song as above is not complete.  Jews, for centuries after Constantine's conversion,  lacked power and have been on the receiving end of acts of great evil.  However, after obtaining power with the creation of Israel, Israeli Jews have not been always fair to their minorities--a fact, which I'm sad to report, is becoming increasingly more obvious..

What about atheists?  Are the atheists justified in contending that religion is an evil in itself and once it's abolished a secular Peaceable Kingdom will arise?  As one says in the vernacular, Yeah, right. Cambodia. Rwanda.  Stalin.  The harsh treatment by Chinese atheists of the people of Tibet.  (It is obvious that the conflicts today, as always, are about  greedy, ignorant power struggles among people who refuse to walk a mile in the moccasins of their neighbors. I want to make it clear that I am convinced that the religions themselves are not at fault; the fault lies in the fact that they are not followed.  Evil acts are done by people who may or may not use religion as a cover for their lust for power. A quip by Gandhi is appropriate here.  When asked what he thought about Western Civilization, he replied that it is a good idea and should be tried sometime.  Similarly with Christianity at its best, and all religions at their best.)

In order to include atheists in the song, I coined a new word.  Richard Dawkins, a staunch atheist, refers to the community of non-believers as consisting of brights.  The English word troglodyte refers to cave dwellers, but, by extension, includes all those who act like boors.  Here's my word for boorish atheists: troglobrites.  (I changed the spelling of bright, since I don't think the implication that religious people are necessarily dull in  comparison to atheists  holds.)

So here is the expanded version of the song:

                                  You do it, I do it,
                                  Christians, Muslims, Hindus,
                                  Troglodytes and Jews do it;
                                   Let's do it, let's act like thugs!

Well you might have noticed, I left something out.  No longer.  There have been frequent reports of Buddhist atrocities against Muslims in Myanmar.  Thousands of Muslims are confined to concentration camps--there is no other word for the horrible camps in which they are confined.  The hatred of Muslims by large swaths of the population of Myanmar is painfully palpable.  In addition, today I read in the NY Times about  a group of Buddhist thugs, called the Bodu Bala Sena,  led by monks which has burned down houses of Muslims in Sri Lanka.

                                     Et tu, Buddhe?

(The word Buddha here is used as a synecdoche for all Buddhists; the founder of the religion is, of course, blameless.) Yes, Buddhists are noteworthy for their advocacy for peace.  Their activities around the world in this regard, and the wisdom it has brought to countless millions,  leave no doubt:  Buddhism has had a very positive effect for over two thousand years.  Yet, contrary to my own prejudice, Buddhists are apparently just like everyone else.  So the full version of the unfortunate song must be as follows:

                                        You do it, I do it,
                                        Christians, Muslims, Hindus,
                                        Buddhists, troglodytes and Jews do it--
                                        Let's do it, let's act like thugs!

2.
We live in an ambiguous world.  Fundamentalists might imagine they have certainties, but they do not.  Life is not clear-cut, , whether they like it or not.  The Good News is that the Song of the Evil Urge is not universal.  There is a lot of good things being done around the world by people of all faiths, including by those without a traditional faith.  I have witnessed some very good things volunteers are doing in the Dominican Republic.  In fact, much good is being done everywhere.  Doctors Without Borders.  Catholic Charities,  The Islamic Relief Fund, etc.  Many Hindu professionals have returned to India to significantly improve the lives of the poor.  Buddhists, Jews and atheists are struggling for justice and peace everywhere.  I admit I'm a seasoned optimist; I have faith that another version of the song, The Song of Justice, will eventually--eventually! there's the rub-- prevail:

                                        You can do it, we can do it,
                                         Christians, Muslims, Hindus,
                                         Buddhists, atheists and Jews can do it--
                                         Let's do it, let's live and love!

Which version of the song are you doing? Admit it--I certainly do, regarding myself--our moral lives are ambiguous.  But it's up to everyone of us to make the human condition less murky.  It can be done. If we put this version of the song into action, and, as it were, sing it together, the ghost of Cole Porter, and the good spirit in all of us, will be in for a very pleasant surprise.

THE FRENCH PARADOX

In the lead article of the June 23, 2014 edition of Time magazine, entitled Don't Blame Fat, Bryan Walsh points to latest research that strongly indicates that America's obsession of limiting fat in the diet has been misplaced.

The consumption of fat, especially saturated fat, is down; Americans, however, are arguably less healthy than ever.  Almost one in ten of Americans suffers from diabetes, an astounding, disheartening fact; we are, in addition, either the fattest or second fattest nation in the world.  In contrast to what has been preached to us for decades, some of the latest research has shown that the consumption of saturated fat is not clearly associated with heart disease.  I don't think that the facts are all in; it is clear to me, however, that  the "8,853% increase" of high-fructose corn syrup, as reported in the article, does indeed wreak havoc on our nation's health.  However, I also believe that all such nutritional arguments are missing the most important  point.  I will explain.

On the cover of Time in which this article appears, is s big swirl of butter, coiled like a snail.  The headline is "Eat Butter."  In smaller print: "Scientists labeled fat the enemy.  Why they were wrong."  I strongly believe that they are still wrong.  If I had designed the cover--not to mention authoring the article--there would have been a picture of a family, all smiles, raising a glass of wine in a toast.  Before them would be small portions of food served in an aesthetic way.  My title: "Enjoy Your Food!"  My subtitle: "Eating food you love with the people you love can add years to your life." The American science of nutrition is, I believe,  far too mechanical.  Human beings are not machines; however well maintained, they can still be miserable.  (Research is clear on this point; depression shortens the life span.)  The social aspect of food is wired into our brains.  We evolved in groups that ate together and talked together.  I contend that adding the pleasure of taste to the pleasure  of company is a very salubrious combination.  Man was not meant to eat bad food alone.

Supporting evidence for this is the so-called French paradox.  The French eat four times the amount of butter as Americans do; 60% more cheese and three times more pork, yet have about a 30% decreased risk of heart disease as compared to Americans.  Why is this?  

I just returned from France, and had some of the best food I ever ate in my life.  Between meals and classes in French, my wife and I were struck by the difference in the supermarkets.  Most French markets aren't supersized at all; even the largest I came across was only about half the size of my neighborhood Giant--a fitting name!  Most had none or only a minimal selection of processed and frozen foods.  The sizes of the products were all reduced compared to ours.  For instance, a bottle of tomato sauce was about half the size of the ones in Giant.  My son, who cooks well, wanted me to take home a special kind of salt, les fleurs de sel de la Geurande.  The package was only a little larger than a can of sardines.  Everything was smaller--a carton of milk was less than a liter, for instance.  There was no aisle dedicated to soft drinks; none containing only chips and candy.  Snack foods were not prominent at all.

The town we stayed in, Aix-en-Provence, is, in effect, a pedestrian center.  It was full of people, dressed simply and elegantly, obviously having a good time.  Outdoor cafes and restaurants were everywhere.  The most astounding fact for an American was to notice that virtually no one was even overweight, not to mention obese.  (This fact alone explains much of the French Paradox.) 

We should follow the French example!  We should not be asking the American question, "Is this food healthy?" as much as asking the French question, "Is this food delicious?"  Nutritional values are important; they are less important, however, than the enjoyment of and the social aspects of food.  

I think it is the French joie de vivre that explains most of the French paradox.  If you love something, you don't abuse it.  The portions are small, and snacking--something you tend to do alone--is rare.  If you are enjoying life, you tend to be less anxious.  I contend that the stresses of American life result in a higher level of anxiety.  Eating enormous quantities of junk food is a way, a destructive way, to calm the beasts inside.  Using food as a way to control anxiety is like using alcohol for the same reason; diabetes and an early death often follow.  

We Americans are bombarded by junk food everywhere.  To put it mildly, food corporations are interested in money and not in the health of their customers.  We heard a lot of complaints about Bloomberg, the mayor of New York, who tried to limit the sale of those awful, enormous soft drinks at fast food restaurants.  He was accused of fostering "a nanny state" in which government has undue influence over food choices.  That corporations are fostering a much more detrimental "fanny state"--that is, causing obesity--is considered by these critics to be an acceptable result of capitalism; regulating it, even for the common good, would make matters worse--according to them. Michelle Obama's recent backtracking from her attempts to have children eat better provides unfortunate proof of how powerful corporations are.  We need to change that; we also need to begin with ourselves.

I am happy to say that I have not only been training my tongue to speak French, but to taste French, also.  I am also happy to say that my belt-size remains bien Frenchified, too. 

In sum: be concerned with the health benefits of foods, but don't obsess over it. Everyone is on a personal journey to that inevitable place where time no longer exists; enjoying the journey, however, isn't inevitable at all.    That is a shame.  If you enjoy food as an essential part of an enjoyable life,  it will most likely be later than you think for a delightfully extended period of time.  

GOETHE'S PROMETHEUS

This essay provides a commentary on an essential poem by Goethe. First the poem, followed by a translation into English:


PROMETHEUS

Bedecke deinen Himmel, Zeus,
Mit Wolkendunst
Und übe, dem Knaben gleich,
Der Disteln köpft,
An Eichen dich und Bergeshöhn;
Musst mir meine Erde
Doch lassen stehn
Und meine Hütte, die du nicht gebaut,
Und meinen Herd,
Um dessen Glut
Du mich beneidest.

Ich kenne nichts Ärmeres
Unter der Sonn als euch, Götter!
Ihr nähret kümmerlich
Von Opfersteuern
Und Gebetshauch
Eure Majestät
Und darbtet, wären
Nicht Kinder und Bettler
Hoffnungsvolle Toren.

Da ich ein Kind war,
Nicht wusste, wo aus noch ein,
Kehrt ich mein verirrtes Auge
Zur Sonne, als wenn drüber wär
Ein Ohr, zu hören meine Klage,
Ein Herz wie meins,
Sich des Bedrängten zu erbarmen.

Wer half mir
Wider der Titanen Übermut?
Wer rettete vom Tode mich,
Von Sklaverei?
Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet,
Heilig glühend Herz?
Und glühtest jung und gut,
Betrogen, Rettungsdank
Dem Schlafenden da droben?

Ich dich ehren? Wofür?
Hast du die Schmerzen gelindert
Je des Beladenen?
Hast du die Tränen gestillet
Je des Geängsteten?
Hat nicht mich zum Manne geschmiedet
Die allmächtige Zeit
Und das ewige Schicksal,
Meine Herrn und deine?

Wähntest du etwa,
Ich sollte das Leben hassen,
In Wüsten fliehen,
Weil nicht alle
Blütenträume reiften?

Hier sitz ich, forme Menschen
Nach meinem Bilde,
Ein Geschlecht, das mir gleich sei,
Zu leiden, zu weinen,
Zu geniessen und zu freuen sich,
Und dein nicht zu achten,
Wie ich!

                      --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


PROMETHEUS

Conceal your heaven in mist, Zeus,
and practice on oaks and mountaintops
like a little boy who beheads thistles;
my earth, however, you must leave intact,
along with my hut which you didn't build,
and my hearth, the flame of which
provokes your envy.

I know nothing more destitute
under the sun than you gods!
Your majesty wretchedly gets by
with offerings and the breaths of prayer;
you would starve to death
if beggars and children
weren't hopeful fools. 

When I was an ignorant child,
my mistaken eyes turned
to the sun, as if there were
an ear up there to witness
my lament, or a heart like mine
to pity those in distress.

Who helped me when I opposed
the rashness of the Titans?
Who saved me from death and slavery?
Wasn't it you, my holy, fiery heart,
who accomplished it all by yourself?
And once, young and decent, didn't you radiate
thanks of deliverance 
toward Him who sleeps above?

Why should I honor you?
Have you ever 
eased the pain of the troubled?
Have you ever 
stilled the tears of the anguished?
Haven't eternal destiny
--your master and mine--
and all-powerful time
forged the man I've become?

Do you really believe
that I should detest life
and flee to the wilderness
just because many dreams 
bloom and don't survive?

I'm seated here, form human beings
according to my image,
a race that will follow my lead,
to suffer, to cry,
to enjoy, to rejoice,
and to ignore you completely,
just like me.

                 --Translated by Thomas Dorsett

A recording of the poem:

1.

This poem has lost nothing of its raw intensity after nearly two hundred and fifty years.  Its modernity, in regard to both content and composition, is striking. With just  a few changes, it could have been written today. 

"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire
can ever warm me, I know that is poetry."  Those for whom poetry is much more than entertainment know exactly what Emily Dickinson meant.  They will also know that Goethe's Prometheus contains that paradoxical fire that takes one beyond the ambient temperature of normal existence into a realm of transcendent chill.

The poem, written between 1772-1774--Goethe would have been about twenty-three years old at the time--was first published anonymously in 1785; in 1789 it appeared with acknowledged authorship.  One can understand Goethe's hesitation to publish such an inflammatory poem until he had become an established author.  The period in German literature of which this poem is an outstanding example is called Sturm und Drang, or Storm and Stress, which flourished from about 1760 to about 1780.  I like to think of that period as "the other sixties movement," which antedates the more famous epoch which roiled Germany two  hundred years later.  The Storm and Stress movement was much calmer and much less violent, but was quite revolutionary in its way.  Rigid morality, conventional religion and all forms of stuffiness had become shadows to be dispersed by the light of a passionate sun.  The expression of emotional intensity is a hallmark of the movement. Its authors attempted to hurtle figurative arrows at the very center of existence.  As one might suspect, not all archers were equal; most arrows fell ridiculously short of their aesthetic and rebellious goals.  Most examples of the Sturm und Drang movement are deservedly forgotten.  Goethe's Prometheus is an astounding exception.

(Goethe's rebelliousness, however, did not last long.  Within a decade of the poem's composition, he had become an official at the Weimar court, where he served--certainly with distinction--until his death at the age of 83.  One could well imagine that the author of Prometheus, a few years after he wrote it, would have become an ardent supporter of the French Revolution.  Nothing could be further from the truth; Goethe detested the turmoil in France.  As those from the second Sixties movement would have said , Goethe had become part of the Establishment--still a literary genius, no doubt, as his later works attest, but now a much more conservative and conventional one.) 

The modernity and freshness of this poem is due not only due to its content but also to its form. It is written in what we today call free verse.  We often think of Walt Whitman, who wrote a century after Goethe, as the father of free verse.  There is some justification for this, since Goethe's Prometheus is sui generis in the author's canon.  Nearly all of Goethe's poetry strictly follows the conventions of meter and rhyme.  German poetry, from Goethe's time to to the end of the Second World War--Hölderlin was a glorious exception--was usually rhymed and had regular meter.  The overwhelmingly favorite form was stanzas of four lines in which the last syllable of line two fully rhymed with the last syllable of line four.  Enjambements were rare.  Geniuses such as Heine and Rilke produced great poetry following these conventions; in the hands of the less gifted, countless excruciatingly boring poems arose to the delight of those whose Poetry I.Q. lay in the limited range. The trauma of the Great War provided a serious blow to this tradition (Trakl); its death was accomplished by the far worse trauma of the Second World War (Celan).

Goethe suspended this tradition for his poem for similar reasons--I am certain that he sensed that the subject matter could not be contained within the bounds of meter and rhyme.  Prometheus gives the mistaken impression that its author simply gushed out his emotions onto paper at one sitting.  This is deceptive.  Although the meter is free, giving the poem a spontaneous feel, Goethe undoubtedly painstakingly went over every word of the composition after he wrote it--It is unknown how long it took him to write the poem; it is known, however, that drafts existed before the final version was published.  A poem that was labored over yet appears spontaneous gives all the more credit to its author.

2.

In the well-known Greek myth, Prometheus, a Titan, defies Zeus by giving the gift of fire to mankind, something which the king of the gods explicitly forbade.  Zeus, unable to retract the gift, punishes Prometheus with eternal torment.  Prometheus was hereafter celebrated as a great friend and benefactor of humanity.

In Goethe's poem, Prometheus accuses Zeus of envying him, and by extension, mankind, because of the flames now present in everyone's hearth.  I think Goethe might be also referring to the flame of genius here--the poem is very much about the glory of self-reliant extraordinary individuals.  In this case, it makes sense for Zeus, who owes his very existence to religious imagination, to be envious.  The myth, however, tells a different story, which reveals an aspect of the poem that isn't modern at all.

Ancient religions--The Greek and Hindu ones being prime examples--are replete with tales of human beings punished for claiming divinity for themselves.  Niobe claimed that her children rivaled Apollo and Diana; Icarus flew too close to the sun; Hindu sages obtained supernatural powers by doing penance.  All these attempts end in disaster.  The Greeks called the loss of balance that results when mortals pretend to be immortal hubris.  We are well aware of the ambiguities of genius and progress; Goethe wasn't.  The Eighteenth Century was quite optimistic and placed great faith in progress.  In Kant's words: "The Enlightenment is mankind's departure from its self-caused immaturity."  Over a century later, a German kaiser told his people, "I am leading you to times of gold."  We know how that turned out.

Goethe's poem, as a true child of the Sturm and Drang era, did indeed believe that geniuses would lead mankind to a golden era.  In one version of the myth, Prometheus created human beings out of clay.  There is a clear reference to this in the last stanza of the poem but with a twist.  The real target of the poem is, of course, the Christian God, and not Zeus.  God created man according to His image, according to Genesis.  Now that God has been replaced by reason, geniuses, a prototype of which is Prometheus, create ordinary human beings  in their image.  Their insights, according to Eighteenth Century optimists,  would inevitably trickle down and usher in a new age of wisdom and peace.  Just like trickle-down economics; we know how that has turned out, too.

Fire enabled mortals to live like the gods.  It is not inappropriate to interpret this fire in the broadest sense,  as also including the fire of technology,which has brought us closer to the gods than the likes of Zeus, Prometheus--and Goethe--could have imagined.  The problem, as we moderns know, is that the evolution of the human brain lags far behind the evolution of technology.  Our primitive urges, out of balance, can't handle technology very well.  It is certainly a basic good.  Think of the fire of genius that has given us the Internet and satellites; think of the fire of genius that has cured so many diseases and helps treat so many others.  The dawn of the space age --the list goes on and on.  It also includes, unfortunately, the enormous fire over Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  The image of a terrorist entering a city with a nuclear bomb in his briefcase gives us nightmares. Greed writ large by technology has also resulted in the tremendous threat of climate change; it is also causing unprecedented extinctions of animals, each a glorious triumph of evolution.  That list goes on and on, too.

I doubt if Goethe could have written the same poem had he become aware of the genocide committed by many of his countrymen, with great modern efficiency,  less than two centuries after his death.  Since Goethe's time, we have become all too painfully aware of the ambiguities of having a "fiery, glowing heart." Unless the hearts of the overwhelming majority of  people are in the right place, wrong things, very wrong things, can happen. We who live in the twenty-first century, know this all too well.   Regarding the indifference of the gods, however, Goethe would not have to change a word to resonate with many contemporary readers.

3,

A prominent theme of the poem is that belief in a God who is omnipotent, omniscient and concerned with human affairs is no longer tenable.  Prometheus refers to God as the One asleep above.  There is also a direct allusion to the Christian God: the German, "Da ich ein Kind war," ("When I was a child,") is a clear reference to a famous section of Paul's Letter to the Corinthians, namely 
1 Corinthians 13:11.  Now that Prometheus's power of reason has woken him up, he can no longer believe in pious fiction.

In Goethe's day, the philosophy of deism was widespread.  It asserted that although God created the world, he has since, well, disappeared.  Science in Goethe's day, unlike science today, couldn't imagine creation without a divine origin; reason then and now, however,  denies any supernatural involvement in the alleviation of suffering.  Is Goethe indicating merely the withdrawal  of God from the world or is he indicating God's non-existence?  That is open to debate; practically, however, there is little difference between the two positions.

The poem's secularism and its anger concerning the indifference of nature to suffering is largely responsible for its contemporary poignancy.  Most important of all, as with all great poems, is the perfect fusion of content and technical mastery that makes this poem so memorable. It remains, and, in my opinion,  will always remain,  a masterpiece.



Footnote: I feel compelled to add a personal note here.  I do not believe that the literal belief in a supernatural deity is necessary for religion.  An old friend of mine said it best, "Zion ground down must become marrow."  God--you can also use an impersonal term, such as Nirvana, if you're so inclined--resides within.

WHY MEDITATE?

1.

What is the purpose of meditation?  In order to answer this question, let me ask another: What is the purpose of eating good food?  In America, the responses to both questions are likely to be health concerns.  Meditation can lower one's blood pressure, etc.  A good diet can reduce the risks of a heart attack and of a stroke, etc.  Regarding good food, one would get a very different answer from the French.  They tend to view good food as one of the great pleasure of life.  How much cholesterol is in a good foie gras is not their primary concern.  Similarly, while acknowledging the health benefits of meditation, I also acknowledge that such health concerns are not the primary reason Buddhists meditate.  They meditate to bring their life in accord with Buddhist principles; they meditate to obtain wisdom.  Since the French are much less obese than Americans and since Buddhists are arguably more serene than the average American, we have much to learn from both.  This essay is an attempt to delineate  a Buddhist path of meditation that leads to a fuller life through meditation for the benefit of all; I hope it will be of some practical use to you.

Why Meditate? Life as a Problem--With A Solution

If you don't see life as problematic, you are (relatively speaking) lucky.  However, the Buddhist trinity of life's evils, sickness, old age and death, eventually catch up with everyone.  In addition, many of those considered to be successful are not strangers to stress.  Furthermore,  nearly everyone, to one degree or another, is at least periodically buffeted by the Buddhist trinity of the evils of the inner life, greed, hate and delusion. Meditation--in this essay meditation includes contemplation and action--is the only real way to regain one's balance.

There is a passage in the prose writings of the great seventeenth century English poet, George Herbert, in which he uses the metaphor of a ditch.  Human beings have fallen into a hole and suffer considerably as a result.  They have not fallen into it through chance; God, for Herbert, is always in full control.  Sin and rebelliousness have caused man's fall into a pit of his own making.  The way out is, partially, through good deeds, but mostly through prayer and supplication.  In other words, a divine hand is ready to help you once you humble yourself and reach out for it.  This solution to life's problems is increasingly problematic for those exposed to science and critical thinking.  In any case, Buddhism is not a system that relies on divine intervention.  For many of us, Herbert's literal faith is no longer tenable.

The great French religious philosopher, Simone Weil, who much admired Herbert, has a further comment here.  She still believed in divine intervention, but believed it to be exceedingly rare.  She believed, for "practical" purposes, that the only hope for one fallen into a deep ditch is for someone to get a ladder, climb down to the level of the one in great need, and help him out.  Such help is often available for those who fall into a relatively shallow ditch and are lucky enough to have family, friends, and sometimes even strangers to help them.  But such help for those who are at the bottom of a deep pit almost always never arrives.  More often than not, people make things worse for those in great need.  The recent case of a mad young man who killed several people is a good illustration of this vicious circle.  He was a "high functioning person with Asperger's syndrome"--normal intelligence and extremely poor social skills can be a toxic combination, as it was in this case.   Yet, having come from a privileged background, this particular young man thought he was entitled. among other things, to the adoration of beautiful women.  Instead, he was bullied and humiliated at school and elsewhere.  The resultant rage drove him over the edge; he planned "a day of retribution" which he, unfortunately, carried out.  Yes, it's a horrible fact, those in most need of help are the least likely to receive it.  Exhorting a madman to contemplate and to do good deeds won't work in most cases. Meditation,  however, which can help us realize that we are indeed our brother's keeper, might encourage us to help a desperate person  out of a ditch, or, at least, to report him to the proper authorities if he is thought to be an imminent threat to himself and to others.

In other words, meditation for those who find themselves in (relatively) shallow ditches

2.

The Brahma Vihara

What are the virtues the practice of which inevitably take one closer to a life of wisdom and love?  The four cardinal Buddhist virtues, the four immeasurables (appamannas) constitute an excellent guide.  Buddha taught that meditating on and practicing these virtues would enable one to be reborn in the realm of Brahma, the highest of all states.  For this reason, they are called the Brahma Vihara, the Abode of Brahma.  We will now briefly discuss these virtues and finish with suggestions for meditations in order to help realize them in our lives.

1. Uphekka--Serenity.  This is indeed a universal virtue, but in the Vihara it has a Buddhist twist.  The Buddhist ideal is not to identify with the storms of life but with the screen on which they come and go, as it were.  Calm and peaceful weather occurs as well as tempests.  Whatever the weather, the screen remains unchanged.  Serenity does not mean being detached, however; the practice of the other three virtues prevent one from becoming disengaged from the lives of others.

2. Metta--Loving kindness.  This entails love that includes those who do not look like you nor act like you; it also includes those who do not like you at all.

3. Karuna--Compassion.  Active involvement to relieve the suffering of others.

4.  Muditha: Sympathetic Joy--this is a virtue unique to Buddhism.  The only language I know that has an equivalent of muditha is German.  Mitfreude has much the same meaning; it is the opposite of the far-more popular word, Schadenfruede.  (This says a lot about the state of the world!)  Buddhists thought that compassion is usually directed at those more unfortunate than oneself, thus leaving a lot of room for egotism.  Metta challenges the ego, but not in all cases.  Muditha is joy felt for those who are smarter than us, richer than us, more intelligent than us, more successful than us, etc.  With the practice of muditha, false pride diminishes.  It is an especially useful virtue to be practiced in our competitive, capitalistic society in which so many people suffer--and cause suffering--from bitter feelings of envy.


3. Suggested Meditations

The practice of the Brahma Viharas makes one wiser while making the world a better place.  They should be meditated upon and put into action.  I have devised some specific meditations which may be of some help; I have also used a traditional Buddhist meditation in the case of metta, loving kindness.  One should focus on an area in which one is relatively deficient.  The meditations can be repeated to oneself while in the shower, while driving, etc.  One should devise one's own path regarding transforming the abstract virtues into concrete deeds.

A. Upekka, Serenity Meditation


When mind plays the role of a greedy person,
I am the screen, I remain unattached.

When mind plays the role of a hating person,
I am the screen, I remain unattached.

When mind plays the role of an ignorant person,
I am the screen, I remain unattached.

Similarly with "depressed person," "anxious person," etc.  You can do this with positive emotions, too.

Suggested actions that are conducive to serenity, are activities with friends, family and acquaintaances; doing what you love; sports, exercise, etc.

 B. Metta, Loving Kindness Meitation

May you be well,
happy and peaceful
May no harm come to you,
may no difficulty come to you,
may you always meet with success.
May you meet and overcome
inevitable problems and failures of life.

Similarly, "May my parents be well; my spouse, my friends, my teachers, my enemies and all strangers.
I find this a good meditation to practice while on the treadmill at the gym.  I address this mediation, one by one, to all those exercising with me.

Suggested actions: listening to others, helping others, befriending others, etc.

C. Karuna, Compassion Meditation

Those who are lonely, I will befriend them;
helping another is helping oneself.

To those who need aid, I will provide it;
helping another is helping oneself.

To those who need solace, I will provide it;
helping another is helping oneself.

Suggested action:; Giving one's time and sharing one's resources with those in need.

D. Muditha, Sympathetic Joy Meditation

Thinking of those who are happier
fills me with joy; 
I'm grateful for them and grateful for life.

Thinking of those who are smarter
fills me with joy;
I'm grateful for them and grateful for life.

Thinking of those who are more successful
fills me with joy;
I'm grateful for them and grateful for life.

Similarly, thinking of those who: have more friends, are more talented, are healthier, etc.

Suggested actions: Eschewing all jealous acts; eschewing envious speech; rejoicing in the success and good fortune of others; complimenting and praising those who are successful and kind.


Conclusion

Contemplating the four Brahma Vihara virtues and putting them into action is an outstanding, time-proven method for healing oneself and for healing the world.  Feel free to use these meditations or to modify them according to your situation; feel compelled, however, to put them into action.  We'll all be glad you did.