Failure:Success Part ll: De Religione Neminis

In part l, I alluded to my many failures under the pseudonym, Andrew K. I think I had been reading too much Kafka, (I recently gave a lecture about Kafka)--truth is that I have had a good deal of successes in my life as well.

In this essay, I would like to discuss one of my greatest failures of all: the failure to be an atheist. I don't know how I do it, but I do. After all, I know well that every statement about God is untrue. In the Upanishads, the source of being is called Brahman. If one makes a statement about Brahman, the correct response is Neti-Neti, i.e Not This, Not That. How many adherents to one of the three Abrahamic faiths would respond to the doctrine that God loves us with an absolute negation? Nemo. Sed quis nemo sum.

The Catholic catechism might forge a community of believers; none of its statements, however, makes any literal sense--unless one is ready to give up science. When the great mathematician, LaPlace was asked by Napoleon how God fit into his philosophy, he replied, "Je n'avais pas besoin de cette hypothèse-là," "I never had any need for that hypothesis." Most scientists today would agree with him.

For me, God is just a word. Regarding religion, I sometimes paraphrase Tina Turner's famous hit with "What does God have to do with it?" Do I believe in God? No. Do I believe in Silence? You bet.

Can you believe two things at the same time? Aristotle says no. Nicholas de Cuna says yes. (The latter is the  philosopher best known for the concept of 'coincidentia oppositorum,' or the unity of opposites.) In mathematics, you don't want anyone telling you that, while e=mc2, e can equal m times the square of something else as well. But life, but consciousness, but religion, but God, is not mathematics. 

We Westerners tend to use logic to prove a hypothesis which simultaneously disproves its opposite. This is quite valid when, say, transmission photometry indicates that an exoplanet contains oxygen in its atmosphere. This is thence accepted as a scientific fact, unless someone can falsify the results by proving the methodology of determining the atmospheric composition was faulty. This is science.

Linear reasoning, however, gets a bit dicey when describing the attributes of consciousness. For instance, many scientists are pure materialists--how can consciousness, a product of the brain, affect matter? That would be a form of dualism, a belief, as it were, in a Ghost in the Machine. Therefore, such scientists conclude, there is no free will. Does that mean we shouldn't plan for tomorrow?

Of course not. Evolution has convinced us that free will exists; without it, culture, not to mention jurisprudence,  would collapse. As long as the I is believed to be a separate entity, the concept of free will is essential. Thus, for practical purposes, free will and its lack exist simultaneously. (If you exist in a realm where free will doesn't exist, you're either dead or living in Nirvana. Maybe someone has actually achieved Nirvana in their lifetime; if so, such entities are extremely rare--in addition, I sure wouldn't want to vote for Mr. or Ms. Nirvana to be our next president! Who puts down the sword dies on the Cross, wrote Simone Weil).

Similarly with religion and science. I am at home with the scientific view of the world. I do not believe in any of the basic tenets of the three Abrahamic religions. This means I don't literally believe that God gave the decalogue on Mount Sinai, nor do I believe that Jesus of Nazareth is literally the son of God, nor do I believe that Muhammad was the last of the prophets. But I do believe that all three are poetic expressions of a universal truth. 

Before the enlightenment, it was possible to believe in dogma and Silence. Dogma, however, was always prose that posed as poetry; literal belief in dogma is no longer possible for those with a functioning, informed head on their shoulders. Silence, a matter of the heart, however, has and cannot ever be wounded by the sticks and stones of Doubting Thomases.

I think that many stick to the old dogmas because they want certainty and consolation. Why do we suffer so? A question for which there are no convincing dogmatic answers. Grown-ups realize that the cosmos isn't able to embrace us; it has no arms. That it 'fans fresh our wits with wonder' I have no doubt. If we want something that fans fresh our hearts with wonder, we have to immerse ourselves in the human realm; we have to experience the miracle of human relationships. The cosmos teaches us awe; humanity teaches us love--what more do we need? Silence is the umbrella that includes and shelters both.

The paradoxical nature of reality was beautifully captured by Buddha when he taught that those who believe in life after death are wrong while those who don't believe in an afterlife are wrong as well. On a prose level, the level on which most of our lives are lived, life is ambiguous. It has its joyous peaks; it has its terrible valleys. We must learn to live with this ambiguity, as the great scientist, Carl Sagan, taught. What better way to forget death for a while than through meaningful work and relationships? What better way to forget death forever than through Silence?

Death is going to hit us hard if it hasn't deeply wounded us already. It wounds us even more deeply by earlier removals from life of those whom we love. There is no getting around that. 

There is a time for mourning, as Ecclesiastes wisely proclaims. But death does not negate the continuation of life, as Nietzsche knew. An individual might not survive the death of a loved one, but no individual is the center of the world; to think so, as many do, is hubris of the worst kind. Those individuals who know what Silence 'means' will, with the help of loved ones who remain, survive and even thrive once again.

Hindus speak of jnana, wisdom; it is the awe we feel when we experience and study the wonders of the cosmos. Hindus also speak of bhakti, the wisdom of devotion, the wisdom of love. The wisest Hindus teach their version of coincidentia oppositorum, namely that jnana and bhakti are one. 

Silence has known that from before the beginning of time. Do you?

Music of Transformation: An Analysis of a Spiritual

When my ability to look inward and outward is darkened by sorrow, I turn to music—music in a minor key.  Not the self-pitying kind, of which Tchaikovsky was a master, but the kind that indicates a way to overcome it. The best minor-key spirituals accomplish this: they provide emotional, intense expressions of sorrow; since there is almost never any trace of egotism, they also lead the listener toward the center of reality where suffering is transcended.

One of the best minor-key spirituals is the traditional “I Told Jesus.”  The words of the spiritual vary; a basic version follows:

I told Jesus it would be all right if He changed my name, 

Jesus said that I would go hungry, if He changed my name,

Jesus said the world would turn against, (or hate), me, if He changed my name, etc.

The meaning here is not something simple such as, “If I do the right thing, people are not going to like it”; it goes much deeper than that.   “Change my name” implies the complete surrendering of one’s identity, so that one becomes, well, One.  Individual comforts, individual greed, individual hates, individual delusions, individual sorrows--and even individual joys—all  these must go.  A thorough giving up of one’s hold on oneself is, as far as the individual is concerned, death.  Evolution, however, has provided all animals, including humans, with a strong instinct to do all they can to avoid annihilation.  That the protagonist of this spiritual is ready to give up individuality is an indication of the almost unbearable suffering that preceded this decision.  Egotism must go; turning back is no longer possible. (Powerful dictators, for instance, not only want to keep their names, but desire to see them writ large on signs and statues as well.)

Some branches of Hinduism teach that the result of giving up is bliss. A well-know term for this is Sat Chit Ananda—Knowledge, consciousness, bliss. Having Jesus change one’s name would result in bliss as well—if the world were just.  All sensible adults know that greed, hate, and delusion are very powerful forces both within oneself and the world.  When the powerful are challenged to the point of feeling threatened, the challenger will be viciously attacked, and, sometimes, even murdered. 

In the Eastern tradition, Gautama Siddhartha gave up his individuality and became the Buddha, after which he taught the dharma, the path, for many years.  In the West, Jesus gave up his individuality, became the Christ--and was crucified shorty thereafter.  Why? Siddhartha was subsumed into Nirvana and became as moral as a mountain.  This was a sublime and majestic transformation; mountains, however, do not fight for the little guy.  Jesus could not become a mountain if every valley weren’t raised as well—for him, the commandment to love one’s neighbor as oneself always remained supreme. 

Jesus taught that he who lives by the sword dies by the sword.  Simone Weil’s addendum: But he who puts down the sword dies on the cross.  In the real, that is, fallen world, the chances of David defeating Goliath are slim--especially when David puts down his slingshot.

Whoever wrote the lyrics to the spiritual was able to express wisdom with very few words—a true mark of genius.

2.  Three Recordings of the Spiritual

The first recording we shall briefly analyze is by Roberta Flack. Ms. Flack has a beautiful voice, but this recording doesn't work very well for me.  It lacks the emotional depth that the words imply. Giving up one's personal identity entirely is similar to suicide--the difference being, a major difference indeed, is that one is giving oneself up in order to be subsumed into a reality far, far greater.The singer doesn't take the consequences of this action seriously.  To use Christian mythology: there will be a Resurrection, but there will be a crucifixion as well.  The crucifixion element, which is essential to a condign rendition of this spiritual, is almost entirely absent in this recording.  It is a too smooth version of an intense song.

What a beautiful voice!  Ms. Simone sings here with great musicianship and with great emotion as well.  (The effective pianist must be a Schubert fan--the accompaniment sounds very similar in parts to that of Schubert's song, Der Tod und das Mädchen. Schubert, by the way, as everyone familiar with his music knows, was at his best when composing in the minor key.)  

I love the way Ms. Simone extends notes to add to the emotional impact.  Her phrasing is impeccable. This is a wonderful recording, no doubt about that.

A musically intense, dramatic illustration of what happens to you when you give up your identity for Jesus, is, however, missing in this recording.  This is not Ms. Simone's fault; for this you would need an arrangement that gives justice to the consequences of always turning the other cheek.  This aspect would be very difficult to express in a solo; you would need contrasting parts, you would need an ensemble.

 This is the best recording of this spiritual I know.  The two elements of the existentially fraught dialogue between the soul and the world are addressed in an appropriately intense fashion, namely,  Soul: "I can bear it any longer.  I give up.  Jesus take over." World: "Just try to become truth to power; once challenged, power will use all things it controls--which are indeed a lot of things--to destroy you." The voices, albeit very good indeed, aren't of the same quality as Nina Simone's, but for me that even adds to the effectiveness of this performance; one gets the impression that we are hearing the voice of everyman or everywoman, in each case an individual who is at the point of going under, with the possibility of rising from the depths forever.
The pianist deserves special praise.  How well he does what only music can: articulate what can't be put it into words, thus perfectly reflecting what is going inside the person who is about to be transformed.  The greatest praise, however, is due to the Harlem Spiritual Ensemble, whose members composed the arrangement of this piece.  How well these musicians have expressed the difficulties that lie in wait for the anyone giving up one's name!  Notice how the piece becomes agitated when the music turns to the inevitable ostracism that is to follow. (How poignant is the use of the "blue" note, the augmented fifth, on one of the times the soprano sings "be," from the phrase, "be all right!"  This blue note indicates to me that the singer is painfully aware of the coming consequences of her decision.)
The contrast between a momentous decision and the trouble that inevitably follows is repeated with increased intensity.   By the end of this wonderful music, we know that the singer, despite everything, is not going to be deterred. At the very end, the singers, now fully realizing what lies in store, and feeling somewhat subdued by this realization, nevertheless assert an inexorable determination, as the music slows, to do what shall be done.
A harrowing performance!


3.

Sometimes spiritual music is convincing for only as long as it's heard. (In my case, I'm a true believer while listening to a Bach cantata; however, if I could travel back in time and attend a service at Bach's church in eighteenth-century Leipzig, Faithful Thomas would again become Doubting Thomas immediately, once the music stopped and the minister started talking.)
While listening to the Harlem Spiritual Ensemble recording, one may think that such a transformation is possible.  But it isn't--few people are able to walk down the very narrow path indicated by this spiritual.  
Absolute redemption that sometimes, albeit very rarely, follows suffering, reminds  me of the first stanza of a poem I wrote long ago, "Homage to Mahalia Jackson":

At the very height of suffering,
most are destroyed; the wounded rest
survive to limp toward nothing
on paths short or long; lost
except for very, very few
who become immortal song.


Jesus is said to have been able to change his name from Jesus of Nazareth to Jesus Christ; Buddha is said to have been able to change his name from Gautama Siddhartha to the Buddha; Ramana Maharshi is said to have able to change his name from Venkataraman Iyer to Ramana Maharshi.  Such transformations might indeed occur, but, as my poem indicates, they are very, very rare.
When a visitor told Ramana Maharshi that he couldn't decide whether to give everything up, that is, change his name, or to continue to live in the world. Would the sage kindly advise?  Ramana smiled and informed him that if he were ready for such a transformation, it would occur naturally as a leaf falling from a tree.
Nearly all of us would be unable to endure such a transformation; there's something in me, for instance, which intends to keep on living in the world and is not ashamed of this decision.  I am in no way advocating solipsism; living in the world does not in any way exclude working to make it better. 
Music such as this is much more than beautiful; devotion to, and acting upon, living truth is an essential element as well. Many are able to respond to the spiritual we've discussed musically; yet if a careful listening thereof doesn't result in our becoming at least a little less self-centered and a little more loving, we might as well be listening to Muzak.

"HAS ANYONE HERE COMPLETELY TRANSCENDED EGO?"

1.
That was the question that was recently asked during a philosophy discussion group. OK, to be honest, the name of the group--it has been in existence for decades--is "Modern Mystics." A student of arts and music but also a student of science as well, I am uncomfortable with the title. I don't know what a mystic is and am not too interested in finding out; if ours is a mystic group, however, we are a strange group of mystics indeed. I belong to two other book discussion groups and two music performance groups, and I must say that without a doubt the mystic one is the most cantankerous group of them all. (All of us, especially the men, have been at fault to varying degrees.) One of the members, a good friend, referred to us in his Christmas card poem (in the shape of a holiday tree) as "a bunch of mystic buffs who levitate through fisticuffs."
I am not sure what the motive was of the member who asked the ego-transcendence question. He is a good man, who does a lot of good things--we are all quite fond of him--but he is arguably the most belligerent member of the group. The question might have been rhetorical, but more likely was asked as a trap--if someone answered that he or she has transcended the ego, I am sure the questioner would retort with something like the Dana Carvey Church Lady's famous ego-smashing comment, "Isn't that special?"
We all kept quiet, having no desire to be levitated through fisticuffs. But I thought about the question, and decided to answer it in this essay. It contains information that I hope will be of use to young and old alike.
Before we discuss ego-transcendence, we must first address what the ego is. I have written at length in previous essays about the origin of the ego, so I will only give a brief summary here. In short, the ego is a fantastic software program during the playing of which the self forgets that it is "merely" pixels among pixels on a screen. When, during the course of evolution, our bodies became sufficiently complex, we began to think of ourselves as more and more separate from our environment. Self-consciousness, a chance byproduct of our genes, provided an enormous improvement in our ability to adapt to the environment, and has been passed on and gradually improved upon by our genes ever since. As most scientists would agree, there is no separation between ourselves and the environment. It is obvious that a sense of, and a belief in, individuality is necessary for our survival as a species. And since there are so many competing individuals, without a considerable degree of "me first" behavior there would soon be no "me" left to seek out the "you." Simone Weil put it beautifully: Those who live by the sword die by the sword; but those who put it down die on the Cross." A good way for a group to disappear is to really turn the other cheek and not just talk about it.
But wait a minute. We are fascinating creations of our genes, not the genes themselves. Good people always appreciate those who act relatively selflessly, and as George Price's scientific formula indicates, there is undoubtedly a genetic component to altruism. And what if someone acts so strongly for the common good as to risk his/her own life? Fowler, in his great book, "Five Stages of Faith," reserves the fifth stage for those who understand religion symbolically, but are not only tolerant as in stage four but are readily willing to face death for a great cause. I cannot imagine a good human being who is not awed by the sacrifice of self for the greater good as exemplified by the likes of Martin Luther King and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
However impressed we are by them, we are not able to concede that they have completely transcended their ego. They had weaknesses--a fact, I think, that makes them all the more inspiring.
Has anyone in the history of humanity transcended ego completely? Such is attributed to Jesus of Nazareth, Gautama Siddhartha (the Buddha) and various sages such as India's great twentieth century sage, Ramana Maharshi. Maybe they did, I'm not sure; the records which attribute this transcendence to them were written by followers and are full of historical inaccuracies. (Less so in the case of Ramana Maharshi, since he is roughly a contemporary, and I must say, he seems to have come very close to the transcendent ideal.) My belief is that utter perfection--that is what complete self-transcendence would entail-- is a goal which the line of humanity, as it were, can in some cases come very close to, but never touch. Certainly Jesus of Nazareth is miles ahead of the farthest point on the path than you or I will reach in this lifetime! When individuals like Ramana Maharshi get so close to ego-transcendence, our minds might be unable to appreciate the small distance that remains between the actual and the ideal, and thus convince ourselves that the goal has been reached. This gives those who are so inclined an object of worship. That is how I see it.
Since perfection, if it ever occurs, is rarer than the geniuses we know and love, we get an idea of how inappropriate the question, the title of this essay, is. If our friend had asked, "Has anyone here written better operas than Mozart?" or "Does anyone here write better than Shakespeare?," everyone would realize the fatuousness of the question. The likelihood of a positive--and accurate--response among us to these two questions, though extremely low, is much more likely than a positive--and accurate--response to the ego question, which is virtually impossible.

2.

Although utter transcendence is impossible for the vast majority of us, it can, as I have discussed, be approached. All of us, in fact, could and should come a lot closer to this ideal. We can readily imagine what this ideal would entail as well as we are able to imagine a perfect sphere. So it would help to discuss what mystics have called "self-realization" which I will do now. For the self-realized, there is no separation--the game (lila) of self is what Hindus call maya, illusion. Having gone beyond duality, the 'person" at this stage identifies with the world, nay, has become the whole universe. He or she will indeed turn the other cheek, much as a tree will "turn the other leaf," as it were, to a voracious caterpillar. Now we can appreciate the ridiculousness of the transcendence question. Since the sage has become the world, it is just as likely that another component of the world, say, a stone, would reply. Stones are silent, God is silent, sages are silent.
The question is asked by one individual of another. Having transcended individuality, how could a sage respond? Even we, wordlings that we are, know better. It would be like someone (consciousness) in a house (the body) looking at the world through an open window with utter delight. A neighbor in the next house asks, "Have you overcome the ego?" Saying yes would be like closing the window, getting on a footstool in a rather dark room and telling one's dusky reflection in the mirror, "Oh, I knew it! You're a sage." It is ridiculous enough if a young person exhibits such vanity; in an old person such adolescent self-absorption is truly farcical.
As an older person, I think I am much more practical and much more realistic. It is very difficult to maintain a sense of false pride when one realizes that next year--who knows? one might become an urnfull of ash. My advice to the young and the old is this: forget about idle questions. You will never make progress through chatter. Develop a balanced sense of self--don't ever accept anyone's attempt to make you feel inferior since the aggressor is trying to aggrandize himself and thus find relief from his own sense of inferiority. Develop wisdom and practice compassion. The way to do this was beautifully expressed by Freud: the most important things in life are work and love. Stop all the ego talk! Work as hard as you can at something that you are interested in and in which you, with much effort, can and will develop a just sense of pride. (Make sure it's something that at the very least does no harm.) And love. And love. And love!