Rezension: Liebste Fenschel! von Peter Härtling

Peter Härtling

Liebste Fenschel!

Das Leben der Fanny Hensel-Mendelssohn

  in Etüden und Intermezzi

DTV Verlag, München, 2013

367 Seiten

Dieser Roman ist lesenswert und unterhaltend, besonders für Leser, die auch Musikliebhaber sind.  Zur Vorbereitung hat der Autor viele Briefe und andere Dokumente gründlich untersucht; man kann beim Lesen deutlich spüren, dass ihn Fanny Mendelssohn fasziniert; und sie fasziniert uns auch.

Ich kannte schon einige Lieder und Klavierstücke von Fanny; ohne Zweifel war sie sehr begabt.  Ich habe einmal am Radio gehört, dass einige meinen, sie sei ebenso begabt als ihr berühmter Bruder war; wir werden das aber nie wissen, weil sie in der Entfaltung ihrer Karriere als Muiskerin vom Vaterhaus und vom Zeitgeist gehindert war.  Wie dem auch sei, meine ich, dass ihre besten Kompositionen den zweitrangingen Stücken ihres Bruders ebenbürtig sind.  Aber die besten Kompositionen von Felix Mendelssohn sind allen ihren Werken weit überlegen.  Sie bleibt, aber, ein grosses Talent und eine faszinierende Figur.

Das Buch ist keine reine Biographie, sondern ein Roman.  Peter Härtling hat mit Hilfe alter Dokumente und seiner eigenen Einbildungskraft gute plastische Szenen geschrieben. Als Fanny und ihre Familie nach Italien reisten, konnte der Leser sich vorstellen, dass er/sie mitgereist wäre, weil alles so lebhaft geschildert ist.

Wir wissen schon, ehe wir ein Wort lesen, was ein Nebenthema des Romans sein wird, nämlich die gesellschaftliche Unterdrückung von Frauen.  Fanny war eine höchst begabte Komponistin und Klaviervirtuosin.  Sie wollte tun, was ihr Bruder tat: die Welt mit ihren eigenen Musik erobern.

Der Vater war ein guter Mann.  Wie die meisten Leute seines Zeitalters hatte er aber gewisse Einstellungen gegenüber Frauen.  Er behauptete fest, dass ein Mädchen nie Komponistin werden dürfte.  (Warum das so ist sagt er nicht.)  Selbst ihr berühmter Bruder ist damit einverstanden.  Der Roman ist aber keine bittere Geschichte von der Unterdrückung einer Frau.  Der Autor beschreibt nicht; er versucht stattdessen uns zu zeigen, dass sie ebensogut und in manchen Fällen besser als viele männliche Komponisten ihrer Epoche war.  Dem Leser wird klar, dass ihrer Begabung Welterkenntnis zukommen sollte.  Aber die mangelnde Teilnahme von der Umwelt hat sie nicht dazugebracht, ihre Musik aufzugeben.  Ganz im Gegenteil!

Wir lesen, dass der Vater ihr klar machte, dass sie nur Hausmusik als Frau treiben dürfte.  Aber Hausmusik hat eine ganz andere Bedeutung wenn man in einem Haus wohnt, das ein Zentrum der Musik für ganz Deutschland war.  Für die Sonntagskonzerten bei den Mendelssohns haben Fanny und Felix neue Werke komponiert.  Die wichtigsten Musiker in der Umgebung and von weit weg wohnten diesen Konzerten bei.  Mit anderen Worten: Fanny genoss ein reiches musikalisches Lebern.

Antisemitismus wird in diesem Roman auch dargestellt.  Obgleich Felix viel für die Berliner Sängerakademie geleistet hat, wie, z. B., die Neuentdeckung von Bachs Matthäus Passion, wird er nicht eingeladen, Direktor der Akademie zu werden, weil er jüdischer Herkunft  war.  Dass die Familie zum Christentum übergetreten ist, machte nichts aus.  Die Untertreibung von Vorfällen dieses giftigen Vorurteils ist dem Autor sehr gelungen und beindrückt uns um so mehr, weil wir mit den Vorgängen des letzten Jahrhunderts vertraut sind.  Hier ist ein Beispiel--die Familie bespricht einen Anprall von Hass ("Hepp, hepp, Judenpack, verreck!"), der Fussgänger an Felix und Fanny neulich gerichtet hatten:

Bis in der Nacht redeten sie über die Gemeinheit der Verfolger und wie sie den Juden nachstellten, woher sie wüssten, dass sie Juden seien, ob man es ihnen ansähe, ob es nur Neid sei, aber sie fielen doch nicht auf, sie blieben alle bescheiden...Wir sind und bleiben die Anderen, die nicht passen, die verhöhnt und vertrieben werden können...(Abraham versucht, seine Frau zu beschwichtigen.)  Aber nein!  Sie liess sich auf einen der Stühle fallen.  Aber nein!  An die hält sich doch keiner.  Jeder Strassenköter kann uns vor sich hertreiben, in die Waden beissen.  Und sobald wir uns wehren, wird es heissen: Die sind Juden.  Und gelänge es uns, recht zu bekommen, würde es uns nachgesagt: Es ist ihr Geld.  Die haben sich Freundlichkeiten erzahlt.  Stimmt es?  Ihre Stimme überschlug sich fragend.

                                                      (S. 117. 118)

Peter Härtling ist ein begabter Schriftsteller.  Hier ist seine kurze Schilderung der Brautnacht von Fanny und Wilhelm Hensel--(Man soll nicht vergessen, dass sie bis dann nie allein miteinander waren, wie es im 19. Jahruhundert üblich war):

"Um neun gingen wir auseinander," trug sie ins Tagebuch ein.  Luise und Minne, Hensels Schwestern, begleiteten sie bis zum Gartenhaus.  "Dann schweige ich," schrieb sie.  Doch hinter dem Satz bereitete sich Unruhe aus, versuchte Nähe, plözlich erlaubt, der Geruch des anderen, seine Haut, die geteilte Angst und der Versuch, sich atemlos zu vergessen.

                                                                   (S. 154)

Schöne Worte!

Mir kam der Roman wie ein gelungener Film der 40. Jahren vor.  Damals hatte fast jeder Film eine musikalsiche Begleitung.  Mir waren fast alle der erwähnten Stücke bekannt. (Die mir unbekannten hörte ich im YouTube zu.)  Dann hörte ich sie in meinem Kopf spielen als ich den Roman las.  Nein, ich bin der Meinung, dass der Roman sogar besser ist als das Mehrzahl von jenen Filmen ist.  Er ist eine Unterhaltung ersten Ranges.

                                             --Thomas Dorsett


Anmerkungen


Mein besonderer Dank gilt Mary Upman vom Deutschen 

Literaturkreis in Baltimore.  Sie hat diese Rezension vorsichtig korrigiert und 

verbessert  

Vielen Dank, Mary!

Weitere Artikel auf deutsch von Thomas Dorsett (Googeln 

Sie den Titel und dem Namen, Thomas Dorsett)

1. Jakob der Lügner von Jurek Becker

2. Die Weisheit und das Alter von Thomas Dorsett

3. Die Herrlichkeit des Lebens von Michael Kampfmüller

4. Ruhm von Daniel Kaufmann



Die Mitglieder vom deutschen Literaturkreis online machen eine Pause bis 

September 2014, wann wir Die Letzte Welt von Christoph Ransmayr besprechen 

werden.  Wir laden sie ein den Roman mitzulesen; meine Resenzion wird am 

Anfang Oktober erscheinen.

                                                                       TD

RAMANA MAHARSHI AND THE FIVE SKANDHAS

What is the self?  Buddha and Ramana Maharshi are in complete agreement: what we call the ego is a bodily construct that has no independent reality.  Limited (ego) consciousness is a hindrance to cosmic consciousness and a major source of misery.  Not only does it cause harm to the individual afflicted by an unbalanced sense of self; egotism's unholy trinity of greed, hate and delusion also enables such individuals to harm others, thus propagating and increasing suffering.   The Five Skandhas, an ancient and core teaching of Buddhism, can help overcome this misery.  This article will discuss the five skandhas, then interpret them in regard to evolution, and will finish with an interpretation of the fifth skandha that is in agreement with the teachings of Ramana Maharshi, (1889-1950), a great avatar of Advaita Hinduism--the teaching of non-duality.

A, THE FIVE SKANDHAS--Traditional Interpretation

The Sanskrit word "skandha" literally means "aggregate" or "heap."  They denote five aspects of being human.  Buddha placed great emphasis on the teaching of the five skandhas; they were mentioned in his first sermon and many times thereafter.  They are a core teaching of all schools of Buddhism,  prominent in both Theravada and Mahayana traditions.  Buddhism asserts that we are made of these skandhas much in the same way that a puzzle image arises when the pieces are all attached.  The image is not a separate entity, it is merely a composite.  Thus, what we call the self is merely heaps of elements; the self as such is insubstantial.  Clinging to any one of the skandhas causes dissatisfaction; truly recognizing the skandhas for what they are results in liberation.

First let us discuss the skandhas as they are traditionally depicted.  (The Sanskrit names of the skandhas have their equivalents in all major languages of lands where Buddhism has flourished.  I will use the Sanskrit term for each skandha, along with an English translation.)

1. Rupa, Form.  This refers to the material world, which not only includes all external objects--moon, stars, carrots, money, etc. etc., but also includes all internal objects, such as the heart and the brain.

2. Vedana, Sensation or Feeling. An example would be feeling a pinprick without pinpointing its source.  It is sensation without any kind of interpretation.  The sensation can either be pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral.

3.  Samjña, Perception.  An example is feeling a pinprick and being aware that it has been  caused by a pin. Perception can result from any of the five senses, visual perception, olfactory perception, tactile perception, etc.  (A pattern is becoming obvious: we begin with no awareness in skandha one; awareness begins with skandha two and increases in subsequent skandhas.)

4. Samskara, Mental Formations.  Buddhism generally considers the action of the mind to be a sixth sense.  Its purview, thought, begins by processing the sense data the rest of the body relays to it.  Concepts become incredibly complex as data pass through the many billions of neurons which  connect with each other in a truly astounding number of ways. Storage of impressions, memories, combined with new sense data and new thoughts gives rise to the thought that there is an abiding self in charge or at least experiencing the workings of the entire machine.  The separate existence of this self is what both Buddhism and Advaita Hinduism deny.

Mental formations include opinions, ideas, prejudices, desires, etc.  The substratum of mental formations is the ego; mental formations are usually, to one degree or another, personalized.  "I wish I were a rich man," is an example of a mental formation.

5. Vijñana or Consciousness  This is defined as "that which cognizes," that is, the awareness of being aware. The fifth skandha is a bit redundant--beginning with skandha three,  consciousness must be present.  Mental formations would be impossible without a highly developed consciousness.  The important thing to remember here is that the ability to say, "I am aware I am hungry," instead of "I am hungry," does not indicate that there is a thinking self separate from nature.  Although common sense tells us that each of us is a unitary individual, it is not true; personhood can be deconstructed into aggregates, just like anything else in the phenomenal world.


B, THE FIVE SKANDHAS--An Evolutionary Interpretation

Although Buddha utilizes the skandhas to deconstruct sentient beings--especially humans--the light of modern science illuminates something that remained hidden in Buddha's time, namely the course of cosmic evolution from "nothing" to the highest form of life we know.  This aspect in no way replaces the original interpretation; it, in fact, strengthens it.  The evolutionary interpretation came to me in a eureka moment; I don't think it's ever been written about before.  In the evolutionary interpretation, we find not only a path from the simple to the complex; we will discover that it is a two-way path, or loop.  The simple gives rise to the complex, and the complex gives rise to all the skandhas of the universe, including "simple" photons, complex stars, and the most intricate things we know of,  you and me.   It is a mysterium tremendum et fascinans, without a doubt.  The thought of the sage, Ramana Maharshi, and of the great scientist, Stephen Hawking--along with many other scientists-- converge in this interpretation, providing its insight with additional validity.  Let us proceed to discuss the skandhas in this new light.

1. Skandha one: Rupa, Form.

Modern science allows us to extend the definition of "form"  to include the entire universe of matter, dark matter, and the energy of the vacuum.  Most of the universe is composed of elements radically different from the  matter we are used to, such as suns, ping pong balls and bacteria.  The sum total of all luminous matter in the universe--the vast galaxies and even vaster clusters of galaxies--comes to only 4% of the density of the total!  An astonishing 23% of the universe is made up of so-called dark matter--and we don't even know what dark matter is.  Its effects, however, can be measured.  Without dark matter, galaxies would fly apart; dark matter is definitely present everywhere.  Even more astonishing: 73% of the universe is made up of so-called dark energy, the energy of the vacuum, which is causing the universe to expand more and more rapidly.

The vacuum is often referred to as nothing, but it is actually a dynamic entity, a thing.  This is a very important point.  The old question, "How can a universe arise from nothing?" is actually meaningless.  There is as much evidence for absolutely nothing as there is for angels on the head of a pin.  What we commonly refer to as nothing is space devoid of ordinary matter.  (The average material density of the universe is one hydrogen atom per cubic meter of space--thus, most of the universe is made up of this nothing which in fact isn't nothing.)  As Einstein proved, space is converted into time as the speed of light is approached, much as water turns into ice when the ambient temperature falls, except space turns into time gradually, in proportion to velocity, and not all of a sudden.  Thus, space, like water, is a thing.  It is indeed a very strange thing; it is not discrete.  Over an incredibly short distance of less than a billionth of a billionth of a billionth of a  centimeter, at the so-called Planck length, space breaks down into a very stormy "foamy sea." This is the area in which countless tiny "virtual" particles come in and out of existence. (The conservation of energy law is not violated because positive particles are matched by negative ones and cancel each other out in a very small fraction of a second.)  Here's something even more amazing than the existence of this virtual world: it is postulated that, due to quantum variation, an occasional particle will rise from"nothing" with such a large amount of energy that it becomes real. This, in fact, may be the source of the big bang!  If this is actually what happened, the universe is the ultimate "free lunch" with no need of supernatural intervention.  The Catholic dogma that God created the world out of nothing now becomes: "Nothing, which isn't really nothing, created the world all by itself."  We might never know why the vacuum has the properties it does, but we do know this: the vacuum represents the universe in its most simple--and creative--form.  Out of this simplicity complexity arises--namely the big bang, followed by the evolution of the universe to the present day.

In summary:

1. Absolutely nothing is a concept which can exist in the mind, but does not exist  in nature.
2. What is commonly called nothing, "empty space" or the vacuum, an area devoid of ordinary matter, is, in fact, a thing that has very specific properties.
3. The vacuum is the most simple thing in the universe.  It is likely the source of the big bang, thus resulting in the universe we, very complex beings, inhabit.
4. The first skandha, form, in the light of modern physics, reveals the beginning of cosmic evolution --something arising out of "nothing." Both "something" and "nothing" constitute the first skandha.
5. No supernatural intervention is necessary for evolution, whether cosmic or terrestrial. The vacuum may well be eternal, thus predating the big bang.  Although there is no evidence for an eternal being, eternal creation is a real possibility.

2. The Second Skandha, Vedana, Sensation

We are now at a critical point of cosmic evolution.  "Nothing" has created something, the material, inert world.  Now we proceed to the origin of life.  We don't know exactly how life first formed, but matter somehow "learned" to replicate, and life began as organisms composed entirely of matter.  We do know that life on Earth began shortly after Earth began--life has been present on the blue planet for at least 3 1/2 billion years, which is about a quarter of the time that has elapsed since the big bang.  For about three billion years, life consisted of unicellular organisms--deadly cosmic rays prevented the formation of more complex creatures.  Then with the so-called Cambrian explosion--a very slow explosion over the course of millions of years--multicellular organisms formed.  One of the earliest groups of multicellular organisms belong to the phylum Echinocderm, examples of which are still ubiquitous among marine life.  Starfish belong to the class, Asteroidea, of the phylum Echinoderm.  I think they are among the weirdest forms of life on the planet.  They have been with us for over 450 million years, long before the age of the dinosaurs.  Looking at a starfish on the beach is like looking at a star in the sky--We, when observing very distant stars, are looking far back in time; when we look at starfish we are looking far back in time to a much earlier period of evolution.  Starfish are truly "living fossils."

This stage of evolution is on the level of the second skandha.  I will now explain why this is so. Starfish have hearts but no blood; they pump sea water through their body.  Starfish musculature controls the expulsion of water which results in locomotion--at less than a snail's pace.  They have no brain, although they do have three neural rings.  They do, however, respond to touch, temperature, light and other stimuli.  This, of course, represents a major step forward from inorganic matter.  I will now explain their ability to react to light in more detail. At the end of  each of the (usually) five arms of the starfish, eyespots are located.  Remember that old argument against evolution--What good is half an eye?  Well, the starfish has much less than a half an eye, which suits it perfectly and represents the very beginning of the evolution of vision. The starfish also has photoreceptor cells in other bodily locations.  (Whether the starfish moves toward the light or away from it depends on the species; some are comfortable in tidal areas, other prefer living in darkness at tremendous depths.)

When light falls on a starfish arm, the animal is able to react and to change position.  Since it lacks a brain, it has no idea whatsoever about the source of the stimulus  There is, of course, no starfish ego telling it, "I feel light; I will approach it."  At this stage of evolution, there is just enough neural tissue to react to a stimulus; there is not enough to interpret it.  Thus, a starfish has an inchoate eye, but not an inchoate I. Sensation without interpretation; this is the realm of the second skandha.

3. The Third Skandha, Samjña, Perception

With the passage of time, evolution produced more complex life forms.  Vertebrates represent a sea-change among sea creatures.  They branched off from invertebrates early, during the time of the Cambrian explosion, 500 million years ago.  Bones afforded protection for brains, which progressed over hundreds of millions of years, resulting in the extraordinary organ between our ears.  But that's the fourth skandha; the third skandha lies in the realm of creatures far less complicated than us, cats, dogs, crows, etc.

A good example of the third skandha is illustrated by my cat, Chai.  When my son visits us, he turns from a busy street into our street; our house is located toward the end of the block.  Although our street is basically quiet, the cars of neighbors, returning from work or leisure, are by no means rare.  Chai is an outdoors cat for most of the day.  When my son's car turns into the block, Chai recognizes the sound instantly--certainly before my wife or I do.  As my son parks his car, Chai walks over to greet him--even when my son must park a few houses away from ours.  Chai hears the sound (the second skhanda) and recognizes the source--The ability to identify the source of a sensation is the definition of the third skandha.  It requires a much more evolved nervous system than that of a starfish.   (The classic example is when one knows that the sound of a bell comes from a bell.)
The third skandha occurs on a much higher branch on the tree of life, but, as you might have surmised, we haven't reach the treetop yet.

4. The Fourth Skandha, Samskara, Mental Formations.

The difference in complexity of the fourth skandha from all previous ones is tremendous. I like to imagine a brief silence as life passes from the third to the fourth skandha.  I picture it in musical notation: it lasts one measure; it is in common time, that is, four beats to a measure.  The measure consists almost entirely of rests, that is, of silence; there is no sound except for a quick note (a sixteenth note) at the very end of the measure, after which comes a long note in the next measure, which is anything but silent.  During this sixteenth note, Adam eats the forbidden fruit.  He subsequently and suddenly finds himself in the next measure, the realm of the fourth skandha.  He  now knows the difference between good and evil, because an "I" has arisen within him, giving the first human the absolute conviction that he is an individual separate from the rest of the world.  The Western myth is extraordinarily perceptive here:  Adam and Eve realize they are naked and, also for the first time, feel ashamed.  Now they can recognize their image reflected in a stream.  Now they can give each other names and name things they see and thoughts they think of.  In actual evolution, of course, there is no disobedience, no command, no God. The transition occurs when the development of the nervous system has become complex enough that the brain can imagine that it, along with the organism in which it dwells, is a separate soul or individual.  The Western myth continues with a curse on Adam--men will now have to labor hard to survive, and a curse on Eve--women from now on will have painful labor while giving birth.  This is not exactly true; animals have to struggle to survive and an animal's pregnancy can be just as painful as a human one.  But if one reads between the lines, one realizes that the author of the creation myth was getting at a deeper truth.  The innocence of the animal kingdom has been lost forever; human beings now feel pain and know it. A new intensity of pain has arisen: suffering.  (Suffering equals  pain as experienced by an individual.  Animals can feel great pain, but no suffering.  There are some exceptions to this, but they are exceptions that prove the rule.  An elephant may be evolved enough to experience a slight degree of suffering.  This means that the elephant has only eaten a tiny part of the fruit, while Adam and Eve have consumed the whole thing.)
We must note that the fourth skandha results from neurological complexity, not by the addition of any element. All the elements in the human brain can be found in the outside world, albeit in very different concentrations.

The fourth skandha arose perhaps by chance, but it was naturally "selected" by our unconscious genes, since it conferred tremendous biologic advantages.  Our unconscious genes do not work by chance; mutations that give an organism better opportunities for survival are passed on by the inexorable laws of genetics.
Although Genesis views the loss of animal innocence in a negative light, a sense of individuality has allowed homo sapiens to improve their lives in unprecedented ways. True, there is a price to be paid for everything; few of us, however, would want to give up civilized life, lose language and law, for a precarious return to a life among creatures red in tooth and claw.  The results of civilization, in my view, are mostly golden, but can be leaden.  It has given us Mozart; it has given us Hitler.  Man can now periodically withdraw from daily activities in order to think, plan and invent. He is no longer dependent exclusively on sense data; he can imagine new worlds.  He is now free to invent  tools and gods, and, after technology has advanced sufficiently, he can develop new software, create and test a new vaccine, build bridges, rockets, make exquisite wines, and, alas! more destructive bombs.

If you want examples of the fourth skandha, simply think something and write it down.  "I am hungry;" "Seattle is a nice place in which  to live;" "I hope the Tea Party candidate loses;" "God loves us just the way we are;" "You really look beautiful tonight;" "Quantum particles can be in two places at once"--All these are examples of the fourth skandha.

5. The Fifth Skandha, Vijñana, Consciousness

In our evolutionary interpretation, the fifth skandha is the greatest transition of all, taking us to the very summit of existence and beyond.  It is, however, quite subtle.  Many people live entirely in the realm of the fourth skandha, which Hindus refer to as samsara, the wheel of birth and death.  This realm contains occasional, sometimes perhaps even frequent, joys, but also much suffering.  Many humans are only dimly aware that the fifth skandha exists; many well educated people assert that those who claim they have experienced the fifth skandha are guilty of wishful thinking.
As stated earlier, according to the earliest Buddhist teaching, the fifth skandha indicates "that which cognizes"--the illusory self, an aggregate.  But illusion seems to me to exist completely in the realm of the fourth skandha.  I was pleased to learn that certain later schools in the Mahayana tradition saw things differently, and, I believe, more accurately: they considered  fifth-skandha consciousness to be  the base that supports all experience. In addition, the great Tibetan meditation master, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, (1939-1987), had this to say about the fifth skandha: "It is the final developed state of being that contains all the previous elements"--that is, it subsumes the four previous skandhas.  These are very deep insights.  This interpretation is in complete accord with advaita Hinduism, the non-dualistic view embodied and taught by the great sage of the twentieth century, Ramana Maharshi.  Though he did not call it a skandha, he knew what this transcendent consciousness is; he taught it, he lived it perfectly.  It is thus best to finish this essay with a few words about Ramana Maharshi, including  a few of the sage's sayings about this self, this consciousness, which is the basis of everything,

Ramana Maharshi (1889-1950), lived in perfect accord with what he taught; once one identifies with one's true self--what we refer to as the fifth skandha--all problems cease.  After an encounter with death at an early age, he became convinced that his--and everyone's--true identity is the transcendent self, the I behind the I.  After this encounter, he lost all fear of death, and always remained one with the Self.  There are many illustrations of this that occurred during his lifetime.  He was never selfish, and, after a second near-death experience in his 30s. became a very accessible teacher, devoted to seekers from all over the world.  Even while in pain, dying from cancer, he insisted that he must give "dharshan" to the very end, that it, making himself available to those who sought out his presence.  He refused any special treatment.  He always insisted that all guests be fed before he would eat.  The emphasis was always on simplicity.  Never could one find the slightest shred of vanity or anger in him.  When he lay dying, he was asked if he suffered.  "There is pain, he said, "but no suffering"--there was no longer an ego able to lament.  If you are not familiar with Ramana Maharshi, I suggest you do some research online and, perhaps, purchase or download some of the many excellent books available at sriramanamaharshi.org.

I will end this essay with two quotes from the sage, which illustrate his perfect identity with the fifth skandha:

First Quote

To him who is one with the formless Self, everything is formless.  Existence of the world is merely relative.  The world is merely relative.  The world is really synonymous with the mind.  Since it is knowledge that illumines the world, the former is ulterior to the latter.  That Knowledge alone is real which ever remains changeless.  Worship under name and form is only a means to realize one's absolute identity with the Nameless and Formless.

That consciousness creates the world is not new in Hinduism.  In the West, the creative power of consciousness played a dominant role in the philosophy of George Berkeley, (1695-1753), but it was not until the advent of quantum theory when this view became contemporary again, at least among some physicists..  Here is a quote from Andrei Linde, one of the founders of the inflationary universe:

For me as a human being, I do not know any sense in which I could claim that the universe is here in the absence of observers.  We are together, the universe and us.  The moment you say that the universe exists without any observers, I cannot make any sense of that.

This is what Michio Kaku in his book "Parallel World" has to say about Linde:

According to Linde's philosophy, dinosaur fossils don't really exist until you look at them.  But when you do look at them, they spring into existence as if they had existed millions of years ago.  Physicists who hold to this point of view are careful to point out that the picture is experimentally consistent with a world in which dinosaur fossils really are millions of years old.

                                                          --Parallel Worlds, page 166

Perhaps the most startling example of the creative power of observation is a recent theory of the origin of the universe.  Stephen Hawking, one of the most prominent contemporary cosmologists, along with a colleague, Thomas Hertog, published a paper in 2006 entitled, "Populating the Landscape: A Top Down Approach."  In this article he postulates that the universe did not have a single, defined beginning; all possibilities were present together in a quantum fuzz.  This he calls the "no boundary" state.  He writes, "The no boundary histories of the universe...depend on what is being observed, contrary to the usual idea that the universe has a unique observer-independent history." If Ramana Maharshi had heard of this theory, he would have undoubtedly nodded his head in agreement while smiling a fifth-skandha smile.

One must note here that the observation that creates the universe has nothing to do with volition.  A Darwinian I is unable to fashion the world according to his will.  Volition is the realm of the fourth skandha, not of the fifth.

The universe at its most simple, the quantum world, and the universe at its most complex, human consciousness, is indeed very, very strange.  One of the most important physicists of modern times, Richard Feynman, stated that at one time only a few scientists understood Einstein's theorems.  He is sure, however, that to this day nobody understands what is "really" going on in the quantum world.  I find it naive when some scientists assert that one day we will have a complete materialistic understanding of consciousness.  (It remains a profound mystery today.)  I agree, however, with Niels Bohr, who asserted that its essence will never be completely understood.. .  If we can't understand the universe at its simplest level,  he asserted, how can we ever hope to understand it at its most complex level?  In other words, how can the fourth skandha ever comprehend the fifth?

If consciousness is everything, we now can view the skandhas as a loop, as asserted by the Tibetan sage mentioned previously.  The first skhanda gives rise to the other four in an forward direction; the fifth skandha gives rise to the other four in a backward direction.  Since the fifth skandha is the creative force, however, it is actually the basis of all.

The universe is weird; consciousness is even weirder.



Second Quote

A figure on the screen in the cinema show appears to watch the whole world.  What is the reality behind the subject and the object in the same show?  An illusory being watches an illusory world. You and the world are as real as the cinema figure and the cinema world.

All the previous skandhas are ultimately illusory.  Notice this screen metaphor of Ramana Maharshi is virtually identical to the Mahayana interpretation mentioned earlier.  This is truly the perennial philosophy.

I will end with a warning; this is not mystical mumbo-jumbo, it is reality.  It does not require that one view everything as an illusion,  The fourth skandha, the level of what I call the Darwinian I, is very powerful.  Very few, like Ramana Maharshi, are able to abandon it.  Most of us, including myself, don't even want to if they could.  But an experience of utter transcendence from time to time helps us to live better in time.  Knowing that we are like actors in a cosmic play can help us to take ourselves less seriously and to take the other members of the cast more seriously  As Hindu sages have taught from time immemorial, wisdom and love are ultimately one and the same.  Experiencing wisdom, the realm of the fifth skandha, can help us become better and kinder actors, whatever our role is in the play.

We at the level of the fourth skandha who have periodic glimpses of the fifth, should take ourselves seriously, but not too--the fifth skandha puts everything into perspective.  We must not and need not abandon everything to live exclusively in the fifth skandha, for we have a role to fulfill in this life. (If it were our destiny to live permanently in the realm of cosmic consciousness, the transition would occur naturally and not by an act of will.)  We must be grateful for the rare embodiment of wisdom such as Ramana Maharshi; our chances of becoming an avatar of wisdom, however, is as likely as an average kid has to become Mozart.  All it takes is practice? I doubt that.  Inspired by great musicians, however, most of us can learn to play an instrument at least tolerably, if we put our mind to it; most of us, inspired by wise teachers, can become better actors, even deserving an ovation (from fellow actors in the audience)  when we leave the stage.

Tat tvam asi--You are the world.  Act like it!

Bonjour! Au Revoir! (And, By the Way, I Hate You.)

1.
Having recently returned from France--I enjoyed my stay very much--I found myself trying to maintain a French ambience by reading books in French.  (I certainly couldn't recapture my joie de vivre by eating à la américaine.)   Having finished La Petite Fadette by Georges Sand and Variations Sauvages, by that wonderful wolf-loving French pianist, Hélène Grimaud, I turned to a classic, Madame Bovary.  Toward the end of chapter seven of the first part of the book I came across the following:

Les adieux de la belle-mère et de la bru furent secs.  Pendant les trois semaines qu'elles étaient restées ensemble, elles n'avaient pas échangé quatre paroles, à part les informations et compliments quand elles se recontraient à table, et le soir avant de se mettre au lit.

My translation:

Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law took leave from each other without any sign of affection.  During the three weeks they were together, they hardly spoke a word to one another, except for formalities before meals and before going to bed.

There it is, I said, smiling to myself.  In two sentences, a striking difference between French and American cultures becomes apparent.  French etiquette demands a modicum of politeness--at least in speech--even if you can't stand the person you're talking to. (Yes, I translated "informations et compliments" freely.  I feel justified in translating them the way I did, since they obviously refer to words demanded by French etiquette. You can be sure that this included saying the inevitable bonjour to each other when they met in the morning, and the equally inevitable bonne nuit to each other before bed.  The very French Emma Bovary might well have asked her mother-in-law such things as whether she had slept well the night before, even though she couldn't have cared less.

We Americans emphasize sincerity; we like to mean what we say.  (This essay will do its best not to take sides.)  I would like to illustrate this  formality vs. sincerity difference with an American example.  Some time ago, my wife and I spent a few days with friends.  My friend's mother-in-law, much like Madame Bovary senior, was in the midst of a three-week visit.  She was basically a nice person, but was also frequently  difficult and demanding.  It was obvious that the daughter-in-law hated her.  The house was small resulting in frequent encounters between them both.  During our entire stay, however, the daughter-in-law, otherwise gregarious, refused to say a single word to her husband's mother.  In fact, she completely ignored her presence.  No good day, no good night, no excuse me while passing her on the narrow stairs.  My wife and I felt embarrassed; we did our best to communicate with both.

I do think a few equivalents of bonjour and au revoir would have helped lower the tension.

In France, one says bonjour to everyone--the bus driver, the salesperson, the mechanic, the law professor, the doctor.  It is a way of acknowledging people; it's a way of saying you're a person just like me and vice versa.  Obviously, having to say bonjour so many times a day can weaken the meaning of this obligatory salutation.  But it does have meaning.  I know I feel better when I smile and exchange greetings with say, a baker, grocery clerk or with anyone else I encounter.  It is especially important in our over-individualistic society to formally acknowledge another person's existence with a salutation and a smile  That's  the French way, vive la France!

2,
Americans have the reputation of being less formal and more friendly.  It is said that's it's harder to get to know a Frenchman or a German.  There might be some truth to this.  I must say, for the most part, I like the down-home friendliness of many Americans.  It's usually not a facade; when Americans act friendly they are not usually acting.    Some might have a supercilious reaction to what I call American howdyness--I don't agree, however, with a prevalent European view which asserts that American demonstrations of friendliness are too frequently superficial, although, admittedly, they sometimes are.   (The problem is that not everyone is friendly; the custom of saying bonjour is especially important for grumps.)

I will give you a great example of American friendliness, a little poem written by one of America's greatest poets, Walt Whitman:

Stranger! if you, passing, meet me,
and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?

American openness at its very best!  I cannot imagine a European ever writing something like this.  Walt Whitman practiced what he wrote--he was genuinely interested in people, whether one was a great writer or a driver of a street car.  He was gracious to all and made friends with people of all classes--something which is unfortunately rare these days.  Inspired by Whitman, I have tried to put this poem into action.  I have had delightful encounters with people in parking lots, grocery stores, theatres, etc.  I remember most of them very well, proving that the experiences were quite pleasurable. I must say, I've had less luck with this strategy in France. (Some of this is undoubtedly due to the fact that my English is much better than my French.)

The ideal, of course, is to be like Walt Whitman.  One would then not only love personal encounters, but would also show one's joy to the other person.  If we were all Walt Whitmans, we perhaps could dispense with the obligatory bonjour and other such formalities, since our whole being would be conveying bonjour, as it were, without having to say a word.   The problem, of course, is that we're not all Walt Whitmans.

3.  
Just as French politeness may on occasion be insincere, American friendliness may be everything but. I will give but one example.  I often get telephone calls from people who want to sell me something.  When I pick up the receiver, there is often a pause--presumably until my name comes up on the caller's computer screen.  Then the caller says, in an overly friendly voice, "Hello, Tom, how are you doing today!"  This from a total stranger!  My reaction to this is very French; before hanging up, I feel like saying a good deal more than bonjour.

4.
I wrote this little essay on July 4th, the American national holiday.  It has been a beautiful day; clear blue skies--almost the deep blue of Provence--accompanied by gentle breezes and low humidity--a perfect day!  While halfway through writing this, my wife took my hand and asked me to turn off the computer.  Today it is just too lovely to stay indoors, she said; let's go for a walk.  I agreed wholeheartedly.

We are lucky to live in a city with many cultural attractions, yet only a few minutes drive from forest trails.  Since it was the Fourth of July and most people were enjoying barbecues, we expected that our favorite trail wouldn't be crowded, which proved to be correct. Still, I knew there would be some passers-by, and I was ready.  (I tell people that we all can't be C.E.O.s--some of us, like me, wouldn't even want to be one--but we can all be C.P.E.s--that is, Creators of Pleasanter Encounters.)  As we crossed a little wooden bridge that leads up to a path flanked by maples and oaks in full summer splendor, I noticed a woman with a dog on a leash approaching us.  I gave her a full smile and said, with gusto, Hello!  She looked at me and passed by as if I hadn't been there.  Maybe she's having a bad day, I thought to myself.  Fifteen or so minutes later, I had my next encounter, this time with a man about my age.  Again I smiled and said hello.  The man smiled and greeted me back.  The third encounter was even better.  The woman we passed replied to my greeting with such a beautiful smile that it remains vividly in my mind's eye even now. Two out of three, not bad!

Dear reader, I trust that you know by now what I'm getting at.  No matter where one comes from, acknowledging  people and meaning it is a very winsome combination. How can one doubt that combining French politesse with American howdyness would help create a better, more civilized world?  After reading this essay,  I hope you resolve to be the best C.P.E. ever.

Have a great day! Au revoir!

BURWELL VS. HOBBY LOBBY

Cheer up, says my inner Pollyanna, this is not the worst.  It's not nearly as bad as the Dread Scott decision, which declared certain human beings to be nothing more than chattel.

True, the still small voice of conscience replies, but you're setting the bar very low.  Should we tolerate the bad simply because it's a lot less evil than something else?

My conscience is convinced that the 5-4 Supreme Court decision of June 30, 2014, which grants  Hobby Lobby an exemption from providing certain forms of contraception sets a very bad precedent.  It will now proceed to tell you why.

The conclusion of the Court had not as much to do with the First Amendment as it did with The Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993, passed under the Clinton administration with nearly unanimous support from both Democrats and Republicans.  It was passed specifically to prevent prosecution of groups of Native Americans which use the otherwise illicit drug, peyote, during religious rituals. It is important to note that all Supreme Court rulings set precedents that are frequently abused.  Convicts sued, for instance, on the basis of this law, that their sincerely held religious beliefs demanded that they have a steak dinner once a week.  A Quaker woman sued under this law to be exempt from income tax, since a good part of it is used for military purposes.  Many frivolous lawsuits were challenged at taxpayers' expense.  Thanks to Burwell vs Hobby Lobby, there will undoubtedly be more such cases.

My conscience will now provide four reasons why this decision is very bad.  The list is not meant to be exhaustive.

1.  Sincerely Held Religious Beliefs

The Court upheld that "closely held for profit corporations" are not required to provide contraception under the Affordable Care Act if doing so violates "sincerely held religious beliefs" (Justice Kennedy.)  Do we really want the justices on the Supreme Court to decide which religious beliefs are sincere and which are not?  I think not.  As mentioned previously, rulings set precedents--there are surely to be challenges to extend "religious freedom" beyond family-owned businesses and to grant exceptions for more than contraception.  What if a family-owned business of faith-healers decides not to cover antibiotics?  The possibilities for abuse are legion!

2. Accommodation Can Go Too Far

America has a long and (mostly) admirable tradition of accommodating religious beliefs.  I will give you a good example from my experience in pediatrics.  I was once involved in testifying against a group called "Dissatisfied Parents Together (DPT)," which held the erroneous belief that vaccines were the cause of much misery while, in fact, they prevent it.  I am a pediatrician and will let you in on a dirty--actually clean--little secret.  Maryland, the state in which I practice, allowed exemptions from vaccines only for members of religions whose teachings specifically forbade vaccination.  (At that time, there were only two.)  Advocates for religious freedom considered the law to be too restrictive; it was overturned.  Now, anyone who has a "bona fide religious conviction" that vaccines are wrong can get an exemption even if they don't belong to any specific denomination.  Here's the secret: we don't tell our patients that.  The schools exclude those whose shots are delinquent. We don't tell them about the easy exemption; if we did and it became popular, children would suffer terribly.  When I trained in medicine in the early seventies, crippling and fatal cases of meningitis were commonplace.  Thanks to vaccines, they are now extremely rare.  If the "religious" exemption were frequently used, decency would demand that this loophole be closed.

We doctors, for the most part, are only against religious freedom when it interferes with the common good. Imposing the Hobby Lobby's parochial beliefs on others certainly doesn't foster the common good.  Let me give you an example.  A diabetic woman, unable to use regular contraceptives, is prescribed an I.U.D by her doctor.  It is denied.  She gets pregnant and dies from complications of  diabetes.  This could happen!

Should we expand accommodation for religious beliefs to include imposing those beliefs on others when they might cause great harm? I think not.

3.  When Religious Beliefs are Rigid, Should Accommodation be Soft?

Contrary to what many think, the Hobby Lobby, run by a fundamentalist Christian family, does not oppose all forms of contraception.  They are vehemently opposed to abortion.  They believe that intrauterine devices and the morning after pill induce abortion.  Science disagrees.  Pregnancy begins when the fertilized egg become implanted in the womb, not before.  The owners of Hobby Lobby assert, presumably--and correctly--that fertilization occurs before implantation.  Yet fertilized eggs can exist in a Petri Dish as well as in the fallopian tubes--Pregnancy, therefore, begins with implantation.

The Hobby Lobby family claims that their refusal is a form of, in their words, Standing Up for Jesus Christ.  This implies that virtually all scientists are Sitting Down Against Him.  This is nonsense.  Life is sometimes quite ambiguous, whether one likes it or not.  Shouldn't the Hobby Lobby family be sufficiently humble--a religious virtue--to consider that they might be wrong when so many good people--including good, religious people--are convinced they are?  Self-righteous rigidity--is this what true religion is about?

Again, should the law accommodate this rigidity when it can cause great harm?  Again, I think not.

4. The Poor Are Hit the Hardest

If contraception--Catholic bishops think virtually forms of contraception are evil--are not covered, it is the poor who will suffer the most.  The rich will always be able to obtain all forms of birth control.  Contraception, of course,  prevents unwanted pregnancies which otherwise might lead to abortion.  The poor are having increasing difficulties obtaining abortions in certain states.  The rich can always take a trip North!  Is this fair?

All right, it's not the Dread Scott case.  Yet it's right for conscience to stand up for the common good and  to dread its outcome--What's wrong with that gang of five?

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.