Buddhism says that reality is an illusion. No debates there. But what should we do about that fact? The Buddhist answer in large is that reality is something to rise above and escape. The material world is flawed and is necessarily suffering. It is Life’s goal to stop the cycle.

A agree reality is an illusion, just as art is an illusion, literature, games, and every other creation of the mind are illusions. When I sit with my family and play Monopoly, I do not demonstrate enlightenment by declaring it “illusion” and walking away. I do not need to be “freed” of the game’s constant cycle around the board. Of course it’s an illusion; that’s the point. That’s what makes it so enjoyable, even when I’m losing. I agree with the Buddhist that failure to see the game for what it is leads to suffering. But we disagree on whether one should stop playing.

I object to Nirvana for the same reasons I object to Heaven. Our lives are about change and growth, and that is part of the life of the Universe, too. The Universe changes, and I believe it learns and grows and creates. I believe all of these things require attachment, desire, wanting things to be different then they are. The mind at perfect peace is not the mind that creates. It is through struggle that we grow.

Finally, Karma. To me, this is actually a dangerous idea. It sounds good: do good and good will come to you; do bad and bad will come to you. You get what you deserve. But think of the obvious corollary: people deserve what they get. Bad things come because you were a bad person at some point. Good things? You must have lived a good life. We know this isn’t true within one life; we can easily see that people often do not get what they deserve. But Buddhism moves its evidence to the unfindable land of past lives.

I respect Buddhism. I think it’s one of the best considered philosophies humanity has created. But I think it’s still deeply flawed, particularly in its goal of escape. If we disagreed on details or cosmology, I could bridge the gap. But I see the ultimate goal as dynamic and ever growing, ever struggling, using this little bit of life we get as fully as possible. I don’t see how to square that with Buddhist emptiness.

Popular images of heaven include the idea that we will inhabit celestial mansions, waft upon fluffy light clouds and worship eternally. These images are certainly better than eternal torment and suffering, but do they really represent the stuff we would choose to do forever, especially given the activities and tastes we choose right now? Even as a Christian, if I spend my entire life indulging my personal tastes, why would I want to focus on Someone Else for eternity? I would be trapped in heaven eternally.

He concludes that the answer to this is that heaven is the experience of coming ever-closer to God. But I think this just comes full-circle to his original question: “why would I want to focus on Someone Else for eternity?”
Even more importantly, what kind of Someone Else would give us the choice between complete and eternal devotion and torture? What good father would want his children to have no other life than devotion to him? If we flawed creatures can raise our children to balance pride and respect, knowing that too much of either makes a poor adult, how much more perfect balance should the Master of the Universe teach? If we can let go of our children, but be there for them always, how could we imagine God would demand we never leave?

What human parent should follow the example preached each Sunday of how the Heavenly Father treats His children? Even the Prodigal Son had only to return. The father didn’t need a blood sacrifice to allow it. The son didn’t have to bow down and worship his father. The son wasn’t cast out of his father’s home with a flaming sword to block his return. He left. He lived foolishly. When he returned from his misery, his loving father was so happy, he welcomed him back. Perhaps Jesus meant this story to train his father in what sinful man already knows: how to love our children.

I’m not a big Avatar fan. It’s fun enough, but I think it stretches “suspension of disbelief” to the breaking point. Look, you want a mineral and you don’t care one whit about the indigenous and hostile life? Sigourney said it best herself: “Take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.” For a 3D movie, the characters, plot and premise are completely 2D.

Avatar may be nothing but three hours of clichés, but that’s what makes it so interesting, because it’s our clichés that tell us what we really believe.

I find little insight in much of Jonah Goldberg’s writing for the LA Times, but he makes an excellent point here:

Cameron wrote “Avatar,” says Podhoretz, “not to be controversial, but quite the opposite: He was making something he thought would be most pleasing to the greatest number of people.”

What would have been controversial is if — somehow — Cameron had made a movie in which the good guys accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts.

Goldberg is right. Americans are comfortable with Pantheism, even the wildly extreme Pantheism of Avatar. Biblical Christianity makes Americans nervous. We’re comfortable with a vengeful Gaia. We’re comfortable with the “go with the flow” of Yoda’s Force. But “let go and let God” or “God rescues only the faithful” are not common themes.

We’re also comfortable with heros saving the day and kicking evil-guy butt. Aslan can be Christ as long as he stays in mythic hero mode: killing the White Witch and then slipping away. As long as there are clearly good and clearly evil creatures, we’re ok. But even Lewis couldn’t bring himself to torture Susan for all eternity just because she lost her faith in Aslan and loved the ways of the world (c.f. The Last Battle). Even the Dwarves’ “hell” is only their own blindness to their blessings. This is no White Throne judgement in Narnia, no Outer Darkness. Lewis’ God smites the irredeemably wicked, but doesn’t punish the “misguided,” no matter how Biblical that predicted punishment may be. That pretty much lines up with every Hollywood portrayal of Heaven and Hell (What Dreams May Come).

In the end, real mainstream American religion is closer to the extreme Pantheism of Avatar than the extreme Christianity of Left Behind. As Podhoretz obliquely points out, Hollywood is the follower here, not the cause.

I suggest looking into the practice of Zen. Clear mind, no fault, yin/yang balance, be here now, stay in the moment, fetch the wood and carry the water, keep a heart full of peace and grace, keep gratitude in front of any attitude, cause harm to nothing and no one and live today as if you will surely die tonight. No readings or interpretations necessary.

But of course Zen has interpretations. Does the dog have the Buddha Nature? When will the oak tree become a Buddha? From interpreting Chou-Chou to self-participating in the controversy, it is certainly not always obvious to the Practitioner what the true Way is. I don’t believe anyone who has truly tried to walk the Way would think it so easy.

What is “cause harm to nothing?” Wise men from the Jains to Gandhi have not found the answer. Like a Koan, easy to say, hard to grasp.

Christians face the same struggle, and this brought me to an interesting thought. Perhaps YHWH today provides the same function as Angry Buddha. The shock of holding a conflicting unity in your mind is often credited with enlightenment. Zen and its brethren actively seek cognitive dissonance. Is “Amen” so different from katsu?

Even I don’t know if I’m serious here. It is just a thought that has been going round my head. It is probably time for me to write my “Why I’m not a Buddhist” post.

Is the tract still a viable means by which to communicate the gospel?  Or, has it ever been?  What are your thoughts on tracts?

He also suggests that the Blog may be the modern replacement for the tract. For anyone unfamiliar with tracts, they are generally short cartoon books that evangelize Christianity in the most propagandist terms you can imagine. They’re often focused on raising strong emotions and fear of damnation and Hell. Associating homosexuality, other religions and drug use with demonic influence is a common theme. Chick Publications is a leading producer.

I don’t think blogs have any real relation to tracts. The point of tracts is that they are invasive. They are left places to be found by random people who were not looking for them. Blogs are the opposite. People choose the blogs they go to. They might “come across one” but it’s likely going to be one that they basically agree with. Blogs, almost by design, preach to the converted, or at least to the interested.

I personally doubt that tracts are very successful at really converting people. Their form lends itself to keeping the already converted from straying. They rely on an existing fear of the Christian Hell that is instilled from a young age in most Christian countries. If I wrote a tract today that warned against sin lest Ammit eat your soul, it would likely have little impact. Yet fear of Jahannam is as motivating as that of Hell to those who grow up in its shadow. The fear generated has no relation to the truth of the thing. I discussed this earlier in On Fear.

Tracts are propaganda, and I dislike propoganda even when I agree with its goals. Propaganda is manipulative and thus stands against the search for truth, which must be open-eyed. When we engage fear or anger or other strong emotions, we turn off reason, which is our greatest gift. So no, I don’t like tracts.

And then I figured out some of it. It’s the fear of losing it. The fear of our team being broken up and forced to work on stupid things. It’s the fear that they’re going to make us come into the office. it’s the fear that “senior management” may not look on us with favor in the future. It’s not that it’s happened; it’s the fear that it might. I think this is why some rich people can be pretty miserable. You’ve got everything you want, but now you’re afraid you won’t be allowed to keep it. You’re afraid that others don’t think you deserve it enough and that they’ll take it away. My whole life has been like this. I live in a city I love. But it’s growing very rapidly, and my wife and I know that we won’t be able to stay here for long. Maybe only another 15 years or so before it’s just too crowded, but it’s fun while it lasts.

For several years I travelled all over the world for a job I invented. I just told people in the company that it needed doing and I was the person to do it. And so I saw China and Japan and Thailand and Malaysia and Scotland and Amsterdam and England. And everyone said that the job couldn’t last, much as I was doing valuable work. And today, the people doing the job don’t get to travel anymore because the money’s all gone. But it was fun while it lasted. And now I work out of my basement and I love it, but no other job is going to let me do that, but it’s fun while it lasts.

And I do consulting work here and there, working mostly on projects that interest me, but I don’t advertise and I’m not cheap, and so I may not be able to make it livelihood. But it’s fun while it lasts.

And we’re all going to die. A hundred years or so, and we’re all recycled. But it’s fun while it lasts.

If it’s only going to last so long, and I assure you it’s all only going to last so long, make it fun while it lasts. It seems so obvious, but I think it has to be said. I’ve seen so many people avoid something they love because they may have to stop someday. They throw away what they fear will be taken. I once dated a lovely dancer. She would only be here for a season, and we knew that. We knew that we didn’t have the kind of relationship that would last beyond that, and so we agreed to be together for a season. And happily married as I am today, wanting nothing, I still think back on those days with fondness. When we got close to the end she grew distant, and I asked her about it. She said she would be leaving soon, and she was afraid of hurting then. And I agreed, but I said she hadn’t left yet, so don’t leave yet. Let’s not throw away a week because it’s only week. Don’t throw away a moment. “Each day has enough trouble of its own.” But each day can also have such joy. Don’t let go of joy today because there is pain tomorrow. There is always pain tomorrow. But give me one more day of joy. Maybe I’ll die before the pain comes.

They tell us that delayed gratification is a sign of maturity, but it’s a lie dressed up in truth’s clothing. My father says, “If you save more money, you will have more money.” It’s so obvious that it’s easy to miss his meaning. No matter how frugal you are, no matter how much you scrimp and save, no matter how much you put away, you would always have more money if you spent a little less. But what’s the point of saving if not to eventually spend? If it doesn’t bring you joy, or at least satisfaction, then what are you doing? Will you care how much you had in the bank when you die? Do you think there’s a scoreboard with a dollar sign on it? It’s just a proxy for things you really want. Oh, there isn’t enough space here today to talk about how we let proxies get in the way of reality.

And if this is true for money, that we should invest for later spending rather than horde for its own sake, how much more for joy which drains away when put on the shelf? Carpe diem and all that jazz, but there’s a real lesson in there. Don’t be afraid to be happy today. It does not mean you will be miserable tomorrow, and even if it does, do the math. I’d rather be happy today and maybe sad tomorrow, than sad today and maybe happy tomorrow.

This is not a license to foolishness. This is a license to joy. Go forth. Be joyful in one thing this week. Lemons and lemonade and all that. It’s trite, it’s cliche, and it’s so very, very important.

Goddess Bless, bring balance into my life. Clearly what I needed was another job. And in the mysterious ways of Life, I really did, and so the right job came in the right way. The way I couldn’t dodge.

So I get a call yesterday from the YMCA where my kids all play soccer. And they say, “Your youngest son is on a team but we have no coach. Will you coach?” Now I’m a busy man, as I’ve been saying, but I’m more flexible than most in my time, and so I said “put me at the end of the list, and call me back if you’re stuck.”

They were stuck.

And so twice a week for four weeks, I will take off early from work and run three-year-olds through soccer drills. My entire experience with soccer was being cut from the team in eighth grade and occasionally watching my seven-year-old’s team. I wouldn’t know a throw-in if it hit me in the head. But luckily that’s pretty unlikely. They’re three years old. No follow-through.

It was so sneaky in slipping into my life. If it were longer than four weeks, I couldn’t have done it because I’m committed to going to California in June. If it were my oldest boy’s team, I really wouldn’t be qualified. But it’s just the right length of time, with a team who’s young enough that “playing soccer” is much more about playing than soccer. And maybe they’ll learn a few things about teamwork, and hopefully they’ll learn about taking turns. And I know I’ll learn about ten times what they do.

I’m excited, and it’s what I needed, and that’s what you get if you leave yourself open to it. And that my friends is the real power of prayer. Not the power of asking; the power of accepting the answer when it comes.

It is time for a change. Five months since I’ve come here. At first it was because I was ready to change what drums I beat upon. For a time I had little to say on these things. Then it became habit to stay away. And then came unbalance.

We have so many roles in life. Worker, philosopher, lover, volunteer, parent. And I had all these balls flying in the air, and I was pretty happy with it all. We’ve built most of the huge treehouse, I’ve convinced dozens of people to fly to Ireland to rent a castle with me, I’ve had a great time camping with my oldest son, I finally replaced the kitchen door. But for a while now, I’ve let The Job take over. Out of balance.

There are a dozen different reasons. My family relies on my paycheck. I belong to a team with a culture of constant deadlines. I enjoy the work. The work I do really benefits from long stretches of creative focus. I’m obsessive by nature. My boss pushes constantly. “These uncertain times.” But when do I pray? Spring has come and it is beautiful; when do I bask? I work for my family, but when do I enjoy them? When do really enjoy them, without distraction?

And when do I write? Even now, I know if I’m writing, I should be writing something else. I’m horribly behind on writing projects with deadlines looming, yet I wanted to come back here for a few minutes. Drop in. Peek in the windows. Finally write about Zen Speaks, or this last weekend and sitting in a Southern Baptist church again, watching their blood magic ritual, thanking all that is truly holy that two of my children slept through the more gruesome parts of the sermon. And by the time I get to writing that, it’ll be out of season, and blogging should be done in its season, right?

And I’m torn by that. I believe in the power of time, and points in time, and the cycles of the seasons. I think they’re so very important. And yet another equinox slid by unnoticed, while I focused on the latest deadlines. Perhaps it is better to comment on things out of their proper time than not to do so at all. Perhaps you all need a good talk about Thanksgiving.

Enough for the moment. Balance suggests I should sleep now. Or at least finish my volunteer writing assignment that I completely skipped this week, having spent every spare moment working.

I miss you all. I’m crawling back.

A friend pointed me to the online “Civic Literacy Quiz.” It’s a good quiz. Go take it before reading the rest. It’s short. I’ll wait.

I believe a well educated society should be scoring at least 75% on a test like this. The occasional flub over what is in the Preamble to the Constitution versus the Declaration of Independence isn’t going to impact a citizens ability to engage properly in a democratic society, but ignorance of the Federalist/Anti-Federalist struggle will, and clearly does if you listen to kinds of debates we’re hearing today. Anyone who appeals to what “The Founding Fathers” believed, almost certainly knows very little about the subject. There is very little that the “Founding Fathers” agreed about. That they were ever able to find a compromise that has worked so well is a testament to the brilliance of a few people, not the unified vision of an era.

I note that there was a very high miss-rate on basic economic questions. As more and more “regular people” become investors, both directly and through retirement accounts, this is really frightening. The whole issue of both economic and historical ignorance I think is best expressed by their FAQ Question 4:

4. Many colleges focus on teaching students how to think critically. Why should these schools be concerned if students fail to demonstrate rudimentary knowledge about America’s heritage?

To think critically about a subject, one must first know the facts of a subject. A college student who does not know the basics about America’s history and institutions cannot think critically about the questions that will determine America’s future.

I’m a huge proponent of better critical thinking skills in our education system, but I couldn’t have said it better myself. You can’t think critically about a subject that you don’t know anything about. So much of the nonsense we hear today in opinion pages and talk radio is people trying to do exactly that. They actually aren’t stupid. They are trying to think. They just don’t know anything.

If knowing what you’re talking about makes you elitist, please, can we hand the country over to the elites?

I was several chapters into What’s So Great about Christianity, a book which I recommend others read but which I often wish to throw at a wall, when I began to hear those quiet little questions I only hear when I stop the incessant chatter. Why are you reading this? Are you really learning or just fencing? D’Souza makes some interesting points, but his often reverse causalities are unlikely to sway my thinking very far. When he descended to the defending Anselm’s Ontological argument, I knew there was little left here to be mined.

We have such a little time, and we given one great gift in the universe: our choice of how to use that time. With the thousand thousand limitations we put on ourselves, we still have so many choices we can make. And so I decided to step back and look again at those things that build, and for a time let go of fighting those things that destroy. We must defend the castle walls, but what is the point if we never sing?

My first step was in my reading, and I’ve done a thing almost unheard of for me. I’m re-reading a book. I never do that. My wife and I used to laugh when we found a restaurant that we liked, it was a shame we would never be back. There were always so many to try, we never thought to try one again. Then we did, and now we’ve found the love of favorite places to return to. There is a lesson in there on the importance of ritual that I will need to think on.

So I’ve returned to one of my favorite books, Life of Pi. He paints such a wonderful picture of religion. Not finding the heart of them all, but rather the truths that can be found in practitioners of them all. Those who think that all religions are true are generally projecting their own beliefs onto the religions. But there are pieces that can be teased out, and that are true, and are what pull us towards religion. Pi’s conversion to Christianity is so beautiful exactly because he molds the religion to his truth rather than this truth to the religion. I will try to write more of this later. It is at the heart of the misunderstandings of religion in the US.

After Life of Pi, I have some other religious books to re-read. Stranger in a Strange Land and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for starters. I may even re-read The Spiral Dance. I am hesitant to get too “new-agey” because I often find the soil there very broad and very shallow. But it’s time for me to rediscover God in her aspects rather than focusing on the mistakes of others. I’ve been fighting too long; a soldier needs to come home to remember what he fights for.