Spiritual Resources for the Religiously Abstemious

Nones are now a plurality in the US. What are we supposed to do?

The Pew research institute recently came out with polling that shows a significantly changed religious landscape in the US. Over the last couple of decades, while the religious right has been climbing the greasy pole of political power, gaining seats on the Supreme Court, and agitating for a return to patriarchy, their pews have been emptying. The religiously unaffiliated, or "nones", comprise 28% of the US population now, almost double the level two decades ago.

One has only to see the rabid support evangelicals give their orange-haired messiah to understand what has been turning people off. Or glance over the appalling chronicle of sexual abuse unearthed in the Catholic church. Maybe the horsemen of the Atheist apocalypse have had something to do with it. Russia under Putin is strenuously demonstrating that the same system can be just as cruel with or without religion. But these patterns of gross institutional, moral, and intellectual failure, and their ensuing critiques, are hardly new. Luther made a bit of hay out of the abuses of the Catholic church, Voltaire, among many other thinkers, ridiculed the whole religious enterprise, and Hitler was a forerunner of Trump in leaning on religion, at least early in his career, despite being a rather token Christian himself (other than in the antisemitism, of course). What is new now?

A dramatic rise in numbers of people with no religious affiliation and little interest, from Pew polling.

I am not sure, frankly. Europe has certainly been leading the way, showing that declining religion is quite compatible with prosperous and humane culture. But perhaps this phenomenon is part of the general isolation and atomization of US culture, and thus not such a good thing. It used to be that a community was unthinkable without a church (or several) to serve as the central hub. Churches served to validate the good and preach to the bad. They sponsored scout troops, weddings, charitable events and dinners, and committees and therapeutic encounters of all sorts. They were socially essential, whether one believed or not. That leaders of society also led the churches knit the whole circle together, making it easy to believe that something there was indeed worth believing, whether it made sense or not.

Now, the leadership of society has moved on. We are mesmerized by technology, by entertainment, and sports, perhaps to a degree that is new. The capitalist system has found ways to provide many of the services we used to go to churches for, to network, to get psychotherapy, to gossip, and most of all, to be entertained. Community itself is less significant in the modern, suburban, cocooned world. Successful churches meet this new world by emphasizing their social offerings in a mega-church community, with a dash of charismatic, but not overly intellectually taxing, preaching. Unfortunately, megachurches regularly go through their own crises of hypocrisy and leadership, showing that the caliber of religious leaders, whatever their marketing skills, has been declining steadily.

The "nones" are more apathetic than atheistic, but either way, they are not great material for making churches or tightly knit communities. Skeptical, critical, or uninterested, they are some of the least likely social "glues". Because, frankly, it takes some gullibility and attraction to the core human archetypes and drama to make a church, and it takes a lot of positive thinking to foster a community. I would promote libraries, arts institutions, non-profits, and universities as core cultural hubs that can do some of this work, fostering a learning and empathetic culture. But we need more.

As AI takes over work of every sort, and more people have more time on their hands, we are facing a fundamental reshaping of society. One future is that a few rich people rake off all the money, and the bulk of the population descends into poverty and joblessness, unneeded in a society where capitalism has become terminally capital-intensive, with little labor required. Another future is where new forms of redistribution are developed, either by bringing true competition to bear on AI-intensive industries so that they can not take excess profits, or by thorough regulation for the public good, including basic income schemes, public goods, and other ways to spread wealth broadly. 

Such a latter system would free resources for wider use, so that a continuing middle class economy could thrive, based on exchanges that are now only luxuries, like music, personal services, teaching, sports, counseling. The destruction of the music recording industry by collusion of music labels and Spotify stands as a stark lesson in how new technology and short-sighted capitalism can damage our collective culture, and the livelihood of a profession that is perhaps the avatar of what an ideal future would look like, culturally and economically.

All this is to say that we face a future where we should, hopefully, have more resources and time, which would in principle be conducive to community formation and a life-long culture of learning, arts, and personal enrichment, without the incessant driver of work. The new AI-driven world will have opportunities for very high level work and management, but the regular hamburger flippers, baristas, cabbies, and truck drivers will be a thing of the past. This is going to put a premium on community hubs and new forms of social interaction. The "nones" are likely to favor (if not build) a wide range of such institutions, while leaving the church behind. It is a mixed prospect, really, since we will still be lacking a core institution that engages with the whole person in an archetypal, dream-like fantasy of hope and affirmation. Can opera do that work? I doubt it. Can Hollywood? I doubt that as well, at least as it applies to a local community level that weaves such attractions together with service and personal connection.

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Everything is Alive, but the Gods are all Dead

Barbara Ehrenreich's memoir and theological ruminations in "Living with a Wild God".

It turns out that everyone is a seeker. Somewhere there must be something or someone to tell us the meaning of life- something we don't have to manufacture with our own hands, but rather can go into a store and buy. Atheists are just as much seekers as anyone else, only they never find anything worth buying. The late writer Barbara Ehrenreich was such an atheist, as well as a remarkable writer and intellectual who wrote a memoir of her formation. Unusually and fruitfully, it focuses on those intense early and teen years when we are reaching out with both hands to seize the world- a world that is maddeningly just beyond our grasp, full of secrets and codes it takes a lifetime and more to understand. Religion is the ultimate hidden secret, the greatest mystery which has been solved in countless ways, each of them conflicting and confounding.

Ehrenreich's tale is more memoir than theology, taking us on a tour through a dysfunctional childhood with alcoholic parents and tough love. A story of growth, striking out into the world, and sad coming-to-terms with the parents who each die tragically. But it also turns on a pattern of mystical experiences that she keeps having, throughout her adult life, which she ultimately diagnoses as dissociative states where she zones out and has a sort of psychedelic communion with the world.

"Something peeled off the visible world, taking with it all meaning, inference, association, labels, and words. I was looking at a tree, and if anyone had asked, that's what I would have said I was doing, but the word "tree" was gone, along with all the notions of tree-ness that had accumulated in the last dozen years or so since I had acquired language. Was it a place that was suddenly revealed to me? Or was it a substance- the indivisible, elemental material out of which the entire known and agreed-upon world arises as a fantastic elaboration? I don't know, because this substance, this residue, was stolidly, imperturbably mute. The interesting thing, some might say alarming, was that when you take away all the human attributions- the words, the names of species, the wisps of remembered tree-related poetry, the fables of photosynthesis and capillary action- that when you take all this this away, there is still something left."

This is not very hard to understand as a neurological phenomenon of some kind of transient disconnection of just the kind of brain areas she mentions- those that do all the labeling, name-calling, and boxing-in. In schizophrenia, it runs to the pathological, but in Ehrenreich's case, she does not regard it as pathological at all, as it is always quite brief. But obviously, the emotional impact and weirdness of the experience- that is something else altogether, and something that humans have been inducing with drugs, and puzzling over, forever. 

Source

As a memoir, the book is very engaging. As a theological quest, however, it doesn't work as well, because the mystical experience is, as noted above, resolutely meaningless. It neither compels Ehrenreich to take up Christianity, as after a Pauline conversion, nor any other faith or belief system. It offers a peek behind the curtain, but, stripped of meaning as this view is, Ehrenreich is perhaps too skeptical or bereft of imagination to give it another, whether of her own or one available from the conventional array of sects and religions. So while the experiences are doubtless mystical, one can not call them religious, let alone god-given, because Ehrenreich hasn't interpreted them that away. This hearkens back to the writings of William James, who declined to assign general significance to mystical experiences, while freely admitting their momentous and convincing nature to those who experienced them.

Only in one brief section (which had clearly been originally destined for an entirely different book) does she offer a more interesting and insightful analysis. There, Ehrenreich notes that the history of religion can be understood as a progressive bloodbath of deicide. At first, everything is alive and sacred, to an animist mind. Every leaf and grain of sand holds wonders. Every stream and cloud is divine. This is probably our natural state, which a great deal of culture has been required to stamp out of us. Next is a hunting kind of religion, where deities are concentrated in the economic objects (and social patterns) of the tribe- the prey animals, the great plants that are eaten, and perhaps the more striking natural phenomena and powerful beasts. But by the time of paganism, the pantheon is cut down still more and tamed into a domestic household, with its soap-opera dramas and an increasingly tight focus on the major gods- the head of the family, as it were. 

Monotheism comes next, doing away with all the dedicated gods of the ocean, of medicine, of amor and war, etc., cutting the cast down to one. One, which is inflated to absurd proportions with all-goodness, all-power, all-knowledge, etc. A final and terrifying authoritarianism, probably patterned on the primitive royal state. This is the phase when the natural world is left in the lurch, as an undeified and unprotected zone where human economic greed can run rampant, safe in the belief that the one god is focused entirely on man's doings, whether for good or for ill, not on that of any other creature or feature of the natural world. A phase when even animals, who are so patently conscious, can, through the narcissism of primitive science and egoistic religion, be deemed mere mechanisms without feeling. This process doesn't even touch on the intercultural deicide committed by colonialism and conquest.

This in turn invites the last deicide- that by rational people who toss aside this now-cartoonish super-god, and return to a simpler reverence for the world as we naturally respond to it, without carting in a lot of social power-and-drama baggage. It is the cultural phase we are in right now, but the transition is painfully slow, uneven, and drawn-out. For Ehrenreich, there are plenty of signs- in the non-linear chemical phenomena of her undergraduate research, in the liveliness of quantum physics even into the non-empty vacuum, in the animals who populate our world and are perhaps the alien consciousnesses that we should be seeking in place of the hunt through outer space, and in our natural delight in, and dreams about, nature at large. So she ends the book as atheist as ever, but hinting that perhaps the liveliness of the universe around us holds some message that we are not the only thinking and sentient beings.

"Ah, you say, this is all in your mind. And you are right to be skeptical; I expect no less. It is in my mind, which I have acknowledged from the beginning is a less than perfect instrument. but this is what appears to be the purpose of my mind, and no doubt yours as well, its designed function beyond all the mundane calculations: to condense all the chaos and mystery of the world into a palpable Other or Others, not necessarily because we love it, and certainly not out of any intention to "worship" it. But because ultimately we may have no choice in the matter. I have the impression, growing out of the experiences chronicled here, that it may be seeking us out." 

Thus the book ends, and I find it a rather poor ending. It feels ripped from an X-Files episode, highly suggestive and playing into all the Deepak and similar mystical tropes of cosmic consciousness. That is, if this passage really means much at all. Anyhow, the rest of the trip is well worth it, and it is appropriate to return to the issue of the mystical experience, which is here handled with such judicious care and restraint. Where imagination could have run rampant, the cooly scientific view (Ehrenreich had a doctorate in biology) is that the experiences she had, while fascinating and possibly book-proposal-worthy, did not force a religious interpretation. This is radically unlike the treatment of such matters in countless other hands, needless to say. Perhaps our normal consciousness should not be automatically valued less than more rare and esoteric states, just because it is common, or because it is even-tempered.

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Science Fiction as Theology

Let's look higher than the clouds. Let's look to the stars.

I have always been rather dismissive of theology- the study of something that doesn't exist. But if one takes it in a larger sense of a culture of scripture, story telling, morals, and social construction, then sure, it makes more sense. But then so do alot of other stories. I have been enjoying the Foundation series via streaming, which is at best "inspired" by the original books, yet takes its premises reasonably seriously and grows a complex and interesting set of story lines to what by the end of the first season is a positive and promising conclusion. I would ding it for excessive adherence to Star Wars-style action and simplistic morality, compared with the more cerebral original, but that is only to be expected these days.

Science fiction is having a golden age, as a way to tell important, probing stories and consider alternative futures. The Star Trek franchise generally sticks with hopeful futures, which I certainly favor. Their world is post-money, post internal conflict, post-disease. But philosophically alive through contact with other civilizations. The theological implications are momentous, as we envision a culture very different from our own, and blessed with various magical means of deliverance, like transporters, replicators, and warp drives. Where the "science fiction" books of the Bible were mostly dystopian (Job, Revelation, Genesis), Science fiction in our era straddles the line, with plenty of dystopian offerings, but also hopeful ones. Whether Star Wars is hopeful might be a matter of debate, since bad guys and bad empires never seem to go away, and the position of the resistance is always impossibly dire.

White male mathematician Hari Seldon takes on the role of god, in the Foundation series. He calculates out the future of the galaxy, clairvoyantly predicting events, and then comes back from beyond the grave to keep guiding his flock through crisis after crisis.

Are Star Trek futures any more realistic than those of Revelation? Are they theologically more sound? I think yes on both counts. Revelation is a rather unhinged response to the late Jewish era in its apocalyptic relations with Rome, as it headed into exile and the diaspora. There is a welter of reworked Old Testament material and obscure references, turning into florid visions that have misled Christians for centuries. Star Trek and the other science fiction franchises, on the other hand, are a bit more restrained in their visionary quests and escatologies, and more hopeful, for abundant futures where some problems have been solved while other forms of politics and history continue to call for strong moral values. This is quite different than the bizarre and ecstatic culmination of Revelation at the end of history, in the last days.

We also get to live out the visions, on a small scale, as technology advances in the real world. Smart phones have transformed our lives, for instance, one promise kept from the early science fiction days. And our only real hope for dealing with climate change is to harness better technologies, rather than going down dystopian roads of degrowth, famine, and war. So there are real futures at stake here, not just visions of futures.

While our current physics totally bars the adventures that are portrayed in contemporary science fiction epics, their theological significance lies in their various visions of what humanity can and should do. They, as Revelation, are always keyed to their historical moment, with America ascendent and technologically advanced over other cultures. But they do not use their magical elements and story arcs to promote quiescence and slack-jawed wonder at the return of the son of god, who will make everything right and mete out judgement to all the bad people. (Or do the opposite, in the case of Job.) No, they uniformly encourage resistance against injustice, and hopeful action towards a better world, or galaxy, or universe, as the case may be.

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Desperately Seeking Cessation of Desire

Some paradoxes, and good points, of Buddhism.

I have been reading "In the Buddha's Words", by Bhikkhu Bodhi, which is a well-organized collection / selection of translations of what we have as the core teachings of Buddhism. It comes from the Pali canon, from Sri Lanka, where Buddhism found refuge after its final destruction in India after the Arab invasions, and offers as clear an exposition of the Buddhist system as one can probably find in English. A bit like the scriptures of Christianity, the earliest canons of Buddhism originate from oral traditions only recorded a hundred or so years after Buddha's death, but as they are slightly less besotted with miraculous stories, the collection has more of a feeling of actual teaching, than of gnomic riddles and wonder stories, not to mention Odyssean mis-adventures.

Both prophets make audacious claims, one to be god, or its son, the other to have attained a perfectly enlightened state with similar implications for everlasting life (or lack of rebirth, at any rate). Each extends to his followers the tempting prospect of a similarly exalted state after death. Each teaches simple morals, each attracts followers both lay and career-ist, the latter of whom tend to be rather dense. Each launched an international sensation that bifurcated into a monastic/ascetic branch of professional clerics and a more popular branch that attained a leading role in some societies.

But Buddhism has attained a special status in the West as something a bit more advanced than the absurd theology of Christianity. A theology that could even be deemed atheist, along with a practice that focuses more relentlessly on peace and harmony than does what Christianity has become, particularly in the US. It is congenial to seekers, an exotic and edgy way to be spiritual, but not religious.

But how much sense does it really make? For starters, much of the Buddhist mythology and theology is simply taken from its ambient Hindu environment. The cycle of rebirth, the karma that influences one's level of rebirth, the heavens and hells, all come from the common understandings of the time, so are not very particular to Buddhism. Buddhists did away with lots of the gods, in favor of their own heros (Buddha, and the Bodhisattvas), and developed a simplified philosphy of desire, suffering, and the relief of suffering by controlling desire, optimally through advanced meditation practices. Much of this was also ambient or at least implicit, as Buddha himself began as a normal Indian ascetic, trying to purify himself of all taints and mundane aspects. For his Buddhist Sanga, he dialed things back a bit, so that the community could function as a social system, not a disconnected constellation of hermits.

Bodhisattvas floating in heaven. These are Buddhists who have attained enlightenment but not entered permanent heaven, choosing rather to have compassion on humanity in its benighted state.

As a philosophical system, it seems paradoxical to spend so much effort and desire in seeking nirvanna and the benefits of lack of desire. To sit in meditation for years on end demands enormous discipline. To submit to a life of begging and poverty takes great will and desire for whatever is promised on the other side. This is not evidence of lack of desire, much less the kind of wisdom and knowledge that would license its practitioners to advise lay people in their mundane affairs (or politicians in affairs of state). And the ethical system that Buddha promulgated was simple in the extreme- merely to be and do good, rather than being and doing bad, all staked on the age-old promise that just deserts would be coming after death.

No, Buddha was clearly a charismatic person, and his insight was social, not philosphical. Remember that he was a prince by birth and education. I would suggest that his core message was one of nobility- of idealism about the human condition. In his system, nobility is not conferred by birth, but by action. All can be noble, and all can be ignoble, regardless of wealth or birth. For the mass of society, it is control over desire that allows virtue and prosperity- i.e. nobility. Those who are addicts, whether to power, to drugs, to bitterness, to sex, or innumerable other black holes of desire or habit, are slaves, not nobles. This is incidentally what makes Buddhism so amenable to the West- it is very enlightenment-friendly kind of social philosophy.

The monks and Sanga of Buddhism were to be the shock troops of emotional discipline, burning off their normal social desires in fires of meditation and renunciation, even as they were on the hook for a whole other set of desires. Which are, in my estimation, wholly illusory in their aim, despite the various beneficial effects of meditation, in this world. They provide the inspiration and template for the society at large, modeling a form of behavioral nobility that any and all can at least appreciate, if not aspire to, and model in their own circumscribed lives and ethical concerns. I think that is the real strength of the Buddhist system. The monks may be misled in philosophical terms, but they fulfill a critical social role which governs and moderates the society at large. 

The monks provide another benefit, which is population control. One of the greatest pressures on any society is overpopulation, which immiserates the poor, empowers the rich, and can ultimately destroy its resource base. While the monastic institutions are a great burden on their societies, they also help keep them sustainable by taking in excess males who might otherwise become brigands and parents. This is particularly evident in traditional Tibet, despite the corruption of the monastic system by clan rivalries and even occasional warfare.

The fact of the matter is that desire is the staff, even essence, of life. Those who lack desire are dead, and Buddhist monks sitting in endless renunciation are enacting a sort of living death. Nevertheless, they have an important function in their societies, which is one we see replicated in the priests of Orthodox and Catholic Christianity (most of the time) and other ascetics and clerics around the world. Buddha was right that the management of desire is absolutely critical to individual and communal social life. Compare his system, however, with the philosophy of the Greeks, which arose at roughly the same (axial) time. The Greek philosophers focused on moderation in all things- another way, and I would offer, a healthier way, to state the need for discipline over the desires. They additionally fostered desires for knowledge and as complex ethical investigations, which I would posit far outstripped the efforts of the Buddhists, and gave rise, though the Greeks' continuing influence over the Roman and ensuing Christian epochs in Western Europe, to a more advanced culture, at least in philosophical, legal, and scientific terms, if not in terms of social and political peace.

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Love Beauty Truth

Book review of "Finding your Feet after Fundamentalism", By Darrell Lackey. With apologies to the other book.

An old friend has published a book. We had an epistolary relationship, fretting about creationism, intelligent design, and related topics back when those were livelier issues than today (and it directly inspired the birth of this blog). He was on his way out of Christian fundamentalism, and into something more liberal, even post-modern. His new book is a somewhat autobiographical account of the problems of fundamentalism, and of leaving fundamentalism as one's tradition. Naturally, evangelism dies hard, and takes this new form of broadcasting the good news of a more moderate and decent Christianity.

The book hits hardest on the issue of Donald Trump. No scandal has so thoroughly demonstrated the ultimate hypocrisy of fundamentalism than its allegiance to Trump. The transaction has given religious conservatives control of the Supreme Court, (though perhaps that owed more to Mitch McConnell), but in return, they showed their support for the most morally vile and incompetent person ever to hold the job. Lackey relates how he was fully in the FOX news orbit in the 90's, happily imbibing its bile. But then something snapped, and by the time of the Trump election, he had fully left fundamentalism and its communities behind. Living in California might have something to do with it, since liberalism, at least of a lip-service sort, is the dominant way of life here. Something that Republicans have learned the hard way. 

Yet the interesting part is how strenuously Lackey hews to Christianity, proclaiming that liberal versions are not gateway drugs to atheism. Quite the contrary- close attention to the actual New Testament provides ample justification for things like supporting marginalized communities, helping the poor, afflicting the rich, and viewing one's enemies as possibly reasonable human beings, if not friends in the making. He mentions how false it is for evangelicals to be so eager to spread the good word, but at the same time so deaf to the words of others that actual relationship is impossible- an evangelism of a closed-off community. 

For what are the fundamental values? Lackey cites love and beauty. Love is clear enough, (and damning enough regarding the FOX- driven culture of conservative Christianity), but the role of beauty needs a little more explaining. Religious thinkers have spared no effort in extolling the beauty of the world, but in the current world, serious artists are rarely Christian, let alone make Christian art. Why is that? Perhaps it is just intellectual fashion, but perhaps there is a deeper problem, that art, at least in our epoch, is adventurous and probing, seeking to interrogate narratives and power structures rather than celebrate them. Perhaps it is a problem of overpopulation, or of democracy, or of living in late imperial times, or of modernism. But whatever the framework, contemporary Christian communities have become the opposite of all this- anti-intellectual, tone-deaf, and art-hostile (not to mention power-mad). It must be exasperating to someone with even the least appreciation for finer things and for art that is "interesting".

Jean-Michel Basquiat- too messy for insensitive temperaments.

Beauty has deep Christian connotations. The world is god-made, good, and thus beautiful, as indeed we all feel it to be. But life is also messy, competitive, and dark. Death and suffering are part of it as well. If we refuse to own those aspects of the world, and of ourselves, we become blinded to the true nature of things, and expose ourselves to unintended and invisible expressions of the dark side, as we see in the deep hypocrisy on the subject of Trump, on sexual morals, and countless other areas within fundamentalism / evangelicalism. Lackey ticks off a lengthy list of subjects where conservative Christians have become blind to the obvious teachings of Jesus while fixated on relatively minor cultural flashpoints and red meat- symptoms of a general moral blindness borne of, arguably, flaccid aesthetic and intellectual habits.

So I would like to offer another value, which is truth. As a scientist, it is a natural place for me to start, but I think it is both illuminating of, and interrelated with, the other virtues above. What modern artists seek is to express truths about the human condition, not just ring out positive affirmations and hallelujas. Truths about suffering as well as truths about beauty. What scientists seek to do is to find how this world we find ourselves in works, from the cosmos down to the gluon. And they do so because they find it beautiful, and, like addicts, would like to unlock more of that beauty. Beauty inspires love, and love ... can only survive on truth, not lies. So I think these values live in a reinforcing cycle.

All that implies that there is another step to take for someone who has left fundamentalism. That is, to re-evaluate Christianity as a whole. While the achievement of decency (and better taste) by the renunciation of FOX and its religious satellite communities is an enormous step, indeed a momentous one for the preservation of our country's sanity, grappling seriously with the value of truth would suggest an extra leg to the trip. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Christianity as a whole is a questionable proposition, philosophically. As a narrative and moral system, it clearly has positive as well as negative potentials. But as a "truth"- with its miracles, resurrections, triune deity, and salvation at the end of the line, (whether for the elect, the saved, the good, or for all)- well, it is impossible to take seriously without heavy doses of tradition and indoctrination.

For his part, Lackey has headed in another direction, into the Eastern Orthodox church, finding a place that richly satisfies the fundamentalist urge to return to one of the most traditional and historically continuous churches in existence, and also one that does not tie itself into intellectual knots about literal truth, living biblically, and the like. Orthodoxy accepts mystery, and cherishes its ancient rites and structures as sufficient theology. It is not modernist, or goaded by the enlightenment to make a rational system of something that so obviously resists reason. 

For there is a fine line between lies, illusions, and truths. As anyone who is married will understand (or a citizen of a country, or part of a corporation, or part of any social structure), truth is not the only or necessarily best virtue. A bit of illusion and constructive understanding can make a world of difference. Narrative, ideology, framing, etc. are essential social glues, and even glues of internal psychology. So, given that illusions are integral, the work to identity them, bring them into consciousness, and make positive choices about them is what matters, especially when it comes to social leadership. Do we choose narratives that are reasonably honest, and look forward with hope and love, or ones that go down the easy road of demonization and projection? And what role should the most traditional narratives in existence- those of the ancient religions- have in guiding us?

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Myth and Science

Stories we tell about how things work.

I am reading an ancient book about ancient myths, covering some of what was known of the ancient world's stories circa the mid-20th century (that is, the "developed" ancient world of Egypt, the Near East, China, India, etc.). The authors occasionally seem exasperated that their colleagues- the ancient authors of these stories and myths- do not always take their stories as seriously as scholars themselves do, after having so painstakingly learned the relevant languages, unearthed the precious tablets, papyri, inscriptions, and other sources, compared different versions, and interpreted them in light of the historical setting. No, ancient myths can be playful affairs, evolving in dramatic complexity, freely mutating to serve the needs of the moment in their mutable oral traditions. This is especially true the farther back you go into ethnographic history, such as into the stories of the Inuit and other First Peoples of North America. It is evident that ancient societies varied widely in their theological and mythological sophistication, and particularly how closely entwined these were with the centers of power.

Inuit mythologies and their custodian, the shaman.

The scholarly apparatus around myth studies has a very earnest and modernist cast, which derives from two sources. First is Christianity, which as an extreme political and social elaboration of ancient religions has progressively reified and codified its myths. Inheriting a grab-bag of disparate ancient myths and stories, Christianity shored up its social position and theological bona fides by insisting that it was all true. The more sclerotic and far-reaching its bureaucratic structure, the more tightly it held to the absolute truth of its dogmas. A second aspect was the enlightenment and the rise of scientific modernity. That world view was not interested in playful myths of psychodrama, but in hard truths of how the world really works, stripped of the colorful trappings. Competition with this world view helped to further push religious dogmas in an absolutist direction, to that point where today, both Christian Evangelicals and fundamentalist Islamists insist that their scriptures are literally true, handed down from an all-powerful god who really exists and is not fictive construct meant as a playful expression of our scientific ignorance on one hand, and our love of social drama on the other. Anthropologists took their cues from all this, assuming that the precious myths they were studying had to be expressions of a society's absolute truths, organizing principles, and deepest motivations. But perhaps they were originally ways to pass the time and enchant a few youngsters.

Science is telling stories, too. Are they really so different? On the one hand, our need to orient ourselves in the world remains unchanged from ancient times, so the core purpose of explaining reality and society through complicated tales of causes and effects remains. And to a lay person, the explanations of quantum mechanics or cosmic inflation are no less impenetrable than myths about gods and dragons. Thus the scientists who are the custodians of these stories find themselves in the ironic position of a new priesthood, cultivating the cultural narrative around origins, natural phenomena, biology, and the like, while extending these stories in systematic ways that the priests (and alchemists, and shamans, and druids) of yore could only dream about, if they could even conceive of such reliable beliefs untethered from social drama and social control. But today's scientists can't and won't inject ancillary drama into these stories, so they will remain split off from their traditional roles and uses.

So the telling of dramatic stories and the consequent management of society through the narratives of origins, myths, and meaning- if ancient myths really did fulfill these functions, which is perhaps an anachronistic construction on our part, or at least varied widely with the nature of ancient societies- are skills having nothing, really, to do with the scientific enterprise of today, and thus nothing to do with this new priesthood. Who takes these roles?

Theology would seem the natural place for the living and socially relevant myth. But theology has split definitively from science, from history, and indeed from reality, nurturing narratives that are absurd while claiming they are true, and which in their antiquity and provincialism are impossibly remote from our current concerns, morals, and social ability to relate even allegorically. Theology has thus become lost in a sterile wilderness, doomed to be cut off from its mythical and social power. Even the more liberal and elastic precincts, if they do not insist on absolute literal truth, adhere to the crusty old stories of the Bible, which while occasionally artistic, are mostly a maddening hodgpodge and, frankly, boring. What was riveting in antiquity about lengthy ancestor lists, angry gods, virgin births, and ascending into the clouds is ridiculous today. 

The story-telling mantle has obviously been taken over by Hollywood- by the Marvel series, Star Treks, Star Wars, Potter series, and similar epics of modern fantasy. They bend reality in classically mythical ways, make up their own theology as they go along, (and throw it away as casually with the next installment), and communicate constantly updated social mores. The graphics are otherworldly, the stories and morals are updated, but the fundamental sophistication of these stories can't really be said to have advanced much. They are speaking to human nature, after all- a conversation between our inborn archetypes and the social and technological conditions we find ourselves in.

The key point is that Hollywood myths are taken as intended- as fertile and mind-expanding fantasies with social and moral lessons that are (hopefully) beneficial and relevant for our times. They are not trying to claim their myths as true- that would be absurd. Thus they do not collide with either scientific or theological claims, and use myth as it was originally and truly intended- as the dreamlike realm of symbolic human drama, full of lessons, yes, but not scientific ones, or even pseudoscientific ones.

• An outstanding dissection of just how bad US policy and behavior was in Afghanistan.
• Facebook / Fecebook is a cesspool, by design.
• Dead ender racism.
• A mutagenic drug to save us all.
• How about those great vaccines?
• Some nice piano.

Who Can be a Shaman? Who Must be a Shaman?

Pasaquan and the modern Shamanism of St. EOM, Eddie Owens Martin.

While not religious, I am fascinated by religion. This mode of thought and experience is obviously instinctive, patently irrational, and strenuously defended and rationalized via theology, apologetics, and other formerly respectable modes of thought, not to mention jihad and other sorts of brute power. We are (mostly) in a much better position today than in the old days when every political system had its state religion, and woe betide anyone caught thinking crosswise. Yet in the even earlier days of our species, religion was much more free-form, and while the instinct of religion is/was shared universally, its expression varied widely among far-flung, isolated peoples. We may generally call it shamanism. The first ingredient was an acceptance that some people care a lot more about spiritual matters than others do. Typically this is because they are misfits, maybe mentally disturbed, and have a heightened appreciation of the unreality of this reality that we think inhabit. Mind-altering drugs provide a glimpse of this widened perspective, and naturally comprise a central part of many shamanistic sacraments.

It is striking how the shared appreciation of an alternate reality, whether though official scripture, traditional dogma, or via ecstatic worship practices or mind-altering drugs, contributes to social bonding and personal psychological healing- which are the ultimate positive impacts of religion. Maybe the starkest naturalistic reality, now that we have evolved to appreciate its full horror, is incompatible with psychic health. Maybe an alternate, colorful, humane, and supportive reality is essential, and is particularly binding and healing if everyone shares it, almost regardless of its particular nature or irrationality. But on the other hand, even religions of intolerance, war, human sacrifice and cannibalism have sustained long-lived cultures, so the binding may take precedence over the humane-ness.

Ideologies and value systems are in play as well. Societies run on particular views of what is right, who counts, what is meaningful, etc. While these touch on empirical reality in some respects, their values and social apparatus are relatively untethered, free to valorize some, deprecate others, and place values on obscure things and odd activities. A misfit will be, by definition, more likely to suffer under the ambient ideology and prone to seek an alternative. Whether the shaman supports the current culture or seeks to subvert it, her work is critical in framing a social ideology that most other members of society hardly even know exists, and are not generally capable of shaping or grappling with consciously.

At its best, shamanism provides more than a narrative or theory about the unseen forces that run the world. It also centers the society with a purposeful narrative of its existence and the essential part each member plays in its continuance. It can heal individuals via the power of this social cohesion- as even medical science is beginning to recognize- since even without any objective medicine whatsoever, the rituals of care, support, and confidence are themselves powerful expressions of our social nature and aids to healing.

But what about today? We are heading into a post-religious world, where neither shamanism nor mainline theology rings true, capitalist ideology reigns, and social atomization is in part the result. It was jarring and intriguing to run across an odd TV program about an autodidactic shaman in Georgia, Eddie Owens Martin, who died in 1986. As a gay man in rural Georgia of the early 1900's, he fled to New York and led an underground life, which led to a career in fortune telling. Eventually he inherited a property in Georgia, and moved back on his own terms, using the proceeds from his fortune telling to build a spiritual retreat / theme park, with ornate decoration throughout.

St. EOM painting from Pasaquan

The connection between fortune telling and other facets of free-form shamanism are obvious. Martin, who renamed himself St. EOM, was obviously a charismatic person, and attracted helpers who attended ceremonies and helped with the painting. There was a hair theme, where Martin thought that he received messages from the gods through hair that had to be pointed upward. After he went bald, he resorted to pointing the ends of his extensive beard to the sky in order to maintain this connection. And what about all the symbology? It seems to consist of benevolent faces and highly colorful geometric designs, as are common in other spiritual and ceremonial settings. It looks like an effort to capture positive and healing material from the archetypes, which are partly eternal, and partly influenced by the culture of the day, where multiracial themes of harmony were coming to prominence.

All this reminded me strongly of two other shamans of the day, Carl Jung and Walt Disney. Where Martin was a spontaneous and demotic shaman, Jung come at it from a scholarly, indeed logorrheic perspective, producing book after book of memories, dreams, reflections, and rationalizations by which he straddled the scientific and credulus approaches to spiritualism. Most evocative was his Red Book, which features highly colorful dreamscapes full of pregnant symbols and meaning, harvested from his forays into the inner world of his own fixations and archetypes.

Lastly, Disney obviously shared the fantasy and dream motivations of Martin, though seemingly without much of the spiritual baggage. Disney was also moved in some mysterious way to make these fantasies concrete by creating theme parks where this positive message of colorful suspension of reality was given relentless and popular expression. These are demotic shamanism on a vast scale, drained of any deeper significance other than the lightest symbology that fleetingly speaks to part of us that hopes for an escape from the humdrum and pressing constraints of reality.

• Another healing fantasy in glorious animation- Secret of the Kells.
• Private schools- the real scandal is that they exist at all.
• Slavery.
• Crytocurrencies are a criminal accelerant- and should be banned. Not to mention being an environmental disgrace.

The Parables of Octavia Butler

Review of Parable of the Sower, and Parable of the Talents, about earily familiar dystopias and the religions they call forth.

Octavia Butler is having a moment. The late science fiction author published the parable books in 1993 and 1998, not even knowing of the coming G. W. Bush administration, let alone that of Donald Trump. But her evangelical-supported right wing presidential candidate issues a call to "Make America great again". Her insight and prescience is head-spinning, in books that portray an America much farther gone into division, inequality, corporate power, and chaos (all owing to climate change(!)) than we in actual reality are- yet only by degrees. That is only the window dressing and frame, however. Her real subjects are religion and human purpose. I will try to not give away too much, since these make dramatic and interesting reading.

The books introduce heroine Lauren Olamina, who is totally together and possessed of a mission in life. She grows up in a neighborhood compound walled off from the chaos outside, but quite aware of the desperate conditions there. Her father is a pastor, and both she and her brother become, through the books, preachers as well. The brother in a conventional Christian mode, but Lauren founds a new religion, one maybe tailored for the generally skeptical science fiction audience. God is change. That is it. Lauren emphasizes empathy, usefulness, education, and the shaping of change, but there is no god as traditionally conceived. It is a sort of buddhistic philosophy and educational / communal program rather than a supernaturalist conjuring, and love (or fear), of imaginary beings.

One question is whether such a philosophy would actually gain adherents, form communities and function as a religion. I get the sense that Butler would have dearly loved for her ideas to gain a following, to actually ripen, as did those of fellow science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, into an actual religion (however horrible his escapade actually turned out to be!). But their difference is instructive. Hubbard's Dianetics/Scientology is a floridly imagined narrative of super-beings, secret spiritual powers, and crazy salvation. Absolute catnip to imaginative seekers wanting to feel special and purposeful. On the other hand, Olamina's system is quite arid, with most of the motive force supplied, as the book relates, by her own determination and charisma. Her philosophy is true, and therein lies a big, big problem. Truth does not supply purpose- we already knew that scientifically. Natural selection is all about change, and makes us want to live, flourish, and propagate. Change is everpresent, and while it might be healthy to embrace it and work with it, that is hardly an inspiring and purpose-filling prospect, psychologically. As the books relate in their narrative of Lauren's life, change is also often quite terrible, and to be feared.

But the more important question is what role people such as Lauren play, and why people like her followers exist. People need purpose. Life is intrisically purposeless, and while we have immediate needs and wants, our intelligence and high consciousness demands more- some reason for it all, some reason for existence, collectively and individually. An extra motive force beyond our basic needs. We naturally shape our lives into a narrative, and find it far easier and more compelling if that narrative is dramatic, with significance beyond just the humdrum day-to-day. But such narratives are not always easy to make or find. Classic epics typically revolve around war and heroic deeds, which continue to make up the grist of Hollywood blockbusters. Religion offers something different- a multi-level drama, wrapped up in collective archetypes and usually offering salvation in some form, frequently a hero, if not a militaristic one. Last week's post mentioned the life of Che Guevara, who found purpose in Marxism, and was so fully seized by it that he bent many others, possibly the whole nation of Cuba, to his will / ideology. Lauren Olamina is a similar, special person who has, through her own development and talents, discovered a strong purpose to her life and the world at large that she feels compelled to share, pulling others along on her visionary journey. Are such people "strong"? Are their followers "weak"? 

Human social life is very competitive, with the currency being ability to make others think what you want them to think, and do what you want them to do. Our ideology of freedom was built by a founding class of dominant, slave-holding rich white men who wanted only to come to a reasonable accommodation for political power within their class, not extend freedom to women, blacks, or the poor. This ideology was highly successful as a sort of civic religion, coming down to us in two traditions- the "winning" tradition of native American extermination, ruthless capitalism, and growing international empire- all set within a reasonably stable elitist political system. And the second "freedom" tradition, which gave us abolitionism, the civil rights movement, and the modern Democratic party, which takes Jefferson's ideals at their word, however little he actually meant them.

Religion is a particularly powerful engine of political and social ideology, making people go through ridiculous rituals and abasements to keep on the safe side of whatever the powerful tell them. So yes, domineering social personalities like Lauren and Che, (and Trump), are very powerful, deservedly treated as larger-than-life, charismatic figures. Their powers are archetypal and dangerous, so it falls to skeptics and free-thinkers to offer antidotes, if their charisma goes off the rails. Butler offers a hero who is relentlessly good and positive, as well as charismatic and strong, so the only competition comes from ignorance, conventional wisdom, and from the competing religious powers like traditional Christianity. But the power of artificial purposes, and of the charismatic figures who propound them, is almost uniformly corrupting, so Lauren's opposition is, in the end, far more realistic as a portrayal of what we are facing, now and in the future.

• "China is about to bring 21 gigawatts of coal fired power online."
• Stocks are euphoric, headed for a fall.
• Obstruction of justice, in a continuing saga of impeachable offenses.

The Gift

How to be thankful, without anyone to be thankful to.

Remember back when Barack Obama told business leaders that "you didn't build that"? He meant that they didn't build all the public goods that their businesses relied on- the roads, the legal system, the military defense, the regulatory bodies creating fair playing fields, the educational system. Businesses make it their business to be as myopic as possible, feeding off "business models" that foist as much cost onto others- workers, the government, the environment- as amorally possible. That is the only way to survive.

We all are a little like that, with tunnel vision focused on what we need, what we can get, and what we can do. Sometimes it is all one can do merely to survive in a world that seems so difficult, competitive, even hostile. But at the same time, who and what are "we"? Is our next need the full measure of our place in reality? Our focus on doing and on agency is a highly misleading aspect of consciousness. It presupposes a gazillion things that we have no agency over, couldn't even if we tried, and couldn't understand in any case. We didn't make our bodies, for one thing. This biology that we think we are so familiar with is, to biologists, incredibly inscrutible. The trillions of cells, billions of neurons, gajillions of molecules, all work away in obscurity to make us go. But are we thankful? Rarely. We didn't make them. We don't even understand them, and a century or two ago, we really, really didn't understand them. They are utterly alien. Yet they are also us.

The story goes similarly with everything else about us- the flow of time and fate, the universe we live in. All these are, at a fundamental level, still hardly understood. Where did all the energy of the big bang come from? What did it expand into? Why did it cool into the particles of physics? Are there other universes? No idea. And even if we had an idea, we weren't there and didn't make it happen. We are recipients, not actors, in this most vast drama. We should not be distracted by the competitive social systems we live in, and the pressing difficulties of life, to forget that we, as the conscious "I" of an individual human, are mysterious feathers floating on rivers of unplumbed unconscious depths, in a rich forest of abundance, on a planet mild and pleasant, in a universe that rendered these provisions in fantastic plentitude, to us and possibly to countless other worlds as well.

The lilies of the field, well, they toil quite hard, actually, in their own way. But that may not be apparent to the homilist, and took some science to figure out.

There needn't have been an intention behind all this- to conjure a cosmos, and evolve life. Indeed, it is rather unlikely given the little we do know. At any rate, we have speculated long and hard enough to know that more speculation isn't going to get us very far, or obtain any brownie points. We are, regardless, the benificiaries of these gifts. This is a, perhaps the, fundamental religious feeling- thankfulness for the infinite powers and entities that we embody, experience, and rely on, yet have precious little understanding of- the mysterium tremendum.

Does this all imply god? No. God is a rather pathetically inferred solution to, or better yet, an anthropomorphization of, this mystery. As social beings, and products of families, we in a primitive state might naturally ascribe the vast mysteries that undergird our existence and far outstrip our conceptions to a personified father figure (or mother, if one's society happens to be matriarchial). No error could be more obvious. Science has served to push the boundaries of mystery a little farther out, from a choking fog where virtually everything is obscure, to a view that goes billions of light-years across the universe. What all this has shown is, that as far as we can see, mechanism is the rule. Our bodies are mechanisms. The universe is a mechanism. Diseases are not the vengeance of jealous gods, nor is the weather. The inference of god has not held up well over time- not well at all. Yet that does not mean that we shouldn't be thankful for the gifts we receive, which are so rich on our life-giving planet. Nor that we shouldn't strive to pass them on rather than destroying them in the current moment of greed, by our thoughtless overpopulation and immiseration of this world.

• Another soul eaten by the president.
• And his base... the truly demented.
• The ideology of business naturally shoots itself in the foot.
• Failure of public management angers some.

The Extermination of Tibet

China is culturally cleansing Tibet. "Seven Years in Tibet", by Heinrich Harrer, and "My Land and My People", by the Dalai Lama.

It may be falling off the world's radar screen, but Tibet remains a tragically oppressed land, well worth our remembrance and sympathy. Two books, "Seven Years in Tibet", and "My Land and My People" describe the heartbreaking slide from a happy, innocent, and isolated region to the Orwellian horrors that succeeded and continue today. One of the first significant acts of the new communist government of China, fresh from its civil war against the government that actually faught the Japanese, was to fulfill not any orthodox communist aims or development for its people, but the most rapacious and ancient ambition of Chinese governments, to subjugate its neighbor to the West, Tibet. Amid a blizzard of lies, China invaded the virtually defenseless state, oppressing Tibetans from the start in an ever-escalating war of cultural extermination. After almost ten years of trying to get along with the overlords and calm the waters, amid general rioting, the Dalai Lama fled in a dramatic escape from occupation, to welcome refuge in India, where he and the Tibetan exile community remain today.

Tibet was, frankly, a medieval culture, with economic relations ranging from nomadic to feudal. But medieval in the best sense, of a people thoroughly engaged in a set of archetypes that yielded a richly nourishing, dramatic life experience as well as a durable social structure. Tibetan Buddhism is very demanding, taking a fair fraction of men and resources into monasteries where they live off the rest of population and devote themselves to philo/theological hairsplitting. But they also devote themselves to various traditional arts, and most of all to the cultivation of peace and compassion- the touchstones of Buddha's solution to the suffering of this world. After a long and martial history, Tibet eventually put itself under the control of its most respected leaders, the Lamas, creating a system that was peaceful and benevolent, if also hidebound and conservative.

Take the story of how the current Dalai Lama was found and put in power. It is a veritable fairy tale of portents, dreams, signs and wonders. It has a sort of Wizard of Oz quality, which obviously resonanates, not only with us as a romantic tale, but with Tibetans as a great origin myth. And one can make a case on a practical level that choosing a humble and obviously bright peasant child to rule one's land may be a superior method to one which relies on the most ambitious people to sell themselves in some way to various institutions of power, and to the populace every four years. How often do we fantasize that any halfway intelligent person could do as good a job as the current office holder? Especially if that person were from early on steadfastly dedicated to the cultivation of peace and compassion in him or herself and others?

Likewise, the Dalai Lama's secret and arduous escape from Tibet was again the stuff of legend, binding him to his own people, and endearing him to people around the world. The Tibetan system values spiritual attainment, expressed in the extremely pacifist ideology of Buddhism, combined with a great deal of pre-buddhist folk religion and symbology. The culture was thus temperate and peaceful, perhaps too peaceful for its own good, but surely a model to emulate in our spiritually unbalanced times. The Chinese, in contrast, brought rapacious domination, racism, and cruelty. They were and remain atheist. But it seems that their compassionless spiritual vacuity (which is quite a different thing) was more important, leading them (especially through the cultural revolution) to despoil the cultural treasures, institutions, and people of Tibet.

We may wonder whether China is more culpable in all this than the US was in its virtual extermination of Native Americans and their many cultures. The answer is clearly yes. The gulf between the American cultures was far wider, and the state of historical consciousness lower. Native Americans had no continent-wide governments of centuries standing, no meticulously recorded written histories and philosophical traditions, and little basis for common ground or negotiation with the colonists and their successors. We have belatedly granted Native Americans limited sovereignity in their institutions and barren territories, while China keeps pouring more Han Chinese into Tibet and keeps 100% social control. The world had just fought a war to end all wars, and to liberate peoples from totalitarian military oppression, including those of South Korea. But Tibet was a bridge too far- we could not lift a finger in China's back yard, and now hardly say a peep.

• Some numbers.
• Expert talk.
• This, as most other times, would be a good time for a job guarantee.
• Who is in charge here?
• How dare she?
• Poor people deserve less.
• Buddhist action thriller of the week- Milarepa.

Greedy, Hateful, Lustful Bastards

The shadow in Jungian psychology. Our motive force, but also our deepest secret.

As the Buddhists know very well, this thing we call the "I" is not a single thing, and may not be anything at all. It certainly isn't a coherent story of perseverence and triumph. The deeper you go, the less identifiable and singlular it is, since we knit together vast numbers and scales of activity, from the reactions of metabolism to the synapsing of neurons and the drive for social success, even to communal and shared culture, into this being entitled "I". Even on the psychological level, there are myriad unconscious elements, making the quest to know one's self a life-long and generally unsuccessful endeavor, for those who are so inclined.

In Freudian psychology, the contents of the unconscious (referred to sometimes as the subconscious) are uniformly bleak. It is the realm of lusts and drives, a pandora's box to be kept firmly repressed, in order for its custodian to be a functioning member of society. But the effort of repression is draining and costly, leading to a sort of hydraulic theory of the unconscious, where the more material there is to repress, the more effort is required, to the point that people "break down" from the strain. Likewise, releases of pressure through swearing, or watching violent films, or thrill-seeking and similar forms of "fun" relieve some strain, and help maintain the proper psychological pressure.

Jungian psychology sees the unconscious as a much larger and varied entity. It forms the basis of our positive as well as negative motivations, and operates, among many levels, at a level of archetypal symbology that is richly descriptive and informative when allowed expression via dreams, free association, and creative activities like writing and visual arts. It includes our intuition, and can be tremendously healing, persistently giving us images / glimmers of needed changes and goals.

Tibetan Buddhism hosts a large collection of monster and shadow figures. This is Palden Lhamo, who is a protector, but a wrathful one who rides through a lake of blood, spreading death and destruction to Tibet's enemies. Not enough to keep out the Chinese, unfortunately.

But even in Jungian psychology, the unconscious has a dark side- the shadow, which comprises the motivations we try to deny or hide. But can not get rid of- they are always with us and part of us. The greed, hate, and lust that undeniably drive us, but which we do not want as part of our persona- our face to the world. In the theatrical presentation of the self, we are good, virtuous, and respectful. Repression is the order of the day. While much of Jungian psychology is devoted to interpreting positive messages from the unconscious, managing the negative and the dark is very much a focus as well, as these aspects are universal and persistent. It is the work of consciousness to integrate the shadow into the ego / personality, in a controlled and accepting way.

One particular specialty of the shadow is projection, causing us to consciously reject bad traits in ourselves by ascribing them to others. Our president is a master of projection, insulting others, accusing them of the very things he himself is guilty of, as a way of keeping himself sane and narcissistically coherent. Why anyone else puts up with it is hard to fathom, but then certain bloggers have similar problems of casting stones from glass houses. There are also collective projections, like the concept of hell. An important goal of depth psychology is to come to a mature accommodation with all of one's own facets, in order to be able withdraw projections of this sort, to own one's behavior, good and bad, and thus to master the shadow, without giving up its motivating virtues.

Another way to engage with the shadow is to indulge it to a controlled extent, as happens in bacchanals, carnivals, video games, and Trump rallies. Giving free reign to our dark side is, in the hydraulic sense, very free-ing, re-creational, and possibly even an ecstatic experience. But it must be carefully bounded and controlled. It is no way to run a positive life or culture. One can grade various cultures and their religions on a sort of shadow scale, from the carnage of the Aztecs and Nazis to the perhaps unrealistic compassion of Buddhist culture as in pre-invasion Tibet. Many religions have shown shadow aspects, such as the duality of Zoroastrianism and Manichaeism, and the jihads and crusades of the Islamic and Christian varieties. The happiest societies seem to have the least shadow aspect- places like the Scandinavian countries, with their increasing mild secularity, and pre-invasion Tibet. In contrast, the unhappiest societies are heavily driven by shadow, like the Islamic countries of today, who not only valorize violence, but mix in plenty of "honor" and misogyny as well.

I think the lesson is that the hydraulic theory of controlled shadow release is not correct, rather, that more repression is better, when done consistently and intelligently. Releasing the shadow is bad, whatever the dose. The Buddhist technologies of meditation and cultivation in ways of charity, compassion, and love are clearly successful in cultivating a wider society that reflects those values. Conversely, having a president whose tastes tend to beauty pageants and WWE, and whose modus tweeterandi is hate, fosters a society that will be experiencing the opposite values.

• Single payer health care.
• Pence in charge of science?
• Annals of the credulous.
• Bloomberg's peeps. 
• Oops- OAS was wrong.
• Amazing ancient book of the week.

Incarnation and Reincarnation

Souls don't reincarnate. Heck, they don't even exist. But DNA does.

What a waste it is to die. All that work and knowledge, down the drain forever. But life is nothing if not profligate with its gifts. Looking at the reproductive strategies of insects, fish, pollen-spewing trees, among many others gives a distinct impression of easy come, easy go. Life is not precious, but dime-a-dozen, or less. Humanity proves it all over again with our rampant overpopulation, cheapening what we claim to hold so dear, not to mention laying the rest of the biosphere to waste.

But we do cherish our lives subjectively. We have become so besotted with our minds and intelligence that it is hard to believe, (and to some it is unimaginable), that the machinery will just cease- full stop- at some point, with not so much as a whiff of smoke. Consciousness weaves such a clever web of continuous and confident experience, carefully blocking out gaps and errors, that we are lulled into thinking that thinking is not of this world- magical if not supernatural. Believing in souls has a long and nearly universal history.

Reincarnation in the popular imagination, complete with a mashup of evolution. At least there is a twisty ribbon involved!

Yet we also know it is physical- it has to be something going on in our heads, otherwise we would not be so loath to lose them. Well, lose them we do when the end comes. But it is not quite the end, since our heads and bodies are reincarnations- they come from somewhere, and that somewhere is the DNA that encodes us. DNA incarnates through biological development, into the bodies that are so sadly disposable. And then that DNA is transmitted to new carnate bodies, and re-incarnates all over again in novel combinations through the wonder of sex. It is a simple, perhaps trite, idea, but offers a solid foundation for the terms (and archetypes) that have been so abused through theological and new-age history.

• The Taliban still stands with Al Qaeda.
• Trauma and the Ring.
• Those darn astrocytes.
• Impeachable offenses? Plenty.
• Corporations are at best amoral, and routinely immoral.
• Fisheries are running thin.

The End of Theology

Final part of three posts on Mormonism- into the current age. Review of "The Mormon People", by Matthew Bowman.

Prophets found religions, but bureaucrats run them. It has ever been so, an evolution that is recapituated in Mormonism. Mormonism's phophet, Joseph Smith certainly existed, which is more than we can say for sure about Jesus, though his golden tablets have a more tenuous grip on reality, to say nothing of the pseudohistory he cooked up in the Book of Mormon. The enthusiasm which Mormonism generated at the start, and the strong, if not universal, attachment and devotion its converts had to Joseph Smith as the self-proclaimed revelator and prophet, is incredible in a skeptical age, to skeptical people. Thousands of converts were eventually moved to pile their possessions on handcarts in Iowa, and wheel them on foot over a thousand miles to Salt Lake City. Smith's successor, Brigham Young, received roughly one revelation, and after that, further (highly infrequent) revelation was left to the committee that runs the church.

It has been a rapid evolution from crazy inspiration to buttoned-down middle-of-the-road-ism, exemplified in the newest temple in Salt Lake City, the LDS conference center, an incredibly lush and expensive building (on the inside), built with enormous discretion mostly below-ground and well-screened from the outside, with only a slight, modernist spire. Mormonism started with a revolutionary mind-set, moving out of reach of the US to set up its own theocracy, which grew and flourished for several decades. But after a war, enormous pressure from the US, and some strategic changes of course, it has shifted its outlook and become a bulwark of American-ism, spreading middle class values all over the world among its converts.

The LDS conference center, in Salt Lake City. Which is also a temple, under the covers.

Along the way, Mormon theology has shifted as well. There were the explicit accommodations discarding polygamy and racism. There were more subtle changes from strict adherence to Smith's revelation to progressive scientific inquiry and reasoned argument, popular in the early twentieth century when Christianity was still widely and generally thought to be consistent with the newest findings in astronomy, physics, archeology and other sciences. And then a turn to creationism when the realization began to dawn that science presented insurmountable problems and needed to be opposed or co-opted, not only on the main front of the origin and nature of man, but particularly for Mormons on the archeological evidence (or lack thereof) for the Jewish origin of native Americans, the existence of whiter Nephites vs the redder Lamanites, the great culminating battle between them, and the travels of Jesus in the New World, among many other issues.

This all led to the main evolution of Mormonism, which has been to de-emphasize theology altogether, in favor of a strong social system with sufficient ritual to awe, but more focus on keeping its adherants so busy with offices, committees, gradations of status, services to all ages from youth to old age, that little time or energy is left for theology. The mission is a good example. This task is unimaginably arduous. All young men and many women go out for two years as a culmination of their upbringing in the church, to hand out Books of Mormon to unwilling passers-by, and serve by their clean-cut appearance as advertisements for the LDS church. Are they theological experts? Hardly. While the main point seems to be to re-affirm the missionary's own dedication to the church by this boot camp experience- a sense of being part of an elite or a despised few, with a special mission in fallen times- the proposition to potential converts revolves far more around the concrete social structures of the church than its miscelleneous revelations and claims to be the true and restored priesthood of Jesus. Indeed, seeing youngsters of nineteen called "elders" and "Aronic priests" does not inspire respect for such claims of superiority in god-given revealed priestly authority, in comparison with such more staid institutions as, say, the Orthodox and Catholic churches.

The problem of theological and spiritual decline. LDS elders distribute the sacrament.

This analysis was one unexpected pleasure of Matthew Bowman's book on the history of Mormonism, that while the founding of Mormonism is naturally the most curious and remarkable part of the story, his treatment of the later evolutions of the instution and its rationalizations is fascinating, subtle, and well worth reading.

It is thus difficult to pin down what precisely orthodox Mormon belief is. Mormons who wish to enter the temples must affirm their belief in Jesus Christ's devine sonship and atonement, in the truth of Joseph Smith's divine mission to restore Christ's church, and in the priesthood authority of the present leaders of the church. That is all, and particular key terms in those beliefs remain intentionally undefined. Through the church's 180 year existence, Orson Pratt, B. H. Roberts, Bruce McConkie, and many other authors have each offered up versions of Mormonism, and though ideas from many Mormon writers have seeped into the common discourse of the church, none is considered a final authority on what Mormons must believe. In an interview with Time in 1997, a journalist asked Gordon B. Hinckley about the doctrine that God was once a man, which Joseph Smith seemed to advocate. "I don't know that we teach it. I don't know that we emphasize it," he said. The reply was less an evasion than a recognition of the modern place of theology in the church: the focus of Mormonism is very much not on the particulars of belief but whether a member is in the pews every week, holds a calling, and can be relied upon if a bishop is looking for somebody to drive an elderly widow to the hospital. 

There is no trained Mormon clergy. The Church Educational System today espouses not only the conservative theology of Bruce McConkie but also his lack of interest in scholarship outside his own tradition. CES's work resembles a youth ministry more closely than it does the seminaries of other faiths. Similarly, leaders of the church today, unlike James Talmage or John Widtsoe or McConkie, avoid writing books about theology in favor of devotional or homiletic texts. This trend is likely intentional. After the public disputes over evolution in the 1930's and after correlation (a preemptive strike against potential doctrinal schism) the leaders of the church have decided to leave theological dispute alone.

Theology is like clothing. We know implicitly and unconsciously what course matter lies beneath, but do not want to see. Truth is hidden, and what covers it is not truth, really, but a contrivance developed to enhance our self-image and social existence, via bright dramatic colors, a stylish cut that, while following the natural form in some respects, alters and improves as well. Clothes ease social life, helping us keep boundaries, announce our allegiances, beliefs, and status. Many people like to wear uniforms, as a sign of belonging and status. Yet the impulse to innovation and novelty is irrepressible as well, creating sects of fashion and adornment. Styles change with the times, for incidental, technogical, or no reasons at all, fostering constant change in which theologies and theological institutions best meet the anxieties of the moment. Clothing builds progressively in an unending evolution, from work fabrics to jeans, to riveted jeans, to prewashed, stretch, and now ripped. So do theologies, which build one upon the next, each claiming to be the restored and true church.

Death is probably that truth which it is most urgent to hide, so theologies take its amelioration or suppression most seriously, even when each person, in their bones, knows the truth. Even that most sensible of theologies, Buddhism, professes reincarnation, though it violates some of its own central tenets and is obviously a cultural inheritance from Hinduism. Not even those who have escaped rebirth die, in the Buddhist system, but dwell permanently in nirvana, a sort of heaven. Temperamental differences lead to a great variety of styles and approaches, some people reveling in dense fabrics and shell-like protection, others in flamboyant display, still others yearning for nudism. The varieties of spiritual clothing are just as obvious, and just about as arbitrary. Great designers and other creators (think David Bowie, James Harden, Japan of the Edo era) come up with new approaches to clothing, while most hew to conservatism, which shapes the uniforms of millions. Clothing has both mundane and exalted elements, just as church life has its ecstatic moments and humdrum ones- its inspired creators and the trailing edge of missionaries struggling to get even one person to listen to the good news.

In clothing, all this obfuscatory effort of hiding reality has been practically rewarding and artistically elevating, and at worst harmless. In religion, on the other hand, for all its artistic dividends, theology has been a philosophical disaster of the first order. New versions always appear, as the need for spiritual clothing appears to be timeless. Yet we can only celebrate the cooling and bureaucratization of previously extreme theologies into bland uniforms of conventionality.

• Once I was a beehive, a charming, if sappy, look into Mormon culture.
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• Election security is not going very well.