Three Organizational Orientations

            Going to facilitate the group meditation tonight, I felt very tired. Maybe due to the weather or for a variety of different reasons, I could not muster much confidence or boldness in my steps, and felt as though I were just going to the motions of attending the center every week. For some reason, I almost fell asleep in the first session, and I then felt a sense of shame. At times, I wonder if the reason I am not attending to my practice is that I am seeing the facilitation of the meditation practice itself as a role more than as a passion. I also noticed that because of this tendency to retreat into a habitual role when I am not feeling engage or am tired, I don’t develop sufficient initiative to do something extra such as play the Dharma video at the end for the group or share about the passage from a sutra. In any case after feeling the regret and shame, I quickly recovered my sense of responsibility to the group but also wondered what I could do to better serve the group in the future.

                The above vignette is a segue for me to describe three distinct orientations that a person can take toward organizations. The first relates to the idea that I am a passive body to be acted upon by the organization—an orientation that is similar to Miller’s “transmission” model of learning (Miller, 2018, p.119), where learners are “passive bodies” to be given instructions from a lecture or an authoritative source. This orientation corresponds to a narrative more or less looking at causes or motivations for doing things, as though we are more or less billiard balls which interact with physical forces such as the weather or “a variety of different reasons” as noted in the first part of the vignette above. It’s safe to say that learners or participants in the organization under this mentality 

The second orientation is what I call “role based” or “role playing”, wherein the person attending an organization becomes a more active shaper in their identity, by tending to and reflecting upon particular behaviors they engage in which relate to the organization’s structure or the lives of others. I believe this corresponds to Miller’s “transaction” approach (ibid) where learning takes place through acquisition of new skills but also through improvisation of such skills in interaction with others. Transactional learning tends to take place in groups, and may involve active application of learning to solve problems or become sophisticated in one’s roles. This orientation shapes people in organizations to be active stakeholders and givers who see their identity implicated in the organization’s growth. Rather than relating to the organization passively, such participants see themselves as shaping the organization’s processes through a confident grounding in their relationships to others and to the organization itself. I also see this as confidence in one’s identity as unfolding interconnection with others. Here, I try to leverage my social identity and recognition as a volunteer to get me through the difficulty of engagement.

The third orientation is what I call soulful/spiritual orientation (something I am borrowing from Miller’s work) and that is to consider the process of being in an organization as not limited to the boundaries and played roles of the organization itself. More so, soulful orientations acknowledge or awaken to the ways in which our commitments to specific organizations and relationships are designed to point to lessons that the soul needs to learn along life’s journey. These “life lessons” are more about the heart and how the heart relates directly to itself and its felt world. Sometimes called “contemplative”, soulful orientations are often not about skill learning or acquiring certain kinds of identities, but are more about being able to connect to this present moment in all its fullness. Thus, this orientation operates from the abundance of being rather than the deficit of objects. Naturally, this corresponds to a transformational model (ibid) which focuses on learning to reflect one’s most heartfelt place in the universe through the relationships in which one engages. This comes back to my learning moment when I recognized that my heart wasn’t connecting to the meditation group, and I could do something to adjust myself to be more engaged instead of making myself into a passive recipient or role-player.

            Knowing that these three orientations are always present in one’s choices can help a person navigate and balance between them as well as stay engaged in an organization by knowing there can be dry periods or times when we go off kilter. I consider these to be road maps because they prevent a person from over-reliance on organizational supports when the organization is really a vehicle for a spiritual understanding and journey. At the same time, having three orientations acknowledges that we do have dependencies in organizations, and this is one aspect of being part of the world that we all have to navigate.

Miller, John P. (2018) Love and Compassion: Exploring their Role in Education. Toronto: University of Toronto Press

Wisdom for Kids?

The connection between education and wisdom is not always easy to understand. Do students really want to become wise? Conversely, will students be willing to listen to the “wisdom” of teachers when they encounter such teachers?

     I remember when I was in fifth grade how I went through a period when I became fascinated with the wise old philosopher—even though I hardly even knew where I had picked up my representation of such a person. There was a time when I was visiting my dad in the hospital and discovered a mysterious note on the ground which had contained cryptic Latin words. I imagined that somehow these words belonged to one of the faculties where people were doing their research. I was mystified not only by the strangeness of the words themselves (which literally seemed to have come from another planet), but also the kinds of disciplines I was learning about through encyclopedias and personal explorations in science and nature literature: cytology, embryology, anatomy, therapy, physiology. All of these words were opening up mysterious worlds to me.

    Did “wisdom” matter to me when I was ten years old? Perhaps not. Looking back in retrospect, I suppose that teachers need wisdom to manage themselves, impart important and valuable information in the classroom, and they also know much more about the emotional dynamics of their students: how to motivate them when they are feeling low, how to inspire their curiosity, and so on. But for children like myself, I don’t think it’s the “wisdom” of elders that impressed me so much as the awe and mystery of the adult world.

    It is sad to me now that when I hear the words “cytology” or even “molecular biology”, I simply don’t have the same awe or wonder I had as a young child reading those school books. What happened to those feelings, I wonder? Were they simply stages of development that I went through to pick up the kinds of knowledge that were needed for me at the time? Or was it all just dreaming and imagining what isn’t there to begin with?

   I think that even when teachers are not able to inspire students with practical examples of wisdom or morality, it’s worthwhile that students can at least spend time getting fascinated by the world beyond the school. When I am teaching Gulliver’s Travels to the Grade 4 students, I am always trying to incorporate some element of mystery or fascination about the political, social and scientific worlds that Swift inhabited at the time when he was writing this book. I am not so sure---I do have doubts and hesitations around whether the students are learning anything useful to themselves. However, what I do try to instill within them is the sense that there is always something new and mysterious that hasn’t yet been explored. This sense of wonder is what drives the search for wisdom, in some ways, because it forces the students out of the world of comfort and familiarity.

The Hidden “Spiritual Life” of Doctoral Studies?

When I first entered the doctoral program, I was mainly worried about the high tuition fee. Naturally, when one is worried about finances, their initial orientation is going to be, “what’s the financial payoff of doing this program?” In other words, the emphasis shifts toward a cost/benefit analysis. Lately, however, I have lately been thinking that it may be important to look at this whole journey more in terms of a spiritual journey. There is even a spiritual meaning to paying a high price for uncertainty.

            Doctoral studies seems to me to most resemble initiation into liminal space: a transition space where a person is trying to consolidate their identity, and where there are very few structures that direct a person to where to go or what area in which to specialize. Such a journey has to be met with a strange combination of soft yielding and perseverance. “Soft yielding” means being able to abide with uncertainty until a creative process can take birth. Perseverance means to be able to push through and still work with some degree of regularity and continuity. I compare this latter to “making a solid building in the middle of a cyclone”. Of course the “solid building” is going to crumble many, many times, but a person still needs to cultivate the attitude of a daily practice, whether it be in reading, walking reflection, writing, or just doing the regular class work that is expected.

            And what does the “cyclone” in the latter metaphor refer to? For me, it’s really and basically about navigating the unformed ideas that have not yet been synthesized. I wrote four “practice” proposals for a recent scholarship application, and, to be honest, I am not pleased with any of them. They are things that I did in the hopes of being able to form a robust thesis, but they are written at a time when things simply aren’t solidified yet in my mind. Still, I have to do the things that students do for funding, and that is, write, write and write, until something in that writing (and reading) starts to make sense and look somewhat original.

            Writing and research, like meditation, is a discipline that is done in the midst of impermanence. The hardest thing about it is knowing that there is no measurement for saying that a person is doing well or poorly, because as soon as a person does that, they are no longer meditating! They are not in the moment of creation; instead, through doubt and wanting to measure themselves, they have stepped out of that process altogether. So it seems best not to try to measure one’s progress.

The Downside of "Flow" Experiences

 Tonight, I did become quite involved in different projects: a book review in addition to designing a lesson plan for my upcoming class. There are times when, in the process of getting absorbed in the flow of things, I started to sense my own body as being somewhat unreal, as well as identity. I consider this to be the downside of flow: the sense that one is psychically drifting somewhat without reflecting on the value of what one is doing as well as the purpose. While it can sometimes be valuable to have these flow experiences, a reflective component also seems necessary, or else it becomes another set of  wandering thoughts.
   We have sometimes heard the argument that "getting lost in one's work" is a good way to avoid unpleasant or uncomfortable feelings, such as that of not having a sense of direction or purpose. But is it really healthy to do so?  It's a bit like watching television: I surf from channel to channel, hardly cognizant that I have in fact drifted off into a dream that everyone shares through this electronic box. Soon enough, the time has past without me being aware of it. Such experiences, of course, don't qualify as "flow" experiences, because there is hardly any challenge or personal growth to them. However, even actual flow experiences can just be elegant forms of distraction, which delay a person from facing other challenges in life. It seems important to be aware of why one is engaging in a certain kind of work, rather than thinking that the smoothness with which one engages it automatically confers value upon it.
   Sometimes flow experiences can be healthy ways of getting things done. When I am at work, I often tend to start my day with fairly simple and fast projects, by way of knowing that I have accomplished a certain amount before the end of the morning. I then tackle more challenging problems in the afternoon when I am much more energized to do so. But this also has to be done with a certain awareness: it's not a matter of putting off what's difficult or challenging to the last minute, but rather organizing one's work effectively according to what can get done quickly and expediently.
 
 

A Life of Ethical Ambiguity

I have to say that I do appreciate Andrew Peterson's book (2017) , Compassion and Education: Cultivating Compassionate Children, Schools and Communities, and it has left me wanting to write more about his work. Peterson talks about the notion of how reading literature can help learners to improve their capacity to reflect actively on who they feel is most deserving of compassion and empathy (p.122-126). I think what I most appreciate about Peterson's work around empathy is that it is refreshingly non-dogmatic in the way it treats compassion. A life need not be a saintly one, for example, to be worthy of compassion, and it occurs to me that compassion is most needed to understand and reach out to ethical ambiguity. This goes back to something I recall reading years ago about the function of Buddha statues as not benefiting the Buddha himself, but, rather, as benefiting those who are uplifted by such images.Compassion seems to function in this way, because it acts upon certain kinds of suffering, while at the same time identifying a life that does not potentially need to suffer at all.
  Is there a particular moral quality that is most cultivated by beholding ambiguity in literature? If anything, I think it's the capacity to behold conflicting ideas without categorizing experiences too quickly or dismissively. This is perhaps different from the stereotypical idea of what we think is happening when we empathize with others. Rather than wholeheartedly embracing the other in an uncritically sentimental or "loving" way, perhaps compassion means to have a clear understanding of a person with their strengths and weaknesses and to apply wisdom to helping them from their own situations. This is perhaps more clear eyed but it might be a more sustainable way of looking at compassion education.

Peterson, Andrew (2017) Compassion and Education: Cultivating Compassionate Children, Schools and Communities. London: Palgrave MacMillan.

Amour propre vs Amour de soi

Amour propre and amour de soi are two concepts taken from Rousseau's philosophy which are discussed in Andrew Peterson's book, Compassion and Education: Cultivating Compassionate Children, Schools and Communities (2017). If I understand the two terms correctly, amour de soi is a kind of natural self-regard which comes from simple reasoning and the human desire to flourish given the abilities and skills that one is. If you have ever seen children intent on play or simple interaction, you might see people who are not concerned with style or trying to impress others. With Amour propre, on the other hand, there is a sudden sense of self-consciousness which often comes to one in adolescence, which is preoccupied with image and one's status in relation to others. Rousseau seemed to have seen this latter as the source of the deepest suffering between people, and opted instead for a political pattern which is modeled after amour de soi; that is, a respect for things as they are or should ideally be arranged when people protect each others' rational self interest, rather than fighting for prestige, authority or dominance over others. Although Rousseau is considered to have departed from the rationalist traditions which surrounded him, it would be fair to say that he is instrumental in supporting a contractual model of the state.
   Peterson's discussion supports the possibility that reasonable and compassionate behavior come from the amour de soi. At best, amour propre help one to develop proper manners of communication, since the aim is to preserve and honor one's reputation. But it is the proper respect for one's natural virtues and reasoning that allows a person to act from their own deeply embedded motives rather than continually looking outside oneself to find validation.
 Is a healthy sense of self required to live a compassionate life? This is a very interesting question when I reflect on it through a theological lens. For example, when Christians, Islams or Buddhists join their respective congregations, is it out of a concern for the rational, planning self, or is it to transcend the self altogether? In fact, however, I don't think that self-affirmation or the reasonable self is ever in conflict with the transcendental. In fact, a healthy self understanding can be a way to counterbalance the ups and downs of spiritual life, since the capacity to reflect upon a spiritual life (or all life for that matter)  is a way to buffer the strains and difficulties of practicing a spiritual tradition. Reflection can also serve as an emotional buffer zone, where practitioners in spiritual groups can reflect on what they could improve, but without the pervading sense of an unchanging ego.

Peterson, Andrew (2017), Compassion and Education: Cultivating Compassionate Children, Schools and Communities. London: Palgrave MacMillan

Why Feel Good?

 Why is it important to feel good when there are terrible things in the news? I guess my question is, does it not seem more realistic to cultivate a pessimistic view about life? During the group meditation tonight, a strange thing happened to me. While I was sitting and guiding the meditation practice, the thought came to mind right away to mention how precious it is that everyone chose to practice together that night. It was not the most inspired comment that one could ever make, but I noticed that it had the effect of bringing me to appreciate that very moment on the cushion in and by itself, without comparison to other moments. And what it convinced me is that it is actually very good to feel good because feeling good can bring a person to truly know what they have rather than focus on what is deficient or lacking in their lives.
  Even if a person does not have a particularly pressure-filled life, it still seems important to cultivate a habit of feeling good even when things around a person don't seem good. Why? It's because what a person sees is often a reflection of the way their body and mind is in that moment, rather than an objective state of affairs. If the body and mind are agitated, then the world will start to look frantic and agitated. But if one has just returned from a dangerous situation or a risky one, the world will often seem still and peaceful, because one has come to appreciate the finer details that are not so violent or competitive.
  I can't think of a better way to do this than to find a way to calm the mind in all situations, regardless of what is happening in life or at work. Even if a person feels lonely, can they not build calmness around that loneliness instead of a frantic sense of wanting to quickly get rid of it? There is always a way to look at things that gives them space to be rather than frantically dashing off to the next experience. So in the same way, I think it's important to use calmness to get the state of body and mind to feel good.