"Love in the Ruins"

  I seem to have remembered reading a book by Walker Percy called Love in the Ruins, back when I was in my 20s. Though I can't quite recall the gist of the idea that Percy wanted to impart, I think that he was trying to suggest that people are most passionate in the moment when they are the least pressured to live up to the aspirations of their civilization. Hence--love in the ruins. But of course, Walker Percy was a Catholic, and no doubt, the symbolism he wishes to impart is far deeply Christian in the sense of seeing the broken Christ "in the ruins" as the consummation of human love and salvation. One would think that the consummation is the mastering of the many laws of God as mentioned in the Old Testament. But the paradox here is that it is precisely in human imperfectability--in sin, in brokenness, or in mortality--that humans can find their salvation and ecstasy. 

     And why is that? I think it's because, like I suggested before, people are literally "ruined" by the achievements of their civilization, many of which are far too high for people to accomplish. We are literally standing on the shoulders of giants. The result is a kind of dizzying despair which wonders, "how can I possibly live up to all that's been given to me in the world?" How can I repay the kindness of the many ancestors that have come before me? In contrast, reveling in the ruins, one comes to realize that in fact it was never the purpose of life to make oneself into an immortal edifice or a statue. To the contrary, it is in demolishing the letter of the law that a spirit can emerge from it that is truly passionate. This passion consists in a certain kind of profound relief, meaning that in spite of all these giants surrounding of me, I am still capable of being redeemed--not through my own effort but through the all encompassing forgiveness of another. It is knowing that there is salvation in brokenness, in imperfection, and in ruins themselves.

Suffering and Gratitude

"If the immediate and direct purpose of our life is not suffering then our existence is the most ill-adapted to its purpose in the world: for it is absurd to suppose that the endless affliction of which the world is everywhere full, and which arises out of the need and distress pertaining essentially to life, should be purposeless and purely accidental. Each individual misfortune, to be sure, seems an exceptional occurrence; but misfortune in general is the rule"

Schopenhauer, "On the Suffering of the World". From Essays and Aphorisms

One of the most startling paradoxes I am trying to explore recently is the link between suffering and gratitude, and how these two states of being go hand in hand. Without suffering, there is simply no grounds for gratitude, and this is one key thesis that I want to explore through the writings of Schopenhauer. But before I even go there, I want to explore the quote that begins "On the Suffering of the World".

Is the purpose of life, as Schopenhauer suggests, to suffer? This seems too pessimistic for some, and even a bit too fatalistic. But contemplating suffering as a kind of purpose can be a sort of relief in a sense. This is because suffering itself becomes more and more part of a bigger plan that has a story and a meaning to it. Suffering, according to this view, is not lacking in purpose, but rather makes a kind of sense as a person progresses through the suffering and sees it to the very end. To really experience suffering is to know what kinds of things one is attached to that is leading one to suffer. And I think Schopenhauer wants to say that the final lesson of suffering is detachment from the desire that gave rise to suffering in the first place.

Suffering, then, is not an accident, and nor is it something that one can sidestep. But only when a person is really and fully reconciled to suffering itself can they directly and fully experience the source of suffering, namely a strong desire that life goes in the ways that we want it to proceed. Rather than simply wanting certain things to happen according to plan, I strongly desire that they go according to my plan. I concretize a strong sense of self around that "strong desire" to have things my way. The opposite of this rigid sticking to desire is a kind of flexibility.

When Schopenhauer remarks about "the endless affliction of which the world is everywhere full", he suggests that we are essentially surrounded by suffering. Like a fish that is surrounded by water, we simply cannot help but suffer from not getting our way, or not fulfilling the many desires that come to mind. But if the world becomes a reflection of this inner suffering, we feel less isolated and more inclined to learn from the world as the mirror of the innermost state of being. Wars, then, are not just senseless clashes between strangers. They are, rather, the result of an inner striving that comes from the craving to exist and thrive. The world becomes a story through which one can connect their innermost vexations and conflicts. In fact, perhaps the world itself is simply a reflection of agonizing desires that people face within.

How is this the ground for gratitude? I think that when we begin to accept the idea of being surrounded by suffering, we might finally accept that there is no way to transcend it. But Schopenhauer generalizes suffering enough that it does not pertain to particular choices I make. Suffering just is, and it envelops the whole of being regardless of decisions made or not made. But rather than being a form of bad faith or irresponsibility, this view of suffering could allow people to become more detached from the consequences of decisions and therefore more able to accept the consequences. Most of all, we don't feel alone in suffering, since it is fundamental to Schopenhauer's metaphysics of the will. 

A Learner Identity

  Throughout my life, I believe I have identified myself as a kind of "lifelong learner". What this means for me is the ability to see myself in different capacities, always challenging myself to expand my problem solving abilities or ability to widen my perspectives. Having a "learner" identity keeps me focused on process (rather than on result) while not tying me to any particular "fixed" sense of identity. For instance, if I see myself as a "learned" person, I might come to the conclusion that I have learned all that needs to be known about a subject or even about life in general. This can lead to stagnation. So I do think it's important to view learning as an ongoing experience, not something that just stops at a certain time. According to this view, learning is not finalistic, and nor is there any final judgment. Instead, we take whatever we can find from our experiences and try to apply it to our unique situations. 

   Part of this also dovetails with my previous discussion about the connection between gratitude and emptiness. If one is not feeling gifted by life, chances are they are stuck in a rigid belief in who they are and what they are supposed to have achieved from a situation. When one is able to reframe the multitudinous possibilities of one's life situation, then there is no absolute "good" or "bad". In fact, this flexibility of mind is in itself a recipe for happiness, because it does not demand that the self be anywhere to have succeeded or to have survived. Instead, the idea is that we are flexible enough to see the possible learning opportunities of a given moment or experience.

Gratitude Not Just About "Having"

  When we think of gratitude, we might describe it as "being thankful for what we have" as opposed to what we might want. This is one way of looking at gratitude which, I think, is perhaps Epicurean in nature, because it rejects extremes in favor of the simple pleasures that come from being present with what we have. I believe there is also an element of anti-consumerism, and the wish to counterbalance a scarcity mindset that positions us as "always lacking". However, is gratitude only about having? 

   What I find a bit paradoxical (and interesting) about gratitude is that it seems to rely on the sense of having that is temporary. For me, the paradox of gratitude is that we feel most grateful when we recognize the conditioned nature of what we have. For instance, if I am feeling ill or in pain, I am much more thankful for times of health, or when the pain subsides for a while. On the other hand, if I am always feeling the same way about something, I might lose the sense that it is conditioned or temporary. In this regard, I lose insight into the emptiness aspect of things and how they are interconnected and therefore only "provisional gifts" provided by life and the world.

   This can create a dilemma for the gratitude practitioner, such as a person who regularly keeps journals or meditates on "what they have". For while gratitude is certainly a celebration of things we have, I reflect that this "appreciating what I own" can have a downside of grasping or trying to conserve something at all costs--even to the point of denying that it was never really "ours" to begin with. The paradox of gratitude is that it comes from the sense of something being a gift. And a gift, by nature, is always provisional, rather than being guaranteed.

    Gifts always point to the relational nature between giver and receiver. In doing so, they suggest that gifts don't really happen as an exchange of effort; instead, they are acts of grace. If a person only gives on the basis that they are required to do so in exchange for some other good or service, then the gifting aspect starts to disappear in favor of a logic of economics. For me to feel gifted by something, I need to also appreciate the fact that the gift could easily not have happened at all. There is something about that gift, in other words, that reminds me that I am not a permanent edifice or a self-sustaining entity. I am sustained by the grace of others, but I am also the grace of others as well.  And this is also the heart of interconnection in Buddhism. Something happens because of this unique coming together of conditions happening in the right moments. That insight into interconnection, for a moment, illuminates a true and miraculous nature of the universe and life itself. But after that moment subsides, one tends to reify the gift into a mere exchange, because one is unable to properly contextualize the gifting moment as an insight into emptiness.

   I will continue this thought later. But the point is that the gift does not simply entail having, as having is only symbolic of an underlying intention and moment that is irreducible and unrepeatable. Hence, we say "it's the thought that counts". But what is that thought? Where does that thought come from?

Do Peak Experiences Require Emergencies?

  When I read the works of Colin Wilson and Abraham Maslow, I am struck by how peak experiences always seem to be accompanied by a sense of relief, particularly in Wilson's examples. Graham Greene's experience of playing a game of "Russian roulette" with a gun prefigures in many of Wilson's writings, being an example of where a sense of exhilaration often follows from the threat of life and death. But this makes me wonder: do we need the threat of danger to encounter peak experience? I almost feel that, in fact, the danger gets overrated, and we are inclined to think that we can manage more "danger" than in fact we can. We can also explain it as being a gratitude that is not based on a real acceptance of the dangerous situation, but a fictitious remaking of the experience. I look back on the experience and think that the grace of God saves me from the dangerous experience--when in fact, the midst of the dangerous experience was quite traumatizing at the time when I experienced it. In a sense, the fictitious remaking only happens after the fact of the experience, so in a sense, we can't say that danger itself is the direct cause of the gratitude itself.

   The problem I see is that, in the midst of uncertainty, there is no way one can know whether she or he will survive the experience. When we do manage to overcome difficulties, we tell ourselves that next time we will know how to avoid them or stop them. Does that mean that the smoker suddenly quits smoking after a heart attack? Well, it should be the case, but is it always the case? Sometimes yes, and sometimes no; it depends on the conditions of one's mind, as well as whether or not the experience had inspired the person to change. We are always narrating an experience in a way that makes for thrilling entertainment, but when we are in the struggle, we don't truly know whether we will be spared in the end.

  It seems that the best solution is not to look for peak experiences at all, but to practice equanimity in the midst of difficulties. Otherwise, one will get ensnarled in expectations and even a sense of control that is not even present in the situations we face. If we knew in advance that we would definitely survive a harrowing experience, then the experience itself would lack a feeling of struggle. In fact, this might lead us to stop struggling altogether! So an element of uncertainty (and surprise) seems necessary in motivating us to creatively extend ourselves in the face of difficulties. 

Preliminary Thoughts: "Peak Experience"?

    I have been reading a lot about theories of peak experience from Abraham Maslow and Colin Wilson, particularly from their respective works, Toward a Psychology of Being and the wonderfully compiled The Ultimate Colin Wilson. I would like to articulate some of my own understanding of when "peak experience" can be most felt.

     First, a detour: Arthur Schopenhauer once observed that, when people look back on their past experiences, they often do so with fondness, even though they felt struggle at the time they were going through the experience. It's as though the mind were storing this information about the experience that makes it more or less like a work of art: a structured totality that is satisfying in and of itself, with an overarching story and a conclusion. Another metaphor one might use here is that of a canvas. A canvas contains a whole picture and within that picture is a whole scene. The scene "hangs together" with all the elements in perfect place, even though it may look asymmetrical or somewhat unplanned from certain minute elements. 

Spinoza, I believe, had a similar kind of analogy in thinking of life as a tapestry. When one is too focused on one element and does not see the later elements that surround it, that piece of the puzzle might look like a jumbled mess. But once one has the patience to step back and see the whole totality, then one can see that the piece of the puzzle means something greater. But the problem is that when a person is going through the situation, they feel that they are struggling with the incompleteness of the situation. There is a struggle to live and an anxiety that makes a person feel that they are totally immersed in a situation, can blind them to the beauty of the situation. But when time passes, what is left over is a kind of tableau: a full structured picture of an experience that allows a person to see that everything "made sense". It's almost as if one does not know how the story will end but when it does, there is a satisfying conclusion. The sense of being able to behold the moment without any sense of judgment is what Maslow and others have defined as "peak experience", as opposed to a deficiency experience that is based on striving alone.

    When Colin Wilson is talking about peak experiences, he wonders whether this can be induced or not, by will.  It's hard, I believe, because it can be quite difficult to get out of "striving" and "struggle" mode. Not only this, but in fact, perhaps part of the trick to all of this is to recognize that one need not emerge from "struggling" at all-simply because struggle itself is an integral aspect of the experience. To be able to be in the midst of struggle and yet realize that struggle is only one part of the totality, could be one way of having a peak experience in the midst of struggle itself. If one is trying to pull away from struggle or to seek some permanently blissful experience that transcends struggle, is this not after all, going against peak experience altogether?

So I think that before a person can truly have peak experience, they must first of all let go of the idea that struggle is something to be overcome. Perhaps one way to look at it is by saying: we are all actors on a cosmic stage. Actors must by necessity, play certain parts in the drama. When I recognize the need to be part of the struggle yet know that I am not really bound to identify with that one singular part, then I am able to participate in the drama of experience and life without suffering from the incompleteness and uncertainty that goes with "being a part".

Summer Beckons

  Why is the promise of summer like a kind of siren? I had to do work-related testing today, but just the sheer look of the summer sky made me feel as though being indoors were a kind of prison. I think that there is something so alluringly beautiful about the summer night. It's not simply the fact that the weather is nice, but that so much of summer is very metaphorically tied to feelings of warmth, safety and comfort in my life.

   Summer might also be a symbol of inner contentment. Somehow, seeing the sunset reminds me that life is transient, and yet there is always something in life for which we can be appreciative. Being part of nature is one of the gifts that we receive from it. The way I would describe it is that we feel a sense of belonging when we behold these simple joys, and that belonging does not depend on being popular, well liked or part of some fraternity or sorority. The sense of belonging I am talking about is more like a birthright.

   Summer reflects the mind that is eternally present. It does so in the simplest and subtlest ways.