The great divide

I am both fascinated and disturbed to continually discover how fruitless even highly rational dialogue can be. People see what they want to see, hear what they want to hear, and generally interpret experiences through whatever perceptual filter they were fitted with by the age of twelve. By no means do I exclude myself here. When I read through the Harris-Prager dialogue, it struck me as so one-sided as to cause me to feel slightly embarrassed for Prager. It seemed to me that Harris not only deftly handled every substantial argument Prager came up, but he made several points which Prager dodged, ignored, or misunderstood. Harris just mopped the floor with Prager. End of story. But wait, hold the presses! It seems some pretty intelligent people (including Matthew Dallman) saw things rather differently:

“[W]henever I read or hear ‘God’, I translate it as something like, ‘that mysterious force of human interaction’. The reason people worship this force is that it is so elusive of intellectual grasp, yet it tantalizes when we are seemingly least prepared to grasp it. Depersonalizing this force into ‘God’ ‘gods’ or the like is a way to worship something more tangible. But, at least as far as Christianity goes, an enormous part of the worship is that towards spirit. Or, put another way — the worship is of a particular kind of state of being, everyday in one’s life. Harris argues of one kind of ‘state of being’; Prager another. Seeing this is important, for clarity.

The other thing I wonder about is the sources of moral authority. Inevitably, these form a kind of dogma in Christianity. But, honestly, so what? Dogma means ‘seems right’. Moral codes based on the notion that following them ‘seems right’ strike me as perfectly acceptable. And, interestingly, when Harris attempts to create his own ‘religion’, what does it use for its tenets but dogma? Its use, like religion, is inescapable for humans.”

That Matthew and I could view the debate so differently interests me as much as the debate itself.

It would be pointless for me to rehash the Harris-Prager dialogue in detail. If Harris’s crystal clear thinking didn’t move you, then my muddled mind is unlikely to enlighten anyone. Yet, I can’t resist making a few points. First, if there is to be any clarity whatsoever in a discussion about God, we must come to an agreement as to what we’re discussing. Clearly, Harris is arguing against a fundamentalist or literalist notion of God as being the author of certain holy books, a notion which can and does lead to consequential beliefs about life and about the world. He’s not talking about God as a transpersonal principle or a label for all that is mysterious, wonderful and ineffable in the universe. There’s nothing unreasonable or dogmatic per se in acknowledging a transpersonal level of reality. But believing either the Bible or the Koran is the perfect, infallible word of the omniscient creator of the universe, and thus should be followed to the letter (according to your own or some authority’s interpretation),–this belief is highly unreasonable and dogmatic. And changing the use of the term “dogmatic” seems to muddy the discussion rather than clarify. Harris eschews dogma because beliefs based on unassailable principles are conversation killers. Dogma is not open for discussion or to revision. This has nothing to do with dogma as something that “seems right.”

If it’s true that something like half of the American populace believes Jesus was literally born of a virgin and is coming back soon to usher us all to heaven or hell, then reasonable people everywhere should be very alarmed. This has nothing to do with deeper, non-literal interpretations of scripture, nor does it have to do with broader definitions of God. If it’s true, then it means something like half of us (you choose which half!) are out of our fucking minds.

I know, I know… I dropped the “F-Bomb,” betraying the fact that I too must be an “angry atheist.” Well, first of all, I don’t deny being triggered (for personal reasons) by certain notions of “God,” as I discussed in a previous post. Secondly, if the prospect (or perhaps present reality) of a mass, cultural psychosis doesn’t make you say “Fuck!”, then what will? Finally, I have to admit that Prager really ruffled my feathers with this shot at non-believers:

“And secular Europe, like secular America, doesn’t even reproduce itself. Secularism either makes people too selfish to have more than one child and/or shatters any belief in sustaining one’s society and culture.”

When I read that, my ears slammed closed. I would expect the antagonistic rhetoric of Harris and Dawkins to have a similar effect on the ears of the faithful.

And so here we are, with our ears slammed shut, shouting past one another, the divide ever widening.

Why won’t God heal amputees?

Sam Harris is popping up everywhere these days, and he’s putting forth some very challenging arguments advocating for saner discourse in matters of faith and religion. This makes a lot of sense to me:

“The point is not that all religious people are bad; it is not that all bad things are done in the name of religion; and it is not that scientists are never bad, or wrong, or self-deceived. The point is this: intellectual honesty is better (more enlightened, more useful, less dangerous, more in touch with reality, etc. ) than dogmatism. The degree to which science is committed to the former, and religion to the latter remains one of the most salient and appalling disparities to be found in human discourse.”

I remember being in high school and getting into these kinds of debates with religious-minded people on a regular basis. Once, I invited a Jehovah’s Witness into my living room and assailed him with challenging questions for a half-hour. He left me with a smile and a copy of “The Watchtower” as I sat there shaking my head, convinced the guy was a complete moron.

I grew up with a lot of anger toward the notion of a loving God who could intervene in human affairs. My younger brother Jimmy was profoundly disabled by an allergic reaction to the pertussis vaccine. I simply wouldn’t stand for any talk of a fair and just Lord of Lords. “Fuck God!” was often heard coming from my lips. Armed with rage and reason, I would attack any belief system that didn’t account for my brother’s condition to my satisfaction. Thinking about it now, I can see how the struggle to make sense of Jimmy’s situation led to my interest in both psychology and spirituality. Hmmm… Maybe that was all part of God’s plan? NOT!!!

Skimming through a Harris article, I saw a reference to a website dedicated to answering the question: Why won’t God heal amputees? Put that question on a T-shirt back in 1986, and I would’ve owned one in every color. Not that I’m trying to minimize the basic arguments by characterizing them as adolescent. As far as Harris goes, I agree with every argument I heard so far. It’s just that there’s so much further to go.

I am alive

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Tonight’s musical meditation, dedicated to Ken Wilber. Be well, brother.

I am alive.mp3
The sun drops out of sight
And I am the night
Cool air on my skin
And I am the wind
I am the wind
I am the wind

Nothing’s quite as it seems
And I am the dream
Floating out on the lake
And I am awake
I am awake
I am awake

Holding on to the day
‘Cause I am afraid
The sun one day will die
But I am alive
I am alive
I am alive

Bad vibes

I’ve been silent lately. Work has been difficult, as the kids on the Adolescent Chemical Dependency Unit have been particularly intractable. Stress at work inevitably leads to thoughts of changing course: “Why am I doing this? What do I really want to do with my life?” The extra hours on the job also keep me from addressing the always growing “To do” list on the dining room table. Wedding photos still not gone through. Thank yous not sent out. Holiday shopping not even thought about. Ugh.

It’s snowing right now, and my wife is not sure she wants to brave the elements and run our errands today. I’m just stuck, spinning in circles–mentally, physically, spiritually. I wanted to blog several times over these last few days. The Sam Harris-Dennis Prager debate about atheism was pretty interesting (I thought Harris wiped the floor with Prager). Then Prager, who I never heard of before this week, caused a stir over a Minnesota Congressman’s refusal to swear his oath on the Bible. I had lots to say about that one, but decided to spend my free hour flipping between Leno and Letterman.

Then I found myself rankled by the in-group dynamics and circular arguments that elevate certain blogs (and certain people, artists, bands, organizations) to “integral” status based on little more than a shared jargon and common interest in Ken Wilber. I was ready to launch into a long rant about that one, but then I heard that Wilber is in serious condition in a Denver hospital. Suddenly, I don’t feel like bitching anymore.

Bad vibes all around. I’ll take a few deep breaths, tackle one or two things on the to-do list, and then rock out on the guitar for a while. At some point, clarity will come knocking again. Hopefully, I’ll be able to hear it over the amplifier.

Reply from Marianthi

The following is a reply to my last post, from a lovely woman who’s been active on the integral forums and in life for a long while:

Bob my friend,

Decline, decay and resignation you say. I rise to their defence.

Decline: can be wonderful when it serves diminished ambitions cause then you can see how pointless most of them were.

Decay: of body, mind, possessions can be amusing when not extreme and taken as part of being human.

Resignation: can be priceless when she becomes the delightful acceptance that THIS (whatever is happening) is IT (life in full) and we get to chew the darned carrot of every moment, juice dripping down our jaws.

The defence rests. Munch,munch.

Marianthi.

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Reflections on hope

It’s been many moons since I last participated in any “integral” forum discussions. Some folks wished me a happy birthday over on the HeartMind Forum, which inspired me to take a look around. Seems like there’s been a bit of a lull over there, and I decided to throw in my two cents:

[Quote from Steven] In the end I suspect that what we find compelling and what we notice has been lost derives from what we hoped or expected to find when we signed up over there [Integral Naked] first and over here second.

This makes perfect sense to me Steven. There’s so much energy wrapped up in hope. When I first picked up a Ken Wilber book, I was looking for hope, hope that there was more to adulthood than decline, decay and resignation. His theories gave me hope that there just might be something to look forward to, discoveries to be made beyond my wildest dreams.

The early days at Integral Naked were blazing with this hope-energy as well. There was a sense of being on the cutting edge, and Wilber kept this vibe going with his grandiose proclamations of how Integral Institute would soon explode onto the scene. Coming soon… the Multiplex…Integral University…an Integral world.

There were also personal hopes. For me, they were to find my niche, to belong to a community of like-minded souls, to find a career that fit, to make a few friends. For others (many others I suspect), the hope was to find love, plain and simple. And I don’t mean some fluffy spiritual love. I’m talking sex and romance. Perhaps because I was already in love, it seemed especially transparent to me how many of the exchanges–however philosophical or spiritual they seemed–were subtle (or not so subtle) pick-up lines and come-ons. Nothing wrong with any of that, of course. Had I been single, I would undoubtedly have been hoping for the same thing.

As with all endeavors weighted with unrealistic expectations, there comes a time when illusions come crashing down around us and we are left sifting through the rubble for whatever we can salvage. College was a time of hope for me, and I rode those waves until I washed up on the shore of a full-time job. The sense of let-down was pretty overwhelming, but I soon latched on to the hope of traveling to California. Eventually I washed up into another full-time job, until I was saved by the hope of graduate school. There I fell in love, and was so full of hope I could burst. Great years indeed, but eventually I crashed ashore alone and in debt up to my ears (and into another full-time job). Hope seduced me again a few years later, as I turned down a free ride to a PhD program to play in a band with some extremely hopeful friends. Several years later, the hope finally ran out on that one too, and I was led to my present situation.

A few months ago, I was watching an episode of Six Feet Under and heard a line that shattered me. David was talking to his mother (Ruth) and asked why it is that people cling so tightly to the past. Ruth replied: “Because that’s when there was hope.”

And so we started participating in this forum with our own hopes. Some prayers may have been answered, while others among us have not yet gotten what we had hoped for. I, for one, have all but lost interest in the “integral” online forums, which is likely a direct reflection of my loss of interest in Ken Wilber. I blog a lot these days, and have enjoyed it quite a bit. On some level I can feel myself being sucked in again, hoping that something will come of my engagement in the blogosphere. Maybe someone will like my music, praise my writing, offer me a job, show me a way out when hope in my present situation runs dry.

I think I have a fear of being hopeless. If true freedom is found in having nothing left to lose, I wonder what lies at the bottom of the well that is hope.

Reflections on change

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I turned thirty-six on Tuesday. My father had four kids by the time he was thirty-six. I don’t have anything else to say about that. It just strikes me as weird. Gives me an uneasy feeling. Ch-ch-ch-ch-change. My entire adult life I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this mysterious, ubiquitous process. How can I realize the potential within myself? How can I help to facilitate positive change in others who are stuck in self-limiting patterns?

This past week I poured my heart and soul into the kids at the Adolescent Chemical Dependency Center. I was overflowing with compassion, and did my best to make the holiday-in-the-hospital as enjoyable as possible for them. On the surface, everything was moving along smoothly, but I could sense there were things going on behind the scenes. Some folks were up to no good.

I’ve been through this many times before. There’s just no way you can house eighteen teenagers together–most of whom are repeat criminal offenders with frighteningly anti-social tendencies–and expect anything but manipulation, conniving, and blatant dishonesty. But this time it got to me. This time it really hollowed me out. By the time I was through interrogating them, I found out that several kids were involved in a plot to sneak contraband onto the unit. Two of these kids were our “star pupils,” having consistently said the right things in therapy groups and buttered up staff members with tearful expressions of gratitude. Another kid had stolen some magic markers from staff and inhaled the fumes to get high. When I confronted these kids and explained the possible consequences of their actions (further, long-term treatment; going back to jail), several other kids decided to come clean about their true feelings about the program, rallying to support their peers with shouts of “Everything you all teach here is bullshit!” “Honesty is bullshit!” “Sharing feelings is bullshit!” “If we want to get clean, we can do it on our own! You all don’t know shit!”

To say the wind was taken out of my sails would be an understatement. I had invested so much time and energy into these kids, and it turns out that the majority of them had been fronting their way through the program and simply telling me what I wanted to hear so they could go home as soon as possible. They had been pulling time. Nothing more. They never wanted my help. They never wanted to change. They just wanted to get the authority figures off their backs.

I tried all my usual rationalizations to lessen the sting: “Hey, there are at least a few of them who seem to want help.” “Maybe I’m planting seeds for later.” “They’re just kids. They don’t know what they believe.” Nothing did the trick. I just felt sick, sick of trying to help people who don’t want my help. You can’t force change. People have to learn their own lessons I guess. I’m still learning mine.

Being a therapist can leave one hollow and hopeless. I will enjoy my two days off; spend time with my wife; play my guitar; get some exercise. By Saturday, my perspective will have changed. It always changes.

Invisible plane

I grew up watching Super Friends on Saturday mornings. Even then, the idea of Wonder Woman riding around in an invisible plane seemed ridiculous. I mean, what’s the point of the plane being invisible if you if can still see Wonder Woman streaking through the sky? When I saw this Family Guy clip this morning, I nearly pissed myself laughing:

First thoughts

So, my wife asked me this morning if it would be okay to let her friend and her friend’s nine year old daughter ride with us to New York this Christmas. My first thought was “Great! A fourteen hour drive is bad enough, and now I’ll have to make awkward conversation with someone I don’t know, not to mention put up with her kid (‘Are we there yet?’).”

So much for the holiday spirit! This poor woman is in a bind and can’t afford plane tickets, and all I can think about is how I’ll have to hold in my farts and make a few extra bathroom stops. I can be a self-centered prick sometimes. In fact, that’s usually my first response to anything that disrupts my routine. As my wife can attest to, I NEVER want to do anything that cuts into my “me time” or that I perceive as a potential constriction to my personal freedom (even the freedom to fart in the car).

I don’t think I’ll ever get to a point in my life where my knee-jerk response to the unexpected is anything but “all about me.” I’m getting better, however, at holding off on decisions and commentary until this familiar pattern plays itself out. I don’t feed into these thoughts as much, having experienced their self-limiting effects for years. So, after a little hemming and hawing, I consented to the amended travel arrangements. It may not have been my first thought, but it’s the right thing to do.

If you want…

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I can’t begin to describe how much I enjoy sitting down in front of my green desk. I used to keep my four-track recorder on an old wobbly blue desk I bought for five dollars at Goodwill. It was about ready to collapse when my girlfriend (now my wife) built me a new desk for my birthday. That’s how Green Desk Studios (a.k.a. my bedroom) was born. Now my bedroom is our bedroom, where I sit before that same green desk to record in my audio journal. I got this off my chest yesterday:

If you want.mp3
If you want…
Come hear me sing
If you won’t…
Don’t mean a thing
Just let me in

Turn back the clock…
If you want
I’ll be back down the block
And if you won’t…
Don’t mean a thing

Rest your head upon my chest
Remember this
Forget the rest
Just let me in