December 2008 Archives

One of my good friends may be losing her job due to lay-offs. She will find out in the next few weeks. She has said that if she just makes it through this (economic crisis) and pays off her debt, she is never going to go into debt again. She is going to start saving more money and spending less. To her, while the economic downturn may prove to be personally financially damaging, she feels like it is a good lesson learned. She hates the situation she is in, and is determined to not make the same mistakes again – she says she will never live beyond her means in the future.

This gets me thinking about consciously choosing to change one’s lifestyle vs. being forced to change one’s lifestyle. My friend is being forced to be financially responsible, more so than ever before. While everyone complained about rising gas prices, it made people drive less and look into buying more fuel efficient cars. Is raising a person’s awareness or consciousness enough? Or do people need to be forced to change?

Prof. Michael Maniates was interviewed for Miller-McClure magazine, where he argued that climate change and other environmental problems cannot be stopped through government edicts. Instead, he states that people must make real changes in their lifestyle and habits (shopping, driving, etc…) - changes that “must be substantive, not superficial symbols like recycling newspapers or switching to low-watt light bulbs.” And instead people must make “steep, absolute declines in per-capita consumption of oil, food, minerals, timber products, fresh water and other finite resources." He argues that if you want to help the environment, you should think about : 1) Getting rid of your car, 2) consume only locally grown organic foods, and 3) stop buying stuff you don't need.

How are these things going to happen? Should I be happy that people who I never thought would talk about buying less, are doing so now? Even if they make these changes now, will they keep it up once the economy improves?  Is there going to be a real sea change in people’s attitude towards never-ending consumption due to the economic downturn? Or does being forced to do something not as effective as consciously choosing to make a change?

I'm addicted to books about Buddhism; I have somewhere between two and three hundred of them. In my estimation one of the very best is Foundations of Buddhism, by Rupert Gethin.

It's a relatively short book that nonetheless manages to provide a comprehensive overview of the fundamentals of Buddhist doctrine and practice, as well as a study of the textual corpora and historical contexts. Gethin explains difficult concepts with lucid prose and makes excellent use of the latest scholarship (as of 1998) to summarize different theories regarding such controversies as, to give one example, how the Mahayana traditions arose and evolved.

Gethin does a terrific job, in particular, of clarifying concepts we are often hazy on. One thing you'll find when you start reading works of Buddhist Studies in addition to Buddhist books is that often the points that we find confusing are points that the tradition itself is confused about. That is to say, there is usually a history of doctrinal conflict and evolution about which it is very helpful to know.

There are a number of detailed, five-star raves on Amazon.com, a few of which make a better case for the book better than I can, so suffice it to say that this is one of the few books on Buddhism I would unreservedly recommend to anyone with more than a passing interest in the subject.

Last week I posted a few facts about Jewish Buddhists and realized it was not nearly enough. I’d like to begin with the first installment of a series of posts on the topic of the Jewish/Buddhist connection.

Hanukkah was this past week. What do I really know about Hanukkah? Not that much, anymore. Antiochus (the bad guy) destroyed the temple in Jerusalem, and then there was a lamp that miraculously burned for eight nights on one night’s worth of oil, so we celebrate. I used to know all about Hanukkah, and about all the Jewish holidays, and how to read Hebrew. I can still stumble over the pages of a prayerbook, I think. It’s been a long time. Last time I really tried to read a passage of Hebrew was Passover. The Four Questions. Ma nish tanah halailah hazeh…why is this night different from all other nights? I committed that to memory to impress my teachers and my family.

I guess ultimately when I was a teenager, I didn’t feel like that night was different from any other night. It didn’t feel meaningful; it was memorized. As a kid I was so concerned with being a good student and gaining my teacher’s approval that I excelled in Hebrew school for the praise I received. The knowledge I gained was not knowledge. It was empty. I didn’t learn anything about Judaism that way. In high school my connection to Judaism faded away during family cancers and questions religion couldn’t answer for me.

Yesterday I did some long overdue Hanukkah research. All historiography and controversy aside, this is the traditional story: Around 167 BCE, Antiochus IV Epiphanes (a cool name for a not so cool dude) outlawed Judaism, killed and robbed Jewish families, and desecrated the great temple in Jerusalem. The five sons of a Jewish priest joined together, led by the son Judah (Maccabee) to rebel against Antiochus and they actually successfully defeated Antiochus’s monarchy and restored the temple. During its restoration, Judah ordered for a new altar to be put in place. The eternal flame in the Temple was to burn all day and night, but during the temple’s restoration, there was only enough of a supply of the oil for the lamp to burn for one day. The oil miraculously lasted 8 days, enough time for more to be gotten. So there you have it: A fuel-efficient candle holder. The miracle of Hanukkah.

Eh, maybe there’s something more to it.

On Sunday night, my dad and his girlfriend had a Hanukkah dinner at their house. We said the prayers, lit two menorahs, ate a ton of latkes (fried potato pancakes), played a really dorky game of dreidel (a game of chance with a spinning top), and exchanged our gifts. What was meaningful to me about that night wasn’t the religious background to the holiday – it was the traditions that my family has kept alive. When was the last time I played dreidel? Seriously? Probably five years ago, I’m not sure. And the significance of dreidel probably has as much to do with Hanukkah as chocolate bunnies have to do with Easter, but I get it now. Amidst the indigestion from the deep fried pancakes, I saw it. It’s about sharing something, having something we do that is ours. It’s so simple: tossing chocolate coins into the pot and groaning when you lose them all; seeing my dad’s face light up when he won; my sister’s beautiful red, curly hair illuminated by the flickering glow of the candles. Both of them cancer survivors, and we’re still laughing and eating potato pancakes and playing dreidel together years later. The Maccabees fought an entire monarchy in order to fight religious intolerance – and they succeeded.

Nes gadol haya sham, the letters on the dreidel signify. A great miracle happened there. What miracle? A lamp burning oil? Some miracle. My family’s strength is the miracle. For me, to celebrate the miracle of Hanukkah is to be grateful for my family – that these beautiful beings in front of me pulled themselves out of a crisis, defeated an attacker, and are here to celebrate with me. At Hanukkah I will remember that moment of Lovingkindess clarity and meditate on my heroes.

An old favorite for the new year.

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Okay ... so what do you think this is a painting of?

Boxes? An Arm? a Fence?

Well ...it's ummmm..... like an orangey brownish thing with some...like...ummmm... greyish brown things around it.

Now check it again...this time from about an arm's length away.

Woah! Sick still life, right?  Pasty colors, simple composition, wobbly forms. It makes me wish oil paint wasn't toxic so I could ingest it sans bodily harm.  Right-on, Giorgio Morandi. Thanks for making me think there's actually objects on a table when there's actually just yummy paint and colors.

This highlights one of my favorite things about painting in general: in creating a painting, you are creating a context in which people become aware of the process of perception.  Painting allows people to get excited about a lounging nude or a bowl of fruit only to step in closer, inspect the surface, and have their illusions dispelled. "I can't believe it's just paint on canvas!"

This deconstructive process relates to many of the Dharma teachings about view and perception.  "Where there is perception, there is deception" and "from the point of view of absolute reality...all views are wrong views."  We are constantly being fooled by what we think to be real and concrete -- we are projecting all kinds of relative meaning and symbolism onto things.

For Giorgio Morandi, 20th Century Italian Painter, this wisdom was revealed to him through a lifetime practice of looking deeply at simple objects on a table and translating the colors and shapes onto canvas.   He said towards the end of his life:

"I believe that nothing can be more abstract, more unreal, than what we actually see...matter exists of course, but it has no intrinsic meaning of its own, such as the meaning that we attach to it. Only we can know that a cup is a cup, that a tree is a tree...I have never intended to give the objects in my still-life arrangemnets any particularly familiar meaning."

His quote reminds me of a term from the Diamond Sutra called Tathagata, which means "the wondrous nature of reality" -- when our concepts cease and we see reality for what it really is: "abstract," "empty," "signless."

This teaching was manifest for me in a high school drawing class. I was doing a bad drawing of my friend Corey and my teacher stopped me and said: "Stop trying to draw Corey's face!  If you draw the shapes within Corey's face, then it will look like Corey."

Painting and Drawing Rulz.  Peace out '08.