inspiral blog

This week we look at denial through the eyes of Peter. I just wrote a whole massive post on it, but the blog deities ate it (it’s a new-look control panel for some reason), so I’ll just post the two quotes I wanted to include. Both of them come from the book I’m reading, called Waging Peace, which was written at the height of the Cold War, about peacemaking in the age of nuclear weapons. Both, significantly, are about prayer, and the way it subverts our denial of Jesus. The first is from Jim Wallis of the Sojourners community:

When Paul speaks of Christ’s “disarming” the powers, he simply means that he exposed their lie, showed them for what they were, unmasked the illusion of their power, and stood free of their rewards and punishments. Jesus’ freedom from the fear and control of the powers was rooted in the deep knowledge of who he was and to whom he belonged. His communion with his father was his constant source of strength and power.

Prayer is the act of reclaiming our identity as the children of God; it declares who we are and to whom we belong. The action of prayer places us outside the realm of the powers and principalities. As prayer declares our true identity, it destroys our false identities. In prayer we act upon who we really are, and thus prayer has the effect of diminishing the illusions that have controlled us. It is therefore an act of revealing the truth and unmasking the lie. Prayer allows us to step out of our traps and find ourselves again in God.

We can regain ourselves from the control of the powers only by placing ourselves totally in God’s hands. Prayer, therefore, not only declares our true identity but also declares where our true security is. As prayer roots our security in God, it roots out the false securities that enslave us and lead us to war.

The second is from the same book, but a chapter by Henri Nouwen, the Christian mystic:

In a situation in which the world is threatened by annihilation, prayer does not mean much when we undertake it only as an attempt to influence God, or as a search for a spiritual fallout shelter, or as an offering of comfort in stress-filled times. Prayer in the face of a nuclear holocaust only makes sense when it is an act of stripping ourselves of everything, yes, even of life itself. Prayer is the act by which we divest ourselves of all false belongings and become free to belong to God and God alone.

This explains why, although we often feel a real desire to pray, we experience at the same time a strong resistance. We want to move closer to God, the source and goal of our existence, but at the same time we realize that the closer we come to God the stronger will be his demand to let go of the many “safe” structures we have built around ourselves. Prayer is such a radical act because it requires us to criticize our whole way of being in the world, to lay down our old selves and accept our new self, which is Christ. (emphasis mine)

When Homer Simpson goes into space on a NASA mission, he accidentally smashes an ant farm that was on the shuttle, and as the ants fly out from behind the glass, one screams “Freedom! Horrible, horrible freedom!” This is our very real paradox; we maintain our denial because we are afraid of the freedom God gives us from this world, a freedom almost too big for us to grasp. But if we can shake that denial, and grasp that freedom, together becoming a community of resistance to the powers of this world, then we can truly live.

“Red meat is still an essential part of the diet for the most advanced species on earth.”

“Red meat – we were meant to eat it.”

- Sam Neill, on behalf of Meat and Livestock Australia.

Not surprisingly, as a vegetarian, I find this ad incredibly insulting and offensive, not only on a personal level or on a justice level, but on a truth level. I think it’s worth combating the lies perpetrated in this ad, so what follows are my objections to it:

1. It is patently false and misleading. Indeed, the science is wrong. There is no evidence that we were “meant” to eat meat at all – in fact, there is ample evidence that our bodies are simply not built for it in the way other carnivores are. From the mechanics of our teeth to our digestive system, it is clear that we can eat it, but not that we are built for it, let alone that it is the most healthy option.

Conversely, vegetarianism can be at least as healthy, and usually more so, than eating meat. Every nutritional requirement can be fulfilled through means other than meat.

2. By linking the advancement of technology with meat-eating, it assumes those who do not eat meat are less intelligent than those who do, an obviously ridiculous assertion. But more than that, it suggests that of primary value here is the brain. There is no more important human value than the ability to think and comprehend (which is ironic, given the amount of misinformation the ad perpetuates), and this, in my opinion, is morally bankrupt. It assumes that rationality is more important than compassion, that logic is preferable to relationship. Such an existence is meaningless on just about any significant level.

3. Another blogger has (quite rightly) drawn attention to the irony of filming the ad on a salt pan, given that overgrazing is one of the reasons for the increasing salination of much of the Australian soil.

4. An Age opinion piece also brings attention to the moral question here. In “Red Meat, Red Herring”, Richard King rightly points out that evolution (which is the reasoning the ad appeals to) is no excuse to bypass the moral question of whether eating meat is right. So the whole approach of the ad is questionable.

5. What on earth makes Sam Neill the spokesperson for this? Jurassic Park? Does the fact that he supposedly knows his carnivores from his herbivores when it comes to computer-generated dinosaurs mean that he’s qualified to talk about human health and nutrition? Does his pretending to be a scientist in a Hollywood film really mean that people think he is one?

6. Lastly, and to my mind most conclusively, the assumptions underlying this ad (and even explicitly stated) are that the demonstration of the advancement of humans as a species is our ability to kill and dominate other species. We are smarter and more advanced because we kill and devour most effectively. This is classic myth-of-redemptive-violence stuff. What could be more false or dangerous to human wellbeing than the idea that violence is redemptive or salvific?

Rather, I believe that ultimately, the demonstration of the advancement of humans, and indeed our ability to survive and thrive as a species, lies in our capacity to love. Here I define love not as gooey feelings of romance, but to the self-sacrificing commitment to act in the best interests of others. Nowhere do we demonstrate our advancement as a society more than in the commitment to seek each others’ wellbeing. And tied up in that is the wellbeing of our world, and the other creatures with which we share it. Even if we only recognise that on a purely selfish level – ensuring our own survival as a species – we have to admit it’s not just the best way forward, it’s the only way.

A couple of weeks back, when I arrived for a Tuesday dinner at the ASWC (Asylum Seeker Welcome Centre), Margaret said I just missed having my picture taken. I wasn’t really disappointed, but didn’t realise until later that it was for this article in The Melbourne Times.

I’m very proud to call these people my friends.

Turns out it’s happening after all.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw Craig Turley (ex West Coast Eagles player) on Compass, talking openly about his own spiritual journey. He’s been through some really rough patches, and continues to struggle, but has come out the other side with a rather interesting and beautiful spirituality. At the end, the interviewer asked him, “Are you happy?” It’s a perennial question: the subtext being (at least for most of us), “Does this spirituality really work?” His answer was fascinating, and while I don’t remember his exact words, it was along the lines of, “I don’t seek happiness. Happiness is a fleeting thing; fulfillment is what I’m after. Sure, I’m happy sometimes, I experience joy, but those times don’t last and it’s not realistic to expect them to. I seek fulfillment.”

It coincided with an article in the Age talking about how the idea that life is about maximising happiness is a relatively new cultural phenomenon, perhaps only a hundred or two hundred years old. Yet this is the overwhelmingly predominant view in our society; not just that we should seek happiness, but that we have a right to it. We are entitled to be happy, and that’s all we should seek to do or to be.

Interestingly (as an aside), I read today (again in the Age) that there is a direct correlation between how fearful people are, and how much television they watch. The more television someone watches, the more likely they are to own a gun, have security on their house, and assume that they will be victims of violent crime. Happiness, it seems, is not to be found with television (but you already knew that ).

So we had a bit of a tough week this week, one that culminated with the confronting question, “Why have I been expecting this to be easy?” What kind of screwed up view of the world made me think that we’d achieve our goals quickly and easily, without pain or suffering, without despair and discouragement at times?

I mean, this feeds into everything I’ve learnt (in my head) recently about Christianity – that it’s not about the absence of suffering, finding the easy road – indeed, it’s very often about your proximity to suffering that makes for a healthy, fulfilled, well-adjusted Christ follower.

Part of that was helped by Leunig’s prayer (from my previous post). When you’re broken, down and out, defeated – that’s when you relinquish control and gain perspective. If only we (I) could cultivate such humility more often, that perspective would remain.

When I ask myself “Why do I assume that life will be easy?” the answer is basically because I believe, deep down, that I am entitled to be free from pain and suffering. And that’s a fool’s quest – at its best, it’s delusional; at worst, complete arrogance.

So I started running again yesterday. I’ve been wanting to be fitter physically for a while (read: less overweight) but frankly, I’ve been a little scared of what I do to myself when I go after physical fitness. One of my personality traits (which, as with everything, is both a strength and a weakness) is that I find it difficult to do things by halves – it’s either all or nothing. So I tend to exercise until my legs want to drop off. Thus, I have developed an aversion to exercise – or at least the kind that means I end up hurting. I’ve tried going the other way and starting slowly, but have found that I end up doing very little at all – certainly not enough to have an effect.

I’ve realised that it’s not the tendency to exercise hard that’s the problem – it’s my attitude to the pain it causes. So that’s what I’ve altered. And while I must say it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear (running 7kms on legs that haven’t run more than 10 metres in the last 5 years was never going to be easy) it does make persevering worthwhile. And hopefully in the process I learn more about what it is to deal with pain and suffering in a constructive way.

Once again Leunig manages to voice that for which I cannot find words.

Dear God,
We struggle, we grow weary, we grow tired.
We are exhausted, we are distressed, we despair.
We give up, we fall down, we let go.
We cry.
We are empty, we grow calm, we are ready.
We wait quietly.

A small shy truth arrives.
Arrives from without and within.
Arrives and is born.
Simple, steady, clear.
Like a mirror, like a bell, like a flame.
Like rain in summer.
A precious truth arrives and is born within us.
Within our emptiness.
We accept it, we observe it, we absorb it.
We surrender to our bare truth.
We are nourished, we are changed. we are blessed.
We rise up.
For this we give thanks.
Amen.

I’m still stuck in the first half of that prayer, but hoping against hope to move onto the second.

(Thanks to Simon for reminding me of this one.)

I’ve been reading Yann Martel’s Man Booker Prize-winning Life of Pi (a book that, interestingly boasts “a story that can make you believe in God”), and I came across this quote about doubt:

It was my first clue that atheists are my brothers and sisters of a different faith, and every word they speak speaks of faith. Like me, they go as far as the legs of reason will carry them – and then they leap.

I’ll be honest about it. It is not atheists who get stuck in my craw, but agnostics. Doubt is useful for a while. We must all pass through the garden of Gethsemane. If Christ played with doubt, so must we. If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.

He uses a number of similes like this, but I found it to be a useful comment. There is an extent to which doubt can be useful, but only to a point. At some stage (as I have blogged previously) one must nail one’s colours to the mast, and at the same time, be prepared to risk being wrong.

I’ve been reading ‘The Essential Gandhi’, a collection of Gandhi’s writings compiled by Louis Fischer, a contemporary of Gandhi’s and someone who wrote a great deal about him. It’s been fascinating to get a closer and more detailed look at his life and ideas, particularly when it’s from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

One of the things I appreciate greatly about Gandhi’s activism is his insistence on consistent conduct – means and ends being essentially the same thing. Nowhere is this more apparent than his views (and actions) on loving one’s enemies. Not an original concept, to be sure, but certainly one that has rarely been lived out, especially in a situation of conflict. His whole understanding of Satyagraha (his way of life, incorporating non-violence, love and truth) is based in seeking the good for all. So much of the activism I see in my community is oppositional, and usually hateful towards various people or groups (John Howard in particular), and therefore destructive. Gandhi insisted that we must love those whom we seek to “convert” as it were, and not merely outwardly, but inwardly as well. I think what makes Gandhi so compelling a figure for me is that he had the opportunity to develop ideas that we get only grabs of in Jesus’ life. Love of enemies, for example, was clearly something that Jesus did, and did well, but Gandhi kind of developed how he thought that worked more thoroughly. There’s something concrete about having someone so recent, and so historically documented, that is helpful in grounding it.

Like this quote, on seeing the best in those who consider themselves your enemies:

Let us…honor our opponents for the same honesty of purpose and patriotic motive that we claim for ourselves…I believe in trusting…A man who is truthful will not believe charges even against his foes. He will, however, try to understand the viewpoints of his opponents and will always keep an open mind and seek every opportunity of serving his opponents.

If only we could do that! It’s so difficult when you disagree or are in conflict with someone to actually assume the best of them.

There are things about Gandhi that I struggle or disagree with (particularly his treatment of his family), but there is much to affirm about the ways he attempted to live out his beliefs. That’s all I have at the moment, but he will continue to be a significant figure in my development towards a non-violent spirituality.

Fascinating…and disturbing.

If you remember the Tiananmen Square massacre of ’89, there will be certain images you’d associate with it. Images like these are what Americans see when they search google for images of ‘Tiananmen’.

This is what the Chinese see.

Censorship is truly alive and well.