Routine, Ritual, or Rut?

While preparing for my outdoor, wood-fired tub the other evening, I found myself once again immersed in a preparatory routine that I've followed for well over a couple of decades now. I have enjoyed something on the order of 2,000 hot tubs—each one involves cleaning and filling the tub, splitting the wood, carefully monitoring the water temperature as I add wood to the stove, as well as carrying out several other steps in the process. It’s a lengthy and rather complicated process.

As I was into the regimen, I thought about all the many routines we humans follow every day, from first coming awake and crawling out of bed, until we once again retire later that night. Yet even throughout the night we still follow routines, as some of us engage in a repetitive dream, or arise in the wee hours to pee.

Why do we devise and follow routines? Turning to the dictionary definition of routine, I find: “a sequence of actions regularly followed; a fixed program.” The root of routine is the French word rute, for route or road. If it's a “sequence of actions regularly followed,” it occurs to me that a routine must have proved successful over time—otherwise, we'd be pretty foolish to follow it regularly.

So a routine implies some procedure that we've fine-tuned over time—a procedure that works for us. The routine I follow these days in setting up the tub bath is not the one I used 10 years ago. I have modified it over time, and gradually improved it. My current routine leads to an outcome that is both predictable and mostly successful. Having been a scientist in my former life, I realize that establishing a routine that works is similar to the scientific process: you start with a theory (“This is how I think I'll prepare my tub.”), and then test it out and improve it over many trials. In time, the procedure mostly brings about fulfillment of the objective you're working toward.

So how does a routine compare to a ritual? They differ, I think, in that I develop and perfect my own routine—it's a procedure that I've built over time, often by trial and error. In contrast, a ritual is a ceremony created by someone else. My dictionary defines ritual as “a religious or solemn ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order.” In fact, the root of the word ritual is the Latin word ritus, meaning “religious usage.” 

Many rituals are age-old customs laid down long ago and steadfastly followed ever since. Religious rituals are a good example. A time-tested ritual is also not something to modify but to adhere to, often in order to bring together a group of believers; to create a community of practitioners. So that's a key difference between routine and ritual: we hone our personal routines, while we tend to “religiously” follow rituals laid down by others. 

So how about ruts? Can following either a routine or a ritual lead to one becoming stuck in a rut? The dictionary defines rut as “a habit or pattern of behavior that has become dull and unproductive, but is hard to change.” We fall into a rut when a routine or a ritual is repeated mindlessly. I have watched people in church perform a ritual that has lost its meaning—as parishioners rush through a prayer almost out of boredom. Similarly, a self-created routine can degrade into an unpleasant chore, if I'm doing it just to get through it, or I daydream about the myriad other things I'd rather be engaged in.

If we can let go the desire to be someplace else and engage fully and mindfully in the routine or ritual that we're currently performing, it can take us to a very different mental place. As our body is involved in the work, our mind can roam freely through the universe, playing with various ideas. We go into a sort of automatic mode, wherein our subconscious mind tends to the task at hand, while the conscious mind can be freed up to brainstorm. In this way, even a rut can be transformed into a fertile and inventive activity.

Vicarious Pleasure

It is noble to feel compassion for a person (or an animal) when we see them suffering, or struggling with difficulty, or dealing with misfortune. It is especially noble when we feel the urge to help them out. Countless saints have served as models of compassion—demonstrating it and teaching us its importance for a healthy and moral society. 

Compassion is similar to empathy, which is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. Yet there's a key difference: compassion does not mean we have to  understand another's feelings—just that we experience some distress at their suffering; even a sense of responsibility to assist in some way. Empathy, however, means that we literally share the emotions of another, to the point that we comprehend their feelings. Additionally, compassion stems from observing another's suffering, while empathy does not have to arise from that suffering—it simply means being able to “step into their shoes” and share their feelings.

Therefore empathy can also be felt when the other is happy; when they experience good fortune. In this case, it is the ability to feel joy on their behalf. And that can sometimes be a greater challenge for us. It's not very hard to feel some pity for that unfortunate soul who is in misery, but it can sometimes be a challenge to feel elated when Lady Luck has smiled upon them. Sure, I can celebrate when my kid or my spouse gets lucky, but how about that guy next door? When fortune smiles upon him, I may instead feel envy or resent his pleasure.

This is similar to the relative manner by which people judge their satisfaction with their income level. Psychological research has demonstrated that we pay less attention to the amount of money we earn, than to how it compares with the incomes of our compatriots or rivals. If I take home more money than my similar-status neighbor, I feel good about it. But if I find out he earns more than I do, I can resent him. It's not my absolute pay, but how I compare relatively, that matters.

So there's something special about the person who can share in the delight of a neighbor's good luck—especially if that neighbor didn't seem to deserve it. To do so, calls for a definite degree of selflessness; a sentiment that doesn't come easily. There is a Buddhist meditation that helps promote this kind of altruism. You begin by desiring those close to you to be well, happy, and peaceful. May they be graced. Then you gradually widen the circle of your care, step by step, until you are wishing all beings to be well, happy, and peaceful... even that lucky guy next door, for whom you've felt a little jealousy, from time to time.

Survival Smarts

A secondary question popped into my mind recently, as I was pondering a related primary question. I find this often happens to me: I find myself mulling over a primary question for which there seems to be no immediate or obvious answer. As I continue to contemplate that question, a secondary question often comes to mind. When I shift my attention to that second question—which is usually a more profound one—clarity sometimes comes.

The initial question that spoke to me recently was “What should I be doing right now?” At any given time, we face choices. We must choose what to do or how to respond to something, hundreds of times a day. Our response is most often an unconscious one, and we do quite well with most of those kinds of choices. They are also usually rather straightforward and don’t require a lot of attention on our part. 

There are other times, however, when it's not at all clear what we should do… when things get complex, and we find ourselves wrestling with the issue at the conscious level. This can be especially true, when we've had a question bother us for some time, and we've just not been able to come up with a good answer. Often it's because the primary question that appears before us is not really digging down to an essential level; it’s not getting at the real issue.

So, as I pondered my primary “What should I do?” question, a secondary one came to mind. I realized it was more fundamental: “What do I need to know?” I think this secondary question came to mind, because I feel that knowledge must often precede action; in order to do something right, I need to have the appropriate knowledge first. 

We need to have some basic kind of knowledge, in order to choose wisely; to thrive, or even to survive. If I have a reasonably accurate knowledge about something, then my response—my action—will be smarter. In contrast, I can't expect to do things well, if I'm confused or deluded. Thus that more fundamental question came to mind: “What do I need to know?” Maybe I was getting somewhere.

In fact, this more basic question is an appropriate one for any creature. Every critter wants to survive, to stay alive, and therefore needs some crucial knowledge about how to do so. For example, any animal “knows” it needs to avoid eating poisonous things. A bee “knows” how to locate pollen. A bird “knows” to avoid hawks. And those creatures who have acquired the necessary knowledge (by surviving) pass it on to their offspring. This is an excellent example of the process of evolution, as well as the origin of natural intelligence.

While most animals naturally respond to what they need to know and thus what they need to do, we humans have been granted a more advanced level of cognition. So, rather than respond inherently and immediately, we ruminate on the question. We imagine various alternatives and envisage the future. We try to factor many possibilities into our choices. We are driven by the fact that we not only want to survive—we want to thrive. This is a special quality we humans have. It has brought us to the dominant position we occupy today.

All this cognitive power of ours can lead to complications and problems, however. Some of us, when we wonder about what to do, decide to try to seek control. A major objective of our technologies has been to deliver that control—whether it be over Nature or each other. Technology has given us the power—we believe—to secure our welfare and safety. The danger is that, although we've gained some command over our existence through the use of technology, it often becomes a greater threat, which may come to control us. Technology has a way of getting out of hand. It’s not necessarily a smart way to survive.