Unfounded Fear

Modern society's behavior is often driven by fear. It is ironic that many of those fears are unfounded. We create most of them in our heads. What is paradoxical about the situation is that today's societies are much less threatened than our ancestors' were. They had good reason to be apprehensive of their world, since they were not nearly as powerful as many of the predators they faced. An adequate level of fear was appropriate for them—much like the trepidation exhibited by small and vulnerable critters like mice and birds.

However, today's humans have become the most powerful creatures on the planet, so we no longer need to feel anywhere near the fear level that our deep ancestors did. We are top dog. So why are we so frightened? I believe there are two principle reasons: (1) the more power we acquire, the more we worry that some human stranger will take over and wield power over us, and (2) our polarized society readily turns our opponents into wicked enemies.

In the first case our problem is that we instinctively seek power, whenever we feel uncertain or not in control. We believe that if we build and impenetrable wall or a formidable weapon, we can intimidate any potential foes. They will fear us and leave us alone. And yet, this belief usually leads to an arms race, as our newly-acquired power now seems like a threat to them. So they will seek ways to fortify themselves, to ward us off. Whichever side acquires the greater power at any time, will often find themselves drawn into using that power—not necessarily out of fear, but as much due just to the temptation to see what we can gain by using it.

In the second case we easily succumb to the fear of the opposing clan in a polarized society. There is little inclination to try to understand them, since we become convinced that they are bad and we are good. We readily respond to that primordial feeling of dread of the other. We readily adopt stories of their evilness or unworthiness. This deep-seated fear rises quickly within us, as we experience a rush of adrenaline—which again was useful, when long ago we were surrounded by fearsome threats. Emotions such as anger, ignorance, and misunderstanding feed the problem. 

How do we counter our fears? There are several antidotes, such as fostering empathy, respect, and understanding of the other—which are the core aspects of nonviolence. It's not easy. It's work. It can help to appreciate that feelings such as fear once made more sense for our species, when we were weak, but can be lessened, now that we are strong. It's time to grow up.

Brood Intrude

In mid April I was wandering past the lawnmower storage area—an open, but roofed lean-to where I stash various outdoor tools. A bird flew from its hiding place as I walked by. Maybe it was pecking around on the ground for stray seeds that had overwintered there? A little later I walked by in the other direction and the bird once again flushed from the same place. This time I noted that it was a Carolina wren.

This bird likes to build its nest in secret places that we humans create for them—inside sheds, in secluded corners of buildings... even in the pockets of garments hanging on the clothesline! Its second flight that morning suggested to me that somewhere in the tool area it had constructed its nest. With the bird now temporarily gone, I carefully began to inspect various possible wren-favored cubbyholes, to see if I could locate a nest. After spotting its brooding place, I could then be careful not to disturb its family plans and even watch, as the eggs hatched and the wee babies quickly grew into fledglings in just a couple of weeks. I have observed and photographed this process in the past. It is fascinating.

I soon located her egg-filled nest—unfortunately hidden deep inside the grass catcher for the lawnmower, which was perched on top of the mower. I quickly retreated, trying not to disturb its nest. Now I was in a quandary. It would be at least three weeks until the eggs would hatch and the babies fledge, before I could use the mower; yet in another week or so the weeds and grass would grow enough that mowing would be demanded—lest the unruly vegetation begin to harbor chiggers, ticks, and other biting critters. What to do? I was caught between permitting this choice of a secret nesting place (thus helping the local birds) and intruding to gain access to the mower, terminating the bird's effort to procreate. What to do?

I did not have to wait long to resolve my dilemma. The next morning—a very chilly morning—I cautiously passed by the bird's hiding place, but no parental flight occurred. A short time later I walked by again, with still no action. That was worrisome, as mom would surely be warming the eggs on a cold morning. She must have abandoned the nest—probably because I had inadvertently disturbed it, the day before. In another hour or so, I became convinced that she had vacated her nest and her babies would perish. I had meddled in Nature.

This event solved my mowing need, but left me sad that my interference had disrupted Nature's process. I was responsible for the extinction of five baby wrens, despite my care. Without my intrusion the propagation of this family may have been successful.

I retrieved the nest with its five precious eggs—thus freeing my lawnmower. I will honor the lost five lives by placing the nest in my meditation hut and contemplating this unfortunate event. Was my role helpful in some sense, because I potentially provided a safe place for the wren to raise her babies—possibly away from a marauding snake—or was it harmful, because these are five birds never to fly... never to sing? There are no facile answers... only vexing questions. The preserved nest in my meditation hut will become a contemplative icon for me to ponder on.

Mortal Meddling

When you live close to Nature, you encounter both the sacred side of creation, as well as its disturbing side. The sacred side is the beautiful side—which causes me to pause whatever task I'm into and stand in awe of what I'm experiencing. The disturbing side is the obverse face of nature's beauty—when you encounter something repugnant, such as a predator in the act of ruthlessly killing and devouring its prey or encountering a dead and decaying body in the woods that beetles and maggots are consuming.

Then there are those times when you are not just the observer of Nature's unfolding, but an actor in the scene. I prefer to be a participant in the sacred side, but sometimes I play a role in the distressing side. Both sides are part of the complete experience. I rejoice when I can assist Nature's beautiful aspects—such as when I can assist a modest flowering tree into becoming a gorgeous, audacious, and blossoming exhibitionist or clear the saplings and competition around an oak tree and watch it proudly grow into a noble giant.

But there are those obverse troublesome occasions when I seem to interfere with Nature and transform a sacred event into one that almost becomes profane. I can excuse myself when in the past I was ignorant of Nature's plan, but it is harder to accept in recent times, when I should know better and am simply not mindful enough. I can blunder into a situation where I disturb the natural process. It is a precarious balance—wherein I am often not sure how to proceed; will I help things along or will I harmfully intrude?

Before my wife and I moved out to this corner of Nature's heaven, the local ecosystem had been rolling along naturally on its own—without the interference of humans. Nature had achieved its own balance out here, with various flora and fauna playing out their roles. It's not that our forest homestead had never experienced the meddling of man... it had been partially farmed nearly a century ago, but after the departure of humans, the ecosystem had settled into a new kind of order. It was directing its own enterprise. The wisdom of Nature was once again in charge.

Then we appeared on the scene about four decades ago. We tried to be gentle and fit into the ecosystem as best we could; causing as little disturbance as we could, but our mere presence altered the natural order. We cleared trees, dug some holes for a home, and planted a garden. But disturb Nature we did—although we attempted to keep our intrusions to a minimum. Our objective was to benefit the local ecosystem as much as possible, but that was often unattainable.

Next time: an example of an unfortunate interference...

Immortal Ants

I have written a few times about the intelligence and sophistication of ant colonies. They offer an exemplary model of what may be described as emergent cognitive qualities, in that the ant collective exhibits far greater acumen than any single ant possesses. Thus, while an individual ant is a simple critter with very little conscious capabilities, the whole colony exhibits highly developed behavior that almost seems to demonstrate an elevated level of cognizance… in fact, a kind of intelligence.

The result is that an ant colony is centered around the life of its queen, who may live for as long as 30 years. During that reign the group acts as a superorganism—an entity that exhibits capabilities far beyond any one individual’s potential, which expires only when the queen reaches the end of her existence; when the colony finally threatens to collapse.

There is one species of ant, however, that displays a kind of immortality. Their colonies do not cease when a 30-year-old queen finally dies, but find a way for a daughter ant to assume the queen's role, allowing the community to carry on.

This exceptional ant species is named the Indian Jumping Ant... and it's indigenous to India—not the Americas. For this species of ant, the queen will, at some point, actually die; but rather than have the colony collapse with Her Royal Highness, a group of “chosen” workers—all sisters—compete to assume her throne. This process begins by their ovaries expanding, while their brains shrink. A successful queen need not be at all smart, as she is reverently cared for and fed, while her main duties are to churn out eggs.

After the queen dies, half a dozen or so of the chosen sisters find their ovaries swelling to some five times their unproductive size, as their brains shrink some 20-25%. Since a brain is an energy hog, this allows more energy to be sent to egg production. Eventually one candidate queen triumphs and becomes the new queen—creating what is essentially an ongoing immortal colony.

What is even more extraordinary is that the losing queen candidates find their ovaries shrinking, as their brains once again grow.  The individual brain may be primitive, but the collective cognition emerges as very intelligent. Wouldn't it be nice if human brains—once relieved of the requirement of procreation, could expand and become wiser?

Sufi Spirituality—Part 3: Final Integration

Well into his lectures to his brethren at Gethsemani Abbey on the similarities between Cistercian and Sufi mysticism, Thomas Merton introduced the work of a professor of psychiatry at George Washington University in Washington, DC, who wrote a book that described a Sufi/psychiatric analysis of what the later stages of the path towards union with God means. The professor wrote his book in 1965: Final Integration in the Adult Personality: A Measure for Health, Social Change, and Leadership, by A. Reza Arasteh. The book is a fascinating blend of perennial Sufi teachings and modern psychiatric thought.

Arasteh describes the path of spiritual development as proceeding through three levels: (1) the instinctual level, such as when a child is in its infancy (similar to an animal), (2) cultural development, wherein one learns to align one's emotions and actions with society's expectations (if not its demands), and (3) going beyond society into union with God. The meaning of life is thus all about growth, learning, and change.

Arasteh also describes three inner conflicts that we struggle with, on this path to final integration. We must come to an understanding and acceptance of these internal conflicts, in order to hold to the path of maturation. The first of the inner conflicts concerns our struggle with death. All we have known in our younger lives is continuity, so we tend to feel our life will go on—that we should even be immortal. But we must come to see that death is built into life... it's a natural part of existence. We must accept that fact.

The second struggle or inner conflict that we must deal with is the issue of what constitutes a meaningful life. None of us wants to accept that our life has had no meaning. We want to feel that our life made a difference to someone or to society. Some of us deal with this struggle by seeking some kind of popularity or acquiring a feeling of importance, so as to feel notable. We want to be seen as creative, to be admired... these days to have thousands of Facebook “friends.” It’s just another way of seeking some kind of immortality.

The third struggle follows from the second—it is that we must come to see that, overall, society is meaningless. Although we've come to feel that our life acquires meaning by conforming to society's norms, we must at some point come to the realization that these norms are basically irrational. It is not easy to arrive at this insight, because we've often already absorbed much of society's inculcation and it's hard to admit that we've swallowed the Kool-Aid. It's hard to back out and take our next step in the journey.

Thus the path to full integration, in Arasteh's perspective, is to grow beyond both society and popular culture. This is precisely the path that monks have chosen, when they enter a monastery.

The gift of final integration is to come to understand that we do not need to strive for the bogus creativity that society desires, but seek the true creativity that comes from union with God. God is the ultimate creativity.

The challenge of going beyond society's meaninglessness is to come to realize a deeper understanding: that those of us who seek to detach from society are often still in it, to some degree—unless we fully retreat to some desert hideaway. So how do we participate in society to the degree that makes sense, without becoming a part of society? That's the perennial challenge for the contemplative. Again, monastics do it by withdrawing behind cloistered walls.

Sufi Spirituality—Part 2: Blockages

In the previous post I introduced some of Thomas Merton’s description of the basic Sufi perspectives on the spiritual path—that God is above all and in all, and how a Sufi seeks a progressive path to union with God. This post will consider some thoughts Sufis have about things that can get in the way of that spiritual work. To begin with, a Sufi must have the faith that God is love and compassion (and will lead us on), yet is also beyond our ever being able to fully understand. So the path is endless. Finally, don't get trapped by dualistic perceptions that good and bad exist as opposing forces. Take it all in... it's all sacred.

As you progress along the path and pass through and beyond the preliminary stages of spiritual development, you may well become mired down at some point, due to the feeling that you've accomplished some pretty good things. It can cause you to become a bit lazy and begin to rest on your laurels, feeling a bit smug. You may look back with pride and note the advancement you’ve made, or feel that you stand a bit higher than those around you. This can cause you to halt your progress and lose momentum.

When this happens, Sufis say that you have become blocked by one or more of three “veils” or screens that have gotten in your way and are hindering further progress, because you've allowed an inflated self-image to blind you. The three veils are becoming aware of or taking some pride in (1) your good deeds, (2) your merits, or (3) the fact that you have even come to see yourself as somewhat of a mystic. You've become derailed by a subtle kind of self-praise—even feeling the slightest hint of your ego. A little vanity has crept in.

You must seek a delicate balance when this occurs, by cultivating a degree of self-awareness, which is at the core of the examined life. (As Socrates maintained, the unexamined life is hardly worth living.) So you need a good dose of self-awareness, to guard against yourself becoming diverted by too much self-esteem. The Sufi spiritual path—like all spiritual paths—must therefore also be a humble one; one that recognizes your shortcomings as you simultaneously note and appreciate your progress. That’s the examined, balanced life.

There is yet another, more subtle but unyielding source of blockage that Sufis say we might encounter along the spiritual path. We encounter it when we come upon an obstacle that seems to be a barrier or something like a locked gate thwarting our progress. We have a tendency, when this happens, simply to seek the key that will open the lock, so we may then open the gate and continue through. Seeking the key becomes the quick answer. This approach is a common one for those who are active in society. It is the wrong approach.

In fact, when seeking a Sufi union with God, we must realize that there is no key... the lock is us! We are the barrier; we are getting in our own way. Often the blockage—the lock—is caused by our seeking ways to fit into society. In the next post I will describe how Sufis say one must go beyond society, in order to make real progress on the path.

Many times we can break that lock by not focusing on the key, because doing so can cause our conscious mind to literally seize up, and become frozen in frustration. It can help to relax, open to it all, and simply quit pushing. If we faithfully adhere to the path, the way will open—whether it be due to some insight of our unconscious mind (which is the greater part of our mind) or due to the grace of God… if we pause and allow ourselves to understand that the blockage is us! If we quit intellectualizing and trying to force our way past by obsessing on the key to the lock, we will set ourselves free, by coming to see that there actually is no lock… there is no exterior blockage.

Next time: going beyond society’s obstacles…