Finding Religion

On March 1st, after two years of wandering agnostically between faiths, I became a Buddhist.

Like many conversions, this one took place without warning and without the consent of the convert. Some people opt to do the proper research, perhaps take a class or two, and undergo a series of ceremonial initiation rites before converting to a new religion. Some religions even require such preparation before allowing converts to call themselves members. Others have less stringent screening processes. For instance, to officially join Islam, one need only declare “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is His prophet” to a fellow Muslim (if I remember correctly), although I assume most people prefer to read some of the fine print first. I have never been one to take the proper precautions. Religion has a habit of coming to me sloppily and inconveniently, like the flu, or like falling in love.

I still do not know how or why I became a Buddhist, and am well aware that I’m not an especially good one. Off the top of my head I can name, at best, three of the Four Noble Truths, and am only sure of two or three parts of the Noble Eightfold Path. I have only a vague understanding of concepts like Dharma, Dukkha, and Samsara, and am not even all that clear on how to pronounce them.

Faith is about more than memorizing doctrine, of course. Unfortunately, my conduct and lifestyle is neither moderate nor mindful, and I am far from the universally compassionate ideal when it comes to my treatment of and regard for my fellow beings. I resent those who offend me, speak and act out of anger, and perpetuate my own and others’ suffering in many other ways. In short, I am a typically unenlightened being, unlikely to escape the cycle of rebirth any time soon.

The good news is that one need not be enlightened to be a student of the enlightened one. That’s kind of the point. After all, you need not be highly educated to go to school, and even the most educated among us could still benefit from learning more. From all I have read on the subject, enlightenment is not an exclusive club, but a gift freely available to those willing to practice.

I will have more to say on this subject later.

Blogging As A Practice

Late in the night of Winter Solstice I was at a party, and the host prompted all in attendance to announce their "resolutions" for the coming baktun. Without having thought about it, I made a decision to write more often. It was something I'd wanted for a few months, and I felt that the formality of public pronouncement might lend strength to the decision.

Specifically, I resolved to write at least 400 words each day. I have not been especially loyal to that minimum. One reason for this is that initially I was trying too hard to work on fiction stories, when right now my inspiration is to write about my own life and experiences. This kind of writing isn't as comfortable to me, so it's taking some practice to feel like writing about myself counts as productivity rather than narcissistic mirror-gazing.

I've also been suffering from the usual artist's insecurity about whether anyone is really interested in reading my work, and whether it's worth doing if nobody is going to read it. The answer to this anxiety, of course, is to realize that it's worth doing for its own sake, and that art made for its own sake will generally find an appreciative audience eventually. Such art is often more deeply appreciated and loved than art made with the intention of pleasing an existing audience. It's the difference between pop music produced by corporations based on focus-grouped market research, and songs written by an individual with a guitar and a heartfelt message. It's hard to create anything truly great while worrying about it being popular.

So, in an effort to get into the habit of creating things and allowing them to float out into the universe, I'm going to start blogging on a regular basis. My goal will be at least one entry per week, without a whole lot of rules about length, content, or genre. I do not know how long I will hold myself to this pattern. I have a decent record for sustaining such practices - for instance, in my late teens I wrote at least one poem each day for over a year before deciding enough was enough. I sometimes feel that my best work is produced when I don't wait for inspiration to strike, but rather coax inspiration out of reluctance, fatigue, and tedium by working within arbitrary restrictions.

Here's to the future.

The Future

Here's a video of me performing my poem, The Future, on 1/19/2013. This was my first time reciting a poem from memory.

The video quality is terrible. Forgive me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmlJErgMSx4

In which I mythbust

This was brought up on a forum thread I was perusing, by someone who took both stories as true.

If you've paid any attention to the media lately, you've probably heard of the story of Aron Ralston, the hiker who was forced to amputate his own arm to escape from a boulder that pinned him down during a hiking accident. Before doing the grisly deed (with a pocket knife), he spent several days slowly dying of thirst in the desert, with no way to contact help. Later, he wrote a book about his adventures (Between a Rock and a Hard Place, which I highly recommend), and later was the subject of a major motion picture (which I haven't seen).

But before the book and the movie, and several months after the accident itself, this article appeared describing the eerily similar story of Mark Swinton, the "impatient hiker," who was similarly trapped after a similar fall and used a similar tactic to escape. There were a few glaring differences, though: Mark Swinton had lost his pocket knife, and instead used his keys. And rather than waiting almost a week before resorting to such desperate measures, Swinton only waited ten minutes.

So, which is more likely? That two hikers, within months of each other, suffered nearly-identical accidents and resorted to the same desperate, unbelievably gutsy move to survive, and that one simply went on to be famous while the other ended up the subject of a measley two Google hits? Or that a writer with an eye for the bizarre heard Ralston's story, added a few humorous and exaggerated details, made up a new name and location, and, depending on the relative obscurity of the pre-famous Ralston to protect himself, presented it as true?

Actually, neither, it seems. The source of the Swinton story is The Brushback, a site whose other news stories have headlines like "Indiana Governor Turns Wife Over To Connecticut Governor After Losing March Madness Bet" and "Jets Win After Bengals Forget Helmets". I'd guess The Brushback is basically the sports page's equivalent to The Onion.

In which I pretend to be a food blogger

Today's experimental recipe is an improvised Italian eggplant casserole... thingy. We chopped an eggplant into slices about 1/2 inch thick, then salted it and set aside while combining ricotta cheese with a generous handful of basil and lemon balm (both home-grown) and a few cloves of garlic. Then we coated the bottom of a glass pan with tomato sauce and sliced fresh tomatoes, and layered half the eggplant slices over that, followed by the ricotta mixture, more fresh tomato, and another layer of eggplant slices. More tomato sauce was spread on top, and then a generous sprinkling of parmesan and romano cheese. This concoction is now baking in the oven at 350 degrees; soon we'll find out what it tastes like.

The Definition

“The definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” I’ve heard a lot of people say that, and it annoys me to no end. The same definition has also frequently been ascribed to the word “insanity.” But it’s really the definition of neither. Stupidity is defined as low intelligence, which is approximated with the Intelligence Quotient, or IQ; someone with an IQ significantly lower than 100, or average, might be crudely called “stupid” (although other terms are considered more polite). Insanity is an outdated term for mental illness; the field of psychology discarded it years ago, and now it’s considered more proper to name the specific type of mental illness. Neither condition has ever been measured by asking the subject whether they expect a different result when repeating the same action.

But this is pedantic; most people fond of using the above “definition” will acknowledge that the behavior it describes can be thought of as stupid or insane, whether it defines these conditions or not. Perhaps, but consider the opposite behavior: doing the same thing over and over and expecting the same result. If expecting a different result is stupid and insane, then is expecting the same result smart and sane?

Think of this example, taken from an old fable: a farmer was taking a break from plowing his field, and happened to be looking at a tree stump nearby. Suddenly, a rabbit bounded out of the brush headlong into the stump, breaking its neck and dying instantly. The farmer enjoyed rabbit stew that day, marveling at how little he had to work for it, and resolved to spend his days staring at that stump, getting easy meals by watching animals kill themselves running into it. As a result, his fields never got plowed, he never planted or harvested his crops, and he soon starved to death - all because he expected the same result (free food) from the same action (watching the stump).

Now, granted, this is a very exaggerated story; nobody is that crazy. But all cautionary tales are exaggerated. They frame a common behavior in rediculous circumstances to highlight the foolishness of the behavior. People accept Red Riding Hood as a warning against trusting strangers, even though an unscrupulous stranger is more likely to cheat you than eat you. And the hapless farmer here isn’t that different from an athlete that always wears the same underwear he wore when he made his first win, or my friend who thinks adoption is a bad idea because he knew an adopted kid who was horrifically maladjusted.

In truth, both behaviors are extreme aversions of the more moderate, sensible option: waiting for sufficient information before drawing a conclusion. As every scientist knows, an experiment must be repeated many times before a reliable conclusion can be drawn. According to the stats class I failed in college, the magic number is thirty: you need at least thirty data points to get an accurate statistical analysis. So, the common phrase shouldn’t be “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all” but rather, “if you’ve seen thirty, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

Of course, this cautious approach can be taken too far as well. Consider a woman who keeps an abusive boyfriend around after being beaten several times (but not quite thirty), because he could change. While it may be possible for a brutal person to change, most sensible people would agree that the woman would be much better off ditching him.

So, what is correct? How many examples must one see before it is safe to conclude all future examples will be similar? It’s hard to answer this question because to do so, one must already know the answer. Each situation I’ve described in this entry is an example of a person either reaching a conclusion without enough evidence, or not reaching an obvious conclusion despite plenty of evidence. How many such examples do we need before we can reach a conclusion regarding how and when it is appropriate to reach a conclusion? Until we get a definitive answer, it’s probably best to take each situation as unique, and middle through our decisions as well as we can. Most likely, the correct answer depends on several specific factors. For instance, what are the stakes involved? In the case of the abused girlfriend, the cost of staying with an abuser far outweighs the cost of rejecting a reformed one, so it’s best to quickly conclude that things aren’t going to change. Also, is there a logical reason to connect the action to the result? In the case of the superstitious athlete, there is no logical reason to believe his performance depends on what underwear he has on, and he should probably reserve judgment until he’s had overwhelming proof. There are probably many factors which should help deptermine what conclusions you should reach and when and how.

That said, I feel the need to point out that my definition of stupidity is “repeating clever-sounding fake definitions without stopping to check a dictionary.” But that’s just my personal opinion.

A Christmas Contradiction

This thing has been bothering me for a couple of weeks now, and I thought it might be the right time to share my observation with the world.

Compare two of the most famous Christmas films of all time: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (specifically the half-hour animated show, not the newfangled live-action Jim Carrey nonsense), and Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer (the stop-motion animation extravaganza).

First, let's review the plot of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The Grinch, a mean-spirited guy who lives in a cave to avoid all contact with happy people, decides that he hates Christmas so much that he wants to steal it. So he goes all cat-burglar on Whoville, taking away all the Christmas trappings: the presents, the stockings, the decorations, even the tree and the food for the Christmas dinner. Then, smug and satisfied that the Whos are totally lacking all things Christmas and looking forward to hearing their cries of dismay, the Grinch looks down on Whoville only to see that all the Whos have gathered in a circle and are singing. They found a way to celebrate Christmas that didn't involve material goods. So instead of concluding that next year he should improve his plan to include surgical removal of all the Whos' larynges, he has an epiphany regarding the true meaning of Christmas and decides to give everything back, even participate in the festivities.

In all, it's a great story about how although the festive trappings and doodads and baubles may make Christmas extra fun, they are not the be-all-end-all, and that Christmas is more of an ineffable, intangible, dare I say spiritual thing unaffected by such mundane setbacks as stolen hams.

Now, let's take a look at Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. We needn't summarize the whole story, just one scene. On Christmas Eve, Santa notices that it's too foggy to safely steer his sleigh through the sky to deliver presents, and it isn't showing signs of letting up. So what does he do? He announces that he will have to "cancel Christmas." Not just "cancel the toy-delivery", but Christmas itself. Santa Claus, the ultimate Christmas icon second only to Baby Jesus, often thought of as the personification of Christmas Spirit, doesn't think that Christmas can happen without toys. Not only that, he's thwarted by a simple fog. It didn't even occur to him to bring a lantern or two. How fragile Christmas must be, and how temporal, if this is to be believed.

So what do you believe? Do you believe that Christmas is about presents and decorations and feasting, or is it about something more intangible - and therefore more enduring than the ham that will soon be digested away and the toys you'll probably have gotten bored of by New Year's? If your Christmas encounters some setback - say the feast gets burnt, your presents get lost in the mail, your relatives are fighting, the store runs out of the toy your kids desperately need in their stockings - do you give up, canceling Christmas in your heart by letting frustration and stress overtake you, or do you let joy prevail, and find a Christmas spirit that cannot be stolen?

You may find that if your Christmas doesn't depend on the material trappings, then neither will it depend on the calendar date - that, too, is ephemeral. You may find that joy follows you throughout the year, lifting you up during the darkest times in your life.

Merry Christmas everyone, and a happy New Year.