We have trouble accepting what we don’t know. For me, I had trouble accepting the concept of ahimsa. I enjoy my life and its occasional conflicts and for me to fathom a life without these ordinary trials was difficult. However, my friend reminded me that if that was the norm, would I be more accepting of the idea? The more I think about it, the more I think that I would embrace this idea. We love what we know and what is familiar to us. I suppose that’s what makes diversity something that people strive for when forming communities—whether it’s a club, college, certain learning program, or area of town. Diversity means different people. But when I say different, I do not mean different backgrounds or ethnicities (although this can be one way of exemplifying diversity). I find myself thinking about the people themselves. Different ideas and mind-sets. Having a variety of thought processes and desires is what diversity means to me. So when diversity becomes the norm, it will be much easier for us to deal with. But diversity, for us, is much easier to deal with than for Alice. Alice says, “’the face is what one goes by, generally’” (219), but she definitely cannot do this in Wonderland. However, Alice must deal with much more than differing viewpoints. She must deal with the fact that she must accept what she originally believed to be impossible: that is, animals talking to her and telling her things that are hard to understand. As if it isn’t too much to cope with that the animals are talking, much of what they say comes to her as nonsense. But what becomes the norm, becomes what we accept and even strive for. As the Unicorn says “’if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you” (229). I can relate to having to be sensitive to the feelings of others, especially when I haven’t been around certain types of people much. For example, at my high school, I basically hung out with the same people all the time and I’ll admit we were all pretty liberal and pretty snobby toward conservative ideas. Thus, slights and insults come out pretty naturally against those types of ideas. And now that I’m here, I hang out with so many different groups and have to be much more sensitive and considerate of other people’s ideas. I have to remember that it can be offensive to people in the group to say nasty things so easily. This is much like Alice’s experience with the dormouse. She has never had to deal with the feelings of a dormouse, so she says things that would not normally offend people, but that have “really offended it” (27). She keeps going on about how wonderful dogs and cats are, but to a dormouse those are just potential predators. I can relate this to how I might talk about how annoying and horrible I find Sarah Palin around a person who truly admires her. While this has been difficult, it has certainly been a good experience. I enjoy learning hearing different opinions and strive to fight against what Humpty Dumpty says to Alice: that “you’re so exactly like other people” (219).
One major goal that I think parallels perfectly with Siddhartha is “how to listen” (Course website). Can a person really be taught how to listen though? In class, we have these listening exercises and practices, but I’m not sure they do any good. You have to want to listen to something to truly take it in. I think that’s what Siddhartha does. As Siddhartha travels along his path to enlightenment, he realizes what he needs to be listening to. The river. To him, it embodies all of humanity. It “sang with a voice of suffering” (Hesse 125) and Siddhartha heard “the flow of events and the music of life” (Hesse 126). To me, you have to be looking out for something in particular to be able to listen. Siddhartha was looking for the meaning of life and was on a sure path to find peace and enlightenment. Because of this steady path, he knew what to listen for. So maybe that’s what we’re going here. Trying to find what to listen for.
Like Siddhartha we “endeavored to listen better” in this class and I’m sure we will continue to do so for the next three and a half years (Hesse 125).And when I say we’re looking for what to listen for, I mean (like Siddhartha), we are on our path to finding what we want in the world. We are, in a sense, looking for what to look for. And when we stop and try to listen, we do it better and better. When I’m especially interested, I also find myself listening (and understanding) better. For example, in our lecture for Perspectives last week, I was very interested in what Dr. Starbird had to say about no more wars and thus listened very carefully and attentively to his discussion. However, in Biology today, I found myself rather indifferent to our discussion and thus retained very little of the lecture. Like I said, you have to want to listen.
Through meditation, I have found that listening can unify my thoughts as well, something else we are trying to accomplish here at UT. Going along with the river and Siddhartha’s idea of unity, we are also striving for “unity, of the self, of the self and others, of the self and nature…” (Course website). Siddhartha finds a perfect unity in the river: “everything was intertwined and connected, entangled together a thousand times over” (Hesse 126). We, as students, also strive for unity. We are working to make sense of the world and how to make connections. I have especially learned that in regards to nature this year. I have never felt so in tune with the physical outside world as I do now and I really think that I have this class (and the book Siddhartha) to thank for that. There is a peace that I feel when I’m relaxing outside that has never quite been there before. At first, Siddhartha had a very fragmented picture of the world. He was dissatisfied with what he lived with and also how others lived. Through the river, he managed to find peace and enlightenment, something that we are also striving toward. While I do not necessarily believe that I will find enlightenment, I think our goal of living “in fragments no longer” (Course website) can be represented by Siddhartha’s desire to find enlightenment.
Embracing our differences, but also our sense of being together.
I think also as we move through this course, regardless of all our differences and arguments, we will find that our “voices belonged together” (Hesse 126). They probably have in the past as well. Everything just meshes well and goes along “the current of life” (Hesse 127). So unity with each other is something we are slowly but sure accomplishing through this course.
What does it mean that Siddhartha’s life is a unity? If unity is that he experienced everything necessary to truly understand life, I’m not sure it was truly unified. But if it means that the course of his life all had connections and purposes, perhaps so. For example, coming back to the ferryman because of a previous connection. And how he keeps running into Govinda, when Kamala returns to him because of his son—his son runs away, so he returns to the garden.So in that respect, Siddhartha’s path is very unified and each step has its purpose.
Stepping stones.
So, if we define a unified life as a life that follows a path of interconnected actions and events, then I would say my life, and Siddhartha’s, is very unified so far. I grew up with my parents, traveled in the summers, went to school, and am now enrolled in college. I’m planning on studying abroad, going to graduate school, and getting a job eventually. And maybe the two ideas of a unified life are connected. By experiencing this path (the same path that many others follow), I am understanding the average life that many others strive for. However, the difference between Siddhartha and I is that I do not think I could achieve enlightenment just following this simple path. So, while my life is unified, I’m not sure it is in the same sense that his was. Siddhartha’s journey is different because he had something in mind as he went along: he was dissatisfied with the world and also knew he wanted to achieve this greater sense of wisdom and understanding. I find myself wanting to achieve similar things, but maybe at a smaller scale. I have more realistic goals and values, and that is okay with me. I am not entirely dissatisfied with the world—I see room for improvement, but I understand that I am a part of this world and I can work to improve it instead of setting myself apart.
In my opinion, the novel didn’t really hang together to me. His experiences seemed kind of random and I’m not sure I understand just how he achieved enlightenment through these things. His experiences with what we might call a “normal life” was certainly spot on, but his grasp at love seemed a little less than what I would have liked for him to experience. Siddhartha said earlier in the book that “people of our kind can’t love,” but then he proceeds to foolishly love his spoiled son (70).
Spoiled brat, gr.
He “lost himself to a love and became a fool because of love” (114). I, for one, truly understand how he could call this the “strongest and strangest of all passions” because I don’t understand how, if he was incapable of love before, he could all of the sudden love this little boy so much, especially when this little boy treated him so rudely and with so much contempt (114). For me, love is something that comes on gradually and is learned in a sense. I guess I really can’t understand because I don’t have children, but the love of this boy seemed silly for a person who is described earlier as not being able to love. But I guess in a way it completed his life cycle on the path to enlightenment. He experienced that love that hits you before you even know what happened. He couldn’t control it or fight it and became a slave to it. In a way, this completed his understanding of human beings and I suppose this was how he could finally truly listen to the river.
However, the conclusion of the novel was beautiful to me. When he described the river as “the flow of events and the music of life,” I could relate to that a thousand times over (126). On Sunday, I had almost the same feeling about the wind. Of course, I wasn’t anywhere close to enlightenment or anything, but it held the same kind of beauty. It brings so many things together and travels all over. It can be bitter and angry or soft and beautiful. It pushes and pulls just the right amount and the sound of the wind whipping through your ears is something unique and cannot be replicated. I sat outside yesterday finishing the book and afterwards I simply sat, closed my eyes, and let the wind tickle my face. It was in this moment that I could picture Siddhartha’s smile.
Buddha's smile.
This video (to me) totally goes with the feelings Siddhartha had about the river.
For a long time now, I have recognized in myself a certain aspect of my personality: that is, I crave the presence of other people in my life. Sure, I need my alone time as do most people, but I think my alone time is considerably lower than most others. I like to be around people, constantly interacting with them, sharing my thoughts and feelings. I like to share things I enjoy, a funny joke, a happy story, a triumph. But I also need other people—I share with them my hopes, fears, sadness. I’m not sure if this is some personality flaw that I have in which I’m unable to deal with things on my own or if it is me trying to connect myself to others and this is the means by which I do it. Whatever the reason, I need people and I think through these interactions I am bringing myself closer to them. For example, as I write this DB, I find myself very thankful that I am down here in the Andrews lobby with Reuben and Lauren rather than sitting in my quiet and darkened room. Sure, I didn’t accomplish as much as I would have hoped tonight and lost sleep over it, but I find myself content. And thus, while I appreciate the isolation that Siddhartha puts himself in, I do not think I could accomplish the goals of my pilgrimage that way. I do not seek the path to enlightenment. I think we all seek our own happiness above all other things. And my happiness depends greatly on the presence of the people I love. So, I guess my question is: Is Siddhartha searching for enlightenment or his own happiness? Does his happiness depend on becoming enlightened? I guess it everyone’s choice what they seek in life, but when it comes down to it, I think most people would answer happiness. Siddhartha is a special individual who can put something else before that and while I commend him for it, I also recognize that through his means, I could not accomplish the goals of my pilgrimage. I must being playing the game the Siddhartha sees everyone playing, “a game for children,” in which I am happy to repeat over and over (79).
However, I found it very easy to relate to seeing the world in a different way. I have found myself in a situation a couple times in my life in which “the sun shone differently upon the head, the shade of the forest cooled [me] differently, the stream and the cistern were different…” (Hesse 46). Over the summer, I climbed a 14,000-foot mountain (nicknamed 14ers). Upon reaching the top, all we could see for miles in every direction were mountains upon mountains. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. And up there so high after working so hard to get there, everything seemed different, but also perfect. The wind felt different, the colors seemed different, and the heat of the sun warmed me in such a way that I’ve never felt anywhere else. And although I was with other people, I think this was one of those moments of isolation that Siddhartha learned from. I was realizing some things on my own and reflecting inwardly more than just chatting it up on top of the mountain. And I think because these thoughts were kept to myself, I learned much more. People are embarrassed to share some things with others so they repress certain thoughts and ideas that they would normally have reflected on. While I sat on top of that mountain and just thought about nature and life, I’m sure that I would’ve kept most of my thoughts to myself even if I had wanted to talk with the others. Thus, I just let everything flow freely and I am glad because I saw so many new things that way. I think I can truly relate to this feeling inside Siddhartha: “light and shadow ran through his eyes, and the stars and moon ran through his heart” (46).
Also, in relation to unity, I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with Siddhartha in that nature has such a capacity to bring people together. On our excursion on Sunday, I was sitting calmly in one of the trees, writing about what I saw and felt with nature (which was a lot, let me tell you), a man and his son approached me and began talking to me. I talked with them for a while and got to know them. Afterward I think I can safely saw that I had the same smile that Siddhartha had when he was “happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman” (49). Nature is unity and if we truly take the time to sit and appreciate it I think most of us could realize it’s capacity for love and bringing people together. Its very existence allows people to interact and enjoy each others’ company, which I fully appreciated and understood on Sunday.
I have to say, I had to agree with the limitations to the practice of ahimsa. Of course it’s “impossible” (238) and I don’t mean to be offensive, but it seems almost silly to strive for this state of “perfected souls” (235). I have actually found that our world, while sometimes a seemingly cruel and selfish place, is an interesting and fulfilling world to live in.
Ahimsa says that we “should put up with insults, rebukes, criticisms, and assaults [and] never retaliate” (236). However, I have found that arguments and conflict shape the world we live in. It is within the dynamics of a human being and also the relationships we form with others. Conflict is how we can reach solutions and learn to accept one another for their faults. And I definitely know that I have heard more than once that perfection can grow irritating. A world in harmony does seem ideal. However, I really don’t think that’s what we want. No one knows what a world would be like in perfect harmony because that hasn’t ever happened, so why do we think that it would be so wonderful if it actually happened?
I feel like if a person tried to practice ahimsa, they would grow more and more frustrated until finally they would lose patience entirely and act in a completely irrational manner. For example, I had a huge fight with my mother over the winter break. In addition to learning about her insecurity about my relationship with my dad, I also learned some other important aspects of our relationship. She and my dad are divorced, so I came to realize some new things about how she feels and reacts to my dad. I realized that I had to be sensitive when talking about spending time with him as well as her. I also learned the rewards of making up with someone you love. I spent about two months not speaking to her (and vice versa) and then when I saw her again, she apologized and we are on normal terms again. These sorts of things strengthen relationships between people and I’ve realized that if I were to practice ahimsa, I could not have these sorts of fights. My mother and I could not say hurtful (yet true) things to each other and fight. We couldn’t ignore each other (because that would be contradicting ahimsa) and thus I would never realize how much I missed talking to her and being able to share things with her.
My mom and I
Although conflict is what shapes and defines the world we live in, we cherish the actions of those that are kind and sympathetic. Jude could not “bear to hurt anything” (228). It would be nice if “our very survival” did not have to “involve[] violence of one kind of another” and we should strive to be kind to others (247). But differences should be embraced and discussed. If I don’t necessarily agree with something that someone believes in, I can have a talk about why I don’t agree with them. While I embrace the idea of ahimsa and doing good things for the world, I can’t quite agree with the entire concept. Say mean things, think mean things, because at the end of the day we (as human beings) can learn to forgive each other and move forward as a race.
But my friend brought up an interesting concept. He said that maybe the perfection of an idea like ahimsa scares us because we never experience anything like that. It’s out of the norm and thus we shun what’s unfamiliar. So, should we continue to strive for this absolute perfection or merely accept our society’s faults and move forward? I find myself content to work for a state that maybe falls short of ahimsa. I would like people to treat each other well, but I have to admit that I enjoy a good argument and conflicts once in a while.
A compassionate Bible. When I think of religion, I like to associate compassion and love with it. However, throughout history, religion itself has been a source of violence, argument, doubt, and conflict.
The Crusades
Why should something that it supposed to instill compassion in people, create so many problems. We may not all have the same values, but surely at the core of all religions (and those who do not even practice a religion) there is one main idea: that we should love each other and treat each other with compassion.
However, Jesus was hardly brought into the most compassionate environment. From the night of his birth, the world proved to him that it was in need of more compassion. His mother was denied a spot in an inn and forced to give birth in a stable and Jesus himself was “lying in a manger” instead of a bed the night he was born (Course Anthology 128). However, it seems that this could be a source of the meaning of his birth. Jesus came to this world of greed and hate to send a message: “Love one another, as I have loved you” (132). I also particularly appreciated the lesson that the lawyer learned about “who is my neighbor?” (130).In the lesson, it is quite evident who the “neighbor” is. But I got more out of it; I enjoyed reading about the man’s compassion for a complete stranger and found myself wishing that the world could be as compassionate as this story implies it used to be. However, it seems that our society is marked more by the initial part of the story: the part in which the man is robbed and left to suffer. Why should it be, though, that the Bible is the only thing teaching us compassion? It seems like the lessons in it don’t have to be about God, and are often not if you look at it in a certain way.
The lesson from Luke 10
Many people in the Bible act in a certain way to ensure their spot in heaven someday. What if we just acted out of kindness for the sake of being compassionate? I find myself helping others not because I want to go to heaven someday, but because it is rewarding and gratifying to help others and see the effects of your kindness. I like to help people for two reasons: one, that it is hopefully bringing happiness to the person I am helping and two, that it makes me feel good to do this. So, do we live in a selfish world because I help people for the feeling it gives me as well as for them? I have to be honest with myself: as I read the bit about lending and “hoping for nothing again” (129). Is that possible in our world? It seems like most actions whether compassionate or not benefit the person doing the action. Most people cannot go about their daily lives in a selfless manner. Why do we go to school? To get a good education, prepare ourselves for a job in the future, so that we can support ourselves and live on our own. It doesn’t seem like we go to school to learn how to help others, that’s just something we do on the side—things like community service. And do people even do community service anymore merely for the sake of helping people? I specifically remember something in one of the clubs I was a member of in high school saying “if nothing else, it looks good on your resume.”
Why do we do community service?
However, I don’t want to be a total raincloud on this situation. I think that helping people, whether it’s totally selfless or has benefits for you as well, is something to be valued. I appreciate the lessons taught in the Bible as life lessons, not necessarily lessons in religion. It is interesting to find messages the Bible sends that dictate our actions, even those who are not religious. For example, many vegetarians give up meat because of the poor treatment of animals. Stephen Webb seemed to find in the Bible the very message that these people are trying to convey: that the “abolition of all suffering is confidently hoped for and expected” (135). Also, we do indeed find it hard to “recognize and confront…the suffering of Jesus…[and] animal pain” (137). I’ve talked to many people about the documentary “Earthlings” that tell me straight off “oh, I could never watching something like that.” This is because people are unwilling to accept the pain that they are causing others. To recognize that pain would be inconvenient and perhaps even painful to those people.
There are so many parallels between the morals the Bible teaches to those of our society. You don’t have to believe in the Bible to recognize the value of its lessons. I have actually never read the Bible, and I was surprised at how similar the Bible is to what I believe in concerning my actions to other people and my idea about compassion. So, while the Bible intimidates me a little when it talks of God’s wrath and the anger he/she can have at a sinner, I like the lessons it teaches concerning kindness and compassion.
As I considered our point of view toward nature (about 30 minute ago when I started the reading assignment), I thought back to our perspectives class that evening. There had been strong opinions on the future of sustainability and the environment. The professors were all discussing how we (the students) are the people in the present now and we are the ones who have to be discovering new innovative ways to inspire the public to care about the environment. I felt so excited as I listened, thinking about things I could do to motivate others and movements (or even organizations) I could start. However, my balloon of excitement was punctured slightly as I read the selections from the Course Anthology. To find out that some religions believe that man should have dominion over nature was a strange thing for me to think about. I’m not sure what I’ve believed all my life (maybe I have believed some form of “we should be part of the hierarchy above nature” all along), but lately I’ve been changing so much and having new thoughts about the relationship of people with nature. Maybe it’s the nice weather, maybe it’s being around different people, but I’ve been becoming more and more interested in nature as something that is a part of life, but not a part of life that we rule over. I consider it more as something that we, as humans, are connected with.
I know this may sound silly, because every other soul-searching college student probably goes through this, but lately I’ve been really questioning what religion I should follow, if I should follow one at all. I’ve been wondering what exactly I believe in. I’ve already talked about an idea of a divine being out there, and my uncertainty as to who or what this being is, but in regards to nature, I’ve said very little. I like the idea of Confucianism, “the most life-affirming in the spectrum of world religions” (Anthology 29). I like the idea of being “in harmony with nature” and truly connecting with it (Anthology 29).A nature in which “the earth, untilled, pour[s] freely forth her childish gifts” and “waving corn-crops shall to golden grow” (Anthology 124). A nature in which “justice returns” (Anthology 123).
I noticed that in class when we meditate, I tended to relax and concentrate on emptying my mind better outside. In the classroom, I found myself getting drowsy or else my thoughts would keep reeling around my head and coming back whenever I tried to get them to go away. Outside, however, I felt more relaxed and at ease. I could almost connect my thoughts to a breeze that moved through our group. I let the wind carry them away and felt so in tune with nature, yet also completely free and able to let go as well.
Going along with what I believe, I found God’s vengeance in “the Jerusalem Bible” a little disturbing. He told Eve “I will multiply your pains in childbearing,” among other things for eating the forbidden fruit. I’ve always imagined God as more forgiving than I’ve found lately (probably because I never actually read the Bible). I like to imagine that he or she is compassionate and loving, not so intent on punishing.
Sullivan’s discussion in “Jainism and Ecology” really struck a chord in me that I’ve contemplated before. He said that people have a “sense of loss or nostalgia for earlier, seemingly less complicated eras when the constant questioning of religious beliefs and practice was not so apparent” (Anthology 28). I feel like our society is constantly coping with issues related to differing religions. Can religion be taught in school, should our nation observe religious holidays, should churches have to pay property taxes? All these things are issues that are extremely prevalent in political discussions now whereas before, were they really such a problem? Did they used to have big discussions about religion in class like we do now? I remember in my senior year of high school, we had big arguments about religious views and it was a very passionate subject. I have some kind of vision of how things used to be (which is probably more idealistic than it actually was because I wasn’t actually there), but in that vision, religion seemed much less of a problem in the past.
