The Naked Monk

Archive for the ‘Current Events’ Category

Listening to the radio news the other night, I heard for the first time about Jacques Delisle, a Former Quebec Appeal Court justice charged in a Quebec courtroom this week with first-degree murder in the death of his wife.

My first reaction was a sigh. This comes in the same week that a commission of inquiry examines allegations of partisan interference in the selection of Quebec judges. Over the years I’ve heard personal anecdotal stories of judges that I can’t repeat because they’d be libelous, but which I tend to believe. There’s something comforting in the thought that the powerful are probably more corrupt than the rest of us; perhaps it justifies our powerlessness.

Delisle was called to the bar in 1958, named a Superior Court judge in 1983, and promoted to the Quebec Court of Appeal in 1992. He also faces a charge of possessing an illegal firearm.

His wife Marie-Nicole Rainville’s death was originally classified as a suicide, but police reversed the finding following a lengthy investigation into the death of the 71-year-old woman. Details are covered by a publication ban.

The more I listened, the more I sickened to think that someone like this had held judicial power over hundreds of people and participated in the formation of public policy. The feeling merged with my general distrust of public figures, known instances of betrayal by public officials and a growing sense of cynicism about our society, a realisation of powerlessness and, above all, a feeling of us and them.

As the announcer wound down his long report about the caution of the police and courts in pursuit of this arrest, I was filled with disgust. Almost as an afterthought, he closed his report with the statement that “Delisle’s wife had been seriously ill for some time.”

My judgements came tumbling down around my ears. Suddenly there was no more ‘us and them;’ I was in this man’s shoes, respecting the possibility that he might have done the unthinkable to end her suffering. My wife Caroline has made it clear in no uncertain terms that should her MS ever bring her to a state of total disability, she wouldn’t want to be kept hanging on. Of course, I respect her wishes. Given a legitimate choice I’d perhaps make the right decision. But what if I weren’t given that choice, and was left to watch her suffer without respite? Would my commitment to those wishes override all other considerations?

If this story actually turns out to be one of compassion, and not of conjugal violence as I’d cynically assumed, Judge Delisle may lose his liberty—and gain my respect.

We talk of ‘the media’ as if it’s an entity in its own right, but in the end it’s just people under pressure putting stories together. Even when those stories are factually accurate, they still have to pass through the filter of our prejudices and emotional needs before they settle in our consciousness. Unfortunately, we’re not answerable to anyone for our judgements until we express them. More often than not they’re half-baked, flimsy and based on habitual thinking; if we do express them it’s usually to enable the cynicism of others and believe ourselves smugly right because they agree. It’s comforting to know that we’re not alone in our prejudices. Is this how our society has grown so cynical?

In this instance the facts jarred sufficiently for me to question myself, but how often is that not the case? How often do I just jump to convenient conclusions? If I can’t blame things on the powers that be, I can always shift the blame to ‘the media’ for the way they presented ‘the facts.’ Either way I remain, in my own eyes, as pure as the driven snow.

This realisation isn’t very flattering. It reminds me of how much rubbish goes through my head under the pretext of common sense. The price of integrity is the abandonment of beliefs that we hold simply because they’re comfortably familiar. Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies; how often are we willing to admit that?

As someone who was raised as a Catholic — and as a former celibate, albeit Buddhist — I can’t help but follow the scandal that’s finally breaking over the Catholic Church. Long, long overdue, it’s the stuff of nightmares — the worldwide sexual abuse of children for decades, probably centuries, and the instinct of most church officials to deny its sins and leave victims to rot in their own misery. It goes against just about everything the Church is supposed to stand for, and has horrified Catholics and non-Catholics alike. After decades of successfully dodging widespread publicity, the Vatican now faces a broad-based, tangible protest — actually, blood-lust is more like it. No surprise there. Will the church survive? Will it learn? I’d bet on the first, not the second. I said as much on Huffington Post, and drew the ire of Catholic bashers, as if I were a sympathizer!

All in all, I was fortunate. Although I was terrorized by my Catholic teachers as a boy, the abuse foisted on me was only physical and emotional, not sexual. Years of therapy and mindful reflection have taught me to disbelieve the disparaging inner voice of my teachers, and to wrestle it aside whenever it shows its ugly face, but it still shows up. I’ve worked hard and can win the battles, but the war goes on.

Now, do the math: if thousands of children were sexually abused, then how many were simply abused like me? I’d guess millions, most still carrying their demons around and passing down the same old ‘discipline’ on their children. It becomes instinctive.

Mine is just one story, not unusual. Children are society’s most natural scapegoats — weak, defenceless, silent, and respected by only a minority of parents. Most of us are in need of psychotherapy just as much as of dentistry and daily hygiene, but people still look at those in therapy and wonder, ‘What’s wrong with them?’

Nothing’s wrong — at least, no more than usual. It’s just life in an imperfect world.

Many blame the sins of the pedophile priests on a mix of homosexuality and celibacy, but to equate pedophilia with homosexuality is reactionary, and mistaken. The celibacy connection is another thing altogether. Forcing celibacy on those with healthy hormones — and telling them that they’re becoming ‘pure’ because of it — is a recipe for deceit, perversity and disaster. On the other hand, there are those who handle it well, even thrive off it — it seems to be a matter of personal temperament. I was avowedly celibate for eight years with great enthusiasm, hoping it would wean me off urges that had only brought me pain and heartache. That didn’t work, and I returned to a normal lifestyle, to face the music and eventually discover unexpected joy. Other people, like Wilfred Thesiger the great English explorer and writer, professed to simply prefer that way of life. There was no social pressure on him to be a confirmed bachelor; he simply was one.

Likewise, many priests are successfully celibate. Still, those who are not are apparently not a tiny minority, as the church insists. The history of the Catholic Church is one of breathtaking hypocrisy, featuring among other things dozens of pope’s mistresses, even wives. Wisely, the Eastern Orthodox Church offers priesthood with or without celibacy.

Why is the Catholic Church stuck on it? Because it’s considered holy.

I found the same attitude in Tibetan monasticism, where celibacy is the norm and homosexuality, of course, exists too. I never heard of any cases of pedophilia, but that’s presumably because the Tibetan establishment bears the same unwritten code of silence as the Catholics, and is not exposed to the same sort of scrutiny. Bad things that happen in monasteries are hushed up for two stubborn reasons: so as to not a) besmirch the monks, and b) weaken the faith of the laity. Within the confines of the ‘holy’ life, such logic is the automatic reaction. Also, in the ritualistic world of Tibetan Tantrism, ‘preserving one’s seed’ is considered a meditative accomplishment, a source of vigour and prerequisite for serious practice.

I never experienced, understood or believed that, and have never been sympathetic to it. I went to church every Sunday as a child, and heard the weekly announcement of ‘couple counseling’ provided by the parish priest — a man with supposedly no experience of sex, personal intimacy or parenting. I thought that preposterous; to their credit, many of my parents’ Catholic friends were of the same opinion, though they kept it discretely to themselves.

As I studied the life and times of the Buddha, it seems to me that he demanded celibacy from his monks for entirely practical reasons — firstly, he built communities that were dependant on local lay people for food and shelter, and needed his monks to not look as if they were having a fun and pleasant life on the backs of their benefactors. Secondly, a life of withdrawal was the antithesis to the ‘householder’ life, i.e. one with family responsibilities. In the days when sexual intercourse led almost inevitably to pregnancy, dependants and the need for a livelihood, you could either withdraw into meditative retreat or accept the everyday responsibilities of a parent, spouse and provider — the two were mutually exclusive. Makes sense to me, but what does it have to do with ‘purity?’

I’ve come to think of purity as an affectation, a notion I associate mostly with religious and racial bigots, a pretense and an untruth especially when it comes to sex. It’s true that sexuality can be a source of dissipation and confusion, but it’s also the source of the greatest intimacy most people experience. In good hands, it’s a foundation of mature, fruitful relationships — far more compatible with the reflective lifestyle than is the pointless attempt to deny one’s natural urges. It’s simply enriching — though not necessarily so. That takes a suitable match, real honesty and hard work.

There’s nothing revolutionary in this. Many religious traditions, like the Orthodox Christians, embrace sexuality. Some, like Judaism, largely reject celibacy. Now that makes sense. Except for a small few, celibacy is unnatural. Even when it is suitable for a particular individual, I can’t for the life of me see how it suggests any sort of saintliness or spiritual advantage; it’s just a preference. Even the Catholic Church calls marriage a sacrament, though most clergy obviously consider it a a lesser one than priestly ordination. Perhaps in the fallout of this scandal the Vatican powers will at last reconsider their old prejudices. As rigid and intolerant as the Catholic Church has been over the ages, when it really has to adapt, it does. It’s a survivor.

Ajmal Kasab was sentenced to death on May 6th for his part in the November 2008 terror attack on the Chhatrapati Shivaji (formerly Victoria) Terminus railway station in Mumbai. Terror’s the right word: he cold-bloodedly shot, maimed and killed people even as they lay around him screaming; survivors are emotionally scarred for life. Some people don’t like the sentence; they wish it were harsher.

What he did was heartless, and yet upon hearing his fate, probably to be delayed by years or decades, he appeared to sob uncontrollably. “He should have thought of that,” said one commentator.

Why not be heartless? Kasab was.

I understand this response even as I’m repulsed by it. My first thought for Kasab was, “What did he expect?” Presumably, to die dramatically during the attack and be instantly transported to paradise. He may be a dangerous, premeditated mass murderer, but he’s also a fool. My second thought was wondering whether, had I been raised in the same circumstances, I too might have fallen for the same sort of twisted pseudo-religion. Do I have monster potential? I sorely remember how naive and gullible I was at the age of twenty-two.

Those who are haunted by the question of capital punishment wonder, if we’re heartless to the heartless, what that makes us. Those who favor the death penalty see compassion as a weakness — as did Kasab. Selecting those who deserve it assumes moral superiority and the right to judge persons, not just what they do. I have a problem with that. It’s condescending to those who are deemed worthy of compassion and, worse, it undermines the whole point of compassion — a word that means ‘suffering together.’ Kasab was presumably motivated by a twisted wish to do the right thing. The uncomfortable truth is that good and evil are both products of the human heart, found nowhere else but in the human heart.

To feel compassion for Kasab is not to condone his actions. Nor does it suggest he should go free. That would be insane. Part of me wants to treat him with unmitigated contempt — to think of him as inhuman. That way, I don’t have to wonder whether I too — unlike him a real human — have monster potential. Another part of me recognizes that who I am is contingent — that I’m lucky to have been well nurtured.

We all trip up; when we do, nothing helps us back to our feet like real compassion. It makes us all better people. It makes society a better place. Who knows? It might even lead Kasab to regret his actions, not just because he got caught but because he realizes just how lost he was. Is there something wrong with that?

It’s been in the air for a while now; for years, in fact, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it — until last week. I’d been scouring the past for landmarks, to the McCarthy era and a Europe divided. The prime emotion for so long was fear. Today I realized, it’s hatred.

I’m not talking of the simple, visceral, easily-targeted hatred of Hitler and the Nazis; that didn’t even provoke hatred in the allies so much as a cheerful determination to not stoop to their level. What’s happening today is more subtle, not ‘out there’ any more but an insidious division in our midst.

President Obama is not, as presidents once were, simply a political adversary to the republicans; to many of them he’s a liar, a communist and bent on the destruction of America as they know (or imagine) it.

Obscene comments have flooded lawmakers’ offices since the health care reform bill passed. Callers have made death threats against lawmakers and their children. Windows were shattered at four Democratic offices in New York, Arizona and Kansas. In Virginia, someone cut a propane line at a house believed to be owned by Rep. Tom Perriello. Sarah Palin’s Twitter page encouraged supporters: “Don’t retreat, instead – reload!” The former vice presidential candidate’s Facebook page also featured a map of the U.S. with circles and crosshairs over twenty districts.

Here in Canada, the rebuffal of Ann Coulter by students of Ottawa University turned quickly into a dialogue of hate about hate. This ‘republican firebrand,’ as the media loves to call her, saw her rejection as an opportunity, and played it to her advantage. “They hate me,” she said ingeniously; even critics fell into line.

Yesterday in Michigan, eight men and a woman were arrested for planning to kill a police officer and then ambush their colleagues at his funeral. They called them members of a Christian militia. Jeez—the things that go on in Christ’s name!

Osama bin Ladin must be delighted with the way things are going in North America.

My concern is to resist the tit-for-tat reactivity that turns disagreement into disgust into fear into my own hatred. Just because I practice mindful reflection doesn’t make me immune. As a tool it can help me resist the worst part of being human and to nurture the best, but only if I have the presence of mind to put it into practice.

Not long ago the Olympic games were a unique emblem of nobility and wholesome ethics. Professional athletes—i.e., those paid to undistractedly practice and participate—were banned. Anyone with gumption had a chance at gold—or so it seemed. In the popular imagination, it was all about the sheer love of sport.

How that’s all changed is too obvious to rant about. Like other sports, the Olympics are now dominated by corporate money; to get their attention, serious participants abandon lifestyle balance from a tender age. The wholesome has become disturbing.

One thing’s the same as ever, though: athletes compete. They want to be the best, and they want it known. As someone who’s particularly uncompetitive, I sort of get that, but am awed by the lengths they go to, as amazed as everyone else by the technological edge that’s become part and parcel of the winning formula. Countries with more sophisticated material science today provide their athletes with superior equipment and a better chance at gold. It’s a long way from naked young Greeks proving their mettle on the slopes of mount Olympus. We shrug. That’s the way it is nowadays.

The way it is, is about winning. True, it always was; but it was also about character and dignity, nobility and poise: words that raise an easy giggle—they’re so old-fashioned; does that mean out of date? While I’m sure those qualities exists in the heart of most olympians, corporate sponsorship and the single-minded demands of winning clearly have no interest in promoting such honest simplicity.

We live in times of material plenty and spiritual paucity. We’re reviled for it by many, attacked by zealots in the name of God. Quite apart from being under fire from people who are even more out of touch with themselves than most capitalists, we’re in danger of losing touch with the qualities that brought our success—those old fashioned values that seem so irrelevant to those who would guide us into today’s culture of entitlement. It saddens me to think that they value those fine athleletes more for the science of winning than the art of competing, and the intuition and heart that go with it.