Laura Riding was an artmonk

“The mercy of truth – it is to be truth.”

In reading Paul Auster’s fantastic collection of essays, The Art of Hunger, I came across Truth, Beauty, Silence, a stunning look at Laura Riding’s life and work. As the poets she influenced (Auden, Ashbery, etc.) are among my favorites, I have read a little of her work before, but Auster’s take has compelled me to look again at this enigmatic artmonk.

“The World And I”, by Laura (Riding) Jackson:

This is not exactly what I mean
Any more than the sun is the sun.
But how to mean more closely
If the sun shines but approximately?
What a world of awkwardness!
What hostile implements of sense!
Perhaps this is as close a meaning
As perhaps becomes such knowing.
Else I think the world and I
Must live together as strangers and die—
A sour love, each doubtful whether
Was ever a thing to love the other.
No, better for both to be nearly sure
Each of each—exactly where
Exactly I and exactly the world
Fail to meet by a moment, and a word.

Riding was prolific from the early 1920′s until 1938, at which point she reached, in her words, “a crisis point at which division between craft and creed reveals itself to be absolute.” She then abandoned poetry to pursue truth elsewise. A prose work published in 1967 called “The Telling” gives us an impression of what it was she had pursued in poetry that she felt she had to renounce poetry to attain.

There is something to be told about us for the telling of which we all wait. In our unwilling ignorance we hurry to listen to stories of old human life, new human life, fancied human life, avid of something to while away the time of unanswered curiosity. We know we are explainable, and not explained. Many of the lesser things concerning us have been told but the greater things have not been told; and nothing can fill their place. Whatever we learn of what is not ourselves, but ours to know, being of our universal world, will likewise leave the emptiness an emptiness. Until the missing story of ourselves is told, nothing besides told can suffice us: we shall go on quietly craving it.

Elsewhere she writes:

To a poet the mere making of a poem can seem to solve the problem of truth…But only a problem of art is solved in poetry. Art, whose honesty must work through artifice, cannot avoid cheating truth. Poetic art cheats truth to further and finer degrees than art of any other kind because the spoken word is its exclusive medium…

There might be a Laura Riding a the heart of every art monastery. Someone for whom the questions of art and truth are primary (e.g. “What is the value of art?”, “Is art perhaps not just a distraction from truth?”, “To make art, or not to make art? To make art or to wake up?”) would act as a necessary force of challenge to the art being made. Of course, also at the heart of every art monastery are artmonks for whom those questions are resolved already, as well as artmonks for whom there are no questions of art at all, for who there is only the making of art.

In order to make art that is art monastic art, and to make it better and better, each of these artmonk archetypes is important.

Read Auster’s essay (minus the first two pages!) here (he has another, short essay on her, “Itinerary”, if you can get your hands on it).

Read more about Riding here.

Read Marjorie Perloff’s critical essay on Riding’s language philosophy (“the Witch of Truth”) here.

Alan Wallace on DharmaCafe.com: Renunciation as Emergence Out of X and Towards Y

In this excellent interview from dharmacafe.com (via @c4chaos), Alan Wallace says that what often gets translated from Buddhist texts as “renunciation” is something closer to “emergence,” as in when we emerge from childish strategies that don’t work toward something more authentic and fulfilling.

It’s more than a radical disillusionment, like Sartre or Camus… They’re renouncing something, but it ends in something pallid, something sterile and flat… Renunciation [or emergence] is recognizing the vanity of vain desires, the pointlessness of pointless behavior, a lot of which we get very fixated on, on occasion. It’s waking up, it’s growing up, and recognizing, “I yearn for a quality of genuine fulfillment, of meaning, of something that will provide me with some deep and lasting satisfaction.” And that doesn’t mean being chipper and happy all the time; for that you can just take a drug.

So the spirit of emergence: it’s emerging from childish desires… “When I was a child I spoke as child” and that sort of thing. [It's] growing up, and recognizing that I’m seeking fulfillment, satisfaction, happiness and meaning, and I’m not going to get it by more material acquisition and fame and wealth and sensual pleasures. It’s hopeless; I’ve awakened to the fact that that’s not there. That’s the renunciation aspect, but the spirit of emergence is that definitely, with confidence and certainty, we emerge out of childish desires and emerge towards (and that’s what’s often missing) authentic aspirations and ideals, an authentic way of life that does hold the promise of providing the fulfillment that we seek.

So it’s got to have the dual valence, but you’re right that this is what runs against the grain of modernity as a whole, which is trying to sell us on things you can buy, you can consume, that will keep the GDP growing, and keep us tapping the natural resources and making money for somebody. And [renunciation] is saying: to have enough, a car that runs, clothes that keep you warm, sufficient food that keeps you healthy, this is really quite sufficient. When you’ve got that much, then the world has done enough.  That is, the mundane world has provided you to now focus your attention with all your strength, your soul, your might on that which is truly meaningful

—Alan Wallace on DharmaCafe.com (at roughly 1 hour 10 min of this video)

 

B. Alan Wallace from DharmaCafe.com on Vimeo.

Economies of Merit at play in Qinghai

Last year, the Taer Monastery reported ticket sales revenues of 36 million yuan (US$5.48 million). The money was used to pay every monk about 10,000 yuan in living allowances and to maintain the monastery buildings.

In 2010, the per capita net income of farmers and herdsmen in Qinghai was 3,863 yuan, according to the National Bureau of Statistics.

Besides allowances, the monks can earn extra income by chanting prayers for families of Tibetan Buddhist believers.

Link to Shanghai Daily

When I visited Chinese and Tibetan monasteries in 2003, it was clear that technology had hit, and that tourism was big business. I don’t fault these monks at all for owning cellphones or surfing the Internet. Or for earning roughly 1,500 US dollars a year, for that matter. Good on ‘em.

But it will be interesting to see how it shifts their relationship to the secular world. What do those herdsmen think?

There are patterns of economic growth and reform in so many traditions, from wealth to poverty and back again. The cause of this cycle–that vows of renunciation of wealth are be viewed as meritorious, and thereby become a source of profit–seems unsustainable.

Can monasteries justify continuing to operate in the black market of merit, pretending to dwell outside of the ecosystem of the “worldly”?

Rather than make claims to renunciation, maybe it would be better to pursue another merit strategy, or a source of revenue that doesn’t involve merit. Or maybe that just gets us back to the blind pursuit of profit–without values–that many monastics are trying to avoid in the first place.

Economies of Merit

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In many monastic and religious traditions, ethical and spiritual “merit” gets traded like a commodity.1

Nuns and monks agree to live a certain way, abiding by a certain kind of behavior (which their society has deemed the most virtuous or ethical), and in exchange they don’t have to earn their own money to stay alive, but can focus on loftier or more personally pressing matters. What the monastics bring to the bartering table is merit—a substance, not much more abstract than money, that your good deeds earn you and which earns you future spiritual favor (a trip to heaven, a better rebirth, decreased negative karma, etc.). How a monk or nun lives effectively earns them points, which, for their purposes, will be directly or indirectly useful in attaining whatever it is they are seeking. When monastics follow the rules and earn a surplus of merit, which they agree to share with each other, with laypeople (alive and dead), and other beings, they earn their worldly keep.

This merit benefits the surrounding society in a number of ways. Directly, lay folk ask the merit-rich monks, nuns and priests to pray for them and for their (living or dead) relatives, and to perform rites and ceremonies for them. Indirectly, the knowledge that the monks you give alms to exist as exemplars of (your definition of) purity and holiness, encapsulated in special buildings more beautiful than any, is a gift.

On a broader level, monasteries themselves agree to uphold and enforce merit-earning behavior, and are given land, buildings, and special rights. Monasteries are merit-engines.

So which came first in monastic traditions around the world: morality, merit, or money?

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  1. For example, the 15th and 16th century papacy’s practice of selling spiritual indulgences: “the Church drew from the the treasury of merits accumulated by the good works of the saints, and in return the recipient made a contribution to the Church. A voluntary and popular arrangement, the practice allowed the Church to raise money for financing crusades and building cathedrals and hospitals. At first applied only to penalties imposed by the Church in this life, by Luther’s time indulgences were being granted to remit penalties imposed by God in the afterlife, including immediate release from purgatory. With indulgences effecting even the remission of sins, the sacrament of penance itself was seemingly compromised.” (Richard Tarnas, in Passion of the Western Mind)

Disrobing “Big Mind”

I don’t know what kind of monk Genpo Roshi actually intended to be, but his recent disrobing brings up some good issues around a few of the elements of monasticism I’ve been writing about.

  • Celibacy & Sexuality (can monks be sexually active? how ’bout unfaithfully so? polyamorous?)
  • Vows (where do marriage vows and monastic vows overlap?)
  • Hierarchy (what happens when unfaithful sex is with your intended successor?)
  • Renunciation (as Brad Warner points out below, poverty clearly wasn’t one of Genpo Roshi’s vows. Can/should monks make money? Can/should they charge lots and lots of money for their spiritual services?).

Brad Warner, author of “Sex, Sin, and Zen: A Buddhist Exploration of Sex from Celibacy to Polyamory and Everything in Between“ writes at Elephant Journal (via @duffmcduffee):

Look. I am not insisting all Zen monks take a vow of absolute poverty and live on just what they can carry in a knapsack slung over their backs like the monks in ancient China did. I know we’re living in a completely different society than they were. I own three bass guitars, a used PT Cruiser, and a ten-speed bike. I wouldn’t want to have to stuff those in a knapsack. But three houses? For the love of God, who needs three houses? I don’t even have one!

To weigh in on the matter: I’ve tried out Hal and Sidra Stone’s ”voice dialogue” technique, which forms the basis of Genpo Roshi’s (now Genpo Merzel’s) Big Mind Big Heart process, and have found it genuinely interesting and psychologically revealling, especially in a community setting. I look forward to exploring voice dialogue further, on its own (therapeutic) terms. I have a hard time with Genpo’s claims that the process can lead to genuine experiences of enlightenment in a few hours, but I don’t rule out the possibility that people are having subjectively very powerful spiritual experiences.

In the end, though, there is something deeply disturbing about the fact that Genpo has been able to charge as much as he does (allegedly $50,000 a session, at one point) for his process. With that kind of price tag, it starts to smell like people’s desperate spiritual cravings are being taken advantage of.

Insofar as what happened was a sexual tryst, I agree with Warner (see Elephant article linked to above) that it really is “between him, his wife, and his lover.” Insofar as what happened broke his personal monastic vow, it’s between him and… himself. But insofar as it violated his responsibility to his successor (e.g. to not contaminate a professional power dynamic with sexual energy) and thereby his community, it is problematic.

Warner points out one of the greatest benefits to being a part of a community: accountability.

By leaving the Buddhist community, Genpo has now put himself beyond the reach of the only people who could legitimately criticize Big Mind®. I expect to see Big Mind® get even bigger and cause more destruction. Even absent the Big Mind® nonsense, remaining in the Buddhist order would have been the best way to address the other matters.

If the community’s way of holding Genpo accountable for his actions is to remove him from the community, to whom will he now be accountable? His customers?

Monastic Separateness & Engagement (part 3): Monasticism in Society

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[This series of posts, "The Elements of Monasticism" asks the question, what exactly is monasticism? "Separateness & Engagement" will unfold in a series of 4 posts (links: 1234).]

A gem from Father Louis (aka Thomas Merton), in case you missed it a few weeks ago:

The monastery is neither a museum nor an asylum. The monk remains in the world from which the monk has fled, and the monk remains a potent, though hidden, force in that world. Beyond all the works which may accidentally attach themselves to the vocation, the monk acts on the world simply by being a monk. The presence of contemplatives is, to the world, what the presence of yeast is to dough … if the monk stands, in some sense, above the divisions of human society, that does not mean the monk has no place in the history of nations. The monk has always been, and always will be, by the vocation, sympathetic to any social and cultural movement that favors the growth of the human spirit.

From historical context to historical context, tradition to tradition, monastery to monastery, abbess to abbess, monk to monk, the truth is more complex than the assumptions in part 2 suggest. While Ariana Huffington’s casual critique (see part 1) of the idios kosmos of the monastery might more precisely be leveled at hermits (but seriously, can’t we just leave them alone?), one has to wonder:

What is the role of monasticism in society?

A correspondent of Thomas Merton’s, Discalced Carmelite hermit William McNamara (founder of the first Roman Catholic hermitic community in the United States), has written a fantastic piece on the “Prophetic Role of Monasticism“:

The monk is not a special kind of person; everyone is a special kind of monk, because the central and deepest human impulse is monastic. Monos means one, and the wayfaring human person finds oneness only by tracking Christ through deserts and dark nights into Glory. Nevertheless, a culture needs a sacred center, and the monastery provides an entry to that center, from which society derives essential clues to the mystery of its destiny.

Even if we’re not tracking Christ, per se, how can a secular monasticism serve as an entryway to the sacred center of an increasingly technological, interfaith society? Or can it?

When we talk about the value of a monastery to the society it’s a part of, there are a few different (though not mutually exclusive) possible perspectives:

Quietism: Monasteries have no direct value to society. The point of a monastery is to be disengaged from society. If society benefits from this (e.g. in seeing itself reflected somehow in the monastery), that is great for society, but it’s not the point.

Dying way of life: Whatever role they may have once played, monasteries have lost their relevance to the technological, developed, secular world. Nice while they lasted.

Asylums: Monasteries are homes for monks, mystics and other insane people [Sorry Father Louis].  See also “Mystic Storage.”

Survival of the Fittingest: Whatever monasteries may once have been, they are evolving, just as business has evolved, government has evolved, and the social sector has evolved. They fill a unique niche in society (e.g. the responsibly governed spiritual community niche), AND they are themselves a unique niche for certain people in society (they are home to certain people that would otherwise find it difficult to find a truly fitting place, and without which there would be many people deemed socially inept, deviant, useless)… a subtly distinct view from saying “monasteries are asylums”.

Activism: Monasteries are a part of a society. On one level, the monastics residing within are often called upon, out of uncommon stillness, to extraordinary activism. On a deeper level, monasteries reflect the values and conscience of a society. McNamara writes:

…There is an intimate relationship between real, live monasticism and the socio-political world. Seen in historical context, the vows of obedience and poverty originally represented ways of transcending and criticizing a conventional loyalty to status quo power arrangements and the reification of people in servitude to an unjust economic system. In the past the monastic vows exemplified a quality of relationship and communal equity undreamt of by either, the oppressed victims or their masters.

Politics is, after all, the science of the possible. Monasticism should be a real alternative, and thus make an enormous contribution to the future direction of political and economic organization.

…We take vows to overcome the slavery of modern utilitarianism. Most of us are enslaved: we are workers instead of men and women. Monastic life ought to be the most dangerous, the most difficult and the most wonderful, exciting adventure in the world. What’s wrong with monastic life today? In great monastic orders there is no creative subversion, no counterculture. Monastic orders are, for the most part, locked into serving the petrified conventions and institutions of contemporary society that cause the disease and frustration that are sickening so many people and rendering them impotent. We cannot survive on banality; we need firsthand experience of primordial truth.

…[M]onkishness is an indispensable and ineluctable dimension of every human being.

Economic Actors: Monasteries are real economic actors in a real marketplace. They produce, consume, demand, and supply. They have a rational self interest, and serve the rational (and trans-rational) self interest of their inhabitants.

Antechamber to another life: “The power base of monasticism is other-worldliness,” says McNamara. Monasteries offer us a glimpse of another world (whether you interpret that to mean something recognizably spiritual, or merely a life where you’re more whole, compassionate, aware, wise, awake, communal, human, alive etc.), and the rites of passage to get there.

Intentional Communities: Whatever role monasteries may once have played, they are now just one of a handful of types of intentional community, which we might divide into communities of interest, communities of practice, and communities of place such as communes, ecovillages, student cooperatives, land co-ops, cohousing groups, ashrams, kibbutzes, and farming collectives, co-working facilities. As such, they train humans to live together in harmony,

Retreat Centers for Contemplative Creatives: The growing class of “Contemplative Creatives” needs a place to escape to, even for a week or two.

Universities of Practice/Museums: It is important that there be institutions devoted to spiritual/contemplative practice alone—what we might call “universities of practice”.  It is important that there be a repository of culture, texts, and debate outside of academia.  [Sorry again, Father Louis]

Time Capsules: Whatever relevance monasteries have to the technological, developed, secular world, we should keep them around in case civilization collapses. They may help us through a coming dark age, the way they helped us through the last dark ages.

Subtlism: Regardless of whether monastics are actively engaged in society, a monastery serves a valuable function in society merely by existing. It is important that somewhere in the world, there are humans devoted entirely to the attainment of stillness, awakening, peace, etc. and that their efforts ripple out to the rest of society: directly, in that we in society can draw inspiration and peace just from knowing that there are people out there doing this, and indirectly, through the indeterminate and subtle impacts they might make.

Fourth Sector Organizations: Monasteries in some ways gave birth to the growing fourth sector:

[From the website]: Over the past few decades, the boundaries between the public (government), private (business), and social (non-profit) sectors have been blurring as many pioneering organizations have been blending social and environmental aims with business approaches.

There are many expressions of this trend, including corporate social responsibility, microfinance, venture philanthropy, sustainable businesses, social enterprise, privatization, community development and others. As this activity matures, it is becoming formalized as a ‘Fourth Sector’ of the economy. To better understand the emergence of the Fourth Sector, it is helpful to study recent shifts in organizational behavior across the three traditional sectors.

Businesses are dedicating more resources to delivering social and environmental benefits. Cause-based marketing, the triple bottom line, and corporate social responsibility are a few of the buzzwords that have come into usage in recent years as part of this trend. Meanwhile, public and social sector organizations are attempting to operate in a more businesslike method.

Quadruple-Bottom-Line Corporations: People, planet, profit… & spirit? From society’s perspective, monasteries are corporations that responsibly maximize financial capital, human capital, natural capital, and spiritual capital.


Proust was an artmonk

“[R]enunciation is not always total from the very first moment—the self that commits us to it is a former self, one that has not yet been acted upon by the fact of the renunciation itself, whether it be the renunciation of the invalid, the monk, the artist, or the hero… Before we have committed ourselves to it, our whole concern is to know how we may be able to reconcile it with certain pleasures, which will cease being pleasures as soon as we have experience of it.”

—p.409, Marcel Proust’s In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower (v. 2 of In Search of Lost Time), translated by James Grieve.

I’m back in Berkeley with a number of interesting projects that will be taking up my time this fall, so posting here will happen even more sporadically than it has for the past few weeks.

And my Proust-reading habit, so newly reinvigorated, will have to go temporarily re-renounced.

If there are any iPad enthusiasts out there (since a new project for the little device is one of my intervening items), drop me a line and tell me what your favorite monkish apps are.

nathan@artmonastery.org

Chapter 3 of Augustine’s Rule

[Part of the Daily Lectio series, named after the Benedictine tradition of lectio divina, "divine reading." For instructions and background on the series, click here. Subscribe to Daily Lectio. Send comments or suggested readings to nathan@artmonastery.org]

Starting on October 2nd, I’ll be doing a Jesuit retreat on the Rule of Augustine (which I’ve written about here: “Up to our necks in Augustine”).

Each day, I’ll read 1 of the 8 chapters of the Rule of Augustine:

Chapter III

Moderation and Self-Denial Continue reading

Chapter 1 of Augustine’s Rule

[Part of the Daily Lectio series, named after the Benedictine tradition of lectio divina, "divine reading." For instructions and background on the series, click here. Subscribe to Daily Lectio. Send comments or suggested readings to nathan@artmonastery.org]

Starting on October 2nd, I’ll be doing a Jesuit retreat on the Rule of Augustine (which I’ve written about here: “Up to our necks in Augustine”).

Each day, I’ll read 1 of the 8 chapters of the Rule of Augustine:

Chapter I

Purpose and Basis of Common Life Continue reading

Up to our necks in Augustine

On Saturday the Art Monastery, a community of artists from a wide range of spiritual traditions working to apply the tools of monasticism to art-making instead of religion, will embark on a 7-day silent retreat in the Jesuit tradition, in which the primary form of activity (and inactivity) will be to read the Rule of St. Augustine, a 1,500 year old document—only about 7 pages long—written by someone who is arguably the 3rd most influential figure in Christianity (after Jesus and Paul).

Are we masochists?!

For a while, it’s been evident that monasticism is still something very other for us artmonks. Sure, we inhabit a monastery, we’ve done meditation retreats, we’ve chanted compline every night for months, and we’ve shared meals and chores and periods of silence and selective abnegation. Yet still, the monastic experience as it has existed for thousands of years remains a strangely scary and romantic, exotic creature. And yet, if we aim to concoct our own Art Monastic rule and vows, we had better know viscerally what it is we’re dealing with.

The unique combination of Jesuit exercises—at their core a form of meditative, reflective reading that unfolds into a visualization practice—and the Rule of Augustine will give us a chance to live, if only for brief moments, according to this 1,500 year-old monastic structure. Having done so, we can choose to incorporate some of the rules into our own set, or toss the whole lot out.

Why Augustine? For one thing, his rule is shorter than the others. He gets to the point. His rule is much less specific than Benedict’s.

Additionally, Augustine was hugely influential on Western monasticism as a whole in all the right ways:

[Benedict's] sources such as John Cassian and The Master emphasize the vertical [hierarchical], whereas Benedict includes that horizontal perspective, a perspective he learned from the monastic writings of, you may be surprised to hear, Augustine—whom we always think of harshly and whom we blame for so many of the problems of modern Western Christians, not realizing that in his monastic teaching, Augustine chose a very different side of himself, and that some of Benedict’s best soundbites about pastoral sensitivity and love for one another, in fact, are stolen from Augustine. (source)

To give you a better sense of the rather daunting task we’ve set ourselves:

We’ll have as our only companion an average of 1 page of Augustine—and nothing but 1 page of Augustine—each day for seven days. Seven days, alone, with the Christian’s Christian, the ideologue’s ideologue, the dogmatist’s dogmatist. 1 Seven days, alone, with the Christian Nagarjuna 2. To me, that prospect is both frightening and fascinating.

That’s one day listening to Augustine the prude saying things like, “Although your eyes may chance to rest upon some woman or other, you must not fix your gaze upon any woman,” and another day listening to Augustine the authoritarian saying things like, “Books are to be requested at a fixed hour each day, and anyone coming outside that hour is not to receive them,” and another day listening to Augustine the zealot saying things like “Chant only what is prescribed for chant; moreover, let nothing be chanted unless it is so prescribed,” and still another day listening to Augustine the fanatic saying things like “Subdue the flesh, so far as your health permits, by fasting and abstinence from food and drink,” etc.

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  1. One of our priest friends, who has just written his doctoral thesis on Augustine, says that Augustine never wrote a coherent, systematic theory of theology. He was usually responding, in his writing, very pragmatically to the world around him (even to atheists). The more I learn about Augustine, the more it seems like what he wrote was taken out of context in support of dogma by medieval scholars, and later served up as a comprehensive ideology by the later church.
  2. Immediate, unscholarly parallels between the Christian philosopher born in North Africa in 354 CE, and the madhyamaka philosopher born in southern India around 150 CE: similar thoughts on the nature of time; similar thoughts on the limits of conceptual knowledge; separated in time by only a hundred or so years; similar impact on their respective growing religious movements(?)