Tag: meaning

The emergence of the spiritual

This merits a much longer piece, but I want to get the idea out there.

In Les Regles de l’Art, Pierre Bourdieu describes the emergence in the 19th century of a concept of autonomy in the sphere of cultural production, whereby progressively artists shook off the constraints of the need to conform to sanctioned norms and/or to  communicate a “message”, in favor of “art for art’s sake”. To be an artist was to be someone whose duty of truth to him- or herself took absolute precedence over any other consideration.

This, I see, merely prefigured a wider emancipation of humanity which is still only at its early stages today, and not yet widely recognized as such.

The concern to live a good life has for a long time been the preserve of philosophers and theologians, figures who occupied a consecrated position within the hierarchy of social power. Even the artist’s freedom to create has not always meant a freedom in personal life, an ars vivendi (neither has the philosopher’s souci de soi).

As the social institutions of religion have collapsed in Western society, new religious movements have stepped in to occupy the space vacated. These movements have sometimes been of a mass nature, but also sometimes are little more than a clan. The easy availability of information in the internet age has also had a profound effect on these dynamics, rendering them both more ephemeral and more centripetal. But almost all of these new movements, to this day, seek to do exactly what religion has always sought to do, that is to respond to the human need for community by building social systems in which degree of initiation determines place in the hierarchy and ideas are turned into doctrines and dogmas, falsely dehistoricized to become foundational myths. However, in the modern world it is very hard to monopolize habitus and many forces militate against ever recreating the religious empires of the past.

The discipline of inquiry taught us by the philosophers potentially contains a grain of truth, but since Plato until modern times it is certainly thought of wrongly: as a search for what is “out there”, can be uncovered by reason and accordingly should guide our behavior. As I have argued before, this project in reality (the tyranny of reason) seeks only to control us in the service of a possibly (once) imperative social goal, but not one we have freely chosen or even, frequently, questioned.

Although most of us recognize that there is no “truth” in art, we are still highly conditioned to believe that there is truth in life; a meaning which is external, which some have found and which we can emulate by following in their footsteps.

In my opinion, our relationship to our spiritual forbears should be no different to the relationship of the artist to hers. Spiritual creation is a work of art, which may uncover something of the structure of the universe but which simultaneously embodies what Zola called “the particular language of a soul”, specific to time and place. It is a universality without universalism, and utterly contingent on this impossible paradox.

Is there evidence that this spiritual field, in Bourdieu’s sense, is emancipating itself from religion and coming into an autonomous state of being?

I have of course not done any historical study and it is very much my impression that almost no-one yet understands or espouses this understanding clearly, although there are clearly echoes of it already in systems both ancient and modern. Driven by economic factors, ego, habit or expectations, most spiritual teachers try to keep their disciples on the hook, and many aspire to found their own dynasties.

I say, spiritual truth can only be communicated as art, and the spiritual teacher must have the attitude of an artist and should be thought of in this way; indeed, the attitude of an artist is incumbent upon all of us, for we are all artists of our own life. There is no possible way that the student can emulate the teacher; the student can only express her own essence. As (even) Jesus said, unless the seed falls into the earth and dies, it cannot bring forth fruit.

It is very hard for those of us who seek truth to understand that it does not matter where we look for it; to understand that, in fact, “truth” is not a very good word. We all tend to think that if one person has truth, another does not; that is the nature of positivistic truth and we are accustomed to thinking it is also true of spiritual truth. But it is not. Spiritual truth, like artistic “truth”, is inborn, in our cells and in our consciousness; no-one can transmit it to us, all anyone can ever do is wake us up to it within ourselves, and to do this they are never more than instrumental. The environment around us most propitious to our spiritual awakening is not a problem we need to solve, it is much more an emanation of what is already inside.

We need to cease the search and become artists of our own lives, surrounding ourselves with and attracting other artists, certainly, but purely for the joy of sharing in their beauty.

Sacred sexuality

Amongst those interested in tantra, there is often a tendency to view sacred union in an abstract, metaphysical way which rarely corresponds to people’s experience. This is particularly so when tantra is repackaged as feel-good practices for couples. The striving after cosmic orgasm in union becomes, I have no doubt, a complete illusion for many, which entirely masks the essential radicalism which tantra embodies.

I suggest that, in so doing, we reify an abstraction, while allowing ourselves to maintain an ambiguous relationship towards that which concretely points towards it – its sociobiological context.

A sacred approach to sexuality has to begin at the roots and must be absolutely free of any social discourse which attempts to frame its expression. Transcendence in union, I suggest, is the end result of a process that begins in our bodies. We often try to judge and direct this process, either suppressing sexual instincts or, on the contrary, obsessively stimulating our sexual imagination in order to obtain a response which is not organically present. However, like everything else in life, we cannot productively force sexual feeling either into being or into non-being; we must let it come to us, bestow its gifts, and lead where it will.

We fear the destination of a liberated sexuality only because we bring to it too little awareness or we emancipate ourselves only from a part of the oppressive framing discourse. So many voices in society tell us that if we feel something then it “must mean” X, or if we do not feel it then it “must mean” Y. But feeling a sexual response preordains absolutely nothing, and presents a useless degree of risk only if you are not ready to be free. Otherwise it shows only that you are alive, and offers a bliss beyond analysis, just as does any other transcendent experience such as a sunset, a butterfly, or the laughter of a child. We are always free to choose how we respond to any stimulus, and to my mind this response, whilst not unimportant, is secondary. We may often be lying to ourselves if we claim to admit the feeling but manage the response, but still it is fundamentally true that no feeling requires a certain response. It merely opens our eyes to something that our biological nature wants, to a certain beauty which is already present within.

We cannot claim to consider the sexual act as sacred unless we begin by honoring the drive and allowing it to lead us into plenitude. It may well be a hard teacher, but if we are serious about living in alignment with our nature then we must embrace all of its wisdom and teachings. I see the sexual drive as an inner guru attempting to lead us into the light, but one which is so often suppressed that its distorted, violent manifestations are frequently catastrophic – a fault which is roundly to be ascribed to the distorting discourse and not to the drive itself.

To allow this energy to guide us, it is clear to me, though, that we have to abandon mononormativity.  We need also, though, to maintain an incredible openness of heart and hence vulnerability; this is the only way that we will learn lessons and not simply get hurt. Paradoxically it is only by opening ourselves to feeling pain in the short run that we can avoid it predominating over the long run.

This process of opening up has of course to take place in stages. I am not advocating a great leap forwards, and it is fine for me that all sorts of things exist which allow people to take things at their own pace, and even take time out or place limits which they never deconstruct. However, I do not think that it is ethically justified, as some do, to market something in a form which does not make sense just because it allows people indefinitely to maintain a comfortable illusion.

In my opinion, mononormative tantra is simply an oxymoron. Either you remain behind in your nest, or you abandon yourself to the winds.

On sannyas names

Since many people I know on Facebook have been wondering why I have now adopted there my sannyas name instead of my birth name, I thought it worthwhile explaining a little bit what this means to me.

I have dealt with the meaning of sannyas itself in other posts, notably here. To avoid misunderstanding, it is absolutely not a badge of membership of any organization or religion. As Osho has said, “By becoming a sannyasin you are not becoming a part of a certain organization – this is not an organization at all. By becoming a sannyasin, you are becoming courageous enough to accept a certain fact: that man exists in aloneness.”

But what is the importance of the change of name, and of the name itself?

Clearly, the name has no particular importance. A name is just a name. Names are not endowed with magical properties. I like my sannyas name, it does not mean anything to me (in Sanskrit it means something like wilderness, being the origin of the word “jungle”).

In fact, what is important about it is precisely this: that it has no meaning. If it had meaning, it would shape me. I would try to become it. This is not the point at all. It is not about becoming, but about unbecoming.

As long as we believe we know, we are ignorant. It is only when we acknowledge our ignorance, that knowledge begins. This is why I find it important to drop my birth name. Not that there is anything wrong with that name, and of course I continue to use it in all sorts of contexts. The problem with it is the problem with any birth name, and that is that it has acquired meaning; I imagine I know who that person is, and others do too. Yet all this meaning has not emerged organically from the core of who I am; it has largely been constructed by others and by myself in opposition to others before I was conscious enough to understand.

In order to make a fresh start it is very important to recognize that I do not know who I am. Who I am is a mystery to me, a marvellous journey I have scarcely even embarked upon. I do not know Jangali. When I write the word, it is unknown to me. Therefore I choose it. I don’t know if this is what Osho had in mind. But I think his message was on the same lines: people came to him identifying with an image of themselves, and he just found this funny, and wanting to get them asking questions by playing with them.

It is not that I have assumed a new identity; rather, I have disassumed the old identity, all identity, all notion of myself and all willingness to be defined by others. Those who think they know me find it easy not to listen. They have expectations as to what they will hear, and this is then what they do hear. I want to invite you to stop imagining you know – anything – and listen; of course not just to me, but to each other, to the birdsong and the change of seasons, to the laughter and the silence….

I cannot of course prevent Jangali coming to mean something. It will become a personal brand. Perhaps if that all becomes too much and gets in the way, I will change it again. But at least it will be a label whose meaning is derived from the journey of my adult, spiritual self.

The Art of Living

(Freely translated from a German original by Dirk Liesenfeld, tantra teacher in Berlin)

The Art of Living is learning how to write on water.

Because each sentence, each word, each letter is no sooner written than it is immediately gone. Reality can only be tasted when it is fresh.

The art of living is the absolute awareness that nothing endures or has meaning, and the ability, nevertheless, to make a conscious gift of each sentence, each word and each letter, simply for the pleasure of writing. To fill each moment with love and beauty, flowing out of a pure joy in existence.

When you do this, transience and meaninglessness are transformed into eternal experience and deep meaning.

Take each step, accomplish each gesture just for the present moment and you will recognize the godly in each grain of dust.

If you look for salvation, fulfilment, God  – or whatever else you can come up with – somewhere other than in yourself and anywhere else than in the present moment, you will be eternally unfulfilled and your search will never end.

True freedom consists in changing your perspective on life: in recognizing that all things are transitory and moving therefore from doing into being.

To allow things just to be and to wish to live a full life is a brave step. There is no more courageous approach to life than to live it as if there were no tomorrow. Is this irresponsible? Selfish? Godless or sinful? You must discover it for yourself – for who else has the right to judge?

And you will discover, to your surprise, that your own realization of complete freedom opens a path to freedom for all beings on this planet

And maybe even further afield… 😉

In love,
Dirk.