Man Versus Nature

Human beings are hard to please. There's just no satisfying us. Even when we finally find some measure of satisfaction, it seems that we grow tired of it and start searching for new and novel ways of meeting our needs (actually, in most cases, our wants). This sad statute not only applies to physical and emotional desires, but spiritual aspirations, as well; try as we might, we can rarely maintain a good outlook on life if we resort to the same means all the time.

This is rather dismaying news, particularly for those of us enlisted in the War on Unhappiness. New meaning is brought to our struggle as we realize that every day promises another battle to maintain a right view of things. As the Newsboys sing in their song "Rescue,"

Caught in a spell that's overcast
You gain perspective, it doesn't last
All of the time in this life
Can't loose the ties that blind you
They're new every day, old as the Fall…
And I was born in the mess of it all…

As the Newsboys so eloquently point out in referencing the Fall, this seemingly eternal unsatisfaction might be a part of Original Sin. We are too self-centered to realize the blessings of the present moment, and so we choose to focus on what's missing. This doesn't seem like how humans were originally meant to operate, and it certainly doesn't become any warrior who charges against the camps of Unhappiness. Thus, we must reach a concrete conclusion about how we are to proceed: if we want to beat Unhappiness, we have to develop an attitude that counteracts our nature. This attitude has to be one of simplicity, perspective, and gratitude. Notice that some of our steadfast allies have returned—Perspective, which alerts us to the larger world we're a part of, and Gratitude, which sets us down the right path, away from selfishness, anger, and evil. Now Simplicity joins our ranks, as the medium through which we can experience life. The more complex our experience becomes, the more energy we expend in living. Weighed down by expectations and obligations, we are forced to respond to life, rather than live it creatively (in The Seven Habits, Stephen Covey calls this "Living Proactively"). The more baggage we carry around, the less energy we have to be happy. And being happy takes work. "Happiness," as Aristotle wisely observed in my high school agenda, "is a state of activity." G.K. Chesterton puts it even more profoundly in The Man Who Was Thursday:

Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength in levity.

But where are we to find a guide for such an unnatural and difficult attitude? How can we possibly fight nature? Well, human nature can and must be fought at times, and this is one of them. Willpower is part of the answer. But the rest of the answer lies in a startling revelation—we can't do it alone. That's right. If we try to cultivate this attitude by solely our own efforts, we will fail after a short period of time. We need something more. Actually, we need Someone more.

Here is the beauty of Christianity, and the wisdom of Christ. Why did Jesus institute the Eucharist, and why are we told to receive it every week? Because we need it! Our frail natures cannot get by on their own. They need the nurturing hand of God to lead them back on course, the quiet confidence of Jesus to grant honesty and strength to their character, and the invigorating presence of the Spirit to spur them toward the selfless practice of cheerful compassion.

The Newsboys song we referenced earlier goes on to say this:

Then You rescued me, rescued me
Lord, with a touch of Your hand
Another captive freed again
Who else in Heaven could do this but You?
You rescued me, rescued me
Lord, with a love out of mind
Oh, You know I love it when
Everyday I am rescued again!

In short: what humanity lacks, God supplies. And so, victory in our current endeavor seems so much easier, so much more possible, than it did before. One might say we can even taste it, and one would be right, for that is exactly what we do every week at the altar.

The Secret of the Yogis

I recently read the ancient Yoga Sutra, attributed to the renowned (by some) eastern philosopher Patanjali. I was expecting a mystical exercise manual that would teach me to do the splits and hover cross-legged in the air; what I received was a vague and wordy outline of yogic philosophy, which seems quite similar to Buddhist philosophy. Basically, Patanjali argues that one’s ultimate goal must be to halt the flow of thought through the mind: “When thought ceases, the spirit stands in its true identity as observer to the world. Otherwise, the observer identifies with the turnings of the world” (1.3-4). He goes on to outline the various powers available to one who practices such liberation from thought, including supernatural strength, levitation, and telepathy. In case you were wondering, he does not provide detailed instructions on how to practice these powers. “Just stop thinking”—that’s pretty much all the help he’s willing to give us.

Like most religious worldviews, Patanjali’s philosophy is hit or miss. It is impossible to halfheartedly agree with him; either you agree that cessation of thought is the ultimate goal, or not. This is true of all real religions. Either you accept the Resurrection of Jesus, or you are not a Christian. Either you accept the Torah as divinely-revealed Law, or you are not a Jew. Either you accept the supreme power of human reason, or you are not a rationalist. Any lukewarm religious devotion is uninspiring and, if you ask me, pointless. Why should I be a Catholic if I don’t believe Christ was born to a virgin, performed miracles, and rose from the dead? What’s the point? If you don’t believe Jesus was God, all that you’re really doing at church every week is remembering a really nice guy. Bob Hope seemed like a nice guy, but nobody worships him. What’s the point?

This idea (in the words of Sinatra, “All or Nothing At All”) applies just as strongly to Patanjali’s philosophy—so as a Christian, I must wholeheartedly reject it. Nonetheless, I do believe it wise to read a text such as this (opposed as it is to my beliefs) in search of wisdom, because there certainly is some wisdom to be found in a source like the Yoga Sutra.

In this case, the Christian wisdom is found by interpreting some of Patanjali’s words in a different sense than he likely intended. While reading the section entitled “Mastery of the Physical World,” I was struck with the inspiration to interpret his message metaphorically. The way I received this inspiration is a rather entertaining story.

I had just read that “from loosening the fetters of bondage to the body and from awareness of the body’s fluidity, one’s thought can enter into the body of another” (3.38). I instantly knew what Patanjali was telling me—I could read minds! After concluding that reading people’s minds would not constitute a betrayal of my own religious convictions (it would just be really cool), I decided to give it a try. Centering myself in a prayerful and loving frame of mind, I “reached out” and tried to put myself into the head of someone in the neighboring room. As I concentrated, a message materialized in my thoughts: “IT’S CALLED EMPATHY.”

And I had to admit that Whoever inspired that thought was right. Empathy does allow us to read minds. By conscious effort, we are able to understand and experience another’s thoughts and feelings. Sure, we may be wrong sometimes—but so would a mind-reader. And empathy doesn’t take nearly as much practice.

I quickly scanned the other powers Patanjali listed:

“From perfect discipline of the strength of an animal such as an elephant, one gains that strength.…From mastery of the vital breath rising in the body, one does not sink into water, mud, or thorns, but rather rises above them. From mastery of the breath of fire in the belly, one acquires a fiery radiance. From perfect discipline of the relation between the ear and space, one has divine hearing” (3.24, 39-41).

So let’s read this text as non-literal. What do we find? Discipline results in great strength. Calm, controlled breathing results in a light and buoyant existence. Strong breathing powers one with fiery energy. Awareness of the sense of hearing reminds one that it is a truly divine gift.

Perhaps, then, the secret of the yogis is simply this: reality is magic. The powers of humanity are supernatural enough; there’s no need to wish for more! Want to be super-strong? Exercise and take good care of yourself—you’ll be stronger than you imagined possible. Want to read a mind? Think about someone else’s problems and try to put yourself in their place. Want to float in the air? Try being truly happy, and you will feel light enough to fly. Voila! We all have magic powers. Few of us choose to put them to good use. The most wonderful things about life are the simplest ones, and great power is found in a calm acceptance of the present moment, coupled with profound gratitude to one’s Creator.

Am I reading into this too much? Perhaps I am, if you are a yogi. But I am a Christian; St. Paul tells me “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12). Thus, it is my job to relate everything I read back to my own beliefs. This is how I bring myself closer to God. I hope this post finds you closer to Him, as well.

Enlightenedly His,
Joezilla