Today I taught my students a little bit about Yom Kippur. We went over some of the common practices (fasting, repenting, wearing white) and wrote our own Ashamnu* (alphabetical listing of sins) which is a hard exercise if you ever want to try it. Because I teach in a Reform Congregation, I taught my students that Yom Kippur is the day we repent for sins against God. (We should repent for sins against other people, and make amends for them, before Yom Kippur begins.)
After school, I was wondering how I can apply this practice now that I don't believe in God, and I realized that the other purpose of Yom Kippur is to repent for sins against myself. I spend all year making mistakes and apologizing for them, but I never really apologize to myself for the sins I commit against myself. Perhaps this is the real purpose of Yom Kippur. Because honestly, why would God care if I say a prayer without my heart being in it, or if I don't observe Shabbat fully? It doesn't hurt God any, but it hurts me if I waste my time. God, in theory, is eternal, after all.
Now, I'm not being sappy about this. Some people say we should forgive ourselves and pledge to be easier on ourselves at this time of year. Forgive ourselves for the times we judged ourselves harshly, for the times we only saw the bad in ourselves and didn't acknowledge the good, and that sort of thing. And I suppose that's part of it, sure. But that's easy. I mean that we should do the hard work Yom Kippur was intended to support, but do it without imagining a judgmental anthropomorph looking over our shoulders.
Which is hard.
And it's why I think religion helps. It's not easy to honestly take account of oneself. But Yom Kippur is structured to help us do just that. When we recite the Al Chet, we think about the sins that are so common in our community that we probably did them ourselves, or will do them. When we chant the Ashamnu we do the same. And honestly, I think it's also useful to think about the sins of our community. If we live in a community where adultery is rampant, we are less likely to keep our own promises. If we live in a community where vanity is the norm, how can we, as individuals, hope to escape it completely? If our community does not do enough for others, what can we do to change that?
All of this is part of Yom Kippur, and it's one of the things that's useful about religion. Because after all, Judaism was created by human beings. We can be accountable to ourselves and one another at this time of year and work to be better, individually and as a community. And we don't need God to do it.
*I couldn't find a translation I loved of the Ashamnu. If anyone can recommend one, let me know. This one is usable for anyone who isn't familiar with the prayer at all.
Showing posts with label Humanism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humanism. Show all posts
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Another kind of homework
Last week, in my capacity as a Religious School teacher, I went to a conference on teaching children with learning disabilities. The keynote speaker was Jonathan Mooney, and each attendee was given a copy of his latest book, The Short Bus. Mooney was such a compelling speaker that I decided his book would be my next read.
The Short Bus is a memoir about a trip Mooney took around the country, driving a "short bus" emblematic of the buses that drive Special Ed students to school, and visiting children and adults who are labeled with various learning disabilities. Interspersed with that story are Mooney's reflections on his own childhood and school experiences.
The central question of Mooney's discourse is whether labeling children helps or hurts them, whether school is adequately preparing kids for life, and whether the benefits these kids get from school is worth the price they pay for dealing with the labels. It struck me that this is at heart a Humanist question.
What do we owe our children?
Humanism would dictate that we owe them all an equal opportunity at life. I suppose that is the heart of the education debate in this country. What gives a child that opportunity? For now, I will put aside issues like poverty (which is the most important educational issue of our time) because I want to react to Mooney's book. The question then is, do we need to develop each child's strengths, whatever they may be, or do we need to teach them all the same thing?
I have difficulty answering this question. On the one hand, it seems ideal to give each child confidence and expertise in his or her greatest strengths. But I am parenting an 8-year-old. I know some of her strengths: swimming, art, music, geography and communication. But what strengths does she have that haven't yet been discovered because she hasn't yet been exposed to them? And what strengths are yet to develop? And are they really strengths, or is she just developing in these areas ahead of her peers? Are her weaknesses (math, self-monitoring, gym) developmental, essential, or because she hasn't yet found the best way to learn those things? It's very hard to tell.
So I have to advocate for a generalist approach to elementary education. However, I am very glad that The Little Jewess is in a Montessori school. Montessori teaches each child individually, which means TLJ can be ahead of her peers in reading while receiving remedial help in math. She's also learning to monitor her own time and take a strategic approach to resolving differences with other children.
It's clear to me that nobody should be dehumanized in the way that the people in Mooney's book describe. But I'm not sure what the solution might be.
I look forward to reading the rest of The Short Bus to find out what ideas Mooney has.
The Short Bus is a memoir about a trip Mooney took around the country, driving a "short bus" emblematic of the buses that drive Special Ed students to school, and visiting children and adults who are labeled with various learning disabilities. Interspersed with that story are Mooney's reflections on his own childhood and school experiences.
The central question of Mooney's discourse is whether labeling children helps or hurts them, whether school is adequately preparing kids for life, and whether the benefits these kids get from school is worth the price they pay for dealing with the labels. It struck me that this is at heart a Humanist question.
What do we owe our children?
Humanism would dictate that we owe them all an equal opportunity at life. I suppose that is the heart of the education debate in this country. What gives a child that opportunity? For now, I will put aside issues like poverty (which is the most important educational issue of our time) because I want to react to Mooney's book. The question then is, do we need to develop each child's strengths, whatever they may be, or do we need to teach them all the same thing?
I have difficulty answering this question. On the one hand, it seems ideal to give each child confidence and expertise in his or her greatest strengths. But I am parenting an 8-year-old. I know some of her strengths: swimming, art, music, geography and communication. But what strengths does she have that haven't yet been discovered because she hasn't yet been exposed to them? And what strengths are yet to develop? And are they really strengths, or is she just developing in these areas ahead of her peers? Are her weaknesses (math, self-monitoring, gym) developmental, essential, or because she hasn't yet found the best way to learn those things? It's very hard to tell.
So I have to advocate for a generalist approach to elementary education. However, I am very glad that The Little Jewess is in a Montessori school. Montessori teaches each child individually, which means TLJ can be ahead of her peers in reading while receiving remedial help in math. She's also learning to monitor her own time and take a strategic approach to resolving differences with other children.
It's clear to me that nobody should be dehumanized in the way that the people in Mooney's book describe. But I'm not sure what the solution might be.
I look forward to reading the rest of The Short Bus to find out what ideas Mooney has.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
A little light reading
I went to the library on Friday feeling like it was time for me to do more homework. After all, November is coming ever closer and I recently received a phone call from the Programming Officer of my Humanist Group asking me to send a description of my presentation and my qualifications to our group Secretary.
So I checked out some good ones: The Portable Atheist and Religion for Atheists (which I'm determined to read all the way through this time.) But while searching for "atheist" in the catalogue, I came across God, No! by Penn Jillette. I'm a big Penn and Teller fan, and I've been meaning to read this book for a while, so I decided it would be more fun to start with this one and move into the more serious discourse after that.
I'm almost half-way through, and I have some really mixed feelings about this book. On the one hand, Penn is funny, and I am really enjoying his 10 Suggestions. On the other hand, he swears way too much, and in the most vulgar way, and he appears to be a misogynist. Oh, sure, there are some women he seems to respect--his mother, his wife, and the lesbian minister who didn't ask his family to return to the church when they left--but in general, he seems to think that women were placed on this earth (or evolved, I suppose) for his personal sexual enjoyment.
Also, Penn is most certainly a Christian Atheist. He said, "I don't understand atheists who claim to also be Jewish. ...I hear hard-core atheists claim that they are Jewish because their moms were Jewish. That's not a genetic rule, that's a religious rule, and if you're not religious, you don't follow religious rules." (P. 33) That, my friends, is a Christian view of religion if I ever heard one.
I don't believe in God. I do believe in religion. There are many, many things I like about Judaism and being Jewish. I believe that Judaism was created by people and is maintained by people. I believe everything in it should be open for interpretation. But there's a lot about it that is very sensible and the structure of it is helpful in many ways. And Judaism has always been about questioning and interpreting. That's why I think the Hasidim are wrong. Somewhere along the line, they stopped questioning, and started imitating. They closed themselves off from the world. I don't think that's real Judaism, and when I believed in God I didn't think that was what God intended us to do.
But I have the freedom to make these distinctions because I was born a Jew. As a Jew, nobody ever asks you what you believe, they ask what you do. "Do you keep kosher? Do you keep Shabbat? Do you daven after dinner?" are all acceptable questions for a Jew to ask another Jew. But nobody ever asks about beliefs. And there is no creed, so we are not asked to promise to believe in anything. So Jewish Atheists do not see a clear and solid demarcation between belief and non belief. Some people keep kosher and don't believe in God. Others believe firmly in God but sit in mixed-gender seating. Your typical Orthodox Jew would be more comfortable with the kosher non-believer than the believing mixed-gender-sitter.
Christians, on the other hand, recite their creed every Sunday. It is a fact that a person who does not believe Jesus is the son of God is not truly a Christian. So for them, Atheism is a much brighter line. Becoming Atheist means that one is no longer a Christian. It all goes out the window in one fell swoop. But let's face it: there are plenty of Atheists who don't eat bacon. There's nothing about Atheism that requires the mixing of milk and meat, or working on Saturday, or eating bread in the springtime. And discussing Biblical passages with Atheists is downright fun.
So, Penn Jillette, why should I stop? Because it doesn't make sense? Of course it doesn't. But I'm Jewish, and not only does my being Jewish not hurt anyone, I teach kids to be skeptical about Jewish teachings and to participate in social justice activities. Objectively, these are good things. So no, Penn, I won't bend to your Christian definition of religion, no matter how hard you argue that it's really free thought. I'm not going to fit into the box you want to put me in. I grew up with a different set of boxes.
So I checked out some good ones: The Portable Atheist and Religion for Atheists (which I'm determined to read all the way through this time.) But while searching for "atheist" in the catalogue, I came across God, No! by Penn Jillette. I'm a big Penn and Teller fan, and I've been meaning to read this book for a while, so I decided it would be more fun to start with this one and move into the more serious discourse after that.
I'm almost half-way through, and I have some really mixed feelings about this book. On the one hand, Penn is funny, and I am really enjoying his 10 Suggestions. On the other hand, he swears way too much, and in the most vulgar way, and he appears to be a misogynist. Oh, sure, there are some women he seems to respect--his mother, his wife, and the lesbian minister who didn't ask his family to return to the church when they left--but in general, he seems to think that women were placed on this earth (or evolved, I suppose) for his personal sexual enjoyment.
Also, Penn is most certainly a Christian Atheist. He said, "I don't understand atheists who claim to also be Jewish. ...I hear hard-core atheists claim that they are Jewish because their moms were Jewish. That's not a genetic rule, that's a religious rule, and if you're not religious, you don't follow religious rules." (P. 33) That, my friends, is a Christian view of religion if I ever heard one.
I don't believe in God. I do believe in religion. There are many, many things I like about Judaism and being Jewish. I believe that Judaism was created by people and is maintained by people. I believe everything in it should be open for interpretation. But there's a lot about it that is very sensible and the structure of it is helpful in many ways. And Judaism has always been about questioning and interpreting. That's why I think the Hasidim are wrong. Somewhere along the line, they stopped questioning, and started imitating. They closed themselves off from the world. I don't think that's real Judaism, and when I believed in God I didn't think that was what God intended us to do.
But I have the freedom to make these distinctions because I was born a Jew. As a Jew, nobody ever asks you what you believe, they ask what you do. "Do you keep kosher? Do you keep Shabbat? Do you daven after dinner?" are all acceptable questions for a Jew to ask another Jew. But nobody ever asks about beliefs. And there is no creed, so we are not asked to promise to believe in anything. So Jewish Atheists do not see a clear and solid demarcation between belief and non belief. Some people keep kosher and don't believe in God. Others believe firmly in God but sit in mixed-gender seating. Your typical Orthodox Jew would be more comfortable with the kosher non-believer than the believing mixed-gender-sitter.
Christians, on the other hand, recite their creed every Sunday. It is a fact that a person who does not believe Jesus is the son of God is not truly a Christian. So for them, Atheism is a much brighter line. Becoming Atheist means that one is no longer a Christian. It all goes out the window in one fell swoop. But let's face it: there are plenty of Atheists who don't eat bacon. There's nothing about Atheism that requires the mixing of milk and meat, or working on Saturday, or eating bread in the springtime. And discussing Biblical passages with Atheists is downright fun.
So, Penn Jillette, why should I stop? Because it doesn't make sense? Of course it doesn't. But I'm Jewish, and not only does my being Jewish not hurt anyone, I teach kids to be skeptical about Jewish teachings and to participate in social justice activities. Objectively, these are good things. So no, Penn, I won't bend to your Christian definition of religion, no matter how hard you argue that it's really free thought. I'm not going to fit into the box you want to put me in. I grew up with a different set of boxes.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Worldwide Secular Celebration
Well, this is it--the biggest secular celebration of humanity that we have. The dream is peaceful competition among nations. The reality is a spectacle of the human body being pushed to its limits in every way imaginable. It comes down to courage, focus and execution. And the best human wins.
I love the Olympics. I've always loved the Olympics. I love watching sports that I never think about when the Olympics aren't on. I love watching people push themselves and achieve their best performances ever on the biggest stage in the world. I love the fact that almost everyone practices good sportsmanship. I love everything about it.
But now that I've realized I'm a Humanist, I think I love it even more. The Olympics is a time when the whole world comes together to celebrate humanity. How many times during the broadcast do we hear the phrase, "Human spirit?" Olympians may or may not trust in god, but they don't rely on that--they prepare, they train, and they come together with other people, whether it's teammates, coaches, family, or the support of national fans. Maybe Olympians are praying before every performance, but we don't see that. Every commercial during the Olympics focuses on the fact that nobody gets to the Olympics alone. And so we are reminded of our connectedness, and of our potential.
We need more secular ways to celebrate and to come together as a community.
Here's one.
I love the Olympics. I've always loved the Olympics. I love watching sports that I never think about when the Olympics aren't on. I love watching people push themselves and achieve their best performances ever on the biggest stage in the world. I love the fact that almost everyone practices good sportsmanship. I love everything about it.
But now that I've realized I'm a Humanist, I think I love it even more. The Olympics is a time when the whole world comes together to celebrate humanity. How many times during the broadcast do we hear the phrase, "Human spirit?" Olympians may or may not trust in god, but they don't rely on that--they prepare, they train, and they come together with other people, whether it's teammates, coaches, family, or the support of national fans. Maybe Olympians are praying before every performance, but we don't see that. Every commercial during the Olympics focuses on the fact that nobody gets to the Olympics alone. And so we are reminded of our connectedness, and of our potential.
We need more secular ways to celebrate and to come together as a community.
Here's one.
Monday, July 23, 2012
More about post-its
I tried two meditations today. First, a walking meditation with the dog, focusing on the word "gratitude," then a more traditional meditation lying on the floor using the word "peace" every time I exhaled. I wouldn't call either a success, but I'll give myself some points for a good start.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
- Peace
- Gratitude
- Love
- Relaxation
- Forgiveness
- Tolerance
- Trust
- Community
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Are religious people less angry?
I've been working on my summer homework, reading Man Seeks God by Eric Weiner. In chapter 2 (on Buddhism) Weiner states that the religious people he's been meeting all say that they're less angry and more peaceful since beginning religious practice.* That got me wondering. Clearly it's an anecdote, not a statistic, but the people Weiner discusses in the first two chapters are Sufi Mystics and Buddhists. Both traditions focus on meditation, circling, repetition, and communion with a greater power (Allah for Sufis and everything for Buddhists.) It stands to reason that spending time each day working on becoming calm, or working on focusing the body in motion (as Whirling Dervishes do) might help to reduce stress. And I wonder how much the surrender also helps. Recognizing a higher power is Step 2 in Alcoholics Anonymous, after all.
So the question is, is this one of the things religion does well that Humanists could adopt and adapt, or is it really god entering into the equation? The Humanist Community Project at Harvard has developed a meditation group (I'll have to cite that later, because their website doesn't seem to be working at the moment, but take my word for it for now) and I found this version of the twelve steps by Googling "Atheist Twelve Step Program."
I'm wondering how many Humanists out there are practicing some kind of meditation. Buddhists don't believe in god per se, but the whole interconnectedness of all beings thing is more or less beyond our ability to prove scientifically, and reincarnation is definitely beyond belief. On the other hand, Weiner tries out (also in chapter 2) imagining that everyone he sees was his mother in a past life, and finds that he is less judgmental and more forgiving to the people around him, and this relaxes him a bit. Is that useful as an exercise, even if we don't actually believe it, or does one have to accept reincarnation to practice that particular exercise? Is being less judgmental and more forgiving a good goal for Humanism? What about being less angry? It seems to me that a particular group of Humanists could set goals like this and work toward them as a group, and that might form a good community for those who wanted it. Good without God, and all that...
Opinions?
*I think I remember this is on Page 76, but I might be wrong. Anyway, Weiner said it, and it's in Chapter 2 of his book, and this isn't a scholarly article, so I'm deciding that's attribution enough. If Eric Weiner wants to leave a complaint in the comments, I'll be happy to add a proper citation at a later date.
So the question is, is this one of the things religion does well that Humanists could adopt and adapt, or is it really god entering into the equation? The Humanist Community Project at Harvard has developed a meditation group (I'll have to cite that later, because their website doesn't seem to be working at the moment, but take my word for it for now) and I found this version of the twelve steps by Googling "Atheist Twelve Step Program."
I'm wondering how many Humanists out there are practicing some kind of meditation. Buddhists don't believe in god per se, but the whole interconnectedness of all beings thing is more or less beyond our ability to prove scientifically, and reincarnation is definitely beyond belief. On the other hand, Weiner tries out (also in chapter 2) imagining that everyone he sees was his mother in a past life, and finds that he is less judgmental and more forgiving to the people around him, and this relaxes him a bit. Is that useful as an exercise, even if we don't actually believe it, or does one have to accept reincarnation to practice that particular exercise? Is being less judgmental and more forgiving a good goal for Humanism? What about being less angry? It seems to me that a particular group of Humanists could set goals like this and work toward them as a group, and that might form a good community for those who wanted it. Good without God, and all that...
Opinions?
*I think I remember this is on Page 76, but I might be wrong. Anyway, Weiner said it, and it's in Chapter 2 of his book, and this isn't a scholarly article, so I'm deciding that's attribution enough. If Eric Weiner wants to leave a complaint in the comments, I'll be happy to add a proper citation at a later date.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Are Religious People Healthier?
I've been thinking a lot about this guy since yesterday. Obviously, his argument (that religion makes you healthier so Atheists should pay a tax penalty for not going to church) is ridiculous. But I do believe that people who belong to things (clubs, neighborhoods, organizations and yes, churches) are healthier. I don't think this has anything to do with God, but I know from my work in public health that one of the things we look for in our studies is connectedness. We ask questions like
Is there someone who could look after your children for 20 minutes if you needed them to?
Is there someone who would check on you a few times a day if you were sick in bed?
Is there someone who could help you find new housing if you needed to move?
All of these things relate directly to health. People avoid going to the doctor if they can't find someone to watch their kids. They get sicker if nobody brings them chicken soup. They stay in unsafe housing if they don't know where else to go.
Does it matter if they know these people from the neighborhood or from church? Not really. But your congregation is more likely to get together to bring you food when you're recovering from surgery, or to visit you after a death in the family, than your neighbors. Your clergy person has special visitation rights in the hospital.
This is one of the issues I plan to bring up in my presentation on secular religion. Because I think that these are issues Atheists need to deal with. Caring for others in the community is something Religion does well, particularly in our current society where most of us don't live in small towns where everyone knows each other's business. My congregation has a Caring Community whose job it is to make sure that people in distress get visits from community members, a few meals if they need it, and they keep the Rabbi updated if someone wants a visit from her. There's no reason a Humanist community can't do the same for its members.
Is there someone who could look after your children for 20 minutes if you needed them to?
Is there someone who would check on you a few times a day if you were sick in bed?
Is there someone who could help you find new housing if you needed to move?
All of these things relate directly to health. People avoid going to the doctor if they can't find someone to watch their kids. They get sicker if nobody brings them chicken soup. They stay in unsafe housing if they don't know where else to go.
Does it matter if they know these people from the neighborhood or from church? Not really. But your congregation is more likely to get together to bring you food when you're recovering from surgery, or to visit you after a death in the family, than your neighbors. Your clergy person has special visitation rights in the hospital.
This is one of the issues I plan to bring up in my presentation on secular religion. Because I think that these are issues Atheists need to deal with. Caring for others in the community is something Religion does well, particularly in our current society where most of us don't live in small towns where everyone knows each other's business. My congregation has a Caring Community whose job it is to make sure that people in distress get visits from community members, a few meals if they need it, and they keep the Rabbi updated if someone wants a visit from her. There's no reason a Humanist community can't do the same for its members.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Writing
I'm thinking about writing something a bit more substantive. It would be a way to force myself to do more research and I might get a chance to present it, hopefully to the Humanist group I belong to and maybe somewhere else.
The thing I'm most interested in is the current movement within Humanism to incorporate or create secular rituals. Right now, I'm thinking it would include:
* Humanistic Judaism
*The work of Greg Epstein
*Religion for Atheists
Any suggestions for additional topics and/or references would be most appreciated.
The thing I'm most interested in is the current movement within Humanism to incorporate or create secular rituals. Right now, I'm thinking it would include:
* Humanistic Judaism
*The work of Greg Epstein
*Religion for Atheists
Any suggestions for additional topics and/or references would be most appreciated.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
The need to coalesce
This morning, Mr. Jewess and I went to our local Humanist meeting. Before the main presenter, there was a brief discussion about the Reason Rally and subsequent Atheist Symposium that happened a few weeks ago. While I was pleased to find that some locals had been to the event, I was rather shocked at the ignorance of the Humanist Movement expressed by the members. Here are a few quotes from the discussion, with my annotations:
"Dawkins seems to have mellowed a bit. He was less anti-religion than he can be."
Excellent! In order to achieve anything, we have to work with reasonable religionists. There are plenty of people who consider themselves religious and yet work for the dignity of humanity. Those people are our allies, and the more we argue with them about transubstantiation (or whatever) the less time we have to work for peace, justice and equality.
"There were some ministers and priests who came out as atheists. There is a fund to help them for six months because they find themselves without work when they come out. What kind of work can they do?"
How about ministering? They could help people develop life cycle events, counsel people in crisis, organize communities, help the poor, explain ethical dilemmas, comfort the sick, and teach children. We all need people to do these things, whether or not we believe in god. And to tell the truth, they can probably get jobs teaching religion, too. Most denominations require at least the equivalent of a Master's Degree for ordination, and most colleges and universities would not consider atheism a problem.
"There was an atheist rabbi? How can you be an atheist and a rabbi?"
Mr. Jewess chalks this one up to a lack of understanding about Judaism. Of course, Christians have a creed, so you can't be a Priest and an atheist. But "Rabbi" just means "teacher" and there's no creed in Judaism, so there's really no reason you can't be a rabbi and an atheist, even without Humanistic Judaism. (Although it WOULD be reasonable for a congregation to require a rabbi to believe in god, if they're into that sort of thing.) But I suspect the rabbi they were talking about is Miriam Jerris, who is ordained in the Humanist Movement.
This conversation got me thinking. Clearly, this group is not well-informed about the movement within Humanism to develop religious-style practice. They seem to be more of the philosophy that learning in community replaces prayer in community. And I suppose it can to some extent, but not completely. For example, what will happen when these people die? Do they plan to have funerals? If not, how will their families mark the loss? And if so, who will lead the service and what will it be like? Humanists need life-cycle events as much as anyone else. So I think what I want to do is to make a presentation to the group about the call for ritual within Humanism, and the various ways people are studying this idea and pursuing it. Maybe I can get them to consider adding some ritual elements to the group, or expanding to a second group that discusses religion and ethics. Really, there are lots of areas that religious institutions fill in people's lives that a Humanist organization could fill--charity work, artistic expression, cross-cultural experiences, and community meals are just a few. I wonder if this group could grow into any of those areas.
I think it will be fun to find out.
"Dawkins seems to have mellowed a bit. He was less anti-religion than he can be."
Excellent! In order to achieve anything, we have to work with reasonable religionists. There are plenty of people who consider themselves religious and yet work for the dignity of humanity. Those people are our allies, and the more we argue with them about transubstantiation (or whatever) the less time we have to work for peace, justice and equality.
"There were some ministers and priests who came out as atheists. There is a fund to help them for six months because they find themselves without work when they come out. What kind of work can they do?"
How about ministering? They could help people develop life cycle events, counsel people in crisis, organize communities, help the poor, explain ethical dilemmas, comfort the sick, and teach children. We all need people to do these things, whether or not we believe in god. And to tell the truth, they can probably get jobs teaching religion, too. Most denominations require at least the equivalent of a Master's Degree for ordination, and most colleges and universities would not consider atheism a problem.
"There was an atheist rabbi? How can you be an atheist and a rabbi?"
Mr. Jewess chalks this one up to a lack of understanding about Judaism. Of course, Christians have a creed, so you can't be a Priest and an atheist. But "Rabbi" just means "teacher" and there's no creed in Judaism, so there's really no reason you can't be a rabbi and an atheist, even without Humanistic Judaism. (Although it WOULD be reasonable for a congregation to require a rabbi to believe in god, if they're into that sort of thing.) But I suspect the rabbi they were talking about is Miriam Jerris, who is ordained in the Humanist Movement.
This conversation got me thinking. Clearly, this group is not well-informed about the movement within Humanism to develop religious-style practice. They seem to be more of the philosophy that learning in community replaces prayer in community. And I suppose it can to some extent, but not completely. For example, what will happen when these people die? Do they plan to have funerals? If not, how will their families mark the loss? And if so, who will lead the service and what will it be like? Humanists need life-cycle events as much as anyone else. So I think what I want to do is to make a presentation to the group about the call for ritual within Humanism, and the various ways people are studying this idea and pursuing it. Maybe I can get them to consider adding some ritual elements to the group, or expanding to a second group that discusses religion and ethics. Really, there are lots of areas that religious institutions fill in people's lives that a Humanist organization could fill--charity work, artistic expression, cross-cultural experiences, and community meals are just a few. I wonder if this group could grow into any of those areas.
I think it will be fun to find out.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Hunger Games, Religion, and Women (or not)
After finishing Mockingjay, I read Slate's Book Club on the topic. There was much discussion of the ending and the violence, of course, but they also mentioned two ideas that got me thinking about Humanism again.
1) Panem is almost perfectly egalitarian. Women and men have equal chance to be good, evil, vacuous, creative, President, and killed in the Arena. (Although I don't think women work in the mines.)
2) Katniss is weirdly virginal. As a person so in touch with sensation, in such a heightened dramatic situation, and an adolescent, wouldn't she be sexually adventurous?
The first got me thinking about the lack of religion in the books again. Religion is one of the primary tools men have used to oppress women throughout history. After all, if it's all about the afterlife, it doesn't matter that you can't do anything in this life, right? It's one of the few ways we can see that Panem may have come from the world we know now. After the devastation of global warming and the wars, the people left decided that the new society would have complete equality and no religion. And things devolved from there.
However, I have to disagree with the statement about equality. Yes, there are women in power, and in the Capitol, it seems there is a kind of equality. There is also equality in the Reaping and the Hunger Games. However, in District 12, we see women in very traditional roles--raising children, helping in the bakery, and so forth. Greasy Sae seems to be the only woman who works in the Hob, and she is a cook.
Item number 2 I kind of disagree with. The main focus of the book seems to be an exploration of Katniss and the effects of trauma on a very strong human being. At the beginning of the book, we see Katniss beginning to emerge from post-traumatic stress that was a result of the sudden death of her father and subsequent depression of her mother. She has learned to take care of her family, they are surviving, and as her mother emerges from her depression, Katniss is aware of the fact that she is shutting her mother out emotionally, which is the first step to eventually forgiving her mother and moving on. In order to cope with the stress she has been under, she has shut herself off emotionally from everyone except Prim, and kept her distance from everyone except Gale. But she is reaching the point where recovery and a normal life are possible when the Games intervene.
Still, this history has prevented her normal adolescent development. She didn't spend her teenage years ogling boys with her girlfriends, trying on different outfits and reading romance novels. She spent them hunting with Gale and trading in the Hob and making sure every waking moment was dedicated to taking care of her family. So when boys start admiring her in her new dresses and she starts kissing Peeta, her feelings surprise and confuse her. This is underscored at the beginning of the Quarter Quell when the various Victors tease Katniss (Finnick with his flirting, Joanna stripping naked, etc.) Peeta sees this teasing for what it is, but Katniss is completely overwhelmed by it. This suggests that Peeta's sexual development has taken a more normal course (although he's remarkably self-possessed at 17) whereas Katniss is stunted. This is all augmented by Katniss's extreme fear of having children because any children she has will be under threat of the Reaping.
What is not addressed is how women achieved their remarkable equality in Panem. Women in District 12 do not seem to enjoy that liberty--we see women staying home while men work in the mines, or helping in stores (as in Peeta's family.) However, in the Capitol there is more equality.
Darn it. I started out intending to write about the fact that only a religionless and sexless society seems to be able to produce total equality of the sexes, and I have talked myself out of the equality part and the sexless part.
One wonders, then, how the society functions without religion. Most dystopian fiction contains some kind of cultural ritual, be it explicitly religious or shockingly secular. But in this world, the only ritual they seem to have is the Hunger Games. How, then, do the people in the Capitol justify their lifestyle? They know, from watching the Hunger Games, how different life is in the Districts. It is stated in Mockingjay that they have trouble recruiting people from the Capitol to become Peacekeepers because they don't want to live in the Districts. Without religion telling them that they are better than the District citizens, how do they live with themselves? Sure, there are those (like Katniss's prep team) who don't think about anything, but what about normal people? What holds them together as a community? What makes them feel that they should be loyal to the President, or the Capitol?
One reason I think people are unsatisfied with the trilogy is that they want to know more about Panem: how it works, what rituals it has, and why it functions. I think the people who are unsatisfied with the ending are looking for one of two things: a happy resolution (which is impossible) or a description of the political situation post-revolution. But Collins isn't interested in Panem, particularly. She is exploring the psyche of an adolescent girl whose world is destroyed piece by piece but who survives. That's why the ending is so quick and so anticlimactic. Because once the Capitol is done with Katniss, Katniss begins to heal, and Collins loses interest. Her only point after that is that Katniss never recovers completely, and the rest of her life is framed by her participation in the Hunger Games and the Revolution. The world doesn't really change because people don't really change, but Katniss changes enough that she is able to have children, and mostly enjoy them.
Now I talked myself out of the only bit I had left. We don't know about the rituals of Panem because Collins was only interested in setting up a world where Katniss could be destroyed.
I really liked the books, though, because it's a fascinating character study. While there are choices I would have preferred (the real Peeta in book 3, for example, would have been more interesting in a lot of ways) Collins always takes away the one thing Katniss is counting on, and Peeta's love is an important piece. It's a really interesting thought exercise.
But I'm afraid it has nothing to do with Humanism.
Oh, well. On Saturday I'm going to a meeting of my local Humanist group. Maybe I'll have something relevant then. In the meantime, feel free to argue with me about The Hunger Games.
1) Panem is almost perfectly egalitarian. Women and men have equal chance to be good, evil, vacuous, creative, President, and killed in the Arena. (Although I don't think women work in the mines.)
2) Katniss is weirdly virginal. As a person so in touch with sensation, in such a heightened dramatic situation, and an adolescent, wouldn't she be sexually adventurous?
The first got me thinking about the lack of religion in the books again. Religion is one of the primary tools men have used to oppress women throughout history. After all, if it's all about the afterlife, it doesn't matter that you can't do anything in this life, right? It's one of the few ways we can see that Panem may have come from the world we know now. After the devastation of global warming and the wars, the people left decided that the new society would have complete equality and no religion. And things devolved from there.
However, I have to disagree with the statement about equality. Yes, there are women in power, and in the Capitol, it seems there is a kind of equality. There is also equality in the Reaping and the Hunger Games. However, in District 12, we see women in very traditional roles--raising children, helping in the bakery, and so forth. Greasy Sae seems to be the only woman who works in the Hob, and she is a cook.
Item number 2 I kind of disagree with. The main focus of the book seems to be an exploration of Katniss and the effects of trauma on a very strong human being. At the beginning of the book, we see Katniss beginning to emerge from post-traumatic stress that was a result of the sudden death of her father and subsequent depression of her mother. She has learned to take care of her family, they are surviving, and as her mother emerges from her depression, Katniss is aware of the fact that she is shutting her mother out emotionally, which is the first step to eventually forgiving her mother and moving on. In order to cope with the stress she has been under, she has shut herself off emotionally from everyone except Prim, and kept her distance from everyone except Gale. But she is reaching the point where recovery and a normal life are possible when the Games intervene.
Still, this history has prevented her normal adolescent development. She didn't spend her teenage years ogling boys with her girlfriends, trying on different outfits and reading romance novels. She spent them hunting with Gale and trading in the Hob and making sure every waking moment was dedicated to taking care of her family. So when boys start admiring her in her new dresses and she starts kissing Peeta, her feelings surprise and confuse her. This is underscored at the beginning of the Quarter Quell when the various Victors tease Katniss (Finnick with his flirting, Joanna stripping naked, etc.) Peeta sees this teasing for what it is, but Katniss is completely overwhelmed by it. This suggests that Peeta's sexual development has taken a more normal course (although he's remarkably self-possessed at 17) whereas Katniss is stunted. This is all augmented by Katniss's extreme fear of having children because any children she has will be under threat of the Reaping.
What is not addressed is how women achieved their remarkable equality in Panem. Women in District 12 do not seem to enjoy that liberty--we see women staying home while men work in the mines, or helping in stores (as in Peeta's family.) However, in the Capitol there is more equality.
Darn it. I started out intending to write about the fact that only a religionless and sexless society seems to be able to produce total equality of the sexes, and I have talked myself out of the equality part and the sexless part.
One wonders, then, how the society functions without religion. Most dystopian fiction contains some kind of cultural ritual, be it explicitly religious or shockingly secular. But in this world, the only ritual they seem to have is the Hunger Games. How, then, do the people in the Capitol justify their lifestyle? They know, from watching the Hunger Games, how different life is in the Districts. It is stated in Mockingjay that they have trouble recruiting people from the Capitol to become Peacekeepers because they don't want to live in the Districts. Without religion telling them that they are better than the District citizens, how do they live with themselves? Sure, there are those (like Katniss's prep team) who don't think about anything, but what about normal people? What holds them together as a community? What makes them feel that they should be loyal to the President, or the Capitol?
One reason I think people are unsatisfied with the trilogy is that they want to know more about Panem: how it works, what rituals it has, and why it functions. I think the people who are unsatisfied with the ending are looking for one of two things: a happy resolution (which is impossible) or a description of the political situation post-revolution. But Collins isn't interested in Panem, particularly. She is exploring the psyche of an adolescent girl whose world is destroyed piece by piece but who survives. That's why the ending is so quick and so anticlimactic. Because once the Capitol is done with Katniss, Katniss begins to heal, and Collins loses interest. Her only point after that is that Katniss never recovers completely, and the rest of her life is framed by her participation in the Hunger Games and the Revolution. The world doesn't really change because people don't really change, but Katniss changes enough that she is able to have children, and mostly enjoy them.
Now I talked myself out of the only bit I had left. We don't know about the rituals of Panem because Collins was only interested in setting up a world where Katniss could be destroyed.
I really liked the books, though, because it's a fascinating character study. While there are choices I would have preferred (the real Peeta in book 3, for example, would have been more interesting in a lot of ways) Collins always takes away the one thing Katniss is counting on, and Peeta's love is an important piece. It's a really interesting thought exercise.
But I'm afraid it has nothing to do with Humanism.
Oh, well. On Saturday I'm going to a meeting of my local Humanist group. Maybe I'll have something relevant then. In the meantime, feel free to argue with me about The Hunger Games.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Humanist Passover
This is one of those times of year when my Humanism is tested. I am keeping my house kosher for Passover (as much as I ever did) and we attended two seders. It's Easter today, and my Christian friends are posting all manner of glory on Facebook. And The Little Jewess is eight years old and when she has her cranky moments (she's just been sick and we've had a busy weekend, so they have been more frequent than usual this week) she asks me, "WHY do we have to have a seder? WHY can't I eat bread?"
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
Monday, March 26, 2012
We need to work harder
I'm really enjoying all the media coverage that atheism is getting in the wake of the Reason Rally. One thing that has jumped out at me is the old debate about whether or not atheists should proselytize. How aggressive should we be? It turns out it's not just me who is put off by Dawkins and Hitchens (of blessed memory) and the more aggressive sorts.
I guess to me, that's part of Humanism. If I'm in favor of human dignity, how does telling someone they're stupid for believing in God increase that person's dignity, or mine? There are so many reasons that people are religious, and most of them are helpful--community, tradition, family, charity, philosophy, etc.
It also has to do with why we need a Humanist religion. If we make something that's attractive and vibrant and satisfying, then it will grow on its own. And we can do that. It's just a matter of time and effort.
I just got a copy of Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton. I'm looking forward to seeing what he has to say about the importance of ritual in our lives.
I guess to me, that's part of Humanism. If I'm in favor of human dignity, how does telling someone they're stupid for believing in God increase that person's dignity, or mine? There are so many reasons that people are religious, and most of them are helpful--community, tradition, family, charity, philosophy, etc.
It also has to do with why we need a Humanist religion. If we make something that's attractive and vibrant and satisfying, then it will grow on its own. And we can do that. It's just a matter of time and effort.
I just got a copy of Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton. I'm looking forward to seeing what he has to say about the importance of ritual in our lives.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
What's a Humanist Passover?
Being a Religious School teacher, I'm always one holiday ahead. It's our job. So even as I'm wearing my Purim costume, I'm thinking about Passover.
A few years ago I decided to write my own Haggadah. Although I had not yet heard of Humanism, I was well on my way, and I wanted a Hagaddah that would be short and simple but would foster discussion. Last year, I added the full text of the Passover story from Exodus.
This was something I'd been meaning to do for some time. Every year, I read the story to my third graders, and I learn a lot. More than that, I struggle, and the kids struggle too. There is a lot in that story that is truly frustrating. I wanted to share that frustration with those closest to me.
To me, that frustration is the essence of Judaism. We have this text, and it is our job to wrestle with it. It's not hard to find meaning in it, but no sooner do we find some than something else contradicts it. But year after year, the struggle continues.
And yet, we keep doing it, because we're Jews.
I remember my rabbi growing up used to say on Simchat Torah, when he welcomed the new Religious School students, that the Torah is the only book we love so much that we dance with it. And to me, there's value there that transcends God. This is our story. We have carried it with us--literally--through great adversity for generations. And it's not perfect. There's a lot in there that makes me angry, or confuses me, or makes me wonder who wrote this thing and why they made God the way they did. But it's my job to keep struggling, to wring every bit of wisdom I can from the story, and to pass the story along.
So I'm working on my Haggadah. It's got the traditional prayers in Hebrew with Humanist versions in English. That's partly to make my parents feel comfortable and partly because I can't quite feel comfortable changing the prayers altogether. It's got the whole story from Exodus. And it's got some good funny songs at the end.
Maybe this year I'll remember to make notes about what to change for next year.
What would you include in a Humanist seder?
A few years ago I decided to write my own Haggadah. Although I had not yet heard of Humanism, I was well on my way, and I wanted a Hagaddah that would be short and simple but would foster discussion. Last year, I added the full text of the Passover story from Exodus.
This was something I'd been meaning to do for some time. Every year, I read the story to my third graders, and I learn a lot. More than that, I struggle, and the kids struggle too. There is a lot in that story that is truly frustrating. I wanted to share that frustration with those closest to me.
To me, that frustration is the essence of Judaism. We have this text, and it is our job to wrestle with it. It's not hard to find meaning in it, but no sooner do we find some than something else contradicts it. But year after year, the struggle continues.
And yet, we keep doing it, because we're Jews.
I remember my rabbi growing up used to say on Simchat Torah, when he welcomed the new Religious School students, that the Torah is the only book we love so much that we dance with it. And to me, there's value there that transcends God. This is our story. We have carried it with us--literally--through great adversity for generations. And it's not perfect. There's a lot in there that makes me angry, or confuses me, or makes me wonder who wrote this thing and why they made God the way they did. But it's my job to keep struggling, to wring every bit of wisdom I can from the story, and to pass the story along.
So I'm working on my Haggadah. It's got the traditional prayers in Hebrew with Humanist versions in English. That's partly to make my parents feel comfortable and partly because I can't quite feel comfortable changing the prayers altogether. It's got the whole story from Exodus. And it's got some good funny songs at the end.
Maybe this year I'll remember to make notes about what to change for next year.
What would you include in a Humanist seder?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
On Davy Jones and why Humanists need rituals
As you have probably heard, Davy Jones of the Monkees died suddenly on Wednesday. This may not have been a major news item for you, but I spent my early adolescence madly in love with a young Davy Jones (although Davy was no longer young--we don't need to analyze my psyche here) and so I spent the end of the week receiving condolences for the death of a man I never met.
And then I read this, from fellow Monkee Mike Nesmith:
While it is jarring, and sometimes seems unjust, or strange, this transition we call dying and death is a constant in the mortal experience that we know almost nothing about. I am of the mind that it is a transition and I carry with me a certainty of the continuity of existence. While I don’t exactly know what happens in these times, there is an ongoing sense of life that reaches in my mind out far beyond the near horizons of mortality and into the reaches of infinity.
In other words, "Don't be sad: Davy is still out there somewhere."
Now, obviously Mike Nesmith lost a friend and a former bandmate. The kind of friendship that must have formed among the four Monkees during their rocket to fame and subsequent touring, followed by the difficult on-again, off-again relationship they had professionally over the past 45 years is deeply significant. In contrast, I had a schoolgirl crush on a young man who had long since grown up, gotten married (twice, at that point) and fathered four children (all daughters, more's the pity.) I see the difference, and I realize that Mike was trying, in his way, to offer comfort to Davy's fans and to share something of himself.
But I get to be sad, dammit. Because someone who brought me joy, and who touched my life with his art, and who made me happy with brilliance like this, is gone. And even if you believe he's in Heaven, he's not HERE. He's gone from this world, and that is a loss, and I grieve that loss.
But this is one of those moments where not believing is a problem. Not because I want to believe that Davy is in Heaven, or with God, or will be reanimated when the Messiah comes. Precisely because I don't believe any of that. I believe that he's gone. And I recognize that those who loved him (really loved him, not fan-loved him) need the comfort that comes from words and rituals. But that doesn't mean they need God.
One of the reasons I want to get more involved with the Humanist movement is that we all need rituals, especially for important life cycle events. Birth, coming of age, marriage, death--they are all transitional periods, and they all involve a whole lot of stress. The rituals that have been developed (by people, through religion) help people through these transitions, because we need the help. But those rituals were developed by people, for people. We can have rituals that don't involve God, but do bring the comfort and assistance that people need.
Around death, the most important thing is to honor the pain that the survivors feel. We need to support people in grief and help them through the pain so that they can return to life fully when they are ready. And that's why I was disturbed by Mike Nesmith's statement. Because through his statement of belief, he was telling me--all of us--not to grieve. And not just about Davy, but always. He's saying that death is not really loss and so we shouldn't be sad. That's not fair.
So this is a call to action, fellow Humanists. We need to work to form communities, and to form rituals, and to make Humanism a force that will provide for people's needs without forcing God on them. For humans.
And then I read this, from fellow Monkee Mike Nesmith:
While it is jarring, and sometimes seems unjust, or strange, this transition we call dying and death is a constant in the mortal experience that we know almost nothing about. I am of the mind that it is a transition and I carry with me a certainty of the continuity of existence. While I don’t exactly know what happens in these times, there is an ongoing sense of life that reaches in my mind out far beyond the near horizons of mortality and into the reaches of infinity.
In other words, "Don't be sad: Davy is still out there somewhere."
Now, obviously Mike Nesmith lost a friend and a former bandmate. The kind of friendship that must have formed among the four Monkees during their rocket to fame and subsequent touring, followed by the difficult on-again, off-again relationship they had professionally over the past 45 years is deeply significant. In contrast, I had a schoolgirl crush on a young man who had long since grown up, gotten married (twice, at that point) and fathered four children (all daughters, more's the pity.) I see the difference, and I realize that Mike was trying, in his way, to offer comfort to Davy's fans and to share something of himself.
But I get to be sad, dammit. Because someone who brought me joy, and who touched my life with his art, and who made me happy with brilliance like this, is gone. And even if you believe he's in Heaven, he's not HERE. He's gone from this world, and that is a loss, and I grieve that loss.
But this is one of those moments where not believing is a problem. Not because I want to believe that Davy is in Heaven, or with God, or will be reanimated when the Messiah comes. Precisely because I don't believe any of that. I believe that he's gone. And I recognize that those who loved him (really loved him, not fan-loved him) need the comfort that comes from words and rituals. But that doesn't mean they need God.
One of the reasons I want to get more involved with the Humanist movement is that we all need rituals, especially for important life cycle events. Birth, coming of age, marriage, death--they are all transitional periods, and they all involve a whole lot of stress. The rituals that have been developed (by people, through religion) help people through these transitions, because we need the help. But those rituals were developed by people, for people. We can have rituals that don't involve God, but do bring the comfort and assistance that people need.
Around death, the most important thing is to honor the pain that the survivors feel. We need to support people in grief and help them through the pain so that they can return to life fully when they are ready. And that's why I was disturbed by Mike Nesmith's statement. Because through his statement of belief, he was telling me--all of us--not to grieve. And not just about Davy, but always. He's saying that death is not really loss and so we shouldn't be sad. That's not fair.
So this is a call to action, fellow Humanists. We need to work to form communities, and to form rituals, and to make Humanism a force that will provide for people's needs without forcing God on them. For humans.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Soldiers Without Heaven
I just read this article on the blog Unreasonable Faith, which I'll be adding to the link list at right. It speaks to something very similar to my post from yesterday: the dedication to story, which has nothing to do with God.
The reasons that people enlist in the military are many. Religious faith has certainly always been one of them, since many wars have been fought for religious reasons. But the thing that drives a soldier to put himself (or herself, of course) specifically in danger is elusive and rare, and I suspect it has more to do with earthly considerations than the promise of eternal bliss. Really, this Rev. Griem is suggesting that American soldiers are the same as terrorists, motivated only by the selfishness of future gains in heaven.
I like to give our soldiers more credit than that. One can rationally examine a situation and determine that the loss of one life is better than the loss of many, and some people who come to that conclusion will follow it through to make the decision that self-sacrifice is the most ethical thing to do. I'm not saying it's easy, but wouldn't we all like to think that we'd put our own lives on the line to save, say, a trainload of children? This calculation has nothing to do with God or even legacy, though we all hope to be remembered for our selfless deeds. It's a logical, rational calculation that has at its root a deep valuation of human life. If human potential is good then it makes sense to sacrifice the life of one middle-aged woman to save the life of many children.
Likewise, it is the fight for human dignity that we hope drives our soldiers today, especially in a time where our wars have fundamentalism on one side and Democracy on the other. When our soldiers are engaged in nation-building, it is essential that they treat each person in an occupied country with dignity. And when we are trying to convince people from another religious and cultural background to change their ways, the only viable argument to make is one based on rational thinking.
So shouldn't we be evaluating military volunteers on their Humanism, rather than their spiritual health? Ask them about their understanding of the value of human life, their definition of the word "dignity" and what is the difference between the words "loyalty," "faith," and "fanaticism?"
The reasons that people enlist in the military are many. Religious faith has certainly always been one of them, since many wars have been fought for religious reasons. But the thing that drives a soldier to put himself (or herself, of course) specifically in danger is elusive and rare, and I suspect it has more to do with earthly considerations than the promise of eternal bliss. Really, this Rev. Griem is suggesting that American soldiers are the same as terrorists, motivated only by the selfishness of future gains in heaven.
I like to give our soldiers more credit than that. One can rationally examine a situation and determine that the loss of one life is better than the loss of many, and some people who come to that conclusion will follow it through to make the decision that self-sacrifice is the most ethical thing to do. I'm not saying it's easy, but wouldn't we all like to think that we'd put our own lives on the line to save, say, a trainload of children? This calculation has nothing to do with God or even legacy, though we all hope to be remembered for our selfless deeds. It's a logical, rational calculation that has at its root a deep valuation of human life. If human potential is good then it makes sense to sacrifice the life of one middle-aged woman to save the life of many children.
Likewise, it is the fight for human dignity that we hope drives our soldiers today, especially in a time where our wars have fundamentalism on one side and Democracy on the other. When our soldiers are engaged in nation-building, it is essential that they treat each person in an occupied country with dignity. And when we are trying to convince people from another religious and cultural background to change their ways, the only viable argument to make is one based on rational thinking.
So shouldn't we be evaluating military volunteers on their Humanism, rather than their spiritual health? Ask them about their understanding of the value of human life, their definition of the word "dignity" and what is the difference between the words "loyalty," "faith," and "fanaticism?"
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Lent
Obviously I've never been a Christian. There's a lot in Christianity, like the concept of the Trinity, that I just can't fathom or get behind. But there are two things about Christianity that I've always envied.
One is the "Spirit of Christmas." I've always longed to be part of the whole season of joy and I love the idea that everyone is more generous and kind to those less fortunate at that time of year. Of course it would be nice if people were that generous all year round, but as a Humanist, I've got to understand the limits of Humanity, too, and once a year is better than nothing.
The other is Lent. I guess it's an odd thing to envy, but as a child I enjoyed books about old-fashioned girls, like Anne of Green Gables and Betsy-Tacy. The girls were always Christian and church was always an important part of their lives. I enjoyed reading about the challenges and feelings around Lent. I particularly remember Betsy from the Betsy-Tacy series giving up fudge for Lent. Fudge-making was a common activity for teenage girls at the beginning of the 20th century, and at every gathering Betsy would take one piece of fudge, bring it home, and keep it in a box. At the end of Lent she had a wonderful sense of accomplishment and a big box of stale fudge.
Well, today is Ash Wednesday and there's been a lot of talk among my Christian friends on Facebook around the start of Lent. One is giving away candy she won't be able to eat until Lent is over, another is debating what to give up, and a Minister friend of mine posted a pancake recipe yesterday for Shrove Tuesday and is asking her congregants what they're doing to observe Lent. I, of course, jumped right in to these discussions with suggestions and questions, and I learned something new.
Some people do something positive for Lent instead of giving something up.
What a wonderful Humanist idea! Now, I believe that giving things up is good for you. It's why I give up bread on Passover and why I fast on Yom Kippur. Perhaps that's the origin of my Lent envy, or maybe it's the other way around. But giving up sweets or alcohol or meat doesn't really help anyone else (well, the meat does, I guess.) On the other hand, deciding to be nicer to those around you or more generous or to start a new volunteer project does help others. When I heard that Catholics in the town where I grew up have been adding positive acts for Lent since the 1980's, I thought, "Wow! Humanist Catholics! Who knew?"
Which is when I realized that I'm in trouble.
Because I don't see Humanism as having much to do with disbelief in God. I define Humanism differently. To me, it's about putting the dignity of others first and making decisions based on rational, rather than textual, reasons. It's the embrace of science and skepticism. To me, none of that precludes religion. If you do it, you're a Humanist.
So what does that make me?
One is the "Spirit of Christmas." I've always longed to be part of the whole season of joy and I love the idea that everyone is more generous and kind to those less fortunate at that time of year. Of course it would be nice if people were that generous all year round, but as a Humanist, I've got to understand the limits of Humanity, too, and once a year is better than nothing.
The other is Lent. I guess it's an odd thing to envy, but as a child I enjoyed books about old-fashioned girls, like Anne of Green Gables and Betsy-Tacy. The girls were always Christian and church was always an important part of their lives. I enjoyed reading about the challenges and feelings around Lent. I particularly remember Betsy from the Betsy-Tacy series giving up fudge for Lent. Fudge-making was a common activity for teenage girls at the beginning of the 20th century, and at every gathering Betsy would take one piece of fudge, bring it home, and keep it in a box. At the end of Lent she had a wonderful sense of accomplishment and a big box of stale fudge.
Well, today is Ash Wednesday and there's been a lot of talk among my Christian friends on Facebook around the start of Lent. One is giving away candy she won't be able to eat until Lent is over, another is debating what to give up, and a Minister friend of mine posted a pancake recipe yesterday for Shrove Tuesday and is asking her congregants what they're doing to observe Lent. I, of course, jumped right in to these discussions with suggestions and questions, and I learned something new.
Some people do something positive for Lent instead of giving something up.
What a wonderful Humanist idea! Now, I believe that giving things up is good for you. It's why I give up bread on Passover and why I fast on Yom Kippur. Perhaps that's the origin of my Lent envy, or maybe it's the other way around. But giving up sweets or alcohol or meat doesn't really help anyone else (well, the meat does, I guess.) On the other hand, deciding to be nicer to those around you or more generous or to start a new volunteer project does help others. When I heard that Catholics in the town where I grew up have been adding positive acts for Lent since the 1980's, I thought, "Wow! Humanist Catholics! Who knew?"
Which is when I realized that I'm in trouble.
Because I don't see Humanism as having much to do with disbelief in God. I define Humanism differently. To me, it's about putting the dignity of others first and making decisions based on rational, rather than textual, reasons. It's the embrace of science and skepticism. To me, none of that precludes religion. If you do it, you're a Humanist.
So what does that make me?
Monday, February 20, 2012
What I want to do
A few things have got me thinking about what I want. First, it was listening to the Greg Epstein interview I linked to in my last post. Then I had a really interesting conversation with a co-worker who is studying Hebrew but knows very little about Judaism. And this morning I read Ethan's comments on my response to him.
If you don't know anything about Greg Epstein, you can listen to the interview I linked to, check out the Humanist Community Project (link in the list at right), or read his book, Good Without God. I love the work that he is doing. Now, although Epstein is ordained as a Humanist Rabbi, he seems to be identifying mostly as a Humanist, and less so as a Jew. I think this is partly his own inclination and partly because his role at Harvard is as the Humanist Chaplain, so he needs to address all of his constituents, not only those of Jewish origin or inclination. Although he does talk about making a Humanist Seder for Passover in his book, I think most of his public work at Harvard is more generally Humanist.
In the interview, he talks about his role at Harvard and in the larger Cambridge community. He is helping people to form communities in different ways, and through his website, studying Humanist communities around the world to find out what works so that others may emulate best practices.
I don't think I can get away from my Jewish origins. As I have said previously, I love many things about Judaism, and what has stopped me in the past from exploring Unitarianism or even Ethical Culture is that I don't think I can quite cope, psychologically, with a Sunday service. Services on Sundays feels Christian to me in a way that I don't seem to be able to get past, even for Ethical Culture.
But I love the idea of helping people to satisfy their needs for ritual and community in ways that feel right to them. I would love to spend my life helping people to write life cycle ceremonies that meet their individual needs (I loved writing my own wedding ceremony, which is something I should blog about at another time.) And I would also love to help people form communities that meet their spiritual needs. So I'm hoping that Epstein's project spreads far and wide so that someday, when the Little Jewess isn't financially dependent on us anymore, I can spend my time doing those things.
Then there's my co-worker, David. David is currently studying Philosophy at the University where we work, and decided to take Hebrew to satisfy his language requirement because he felt that as a Christian, he should be able to read the Bible in its original languages. (Then he started studying Hebrew and gave up on ever learning Greek and Aramaic, but I still admire the original goal.) We started talking about Philosophy and his goal, which is to find ways through Philosophy to help African Americans change the way they think about themselves so that they can break the cycle of poverty. And he felt that as a Jew, I'd be able to understand something about cultural trauma. David thinks, though that one advantage Jews have is our long history. We always have that story and tradition to keep us going, whereas African Americans lost their history because of slavery.
So I told him about the Jewish idea that we must teach our children four things: to cook, to read, to swim and to earn a living (by giving them an education or a trade.) In my opinion, it is this that has saved the Jews time and again, because although we have suffered many traumas that have forced us to emigrate, those traumas oppress only one generation. That generation may lose their financial footing, but they will make sure that their children are educated and have financial opportunities.
And David asked me a very interesting question. Because of our long history, are there tensions between Jews who want to keep the old ways and those who want to move with the times?
Oh, David.
But thanks to those who have commented here, I may have given a different answer than I otherwise would have.
I said, "Yes and no."
And I explained to him that while we have very strong disagreements sometimes, there is a concept that keeps us all together and makes us accountable to one another.
Which brings me to Ethan. I think, Ethan, that I may have overstated my case. I do not think we can force anyone out of Judaism. And I think there are many who observe the basic tenets of the faith but who think reasonably about what they do. It's one of the things I love about Judaism--that we can study and discuss and draw our own conclusions. And that's one thing that bothers me about the fundamentalists. Why freeze Judaism at one point in time? They dress like it's the 19th century and act like it's the 19th century and say "This is Judaism and it must never change again!" It's foolish.
I'm looking for a community that does take learning seriously, but doesn't impose obligations on its members. At least, not unreasonable obligations. There is a point, I suppose, where one can do so little as to not really be a member. A club I just joined requires attendance at 4 meetings per year and a certain amount of participation in order to maintain benefits. That makes sense, because if one does less than that, one isn't really participating in the club, and so it's fair to say that person isn't really a member. A congregation could require something similar.
But I understand the Reform Movement's hesitation to place such requirements on its members. Because if you only need the community when your mother dies, can we turn you away? If you want to enroll your children in Religious School, can we turn you away? If we say that those who only show up on High Holy Days shouldn't come at all, what are we then?
I seem to have turned a corner to another train of thought (to mix my metaphors.) I think that will require another post.
If you don't know anything about Greg Epstein, you can listen to the interview I linked to, check out the Humanist Community Project (link in the list at right), or read his book, Good Without God. I love the work that he is doing. Now, although Epstein is ordained as a Humanist Rabbi, he seems to be identifying mostly as a Humanist, and less so as a Jew. I think this is partly his own inclination and partly because his role at Harvard is as the Humanist Chaplain, so he needs to address all of his constituents, not only those of Jewish origin or inclination. Although he does talk about making a Humanist Seder for Passover in his book, I think most of his public work at Harvard is more generally Humanist.
In the interview, he talks about his role at Harvard and in the larger Cambridge community. He is helping people to form communities in different ways, and through his website, studying Humanist communities around the world to find out what works so that others may emulate best practices.
I don't think I can get away from my Jewish origins. As I have said previously, I love many things about Judaism, and what has stopped me in the past from exploring Unitarianism or even Ethical Culture is that I don't think I can quite cope, psychologically, with a Sunday service. Services on Sundays feels Christian to me in a way that I don't seem to be able to get past, even for Ethical Culture.
But I love the idea of helping people to satisfy their needs for ritual and community in ways that feel right to them. I would love to spend my life helping people to write life cycle ceremonies that meet their individual needs (I loved writing my own wedding ceremony, which is something I should blog about at another time.) And I would also love to help people form communities that meet their spiritual needs. So I'm hoping that Epstein's project spreads far and wide so that someday, when the Little Jewess isn't financially dependent on us anymore, I can spend my time doing those things.
Then there's my co-worker, David. David is currently studying Philosophy at the University where we work, and decided to take Hebrew to satisfy his language requirement because he felt that as a Christian, he should be able to read the Bible in its original languages. (Then he started studying Hebrew and gave up on ever learning Greek and Aramaic, but I still admire the original goal.) We started talking about Philosophy and his goal, which is to find ways through Philosophy to help African Americans change the way they think about themselves so that they can break the cycle of poverty. And he felt that as a Jew, I'd be able to understand something about cultural trauma. David thinks, though that one advantage Jews have is our long history. We always have that story and tradition to keep us going, whereas African Americans lost their history because of slavery.
So I told him about the Jewish idea that we must teach our children four things: to cook, to read, to swim and to earn a living (by giving them an education or a trade.) In my opinion, it is this that has saved the Jews time and again, because although we have suffered many traumas that have forced us to emigrate, those traumas oppress only one generation. That generation may lose their financial footing, but they will make sure that their children are educated and have financial opportunities.
And David asked me a very interesting question. Because of our long history, are there tensions between Jews who want to keep the old ways and those who want to move with the times?
Oh, David.
But thanks to those who have commented here, I may have given a different answer than I otherwise would have.
I said, "Yes and no."
And I explained to him that while we have very strong disagreements sometimes, there is a concept that keeps us all together and makes us accountable to one another.
Which brings me to Ethan. I think, Ethan, that I may have overstated my case. I do not think we can force anyone out of Judaism. And I think there are many who observe the basic tenets of the faith but who think reasonably about what they do. It's one of the things I love about Judaism--that we can study and discuss and draw our own conclusions. And that's one thing that bothers me about the fundamentalists. Why freeze Judaism at one point in time? They dress like it's the 19th century and act like it's the 19th century and say "This is Judaism and it must never change again!" It's foolish.
I'm looking for a community that does take learning seriously, but doesn't impose obligations on its members. At least, not unreasonable obligations. There is a point, I suppose, where one can do so little as to not really be a member. A club I just joined requires attendance at 4 meetings per year and a certain amount of participation in order to maintain benefits. That makes sense, because if one does less than that, one isn't really participating in the club, and so it's fair to say that person isn't really a member. A congregation could require something similar.
But I understand the Reform Movement's hesitation to place such requirements on its members. Because if you only need the community when your mother dies, can we turn you away? If you want to enroll your children in Religious School, can we turn you away? If we say that those who only show up on High Holy Days shouldn't come at all, what are we then?
I seem to have turned a corner to another train of thought (to mix my metaphors.) I think that will require another post.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
All Fired Up!
I just listened to The Humanist Hour podcast featuring Greg Epstein of the Harvard Humanist Community Project. Nobody gets me fired up like he does. I highly recommend a listen.
Link is here.
Link is here.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Snowed Out
Today I had planned to visit the Reconstructionist Temple again, having been invited by the Rabbi to visit on a day she was leading services. When the event at The Little Jewess's school got cancelled for safety reasons, I decided it wasn't worth it to go out in the snow.
Next week I'm attending a Reform Shabbaton. I paid for this one, so chances are good that I'll actually go. Maybe they'll teach me something that brings this all into focus. In the meantime, I joined that Humanist group. There's no reason I can't be a Reform Jew AND a Humanist, right? So I'll try that for a little while and see what happens.
In the meantime, I can enjoy a snowy day with my family. Mr. Jewess has pancake plans and The Little Jewess has sledding plans. That's a day to be thankful for.
Next week I'm attending a Reform Shabbaton. I paid for this one, so chances are good that I'll actually go. Maybe they'll teach me something that brings this all into focus. In the meantime, I joined that Humanist group. There's no reason I can't be a Reform Jew AND a Humanist, right? So I'll try that for a little while and see what happens.
In the meantime, I can enjoy a snowy day with my family. Mr. Jewess has pancake plans and The Little Jewess has sledding plans. That's a day to be thankful for.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Humanism vs. Atheism
I'm reading Dawkins, and it's making me think, and it's making me laugh as he ridicules the faithful. But while I recognize that it's easy for someone as brilliant as Dawkins to make a hash out of the "proofs" that people of faith have provided for the existence of God, I don't fully agree with him. At least not so far (I'm in chapter 3 at present.)
I think it's because he spends too much time on proving the non-existence of God. He's proselytizing for the unfaithful. And the fact is, I don't care. I don't care that much about the existence of God, and I certainly don't care whether you believe. I care what you DO.
The Society for Humanistic Judaism has just come out against the Defense of Marriage Act. They've also recently come out in favor of a lot of good stuff. That's the kind of thing I like, that makes me want to join the movement. That's what Humanism is about. It isn't about whether or not you believe in God. It's about whether you think humans can make a difference in the world.
I think it's because he spends too much time on proving the non-existence of God. He's proselytizing for the unfaithful. And the fact is, I don't care. I don't care that much about the existence of God, and I certainly don't care whether you believe. I care what you DO.
The Society for Humanistic Judaism has just come out against the Defense of Marriage Act. They've also recently come out in favor of a lot of good stuff. That's the kind of thing I like, that makes me want to join the movement. That's what Humanism is about. It isn't about whether or not you believe in God. It's about whether you think humans can make a difference in the world.
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