Ultimate Concern

Most men worry about their own bellies, and other people's souls, when we all ought to be worried about our own souls, and other people's bellies. -- Rabbi Israel Salanter 1810-1883

Monday, December 29, 2008

Butt Kickings, $1.00

I had the pleasant fortune yesterday of visiting a friend just returned from Japan studying Japanese Buddhism. Other friends were there, too, and it almost never sucks to be in a group of RS people. We all get to indulge ourselves in tasty converse. Inevitably (with me these days) the conversation turns to religious literacy. K is stronger in Easterns than I am, and A is stronger in Islam than I am, so we have an interesting conversational mix of things. Despite our strengths of interest, one thing that came up in 3 religions and two cultures we discussed was how people just don't pay one damned bit of attention to how they got where they are (religiously) and what that might actually mean in terms of the practice of a living faith or system instead of rigid, retrojected beliefs that have become concretized, external rule structures.

We have some amazing RS resources at Humboldt; we talked about using our local Newman Center for an RS salon. We talked about using Second Life in concert with other Web 2.0 resources to weave a portal to scholarly resources about religious literacy and provide information and a forum for discussion. By the end of the visit, A was thinking about changing his senior project to something on religious literacy. K, as always, was the cool, rational voice asking the questions that keep keels even.

What benefit does becoming religiously literate have for a religion's end user? Does every member of a tradition need to become literate? If so, why? And how?

Pluralism must emerge, at least in the Jungian sense of integration of the shadow, if we are to avoid the consequences of the world tearing itself apart. I'm thinking of pluralism right now as an hospitable sociocultural environment environment that neither endorses nor pedestalizes any tradition. If not tearing the world apart isn't sufficient motivation to get people interested in religious literacy, what is?

What cookie is there to offer people to make them want to become literate? We couldn't find one--not just one, at any rate. To seek literacy is to admit illiteracy. For some, the admission of illiteracy means the catastrophic downfall of their lifeframe. If they admit to illiteracy, they admit that the beliefs upon which their lives are founded are potentially inaccurate; I have seen no indication that most end users of religion are willing to have their lifeframes challenged in such ways. Their world might collapse, and in a culture of comfort junkies, hardly anyone is willing to do that work, much less invoke that kind of personal chaos deliberately in order to create a better world for everyone.

It seems obvious that without religious literacy, proponents of religion will keep doing pretty much as they please, especially to a demonized other, and find a way to cull sanctions form their primary texts to support their actions, no matter how gymnastic a process that culling becomes. But if it was so bloody obvious to everyone, wouldn't things change?

I'm as confused as Calvin (of Calvin & Hobbes, not the John Calvin that the comic character is named after. I'm pretty sure he wasn't confused--after all, he did manage a theocracy in Geneva). I could only find one frame of this strip, but it opens with Hobbes walking up to Calvin's booth, asking how business is. Calvin says it's horrible, which he doesn't understand, because:

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Deus In Machina

It amazes me that, in a world where one can be/do anything one likes (e.g., Second Life), the first choice of some folks is to look like themselves and do exactly what they do IRL (that's webslang for 'in real life' in case you're not a netnerd like me). I suppose there's two sides to it, like everything else. I suppose, on the one hand, that it could mean that these people are so authentic, so integrated, so well-grounded in their own full beingness that it's a natural extension of themselves to take real life into a virtual world. I believe that's possible, but I'm skeptical about it being true.

On the other hand, I suppose it's also possible that people can become addicted to the sensations that come with the authority and utter assurance that one's worldview is The Absolute Best One Ever, and carry the frames of their addictions into every facet of their lives. After all, if yours is Best and True and Right then everyone else must, perforce, be wrong. That leaves one standing pretty tall and shiny in the midst of the huddled masses--a heady space indeed. Thing is, though, that when one builds on a shaky foundation, the structure is weakened and subject to collapse, especially under duress.

Virtual realities allow the human to create imaginal worlds in which to dwell. People believe stuff. They take those beliefs (and the consequences of them) wherever they go. Evangelicals and fundamentalists of all faiths find their way into these virtual worlds, still clamoring about which god can kick which other gods' butt. In a virtual world, you can mess with people's stuff, but you can't kill them. There's no "real" destruction, nor actual bloodshed. But does that make the conflict any more agreeable? Does importing God into the machine make it more okay to trash the beliefs of others or, worse yet, continue to build on faulty foundations?

Religious illiteracy hurts me. I mean it actually, physically pains me to see people using a religious tradition to bolster their worldview with an almost complete lack of understanding of the tradition they use. And this illiteracy is pandemic. I know religiously illiterate Christians, Muslims, and a Jew or two (odd, but now that I think about it, my own personal dataset has a lower number of religiously illiterate Jews than other faith groups. This could be because I know fewer Jews than I do Christians or Muslims, or it could have something to do with the Jewish practice of midrash. If you have a theory about this, I'd love to hear it).

I know a couple of illiterate Buddhists and at least one Vedic-type person, too, but somehow, they seem far less harmful than an illiterate Abrahamic. I wonder if that's true, or if that's a product of my own Western biases.

In virtual realities, I've seen all stripes of faith. Each one of them has found a way to utilize technology to reveal and propagate their message. I've seen virtual megachurches and virtual Zen retreats. Someone even built a Tibetan mountain monastery. While virtual worlds don't deliver a full 3D immersive sensory experience *yet*, there is no doubt that the experiences induced by visual stimuli carry 'real" emotional weight. And people pull God into the machine right along with them.

I want to take God into the machine, too. While pondering what it is I want to do in grad school, it occurred to me that I could set up my own little Center for Religious Literacy. I could build a structure, put up some art, make assorted texts available for people to take for free, keep office hours in case someone wanted to talk. It'd be an interesting experience, at the least. One of the things I'm trying to figure out at present is how to get people to realize their religious illiteracy without driving them away from the engagement. I'm also trying to discover how to have intelligent discussions about religious literacy without it sinking into an argument based in belief. And then how to take that discussion into a virtual world, where hundreds of thousands of people will have access to it, even when I'm asleep or blogging or meditating.

I've taken God into the machine with me. So have others. Or maybe God was there already, waiting for us to figure it out. In any case, my hope is that the sheer force of imagination and creativity inherent to virtual reality will rub off on all of us, and make it possible to discuss building our beliefs on something other than digital sand.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Light in the Darktime

Ah, the holidays. Short days, cold weather. Short tempers, cold people. Christmas carols everywhere, muzaked into background noise, perhaps a subliminal message about gifts like Jesus, only somehow translated into gifts like nose hair trimmers and Chia-pets. A dead tree in the living room to symbolize the eternality of life's renewal of itself. Hey--maybe if we put some lights on it, no one will notice its dead.

To many, I seem Scroogian, a curmudgeon of bah-humbugged proportions. I'm not, really. It's not Christmas per se that I harbor such an intense dislike for; it's the religious illiteracy behind it. There's a history of myths about savior-figures who die in a season, to return in the next. Until we had some folks come along who were willing to challenge the ideas about which revolved around what, we had to find ways to explain the changing of seasons, a way to make us want to survive the dark days of winter with hope. We did that with story, with myth. Over time and via appropriations, some of those stories got a little bit twisted around, and somehow, despite their fantastic imagery, those stories got concretized into a literal truth.
Hence, the muzak, the dead tree, the compulsive purchasing of seasonal joy for friends and loved ones.

Jesus is not the reason for the season. Jesus is s symbol of the season, an extrapolation of ancient stories that helped primitive people get through the long, cold days of winter with hope that once again spring might return to the land with its attendant light, warmth, and abundance. And Jesus isn't at the Christmas party alone; there's actually several other religions and cultures who have festivals this time of year, many for similar reasons. It's dark. It's cold. There's hope, and renewal on the way in a couple of months. We're going to survive the winter, and emerge into a fresh, new, re-born world, for which we should be happy and grateful. And then it all starts again So, while it's dark and cold out, why not curl up with a good, religiously literate book and find a personal meaning for this season? Then you can go out and share some real joy--without maxxing the credit card.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

One Nation, Under What?

After everyone had spoken at the RNC last night (9.3.08), 3 musicians took the stage and performed this interesting spoken word/song version of a cross between the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. There were also inserted lines from MLK's Dream speech, and a few other stirring bits harvested from culturally recognizable things.

But then they got to the part about "One nation/under God." My mind went straight to the 1796 Treaty of Tripoli, in which Article 11 states:
As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquility, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries.

I considered that, since many of our illustrious founding fathers were either Deists or even atheistic, how could they let that phrase in? One nation, under What? Who? God? Okay, but which one? Does it mean that we’re all subject to the will of one god, or perhaps that each individual is subject to the will of a god and collectively we then become a nation under god(s)? Then I found out that the whole "under God" business wasn't added until the 1950's. Retrojection of principle onto the founding fathers, putting words in the mouths of dead men?

Let’s assume for a moment that we are, as Americans, indeed one nation under a god. Rather than rebelling against the idea of some old white guys who were trying to shove a preconceived, patriarchal god of their invention down my throat, I’ve come to a place where the phrase, “one Nation/under God” actually opens doors instead of closing them.

People have a history of selecting gods to worship on the basis of which one gives them the most of what they want. Agrarians turned to gods of rain, crops, fertility. Fighters turned to gods of war. Pacifists turn to gods of peace. Scholars turn to gods of knowledge; the disenfranchised turn to gods of mercy and provision (or turn away from them altogether). Is there really a One Size Fits All God that each and every one of us can agree on and submit ourselves to? Or did our founding fathers mean to create an environment of religious freedom that allowed for all kinds of faiths?

Can the notion of one nation under god become an accommodating place of mind in which all the gods of all the people are welcome at the discussion? Can we open our minds to the thought that each of us is entitled to our own beliefs about god—even if that’s to say that there isn’t one at all?

As much as I used to find “one Nation/under God” a distasteful sentiment, I now see it as an umbrella under which we might all be able to fit. If we can stretch ourselves around the idea that it means inclusions of faith and religion instead of exclusions, using this idea to create a religiously literate world in which each faith is acknowledged as valid (at the very least to its adherents), then maybe, just maybe, you’ll find me standing during the pledge of allegiance, with my hand over my wildly-thumping heart so as to keep it within my breast, leaping as it would be from sheer joy.

click here for more information about Article 11

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


Pluralism is my Big Goal. I intend to be part of creating a plural world. The path by which I mean to help actualize this goal is by being a proponent of religious literacy, which is necessary to pluralism.

'Plural' means:
1. consisting of, containing, or pertaining to more than one.
2. pertaining to or involving a plurality of persons or things.
3. being one of such a plurality.

Pluralism acknowledges diversity. Pluralism does not attempt to homogenize all religions into one beige blob. Pluralism does not say, "All religions are doing/based on the same thing." Pluralism says, "There's a lot of us here, and we hold differing beliefs, practice faith in different ways. How can we engage in dialog to the benefit of all, without losing the unique and individual traits of the participants in the conversation?"

Diana Eck, out of Harvard, has done some amazing work with the Pluralism Project. Each school to which I'm applying has something terribly exciting about it, and this is one of Harvard's big draws. To be able to work with a team of researchers, to be able to bring a greater awareness of what pluralism entails and how it can work to create a more peaceful, stable world is my dream. It's BIG dream. I've found that sometimes, the best way to approach big things is in small ways. My 'small way' of contributing to a plural world is through religious literacy.

On the Pluralism Project site, I found Dr. Eck's definition of pluralism. I have Eboo Patel's definition on the home page of this [my] site, and I love it, but Eck's adds another dimension to the understanding of pluralism with her vibrant clarity. I was particularly pleased to note that she includes religious literacy in her definition:

What is Pluralism?

The plurality of religious traditions and cultures has come to characterize every part of the world today. But what is
pluralism? Here are four points to begin our thinking:

* First, pluralism is not diversity alone, but the energetic engagement with diversity. Diversity can and has meant the creation of religious ghettoes with little traffic between or among them. Today, religious diversity is a given, but pluralism is not a given; it is an achievement. Mere diversity without real encounter and relationship will yield increasing tensions in our societies.

* Second, pluralism is not just tolerance, but the active seeking of understanding across lines of difference. Tolerance is a necessary public virtue, but it does not require Christians and Muslims, Hindus, Jews, and ardent secularists to know anything about one another. Tolerance is too thin a foundation for a world of religious difference and proximity. It does nothing to remove our ignorance of one another, and leaves in place the stereotype, the half-truth, the fears that underlie old patterns of division and violence. In the world in which we live today, our ignorance of one another will be increasingly costly.

* Third, pluralism is not relativism, but the encounter of commitments. The new paradigm of pluralism does not require us to leave our identities and our commitments behind, for pluralism is the encounter of commitments. It means holding our deepest differences, even our religious differences, not in isolation, but in relationship to one another.

* Fourth, pluralism is based on dialogue. The language of pluralism is that of dialogue and encounter, give and take, criticism and self-criticism. Dialogue means both speaking and listening, and that process reveals both common understandings and real differences. Dialogue does not mean everyone at the “table” will agree with one another. Pluralism involves the commitment to being at the table -- with one’s commitments.

—Diana L. Eck

Last Lecture

July 25, 2008

Randy Pausch died today. I was doing the morning headline browse when I saw his name in an obiturial context. He was a professor at Carnegie-Mellon, in CS. Real tech geek kinda guy. So what’s an RS person doing in CS realms? I first came across him during my research for my senior undergrad thesis. My project was, among other things, an examination of the virtual realities created by religion and technological virtual realities in cyberspace. Pausch did groundbreaking work in VR, and broke interdisciplinary ground by finding ways to get Science to talk to other disciplines in order to produce new work.

I followed the link that alerted me to his demise, and treated myself to about an hour and a half of Professor Pausch over my morning coffee. My left brain tried to tell me that wasn’t a good use of my time. Turns out, Lefty was wrong today.

It’s a long video, but the value of high thought to words ratios is abundant in this clip. It’s from a lecture series called “The Last Lecture,” the idea being that if you knew you were dying, what would your last lecture be? He nailed it. And he didn’t have to pretend or imagine he was dying. It’s an amazing lecture, and through the miracle of modern technology, you can give yourself a treat by watching it here.

On my plate today, said Lefty, is the composition of my CV. That’s a big challenge for me; I feel deficient at two primary constituents of a CV: selling self, and writing down accomplishments. I wasn’t exactly looking at that to-do element with relish. Then I watched the lecture. I’m still in the same boat skill-wise, but my determination has been renewed.

There’s several places where Pausch’s work lines up with mine. He created some amazing VR interfaces, and used the medium to help others actualize their dreams. With the emergence of social networking and multi-user online virtual interfaces, VR presents a medium for education and common ground that we’ve not yet seen. The end-user applications of this technology are still in their infancy, but that is not an indication of their potential. Through VR, I’ve attended interfaith conferences online that I’d not have had access to otherwise. VR is one medium that can be used to help create religious literacy in some wildly engaging ways.

Pausch’s bottom line is that the way in which one lives is manifest in one’s life. When I saw the part where he was discussing his academic journey and he said that he “tanked his GRE’s,” I gasped--aloud. It was a heartfelt sound of dismay, disbelief and a note of personal alarm, echoing my own fears bout taking the GRE (which I’m al scheduled and paid up to do on August 15, 2008). Tenured prof at Carnegie-Mellon? Amazing educator and innovator? A man whose work found his way into my senior thesis? TANKED his GRE’s?? There may be hope for me yet.

I have a dream. It’s a Ph.D. in RS with an intent to teach. I don’t know much more about my dream than that. I know it’s my path. I know it’s where I excel. I know I love academia (despite the many warnings, hazards and risks of selling out or hyperconforming. I fought it for years—as in about 30 of them). I’ve noticed that as one ages one gets tired of, as my Nana of blessed memory put it, ‘fiddle-farting’ around. I finally know what I’m meant for. I finally know what my purpose in life is: it’s to help others become more religiously literate in order for them to realize themselves fully and in so doing create a more peaceful, less-conflicted world. And that sort of language makes me cringe. So altruistic! So lofty! It just sounds foofoo to me.

But it’s true. I must do this. It’s the thing I can’t not do.

Randy Pausch may be dead, but his ability to inspire others has not died with him. He leaves a legacy of diligence and fun behind, for the likes of me to savor and embed. I don’t want to be Randy Paush, but god willin’ and’ the wind’s, right, I can be like him in that I insist on having fun, helping others matters greatly to me, and I hope to leave the world a different [better?] place than it was when I got here.

The House of Gathering or the Tower of Babel?

After having studied mysticism I thought I had an advantage or two. I could finally look at all religions with sympathetic detachment and unerringly find within them similarities that led me to (or so I thought) an ability to observe from a lofty height the possibilities for union among disparate groups if only they could see their commonalities as I did, if only they could release themselves from the bondage of rigid differentiation and come to the table to speak.

I was saying, as Panikkar puts it, “Here I am, the tolerant one, who has made a place for everybody, and for all the different systems. . . provided, of course, that they behave and sit at the places I have assigned them. . . .” (Panikkar 56). I felt quite pleased with myself in my oh-so tolerant, compassionate understanding. In an attempt to establish my own pluralistic relationship to different faiths, I have recently discovered that I built my own Tower of Babel instead—and using other structures’ bricks and mortar, no less.

Identifying as a mystic, I felt entitled to all of the world’s religions and those of their assorted beliefs and practices that allowed me to pursue a mystic’s brand of monism. Meister Eckhart says, “Since we find God in oneness, that oneness must be in him who is to find God” (Eckhart 78) and it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to look for the oneness of all religions and traditions so that I might incorporate the variety of expressions of Truth into my own personal oneness. Not a bad place to start, but not without hazard: as a persistent state, this approach becomes dangerous, with syncretism, conditional non-duality and inclusivism lurking beneath the surface of what felt like a still pool in which I was pleased to see my own reflection, undisrupted by shadows.

I liked my happy little collection of religious artifacts; it felt easy and comfortable. Therein lies the problem. If Jung is right about the shadow, then the facility of appropriating beliefs, traditions, practices, etc. at whim is dangerous because it ignores the Shadow entirely. In a world of light, nice, pleasant fluffiness, there’s no accounting for the shadow and therefore no access to its potency or power to transform. All that power, left unintegrated, is bound to manifest itself somehow:
The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not made conscious, it happens outside, as fate. That is to say, when the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious of his inner contradictions, the world must perforce act out the conflict and be torn into opposite halves (Jung, Aeon).

What, then, can be extrapolated from this about the conditions of our collective innards vis a vis religion? Macrocosms always echo and reflect the state of the microcosms of which they are composed. The individual, unaware of the innerscape contradictions, manifests in the outerscape the consequences of such an unexamined life. The individual is torn in half, conflicted, irresolute. A collective is composed of individuals. When the constituent parts of a collective are torn, the macrocosm of society will indeed reflect the microcosm of the torn individual. As a result we see the shadow attempting to reveal itself in both the micro and the macro. It is Mobiusan: the individual is torn and so creates a society that is torn, which produces effects outwardly that may allow or encourage the individual to turn inward, creating a new consciousness which will in turn affect the outward, which in turn again may influence the individual. The relationship of the individual to the Shadow is inextricably linked to the collective relationship to the Shadow. The individual must integrate to produce a collective that is integrated; the collective must be integrated so as to produce integrated individuals. It is a delicate interdependence.

What, then, can I deduce about my own reductionist, inclusive, polytheistic monism via mysticism that failed to take into account the acknowledgement of deep, irresolvable uniquenesses and differences among the traditions from which I borrowed?

A revelation comes out of Knitter: “Anyone who would hold that the religions are really saying the same thing reveals that he or she has only begun to study or enter into a relationship with other religious believers” (31). And so it is that I arrive at a new understanding: I have only begun to enter into study and relationship with the deep and rich traditions I’ve been pillaging. I now am afforded the opportunity to revisit the sites of my ransacking, looking now not just for the shiny things but also for the Shadowed. In so doing, I will be permitted to expand my range of impression and expression to more fully see and experience the other as other: tremendum et fascinans.

Pluralism is not the reductionist monism I’ve practiced heretofore; pluralism must be an acknowledgment of diversity combined with identification of a common goal important enough to allow involved parties to be willing to either learn each other’s languages to a point of fluency, or to mutually insist that a new language altogether be created for the sake of said discussion. I do not see either happening anytime soon, nor have I been able to think up an option other than those two. Language and how we use it across the faith line will be critical in the development of pluralism.

Next to language, syncretism is the largest bogeyman I now face in my interfaith stance. Included in the etymology of syncretism is “uniting opposing parties against a common foe” (Dictionary.com). This implies, however, that there is in fact some sort of external other, someone or something against which groups with similar enough practices, principles and/or values may unite in order to vanquish or conquer the “opposition.” At the end of the conflict between the newly-formed syncretic group and the perceived foe it is likely that, whether by victory or defeat, the syncretic group will dissolve back into its original divided patterns without a “foe” to unite them. View of the shadow is then lost again, tearing the world into opposite halves once more. Pluralism cannot survive under those circumstances; it will only work if the parties involved unite to create a common goal, something proactive and positive instead of the negativity of “defeats” and “foes.”

Another definition of syncretism is “the union (or attempted fusion) of different systems of thought or belief.” We have discussed at some length the notion that pluralism is not about fusion. We cannot have pluralism if we reduce all religions to one common internal precept. Nor am I convinced that we can attain pluralistic dialogue unless we can establish a commonality of some sort, something important enough to all involved to make them willing enough to withstand the implications of diversity within harmonious co-achievement. Again, I turn to Jung for a personal, microcosmic example of the collective, macrocosmic phenomenon:

“The "other" may be just as one-sided in one way as the ego is in another. And yet the conflict between them may give rise to truth and meaning-but only if the ego is willing to grant the other its rightful personality” (Jung, Archetypes, 237).
The conflict between religions, the very differences that create contention, may be what gives rise to truth and meaning both in an intra-and interreligious sense, but the “if” is a pretty big one. Drawing the micro/macro parallel between the ego of the individual and the “ego’ of a religion, then, in a Jungian framework, pluralism depends on each religion being willing to grant the other its rightful personality. In order to grant others their rightful personality, we must have first faced our own personality and the shadows it contains; in order for pluralism to emerge, each religion will have to find a way to come to terms with its own shadows, and in so doing, acquire the compassion to afford others the same right of being. I cannot, at present, put my interfaith stance into words better than Patel’s:

Religious pluralism is neither mere coexistence nor forced consensus. It is a form of proactive cooperation that affirms the identity of the constituent communities while emphasizing that the well being of each and all depends on the health of the whole. It is the belief that the common good is best served when each community has a chance to make its unique contribution. (Patel xv).
It’s going to take an amazing bravery of soul to actualize this phenomenon. As with any collective, these changes must be seen in individuals within the population, which will in turn reflect these values back to the population at large. As Margaret Meade once said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." This is to become the cornerstone of my House of the Gathering, built right next door to the ruins of my Tower, so that I might never forget what it taught me. I pray never again to forget that each religion is unique and cannot be reduced. I also pray that I may become the person Jung describes:

If you imagine someone who is brave enough to withdraw all his projections, then you get an individual who is conscious of a pretty thick shadow. Such a [wo]man has saddled [her]self with new problems and conflicts. [S]he has become a serious problem to [her]self, as [s]he is now unable to say that they do this or that, they are wrong, and they must be fought against. [S]he lives in the "House of the Gathering." Such a [wo]man knows that whatever is wrong in the world is in [her]self, and if [s]he only learns to deal with h[er] own shadow [s]he has done something real for the world. [S]he has succeeded in shouldering at least an infinitesimal part of the gigantic, unsolved social problems of our day. (Jung, Psychology 140).

To that end, I return to mysticism though no longer through the lens of entitlement, but responsibility:

Mystics are artists; and the stuff in which they work is most often human life. They want to heal the disharmony between the actual and the real: and since, in the white-hot radiance of that faith, hope and charity which burns in them, they discern such a reconciliation to be possible, they are able to work for it with a singleness of purpose and an invincible optimism denied to other men (Underhill 30).

The Great Mystery lies within me. The Great Mystery is all around me, manifesting constantly. My own other is the seed of mystery; the other in interfaith constructs is the visible flowering of seed. My responsibility to my other and to the mystery is to create—to deliberately manufacture—an integration of my Shadow. That may be the ultimate pluralism: the full embrace of other(s) as other(s), as they are, in Shadow. I must allow myself my “rightful personality.” I must pluralize, transforming myself from an exclusionary, monofocal imitation of inclusion to a true interior pluralism in which I learn and become fluent in all the shaded dialects of my other(s). I must risk conversion, though I cannot help but wonder to what singular or particular mystery a mystic might convert.

Works Cited

All dictionary definitions cited from www.dictionary.com.
Eckhart, Meister. “Sermon 11: Honor Thy Father.” In Meister Eckhart: A Modern Translation by R. Blakney. New York, NY: Harper & Row, 1941.
Jung, C.G.. Psychology and Religion: West and East. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1950.
Jung, C.G.. The Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious. R.F.C. Hull, trans. New York, NY: Pantheon, 1959.
Knitter, Paul. One Earth, Many Religions. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995.
Panikkar, Raimon. "The Myth of Pluralism: The Tower of Babel." 1995. In Invisible Harmony: Essays on Contemplation & Responsibility, pp. 52-74. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.
Patel, Eboo. Acts of Faith: The Story of an American Muslim, the Struggle for the Soul of a Generation. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2007
Underhill, Evelyn. Practical Mysticism. Columbus, OH: Ariel Press, 1914.