On veterans and violence

With the distance of another week from the Paris attacks -- and Beirut and Mali and action in Belgium and another possible instance of police brutality against an unarmed black man in the United States in the interim -- I haven’t really come any closer to clarity in my own mind on the issues of war, non-violence, pacifism, passive resistance in the face of a militarized police force and where I stand.

This was what I had written (offline) before Friday of last week:

Veteran’s Day brings up difficult emotions for this Quaker and struggling pacifist.
It is the anniversary of and still commemorates the day the guns fell silent on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918 -- ending the “Great War,” the war that at the time was thought so terrible they called it “the war to end all wars.” Sadly the promise of that name was not realized and new generations of veterans are honored today. 

In the Great War, World War II, in all of the wars of this country’s history some Quakers have stood apart -- holding to our Peace Testimony, that we shall not participate in war and act for a better world in which war is not necessary -- while others have found ways to serve where they would not themselves kill, as medics, for example. And others have served, many with distinction. [Medal of Honor recipient Sgt. Alvin York, contrary to the movie, was not himself a Quaker though he apparently did belong to a different branch with some history or tradition in that direction as he first registered for the draft as a conscientious objector -- but was turned down]. And yet others who believed in the testimony but had their CO status rejected went to jail rather than serve.

When I was younger these issues seemed so much simpler. I put my name in the rolls as a conscientious objector to war with an organization devoted to peace (the name of which I have since forgotten) and proclaimed myself a pacifist even before I actually registered with the selective service.

Even a few years ago, in a backyard conversation with a cousin -- an Irish Army veteran now serving in the U.S. military -- and a gun-owning uncle, I said with (perhaps alcohol-fueled) conviction that I wouldn’t kill, even in self defense or defense of a loved one. I said at the time that I hoped I would have the courage to die first, standing up in the face of violence and holding to my beliefs.

But as my relatives reminded me at the time, some (much?) of my freedom to do that is dependent on those who have taken other stands. On the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who have defended the U.S. (and England, where the Society of Friends was born). To some greater or lesser extent, my personal security is protected by police officers who are willing to use force (though in England, most police are able to complete their functions without firearms and the immediate threat of deadly force).

And now there is the stark reminder that today’s wars do not have battle lines or zones of war and peace (they never really did -- just ask the civilians of England during the Blitz or the citizens of Dresden or Hiroshima).

The broader task of a Quaker is clearly to work for a better world, one in which the dream of those in 1918 might be realized -- a world without war; a world with real peace, not just an absence of conflict.

But in watching the video adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s book “The Man in the High Castle” on Amazon Prime (yes, I read it years ago; no I didn’t reread it again recently because I wanted to give the show a fair shot on its own merits), I’m again reminded that some of the greatest successes of passive resistance -- Gandhi in India, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in the U.S. civil rights movement -- have come through appealing to the humanity of the oppressors; if not those immediately there, then those in the broader society. But as one reviewer put it in Slate.com writing about The Man in the High Castle, Ghandi shamed the British in India; King forced northerners to see the oppressive acts of whites in the south and they were shamed and horrified by it.

But if Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan had conquered the world, could those tactics have succeeded? The Slate writer’s conclusion was that in states with controlled (i.e. censored) media and policies of extermination of dissidents and undesirables it could not. And that’s hard to argue against.

The parallel today is to wonder how one can appeal to the humanity of people who routinely behead, rape and try to commit genocides of their own, simply because their neighbors do not subscribe to their particular brand of belief.

All I can say is that for now, I am a long way away from finding an answer. Likewise it’ll be a long time before I come to any real position where anything I learn in Shim Gum Do plays any role in decisions of personal pacifism or not.

I was reminded this week by Chong Kwan Ja Nim (World Head Master Mary Stackhouse Kim) that although the techniques of Shim Gum Do are described in martial terms, they are primarily descriptions of movements. And within each form and the steps of each technique is a poem or allegory in the movement. According to the text, part of the first basic form, “represents that Shim Gum Do unites the heaven with the earth. On the personal journey to gain knowledge and wisdom, one’s foundation and ambition must become one.” Other parts of the basic forms represent the yin and the yang, the notion of reaching down to help someone up and sending them on their way.

The form that I’m working to master now includes motions representing how the Buddha, at the end of six years of meditation, lifted his eyes to the horizon, saw the morning star, became enlightened and proclaimed it. So while some instructors, and my previous instincts from free-form fencing, may focus on pointing out how the movements can be used in attack and defense, I think I would do well to remember the broader perspective and keep my mind on the moving meditation.

Image from: PBS 'The Buddha' - Enlightenment 

So much for my self-imposed Sunday deadline

When I started doing this, my goal was at least one post per week, updated on Sunday night or Monday morning.

This week, I was contemplating nice and simple subjects like war and peace and pacifism to begin with -- prompted by Veteran's Day last Wednesday.

Then Friday happened.

And yeah, I hadn't heard about the bombings in Beirut before the attacks in Paris, but both are tragic.

So I'm still working out what I think, much less what I wish to say on the subject.

I'll have my next update for you soon.

“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”

― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

On responsibilities, rushing and learning to slow down

Even before I actually began practicing Shim Gum Do, I approached Mary Jeanette Stackhouse Kim, the World Shim Gum Do Head Master and abbot (or abbess if you prefer) of the temple about the prospect of exchanging some of my services for free or reduced class fees. I thought my writing background might prove useful in helping rework the web site (www.simgumdo.org), or that I might use my journalism training to help transcribe Sa Bu Nim’s monthly Dharma talks on Zen.

(Image from shimgumdo.org)

But, as it turns out, the masters had other plans for me. Sa Bu Nim is a prolific poet and they’ve enlisted me to help translate and edit the poems of his next book. It’s a fascinating process with the abbot and I trying to capture the images and ideas the Zen Master has crafted in Korean into English phrases, while matching the tone and tenor of his previous books.

It’s clear to me that I couldn’t do the work with Sa Bu Nim alone. His accent has led me to mistake simple words and my limited understanding of his Zen teaching has sometimes sent my brain searching for the completely wrong image to explain more difficult concepts. And even though at times I joke about being more hindrance than help, or that I am more useful in bringing my Korean-made phone with a stylus so Sa Bu Nim can access the sometimes dubious help of Google translate, Abbot Stackhouse Kim assures me that my contributions are valuable.

Translating poetry, though, is not a quick or easy process. And Sa Bu Nim hopes to have a hundred poems in this book ready early after the beginning of the year -- with all of the other work that entails: layout, copy editing, proofing, typesetting and other aspects of publishing that I don’t even know about.

So there is a real sense of urgency to complete this work, both at the level of each poem and for me in finding hours to come in to work with them. And it is a huge honor to be asked to help with this work. And I’m getting a real education in Zen philosophy as I do it.

But.

If only my week were only as simple as the calender makes it look

I have other responsibilities that I wonder if I’m neglecting. Most obviously, I’ve cut down my volunteer hours with the Perkins School for the Blind. I don’t think the quality of my work for my commercial clients is suffering, but one of them, who also has a deadline approaching, frankly hasn’t gotten as much attention as it deserves.

So it’s probably time to slow down and be more deliberate in my actions and commitments.

When I first came to Boston, I was following the advice of a sage in Worcester to emulate a fly rather than an ant. For many people, this fellow told me, the way an ant works is fine, traveling mostly in straight lines toward its goals. But I’d gotten myself trapped in a bottle, he said. And an ant trapped in a bottle will spend a lot of time walking in circles around the bottom of the inside of the bottle, not realizing the way it needs for escape is up.

A fly trapped in the bottle will frenetically zip in all directions at top speed, often crashing into the walls of the bottle, frequently seeming to make no progress. But that approach will likely lead to freedom before the more methodical way of the ant -- and besides, he said, it’s more suited to my temperament anyway.

At the time, the approach was appropriate. I was wandering and seeking a path. Now that I feel closer to having found one, perhaps it’s time to emulate the ant more than the fly for a while.

On listening and leadings

So as I mentioned in the first post it seemed like coincidence that Google driving directions would take me past this temple. But as the days and weeks passed I started to feel more powerfully drawn to check it out - to see what this Shim Gum Do thing was about.

And as time has passed, decisions that I've made around it have led to other coincidences; some so unlikely that I’m starting to think that I may have to remove the word 'coincidence' from my vocabulary. In one particularly stunning example, I was meeting with a friend who teaches yoga to work out some stretches to compensate for the strange new movements I'm inflicting on my body with this Korean zen sword work.

So she could get a better sense of what muscles and tendons I should be working on, she asked me to demonstrate the techniques I was working on. While doing this we were observed by a passerby  (it was basically in plain view of the street) who had studied Japanese sword techniques for more than 20 years. He gave me some pointers in Russian - accented English while talking about how seeing my basic drills took him back to when he was just a beginner.

All of that was incredible enough, but I wasn't even supposed to be in Boston that day. That was the weekend of a spiritual retreat for Young Adult Friends of the New England Yearly Meeting. I’d generally been planning on spending the weekend in Providence with Friends, attending workshops, catching up and enjoying the moments both serious and whimsical that I've found at these retreats recently, as well as way back when I was in high school.

But because I was new to the practice of Shim Gum Do (and because I'd missed one of the weeknight classes) I'd decided it was important for me to go back to Boston Friday night (and it was _late_) so I could go to Shim Gum Do in the morning - which, in turn, made the meet-up with my yoga-teaching friend possible.

Sunrise at Providence Monthly Meeting 

This is an extreme example, but these sorts of things seem to be happening with some frequency. So I wonder about describing what I'm feeling as a leading to pursue this study. But “leading” can be a loaded term for Quaker practice. Sometimes it implies a real spiritual calling to do something that can and should be tested by the wisdom of the elders of the Quaker community before taking action (usually something drastic like quitting a job or going to do relief work in a war zone or getting married or other equally catastrophic life changing events).

I also wonder if these ‘leadings’ are coming to me now because I  am more open to them, because I am somehow now more ready for the tasks that may be ahead. Or perhaps the calls have always been there and I just haven't been able to hear or recognize them.

When I lived in Washington D.C., I remember occasionally being amused by the pigeons and other birds that sometimes found their way into Union Station. But it wasn’t until I was waiting for an Amtrak departure at something like 2 a.m. that I noticed I could hear them cooing and chirping up in the rafters. With all the rush and bustle during the day, the quiet sounds of the birds were inaudible.*

So perhaps this voice that seems at times like It’s shouting for me to do something, to start down this path with an unknown destination, is really just the “still small voice of God” that we Quakers listen for, hoping for guidance. And perhaps it just seems so loud because It’s spent so many years trying to be heard over all the other distractions with which I had filled my life. 

I definitely have fewer distractions and impediments to listening today. And as I've said before, I’m also trying to pay attention. I expect that helps as well.

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*I stumbled across the idea of a spiritual message as birdsong in a noisy background in my reading a long time ago and it's stuck with me since. The specific image I read was that of songbirds in a factory, I think. But as a nearly identical set of circumstances happened to me in the Amtrak/Metro station, I went with that one above. It’s not an original metaphor but it did happen.