The Illuminati, Mind Control and Rock Music

Interesting website...

I Sold My Soul to Rock and Roll

Not sure how I stumbled across it but after reading these conspiracy theories for awhile it's easy to see how someone can start to believe it.

Somehow I ended up looking into Laurel Canyon and the birth of the hippie generation and stumbled across David McGowan's website.

He has a series (currently on Part XIV) on Laurel Canyon that is fascinating. Considering that his page also has various "alternative" theories about most everything, I'm not sure what to think. But the Laurel Canyon stuff is fascinating. The connections he makes are pretty stunning.

As for the offshoot into The Illuminati, how many of you know about Hip Hop and the Freemasonry Agenda? Who would've guessed?

Into the Wild Christopher McCandless

In 1992, my addictions and subsequent wanderlust were beginning to manifest. Big time. I was making good money at a job I swore I'd never do and was living on the cheap and socking the excess money away (what was left after drinking anyhow...). It was during this time I began journeying West frequently. I'd been to Colorado in high school to ski with the family so had a taste of it and was drawn to the idea of space. Lots of it.

A drive from Ohio to Bozeman, Montana; a one-week tour of the four corners in a rented convertible Mustang; a job interview in Brooking, South Dakota. The itch was there.

The photo above shows actual copies of two Times articles where I first learned of his story. I've laminated them in order to preserve them. The first article appeared on September 12, 1992.

The header of Chapter 10, page 98, in Jon Krakaeur's Into The Wild contains the text of the column (if you click on the photo above you can read both articles). I remember the day it hit. It took hold of my soul and never let go.

A week later, the second article, the one above with the photo, appeared.

I have a day planner from 1992 (I was selling cell phones then...remember the bag phones?). On September 18 I have "Vacation" written (with a big arrow pointing through to September 27th).

On September 19th his body was identified.

This was my trip with girlfriend in tow driving to a bed and breakfast in Bozeman, Montana. Even then distance was a magnet. We went through South Dakota, visiting some roadside museum tribute showing where Dances With Wolves was filmed (another serendipitous moment), yes, Wall Drug, the Black Hills and making our way to Bozeman. I think it was this trip where I really became hooked on the open space via automobile.

Somewhere along this path I picked up the Sunday Times (probably outside of Chicago where we were staying with friends on the way) which contained the article on the identification of his body. That photo, which I've never seen anywhere else, is the image I have and will always have of Christopher McCandless.

I picked up a copy of the Argus Leader in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where we had stayed for a night that week, and found an article about Wayne Westerberg's assistance in identifying the body. Carthage, where Christoper spent time, was just north of the Interstate on which we were traveling to Montana. I was traveling along the same terrain, unknowingly, following in his footsteps as I would do Robert Pirsig's several years later. Below is the original copy of the South Dakota paper, preserved and guarded for seventeen years. The story resonated deep.

Snippets from his diary were published in the Times and then the details soon followed. It was gripping. Horrifying. But I was captivated. Immediately. He went where I was longing to go. For years his story would haunt me. In my travels, he acted as cautionary tale. But he was not a hero. There was no glorifying his tale. He simply lived out where I was headed.

He was, quite simply, me. I think on some level he is a mirror for many who have dreams of going, getting out, wandering into the wild. What I was dabbling in, he acted out in full force. I understand where he was coming from; I understand the drive; I understand the longing for alone and for solitude and for Truth. We all struggle with this, some more overtly than others.

It was to my shock when Jon Krakauer's book was first published. And an even greater shock when the movie came out. Here was a private muse of mine, now made public, myth, legend. For those who know or knew me, to read the book was to read my story. No one could really figure out what it was that was driving me, why I couldn't find peace, why the longing to run, or numb myself. While the questions are never really answers in the case of Christopher McCandless, I, from what I have come to know, get it.

Both he and I graduated from high school and college in the same years. Like him, I too was, and still am, content to drive old cars with high miles. Like him, I too was becoming more and more disgusted with materialism and the "American" dream. I wanted out. As with him, it is perhaps ironic as both of us, though perhaps emotionally lacking, were, for all intensive purposes, well provided for materially. In other words, one might argue, we were both spoiled. Obviously we learned that the answers to life's bigger questions were not to be found in the world of 'stuff' but at least we had the 'stuff' we needed to survive.

It took me years before I was able to read the book and months to muster up the courage to watch the movie. There was something private about his story and I was afraid to relive this period of my life. I wasn't ready to heal as this part of my life had become, in my mind, quite mythical. The reality I wasn't ready to face was that I was just scared, emotionally scarred, a boyish man who wanted to hide from the fear.

Though there were genuine and sincere longings for truth, I don't know that I was running to anything as much as I was being driven by something, running from something.

By the time I left home in 1994, I had a much larger cushion than the one he had. I had a pretty sizeable savings account, a car and, as I would later learn (one of the best lessons I learned being on the road for almost a year), way too much stuff.

I have a soft spot for Christopher McCandless. Without being too sentimental, I can honestly say he may have saved my life. I was the typical suburban dreamer, longing of living in the mountains, or moving to Tibet, being free and on the road. As Christopher McCandless learned, too late, it is hard. And, in the end, what really matters is not being self-sufficient but being interdependent upon others.

For my year on the road I took four rolls of film. That's it. Of all the people I met, I am not in touch with any of them. This is perhaps one of the saddest reminisces of all. I met some amazing people, brilliant, beautiful, adventurous, yet made no connection with any of them. I got close to a few people but couldn't handle it and left. Longing for identity, I ran with a diverse crowd and experienced things I would never have otherwise experienced. But, in the end, all these experiences were mine. They were not shared with anyone.

The road of relationship is much more difficult, and rewarding, than that of the loner which, in the end, is a death sentence. We all die alone, certainly, but what matters is what we have deposited in those who remain when we die.

Christopher McCandless' story is bittersweet. Had he lived, it is likely no book would have been made about him as many have adventured much in the same way he did. It was his horrifying death, capturing a fear many - especially many a traveler - hold, that of dying alone, starving, in the middle of nowhere.

The book is a great read (though it is as much about the author as it is about McCandless) and the movie is stunning. I cried several times during the film, something quite rare, though it had more to do with my process of healing, film as mirror, than it did a concern for the character in the film. It comes highly recommended.

My only concern is that it tends to idolize him and his adventure. After all, he basically abandoned his family. It seems he realized this too late. And, as some have posited, perhaps he was more than just a little bit crazy, his disconnect and need for isolation signs of those who have mental illness.

As an aside note, the song "Big Hard Sun" performed by Eddie Vedder is a remake of an original by Indio whose CD containing the song is was out of print. It was karmic. I heard this song once on some independent channel in my hometown and was mesmerized and bought the CD new back then. 

I still have it (love Vedder but the original is much better than the remake...). Here it is twenty years later and it's come full circle.

Here's the original from Indio's Big Harvest album:

As if these connections are not enough, L. Subramaniam play violin on this track. For those who aren't familiar with his work, his track 'Wandering Saint' appears on the Baraka soundtrack which, for those who may be interested, has a strong significance in my life as well.

I have always been led by signs, between points in time that confirm that I am where I am supposed to be. When these signs come I know that what has happened between those two points in time is complete and I can lay it behind me and move on. There have been several of them in my life, confirmations that speak "my" language and are too serendipitous to ignore. This was one of them.

Though I don't consider him to be a saint or hero, Christopher McCandless' life, though tragic in the end, was not in vain.

The Qur'an Sampled

Having been interested in, studied and been captivated by Islam for many years, I have noticed over the years that recitations of the Qur'an can be found in the least expected places within popular entertainment media. Though these are only a few examples, I'm sure there are more.

I remember hearing "Allahu Akbar" on Danny Tenaglia's Back to Mine mix and was astounded. Not only is the recitation itself powerful but the way it was sampled to the beat made it, dare I say, kind of funky.



As I continue to search out new music, I stumbled across My Life in the Bush of Ghosts by Brian Eno and David Brynes, a rather remarkable album in its own right, containing various samples interlaced throughout. One song, in particular, is called "The Qur'an". It met with protest upon its original release and was removed from future releases of the album. Religion holds a fascination even amongst those who view it from the lens of historical or cultural interest alone. But it is difficult to deny the power therein.



This is an example as found in the film Powaqqatsi, part of the 'Qatsi trilogy by Godfrey Reggio and Philip Glass, films that are required viewing.



Perhaps one of these days I'll get around to unveiling samples from Christian preachers laced throughout similar music (as found on the song "Jezebel Spirit" on Bush of Ghosts).

Cinema as Scripture

Have you ever been in a situation or in a conversation with someone and can't quite find words to express what you feel or mean and are reminded from a scene from a movie that nails the scenario? That is what Scripture does for People of the Book. It is foundational, a continual frame of reference. The setting may not be "up to date" but the settings are, to a very large degree, timeless. As such they serve as perpetual reference points.

For those who don't relate to Scripture in this fashion, film, or books, or music, often serve this very purpose. They are, in effect, Scripture, a common language. For those who follow, for example, the Bible, there are times when a story from the Bible can be shared amongst a group from many different backgrounds and yet that story speaks a common language among them all. It is the "base" language.

A movie can provide the same, though perhaps to a narrower audience. But to that audience, it is a common language. There are feelings and emotions and ideas tied up in a movie that can be conveyed just be telling a story from the film.

At my job I had a position in "the office" which meant I had moved "up" from working on the floor. I don't care so much about position and title; I care about learning and experience. So it was an opportunity for growth. When the economy shifted, I was moved back "down" to the floor running presses again. I don't mind the work but it's hard to go backwards. But, as with all things, I looked at it as an opportunity to learn, to see how all the theories and ideas from "up" in the office actually worked "down" on the floor. It has been an eye opener, revealing the occasional dichotomy between ideal and reality.

But, there are days, long days, when it seems like eternity, like a door has been closed for good and fate is sealed. One of the jobs I was put on was running a drill press to ream a larger hole in a part (which ends up on a Harley...kind of cool, I suppose, that one of our parts ends up on such a high profile location). Part after part after part. Put part in fixture, pull down drill bit, bore hole, raise bit, put part in fixture, etc. After several hours of that, well, you get the picture...

So I was reminded of a particular "scripture" from the film Drugstore Cowboy when the character played by Matt Dillon, now in recovery, is working. His prospects, post-recovery, are slim and, after the thrill ride of addiction, he finds himself working a drill press.



Cinema as Scripture?

Or by making such a comparison do we render The Book just another form of human expression of common experience, not a revelation or opening up of the divine but merely an expression from within our shared humanity? Perhaps "film" bears similarity to the way in which we experience The Book in a faith community. After all, look at Star Wars and Star Trek conventions. People live the mythology of these films and frame a particular worldview around it.

Or is it a shortcut to communication? I mean, Animal House as Scripture?



Think about it. Haven't we all felt like this at some point? Trying to fit in, a social outcast, shoved aside because you don't have the pedigree?

Perhaps it is a substitute Scripture but it can function in a similar fashion, a frame of reference, a story which provides inspiration, strength and hope within which we can function in the world.

Time, Precious Time...

It is Memorial Day weekend and I do not work either job today. We have been working five ten-hour days at job one with the occasional Saturday as well. Add to that working midnights Friday and Saturday at job two and I log lots of hours on the clock, 74 hours last week for example. Believe me, I am grateful to be employed.

But half of my life that week was work. Factor in six to seven hours of sleep, an hour and a half a day of drive time and, for the week, about twenty hours of "free" time were left to eat and relax and do other things people living in suburbia do...

So no work this weekend. Eight hours of sleep. Time to relax and eat, do some personal errands, meet a friend for lunch and actually enjoy and appreciate a cup of coffee. With perfect Ohio weather today is a day to appreciate.

Time is a gift. And for the moment, each moment today, I am grateful. Grateful that we have food on the table, a roof over our heads, family in good health and freedom to think. Yes, today is a good day. Every day is a good day but it is crystal clear today.

Don't get me wrong, I learn to make the most of any situation. But there are some days, necessary days, when the realization of the gift of time is like breath in the lungs.

Lose the Illusion - Almost Famous and Marvin Gaye

The film Almost Famous, one of the best rock and roll films ever made, has two versions, the theatrical release and the "Bootleg Cut". I've never seen the original release as I bought the "Bootleg" version of the DVD when it was released.

There is a scene early in the film when William, eyes glazed at having been allowed back stage and hanging out with rock stars, is tagging along with Russell, guitar player for the pseudo-band Stillwater (there was a real Stillwater though the band in the film is based on the Allman Brothers band, a shout out given to Greg and Dickie given in the same scene). Russell is trying to explain rock and roll to William and mentions a song from Marvin Gaye's essential album What's Going On.

Here's the scene:



When I first saw this scene, which was not in the theatrical release, I thought it nailed the essence of music. However, some time later I would get the Deluxe Edition of the album on CD which contained the original Detroit Mix. The main vocal track and the harmony track on this mix, both done by Marvin Gaye, are in separate channels (i.e. left and right speakers). On the final mix, done in L.A., Motown having made the move to California, these two separate tracks are mixed together and layered. It is quite a stunning effect.

I have grown fond of the Detroit Mix; it sounds much more raw and unpolished and many subtleties of the production behind the album leap out. What becomes also more clear is the fact that this album makes use of samples that are looped throughout the album. The talking heard in the intro to "What's Going On" are repeated throughout the album giving it continuity along with the tracks flowing one into another in seamless fashion.

In fact, the 'Woo!' that Russell mentions in the film is one such sample. It is not a mistake; it is not the only one. Even in 1971 sampling and looping were on the ascendant (in fact Miles Davis' Bitches Brew is an example of such looping though imagine the time it took to do this as it was actual tapes that were spliced and looped, a remarkable and controversial feat).

Here's the 'woo' in question in "What's Happening Brother":



Here is the same sample, first heard one track earlier on "What's Going On":



If you listen to the album (and these two tracks) repeatedly you will clearly hear the 'everything is everything' and 'hey man what's your name' and the 'woo' in question over and over. Listen a little longer and you'll hear the separate vocal tracks.

Perhaps it's ironic that the scene actually nailed the essence of the music industry, not in the actual 'woo' but in the imitation thereof, a creation of an illusion, of a dream, of what we think it should be.

The Last Temptation of Christ - Matthew and the Gospel

In another scene in the book (not shown in the film, at least not that I recall...), Kazantzakis lays out a possibility as to the composition of the Gospel. Jesus has not yet gone to the cross.

"Matthew kept his quill ready and his eyes and ears open. He did not allow even a single word to fall to the ground, but collected everything and placed it on paper. And thus little by little, day by day, the Gospel - the Good News - was copmosed....

Mathew knew the Scriptures by heart. He noticed how the teacher's sayings and deeds were exactly the same as the prophets, centuries earlier had proclaimed; and if once in a while the prophecies and Jesus' life did not quite match, it was because the mind of man was not eager to undersatnd the hidden meaning of the sacred text.

The word of God had seven levels of meaning, and Matthew struggled to find at which level the incompatible elements could find their mates. Even if he occasionally matched things by force, God forgives! Not only would he forgive, he desired this. Every time Matthew took up his quill, did not an angel come and bend over his ear to intone what he was to write?

Today was the first time Matthew clearly understood wehre to start and how the life and times of Jesus had to be taken in hand. First of all, where he was born and who is parents and grandparents were, for fourteen generations. He was born in Nazareth to poor parents - to Joseph the carpenter and Mary, daughter of Joachim and Anne...Matthew took up his quill and called silently upon God to enlighten his mind and give him strength.

But as he began to inscribe the first words on the paper in a beautiful hand, his finger stiffened. The angel had seized him. He heard wings beat angrily in the air and a voice trumpeted in his ear, "Not the son of Joseph! What says the prophet Isaiah: 'Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son'...Write: Mary was a virgin..."

More Scriptures are applied to Jesus' life.

"But Matthew grew angry. He turned toward the invisible wings at his right and growled softly, so that the sleeping disciples would not hear him: "It's not true. I don't want to write, and I won't!"

"Mocking laughter was heard in the air, and a voice: "How can you understand what truth is, you handful of dust? Truth has seven levels. On the highest is enthroned the truth of God, which bears not the slightest resemblance to the truth of men. It is the truth, Matthew Evangelist, that I entone in your ear..."

"The sweat gushed from Matthew's forehead. "I won't write! I won't write!" he cried, but his hand was running over the page, writing." (pp. 348-50)

Kazantzakis is not afraid of tackling Biblical criticism head on. It is obvious that he is familiar with it and, for those who have tackled the subject and the challenge to one's faith, this is a pivotal moment in the book. I remember reading it for the first time and nearly jumping with excitement when I had encountered this. Here is a book of devotion, of conviction, and yet here, in plain detail is a counter to the claims of those who dismiss the veracity of the Gospel accounts, an alternative, even "third" view, to consider.

A little further on in the book, Jesus asks to see what Matthew has written about him. The following dialogue takes place:

"Matthew," said Jesus, "bring your notebook here. What do you write?"

Matthew got up and handed Jesus his writings. He was very happy.

"Rabbi," he said, "here I recount your life and works, for men of the future."

Jesus knelt under a lamp and began to read....Jesus skimmed through the notebook and then, unable to control himself any longer, stood up straight and indignantly threw Matthew's Gospel down on the ground.

"What is this?" he screamed. "Lies! Lies! Lies! The Messiah doesn't need miracles. he is the miracle - no other is necessary!"

No wonder the book (and the film) caused such an uproar.

I haven't read the book in a while and am enjoying revisiting it. It really helped alleviate many of the struggles I had after first encountering Biblical criticism as I realized I was not alone in the struggles. I began to realize just how much religious faith differs from the faith men put in the reductionist worldview of our scientific age.

Fundamental reading for those who seek to foster growth in their conviction of the Christian faith. It may seem like a paradox but I have found that works such as these can be more advantageous than works that simply confirm what is already known or believed.

The Last Temptation of Christ - Jesus and Paul

If you've never seen the movie or read the book, this is perhaps one of the pivotal scenes in the movie. The whole shock over Jesus having sex is silly. This book is profound (and the movie does a good job at conveying the main message of the book though the book has juicy tidbits a film just can't convey).

Jesus, having been nailed to cross, is now approached by an old man in the form of an angel. The following dialogue takes place.

ANGEL

Your father is the God of Mercy, not punishment. He saw you and said, 'Aren't you his Guardian Angel? Well, go down and save him. He's suffered enough.' Remember when he told Abraham to sacrifice his son? Just as Abraham lifted his knife, God saved Isaac. If he saved Abraham's son, don't you think he'd want to save his own? He tested you, and he's pleased. He doesn't want your blood. He said, "Let him die in a dream. But let him have his life." Come with me.

JESUS

All this pain is a dream?

ANGEL

Just a dream.

Jesus is thus shown as alive having survived being crucified.

Years later in the film, wife and children in tow, he is seen living a normal life like the rest of humanity. In what is perhaps the pivotal scene in the film, Jesus (played by Wilem Dafoe...yea, I know...) encounters Paul (played by Harry Dean Stanton...yea, I know...) preaching. Jesus is horrified at the things he is saying. After a sharp exchange, Paul says the following:

Y'know, I'm glad I met you. My Jesus is much more important and much more powerful.

If you've not seen the film or read the book the dream is not the dream we think. It is vital to understand the context in which Paul's words are written. Without this context, Paul sounds exactly like those who believe he invented the whole thing. But, when understood having grasped the meaning of the title of the book/film, Paul's words are not so earth shattering. In fact, in light of the film's ending, Paul's words are put into proper context and light is shed on them.

Here is the clip from the film:

If we wish to consider the alternative view, that Jesus survived and married and had children, or that Paul invented the faith, this is a powerful medium through which to do it. In the book, there is greater, more nuanced, deatil. The end result of such a view is given clarity and is well worth pondering.

The book was written as "the confession of every man who struggles" (from the Prologue). I don't know the film well enough to review whether or not Scorcese brought this out in the film or gave it his own spin but it is not a blasphemous book. In fact, it is well worth reading for the challenge, for the believer to face with complete and total honesty the doubts and questions we all harbor within.

Before and after events...

We all have those moments where we measure time as before and after an event. Some are more significant than others. I'm not really talking about such things as having children, losing your virginity or even getting your driver's license.

No, I'm talking about things like dropping acid for the first time, the first time you heard music that ripped your soul out or various religious or spiritual experiences, perhaps being baptized or taking the shahada, those moments that changed the way you viewed the world.

I was fortunate enough to have one of those moments today, this one of a religious nature. Often they come in the strangest of ways and places. I haven't been doing anything overly "spiritual" as of late though I do believe in the Zen-like idea of being present as a form of spirituality, something I've always struggled with actually doing.

I have, however, been intensely focused on several daily facts of life: budgeting, doing the dishes and work, primarily the latter, the other two primarily focusing or grounding rituals. I currently work in a labor job, not exactly where I thought I'd be at 40 years old. However, the diversity of experience of my career path and, especially, the diversity of duties at my current occupation in a stamping and tool and die facility keeps it from being truly monotonous. And I'm grateful to be employed.

After a 25% wage cut several months ago, being taken from salary to hourly, the pendulum has swung and I've been reaping the benefits of an hourly wage as we've been working 10-hour days, five and six days a week for the past few weeks. Add to that an extra 16 to 24 hours at job two on the weekend, my weekly log has been ranging from 56 to 80 hours at work per week.

Between working, sleeping and eating there isn't time for too much else. It would seem that the most "spiritual" thing I do all week is an hour and a half at church once a week. However, as with most things, it is our attitude that determines what comes of a situation.

Recently, I've been running a laser cutter to make special parts for a project slated to start in the next few weeks. It takes upwards of three minutes per part to cut so after prepping I have roughly two minutes of dead time. I could sit and stare or watch the cutting or do nothing. As I learned a long time ago, always have reading material at your disposal. I often choose the longest line at the grocery store and pick up a magazine to read. Very Zen.

So I have on hand Henry Corbin's The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism. Seriously. I've been on a Henry Corbin kick lately; well, not lately, as I've immersed myself in his works more and more over the years. This isn't your mother's comparative religious studies. When you read his stuff you will really see how religious ideas are transmitted through history. His writing is dense and packs a whallop, ideas and concepts and terms coming at you at rapid speed, the kind of writing where one chapter can take you days to digest. The work is hard and requires effort but when that 'aha!' moment comes it borders on ecstasy.

Ecstasy. At work. So in between parts I'm reading this book and, having begun to make sense of his works after reading Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis for about the fourth or fifth time, it is becoming more and more clear. I've tried to read Man of Light book before but it just didn't make sense. Suddenly, today, at work, running a laser machine, I began having one epiphany after another. Here, in this book, in words, is a clear exposition of where I've been but haven't been able to put into word. It was a moment, though certainly not in as glorious a setting, that paralleled another 'aha!' moment whereby everything changed.

To put it into words, of course, is a struggle. Over the past few years, as I've wrestled with the Jesus question, I've begun to have visions and ideas about who he is, one recurring them being that Jesus is who we are. He is a mirror into which we see ourselves and through which we see who God is. He is, in essence, our truest self. As we journey through life he is there, from the highest highs and the lowest lows, from heaven to hell, he is there, leading us on and up.

I can quote some Scripture that would seem to verify this view but for some reason the "sense" I get in the various churches we have attended is that worship of him is not this. The sense I get in church is that he is "other" than us, even though he lives in us through the Spirit, and our worship of him is because he is the Other. I get that and don't disagree. Yet I can't seem to shake the feeling that he is somehow who we truly are. He is that Figure we all seek.

He is to some degree the repository of all our hopes and dreams and ideas of perfection, of who and what truth is, the best of man accumulated into a corporate view of this Figure of Jesus. Yet he remains somehow objective and reflects back to us the truth of our attempts at projecting onto him our own views of truth.

And as a Figure he continues to grow in me. I can't help but think my trajectory is beginning to leave the traditional bounds of Christianity. This doesn't make me "mystical" (a tag that has become cliche and void of content) or somehow better or different than anyone. My biggest fear is to find myself immersed in the "all relgions are the same" stew of religious gobbledygook where Man is the measure of all things and I sound like I'm shlepping New Age Amway.

This is perhaps the reason why I'm drawn to those religious scholars where the fancy letters after their names, though they certainly have them, are not touted as somehow giving them clout. The intellectual rigor and 'spirit' that bursts forth from their words speaks for itself. Henry Corbin is one of those scholars. Read his works and then read many of modern apologetic or comparative religious works today and you will notice the difference. There really is no comparison.

Perhaps it is my addictive, obsessive self longing for unique, for attention, for "mine". But, truly, I want to know who he is. It is the fundamental question for a Christian. And many of the answers in today's Christian landscape lacks depth. This is perhaps why I have always been drawn to the study of other religious traditions.

I enjoy the church we attend. It's "earthy" and practical and simple. The core focus is love. This is not the wishy washy kind of love but the hard stuff, dying to self. However, while it helps balance out my overly analytical view of the world, it leaves my intellect longing. The simple "Jesus is the only way" approach doesn't mean much to me. If he is the only way, then, as Christians, the issue isn't about being right but displaying why. In the meantime, I still passionately study other faith traditions. It highlights what is unique (and not uniqe) to Christianity yet keeps my spiritual worldview broad. God's light shines in the strangest of places.

In reading Corbin today, it hit me hard. My leanings have become 'gnostic' in nature. My view is not uncommon and shares ground with the gnostics from all traditions through time. Corbin's Man of Light breaks down this Figure I've come to see in stunning detail. It came as a relief. The 'aha'!' moment was that in reading him he is explaining not only where I am but where I am going.

Where did the body of Jesus go?

This is a question that has always nagged at me. If Jesus had a physical body after his resurrection as we think of it and he ascended up (I assume) to heaven, this means his body defied every physical law and wherever heaven is "up there" he had to have moved faster than the speed of light to get there or he would have somehow hit warp speed and traveled to another universe or dimension. Pretty fantastical stuff, more like science fiction than faith.

So where did he go?

As we were standing in worship service at church one Sunday, the music struck a very hypnotic, trance inducing tone and it was as if the entire room was truly on one accord, hands lifted high, no song lyrics just a mantra-like phrase in the song. I looked around the room and had a striking and crystal clear thought: this is the body of Christ. This, I thought to myself, is Jesus.

Paul speaks of the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27 et al). He also notes that the Lord is the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:17). This view is Biblical. It bears similarity to the Ummah in Islam and the Sangha of Buddhism only there is a more "mystical" flair to Paul's version as Muslims don't believe the Ummah is the body of Muhammad nor is the Sangha the body of Buddha.

Paul makes no mention of a physical ascension. He speaks of an exalted Jesus (cf. Philippians 2:9-11). Either the ascension was assumed or well known amongst the communities to whom he spoke or it was unimportant or even unknown to him. It isn't until we get to the Gospels that a "bodily" ascension comes into play.

Paul mentions (assuming these writings are actually his) those who believed the resurrection to have already happened, a spiritual not "factual" event, Gnosticism already beginning to show its roots. It seems pretty clear from this passage that Paul believed in a bodily resurrection of some kind. If this is true then we can safely assume that he believed that the "spiritual body" of Jesus was not a disembodied spirit floating ethereally in the atmosphere somewhere. What this body is certainly is far from clear. It's the same but it's different.

But again, where is this body? In heaven? Where is this heaven? Is it "up" as we all believe, Jesus' body ascending like a photon through space?

Or is the glorified body somehow different or transcendent of such physical limitations?

Or is the "right hand of the Father" something of a metaphor for retirement?

Or is his body the Church, i.e. you and I, Christ in us through the Spirit?

Where is this body?

By the way, Muslim tradition (though perhaps not universally accepted, especially by more critical scholars) teaches that instead of being crucified, Jesus was rescued at the last minute and was taken up to heaven bodily while a substitute (perhaps Judas, who must have looked like Jesus) was crucified in his stead, the Jews thus believing him to be crucified and spreading what was in effect a lie. No glorified body, no body transformed, no spirit body, just the real, physical body of Jesus.

Is Jesus the only way?

There are three principal texts (though there are also others) used to defend this notion. On the surface, they appear straightforward. But, like most things textual, they are not so cut and dry in context.

1) "Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me." (John 14:6)

It is possible to look at this one not as a universal declaration, which would be peculiar as Jesus (at least in the Synoptics) is addressing only Jews. In other words, he is not saying he is the only way, he is saying that he, as opposed to Jewish Law, is the way, the truth and the life.

2) "And there is salvation in no one else; for there is no other name under heaven that has been given among men by which we must be saved." (Acts 4:12)

If we look at the context in which this was said, Peter is speaking to the Jews at Pentecost. He is not addressing Gentiles (though there may have been a few stray God-fearers in the midst or perhaps some Roman soldiers), he is speaking to the Jews as v. 8 states:

Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, 'Rulers and elders of the people...'"

In other words, there is no other name [i.e. as opposed to the Law] under heaven whereby we [i.e. Jews], can be saved.

3) "For this reason also, God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name,

so that at the name of Jesus EVERY KNEE WILL BOW, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." (Philippians 2:9-11)

This is a reference to Isaiah 45:22-23:

"Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I [am] God, and [there is] none else.

I have sworn by myself, the word is gone out of my mouth [in] righteousness, and shall not return, That unto me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear."

Notice that it is at the name of Jesus every knee will bow. But notice who it is to: God the Father. This is not saying that every knee will bow to Jesus but will bow in recognition of His lordship as it was bestowed upon him by his Father (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:28).

It is fairly clear that these interpretations, taken in their proper context specific within the book in which they fall (rather than conflating them with the New Testament as a whole), are not without merit.

This is actually not a dig at the truth claims of Christians. This is more to bring awareness to the simplistic method in which these Scriptures are often used. They are often a shortcut to any true dialogue. Consider also that many people do not accept the Bible as authoritative.

Worse, these passages are often used in place of the more difficult proof: one's life. This, more than anything, is the issue. The only real proof of the Christian message is found in the lives of those who claim to follow Jesus. It isn't about being right; it is about life.

Many a well-meaning Christian will quote these verses as if they somehow prove, in and of themselves, that only someone who believes in Jesus will reach heaven. I don't know that Jesus (or Paul) ever phrased it in such fashion. It seems to me that this "going to heaven" thing is of recent origins and has no appeal to me. If that is my motive for the whole shebang then send me to hell.

Rabiah of Basra, an early Muslim mystic/ascetic (see, the "spiritual mutt" thing is in the blood...) is quoted as saying:

"O God! if I worship Thee in fear of Hell, burn me in Hell; and if I worship Thee in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for Thine own sake, withhold not Thine everlasting beauty!"

My sentiments exactly.

The Believer, Shalom Spiegel and the Akedah

Based on a previous post on the Jewish roots of the origins of Paul's views on the death and resurrection of Jesus I was reminded of the film The Believer, about a Jew who is a skinhead struggling with his beliefs. It's a challenging film well worth watching. I saw this film after studying Vermes' article and subsequently reading The Last Trial.

While it is not widely accepted, the tradition that Isaac was actually killed is fairly well known. Spiegel's book on the Akedah is vital reading. Geza Vermes' article is rooted in it, though Spiegel is much harder on Paul than Vermes. Still, both provide rather interesting perspectives on a belief not commonly known and a different sourcing of Paul's view on the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Here's a clip from the film:

Why people dislike organized religion...

I am respectful of others' religious traditions but how do you not get upset watching this? Religious "tradition" interferes with life and ceases to have any real function. I mean I know we all have traditions that appear strange to others but do you live like this? Are these women really ok with it? Not even to eat? What do they really think?

Origen, Vladimir Lossky and Henry Corbin

The Kontakion (hymn) of the Feast of the Transfiguration in the Eastern Orthodox Church sings:

On the Mountain You were Transfigured, O Christ God,

And Your disciples beheld Your glory as far as they could see it;

So that when they would behold You crucified,

They would understand that Your suffering was voluntary,

And would proclaim to the world,

That You are truly the Radiance of the Father!

According to Vladimir Lossky, the disciples saw the divine glory "according to their capacity". That is a rather interesting choice of words as it corresponds to how Henry Corbin has translated several passages from the Acts of Peter and Acts of John.

Corbin points out the following from Origen's Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew:

For when he has passed through the six days, as we have said, he will keep a new Sabbath, rejoicing in the lofty mountain, because he sees Jesus transfigured before him; for the Word has different forms, as He appears to each as is expedient for the beholder, and is manifested to no one beyond the capacity of the beholder. (Book XII, Chapter 36)

It would seem there are shades of familiarity with Origen in Lossky's translation as he references Origen more than a few times in his works.

What is striking is how differently such an idea is interpreted in each. Lossky is straight up orthodox (Eastern Orthodox in particular) in his thinking; Corbin's approach is of a Gnostic nature, following this idea of "capacity" not in the kenotic sense of Orthodox Christianity but to the idea of the Qa'im, the final Imam, in Shi'ite, and in particular Ismaili Shi'ite, Islam.

Though it is apparent that the Imam bears resemblance to a Christ-like "type" of figure, Corbin points out that the figure of the Imam bears resemblance not to the Jesus of historical Christianity but to the Ebionite variety in which, in Jesus, the True Prophet has found "the place of repose".

This also cracks open the shell of the idea of "influence" a bit further than the "causal reduction peculiar to historism" and the reductionism of a scientific worldview so popular today in which "before" equates to "influence" which is ultimately a superficial approach to how religious ideas develop. As Corbin notes, "the concrete spiritual fact of 'transformation' itself cannot be causally deduced" (Corbin, Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis, p. 66)

Stripper stories...

Strippers make me uncomfortable. It's a lot more difficult to fantasize when flesh and blood is before your eyes. When sex objects are visible through the cold, impersonal interface of television, magazines or the computer, it's easy to pretend. They aren't real. But when they are in front of you, flesh and blood, with families, daugthers and siblings of someone, with feelings and a family and dreams and desires, the impersonalization and compartmentalization of the same becomes much more difficult.

I do have stripper stories but, like most things I've done, the stories have a different perspective. Why do I bring this up? Who cares? Let's just say someone close to me was found to be stripping. Maybe not naked stripping but leaving little enough to the imagination that it may as well have been. Don't know that money was exchanged so technically perhaps it wasn't really stripping. What is the distinction between a lingerie party at a club and stripping at a club? Anyone?

Anyhow, it conjured up a few stripper stories. Life is, after all, the stories we can tell isn't it?

The first time I ever saw a woman strip live before my eyes was as a freshman at the University of Cincinnati. Not sure how I hooked up with the guys I hooked up with but we road tripped to Dayton to see the Beastie Boys in concert on their Licensed to Ill tour with Fishbone and Murphy's Law. We stopped at a seedy little adult book/video store before the show. The booths where you continually pop in a quarter to keep the video going frazzled me after about one dollar so I wandered back to the "live" show.

It took me a minute or so to figure out that you had to keep putting money in for the blind to go up to see the girl dancing. It was a strange experience. I felt sad for her. She was not very attractive and looked bored, beaten down even. I learned quickly that if you put more money in she would come right up to your little window and show you, well, everything...in up close detail. I wasn't quite ready for that and was quite suprised to see, right in front of me, behind the veil of the window, an explicit presentation in female anatomy. It left me feeling even more sad.

The next time I was in the presence of strippers was visiting a friend in Lexington, Kentucky and we ventured off to a "gentleman's club". What the hell is that anyhow? All I remembe was that it was dark in the club with the stage the dominant feature in the club. I vaguely remember the girls (isn't that always the case?) but do remember watching one girl in particular. She came over to our table after dancing. I was the one who ended up talking to her.

She proceeded to tell me about being in nursing school with two children she was raising and she was stripping for the money. Maybe it was just a story I don't know but I believed her. We talked for a brief period of time and she seemed like a really nice girl. When she got ready to go back up on stage she told me she would do a special dance for me. It's quite possible, maybe even likely, that talking to customers is part of the gig as a way of making more money. I didn't know any of that but could now no longer watch her because I knew her as a person.

In the later years of college, one of my roommates had a girlfriend who stripped. He asked a group of us to come up and watch her dance. I told him that was weird but we went anyhow. This time I was a bit closer to the action and, though not a fully nude strip club, was rather disturbed by strange men putting money in what little clothing she had on. Intriguing as this was, I still couldn't watch her dance.

My final reminisce was a strip club in The Flats in Cleveland, Ohio where a group of us were participating in a bachelor party. We were in a club, a large stage in the center and a group of men standing around, cheering, yelling, throwing money on the stage with an MC egging the crowd on. As I get closer I noticed two fully naked women writhing around on the stage, oiled up, wrestling. It was almost surreal. Someone threw some suckers on the floor and within a few moments both of these suckers were put to their intended purpose, each woman inserting the sucker into a place I never imagined a sucker being inserted and, upon removal, licking the suckers.

The guys in the room went crazy. Watching on film is one thing. Somehow it is pretend, distant, fantastic, relatively easy to turn off. Here it was live in my face and rather than being turned on I was horrified. There was no distance. To hear the MC begging for more money to be thrown on stage, for the women to be wiggling around on stage like that in front of a bunch of strange, and rather barbaric, men was more than I cared to see. The whole scene just left me scarred for the human condition and the things we do to one another in the name of entertainment. It was the last time I went to a strip club.

Prude? Nah. Afraid? Maybe. Naive? Sure. But really just a little too sensitive. Even then, in the midst of various addictions, there was a heart of compassion. I didn't fully understand it at the time but I understand how women and men, lonely women and men, get sucked into this world. It is a world of fantasy but it's only as real as the dollars you wield and is ultimately empty.

Reminds me of a Moby song, one of his best:

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my mind
Too many things to cover me
Too much can make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many faces
So many dirty things
You couldn't believe

My wife will tell you that if I were to ever get busted picking up a prostitute it would not be to have sex with her but to talk to her, even take her out to eat, not as a date, but in an effort to somehow help. Though I did come to know a few prostitutes while working with the homeless in Youngstown, I have no prostitute stories.

Seattle 1994 Baraka and the World of Illusion

I am listening to the soundtrack for the film Baraka as ripped from the DVD (seems this is heading for obsolence as the Blu-Ray is said to be astonishing...).

In 1994 I was living in Seattle, having found myself there after several months on the road after quitting a "real" job and hitting the road (fueled by confusion, madness and drug use...). It was quite an experience.

One of the memorable moments in the drug-fueled period of my life was the opportunity to see the film Baraka in all it glory on the big screen. I doubt it was in the original 70 mm Todd-AO format though it may have been. All I know is that I was stoned when I went to see it and was mesmerized. In the midst of a spiritual crisis/catharis, the subject matter of the film was right on point. It was where I was at the time; it was also where I wanted to be. I sat in a stupor for about an hour and a half as I asborbed the images and sounds of the film. If you've never see it, you must see it at least once.

One of the pivotal moments, at the height of my buzz no less, was a scene in a trash dump in India where people are rummaging through the trash while Dead Can Dance's "Host of Seraphim" is playing. I was frozen in time. Never had I been so moved during a film; never had I felt a song so powerfully. It was, for that moment, transcendent. Even now as I listen to the song, it takes me there, a perfect memory capsule of a moment frozen in song.

Now, fifteen years later and a bit more worldly wise, I have found that many of the images in the film are based in settings that would be considered the tourist variety and the film itself is structured to "sell" a point. Though profound and moving it is now fairly obvious. Perhaps maturity and experience has shattered the illusion but it doesn't take away from the original experience for which this was a pivotal moment. This is a risk as we age, that we condemn and become cynical about those things that profoundly altered our worldview. But this film educated me and was instrumental in my desire to see the world in context.

One of the scenes which freaked me out at first was early in the film when a group of men, all seated, perform some kind of a dance in the jungle, all led by an older "shamanic" figure, eyes glazed over in a hypnotic trance, arms in unison as the bodies sway back and forth to the rhythm of the chant. A striking visual.

Years later I would learn that this is a staged performance called Kecak, or Ramayana Monkey Chant, a musical drama performed in Bali that celebrates an ancient Sanskrit epic. While it has its roots in sanghyang, a trance-inducing exorcism dance, it has become a "Westernized" version of the original.

A German painter and musician, Walter Spies, became interested in it during the 1930s and transformed it into a performance piece. Spies worked with Wayan Limbak, a Balinese dancer, and Limbak popularized the dance by traveling throughout the world with Balinese performance groups. These travels helped to make the Kecak known throughout the world.

This transformation is an example of what James Clifford describes as part of the "modern art-culture system" in which, "the West or the central power adopts, transforms, and consumes non-Western or peripheral cultural elements, while making 'art' which was once embedded in the culture as a while, into a separate entity."

Here is a more telling photo:

Sounds familiar...

Americanization

To what extent is education exploitation? Too cynical? Is my desire to keep such cultural elements confined to their historical roots a sign of the same "spirit" of Westernization, an elitist version of creating an exotic "other" for voyeuristic purpose?

Speaking of exploitation, tourism and Sufism, this all reminds me of an article from Hakim Bey, one of my favorite anarchist writers, about Overcoming Tourism...

This film was my first exposure to the music of Dead Can Dance and I would, over time, absorb anything related to their music, discovering many artists on the legendary 4AD label. Even today, it is still some of my favorite music.

However, much of this had to do with the mystique I created around their music. I envisioned some mysterious, mystical, exotic group whose music was angelic, ethereal, transcendent. That wasn't the case but the music of Lisa Gerrard, vocalist for Dead Can Dance, is truly amazing. She is perhaps most known for her work in the film score for Gladiator. Like much of my early spirituality, I chose to believe in a myth of my own making, a self-idealized projection that led to living in a world of illusion I created.

Time, age and maturity can often dampen the original joy of an event but this film changed my worldview and instilled a deeper desire for exploring the religious life. With music from around the world buoyed by a score from Michael Stearn (a favorite of Hearts of Space), it's a gem. The music is incredible though I think the weed enhanced the music to an extent I haven't experienced since.

Actually, the last time I watched the film itself I was tripping on LSD and in one of the early scenes of a mountain, I saw the face of Jesus being molded, melting, out of the mountains, a liquid face morphing and changing but still clearly Jesus.

I don't expect you to see Jesus there but I did, plain as could be. It was a charcoal etched vision of him in Fritz Eichenberg or Gustav Dore style (no halo, though) but it was unmistakable. I wanted to stay in that moment forever. Sadly, the crew I was with wanted to trip to something else and ejected the video.

A soundbyte from this film can be found in Jonathan Lisle's incredible Original OS.0_2 mix on John Digweed's Bedrock label and if you watch closely you'll see stills of the film in The Matrix Reloaded when Neo speaks with The Architect.

It's amazing the things that frame our worldview. Because this film so impacted my life (and, obviously, the lives of others) it has become a way of framing my perception of the world and is thus instantly recognizable when placed in various cultural media, a signpost, common ground among a larger tribe, all on the same journey, like product placement (is that irony or cynicism?).

The CD version of the film was too short and left out a lot of the subtle musical gems from the film as was the case with both Koyaanisqatsi and Powaqqatsi. Certainly these will be on Blu-Ray soon. What a peculiar twist having paid $75 for a used VHS version of this movie off of ebay after it was pulled from the shelves of Blockbuster when it went out of print. I can't help but think that there is something ugly and sinister about the material product of media proliferation.

It looks as if an "upgrade" to the soundtrack to Koyaanisqatsi is forthcoming as well.

My wife and I saw Koyaanisqatsi performed live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with Philip Glass leading his orchestra as part of an effort to fund the finishing touches on the third piece of the trilogy, Naqoyqatsi (or, as my wife calls it, quite prophetically, Not Quite Qatsi). Having heard this live with the film playing on a movie screen in the background was comparable to my viewing of Baraka, though I was sober this time.

Life without drugs and addictions. Being grateful. No regrets. Enjoying the now. To live without illusion. It really is possible.

WALSTIB...

What kind of a Christian?

That's a really tough question. I guess I am "supposed" to be a Christian of the Trintarian variety. To a degree I am though sometimes I feel as if I hold to this as an objective categorization to keep it separate from the "other" variations of the Christian, defined more by what it is not than by what it is, the apophaticism of the mystics.

I do see how it developed and the need for it. Something was necessary to give a cohesive structure to the Church in order for it to survive as it has for 2,000 years. Given what we have in the Bible - Father, Son, Spirit - and their workings throughout the New Testament writings, it is sensible that the Trinitarian doctrine developed. It is not, as many claim, illogical, as it was logic that built the Trinitarian edifice. There is a limit to this logic, however, and there does come a point where logic is baffled because we recognize the limits of words and language to convey the deeper things of religious experience. This also is not illogical. All religious traditions agree that while words are necessary to take us "there" a point comes where words fail.

But there are times when I view Jesus as universal soul, the "celestial self" of whom Henry Corbin writes, the fravarti, the Daena we will meet on the road to the Cinvat Bridge. This vision is found in Manichaeism, Sufism and Pure Land Buddhism. But it is not foreign to Christianity. In Corbin's view, Jesus was viewed by some (e.g. in the Shepherd of Hermas) as an Angel along the same lines. And the more I understand the idea of the Imam in Shi'ite Islam the more it makes sense. There can be no doubt that there are parallel lines of "seeing" between this vision of Islam and the Christ who is "angelic" in this sense.

So which Jesus?

Then there is the cultural Jesus, the "substitute Jesus" of the cult of celebrity, whether musicians, movie stars, pro athletes, talk show hosts or any other "famous" person in whom we place our trust and allegiance, only to cruficy them when they fail. Why else are the tabloids so popular? It's because we want to know the dirt they do. We prop them up, support their lifestyles so that we can, in a sense, fund them the lives we wish to live, watch them as voyeurs, safely from a distance, and then thrive when they fall.

There is the Islamic Jesus, the Buddhist Jesus, the Jewish Jesus, the Jesus Seminar Jesus, the macho Jesus, the feminist Jesus, even the atheist Jesus. Lots of Jesuses out there. Which Jesus?

Isn't it quite possible that all these views of Jesus actually embrace him? Perhaps Jesus has become nothing more than a collective projection of an innate goodness onto a "figure" named Jesus, whose roots are found in the New Testament but who has become the repository of the collective human consciousness. Perhaps the "New Age" Jesus is in full effect.

I think any vision of Jesus will always develop and change over time. After all, this is theology plain and simple. There is really no theology proper in Islam. Theology implies an independent interpretation and, as such, has been controversial in Islamic history. Judaism also does not place great emphasis on theology. Theology, in these two faiths, are basically the equivalent of what is believed. But there are, in general, no disputations about the "nature" of God.

Theology really developed in answer to the question Jesus poses: "Who do you say that I am?" It is this, when analyzed through independent reason and the adoption of Greek philosophical methods and terms to a Christian paradigm, that drove Christian theology. So while every avenue of who Jesus was/is has been, throughout the great debates in Church history, analyzed and discussed and argued about, there is still a challenge on the individual level to wrestle with this question.

It is this wrestling, and a more independent streak in the post-Enlightenment world, that has led to all the divisions within Christendom and has given rise to the post-denominational world of the Church today. Add to this the Jesus of culture or of other religions and the mystery of who he really was/is increases.

As a Christian to not wrestle with this question requires blind allegiance to a teacher or pastor or blind allegiance to ignorance (i.e. fear). As a thinking Christian, wrestling with this question, while potentially dangerous, can be liberating. This does not mean leaving Christianity or abandoning Jesus or somehow failing God.

No, this means that you, as an individual, take responsibility for finding the answer on your own. Any visionary, anyone who has had an experience with the "risen Christ" has done so when he ventured beyond the confines of familiarity and contentment and journeyed out beyond into the realms of darkness where the soul is on its own, where the soul can find a true and genuine faith.

This is the realm where the "mystic" or the "visionary" who comes back with a tale to tell and a desire to help others. But this is also the realm in which, if not careful, the self-declared mystic and visionary comes back and leads eager and gullible souls to hell (think Jim Jones).

Self-definition is tough. I hate labels and categories. Labels and categories serve as a reference point, a leaping off point, but in the end they too need abandoned. Even the name of Jesus can become a hindrance as we creat an idol out of the imagery we attach to the name.

I am reminded, as is often the case, of the Dao De Jing:

"The Dao that can be told is not the eternal Dao.

The name that can be named, is not the eternal name." DDJ, 1, Feng translation

Yet the question remains: "Who do you say that I am?"

Americanization of Sufism...

Rather than a specifically Americanized version, there is a larger Western scholarly category called Orientalist which is basically the Western study, often biased or with a specific agenda, of things "Oriental" under which Islam falls.

An article from Carl W. Ernst in Brannon Wheeler's compilation of essays pertaining to Teaching Islam goes more deeply into how Sufism has been isolated from its historical roots. Brannon Wheeler, in several articles on Khidr/Khezr (one of my favorite characters of any religion), radically altered my views in "influence/borrowing" in Islam. On this, I'll post more when I get time.

According to Ernst the term and category Sufism was first coined by British Orientalists in India, particularly Sir William Jones. He notes that the "dervishes", the symbol of Sufism, were known but only as exotic curiosities. The term Sufi was given primarily to the literary phase, particularly the poetry, convinced that the elegant poems of Hafiz and Rumi could have nothing to do with the Islamic (then called "Mahometan") religion. The Sufis (whose character was gleaned from within the literature) were free spirits and thus had little in common with the "stern faith" of Muhammad.

Ernst notes that

the term Sufism was invented at the end of the eighteenth century as an appropriation of those portions of "Oriental" culture that Europeans found attractive.

Ernst seeks to make the point that the nonpolitical image of Sufism is illusory. It's a different angle than merely criticizing Sufism's excision from its Islamic roots which has overtones of a strictly "religious" critique. After all, Islam is a worldview and this includes politics under its umbrella.

There is often a polarity posed between Islam and Sufism, as if Sufism is somehow not Islamic or as if it intentionally freed itself from the grasps of a fundamentalist faith. While historically there have been clashes between the fundamentalist variety of Islam and the more "mystical" strain (which Orientalists have coined "Sufi"), the battle has been for the "control of [Islam's] central religious symbols" (113).

Fundamentalists (in any faith or political worldview, for that matter), who fear any alternative interpretation as threatening, have taken the lead of the Orientalist view and have sought to make Sufism into a subject separable from Islam, even hostile to it, as Ernst points out. This makes the fundamentalists the "sole authentic custodians of tradition" even though such groups constitute only 20 percent of any Muslim population. Sufism is thus not included in the "history" of Islam from this paradigm.

However, many a Sufi order has been actively involved in politics even, ironically, active in resiting colonial rule. Hasan al-Banna, founder of the Muslim Brotherhood and Abu al-'Ala' Mawdudi, founder of the Jama'at-i Islami, were admirers of the structure of the Sufi orders. While they may not adopt the spiritual practices, they acted in relation to their followers "with all the charisma of a Sufi master in the company of disciples" (113). So the Sufi "mystique" has a powerful hold over on Muslim society so the fundamentalist reinterpretation of history is a powerful spin.

With differing motives, both Orientalists and fundamentalist have sought, quite successfully, to separate Sufism from its Islamic roots. Those associaetd with that which is now generically called "Sufism" are not called on to make explicit statements regarding their relation to "mainstream" Islam. However, according to Ernst, prior to the nineteenth and twentiety centuries, it was scarcely necessary for a Sufi, "steeped in the Quran and the example of Prophet Muhammad", to have to provide self-definition in terms of Islam. This has been a result of Islam becoming "the eternal other" as opposition to the modern West (115).

Ernst ends his essay discussing mysticism as a category. He notes that it is "often reduced to a bare universalism...and...to the private experience of the individual" (121). In this view, then, military and economic activities inherent in Sufism's past do not fit this picture of mysticism and is disgarded. However, Ernst notes that this is difficult to do with the truth about Sufism's history. Sufis are constantly reminded of this by the model of the Prophet Muhammad, who is, for them, the role of social and political leader, as well as mystical exemplar.

In essence, then, Sufism should be studied in its context for understanding. It is much more than Rumi; it is much more than the "mystical" side of Islam; it is much more than the "real" Islam. All of these are subjective, isolated views which, when not taken as part of a larger whole, become private affairs and cease to have any real application in the world at large. Religion as a solely private thing can be just as dangerous as religion at the institutional level.

In other words, "mysticism", a generic category into which Sufism has been lumped, has come to mean "I'm spiritual, not religious" or "I don't like organized religion" or "All religions are the same" or "All religions lead to the same place", well-meaning slogans that really equate to unwillingness to commit to any form of religious or doctrinal affiliation, Man as the measure of all things. Really, it is nothing more than the Great Em Ee desiring to be the center of all things, including the judge of Truth.

The problem isn't whether "Sufism" is "mystical" or Sufism vs. Islam or Sufism devoid of content as much it is the problem of how few of us are really willing to commit, i.e. surrender self, to any Path requiring genuine sacrifice. Believe me, I only recognize it when I see it because I am just as guilty of this as the next person.

Faith is messy because it changes us.