Making 'conscience' and 'consciousness' one

Some words in pairs invite joint consideration because they are so close in appearance and because they so strongly suggest new meanings by their proximate definitions.

“Experience” and “experiment,” “myth” “and “mystic” are two such pairs.

The other day I found myself meditating on the attraction between “conscience” and “consciousness.”

I felt an almost magnetic pull, but when “conscience” and “consciousness” neared, the polarity seemed to reverse, reach stasis and freeze their meanings in respectful, yet unfulfilled, proximity.

In the palpable space between “conscience” and “consciousness” emerged a new meaning. No word I know signifies that meaning (suggestions are welcomed!), but if you hold “conscience” and “consciousness” together simultaneously, you can feel it.

A power emerges between the two.

Out of my consideration came a notion that took the form of two questions:
Can we be fully conscious if our conscience hasn’t been engaged?

Can our conscience be fully engaged if we are not fully conscious?

“Conscience” and “consciousness” in full rely on each other.

Of course “fully” is impossible because there is always more. We are evolving as individuals and as a species. Our conscience and our consciousness are growing.  All existence is dynamic.

As a result of my meditation, I am certain growth of consciousness is informed by conscience; and the growth of conscience relies on a widening and deepening consciousness.

Perhaps conscience and consciousness are kept separate because they are represented by distinct words. Without a word that defines their attraction and, yes, their oneness, are we doomed to keeping them apart?

Stilling Life

Some of my paintings are now on display at the Multnomah Friends Meetinghouse at 4312 SE Stark Street. (I’ve included images of three here.) Except for Sundays, the open hours at the building are pretty hit and miss.

I’ve written the requisite statement to go with the exhibit, but I won’t share it here. Instead I will offer other thoughts that occurred to me as I considered what to say.

As a Quaker who worships in silence, I find special meaning in the art term “still life.” The phrase from Psalm 46: “Be still and know that I am God” is at the heart of it. Painting a still life requires one to still one’s own life and, in so doing, “know God.” The painting invites the same of the viewer. Be still!

In that still state, the Art Spirit, to use Robert Henri's term, inhabits the canvas.

A still life has been defined as a painting of an inanimate object or objects. I include landscapes in the definition because they can be frozen and made still by photography. To me, the above seascape is a still life, a depiction of stillness as seen from an Oregon beach.

What is this “stillness”?

It is more than quiet, more than meditation. The stillness is not simply within you but at large and accessible when you turn to it.

It is the stillness depicted in a still-life painting.

Stillness conveys a purity of Truth, with a capital “T.” Words cannot describe it. An image, however, offers an opening by stilling life as experienced by artist and observer.

A still life is painting ... and being.

As others see us: Quakers as "suicide cult"

I’ve recently been wondering how Quakers (I happen to be one) are perceived by the vast majority who aren’t.

Today, while reading the New York Times, I got an unusual and troubling glimpse from reading a story about a Navy midshipman, Ensign Michael Izbicki, who has just emerged successfully from the surreal experience of explaining why he is a conscientious objector.

After a two-year legal struggle, he has finally been discharged from the Navy.

It’s a bizarre, ironic story, reminiscent of “Catch-22” in many ways.

What especially caught my attention, given my interest in how Quakers are perceived, was this paragraph about Izbicki's inquisition at the hands of the Navy:

“One Navy commander suggested that the pacifist strain of Christianity that Mr. Izbicki embraced was inconsistent with mainstream Christian faith. The same commander likened the Quakers, who supported Mr. Izbicki, to the Rev. Jim Jones and his People’s Temple, a suicide cult.”

Alas, the commander is not named in the story. We need to talk. Nor does the story expand on the commander’s Jonestown/Quaker comparison, but allow me to speculate.

First, a little history is in order. The infamous Jonestown mass suicide of 1978 in northern Guyana resulted in the deaths of more than 900 Jones followers, who drank poisoned Kool-Aid and died. It was the largest mass suicide in the history of this country.

My speculation about the commander’s thinking goes like this: Because Quakers follow a testimony promoting peace and refraining from and opposing participation in war, they are, in effect, committing suicide at the hands of this nation’s murderous enemies.

That, in itself is a contradiction. Suicide, by definition, is death at one’s own hands. When one knowingly chooses to die at the hands of someone else, that is commonly referred to as martyrdom. The pages of history are full of those who put their lives on the line to die for a greater good. One died on a cross 2,000 years ago. But that, commander, is another story.

The U.S. military would have us believe that its members are martyrs to such a good. It’s a tough sell, and Ensign Izbicki wasn’t buying it, especially when he was told that, from a submarine armed with nuclear missiles, he might be called upon to kill innocent civilians.

In my view, joining the armed forces is more akin to suicide. First, one increases the chances of being killed for politically ginned-up causes. If you don't believe me, dip into "War is a Lie" by David Swanson who lays out the lies our nation's leaders have told to justify going to war.

Moreover, on-duty military personnel are literally killing themselves (ie. committing suicide) in shocking numbers. In 2009, the suicide rate in the military was higher than the civilian average. Fifty-two Marines and 48 Sailors committed suicide in 2009, according to official reports. As of November of that year, 147 soldiers had taken their lives. Air Force officials reported 41 active-duty suicides in 2009.

Then there is the rate of suicides among veterans. Veterans Administration records show there are an average of 950 suicide attempts each month by veterans receiving some type of treatment from the Veterans Affairs Department. (Statistics aren't available for veterans not being treated.)

As ensign, Michael Izbicki was already agonizing over the possibility that he might be called on to mash a button that would lead to the obliteration of civilian populations. If he were ever forced to live with performing such a deed, it is entirely conceivable his “service to our country” might drive him to suicide too.

As I say, commander, we need to talk. Might I suggest, sir, that you and your colleagues might just be commanding your own Jonestown. Call it a "military cult."

But don’t believe me. I’m not a “mainstream Christian.” I’m just a member of a Quaker “cult.”

Ourselves and Others

In the manner of Quakers, the query posted in the meeting room of our Stark Street Meeting House was changed today for the new month.

The March (or Third Month) query reads:

How careful are we of the reputations of others?
Do we practice the art of listening to one another, even beyond words?

Are we sensitive to each other’s personal needs and difficulties and do we assist in useful ways?

We worship in a circle, and I always position myself so that I can easily read the query on the distant wall.

After several re-readings and reflection, I was moved to speak out of the silence of worship. I asked my fellow worshippers to consider a change in the query so that it asks:

How careful are we of our own reputations?
Do we practice the art of listening to ourselves, even beyond words?

Are we sensitive to our own personal needs and difficulties and do we assist ourselves in useful ways?

I suggested that if we addressed these questions about ourselves, we would be far better able to address those about others as posed in the March query.

On being one

Quakers often speak of the “Inner Light” and “that of God in each of us.”

In the last couple of days I’ve been led, in a Quakerly manner, to think more about divinity and spirituality and where they reside.

In an all-encompassing universe (a UNI-VERSE) that defies human notions of “place” and separateness, I believe we are blinded when we posit our spirituality here or there or anywhere.

Some belief systems place the spirit within us (in the heart or the solar plexus or in the center of the forehead). Some project a part of the spirit into an exterior place (a sanctuary, a shrine, a house of worship, to a Rome, Mecca, or Jerusalem) or into a person (Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha etc.)

But the spirit isn’t “place-able,” because it is in every person, every place, every thing — all at once, everywhere.

It is everything.

Even as we Quakers speak narrowly of the “Inner Light,” we practice silent worship that moves us “out” as well, to include a vast oneness.

Dispensing with words in the silence is a huge step because words separate through definitions. A “tree” is not a “rock.” “You” are not “me.” A “Jew” is not a “Muslim” — who is not a “Christian,” who is not a “Buddhist,” who is not an “atheist,” and, yes, who is not a “Quaker.”

Moreover Quakers (or “Quakers,” if you will) worship as a community, a form that acknowledges a spiritual oneness, however narrowly defined it may be by our “Quaker” beliefs. As a community, we can say we are parts of a whole that is speaking to itself through each of us, but by seeing ourselves as parts, we become separate, even in our coming together.

As Quakers, indeed as human beings, we find it difficult to express what it means to be “of everything.” We are not “part of” everything. We do not “join” with everything.

Rather, we ARE it.

If only we could say and affirm that—as one.