The path is rugged and the traveler is weak, says Ghazali in The Path of the Worshipful Servant to the Garden of the Lord of All Worlds. How then do we make the journey? With this single provision—“worshipful obedience.”
Aha! say some religious folks. Good! Tell me the rules, tell me what I must do, that I may obey them and reach the destination.
Aha! say the rationalists. Terrible. This is what faith always comes down to—blind obedience.
Aha! Say I. Ghazali means something completely different. In describing “worshipful obedience” in this first chapter on sustenance, he refuses to give a set of rules than can be applied by the faithful or sneered at by the enlightened. Instead, he presents a view of worshipful obedience along the path as something akin to discernment of the heart.
We are to trust absolutely only in the Creator to provide our sustenance, he says. What does that mean in our lives?
Is the person who does not take along provisions for his or her journey the pious person, then?
Or is the person who takes along his or her own sustenance on the journey the pious one?
The answer to both questions is: Sometimes. Depending on the state of the traveler’s heart, whether it is truly free or it is attached to the provisions.
A person who takes nothing into the desert on a pilgrimage, professing to depend absolutely for all provisions on the Creator, may deep in the heart be attached to those provision left behind. And person who takes nothing along and then whines and begs provisions from fellow travelers would have done better to take their own provisions. There are some, however, who set out with no provisions, completely detached and wholly dependent on the Creator.
A person who takes many provisions on a pilgrimage may be taking them along without any attachment to them, with complete dependence on the Creator to provide. They may be taking the provisions instance, so they will be available to whomever on the journey needs them, according to God’s plan of provision.
It is not simply the act itself, but the heart out of which the action arises that describes “worshipful obedience.” In each case, discernment is the key. Each person must discern for himself or herself where they are in the journey and whether they are to take provisions or not at a particular moment. It is not whether or not they carry provisions with them that matters; it is how complete their trust in the Creator is. Their discernment may lead them to take provisions at some points, and leave them behind at others. There is no absolute rule of action to follow at all times, only the rule of what is required of the purely trusting heart in a given situation.
That is part of what makes the path so difficult: it requires constant discernment of what is required of one in this moment, in this place along the way.
Discernment is a spiritual muscle cultivated not only by Ghazali and other Sufis, but by the Hasids and Christian mystics as well, as we’ll see in a later post.
Showing posts with label Ghazali. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghazali. Show all posts
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Secret? Law of Attraction? Beware Dr. Feel Good
It seems we human beings never grow tired of easy answers, especially Americans. We want the easy fix, the cheapest way, the short cut, the pain pills. Who wouldn’t want this? But wanting is not living. And living as a true human being requires more of us. More than simply the will to have what we want.
How many people have you heard lately talking about “the secret to life,” the law of attraction,” or the power of “manifesting”? Sure, it all sounds good. But this is just the latest recycled version of the power of positive thinking approach to life that has led so many people astray over the centuries. I’m not against people enjoying life, an optimistic approach to living, or taking responsibility for one’s life. I am suspicious, however, of anything that tempts people to believe that: their individual happiness is the ultimate goal of living; that however they define that happiness or the fulfillment of their needs is fine, as long as they choose it for themselves; that they are fully in charge of their lives and do not need to depend on any other; and that a life worth living is always pleasant and easy.
I Want, I Want, I Want
Most purveyors of the law of attraction (and yes, these people are manifesting making lots of money off people who want to hear this easy talk) encourage people to ask, What do I want to manifest in my life? What we should be asking ourselves is the questions that come before and beneath that question: How can I know what to manifest if I don’t first understand what is illusion and what is true? How does it help me in the long run to manifest my desires if what I desire is as ephemeral and unsatisfying as smoke when what I really need is fire? What have I gained if I become adept at attracting to myself what feels good for an instant but what cannot prove an enduring foundation for the future? A new car? A six-figure income? A romantic partner? All good—perhaps. But should these be the object of our heart’s deepest and purest intention?
I,I,I,I,I
Are these the questions we should be asking ourselves, What do I want? What do I want to attract? What do I want to manifest? I, I, I, I! That’s the second part of why this recycled power of positive thinking talks is so tempting: it focuses not only on desire without asking what is worthy of human being’s deepest desire, but on the “I,” the individual ego. In this age of consumerism and economic fearfulness, of “social” networks that seem not to slake our isolated and alienated selves’ thirst for community but only increase it, we don’t need anyone to coach us to focus on ourselves more. For most genuine paths of salvation in the world, the “secret” of living well is never to focus on the self, but to go beyond the healthy self to recognize that one belongs to something larger and that one has a role to play in that something larger, a role that does not always lead to one’s personal happiness or needs being met in the moment.
It’s common today to bash traditional religions as being external, authoritarian, or the enemy of the spirit’s evolution, and to valorize the “spiritual” movements that focus on the internal individual making free choices. But true religion, whether it is in the form of Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, Islam, or whatever, has always pointed the self beyond its self. Obviously traditional religion can be corrupted to serve lesser forces. Unfortunately history shows us this over and over again. But so can spirituality be corrupted. Has Ayn Randism brought peace to the world? No, it has brought injustice, violence, and suffering. What will the followers of the law of attraction bring to our world, beyond their one personal desire for their individual happiness.
Beware the Highway Robbers, Find Yourself a Trustworthy Guide
One of the most trustworthy life coaches I know is that doctor of the heart called Ghazali. At the end of his life, after writing countless books of spiritual counsel for theologians, mystics, and other adepts, he wrote a guide for the spiritual life for ordinary persons, The Path of the Worshipful Servant to the Garden of the Lord of All Worlds. He wrote the book because the path is so difficult and “the danger involved so enormous.” He explains why it is so in his introduction:
Whom would you trust when you set off on a journey to a destination you want to reach before you die? A person who tells you, It's easy, all you have to do is want it and it will be yours? Or the person who has been traveling there a long time and tells you, The way is hard, there will be help all along the way, the destination does not belong to you but you to it, and it is the only place worthy of your travels? Dr. Feel Good? Or a true doctor of the heart?
But first, make sure you know where you’re going.
How many people have you heard lately talking about “the secret to life,” the law of attraction,” or the power of “manifesting”? Sure, it all sounds good. But this is just the latest recycled version of the power of positive thinking approach to life that has led so many people astray over the centuries. I’m not against people enjoying life, an optimistic approach to living, or taking responsibility for one’s life. I am suspicious, however, of anything that tempts people to believe that: their individual happiness is the ultimate goal of living; that however they define that happiness or the fulfillment of their needs is fine, as long as they choose it for themselves; that they are fully in charge of their lives and do not need to depend on any other; and that a life worth living is always pleasant and easy.
I Want, I Want, I Want
Most purveyors of the law of attraction (and yes, these people are manifesting making lots of money off people who want to hear this easy talk) encourage people to ask, What do I want to manifest in my life? What we should be asking ourselves is the questions that come before and beneath that question: How can I know what to manifest if I don’t first understand what is illusion and what is true? How does it help me in the long run to manifest my desires if what I desire is as ephemeral and unsatisfying as smoke when what I really need is fire? What have I gained if I become adept at attracting to myself what feels good for an instant but what cannot prove an enduring foundation for the future? A new car? A six-figure income? A romantic partner? All good—perhaps. But should these be the object of our heart’s deepest and purest intention?
I,I,I,I,I
Are these the questions we should be asking ourselves, What do I want? What do I want to attract? What do I want to manifest? I, I, I, I! That’s the second part of why this recycled power of positive thinking talks is so tempting: it focuses not only on desire without asking what is worthy of human being’s deepest desire, but on the “I,” the individual ego. In this age of consumerism and economic fearfulness, of “social” networks that seem not to slake our isolated and alienated selves’ thirst for community but only increase it, we don’t need anyone to coach us to focus on ourselves more. For most genuine paths of salvation in the world, the “secret” of living well is never to focus on the self, but to go beyond the healthy self to recognize that one belongs to something larger and that one has a role to play in that something larger, a role that does not always lead to one’s personal happiness or needs being met in the moment.
It’s common today to bash traditional religions as being external, authoritarian, or the enemy of the spirit’s evolution, and to valorize the “spiritual” movements that focus on the internal individual making free choices. But true religion, whether it is in the form of Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, Islam, or whatever, has always pointed the self beyond its self. Obviously traditional religion can be corrupted to serve lesser forces. Unfortunately history shows us this over and over again. But so can spirituality be corrupted. Has Ayn Randism brought peace to the world? No, it has brought injustice, violence, and suffering. What will the followers of the law of attraction bring to our world, beyond their one personal desire for their individual happiness.
Beware the Highway Robbers, Find Yourself a Trustworthy Guide
One of the most trustworthy life coaches I know is that doctor of the heart called Ghazali. At the end of his life, after writing countless books of spiritual counsel for theologians, mystics, and other adepts, he wrote a guide for the spiritual life for ordinary persons, The Path of the Worshipful Servant to the Garden of the Lord of All Worlds. He wrote the book because the path is so difficult and “the danger involved so enormous.” He explains why it is so in his introduction:
It is indeed a rugged path and a hard road, fraught with many obstacles, serious hardships, remote distances, enormous difficulties, frequent hindrances and impediments. It is beset with deadly perils and interruptions, abounding in enemies and highway robbers, and offering very few companions and followers. This is exactly how it needs to be, since it is the path of the Garden of Paradise….
Then, in addition to all of that, the servant [of the Lord] is weak, the time is difficult, and religious commitment is subject to retrogression. There is little leisure and much preoccupation. Life is short, and there is incapacity in work. The critic is perceptive, and the appointed term is near. (The Path of the Worshipful Servant to the Garden of the Lord of All Worlds. Tr. Muhtar Holland, Amal Press, p. 2)
Whom would you trust when you set off on a journey to a destination you want to reach before you die? A person who tells you, It's easy, all you have to do is want it and it will be yours? Or the person who has been traveling there a long time and tells you, The way is hard, there will be help all along the way, the destination does not belong to you but you to it, and it is the only place worthy of your travels? Dr. Feel Good? Or a true doctor of the heart?
But first, make sure you know where you’re going.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Simple Practice: Eat Your (Spiritual) Vegetables and...
Ghazali often quoted this Persian proverb:
"Eat the vegetable wherever it comes from, and do not ask where the garden is."
He quoted this, for example, when counseling people how to fight demons (The Marvels of the Heart). Why get caught up in origins, ontology, and metaphysics, asking what world demons come from, what level of being they occupy? The main thing is to conquer their temptations in your heart, with your heart so you can walk uprightly in this world, with love, justice, and humility.
But this proverb also expresses Ghazali's view of truth. He pulled his writings and teachings (which influenced many Jewish and Christian theologians) from many different sources, the Qur'an, al-Farabi, Ibn Sina, colloquial sayings, Greek philosophy, and much more.
This practice and understanding of wisdom is a welcome one in our current situation, in which fundamentalists (among all religions) and militant secularists (from among all religions) have crowded the stage, pushing all people of faith seeking understanding off the stage, calling us "rebels" or "infidels" for holding a view of God with which they do not agree, or "idiots" for trusting in God at all. Both these dogmas, as different as they seem to be, share a belief: that the origin of an idea contaminates or purifies it. For religious fundamentalists, any idea or image of God that does not come from the one true source that their group identifies (the Hebrew scriptures, the Christian scriptures, the Qur'an, or others), as interpreted by them is not only suspect but false. For the materialist or secular fundamentalists, those who reject any possibility of the reality of God, any idea or image of God, especially if it comes from an organized religion, is false because it is nonsense, meaningless. For them, any statement that is not objectively verifiable, that does not originate in scientific thinking, must be false.
For both these varieties of fundamentalism, faith and reason are mutually exclusive. For the religious dogmatists, whatever does not come from (their) faith comes from human reason and is therefore deception (because human reason is clouded by sin and it is only pure revelation that can be trusted). For the secular dogmatists, whatever does not come from (their notion of modern scientific) reason comes from faith and is therefore self-deception (because human beings are weak and childish and want an illusion of something greater than they are to depend on).
I am reminded here of the logical fallacy called "poisoning the wells." One identifies the one pure source of truth as the well one drinks from, and claims that all other wells, and everything springing forth from them, every word, thought, idea, practice, is, by necessity, contaminated. Thus, they drink only from their wells. They eat vegetables only from their gardens.
Ghazali's proverb can show us another way. "Eat the vegetable wherever it comes from, and do not ask where the garden is."
Faith and reason are not mutually exclusive. Throughout history, in all religious traditions, western and eastern, there have been thinkers and communities who have not been afraid to recognize truth no matter what its source. Not just mystics and radicals, but people at the heart of religious traditions have recognized and absorbed truths that came to them from outside their tradition or culture. Philo, Jews returning from captivity in Babylonia, Augustine, Ghazali, Ibn Arabi, Maimonides, John Calvin--the list could go on and on. It was the medieval Christian theologian Anselm who gave us the common motto for this approach, faith seeking understanding. But the approach knows no historical, cultural, or religious bounds. Trusting in the Oneness and infinite wisdom of God, they strove to recognize truth whenever and wherever it appeared, even if that truth came from Greek philosophy, Persian religion, or the best science of the day. For them, to reject a truth simply because one is unfamiliar with its source is to be ungrateful to the One; it is to reject the Oneness, infinite wisdom, and overflowing abundance of the One and the gifts that flow from God. When one recognizes a truth, one sees that its ultimate origin is in God, not another person or community. That is why one accepts it if one does.
So let's be discriminating, yes. Don't eat cardboard or rancid meat. Know what you're eating. Seek out nourishing vegetables. And when you find them, don't subject them, or their growers or deliverers, to a long inquisition about the garden they came from, the mineral content of the soil, the rain levels, the integrity of the gardeners, and so forth. Did this truth grow in the garden of faith? No matter. No reason to condemn it. Did it grow in the garden of reason? No matter. No reason to reject it out of hand. Let's move beyond the false dichotomy of faith or reason and start talking about what truths nourish us and that we share with others.
We could die of spiritual starvation in this desert of fundamentalism before all the garden questions are raised and answered. The practice is simple and profound: Eat your vegetables; and leave the garden, Pardes, paradise, which is more glorious and abundant and various than we could ever imagine, to The True.
"Eat the vegetable wherever it comes from, and do not ask where the garden is."
He quoted this, for example, when counseling people how to fight demons (The Marvels of the Heart). Why get caught up in origins, ontology, and metaphysics, asking what world demons come from, what level of being they occupy? The main thing is to conquer their temptations in your heart, with your heart so you can walk uprightly in this world, with love, justice, and humility.
But this proverb also expresses Ghazali's view of truth. He pulled his writings and teachings (which influenced many Jewish and Christian theologians) from many different sources, the Qur'an, al-Farabi, Ibn Sina, colloquial sayings, Greek philosophy, and much more.
This practice and understanding of wisdom is a welcome one in our current situation, in which fundamentalists (among all religions) and militant secularists (from among all religions) have crowded the stage, pushing all people of faith seeking understanding off the stage, calling us "rebels" or "infidels" for holding a view of God with which they do not agree, or "idiots" for trusting in God at all. Both these dogmas, as different as they seem to be, share a belief: that the origin of an idea contaminates or purifies it. For religious fundamentalists, any idea or image of God that does not come from the one true source that their group identifies (the Hebrew scriptures, the Christian scriptures, the Qur'an, or others), as interpreted by them is not only suspect but false. For the materialist or secular fundamentalists, those who reject any possibility of the reality of God, any idea or image of God, especially if it comes from an organized religion, is false because it is nonsense, meaningless. For them, any statement that is not objectively verifiable, that does not originate in scientific thinking, must be false.
For both these varieties of fundamentalism, faith and reason are mutually exclusive. For the religious dogmatists, whatever does not come from (their) faith comes from human reason and is therefore deception (because human reason is clouded by sin and it is only pure revelation that can be trusted). For the secular dogmatists, whatever does not come from (their notion of modern scientific) reason comes from faith and is therefore self-deception (because human beings are weak and childish and want an illusion of something greater than they are to depend on).
I am reminded here of the logical fallacy called "poisoning the wells." One identifies the one pure source of truth as the well one drinks from, and claims that all other wells, and everything springing forth from them, every word, thought, idea, practice, is, by necessity, contaminated. Thus, they drink only from their wells. They eat vegetables only from their gardens.
Ghazali's proverb can show us another way. "Eat the vegetable wherever it comes from, and do not ask where the garden is."
Faith and reason are not mutually exclusive. Throughout history, in all religious traditions, western and eastern, there have been thinkers and communities who have not been afraid to recognize truth no matter what its source. Not just mystics and radicals, but people at the heart of religious traditions have recognized and absorbed truths that came to them from outside their tradition or culture. Philo, Jews returning from captivity in Babylonia, Augustine, Ghazali, Ibn Arabi, Maimonides, John Calvin--the list could go on and on. It was the medieval Christian theologian Anselm who gave us the common motto for this approach, faith seeking understanding. But the approach knows no historical, cultural, or religious bounds. Trusting in the Oneness and infinite wisdom of God, they strove to recognize truth whenever and wherever it appeared, even if that truth came from Greek philosophy, Persian religion, or the best science of the day. For them, to reject a truth simply because one is unfamiliar with its source is to be ungrateful to the One; it is to reject the Oneness, infinite wisdom, and overflowing abundance of the One and the gifts that flow from God. When one recognizes a truth, one sees that its ultimate origin is in God, not another person or community. That is why one accepts it if one does.
So let's be discriminating, yes. Don't eat cardboard or rancid meat. Know what you're eating. Seek out nourishing vegetables. And when you find them, don't subject them, or their growers or deliverers, to a long inquisition about the garden they came from, the mineral content of the soil, the rain levels, the integrity of the gardeners, and so forth. Did this truth grow in the garden of faith? No matter. No reason to condemn it. Did it grow in the garden of reason? No matter. No reason to reject it out of hand. Let's move beyond the false dichotomy of faith or reason and start talking about what truths nourish us and that we share with others.
We could die of spiritual starvation in this desert of fundamentalism before all the garden questions are raised and answered. The practice is simple and profound: Eat your vegetables; and leave the garden, Pardes, paradise, which is more glorious and abundant and various than we could ever imagine, to The True.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Emptying, Emptying, and Again Emptying Our Vessels
Mystics often use the metaphor of “polishing the mirror of the heart” to point to the ongoing process of coming into deeper communion with the One. Ghazali speaks of the heart as being made of iron. It inevitably rusts unless we keep polishing away the grime and other impurities in the surrounding atmosphere that build up on it. This work is never ending. Once one has polished that iron into a brilliantly mirror that can reflect the beauty, love, and glory of the One, one still must work daily to keep that surface free from blotches, smears, and scratches, or the cloudy mists that settle on it and darken it. This is the work of the heart. Part of this work is forgiving oneself for the spots and layers one must polish away and thanking God for the grace to see and remove them, and giving thanks for the times when the mirror remains clear. Here is how he expresses this in On Knowing Yourself and God, or, as he called it in Persian, The Alchemy of Happiness, the summary of spiritual teachings he wrote near the end of his life.
The heart is like a bright mirror; repugnant traits are like smoke and darkness which, when they touch it, darken it so that tomorrow one will not see the Divine Presence and it will become veiled (to one’s view). Good traits are the light which reaches the heart and wipes away the darkness of sin. It is for this that the Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) said: “Follow a bad deed with a good (deed) so that (the bad) may be erased.” At the resurrection, it will be the heart which comes into a desert, either bright or dark. None will be saved except him who comes to God with a sound heart. (Qur’an 26:89)
A person’s heart, at the beginning of creation, is like (raw) iron from which –if a person keeps it as he should—is made a shining mirror that displays the entire universe. If not, it will all rust and become so that nothing will be reflected in it. As God Most High said: Nay, but that which they have earned is rust upon their souls. (Qur’an 83:14) [Al-Ghazali On Knowing Yourself and God, tr. Muhammad Nur Abdus Salam, pp. 18-19]
Recently I had an experience that showed me a different image for this daily work, an image which led me to a deeper understanding of this process of cleansing or emptying the heart and the goal of this daily work. Here is the image that came to me.
This world was God’s storeroom. Lined up on the shelves were billions of clay vessels of all sizes and shapes, each one unique. When God needed a particular vessel, God would reach directly for it. Only if the vessel was completely empty could it be used. If it was not completely empty, it remained on the shelf, for it could not contain what God needed it to contain; it could not be used.
Different religious traditions emphasize different kinds of imagery for experiencing God and pruifying our hearts to serve the One in truth. Roman Catholics often prefer visual metaphors—to see God or have a vision or the truth; “For with Thee is the fountain of life; in Thy light do we see light,” as the Psalmist (36:9) sings, and Augustine and others love to chant with him or her. Protestants, picking up on the prophetic tradition of Israel, often prefer audial metaphors—to hear the call or listen for the Word of God, whether it comes in thunder or a still small voice. Mystical traditions vary, too, with some, like Ghazali, using visual images and others audial images. Still others use sensual images—the fragrance of the spirit, the warmth of God’s love. Individuals, too, though formed by traditions, have their preferences.
The visual and tactile image of the clay vessels that came to me helped me understand not only the process of emptying, but the goal of this emptying as well. What fills us up and makes us not useful? Things and desires, distractions and addictions, yes. But also anger, fear, grief, and disappointment. And hope and expectations and longings—even the longing to serve, to be used. These all crowd around us in out vessel, forming a barrier so we cannot feel the true shape of the clay vessel that God has shaped for us at creation. To be present to the One, one must be wholly empty.
And how do we empty ourselves? For many of us, it is God working through out lives who empties us, who batters our hearts until we exhale all we have been clinging to, leaving room for the presence of the One. Some of us do what we can to aid and abet this emptying process: We chant the name of God, Yud-He-Vav-He, the Jesus Prayer (Lord, have mercy), or Al-lah, exhaling all that fill us up, all that is definite, the Yud, the Vav, the have mercy, the Al, and inhaling the Nothingness that is the One, the He, the Lord, the Lah.
This was not all the image that came to me made me see. When I saw the storeroom of clay vessels, I realized that not all the vessels that were empty were used. They had to be ready to be used by God for whatever purpose whenever they and only they were needed, but being ready, empty, was no guarantee that they would be used, ever. Some vessels might wait 80 years to be used, some only a day. Some might empty themselves every day for 50 or more years, only to be full on the one day that the hand of God reached for them. Some might empty themselves every day of their lives and never be used. The goal was not to be used, to be of service. That was a goal of the ego, a hope and expectation and longing that filled the vessel and made it unusable. The goal was simply to be empty, to be usable, to be serviceable, to be ready, if and when God needed one, and to accept that this was up to God, not oneself. If one sat empty on the shelf one’s entire life, then one sat empty on the shelf. One does not guide her own destiny, chart his own path. One surrenders, empty, emptied, emptying, to the One. This is our daily work and our daily spiritual nourishment.
Give us this day our daily bread—empty us. Give us this day our daily work—emptying.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Is Astrology a Victimless Crime? Do We Need “A Warning Against Astrology”?
It’s not just astronomers and skeptics who love to bash astrology. Theologians, ethicists, and philosophers do, too. Yet for many people, even those who agree with the criticisms of astrology as unscientific, illogical, a convenient escape from personal responsibility, a silly waste of time, or a scheme to make money selling people something absolutely useless, astrology still holds an irresistible appeal. Consulting their horoscope for fun every day is one of their guilty pleasures.
I want to reflect on three questions:
Here’s my confession (and it’s not an easy one to make): I don’t know why most people read horoscopes—for fun? for diversion?; I do know why I have read them. There have been times in my life when I frantically consulted three, four, five or more daily or weekly, monthly or yearly horoscopes. I felt guilty doing it, and stupid. I agreed with all the criticisms of it. Yet I did it. Why? I was consumed by fear and anxiety. I wanted control over my life. I wanted to know something about what would happen, even to think I knew something, to calm me. I wanted to find a reason to hope, or simply to find reassurance. In certain moments of crises, after a string of difficult years, when I feared in a post-traumatic-stress-syndrome way that my day or week would surely shock me with one more sorrow or catastrophe I could not have imagined, I would read and read—sometimes for an hour or more—until I found a horoscope that “promised” an end to pain or the beginning of something new, or help of any sort. Sometimes I read until I found a warning about something bad happening--a legal run-in or personal conflict or financial challenge. That would calm me down. If something painful or difficult was going to happen, I wanted to know. Knowing about a trauma before hand seemed far better to me than living in uncertaintiy, waiting for the next blow and not knowing when it would come, from what direction, or from whom, or why. If I knew it was coming, I could handle it, I thought. It was those unpredictable assaults, out of nowhere, that I couldn't live with. Reading “predictions” was my anti-anxiety drug of choice. I needed it. I couldn’t get through the day without it.
This is an embarrassing admission on so many levels, but especially on the spiritual level. Yes, it meant that I was experiencing a lot of grief and trauma and was not acting like my normal self. But I don’t want to use this as a dodge. What it really meant was that I was not trusting in the One. I could not live in uncertainty, with seemingly nothing to hang on to. Why didn’t I just pray and read the Psalms, as I otherwise did, for reassurance and comfort and a sense of community? I am not really sure. I think I was desperate for something that seemed more immediate, more concrete, more practical, a secret message meant for me. This lack of radical trust made me flail my way across the Web looking for comfort and hope.
What are the theological responses to astrology?
In the eleventh century the Sufi mystic and theologian Ghazali objected to astrology because it denied the absolute dependence humankind must have on God at every moment in life. God directly causes every occasion, he argues, which is divine providence, and we are to trust absolutely in God, link ourselves directly to the ultimate source and ground of every act or event or situation, and not look to proximate or intermediate causes like stars and planets. In the twelfth century, the Jewish mystic and theologians Moses Maimonides argued similarly, saying that believing in astrology denies the providence of God and also freedom of the will.
In the sixteenth century the Christian mystic and theologian John Calvin wrote a treatise called “A Warning Against Astrology.” He raises many objections to consulting horoscopes, including Ghazali’s and Maiominides's main points—that it displaces our trust in the only trustworthy One and therefore detracts from the glory of God who providentially cares for every detail of creation; and it denies our moral responsibilty.
But the criticism Calvin offers that always surprises me for its practical, modern sensibility, is this: Astrology is anti-community. God, he argues, placed the sun, moon, and stars in creation so that human beings can tell time and seasons and make plans with one another about when to worship together, when to come to courts of law together to settle disputes, when to meet for other social occasions. They are community-building tools. What if one were to consult his or her horoscope on the way to court and find it is not an auspicious day, and turn back? What if one’s personal chart argues against one observing the Sabbath or a festival day? To use God’s creations in this way to deny God and the image of God in our fellow human beings. It isolates us from others. Trusting in the One, however, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, links us to all other creatures, all the rest of creation—for that is part of our purpose here—to escape the prison of the self and experience communion with others.
Is astrology harmless?
Many people make light of astrology, saying, “Oh, I don’t really believe it! It’s just fun. It’s harmless.” Our common greeting to one another, Good luck! Mazel tov! suggests how much we have absorbed the idea of astrological influences, even if we reject outright causation. Mazal means a planet and its influence, so we're wishing for good astrological influences for others.
Maybe it's harmless to wish someone Mazal tov (instead of saying, "Ezrat Hashem, God's Help" or Retzon HaShem or Insha'Allah, God Willing). But I’m not sure astrology is harmless. Just as prostitution is often called a victimless crime, yet often leads to great harm, so astrology can cause harm. It erodes one’s trust in the One. It corrodes one’s sense of relatedness to others and our responsibility, for one’s own actions and for the care of others. It can keep us trapped in fear and anxiety, dependent on remedies that can never assuage our fears but only postpone or mask them. It can prevent us from growing toward deeper trust and faith that bring the peace that passes understanding.
Astrology isn’t “of the devil,” and consulting one’s horoscope isn’t evil--any more than anything else that tempts us away from depending on the One and befriending all that the One creates and embraces. But it’s not harmless.
I want to reflect on three questions:
- Why do people read their horoscope?
- What are the theological or spiritual objections to astrology?
- Is astrology harmless?
Here’s my confession (and it’s not an easy one to make): I don’t know why most people read horoscopes—for fun? for diversion?; I do know why I have read them. There have been times in my life when I frantically consulted three, four, five or more daily or weekly, monthly or yearly horoscopes. I felt guilty doing it, and stupid. I agreed with all the criticisms of it. Yet I did it. Why? I was consumed by fear and anxiety. I wanted control over my life. I wanted to know something about what would happen, even to think I knew something, to calm me. I wanted to find a reason to hope, or simply to find reassurance. In certain moments of crises, after a string of difficult years, when I feared in a post-traumatic-stress-syndrome way that my day or week would surely shock me with one more sorrow or catastrophe I could not have imagined, I would read and read—sometimes for an hour or more—until I found a horoscope that “promised” an end to pain or the beginning of something new, or help of any sort. Sometimes I read until I found a warning about something bad happening--a legal run-in or personal conflict or financial challenge. That would calm me down. If something painful or difficult was going to happen, I wanted to know. Knowing about a trauma before hand seemed far better to me than living in uncertaintiy, waiting for the next blow and not knowing when it would come, from what direction, or from whom, or why. If I knew it was coming, I could handle it, I thought. It was those unpredictable assaults, out of nowhere, that I couldn't live with. Reading “predictions” was my anti-anxiety drug of choice. I needed it. I couldn’t get through the day without it.
This is an embarrassing admission on so many levels, but especially on the spiritual level. Yes, it meant that I was experiencing a lot of grief and trauma and was not acting like my normal self. But I don’t want to use this as a dodge. What it really meant was that I was not trusting in the One. I could not live in uncertainty, with seemingly nothing to hang on to. Why didn’t I just pray and read the Psalms, as I otherwise did, for reassurance and comfort and a sense of community? I am not really sure. I think I was desperate for something that seemed more immediate, more concrete, more practical, a secret message meant for me. This lack of radical trust made me flail my way across the Web looking for comfort and hope.
What are the theological responses to astrology?
In the eleventh century the Sufi mystic and theologian Ghazali objected to astrology because it denied the absolute dependence humankind must have on God at every moment in life. God directly causes every occasion, he argues, which is divine providence, and we are to trust absolutely in God, link ourselves directly to the ultimate source and ground of every act or event or situation, and not look to proximate or intermediate causes like stars and planets. In the twelfth century, the Jewish mystic and theologians Moses Maimonides argued similarly, saying that believing in astrology denies the providence of God and also freedom of the will.
In the sixteenth century the Christian mystic and theologian John Calvin wrote a treatise called “A Warning Against Astrology.” He raises many objections to consulting horoscopes, including Ghazali’s and Maiominides's main points—that it displaces our trust in the only trustworthy One and therefore detracts from the glory of God who providentially cares for every detail of creation; and it denies our moral responsibilty.
But the criticism Calvin offers that always surprises me for its practical, modern sensibility, is this: Astrology is anti-community. God, he argues, placed the sun, moon, and stars in creation so that human beings can tell time and seasons and make plans with one another about when to worship together, when to come to courts of law together to settle disputes, when to meet for other social occasions. They are community-building tools. What if one were to consult his or her horoscope on the way to court and find it is not an auspicious day, and turn back? What if one’s personal chart argues against one observing the Sabbath or a festival day? To use God’s creations in this way to deny God and the image of God in our fellow human beings. It isolates us from others. Trusting in the One, however, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, links us to all other creatures, all the rest of creation—for that is part of our purpose here—to escape the prison of the self and experience communion with others.
Is astrology harmless?
Many people make light of astrology, saying, “Oh, I don’t really believe it! It’s just fun. It’s harmless.” Our common greeting to one another, Good luck! Mazel tov! suggests how much we have absorbed the idea of astrological influences, even if we reject outright causation. Mazal means a planet and its influence, so we're wishing for good astrological influences for others.
Maybe it's harmless to wish someone Mazal tov (instead of saying, "Ezrat Hashem, God's Help" or Retzon HaShem or Insha'Allah, God Willing). But I’m not sure astrology is harmless. Just as prostitution is often called a victimless crime, yet often leads to great harm, so astrology can cause harm. It erodes one’s trust in the One. It corrodes one’s sense of relatedness to others and our responsibility, for one’s own actions and for the care of others. It can keep us trapped in fear and anxiety, dependent on remedies that can never assuage our fears but only postpone or mask them. It can prevent us from growing toward deeper trust and faith that bring the peace that passes understanding.
Astrology isn’t “of the devil,” and consulting one’s horoscope isn’t evil--any more than anything else that tempts us away from depending on the One and befriending all that the One creates and embraces. But it’s not harmless.
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