On Buddhism, suffering, and Deadpool.

On Buddhism, suffering, and Deadpool.

335px-The_Victory_of_Buddha.jpgSiddhartha was born into luxury.  Wealth wasn’t enough to banish a nagging sense of emptiness, but if Siddhartha hadn’t left the palace, he never would’ve known deprivation.

Instead, he walked.  He met people afflicted with worse ills than his own lack of purpose – bedraggled souls who were poor, and sick, and miserable.  He was horrified by the world we humans have been given.

Seeking a way to improve people’s lives, Siddhartha began to meditate.  He sat beneath a tree and cleared his mind until it effervesced with psychedelic hallucination.

The local gods feared that Siddhartha would gain enlightenment.  Like Yahweh in the Old Testament, these gods believed that knowledge should be the exclusive province of the divine; like white supremacists in the Jim Crow era, they believed that shared access to the fountain would tarnish their own privilege.  And so they sent a storm to disrupt Siddhartha’s concentration.

320px-Muchilinda_Buddha_from_Cambodia,_Angkor_kingdom,_Bayon_style,_12th_century,_sandstone,_HAALike Satan in the Old Testament, a snake came to help.  Mucalinda, a cobra-like naga king, believed in equality – humans too should have access to knowledge.  The cobra’s hood formed a protective bubble around Siddhartha, protecting him from the storm.

Siddhartha gained knowledge.  He now knew that non-attachment would free humans from suffering.  Everything in this world is impermanent – in the very end, each speck of matter will be so far from every other that the entire universe will be dark, empty, and cold – and so our attachments can only bring us pain.  We must recognize that our transitory world will always leave us unsatisfied.  Even our moments of joy will fade – those fleeting bursts of dopamine aren’t enough to sustain lasting happiness.

To be free of suffering, we have to let go.

But I’m an assistant coach for the local cross country team.  I run with the kids.  We suffer – that’s kind of the point.

Attachment brings suffering, but, again – that’s kind of the point.

My favorite superhero right now is Deadpool.  Most heroes have powers that keep them safe from harm – spider sense, super strength, telepathy.  Deadpool’s power is simply the willingness to endure harm.  As though tattooed with the word THOLE down his neck, Deadpool knows that life will hurt and sardonically accepts it.

He briefly considers non-attachment.  When he learns that he has a daughter, he plans to stay away from her.  Distance might keep her safe from Deadpool’s enemies – and would keep him safe from emotional turmoil.

Instead, he lets himself become attached.  He will suffer; so will she.  But he’s decided that the pain is part of life.

When Deadpool meets a young woman who’s so depressed that she’s contemplating suicide, he doesn’t advocate non-attachment.  It’s true that her torments will be temporary, but that’s a Buddhist consolation.  Instead, he tells a joke (he justifies his levity by claiming that his powers came when he was “bitten by a sad radioactive clown”) and takes her to experience more pain and suffering.

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Find the full story in Deadpool (2015) #21.

My own depression has seemed more manageable for similar reasons.  Since I’ve been working with people entrapped in the criminal justice system, I experience more pain.  More horrors are shared with me now.  But that very sharing connects me more clearly to the world.

Those connections – attachment – will bring suffering, but that’s the very stuff of life.  All you can do is endure.  As the chemist Primo Levi wrote in If This Is a Man, his account of time spent in a Holocaust concentration camp (translated by Stuart Woolf), as long as you can resist becoming too absorbed in your tiny experience of the present moment, there is always cause for hope:

It is lucky that it is not windy today.  Strange, how in some way one always has the impression of being fortunate, how some chance happening, perhaps infinitesimal, stops us crossing the threshold of despair and allows us to live.  It is raining, but it is not windy.  Or else, it is raining and is also windy: but you know that this evening it is your turn for the supplement of soup, so that even today you find the strength to reach the evening.  Or it is raining, windy, and you have the usual hunger, and then you think that if you really had to, if you really felt nothing in your heart but suffering and tedium – as sometimes happens, when you really seem to lie on the bottom – well, even in that case, at any moment you want you could always go and touch the electric wire-fence, or throw yourself under the shunting trains, and then it would stop raining.

You could always kill yourself later, Levi says, so why not see how much more you can bear?

And, yes, Deadpool takes the young woman to the hospital.  When one of my acquaintances needed to go, I took her in as well.  (I was on the phone with my father: “Just lie to her, tell her anything, but get her in.”  I keep the volume on my phone loud enough that she heard everything he said.  At least it was something to laugh about.)

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Hang in there.  The suffering won’t change.  But you might.

On citizenship.

On citizenship.

Syrian_refugees_having_rest_at_the_floor_of_Keleti_railway_station._Refugee_crisis._Budapest,_Hungary,_Central_Europe,_5_September_2015Without citizenship — without, as per Hannah Arendt, “the right to have rights” — people are buffeted by the political whims of whatever nation they might find themselves in.  Syrian refugees, for instance, might expect a certain treatment based on their status as humans, but they aren’t officially documented Europeans.  Even when they safely reach a supposed refuge, they’re excluded from finding their own employment or housing, they can’t travel freely, they might be deported at any moment.

Or the “Haitians” in the Dominican Republic who have never seen Haiti.  Or the “Mexican” children in the United States who have never consciously known Mexico.  Their fates seem to be totally out of their hands.

If they’re poor, that is.  A flush bank account would fix things.

Green_Card_nika_volekBefore reading Atossa Araxia Abrahamian’s The Cosmopolites, I already knew that citizenship was for sale.  The United States, for instance, will give green cards to people who make $500,000 investments in our country.  This seems a little unfair — we offer the very wealthy, who rarely need our help, protections that we deny refugees — but more egregious is how cheap this is.  Amidst burgeoning numbers of multimillionaires, $500,000 is not that much.  And this money doesn’t even change hands!  The United States just wants reassurance that somebody is well-off.  A $500,000 investment in real estate can bring high returns, meaning wealthy foreigners can be paid to take a green card.

3458184491_ca07847dab_oGiven that the mighty United States sells green cards, it wasn’t so surprising to learn from Abrahamian’s book that many poor nations are also selling “economic citizenship.”  Wealthy resource-plunderers from beleaguered developing nations can easily purchase a whole portfolio of other countries’ passports, which is very helpful to ease travel restrictions and facilitate money laundering.

Sounds great!

So the horrible abuses documented in The Cosmopolites often did not shock me.  But, given that I was born in the United States, a nation of vast privilege, I realized that I haven’t thought enough about the philosophical implications of citizenship.  As in, the very idea of citizenship.  The rights that (might) be granted to a new human by one nation or another at birth.

The basis for most modern nations is Rousseau’s idea of the social contract.  You, at birth, did not click a box asserting “I have read the terms and conditions and I agree.”  Instead, by remaining inside the borders of a nation, you are considered to be moment by moment assenting to those terms.  If you didn’t agree, you wouldn’t stay!

Once upon a time, this probably seemed sensible.  For those who felt unduly constrained by the laws and regulations of civilization, there were untamed wilds to slip away to.  And survive in.

Thoreaus_quote_near_his_cabin_site,_Walden_PondBy now, violent nations have staked claims everywhere.  Personally, I think Walden was suspect even when it was first written — there are a few quibbles you could make about Thoreau’s integrity  — but imagine how long you’d last if you decided today to waltz out to Walden Pond and build yourself a home.  You’d be forcibly escorted away by the police long before you’d chopped enough tall arrowy white pines (still in their youth) to build anything of merit.

Rousseau’s formulation of the social contract requires there be a viable way to leave.  Without that option, I think his philosophies break down.  Worse — and this is what I was most alarmed to learn from Abrahamian’s book — many people are not awarded citizenship to any nation at birth.  They are not allowed to live anywhere.

Large populations of citizenship-less people live in Kuwait and the U.A.E.  But it seems that these nations are attempting to solve their citizenship crisis, not by documenting all their ancestral inhabitants as Kuwati, for instance, but by purchasing other nations’ citizenship for these people.  Their hope is to staunch international criticism without actually conferring meaningful rights to their ancestral inhabitants.

This is yet another demonstration that the very act of being born is a ridiculously uneven lottery.  I don’t think human life begins at conception, but inequality begins then.  I thought this was well-stated in a passage from Robert Reich’s Saving Capitalism:

Reich_SavingCapitalism_Book_v3One of the most broadly held assumptions about the economy is that individuals are rewarded in direct proportion to their efforts and abilities — that our society is a meritocracy.  But a moment’s thought reveals many factors other than individual merit that play a role in determining earnings — financial inheritance, personal connections, discrimination in favor of or against someone because of how they look, luck, marriage, and, perhaps most significantly, the society one inhabits.  “If we are very generous with ourselves,” economist Herbert Simon once said, “I suppose we might claim that we ‘earned’ as much as one fifth of [our income].  The rest is the patrimony associated with being a member of an enormously productive social system.”

I owe a huge amount of my current comfort to the fact that I was conceived to American citizens.

In addition to those born without citizenship, Abrahamian got me thinking more about the plight of those whose citizenship evaporates.  It’s reasonable to include Syrian refugees here.  Climate change led to food & water insecurity, which led to horrific violence, which left these people effectively without a country.  They no longer had a safe place to live.

Others will soon see their home countries simply vanish off the map.  In Abrahamian’s words:

Largo,_FL_street_flooding_during_TS_Debby,_June_2012          Over the next few decades, entire nations will likely be submerged by rising seawater.  The need for binding international cooperation to curb climate change is critical, but on the ground, the question is existential.  Where will Maldivians be “from” if they lose the ground beneath their feet?  Will a new Nansen [ he was a politician who helped provide documents for displaced persons after WW2] step in and create passports for climate refuges?  Or will those displaced by the deluge end up bidding for a new nationality on the open market?

          These are the stakes of citizenship in the twenty-first century.

So I was quite pleased to read The Cosmopolites.  Which made me feel puzzled by Richard Bellamy’s negative review in the New York Times.  His complaints were based on rather illogical reasoning.  He wrote that:

Neither of these types of citizenship [the “unearned windfall of oil and gas revenues” that come with U.A. E. citizenship, and the multiple citizens purchases by ultra-rich robber barons] corresponds to the hard-won forms of citizenship found within democratic states.

          Herein lies the weakness of Abrahamian’s analysis.  The political and social rights of genuine, state-based citizenship derive from the contribution members make to sustaining the public life of the community, …

… which is why he found her idea of global citizenship unworkable.  The problem being that the social rights of genuine, state-based citizenship do not derive from any contribution whatsoever.  I am a citizen of the United States.  I earned this privilege by being born.  I mean, sure, I’m great, maybe angels should’ve flown down and trumpeted my coming, but, really?

I’m not convinced that the contribution I made to this nation by being born is more significant that the contributions of our many undocumented immigrants who pay social security taxes (with no hope of ever receiving benefits), do hard work, live peaceably, spend money here, remit huge portions of their earnings (which keeps neighboring countries more stable, lowering the amount that the federal government would need to spend on humanitarian aid or border control).  And yet, despite the magnitude of their contributions, all those people have “earned” in the eyes of the powers that be is deportation.

To my mind, Bellamy’s claim seems highly reminiscent of that barbecue t-shirt slogan “I didn’t claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables.”  Because, sure, once upon a time, people in your ancestry might’ve suffered.  Democratic governance was hard-won … many generations ago.  Most modern people didn’t do anything.  They were born.

Indeed, that misconception — mistaking for just deserts all the privileges heaped upon oneself for the significant accomplishment of being born in a particular place, or to particular parents, or with a particular skin color, or a particular set of genitalia — is precisely what both Robert Reich and Atossa Araxia Abrahamian are arguing against in their books.