Out of Lascaux

Buddhist Advice for the Lovelorn

I am quick to admit that I am looking for a "lasting" relationship. But in recent days I have been pondering the idea of impermanence, mainly because of the talk I gave this past Sunday. I managed to bring Christian ideas together with Buddhist and blend them quite nicely because both recognize the importance of accepting death. Nothing lasts forever, and everything is always changing. We all die, no matter how much we exercise and eat right. And love doesn't last, either. It's always changing, a fleeting, ephemeral thing that slips through our fingers all too quickly.

The Buddha taught that suffering comes from desire. Boy, howdy! I really need to stop wanting that perfect love and start concentrating on the impermanent nature of life. Here is what the Buddha said about impermanence:

It is impermanence... that causes much of our suffering. Or, to be more exact, not the impermanence itself, but our refusal to see and accept it. Our suffering comes from our attachment to people and things, our repeated attempts to find something lasting where there is nothing lasting to be found.

So, maybe I should just sit back and stop wishing for it to happen. It's the desire for it to happen that's making me miserable. If I could accept the fact that love is fleeting, maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to catch it.

Every gardener knows that it is the very impermanence of the blossoms that makes them precious. The beauty of the garden lies in its constantly changing nature, in the waves of colors and shapes that are constantly moving through it.
(Martin, Philip. The Zen Path Through Depression, Harper San Francisco, 1999.)

So, should we be the gardener or the flowers?

(Cross-posted on OKCupid)

My Son the Photographer

I am pleased to announce that my son has become a true amateur photographer. He is selling prints on Devianart. Two of the first four photographs are available for sale! Just click on them to check them out. And, hey, the kid's gonna' need money for college, so feel free to buy a couple. They are quite pretty.

Seeing the Spiritual in the Sensual

Well, the service was very well received. I enjoyed it and so did everyone else. I present it here for you. But one caveat - it's very long, so if you want to read all of it, just click below.

All of the following paintings are by Georges de La Tour (ca 1600-1650)

The Wrightsman Magdalen, Metropolitan Museum of Art.
This is the focal point for today's discussion.

Penitent Magdalen, LA County Art Museum

Penitent Magdalen, National Gallery, Washington, DC

A lot has been said and written about the woman known as Mary Magdalen in the last few years. She has gone from being a prostitute to the wife of Jesus. But this seemingly abrupt turnabout is not unusual. The Magdalen has metamorphosed many times over the centuries. She has been the oil bearer who washed Jesus’ feet with her hair; she has been one of the women at the tomb; she has been the first to see the arisen Christ; she has been the loose woman purged of sin; she has been a prostitute; she has been a aged and withered desert hermit; and she has been the rich, sinful woman who gave up all her wealth to follow Jesus. A Prayer by St. Anselm written in the 11th century gives us a telling look at how the Magdalen was perceived throughout the centuries, and how she was often represented:

St Mary Magdalene,
you came with springing tears
to the spring of mercy, Christ;
from him your burning thirst was abundantly refreshed;
through him your sins were forgiven;
by him your bitter sorrow was consoled.
My dearest lady,
well you know by your own life
how a sinful soul can be reconciled with its creator,
what counsel a soul in misery needs,
what medicine will restore the sick to health.
It is enough for us to understand, dear friend of God,
to whom were "many sins forgiven, because she loved much".
Most blessed lady,
I who am the most evil and sinful of men
do not recall your sins as a reproach,
but call upon the boundless mercy
by which they were blotted out.
This is my reassurance, so that I do not despair;
this is my longing, so that I shall not perish.
I say this of myself,
miserably cast down into the depths of vice,
bowed down with the weight of crimes,
thrust down by my own hand into a dark prison of sins,
wrapped round with the shadows of darkness.

Therefore, since you are now with the chosen
because you are beloved
and are beloved because you are chosen of God,
I, in my misery, pray to you, in bliss;
in my darkness, I ask for light;
in my sins, redemption;
impure, I ask for purity.
Recall in loving kindness what you used to be,
how much you needed mercy,
and seek for me that same forgiving love
that you received when you were wanting it.
Ask urgently that I may have
the love that pierces the heart; tears that are humble;
desire for the homeland of heaven;
impatience with this earthly exile;
searing repentance; and a dread of torments in eternity.
Turn to my good that ready access
that you once had and still have to the spring of mercy.
Draw me to him where I may wash away my sins;
bring me to him who can slake my thirst;
pour over me those waters
that will make my dry places fresh.
You will not find it hard to gain all you desire
from so loving and so kind a Lord,
who is alive and reigns and is your friend.

Of all her different incarnations through the centuries, it was the beautiful but repentant woman of sin, her voluptuous body often only half-clothed, who captured the imagination of 17th century artists and patrons. The most popular type of image of the Magdalen showed her with long, flowing hair, partially covering her breasts, her white flesh glowing tantalizingly through the strands of luxurious hair, or peeking out from a strategically placed cloth of silk or satin. This was an image meant to titillate, an image of an obviously loose woman, a woman drenched in sin, but purged of it by her tears of devotion.

While the Magdalen was seen as sinful, even adulterous at times, it was this very sinfulness which attracted devotion. If she could be forgiven her sins, then surely a humble penitent whose sins were not even of the flesh but of the mind, would be forgiven all and see the kingdom of heaven.

But the Magdalen was not just the sinful woman of the world. She was also the beloved of Christ. It may seem shocking to us today that anyone would think she could have been his wife, but it is not so far from what has been believed for centuries. She was always close to Christ; it’s just that in certain eras, the church downplayed this relationship, wishing to avoid giving the impression that women could have such a prominent place in the church hierarchy. Even so, it is not unusual to see the following passage from the Song of Songs associated with Mary Magdalen:

Upon my bed at night, I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer. “I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves.” The watchmen found me, as they went about the city. “Have you seen him whom my soul loves?” Scarcely had I passed them, when I found him whom my soul loves. I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me. I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles or the hinds of the field, that you stir not up nor awaken love until it please.

So it is the penitent sinner, the lover of Christ, the woman searching for redemption through the love of God, seeking peace through salvation, who is seen in the paintings of the 17th century. She is beautiful, she is passionate, and she is sensual.

The painter Georges de La Tour was active in the French province of Lorraine during the first half of the 1600’s. He was a big fish in a small pond, well known in his own province, proclaimed “Painter to the King,” but never invited to the royal court. His images are dark, brooding religious pieces, with stage-like compositions and everyday people used as models. His candle light pieces are his most stunning: mysterious, dramatic, and utterly still.

La Tour painted at least three variations on the theme of the Penitent Magdalen. In the two not shown here, she is dressed in old clothes, her surroundings simple and poor. She sits in a darkened room contemplating either a flame or a skull. While the major elements are the same, our Magdalen is different. She wears a red, brocade skirt and a fine linen shift. Jewels litter her dressing table and the floor. The mirror she gazes into is gilt framed, and the candle stick is of fine craftsmanship. This is not the ascetic Magdalen: no, our Magdalen has only just renounced the world, her worldly goods discarded about her. She is a rich woman who has realized that her wealth will bring her nothing, not happiness, not peace, not salvation.

The connecting elements found in all of La Tour’s Magdalens are the skull and the flame of the single candle. These are the images of the memento mori, a popular iconographic theme in the 17th century. Memento mori means literally “remember you will die.” Meditation upon death was an accepted practice, one meant to prepare oneself for the inevitable. We all die, and when we do, we had better be properly repentant, or we will pay for our sins with eternal damnation. The devout often spent time contemplating death, often using an image as focal point. A skull is the most recognizable element of this type of imagery, but flowers, fruit, flames and mirrors also figure prominently in the iconography. The flowers, fruit and flames represent the brevity and beauty of life. They hold a fascination for us while they bloom, while they are ripe, or while they burn, but their beauty is fleeting. In no time at all, they have withered, rotted, or turned black.

Let’s look at the iconography of these elements. By iconography I mean the symbolism behind each of these items, for nothing is here by accident or as decoration. Everything has a meaning, and adds to the power of the image before us. First, the skull. To our modern eyes, it is obviously an image of death. The fact that it sits casually in her lap, as if it were a beloved pet, may seem odd. But to the 17th century eye, it belongs there. The Magdalen is contemplating death and the impermanence of life. From earth we come and to the earth we will go, no exceptions. Sooner or later, our flesh will die and rot away, leaving only the skull and bones that litter our cemeteries, our ossuaries, our catacombs, and our imaginations. It is a vivid reminder of our own mortality, and a clear signal that the Magdalen has accepted her mortality and is comfortable with it, for she will be forgiven her sins, and hers is the kingdom of heaven.

The candle flame. The flame has several meanings. For one thing, it is the light of salvation, a vision of God’s love in the darkness of sin. It is the flame of enlightenment, showing us the way to true understanding. But it is also fleeting, impermanent, a symbol of the brevity of human life. With one breath it goes out, its light extinguished, leaving only the cold and the dark. In the image before us, it is both of these. You can choose to view it as you wish.
The mirror. The mirror is a symbol of woman’s vanity. The vain woman is always gazing at her reflection, admiring herself, primping in order to attract attention. But it is all for nothing. In a few years, her beauty will wither, her skin will wrinkle, her joints will creak, and she will grow old and die. But the Magdalen is gazing not at her own reflection, but at the reflection of the candle, the reflection of the light of God, the symbol of her salvation. She has rejected her own vanity, just as she has rejected the trappings of wealth, the pearls and jewels strewn carelessly on the table and floor. She has accepted instead the idea of her mortality, and the knowledge that God’s love is more important than jewels or beauty or wealth.

So why am I talking about Christian symbolism and God’s love so reverently in a Unitarian Church? Me, a professed Buddhist? Simple: I love this painting. When I first saw it in the Metropolitan Museum of Art many years ago, it stopped me in my tracks. I stood and marveled at how it spoke to me. It made me sit down and gaze at it in wonder. Amid the noise and hustle and bustle of mid-town Manhattan and the cacophony associated with a huge, world-class museum, here was an oasis of peace and serenity. Gazing at it, one can shut out the world with the flick of an imaginary switch.

What caught me at first was its dramatic intensity. A dark room lit by a single candle creates a sense of being alone with the figure, surrounded by a cocoon of darkness. Some might consider it claustrophobic, but I found it inviting and comforting, like being under the covers in bed on a cold morning.

Then there is the Magdalen herself. Even though we cannot see her face, we know she is stunningly beautiful. Her hair flows like a sable waterfall down her back. We get a tantalizing glimpse of her white flesh beneath her open linen shift. This is no peasant woman with coarse hands and dirty fingers, nor is she a gaudy or used-up harlot. She is a wealthy, beautiful woman sitting in her boudoir, meditating.

But as we look closer we realize that, although she is realistically painted, she is not real. She is a statue. Her skin is too smooth, and her fingers have a strange, waxy shine. The highlights on her hands match the highlights on the skull. And there is no movement here. We do not get the feeling that she will turn and speak to us. No, she will remain that way forever, and we can gaze at her and with her without fear of interruption. The only movement in the painting is in the candle flame. We can see that it flickers, it gutters, and that it will go out at some point. And when it does, she will still be sitting there in the darkness, unmoving.

Then what is the focal point of this painting? The beautiful but still image of a Christian goddess? Or the candle flame that reminds us of our own mortality? I think it depends on your own inclinations. For me, it’s the entire image. It is a sensual experience, able to draw the viewer in with its mysterious, other-worldly beauty. However, I also feel that I could sit and meditate with the Magdalen on the candle flame and perhaps find the same enlightenment that she has found. In that, it is a supremely Buddhist image, worthy to be included on the wall behind the altar with the statue of Buddha and the burning candles. Or it can be an altar all to itself.

The imagery in this painting is universal. Skulls are a symbol of death and dying everywhere. The candle flame is a symbol of impermanence, a reminder of how quickly and unexpectedly the spark of life can be extinguished. And the mirror is a reflection of the soul. It reflects our inner selves back to us, reminding us that we are human, that we share all of the faults and frailties of the rest of humanity. A Buddhist who had no idea who Mary Magdalen was, or had no familiarity with Christian iconography would still know what this painting is about. It is about the impermanence of life and the acceptance of death as a part of life. Our Buddhist might miss the whole idea of salvation, but if you look at it objectively, that idea is only there if you know who the woman in the painting is.
So our Christian image is inherently Buddhist. It is role model and example, while being an aid to meditation unto itself. The symbolism within this painting is universal. Everyone dies, Christians and Buddhists alike. And we must all accept that fact.

The Buddhists meditate on death for similar reasons as Christians. Life is short, impermanent. We can die at any time, and we must be ready when it comes. If we do not accept our death, we will not be reborn into a pleasant life. We may not even be reborn at all. Let me read you the Buddhist 9-Point meditation on death:

1. Death is certain:
a. There is no escape
b. Life has a limit, each moment brings me closer
c. Death can come in a moment and fully unexpected

2. The time of death is uncertain:
a. My lifespan is uncertain
b. There are many causes for death, few for sustenance of life
c. My body is fragile; even a thorn can kill me with an infection
3.
What can help me at the moment of death?
a. Wealth, possessions?
b. Relatives and friends?
c. My own body? Only my positive karma from practicing dharma can help!

I have no idea whether Georges de La Tour believed in the whole idea of salvation or of meditating on death, for how can we know the mind of a man dead 4 centuries? But I do think we can safely say that the woman in the painting would whole-heartedly accept this meditation on death. She would probably replace the last point with some statement about Jesus as her savior, but in the end, it’s all the same.

I end with a quote from the Dhammavadaka, or the voice of Buddha’s Teachings:

Remember always that you are just a visitor here, a traveler passing through. Your stay is but short and the moment of your departure unknown. None can live without toil and a craft that provides your needs is a blessing indeed. But if you toil without rest, fatigue and weariness will overtake you, and you will be denied the joy that comes from labor's end. Speak quietly and kindly and be not forward with either opinions or advice. If you talk much, this will make you deaf to what others say, and you should know that there are few so wise that they cannot learn from others. Be near when help is needed, but far when praise and thanks are being offered.

Take small account of might, wealth and fame, for they soon pass and are forgotten. Instead, nurture love within you and strive to be a friend to all. Truly, compassion is a balm for many wounds. Treasure silence when you find it, and while being mindful of your duties, set time aside, to be alone with yourself. Cast off pretense and self-deception and see yourself as you really are. Despite all appearances, no one is really evil. They are led astray by ignorance. If you ponder this truth always you will offer more light, rather than blame and condemnation. You, no less than all beings have Buddha Nature within. Your essential Mind is pure. Therefore, when defilements cause you to stumble and fall, let not remorse nor dark foreboding cast you down. Be of good cheer and with this understanding, summon strength and walk on. Faith is like a lamp and wisdom makes the flame burn bright. Carry this lamp always and in good time the darkness will yield and you will abide in the Light

Happy New Year!

No resolutions, as usual. I don't believe in them. However, there are some things I would like to accomplish this year, so let's see what they are:

1. Get a job in a library. While I like the kids at the high school, and I like being able to pay my bills, I find this whole teaching thing stressful. There is just too much to worry about, like whether I'm actually getting through to them, whether their SAT scores will actually improve, not wanting to fail anyone, and whether they even like me (!). Then there are the ridiculously constrictive rules set up by the public school system and the school administrators themselves that really irritate me. What difference should it make if I let my students out 2 minutes before the bell rings, for Pete's sake!?!

2. Start feeling better about myself. I probably wouldn't even have considered this had it not been for the trip to the shrink and better living through chemistry, but there you go. Now that I know it's possible, I want it. And it would be nice to be able to do it without having someone else validate my self-worth by loving me. We'll see.

3. Post more stuff on Lascaux, particularly about art. This may be even harder than finding a library job. However, I'm in the middle of writing this service about the painting of the Penitent Magdalen, and I'm REALLY enjoying it. Now I want to do a whole series. If the congregation likes this one, I'll go for it. Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Theresa would be next.