"Whenever I go into a restaurant, I order both a chicken and an egg to see which comes first"

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Missionary Zeal–Ayahuasca, The Angel Of Death, And Jesus Christ

Santa Inez is a small town in the Ecuadorian Amazon not far from the Napo River and 50 miles upstream from one of the last indigenous tribes of the region, the Jivaro.  The town serves as a trading post for the Jivaro and mestizo settlers from the altiplano who had intermarried with Spanish colonialists a century after the great era of exploration, had lost touch with their indigenous roots, found themselves betwixt and between cultures and settled for the accommodating life of the jungle.  The town was no more than a collection of shanties, thatched roof bars, whore houses, and saloons, and mud streets – not uncommon in the Peruvian, Bolivian, and Brazilian rainforests. 

Image result for images jivaro indians napo

A well-known ethnologist had heard of a curandero, a traditional healer, who as part of his herbal pharmacy, dispensed ayahuasca, a potent hallucinogen used by the Jivaro as part of their religious ceremonies.  Ayahuasca, unlike peyote and psilocybin, was reported to have a unique and unexplained effect – all who took the drug said that they had seen the Angel of Death.  The ethnologist who had written extensively on traditional medicine, especially the hallucinogens like ayahuasca, had not doubt of its extensive use and its important role in native culture, but he was skeptical of the stories of uniform vision.  He assumed that because of the myth of the Angel of Death and her association with the drug, those who too it were primed for a foregone conclusion.  He and a journalist friend took a motorized pirogue down the Napo to the Indian village where the curandero was said to live.

Image result for images ayahuasca angel of death

After a short trip downstream – the Napo at Misahualli is wide and fast – and after two hours walking through the jungle, they found the curandero who lived in a thatched hut a hundred feet from the banks of the river.  His dwelling was filled with dried herbs, tied at their stems and hanging from the the simple crossed, low rafters made from foraged teak.  The curandero had heard that the two Americans were coming – no chance for dollars was ever a secret and the ethnologist was not the first to visit.  Savvy despite his isolation and cultural limitations, the curandero brewed ayahuasca for the first visitors, but only in a mild form.   He neither wanted to share the Angel of Death with uninitiated foreigners, he wanted them to come back; and the transformational experience of the Angel of Death might well send them insane into the forest.

The ethnologist knew of these stories and had met a number of young Americans from Quito who had been to the curandero.  They had hoped to see the Angel, but had only had a pleasant acid-like trip with no side effects, no insights or epiphanies, and little desire to return.  Similar drugs were easily available in the Haight and the East Village. The ethnologist insisted on the full, tribal dose and despite warnings from the brujo persisted.  While he did not see the Angel of Death, he saw many angels and devils; and writing in his journal two days after his return to Misahualli, he could only recount the most frightening images he could never have imagined.  No Durer, Goya, or Medieval scenes of horrific possessions, decapitations, and disembowelments could even begin to describe what he saw under the influence of the drug.  There was no trace of any childhood fears or fairly tales; not even a glimmer of recollection of adolescent or adult horrors or distortions.  What he saw and experienced had to have come from another world – there was no way that he, from a traditional, modest, secular family from Vermont could have imagined what he saw. 

Image result for images durer angel of death

What did it all mean? he asked himself.  What of ethnological or anthropological interest could come from his experience? Would he have to repeat it again and again until he saw some coherence?  At least he might be able to decipher his visions, make some kind of sense from them and apply what he learned to a wider universe.  Or would he have to recruit volunteers from his university to take the drug under controlled circumstances?  Perhaps, but that would eliminate the particular and peculiar environment in which he had taken the drug – the one-string violin of the curandero, the Napo, jungle sounds, the full moon.,

At the same he questioned what, if anything he had learned from the experience.  Were any of his questions about faith, spirituality, and Christian belief itself answered?  Had he been fundamentally changed by the experience, convinced at least that there was a world beyond service, forgiveness, and repentance? As in the case of other hallucinogenic experiences little remains or can be recalled back home – fragments at best but hardly substantial enough or numerous enough to make an understandable whole.  Yet there was something unmistakable and certainly unforgettable – the angels of death, a horrific vision that was far from the peaceful transition from death to everlasting life promised by Jesus Christ.   Death was not peaceful at all but a fearsome, horrible, horrific event, and the afterlife was a place of demonic terror.

Far from Misahualli, the Napo, the Jivaro, and the curandero were the Carpenters, Americans  who had volunteered as missionaries to the Indians, mestizos, and white Catholics of the Amazon.  They, as their pastor had explained, was a particularly important mission.  When Paul and Jesus’ disciples went out to spread the good news, they were preaching to those who had a recognized, established and even logical religion.  While Jews had chosen the wrong path, arrogantly retaining a uniquely Hebrew view of God and his world, they still were monotheistic believers.  The diaspora Greeks had their cosmology and well-ordered Platonic universe; but the Amazonian Indians had nothing but the most primitive, soulless, paganism and idolatry as ‘religion’.  The Carpenters had a far more difficult task than even Paul, for they were asked to bring these primitive souls out of total ignorance and backwardness to the light.

Image result for images st paul

The Carpenters lived in a house that would be familiar on the Iowa plains – white frame, simple Victorian, with a garden, a front porch, a swing, and the kitchen smells of home.  Fruit pies, bread, and Sunday roast.  As exaggerated a caricature as this might seem it expressed the very nature of American evangelism.  Culture and faith co-mingled.  One could not have one without the other.  The Carpenters’ belief in home, family, love, charity, and goodness was indistinguishable from the Christian gospel they were preaching.  If they did their job well, the Indians would have a vision of Our Lord and Savior, would take him as their own, would be saved, and would have been introduced to American liberal values.

Image result for images midwest farmhouse 1950

Where do the axes cross? Where is the intersection between pagan instinctive belief and the logical, rational Christian faith of the Founding Fathers?  Haitians easily incorporate Voodoo within Catholicism or rather the other way around.  Catholic scholastic doctrine is all well and good for explaining the logical basis for the divinity of Christ, the Trinity, and the doctrine of suffering; but there must be a place for human sacrifice and the animistic worship of things.  Mesoamerican religion is a reasonable accommodation.

Yet, the ethnologist reasoned, how can one accommodate the Angel of Death within the compassionate Christianity of Jesus Christ.  There must be a right and wrong, a one or the other.  There cannot be any hedging of bets in this metaphysical game.

If the story ended there – with the doctrines of Origen, Tertullian, Augustine, and Aquinas and the presumptive existence of animistic forces beyond human logic and experience – there would be no more narrative; but evangelism change the simple calculus. Whereas the shamans, curanderos, and brujos of the Amazon make no claims on truth, Christian evangelicals do.  Christian missionaries  presume right and righteousness; and in so doing distort and deform the principle doctrines of Christianity.  The shamans facilitate an encounter between the known world and the spiritual, and ask no questions and demand no answers from  supplicants.

Image result for images origen

In an ironic way modern ecstatic fundamentalism is very close to shaman paganism.  The Protestant pastor is no different from the Amazon curandero – both are facilitators, one to the Angel of Death, the other to Jesus Christ.  What is out of the ordinary is evangelism from one religion to another; for in so doing, the assumption of right cannot be ignored.  As much as charismatic preachers urge a personal relationship with Jesus Christ to the aspiring faithful, their message to the unschooled, the primitive, and the pagan is presumptuous, self-serving, and misguided at heart.

Iowa missionaries in the heart of the Amazon forest are anachronistic, irrelevant, and sad.  Evangelism itself is anachronistic, irrelevant and sad.  Let charismatic preachers preach to their faithful – their manipulation is at least held within cultural limits – but pull them out of the forest where real religion is practiced – or rather, experienced.

Amazon shamans are the true priests of a true religion.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Travel - An Oversold, Overrated Enterprise, So Why Do We Persist?

Travel, particularly foreign travel, has been promoted as a worthwhile if not indispensable experience – a broadening of narrow, homegrown perspectives; an opening of perspective to the surprising, the different, and the unusual.  Travel is a way of leaving prejudice, family, and cultural history aside.  It is an opportunity to appreciate life from a very different perspective.  How much more compassionate and generous we must feel after a tour of Soweto, East Dhaka, and the slums of Port-au-Prince.  How much more worldly and appreciative we must be after witnessing fundamentalism in other religions, a profound, differently expressed, but no less personal existential epiphany.  Insecurity has an entirely different meaning after living in Luanda for a time, a lawless, civilly chaotic city with no semblance of order, propriety, or responsibility.  It loses everything but a conceptual idealistic notion in Somalia, or Kivu. Life, humanity, principles, ethics, and love when seen through a Third World lens can only give particular added salience to a Western love affair.  As Paul Theroux has repeatedly observed, we cannot know ourselves unless we know others.

Image result for images lindblad tour ships amazon

Yet at the same time Theroux’s characters are American naïfs – assuming that the givens of their culture are universal. and that an American perspective fits all.  The characters in Dead Hand and The Stranger at the Palazzo d’Oro completely miss the most obvious cultural signals and see the unfolding of events only through an American lens.  Life in India or Italy, it turns out, has nothing to do whatsoever with American expectations.  Worse, the characters in these books learn nothing and return to their lives as uninformed and ignorant as they were before travel.

In his Tao of Travel, Theroux has collected the reflections of world travelers from Ibn Battuta to Bruce Chatwin and Paul Mathiessen and concluded that solitary travel is akin to Tibetan ascetism.  All writers agree that only by travelling alone in unfamiliar places is one sufficiently challenged to be able to reassess settled convictions and to explore, perhaps for the first time, one’s purely unique and individual character.

Image result for images cover the tao of travel

Solitary travel has always been an almost spiritual journey.  Theroux writes:

You go away for a long time and return a different person – you never come all the way back.
Travel is at its best a solitary enterprise: to see, to examine, to assess, you have to be all alone and unencumbered…..It is hard to see clearly or to think straight in the company of other people.  What is required is the lucidity of loneliness to capture that vision which, however banal, seems in your private mood to be special and worthy of interest.
Travel which is nearly always seen as an attempt to escape from the ego, is in my opinion, just the opposite.  Nothing induces concentration or inspires memory like an alien landscape or foreign culture.  It is simply not possible (as romantics think) to lose yourself in an exotic place.  Much more likely is an experience of intense nostalgia, a harking back to an earlier stage of your life….What makes the whole experience vivid and sometimes thrilling is the juxtaposition of the present and the past.

Vladimir Nabokov, a unique traveler and one who valued the inscription of events on memory and the importance of place and time said:

To a greater or lesser extent there goes on in every person a struggle between two forces: the longing for privacy and the urge to go places: introversion, that is, interest directed within oneself toward one’s own inner live of vigorous thought and fancy; and extroversion, interest directed outward, toward the external world of people and tangible values

Image result for images nabokov

Theroux agrees, but adds:

Africa seemingly incomplete and so empty, is a place for travelers to create personal myths and indulge themselves in fantasies of atonement and redemption, melodramas of suffering, of strength – binding up wounds, feeding the hungry, looking after refugees, making long journeys in expensive Land Rovers, recreating stereotypes, even living out a whole cosmology of creation and destruction.  That’s why many travelers in Africa are determined to see it not as fifty-three countries but rather as a single, troubled, landscape

Yet Theroux's 'magical possibility of reinvention' is only that. Changing even the most insignificant habit or attitude is troublesome, difficult, and near impossible.  Anything more elemental is indeed fantasy.  Travel encourages a willing suspension of disbelief, a temporary pause in rational judgment, an irresponsible dive.

To a greater or lesser extent there goes on in every person a struggle between two forces: the longing for privacy and the urge to go places: introversion, that is, interest directed within oneself toward one’s own inner live of vigorous thought and fancy; and extroversion, interest directed outward, toward the external world of people and tangible values (Vladimir Nabokov 1982)

At the same time travel has become a big business.  Tour companies promise the same unique experiences and epiphanies recounted by historical world travelers without the effort, the danger, and the risk.  Travel has become a be-all and end-all, a worthwhile end in of itself.  An Indian visitation may not be the equivalent of a semester at Benares University, time in a monastery in the high Himalayas, or work in Mother Teresa’s home for the destitute; but it offers an intimation, and a peripheral encounter is better than none at all.

One, however, can never reinvent oneself. We are all programmed and conditioned to such a degree that what we were, we are; but at the same time, it is hard not feel that it is possible.  Conformity can only be a social construct as easily defied as it was adopted, we think.  There is no reason why not to live in another place with another person, in another life.

No love affair is incidental, and one in a foreign place with someone who is just as foreign to it as the traveler, is unique. Both lovers are freer from inhibition and guilt than they would be at home. They will only be seen by passers-by.  They are in no hurry.  Nothing reminds them of home or service.  The strangeness of the room, the hotel, and the city is protective, insulating and exciting.  Travel holds the magical possibility of reinvention”, Theroux writes, “that you might find a place you love, to begin a new life and never go home.”

Yet this reinvention is at best temporary and at worst illusory.  Travelers may leave everything behind, but always return in hopes of finding it just as it was.

Thomas Wolfe in You Can’t Go Home Again wrote of the natural desire to explore, the natural tendency to question, to ponder, and hopefully to understand why things are the way they are. 
Even at his most elegiac, however, Wolfe senses a great human paradox – the incessant need to explore but the inability to comprehend.  Yet he will die defeated but unapologetic and defiant.

Image result for images thomas wolfe

There came to him an image of man’s whole life upon the earth. It seemed to him that all man’s life was like a tiny spurt of flame that blazed out briefly in an illimitable and terrifying darkness, and that all man’s grandeur, tragic dignity, his heroic glory, came from the brevity and smallness of this flame. He knew his life was little and would be extinguished, and that only darkness was immense and everlasting. And he knew that he would die with defiance on his lips, and that the shout of his denial would ring with the last pulsing of his heart into the maw of all-engulfing night.

Travel and tourism are clearly two very different things; but expressions of the same enterprise.  Both the sophisticated traveler and the tour bus tourist sense the need for perspective, distance, and the other.   No matter how prosaic or planned, a trip outside of one’s familiarity, can enlighten if only to food, dress, and manners. Yet travel alone is ipse facto no automatic key either to understanding new and foreign cultures or to visiting heretofore shelved personal motives and ambitions.  Crossing cultural divides is more difficult than crossing the Rubicon, the Delaware, or the Zambezi.

So why do we persist? Why do we configure our vacations around monuments, places of interest and historical significance?   Why do we not spend our valuable leave time on more intimate and modest expeditions.  Was a trip up the Eiffel Tower or the view from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon worth more than a simpler week perhaps closer to home or even at home?  What is the relative value of a random trip to San Francisco, New Orleans, or Vienna?  How relevant is the Golden Gate, the French Quarter, or the Opera House to our lives?

Travelers to Machu Picchu may get a glimpse of pre-Columbian America and the Indian native cultures that anticipated Western culture by centuries; but are likely to forget what they learned  because of the modern imperatives of the tour – likeminded, inquisitive, older Americans who, in their last years, want to make up for lost time.

Although travel writers like Theroux, Chatwin, Nabokov, Naipaul, and Ibn Battuta have been elegiac about foreign solitary travel, they are among the few, the special, and the unique.  While we may all long wish for solitude in the Empty Quarter, on the Gipsy Moth around Cape Horn, or in the African bush looking, as Mungo Park did, for the source of the Niger, we are by circumstance and upbringing unlikely to ever find it.  In fact we may never ever set forth on such voyages or even come close to even contemplating it.  We are unavoidably and perennially tourists.  We visit old churches, historical parks, native places and homesteads without either a sense of real cultural context or especially a sense of universality – what the lives and experiences of our forefathers and cultural ancestors meant.

Nevertheless we continue to travel and to tour.  A brush with history is better than no brush at all.  A glimpse into the past is better than ignorance.  Yet these brushes never satisfy.  Either they are recorded and stored in personal travel folders or related in exaggerated reminiscences; but they remain peripheral.  They offer no insights into human society, culture, or purpose.   Billions are spent, but the rate of return is insignificant.

Better to stay at home, explore the tried, true, and familiar; and try, before it is too late, to get some handle on existential questions the answers to which are not to be found in Vanuatu, Cuzco, or Maputo.

Image result for images vanuatu