I often jot done short thoughts that hover between ideas and essays. They tend to get lost, so I thought I would post some of them here. Don't expect brilliance, but maybe these will spark some ideas of your own. Some of them are more questions than answers.
Start with the axiom that there are an infinite number of deities. From this:
A. There must be a deity of every possibility; otherwise there would be a limited number of deities.
B. If there is a thing X, there must therefore be a deity of X.
C. If we can conceive of a thing, we can be sure there is a deity of that thing.
D. If there is a deity for every thing, any deity we can conceive of exists.
E. Deities are discovered, not created. They are already there, and our identifying of them does not bring them into existence.
F. "Fictional" gods are real.
G. Since gods are beings, and beings have personalities, and personalities have preferences, there will always be deities (an infinite number, in fact) which will have preferences for any particular form of worship.
H. Once the divine infinity is limited in any way, other limitations come along for the ride. For instance, an Indo-European deity (or rather, an infinite subset of the infinite number of deities) willo, by the very fact that it is Indo-European, have Indo-European characteristics, and prefer to be worshiped in Indo-European ways.
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The deities exist in an infinite network, one that exists on an infinite number of dimensions. The blend from one to another, with each existing on a number line of infinite points. This is the solution of theogony. If both Jupiter and Tiwaz come from *Dyeus Pter, but are separate deities, how did they come into existence? How does one deity become two? It happens because there are an infinite number of deities between *Dyeus Pter and the other two. The concept of the deities "slide" along the lines, with each passing through an infinite number of deities, which are more and more distinct from *Dyeus Pter and those on the lines leading to Jupiter and Tiwaz.
This also solves the question of how a modern version of Lugh (for instance) can be different from an ancient one, and yet still be Lugh. Somewhere in the infinite network there exists a deity that possesses the attributes of the ancient Lugh and the modern one. This also solves the problem of how people who exist at the same time can worship the same deity, even if they in some way differ in their conception of the deity. The deity they are in fact worshiping is the one in the network that combines the different conceptions.
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The Urban Pagan
Books and articles on how to be an Urban Pagan are generally writen from the point of view of "how to be a Pagan even though you live in a city." We are told of ways in which Pagans can feel connected with nature; by going to parks, for instance, or cummuning with weeds. The approach comes across as desparate: "My gods, how can I still be a Pagan when I live in a city?" It can even seem to patronize: "There, there, may you can't be as Pagan as those of us who live in the country, we we'll help you be Pagan enough." What comes through is that Paganism is a Nature-oriented religion, and that "Nature" is the opposite of "city."
Is this a legitimate position? It turns out that this can be answered "no" with certainty. If Paganism is Nature-oriented, then the lower-class apartment-dwelling Roman wasn't a Pagan. The inhabitants of Babylon? Not Pagan. And most shocking of all to Neo-Pagans, the Iron Age Celts who lived in oppida, towns bigger than the Rome of their time, weren't Pagan.
What's going on here? Clearly our definition of Paganism as "Nature Religion" is wrong. Or perhaps it is our definition of "Nature" that needs to change. I want to look at the second to see where it leads.
The place to start is to ask, "Why do people build cities?" For economic and administrative purposes, certainly. But there's more going on here. Dar Willimas gave us the answer in her song "The Mortal City": "People found this city because they love other people." We are social ahimals by nature. We have evolved that way so that by gathering in groups we could overcome the physical weaknesses of individuals, and use our mental strenghts most efficiently.
This goes strongly against the myth of the individual against the world. It particularly goes against the American myth of the rugged individual taming the wilderness. It's odd that we can keep this myth in our heads along with stories of barn-raisings and wagon trains. Or even with itself: "taming the wilderness." This was put beautifully in an episode of Taxi, where the men go to a cabin in the woods to "get in touch with Nature." Hey, they were men, right, so they surely would know how to survive. When a bear made off with the food they had cleverly left outside to keep cold, they were faced with the prospect of starving until they were picked up again in a week. One of them said that they had to think like the pioneers; what did the pioneers do in situations like this? Alex Rieger gives the right answer immediately: "They built cities and moved into them."
People build cities. It's what we do. We build cities like beavers build dams. It's our nature. Until we come to grips with that, we will not belong to a Nature religion.
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What are the elements of Reality that are *ghóste:s? Is it really so much weirder to say that relationships have things than that things have relationships? Things can only be known in relationship with others; this can only be known by relationship to that. This way leads to Idealism, a position I find absurd. The tree is in quadrangle even when there is no one there to observe it. But what about quantum physics? Are the particles really not there before we observe them? But what is there to be observed?
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A person is a continuity. At any given moment, no person. Every board on Old Ironside has most likely been replaced over the years. Does the Old Ironside which fought in the War of 1812 still exist?
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Indra must release the waters to enliven the world. The waters were incorporated by the Great Serpent, who is the Lord of Chaos. But when he confines the waters, he is acting against his own nature; he is performing that act which is the archetypal sin of Cosmos, the drying static crystalline structure that has no change and thus no life. The waters are themselves Chaos. Indra is the great *ner- "man," is letting Chaos into the world when he kills the Serpent, and this is the great creative act. Chaos can now flow as it should, it can now serve as the food of Cosmos. And in the Waters there is Rta, the Cosmic Order, the *Xártus; it has its origin in the waters of Chaos. Killing the Serpent is a great creative act, because it lets the Xártus be the
Xártus. Xártusis a noun which is a verb. The Serpent had tried to make it a thing. He tried to keep it as *wodr [the inanimate word for "water"]. Indra allows it be be *xakwa [the animate word for "water"].
With Vrtra killed, the Lord of the Waters is Varuna. Varuna is himself a serpent, but he is the lord of the Rta. His encompassing (vr-) of the Waters is that of the Rta; he is the true king of Rta, letting them flow, .imprisoning them. And he joins in intimate connection with Mitra, the "friend" [that is the literal meaning of "mitra"] who ensures social order. So intimately are they joined that their names often appear in a dvanda, Mitravaruna. True chaos is ghóste:s with cosmos.
Find the serpent in yourself and kill it. You won't be killing Chaos (good thing, too, since Cosmos needs Chaos to survive, so killing it Chaos would be committing suicide). You willk be killing the sinful side of Order, and allowing Chaos to enter into the Cosmos that needs it. Serpent-killing is not a denial of Chaos -- it is the best thihg that has ever happened to it.
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The Warrior kills the Serpent and Chaos flows forth. Choas is the Power the Warrior has longed for; it enlivens him. It flows on and one, and begins to overwhelm the Warrior. Drowning, he calls out for help, and is answered by the Priest, who, with rituals and prayer, mediates the Chaos, turning it into a well-ordered source which can serve the Warrior without endangering him. Word by word, act by act, the Priest builds a wall around Chaos, turning it into a well. He doesn't stop there, though, and the wall grows higher and higher, it grows thicker and thicker, until neither the Priest nor the Water can reach into it. The Priest has built the Great Serpent.
The Priest calls out for help, and is answered by the Warrior, who with his flaming weapon strikes down the Serpeht and lets the Waters of Chaos pour forth again.
Be your own Warrior. Be your own Priest.
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How to be the Priest without being the Serpent? How to be the one who lays down the law without being the encloser? Remember this: the *yewésa [ritual laws] and the *dh&eacture;te:s [the social laws] are true insofar as they reflect the Xártus. Remember this as well: the Xártus is not dead.
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The dichotomy isn't between the nxrtóm -- that which has not been ordered -- and the xrtós -- that which has been order, but between the nxrtóm and the Xártus -- the ordering. The opposition isn't one of not done/done, but of not done/doing/ The Serpent triest to keep the not-done from entering into the doing.
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Definition turns Chaos into Cosmos. Language defeats Chaos. The "Well-wrought prayer" is creative, it forms Cosmos from the pieces of Chaos.
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Does a god have a Buddha nature?
What dog?
What having?
What Buddha nature?
This question isn't a question, because each of the three pieces which make it up can't be said to exist. But it is a question because each of the three pieces exist with each other. If there is a dog, then it has a Buddha nature. What isn't as obvious is that if there's a Buddha nature, then it has a dog.
I was wrong, though, to say that all three parts exist if any of them does. In fact, the second one, "having," if it exists, actually causes the others to not exist. If there is having, there is no Buddha nature. If no Buddha nature, no dog.
"To have" is a transitive verb. Transitive verbs require objects, and all English verbs require subjects. But if "having" destroys "dog" and "Buddha nature," then it destroys its subject and its object. A linguist would say that the result is a sentence wihich isn't well-formed. I would say that that sentence isn't a sentence at all. Without "dog" and "Buddha nature," "have" has no meaning, it is simply a sound. And since sounds with not meaning aren't words, "have" isn't a word. And since sentences have to made of words, the sentence isn't just well-formed, it doesn't even exist. It becomes a meaningless (in the most literal sense) collection of meaningless sounds. "Mu" does not, therefore, answer the question so much as describe it, sum it up. The question is mu, is "nothing." "Dog," "have," "Buddha nature" imply and destroy each other. The question disappears, and all we have left is mu. But since the question is meaningly, it wasn't ever asked in the first place. There was always mu, and even when we thought a question existed, there was still only mu. We were kidding ourselves when we believed there was a question, and we are kidding ourselves when we think there is anything but mu.
So in good Zen style:
No dog, no having, no Buddha nature, no question: mu.
No arising of dog, of having, of Buddha nature: mu.
No arising: mu.
All this is wrong. The entire answer, these paragraphs writtne in explanation, is mu.
What the answer really is is left as an exercise for the reader.
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When naming ceases, though, when the words spoken are seen as the things spoken about, we have declared Cosmos independent of Chaos, and it dies in our grasp. We have become the Great Serpent, and our only hope is the Striker. The Priest and the Warrior are *ghóste:s, and neither can live without the other.
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People naturally are good. They don't necessarily do good. They must learn who they really are,and to see what really is, at the time, place, and circumstances of each action. This learning is like playing an instrument or a sport. You start with conscious learning, develop this through conscious practice, and eventually achieve the ability to perform unconsciously. Then you launch yourself into the air and the ball lands in the glove.
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You need to practice your chords over and over before you can jam.
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Taoist Way: separate from and previous to human action; we achieve by non-action.
Confucian Way: intimately connected with human action; we achieve by right action.
Xártus: previous to and resulting from actions, human and otherwise. Right action is in accord with the Xá of the moment, wrong action is not. Right action is harmonious, wrong is discord. Wrong action does not interrupt the Xártus, however. The missed ball hurts the team, but does not stop the game; its repercussions become part of the game, and have to be dealt with. Better to have caught the ball.
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That the gods will necessarily respond to our gifts in kind, that we have in some way obligated them by establishing a ghosti-relationship, is, of course, simply not true. The gods are individuals, and as such are not predictable. They can say no to our offerings. It isn't clear whether they are even compelled to fulfill our expectations if they have accepted our offerings. The gods will act according to the Xártus.
The assertions in ritual that the bonds of hospitality are established with the gods, then, is simply a hopeful expression. But the hope is a pious one, so the gods, rather than punishing us for our presumption, will reward us for our piety.
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By giving charity you extend the hand of *ghosti- to others. If they in some way return it, then a ghosti-bond is created, strengthening the people. If not, no harm done. If, lon the other hand, the charity is given anonymously, with the giver not knowing the recipient and the recipient not knowing the giver, then anyone might be a *ghostis. This binds the people together strongly, encouraging more acts of ghosti giving. Society is enriched thereby through the constant flow of exchange of goods, services, and simply good will.
The principle of ghosti means, from the point of view of the recipient, that a return gift must be made after charity is received. If the giver is known, this gift is directed towards them, or towards their family, or to any community to which the giver belongs. If the giver is not known, the gift is directed towards society as a whole, with the intent that the giver might thereby benefit, in part because they may well receive the gift directly (by luck) or indirectly (by participating in a society so strengthened). Since this return giving is inspired by the original one, the original giver may be said to be the giver as well here. They are thereby bound in a ghosti-relationship with more people, strengthening them directly, as well as indirectly through stengthening their society. They are rewarded by being given the opportunity to give a further gift.
This secondary gift, given by the receiver of the first one, may be of anything, according to their means. This is a principle inherent in the ghosti-principle; a gift whould be appropriate to the giver. It might be money, or objects, or services; even a kind word or a smile for a stranger. The gift may wait for the recipient to recover enough prosperity to be a donor themselves. In this way an extra gift is given to the original giver; they will have inspired a further extension of *ghosti-.
This is the Indo-European justification for charity.
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Grave goods are an act of separation. A gift is given, but none can be returned. The ghosti-relationship with the dead is dissolved.
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