Category: Culture

Everything cultural that interests me: music, reading, science, arts in general, news, photography…

Lausanne [en]

Lausanne est un petit village que l’on traverse en voiture en 20 minutes quand la circulation est fluide, et en 1h30 aux heures de pointe. Les gens dans le bus ne se parlent pas et regardent dans le vague. Les vendeuses à  la caisse de la Migros remercient cinq fois les clients entre le moment où elles donnent le prix total des courses et celui où le client est en possession du précieux ticket de caisse.

La Migros, on ne l’évite pas, en Suisse. Elle fait partie intégrante de la culture.

Lausanne, c’est aussi la Cathédrale, les rues du centre-ville désertes le dimanche, et peut-être de la neige en hiver si on a de la chance.

On aime ou on n’aime pas. L’assurance maladie obligatoire, l’assurance chômage, les flics à  tous les coins de rues, mais plutôt sympas, les feux rouges que personne ne grille, et les trottoirs propres. La vie chère, mais les salaires souvent élevés en conséquence. Quatre semaine de vacances par an pour les moins chanceux.

L’accent du coin, les panosses avec lesquelles on se réjouit de poutzer l’appart le samedi, nonante et septante, les voisins à  qui on dit poliment bonjour dans l’escalier pendant des années sans parler de rien d’autre… Les gens que l’on dit froids, parce que l’on n’adresse pas la parole aux inconnus, mais qui une fois amis aiment à  passer des heures au bistrot à  parler de tout et de rien, mais aussi des choses qui comptent.

Je pourrais en parler longtemps, de ma ville. Comme toute personne qui aime “sa” ville, j’en viens cependant toujours à  penser qu’il faut la visiter pour s’en rendre compte. C’est l’expérience sythétique de la ville qui compte – pas les petits morceaux en lesquels on peut la décomposer.

Avortement [en]

Visiblement, je ne suis pas la seule que ça énerve!

Initiative “mère et enfant”: une volonté de choquer.

[…] il faut avouer que la brochure distribuée la semaine dernière dans plus de trois millions de ménages suisses par les auteurs de l’initiative se situe à  un niveau de subjectivité rarement atteint.

Alain Pichard, mai 2002

Non-Religious Buddhism (Batchelor, closing words) [en]

How to create an authentic community, which provides a sound basis for the emergence of a culture while optimizing individual freedom, may be the single most important question facing those practicing the dharma today.

One of the strengths of religious Buddhism is its ability to respond unambiguously to this question through continued establishment of hierarchic institutions which have weathered centuries of turmoil and change. While such institutions may provide excellent settings for sustained training in meditation and refection, it is questionable whether they alone can provide a sufficient basis for the creation of a contemporary culture of awakening. The democratic and agnostic imperatives of the secular world demand not another Buddhist Church, but an individuated community, where creative imagination and social engagement are valued as highly as philosophic reflection and meditative attainment.

An agnostic Buddhist vision of a culture of awakening will inevitably challenge many of the time-honored roles of religious Buddhism. No longer will it see the role of Buddhism as providing pseudoscientific authority on subjects such as cosmology, biology, and consciousness as it did in prescientific Asian cultures. Nor will it see its role as offering consolating assurances of a better afterlife by living in accord with the worldview of karma and rebirth. Rather than the pessimistic Indian doctrine of temporal degeneration, it will emphasize the freedom and responsibility to create a more awakened and compassionate society on this earth. Instead of authoritarian, monolithic institutions, it could imagine a decentralized tapestry of small-scale, autonomous communities of awakening. Instead of a mystical religious movement ruled by autocratic leaders, it would foresee a deep agnostic, secular culture founded on friendships and governed by collaboration.

Stephen Batchelor, in Buddhism Without Beliefs, pp. 114-115 [end of book]

[emphasis mine]

Freedom (Batchelor) [en]

Instead of creatively realizing their freedoms, many choose the unreflective conformism dictated by television, indulgence in mass-consumerism, or numbing their feelings of alienation and anguish with drugs. In theory, freedom may be held in high regard; in practice it is experienced as a dizzying loss of meaning and direction.

Part of the appeal of any religious orthodoxy lies in its preserving a secure, structured, and purposeful vision of life, which stands in stark opposition to the insecurity, disorder, and aimlessness of contemporary society. In offering such a refuge, traditional forms of Buddhism provide a solid basis for the ethical, meditative, and philosophical values conducive to awakening. Yet they tend to be wary of participating in a translation of this liberating vision into a culture of awakening that addresses the specific anguish of the contemporary world. Preservation of the known and tested is preferable to the agony of imagination, where we are forced to risk that hazardous leap into the dark.

Stephen Batchelor, in Buddhism Without Beliefs, p. 110

[emphasis mine]

Self as Narrative (Batchelor) [en]

This passage reminded me of one of my French linguistic classes a couple of years ago. We were talking about autobiography—and to what extent our lives are constructed. Reflecting on our personal history is a way to give meaning to it, thus creating the narrative of our life.

I find it interesting how Batchelor puts forth the contingency of who we are. We often spend time thinking or worrying about the “determined vs. acquired” debate: am I something determined from the start, or am I a blank slate on which life and experiences have imprinted something? I think it is incomplete to put the question so simply: we are also what we make ourselves, at the same time cause and consequence—and this is an important point in the exerpt reproduced below.

And we too are impressions left by something that used to be here. We have been created, molded, formed by a bewildering matrix of contingencies that have preceded us. From the patterning of the DNA derived from our parents to the firing of the hundred billion neurons in our brains to the cultural and historical conditioning of the twentieth century to the education and upbringing given us to all the experiences we have ever had and choices we have ever made: these have conspired to configure the unique trajectory that culminates in this present moment. What is here now is the unrepeatable impression left by all of this, which we call “me”. Yet so vivid and startling is this image that we confuse what is a mere impression for something that exists independently of what formed it.

So what are we but the story we keep repeating, editing, censoring, and embellishing in our heads? The self is not like the hero of a B-movie, who remains unaffected by the storms of passion and intrigue that swirl around him from the opening credits to the end. The self is more akin to the complex and ambiguous characters who emerge, develop, and suffer across the pages of a novel. There is nothing thinglike about me at all. I am more like an unfolding narrative.

As we become aware of this, we can begin to assume greater responsibility for the course of our lives. Instead of clinging to habitual behavior and routines as a means to secure this sense of self, we realize the freedom to create who we are. Instead of being bewitched by impressions, we start to create them. Instead of taking ourselves so seriously, we discover the playful irony of a story that has never been told in quite this way before.

Stephen Batchelor, in Buddhism Without Beliefs, pp. 82-83

[emphasis mine]

Meditation and Death (Batchelor) [en]

I’m still reading Buddhism Without Beliefs by Stephen Batchelor; more quoting for your enlightenment (hopefully):

It might be that all I can trust in the end is my integrity to keep asking such questions as: Since death alone is certain and the time of death uncertain, what should I do? And then to act on them.

[…]

A reflection like this does not tell you anything you do not already know: that death is certain and its time uncertain. The point is to consider these facts regularly and slowly, allowing them to percolate through you, until a felt-sense of their meaning and implication is awakened. Even when you do this reflection daily, sometimes you may feel nothing at all; the thoughts may strike you as repetitive, shallow, and pointless. But at other times you may feel gripped by an urgent bodily awareness of imminent mortality. At such moments try to let the thoughts fade, and focus the entirety of your attention in this feeling.

This meditation counters the deep psychosomatic feeling that there is something permanent at the core of ourself that is going to be around for a while yet. Intellectually, we may suspect such intuitions, but that is not how we feel most of the time. This feeling is not something that additional information or philosophy alone can affect. It needs to be challenged in its own terms.

Reflective meditation is a way of translating thoughts into the language of feeling. It explores the relation between the way we thing about and perceive things and the way we feel about them. We find that even the strongest, seemingly self-evident intuitions about ourselves are based on equally deep-seated assumptions. Gradually learning to see our life in another way through reflective meditation leads to feeling different about it as well.

Stephen Batchelor, in Buddhism Without Beliefs, pp. 31-32

[emphasis mine]

Emergence: Labeled Autistic [fr]

Hier matin j’ai trouvé dans ma boîte à  lait la deuxième partie de ma première commande chez amazon.de: Emergence: Labeled Autistic, de Temple Grandin. Je l’ai promené avec moi toute la journée à  l’uni, et je l’ai terminé le soir.

Temple Grandin raconte dans cette autobiographie ses souvenirs d’enfant autiste, ses victoires, et son chemin vers une vie d’adulte indépendante et un grand succès professionnel. Quelques moments de son récit m’ont particulièrement frappée:

  1. Elle explique très clairement que ses “fixations” (ou obsessions, ou idées fixes, ou que sais-je) servent à  la stabiliser, et également que bien exploitées, elles ont servi de force moteur à  son développement et ses succès.
    Je crois qu’on peut transposer ce raisonnement en-dehors de l’autisme: les fixations que l’on peut avoir (je pense surtout aux fixations émotionnelles, par exemple celles qui nous poussent à  vouloir “réparer” quelque chose qui nous a fait souffrir petits) sont ce qui, bien exploitées, vont pouvoir servir de moteur à  nos vies et lui donner son sens.
  2. Temple ne supporte pas le contact physique. Mais en même temps, elle en aurait terriblement envie. Lorsque sa mère lui dit au revoir en la laissant au pensionnat, elle nous dit combien elle aurait voulu qu’elle la serre dans ses bras, tout en sachant qu’elle ne le supporterait pas. Je crois que je la comprends tout à  fait. C’est comme vouloir être aimé, mais ne pas supporter la force de cet amour lorsqu’il est là .
  3. Durant une période de crise durant son adolescence, elle découvre que l’émotion forte d’un carrousel au parc d’attractions la calme et la relaxe. Sans faire de parallèles sauvages, car il ne s’agit pas du même autisme, j’ai plusieurs fois remarqué à  quel point des sensations physiques fortes pouvaient contribuer à  calmer Akirno lorsqu’il est mal (comme le lancer en l’air, courir-sauter-danser en le tenant, le faire tourner…)

Un livre à  lire, que vous vous sentiez concernés par l’autisme ou non. Car ce que Temple partage sur elle-même fait écho en nous: comme si ses maux étaient une forme exagérée, une caricature de ceux dont nous pouvons souffrir.

Histoire que ce soit clair, je ne veux pas réduire l’autisme à  une simple intensification des problèmes “que tout le monde a”. Mais on peut se reconnaître dans ce que vit Temple, sans être autiste. C’est ça que je veux dire.

Agnosticism [en]

A citation about agnosticism that I really agree with.

Right, I’ll post this post before I dive back into google, amazon and library sites. Bibliography research on the net for one’s dissertation can be quite as addictive as chatting, you know?

Agnosticism: I often hear people say they are “agnostic”, and on digging a bit, they come around to saying that they “vaguely believe in something, not quite sure what, but don’t belong to any religion”. That is not agnosticism. Some sort of deism, maybe, but definitely not agnosticism.

Here are a few paragraphs written by Stephen Batchelor, in his book Buddhism Without Beliefs. They aren’t the final word on what agnosticism is, but I what he says makes a lot of sense to me.

The force of the term “agnosticism” has been lost. It has come to mean: not to hold an opinion about the questions of life and death; to say “I don’t know” when you really mean “I don’t want to know.” When allied (and confused) with atheism, it has become part of the attitude that legitimizes an indulgent consumerism and the unreflective conformism dictated by mass media.

For T. H. Huxley, who coined the term in 1869, agnosticism was as demanding as any moral, philosophical, or religious creed. Rather than a creed, though, he saw it as a method realized through “the rigourous application of a single principle.” He expressed this principle positively as: “Follow your reason as far as it will take you,” and negatively as: “Do not pretend that conclusions are certain which are not demonstrated or demonstrable.” This principle runs through the Western tradition: from Socrates, via the Reformation and the Enlightenment, to the axioms of modern science. Huxley called it the “agnostic faith.”

[…]

An agnostic Buddhist eschews atheism as much as theism, and is as reluctant to regard the universe as devoid of meaning as endowed with meaning. For to deny either God or meaning is simply the antithesis of affirming them. Yet such an agnostic stance is not based on disinterest. It is founded on a passionate recognition that I do not know. It confronts the enormity of having been born instead of reaching for the consolation of belief. It strips away, layer by layer, the views that conceal the mystery of being here—either by affirming it as something or denying it as nothing.

Such deep agnosticism is an attitude toward life refined through ongoing mindful awareness. It may lead to the realization that ultimately there is neither something nor nothing at the core of ourselves that we can put a finger on. Or it may be focused in an intense perplexity that vibrates through the body and leaves the mind that seeks certainty nowhere
to rest.

Stephen Batchelor, Buddhism Without Beliefs, pp. 17-19

I’m reading his book following a class I went to last semester on “American Buddhism”. I’m not a Buddhist, nor do I think that Buddhist teachings have specially more value than any other. I’m hoping to write a bit more on Buddhism in the west shortly, though – as it is definitely
related to my dissertation topic.

Swiss Culture Shock [en]

We sometimes feel like the German-speaking part of Switzerland is almost another country. Indeed, we often feel culturally closer to France, which is within eyes reach on the other side of the lake, than to our fellow countrymen who live behind the Röstigraben”.

Maybe “culture shock” is a bit strong to describe what happened to me in Zürich University library – but I was told “welcome to Zürich!” when I told the story back in Lausanne.

First shock: no bags or jackets allowed in the library, compulsory lockers, and a guard in front of the entrance. I used to like guarded entrances in India, because they usually guaranteed “safe space” where I could relax. But in Switzerland, it gave me an uneasy feeling. What is there to guard against here? In Lausanne, the only “entrance guards” I’ve seen are in front of night-clubs or bars in evenings (and preferably in the—relatively—worst areas of town).

Second: no Internet connection at all in the library building (apart from very limited access to the library research site). How do these people do any research? Anyway. It was very bad news for me, because I had forgotten the carefully written-down list of articles I had to photocopy at home, and was hoping it could be quickly scanned and emailed to me. No luck.

(Actually, I had the list dictated to me on the phone, and it was a lot simpler. That shows how web-dependant my thinking is becoming.)

Third: I was allowed to go into the library storeroom myself to retrieve the volumes I needed. (They’d never let you do that in Lausanne, no way!)

Fourth: I was actually allowed to borrow these publication back issues and take them home with me! (I’m almost positive you can’t borrow publication back issues here… I’d have to check. I wasn’t expecting to be able to, anyway.)

Fifth: after having signed up for an account (online!) I asked how many books I was allowed to borrow at the same time: fifty! In Lausanne, I can take 16 (which is really not enough, honestly, especially when you’re doing your dissertation). You get to borrow fifty if you are doing your PhD or teaching.

So, in summary, what seemed to be starting out as a very unpleasant experience indeed ended up being pretty positive. Maybe this strange mixture of “worse than at home” and “better than at home” is characteristic of cultural variations…

Claustrophobie [en]

Il y a cet immeuble qui pousse devant mon balcon et ça m’embête énormément.

Photo d'un bâtiment en construction devant mon balcon

Je ne vois bientôt plus le ciel quand je suis à  mon bureau. L’espace autour de mon appartement a rétréci et on est en train de me voler ma lumière.

J’enrage d’impuissance.

Je voudrais leur crier d’arrêter de construire, leur hurler que je ne vais pas pouvoir vivre comme ça, sans l’espace et les montagnes devant ma fenêtre. Que tout s’arrête, là , maintenant, comme c’est — ou plutôt, comme c’était il y a un mois, quand l’immeuble n’était encore qu’un grand trou.

Je ne peux que regarder l’espace se combler de briques rouges, chaque jour un peu plus haut, jusqu’à  m’emprisonner complètement.

Je ne veux pas déménager. Mais comment vais-je pouvoir survivre à  ça?