Polysemy and 'Israel'

Although humans are primarily defined as language-beings, language-skills do not come naturally to humans, it has to be intentionally developed. Language makes invisible as much as it reveals.

Consider the term 'polysemy' which refers to 'words' having the capacity to possess multiple-related meanings, due to the common application of pre-existing words to new situations. Understanding this characteristic of language is vital for our meaning-making capabilities.

Take for example, the word 'Israel' - It is a 'sign' that possesses many inter-related meanings. Among many meanings here are a few: It began as a proper-name given to Jacob in the OT; it then became the name of a group of tribes that lived in the Middle-east; in the NT the word is used metaphorically to refer to the church as 'New Israel'; from 1947 it is the name given to a newly formed nation-state. Finally, today's headlines uses the word to refer to an army in operation in Gaza. The term possesses many more usages.

Thus 'Israel' is a polysemous term with multiple-related meanings. Understanding polysemy will enable one to not conflate these different usages and thus enable one to draw careful and wise distinctions between what one supports and condemns.

But why is this polysemous characteristic of terms and signs not self-evident? It appears as though language actively hides its polysemous nature, and thus in turn hides the complexities of the world we live in. Understanding polysemy can be seen as one way of harnessing language and subduing it and not allowing it to dictate our existence.

Would not then overcoming-language be a necessary part of being human?

Playing Hard!

Taking life seriously is to take ourselves seriously. It is to take our bodies, our minds, our emotions, our exterior, our interior, our skills, our thoughts, our ideas, our appearances, our speech, our relationships, our money, our spirit, our beliefs, our dreams, our passions, our food, our health, our sexuality, our homes, our surroundings - our everything seriously. 

Taking life seriously, is NOT to be serious, or boring, or stuck up, or rigid, or narrow, or fundamentalist, or closed. It is being serious about taking life seriously and that can sufficiently happen when life is seen as a 'play'. Games, Drama, Dance, Plays are great illustrations that bring together life in all their fullness and make it worth living. No wonder ancient texts talk about creation and the world in terms of a dance, or a play and the idea of delight or bliss  (ananda) is so central to conceptions of the good life.

To play is not to be unserious, rather it is to be serious of the highest order, so serious that it is no longer constrained by our normal understandings of seriousness. The Gita calls this world as Lila or as the play of the divine. So let's play at the highest levels, nationals, internationals and 'universals' and make this short-spanned life beautiful.

Let's play hard!

beautiful example of playing hard

Don't! don't read any further, Please

Don’t

Don’t read any further

Stop

Stop reading I say

You don’t want to know

You really don’t

And yet you read

But why

Why do you read on?

Why can’t you just stop?

STOP! Stop reading, I beg!

I am sure you are NOT reading this

Alas, I am wrong

You still are reading!

What can I do to make you stop?

Make you give up, abandon

Move on as if you have not read

I say don’t but yet still you do

But you can’t help yourself, can you

Because it’s not really you

it's actually not even about you, really

Its the words seeking their whole

Semantic unity, they say

Half in your consciousness

The others in the lines below

Condemned to meaning

Its tyranny not a travesty

Memes says Dawkins with a glee

But it’s the mother of memes

The one who bore them

The eternal goddess

道 λόγος शब्द Word

Call what you may
She lives on forever

In and through you

And of course beyond you
Humans come, humans go
She lives on

Ancient of days

Creating, destroying, recreating

Forming, reforming, multiforming

Tower of Babel, mustn’t forget

Nor the Pentecost

Regaining regal power

In her being

The universe came to be

She lifted her voice

And the walls came tumbling

She has seen the beginning

And in her is the end

You and I

Her playmates in time

Must stop now

Can’t let her always...

obsession: an obsession with obsessions

I presume that most of us have our pet obsessions. For some it is cricket, for others romance, while for most success, but the list can go on endlessly for sure. It could be some gizmo, certain people, or cultivated activities, just about anything by which we are profoundly influenced. But immediately, we must make a correction to our claim that humans have obsessions. We call things obsessions not because we have them at will, but precisely because they have us at their will. They invade our privacy at their whim and fancy, and destabilise our lives with a laugh. They make us take decisions that we would not normally have taken and force us to a variety of actions that would not have been if not for them. So calling them our obsessions is a lame attempt to domesticate what in fact controls us. They can ruin a really great day by toying with our fragilities, or shine light on a depressing day with their ecstasy. These obsessions definitely have a life of their own! Come to think of it, humans come and go but they live on – live in and through us, and continue with their existence even after they are done with us.

So how do obsessions work? It is as if one is possessed and made a slave of, tossed about like a boat by stormy waves. Of course, the proverbial boat represents the poor ‘us’ – the humans, who are always at the deep end, in high seas and left to the mercy of these storming waves. But interestingly, the obsessions are not the waves, doing all the hard work of tossing, but can be compared to the moon, whose gravitational force works the waves that is laboriously doing the tossing of the boat. So now we have a mechanism of three – three things in connected operation – the moon exerting her force, the waves energised by the moon’s force and finally the boat seated on the waves, driven to and fro by the ecstatic waves. Imagine this picturesque sight, maybe on a postcard – the moon’s beams shining down at dusk on a near-empty sea, seeking out as it were hidden treasures lost at sea. And behold they find your boat, the only object for horizons. As you zoom down on the postcard, the waves that looked calm begin to reveal the contours of their excitement, even as they leap up and down, forward and backwards, in complete insanity. You lift your gaze from the waters and look hard at the boat. You thought it was a peaceful ride this boat was having. But close inspection proves otherwise – these waves are sure rocking your boat! No gentle rocking like that of a mother rocking her baby in a cradle, but this is indeed hard stuff, similar to the vibrations that send a crowd into frenzy at a rock concert. Poor you, clinging on for dear life! You think it’s going to stop now, and yet another tirade of waves hit the rain-soaked sides. Of course the boat has a captain! It is you! You wear your ironed uniform, prominently displaying your ranks. Hat in place, you hold the steering, yelling orders to the mates. But what good is anything – the maps strewn on the table, hands on the deck or even the flask of rum tucked tightly at the hip. You are helpless, powerless, purely at the mercy of the waves. She makes you dance, hop-step-and-jump, throb violently, and there you lie sheepish, watching, rather painfully, the wicked grin on her face.

What to do with obsessions? The ancient adage has been to overcome them, to fight them till one’s last breath, to practice rituals of self-control that will strengthen one’s resolve against the obsessions. It will maybe be meditation, or some freakish mind-game or perhaps a recitation of texts, incantations supposed to possess magical powers, powerful enough to break the power hold of these obsessions. The whole idea is to fight back, fight against. But wait a minute, what are we fighting against? Let’s slip back into our picture, now dark and grotesque, with the lives of the sailors in great peril. Are we to fight the waves? What does that even mean? We are on the waves, the very ground of our existence and being is the waves, so how are we to fight it?

I think this ancient piece of wisdom is just as useful as the Ptolemaic view of the location of the earth as the centre of the pre-Copernican universe. We have to improvise and maybe even radically revise this wisdom of the old. The problem with the wisdom to fight obsessions is that it naively takes the waves to be the obsession. So obsessions are seen to be what occupies our time, for example, cricket, alcohol, a satisfying job or a certain habit. So the advice is kick the habit, don’t be over-ambitious in your work, control your drinking if not stop it, but cricket - can’t live with it, can’t live without it! Come on, get a grip of yourself! Domesticate these obsessions! Dusk has turned to night. With the sun completely vanquished, the moon rules the skies. She definitely looks more pronounced now. She is still, quiet, simple, silvery and beautiful. You can’t detect any motion about her. But it is her power that makes the waves dance. It is her force that rocks your boat.

The question is what does the moon represent in the human experience of obsessions? Are humans ever going to be able to eliminate the moon? Should that even be the objective? Or maybe we have to re-configure how obsessions actually function and find new ways of coping with them. Maybe new wisdom is required to learn to dance, a change in perspective to understand rocking as a form of enjoyment. Maybe we will have to learn new skills, innovate new technologies, not to lessen the force of the waves or to fight better, but to make the most of it, to put it to good use – to consume it and in consuming, gain mastery over it. To be able to look at the moon in all her glory and be grateful for the light she sheds and the beauty she brings – she is definitely worthy of being an obsession.

My Mother's Son

I have never seen her

Although her eyes I have, they say

Her voice too I have never heard

But I was told, she sang like a bird

I was told she was very beautiful

Her skin soft as snow

Her form that graced a thousand stars

Defined beauty for us, you know

She had to leave however, one night

They came and took her away

In the middle of the night

They packed her out

Left my father in a pool of tears

And while she grabbed my brother

I was left behind

I haven’t seen them for twenty-five years

My father long passed by

Neither did he ever again

See his other son and wife

We got her regular letters for sure

And growing pictures of my brother

But of her face we never got to see

Not in a postcard nor a picture

I grew up in Damascus

The oldest city that ever was

As Syrian as one could get

Yet I was both Muslim and Christian

Speaking Arabic, French and English

Never crossed the Mediterranean Sea

Nor into the Iraqi desert

Lebanon kept me hemmed in

While Israel watched my borders

A true Arab I told myself

I was born to live and lead

To help my people live in the desert

And not necessarily to cross over

In the land of my ancestors

We loved our music and our women

We are an old people, you know

So a lot to learn, in order to live
Even if we are stubborn

And then my brother did come to visit

But not alone did he come

He came with schools, cars and education

Lack of knowledge, he said, was our sin

I showed him our ancient cuneiform

And treasures rivalling the very best of old Egypt

The land that groomed Cicero’s teacher

And the writings out of Apamea

He persisted that we need to be civilized

With genuine concern and a dismissive hand

With our protests, came out his planes and guns

The warning was clear and loud

You better heed, it’s only for your good

Then one day he came to visit me

To my village, and to my home

I made a feast to welcome him

And invited the village in

With their Dabkeh they greeted him

And their sword dances sought to woo

The food was spread with splendour

The houses adorned with lights

It was magical yet not mystical

As real as any summer evening can be

My neighbours showered their love

Total strangers hugged and kissed him

They made him feel so much at home

He forgot he was the other

He began to move and shake his leg

And forgot he was near Aleppo

I took a step backwards
Away from the dancing crowd

To watch my mother’s son dance

His movements not dissimilar to mine

Although it’s been twenty and five long years

I was seeing him for the first time

He was not so other

In spite of all the difference

Our views of our worlds in which we live

And the stories we tell each other

May seem as far as east is from the west

But in our bodies, and in our movements

In our quests for life, in our very existence

We had a lot more in common

I took his hand, drew him from the dance

We walked into the setting sun

Without a word on our lips

Twin brothers were we

Our beloved mother’s womb we had shared

Under our father’s watchful eyes

We had entered this world together

The time to speak has at last come

To open our mouths in utterance

The power lay in the language we use

As we seek to understand the other
To kill or to live and to let live

The pen is mightier than the sword, it’s said

And words more mightier than the pen

All we have are our words

Words that conjure up our realities

Words that create meaning

The very worlds in which we live

And so we hope and desperately hope

That the words of our mouth

Would become a home

And that we will live together
For better or worse
For richer for poorer
In sickness and in health
To love and to cherish
Brothers, sons of the same mother

Brainerd Prince

20 May 2012, Oxford

An Evening in the House of the Gods

Imagine you have just spent the evening in the house of the gods and now you are stepping out of their front porch and into the street – how would you be? Would you be elated beyond control? Or just filled with unspeakable joy? Or maybe you have a deep sense of satisfaction that nothing in this world has possibly ever given you! Or just that the evening, although measured in time, felt like eternity, in a good way of course, and you didn’t want it to end? Maybe you felt redeemed through the stories told or even saved through their hospitality, maybe even forgiven by their kindness, given a new life and hope through the inspired words uttered during the evening? Or just the sheer ecstasy of meeting with the gods!

Even as you step out, you recollect your stepping in, when you first entered into their home – not extravagant, but tastefully done – the gods have no need to prove their wealth! The environment captures you instantly! The fragrance of the incense, the flickering lights of a thousand candles, the soothing music, indeed the very best of the classical masters, filling the house, drawing you in, inner and beyond the space that you occupy. It was not a museum you entered, but a home, a genuine dwelling place that you immediately were able to call as home, your home. And yet, it was adorned with artefacts, each with a story more interesting than the form they represented, and you did get to hear those stories through the drawling night.

The gods have a life of their own, their families, their tragedies, and even their romances. Their love stories ignite passion and their romances desire! Their sorrows brim your eyes with tears, and in their sorrow you experience catharsis. But it’s their tragedies that capture you the most, the inevitable paradoxes of good rewarded with evil, the rich driven into poverty, the wise made to look foolish and the foolish wise. But maybe the greatest tragedy was to see them, the gods constrained by their humanity – humans and yet gods, gods for sure but in human form! The aura, the beauty, the love is indeed divine and yet formed and embodied in frail humanity. You could touch them, hug and hold tight, and in their embrace you found warmth.

But there must be miracles you say, no one can see god and yet not receive a miracle! But what about the miracles the gods experience, the miracles they enthusiastically share while refilling your glass with the best of France. Amazing stories, of men ministering to the gods, women foretelling unavoidable doom, and yet with love, with compassion, through incarnation, by the sending of a gift, the gift was itself a symbol, the symbol contained the message, a future story, definitely a tragic story – foretelling the event of the son of the gods, a misfired shot, in prime of youth, death in the most unlikely of places! The memory darkens their radiant faces and the gods shed silent tears! You reach out to console, hold their hand, angelic figures indeed, even as the gods are helped, you tell yourself – this indeed is the mother of all miracles – me a human, helping the gods, in their own home!

Everything around you fills you with a sense of wonder even as they draw you on to themselves, and beyond. The images, the pictures, the icons, they beckon you, and you stand before them reverentially, hat in hand, immersed in wonder, awe and joy. You gaze at their beauty and fall in love, in love with a picture, an icon, someone you have never met – a yearning for a stranger, someone you do not know. After all you are in the house of the gods, anything is possible, I mean, everything is possible!

You stand up to leave, filled with ambrosia, you stand with new confidence. There is a bounce in your step, even as you walk down the street, you know you have been divinized, as nothing less is possible after an evening in the house of the gods.

Education in the Human Sciences

The successful functioning of a society depends upon the success of its educational system, therefore education and research are the institutional vehicles through which society trains itself by receiving, modifying, theorizing and transmitting the practices and knowledge that it has inherited from its past even as it engages with the practices and knowledge originating from other societies. The practices and knowledge about humans, as individuals and collectives, are generally studied under Human Sciences and particularly through the disciplines of politics, economics, religion, theology, history, philosophy, psychology etc. Therefore a healthy society necessitates the study of the Human Sciences at the highest levels...
For more read...

Masters, Servants and the Passion Week

This year during this passion week season, I attended a service conducted by the Archbishop of Georgia of the Baptist Convention. They are Baptists, but because they are from Georgia, which is closer to Russia, they are heavily influenced by Eastern or Russian Orthodox form of Christianity. They even have an Archbishop! The Archbishop is my colleague and a good friend so I got an inside glimpse into the preparation of the service as well.

The preparations began about a week earlier. it was a liturgical service and so different people were reading different prayers. At rehearsals I heard Archbishop Malkhaz tell the readers, not to just read the prayers, in a sense, not to merely mouth the prayers, but embody the words and live out the words that were being read - uniting body and word, enacting the words.

On Thursday morning, when I arrived at OCMS, where the service was being held, the entire place had been rearranged beautifully. Everything used there had a meaning. There were five loaves and two fishes (really huge fishes and loaves) and grapes and pomegranates. Different kinds of Olives and figs. And lovely lamps adorning the table. We sat in a circle around four tables that were arranged as a cross. (picture attached)

Then the service began. It was completely liturgical. But the whole service was capturing a living together as a community. The Celebrants were dressed up as part of the service. They then led the service. The archbishop himself washed everyone's feet. We had the Lord's Supper or communion. Also an Agape meal, which was part of the service. The food was absolutely gorgeous and I musn't forget the wine. We learnt a couple of new liturgical songs. And overall it was a great experience - a fulfilling one, after which one is so satisfied that she wishes for nothing more for the day, but to go back home, happy, or maybe not go anywhere, as one was already at home.

When Malkhaz the Archbishop of Georgia was washing my feet, the words of Jesus came back to me more powerfully.

Two kinds of people wash other people's feet. Those who are servants and those who are masters. In our world, it is mostly the servants who do the washing. They do it because they are told to do it. They do it, because their circumstances forces them to do it. They do it because they need the money and hence the job and hence the washing of the feet of their master's guests. They do a job. They get paid for it. They are truly servants.

But when Jesus took the towel, he began with these words - You call me master and lord, and rightly so...and if I your master and lord do this...

Now, the master alone can choose to wash someone's feet, he can choose to wash, anyone'e feet. He can do it with as much flair as he wants. He is not forced to do it. He can serve with complete liberation and freedom. He has chosen to serve. He does it with care, because he has thought about it. He does it in style because he was not asked to do it, so he is able to make the experience as beautiful as he wants.

This act is very subversive of Jesus, as of most of his teaching. He turns the tables around and the meaning of servant and master on its head. Only the master can truly serve, in a sense, choose to serve, and so, by choosing to serve, all of us, irrespective of our social status, can become masters, in a true sense. It all depends how we serve, with what confidence and understanding we serve. Actually, in serving the others, we become real masters - that is the power in serving. By choosing to serve, we become masters, although, we do not lord it over those we serve, as then it would not be service. True serving is authentic and genuine serving, and this authentic and genuine serving can only be done by a master, a one who chooses to serve. This is the power of love and service. 

This season, let us  serve one another, not as a servant, as someone who is told to do, not for pay, not for rewards, but because we are masters and lords and like our own master, we choose to serve. And so let our serving be beautiful, let it be extravagant. Even the lowest of jobs can be done with flair, with beauty, in love. Let it be done with flair. With such flair, that we become true servants, the lowest of the lowly. When we have mastered service, we are true masters - the master who serves. It requires tremendous power to serve, to truly serve. True lordship is indeed servanthood. 

Best wishes for the season