No. You don't get my clarifications on the basis of your wilful and repetitive insults. You need to back off a long, long way.

Why is it a duty? You are allowed to mourn and experience a full range of emotions. Why the self imposed pressure for joy in mourning?

Will you measure these truths with a human device? What value has that? Eat, or eat not; there is nothing to argue about. — unenlightened

Agreed.

Here's my burnt offering:

What is the night if not a cartwheel
on the frenzied bust of day?
A shape scraped from concrete longings
To stay the execution, stay
And bright stars belie the coming bloom
of sun you say
but I’ll fling my surface ’pon
the moon and bounce
thereon before
a blink of dawn’s amber
play, sing my song
along
the Milky Way
the night is a cartwheel
on the frenzied bust of day

It's not a duty I would seek to impose on anyone. Still, having married 'til death do us part', or thereabouts, the pain of the parting is, to me at least, a measure of the value of the relationship. Not to want that pain is to want not to have cared, not to have loved.

Would you want to feel nothing at the death of a loved one? What I think I want to reconcile in a more general way, is a profound awareness of suffering, and a profound sense of the value of life. I personally, and of course intermittently, feel an obligation to savour the depth of each experience, in honour of (I'm sorry, it sounds extravagant) all those lives too hard or too short to have enough such moments.

I understand your point more clearly now, though I didn't say anything about feeling nothing. I agree with you that the pain is a measure of the value. It's well put. The fact that you are able to focus on, and even embrace the difficult emotions, seems to me a good sign. A healthy and positive sign.

The OP was poetic, and obviously subject to interpretation. As we are to learn, it references deep loss suffered by the author. Had it specifically referenced such loss, the only appropriate response would be to express condolences, but it wasn't. Based upon that, I'm not even sure what we ought be talking about here, but this is what I brought to the table, as it were. — Hanover

Well, I guess you know that not everything that is poetic gives specific references.
There is no need to express condolence. It is a tool to explore, in this case 'joy' in relation to religion. Seen as a 'solemn duty'. But not by me and others who question 'why a duty?'.There is no specific question as such in the OP. Why would one be necessary to start a philosophical discussion ?

From wiki:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophical_poets

" A philosophical poet is an author or scholar who employs poetic devices, styles, or forms to explore subjects common to the field of philosophy. Their writing often addresses questions related to the meaning of life, the nature of being (ontology), theories of knowledge and knowing (epistemology), principles of beauty (aesthetics), first principles of things (metaphysics) or the existence of God. Some may make broad philosophical inquires and engage with diverse philosophical topics throughout their poetry, while others may concentrate within one branch of philosophical poetry. For example, Dante is considered by some to be both a philosophical poet, in a general sense, as well as a metaphysical poet."

I don't know where to take this because I don't see it as philosophy or even philosophy or religion, but as a personal expression of faith. — Hanover

Having read the wiki article, do you understand better why it can be both - an expression of faith and a question of philosophy ?

It Isn't so hard to understand. Even if the words sound depressing to you, this is not necessarily indicative of a writer being depressed. The realistic view from the window, even if painted in hues of grey, can still bring joy to the experiencer. Even if the costs and benefits of life experience, including pessimistic philosophy forum rants, are difficult to weigh up, in the moment there is a joy.

"The best I can do, the best I can make of it, is that at this moment, this life, this dissatisfaction, this waiting, is joyful - I want to be here. Add this moment to the plus-side in your dismal calculation."

No matter what the world holds in store, there is a faith - possibly like your sense of the divine - that makes everything all right.

Thanks. Your offering is acceptable in the sight of the Lord. ;) I guess poetry is unavoidable anyway, and the cartwheel puts me in mind of Ecclesiates3 1-8 (turn turn turn)..

Which seems right on topic.

I lived with a Franciscan nun for just over a year. Unsurprisingly, we argued a lot. Typically about theodicy, the Franciscans have an interesting take on it. They emphasise seeing nature as a moment of the divine.

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing. To you, alone, Most High, do they belong. No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.

Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Happy those she finds doing your most holy will. The second death can do no harm to them. — Canticle of the Sun and Moon, St. Francis

The prayer is saturated with appreciation of life, but when it comes to death; the only thing which is glorious about it is the continuation of life into the eternal. If you read it closely, you'll find that despite the prayer being aimed at evoking sublimity of nature it actually describes nature in broadly utilitarian terms. Giving sustenance, light, food and so on. The utility of death is only grasped with reference to the afterlife in Heaven and comes with an inbuilt threat for the wicked.

But all nature is a moment of the divine, from the stillbirth to the earthquake. One wonders why St. Francis of Assisi would rather us not see the just hand of God in the slaughter and misery of the believer as well as the wicked. We just don't have the stomach to speak of appreciation for death by starvation in the same breath as the transcendent beauty of a waterfall or sunrise.

Perhaps the only way to appreciate disaster is sorrow. The loving hand of God guides the rapist as well as the mother, the earthquake and the builder; for Him there is no distinction between the sacred and the profane, for nature makes no such distinction for itself.

One wonders why St. Francis of Assisi would rather us not see the just hand of God in the slaughter and misery of the believer as well as the wicked. — fdrake

Can you expand on this at all? Is that really their distinction - the believer and the wicked?

Perhaps the only way to appreciate disaster is sorrow. The loving hand of God guides the rapist as well as the mother, the earthquake and the builder; for Him there is no distinction between the sacred and the profane, for nature makes no such distinction for itself. — fdrake

I have to stay in that sorrow; the loving guidance of God, is a place I cannot reach, or cannot own, or cannot acknowledge, or cannot afford to share so widely.

Can you expand on this at all? Is that really their distinction - the believer and the wicked? — unenlightened

They probably don't have it nowadays, seeing the devil and hell as more symbolic/discursive/institutional or allegorical as is usual for most people. It's there in there prayer though, 'woe to those who die in mortal sin!', and they are an old Catholic offshoot.

It seems to me that the death of the nonbeliever is less relished now than it was.

It seems to me that the death of the nonbeliever is less relished now than it was. — fdrake

I'm glad to hear it. The current pope does not read God that way at least, and I certainly don't think He's concerned about His fanbase particularly, such that being a fan makes you non-wicked. In the light of world-wide Catholic sex scandals, that is surely untenable?

I'm glad to hear it. The current pope does not read God that way at least, and I certainly don't think He's concerned about His fanbase particularly, such that being a fan makes you non-wicked. In the light of world-wide Catholic sex scandals, that is surely untenable? — unenlightened

I'm sure there are people that think it's tenable. I don't.

I don't really want to get into a discussion of contemporary religious practice, all the use I see in prayers and theology here is to try and get at the sense of reverence we might need to cultivate towards disaster, and the problems associated with it. I may as well have used the Face of Glory Hindu myth.

Will respond better tomorrow or Sunday.

I've felt that. Often.


Thanks.

If it were to be ismed, I might call it silentism.

Real joy derives from feeling a sense of purpose beyond the sounds of the tea kettle and the fluttering of the birds outside. — Hanover

'Real joy' sounds a bit like a 'true scotsman'. I think both un's and your descriptions fit within the generally understood concept of joy.

Anyway, this whole thread is getting touchy feely like everyone is going to start hugging each other and having this feeling of closeness and unity — Hanover

Bring it in, big guy. You know you want a big com-pu-ter hug!

I feel like I've been antagonistic in many of my recent posts on some of your threads, for reasons beyond me. I like your OP and feel like most days I'm trying to find that same place. I'll follow the lead of others here and throw in a verse I like, that gets me close to that feeling.

You have slept in the Sun
Longer than the sphinx, and are none the wiser for it.
Come in. And I thought a shadow fell across the door
But it was only her come to ask once more
If I was coming in, and not to hurry in case I wasn’t.

Lovely OP and I can only endorse it. The only question is - whence this joy? And why the lack of it?

all the use I see in prayers and theology here is to try and get at the sense of reverence we might need to cultivate towards disaster, and the problems associated with it. I may as well have used the Face of Glory Hindu myth. — fdrake

There is indeed a wonderful dark humour in the story of the Face of Glory, like a good fairytale.and yet something of me is antagonistic to making that connection. One aspect is that the universalising becomes eternal and depersonalised So the head that cannot consume itself remains, somehow forever surviving like Sisyphus. It seems extravagant - Sisyphus would roll his boulder a few times or many, and then weaken and it would roll over him like a gravestone. The severed head does not survive.

And then there is what I see as the religious danger - to overdramatise again - of devil worship. To rejoice in death and destruction is to make an inversion in the order of things. I will hold to this; that it is life that has virtue and vice, and death has nothing, it is only the edge of life, and has no meaning or power of its own. Accept, but never praise or worship.

You have it exactly, there, for me. A vastness of meaning sensed in an old man dozing in the sun. It is always the beauty of that smallness the intensity of the mundane that I seek - because there's a lot of it - let's not hurry to be dead, let's not reject sunshine on aching bones in favour of eternity.

Today, the slates were dry, the gulls gone fishing, and it was a single black crow, knocked off his arial perch by a scudding cloud, flapping like a broken umbrella in a feeble parody of grace. I laughed for joy and pity - but only for a moment.

- whence this joy? And why the lack of it? — Wayfarer

Whence, I cannot say. It seems enfolded into the fabric of creation. The lack, I think, comes from childhood trauma, from a lack of love, from a child that has to survive without care, and then cannot care in turn. It comes from the sins of the fathers and mothers, falling on the children having to grow up and unable to grow up. It comes from the inability to cry by way of a missing shoulder.

‘Doctor, my eyes
Cannot see the sky
Is this the prize
For having learned how not to cry?’

~ Jackson Browne

(‘Dad rock’, said my son, dismissively, when I played it again recently.)

That's new to me. Thanks, a good song. Happy the son to whom it doesn't mean that much!