Instinct

One of the few things I've figured out is that this blog is about instinct. But that's a very tricky word to deal with. My handy Encarta Dictionary tells me that instinct has three primary definitions:

in·stinct [ín stìngkt]
noun (plural in·stincts)
1. strong natural impulse: a powerful impulse that feels natural rather than reasoned
followed his instincts and took to his heels

2. biological drive: an inborn pattern of behavior characteristic of a species and shaped by biological necessities such as survival and reproduction
the survival instinct

3. knack: a natural gift or skill
an instinct for putting people at ease

adjective
filled: completely filled or imbued with something (formal)
a look instinct with compassion

Microsoft® Encarta® 2007. © 1993-2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

In keeping with the Microsoft product placement ads, I bounced from the dictionary to Encarta itself, and found a decent little discussion about instinct. But I often reference Wikipedia in this blog, partly because Wikipedia is such a unique internet reference, it has a mind-boggling number of contributors, and a large percentage of them are highly responsible and take ownership to protect its integrity as much as possible. It's far from perfect, obviously, but it's pretty irresistible, in my opinion.

The second sentence of Wikipedia's definition highlights the problem with the direction I'm trying to go here. It says: "Instincts are unlearned, inherited fixed action patterns of responses or reactions to certain kinds of stimuli." Or at least it said that just now, assuming it hasn't been edited. The common dictionary associations are to aspects of us that are literally still animal, sometimes even reptilian. Instincts can be viewed sometimes as part of our common heritage of survival, and sometimes as the vestiges of ignorance. So where in all that would you expect to find characteristics like altruism, conscience, or moral disgust? Is there such a thing as an innate moral instinct?

I started to google around, but I stopped myself. I want to use my instinct.

I will point over to Huffington Post again, though. I guess I'm going over there too much, but of course there are always lots of lively discussions on a variety of topics, and I'm not visiting DailyKOS as much right now, because they appear to be just a little too attached to Chevron ad money, and I really have a problem with that. Not that Huffington Post is pure, or anything.

Anyway: Giuliani: I'm Not Sure Waterboarding Is Torture. Rudy's distinction can be readily dismissed. Waterboarding is torture.

I did google around after making that statement, but I stopped again.

Right now, at least, there's some pretty widespread obfuscation on the internet around this question. Just for fun, I went over to Wikipedia and looked up waterboarding. The definition in Wikipedia begins with this phrase: "Waterboarding is a form of torture ..."

All right, we know Wikipedia can't claim to be the authority. That six-word phrase is immediately followed by 9 footnotes, some of which I'm sure call the phrase into question; I didn't look at them all. But here's another sentence, which has no footnotes, and is not considered to be in dispute: "It elicits the gag reflex, and can make the subject believe his or her death is imminent while not causing physical evidence of torture." If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, etc.

We've been seeing definitions of torture, and those definitions are themselves undergoing a form of torture. That's the problem with words. It's why I can't talk much about Zen, because Zen is beyond words. But is something that can't be expressed, tasted, touched or felt real?

What do you see when you turn out the lights?
I can't tell you, but I know it's mine.

-- With A Little Help From My Friends, The Beatles

I'm listening to Thom Hartmann right now, from the streaming archive area of the AirAmerica web site, since I didn't listen to his show live this morning. Thom's talking about Giuliani and waterboarding, too. Hey, I thought of it first! But this is a very popular topic.

Words and definitions can be turned against us, if you believe in something like what I'm talking about. Let's continue to be imprecise in our terminology, and go on calling it instinct. I instinctively feel that torture of any kind is morally wrong. I feel that it steals something, not just from the victim, but from the interrogator, and from us, too, if we allow it. I feel it robs us of our humanity.

These are vague terms. I have not made what you would call a logical argument. Actually, there is no shortage of superb logical arguments equating waterboarding with torture, and of the incompatibility of the practice of torture with the highest, and most successful, ideals of humanity. But let's say I haven't read those arguments. I would contend that I knew the answer beforehand, because I knew it instinctively.

This is impossible, really, what I'm trying to do here. I'm trying to use words to defend what can't be expressed by them. You try it. But we're getting down to the basics now. Say what you will, my position regarding torture is a core belief. In a traditional form of expression, it is a part of my religious belief, in a very real sense. There is something deep inside me that I feel I absolutely have to trust, not because of what anyone has said, or anything I read in the Bible. I don't wish to ever have to stand against someone, especially in a political sense, in a matter solely based on my private, personal belief, but I have no choice. If I allow this matter to fall under the purview of the legal system, my belief could be overruled, outflanked by some finely-tuned argument, and I could never accept that.

In a more honest atmosphere, someday the honest arguments may be sufficient, and given time, the weight of solid argument will settle this matter in more conventional terms. Until that time, I believe there are things I need to hold close to my heart, against all odds. I hold certain truths to be self-evident.

In these blogs recently where I have discussed Zen, I've reduced it to a simple practice of sitting with good posture and breathing deeply; nothing more. That's really all it is. American Zen needs a whole new language to describe it, because in the Japaneze Zen and Chinese Ch'an traditions, when they speak about their practice, they do it in terms of their own culture, and I think that's caused a lot of unnecessary confusion. I hope I can contribute a little to the language of American Zen by demystifying the practice. It's just healthy. Just do it and don't get all wrapped up in it, and don't get too excited about it. In one sense, it's just a form of calisthenics.

Of course, there are those things that can't be expressed. I'm not at all comfortable yet with discussing that part of Zen, partly because it's so hard. But I think I've touched on it a little bit here, in an oblique sort of way. I've personally had a difficult time meditating since my birthday, but I'm getting back into the groove again. When I take time on a regular basis to sit in zazen, I know that for a period of time the normal concerns and distractions no longer pull me back and forth, and I make a connection, difficult of course to describe, with that creature that is just me.

When I say I don't condone torture, it's just me.