Wednesday, November 4, 2026

one step closer

A good book makes you happy!
Spotted in the library of the Zurich University of the Arts (ZHdK)

Oh how I've wanted to find some time to write lately. And by "find time to write" I mean pack my bags and relocate to a sanitarium somewhere with lovely views and a great deal of quiet, unstructured time. Though preferably also with food.

That isn't happening. 

Back in reality, Chris continues his apprenticeship at the butcher shop (as I write this, he is cooking us steaks for lunch, so much for environmentally-friendly eating) and I have joined Bring Women Back to Work, which might or might not eventually coax me back into the world of capitalism.

But more to the point of this post, I finished a book! By the German-Iranian writer and academic Navid Kermani. In English it's called Everyone, Wherever You Are, Come One Step Closer. I read it in German because I am trying to buy fewer books and that was the version I could get at the library. But I liked it so much that I'll probably buy it for myself and at least one friend, so that was maybe not the most successful strategy ever.

The book is Kermani's answer to a promise made to his late father, that he would pass the family's Islamic faith on to his daughter even as she grows up as a third-generation immigrant in a solidly German Catholic town. Very likely I was able to read it in the original German precisely because it's written for a 12-year old. But also, it's very very good. Religious education as I wish it were and it so often isn't: honest, generous, earnest, funny, absolutely not about telling us why the religious legacy he has to share is right or better but why he finds it helpful, beautiful, important. 

I filled twelve pages with passages I wanted to save and it's hard to pick, but here's one for a flavor of the thing. All translations here are mine.

Because God - remember! - is just a word, an abstraction: "God" means the principle or the source of all life and therefore all love, because life comes from love - the love between man and woman, the love of sun and flower, the love between God and humanity, the love all over the animal kingdom between parent and child. God is precisely not the principle or the source of death and therefore hate, because hate does not create things, hate only breaks things. And when we humans have God's spirit in us, as the Bible and the Koran teach, the sprit of God and therefore the principle of life, then we are fulfilling our own godly nature when we love, instead of hate, and when we preserve the Earth and re-create her every day, instead of destroying her. 

I'm reminded again of my philosophy professor's definition of philosophy as "that thing you almost thought yourself." In my wildest dreams these are the things I'd write about, this is what I'd teach. I struggle a lot with my own religious inheritance, and who knows what I've managed to pass on to my own children? But still, this is something I feel called to pursue. Lately I have the feeling of finding teachers - not so much officially, but at least in books - who can hold all my ambivalence and help me untangle the life-giving and transformative from the toxically positive and repressive. Rays of hope.

Here's how the book ends:

Do you know what my favorite word in the Koran is? The word "maybe." There is hardly a word that appears more often; you have heard it often in our evenings of religious education. In Arabic: la'alla. Maybe you will be thankful, maybe you will understand, maybe you will see, maybe you will come to your senses, maybe you will come back, maybe you will find mercy. In other words, there's always the possibility that you will not understand God or even that you will hate him, deny him. In this "maybe," though, there's even more. In this "maybe" lives the whole drama that is creation since the first cell division. You could have not been born. No one had to have been born. Your grandfather asked for a single word on his gravestone: schokr - thanks.

Which brings me to my next topic, gratefulness - not this moment (because if I don't press publish on this thing now there's a good chance I never will), but soon! I'll leave you with the story of the book's title, which I adore:

When Sheik Abu Saíd, one of the most famous Islamic mystics of the 11th century, came to Tus, a city in the northwestern part of today's Iran, so many believers streamed into the mosque to see him speak that there was no space left. "God forgive me," called the head usher, "everyone, wherever you are, come one step closer."

At this, the sheik closed the gathering before it had even begun. "Everything that I wanted to say and that all the prophets have taught, the usher already said," he said, by way of explanation, before he turned around to leave the city: "everyone, wherever they are, should come one step closer."

Sunday, August 30, 2026

St. Blasien

Bonus field trip!

(ooh and this is my 500th blog post! I don't know what that means but it sounds cool?)

This year's edition of the Eco Summer Camp took place without me, which was probably for the best but I was bummed that (1) I missed seeing the friends I made when I went in 2024, (2) I didn't get a week away from home, and (3) the place they held it this year - St. Blasien in the the Black Forest - looked interesting and I wouldn't get to visit. I made a deal with myself that I could at least do something on that last front, and so yesterday Daniel and I adventured out to St. Blasien. Getting there takes an hour on the train to the German border and another hour on a bus from there, not at all bad. And what's there? A striking church (once part of a Benedictine monastery and then a factory and now a Jesuit boarding school). Charming touristy dining options. A former sanatorium. Which is to say, just enough to entertain us for a few hours, and although I would not have in any way minded staying for a week and going hiking or something, our little visit, complete with delicious Greek lunch, felt relaxed and lovely and...just generally like the vacation that we did not have this summer. And we were home in time to grill things for dinner with our hard-working son (who brought home an enormous steak from the butcher shop but decided our grill was not good enough for it lol).

The river Alb, presumably not always this low.
St. Blaise Abbey
Inside - it is huge and very white.
Except for the choir, which somewhat inexplicably gives wooden and square. Literally keeping the students in line, maybe?
Looking up.
Extra bits under the stairs, as one does.
Black Forest Cake, of course.
The town was getting ready for the annual "International Sculpture Symposium" in which invited artists carve logs and the resulting sculptures are sold at auction. I bet this is super interesting but I was not entirely sorry to be there at a time when the town was relatively empty and there were no chainsaws running.

 

Friday, August 28, 2026

eclipses

And last but not least for this little flurry of posts: you'll get better pictures many other places but...

Solar eclipse, August 12. The sun set as the eclipse got to its high point, which made for something of an anticlimactic end to the experience.

through the leaves

through Daniel's phone

through the colander

Lunar eclipse, August 28. I would have totally missed this if (1) we hadn't been admiring the full moon last night so I happened to notice this morning that it was suddenly only a half-moon and (2) Chris hadn't had to be up at 5am to catch the Very First Bus to work. Did not get good pictures, and again the moon set just as the eclipse was getting good. But still quite cool.

last night

this morning

goddesses

If I've got this right: German author and modern witch Luisa Franca, who now lives in Portugal, entrusted her collection of goddess figurines to a Swiss organization that keeps them safe in an occasionally-open-to-the-public warehouse in Opfikon, near Zurich. Where they have since been joined by other goddesses from other collectors. I learned this when some of the goddesses went on display in a church in Zug for ten days. With some luck I will go visit the others at the end of September.

It's rocks, again. At least the top one is. The bottom one is an artistic interpretation of the 27,000-year-old Venus of Mauern by Varuna Brigitte Reiner.

The Sleeping Lady of Hal Saflieni, 3000 BCE. LOVE HER.

Ancient Egyptian bird-woman (5500 BCE), interpreted by Susanne Keller

Double-figurine from the Cyclades (3000 BCE). Also interpreted by Susanne Keller. 

nativities

For Reasons, I took a day in the middle of this hot hot summer to go visit the KrippenWelt (nativity scene collection) in picturesque Stein am Rhein. What to say? It has many, many nativity scenes. After the third or fourth room of them, I started musing about exactly what archetype we are celebrating here, and then wondering - perhaps unfairly - whether these particular collectors are fans of "marriage is a union between one man and one woman." I just feel like...there may be more alternative depictions of God-becoming-human out there. Or maybe not? Anyway here are some of my favorites. You'll notice that my own taste runs towards the dark and unusual, but there were plenty of very traditional scenes too, some with hundreds of supporting characters, which is a beautiful notion in its own way.

This one was very hard to capture because of the glare from the windows, so you will have to take my word for it that it was awesome and maybe my very favorite. Made in Mali from recycled insecticide cans. (!!)

It's rocks.

Nativity in the Roman Colosseum, a.k.a. a recycled oil barrel. The tag says that this was made in 2000 by artist Roberto Cipollone from Tuscany, and it is titled "Internet" as in "he who gives too much information about himself to the internet is lion food." So.


The Life of Jesus in Russian nesting dolls. Somehow I love that he's born on the biggest one and dies in the fourth-from-smallest. But the very smallest appears to be the Star of Bethlehem, and everything starts again?

Another difficult lighting situation but the label says that the heads of the humans are open so that they can be filled by God's spirit, which seems like an excellent plan. Made by the Shipibo indigenous people of the Amazon rainforest in Peru.

If I've gotten lucky, I've arranged this last one so you can kind of see how it goes together - God is sending out the animals of the Earth in a great circle around the Holy Family. Also from Peru, I think. Stunning. My favorite in the "more traditional" category.


status

Update: Kid 1 has gone to work at this farm for two weeks, after which she will come back and start her second year of math studies, except that in October she is skipping school for two weeks to travel with the youth orchestra to Sweden. Also, she is knitting a sweater. Oh to be young and motivated. 

Speaking of which: Kid 2 began his apprenticeship at your new favorite butcher shop. He works two days a week 0600-1845 and one day 0600-1645, and goes to school for one full day (high-school equivalent) and one half day (butcher stuff). He's exhausted. But he's doing it!

Bunny Sniffles has gone to live in the bunny commune at a nearby community center. It is too early to say whether he is happy there, but it's certainly a lovely place with many things to sniffle and many other bunnies for company, so things are looking good. 

Daniel has not yet lost his job to AI and has hauled the grill up from the basement for some late-summer grilling (now that the balcony is not in full bunny mode).

I am like...60 percent managing and 40 percent clinically depressed. Things may get better as the weather cools off. Sometimes, I get out of the house. More on that in the next couple of posts.

In which Sniffles has one last lettuce treat on our balcony before the big move.

The new digs (he's at the bottom of the ramp on the top-left). It's a very nice place.


Sunday, August 9, 2026

an obituary

Susi Bunny 

Susi and some hay. Will she eat it? Only if she feels like it.

Susi, a blue-eyed white Mini Lop, was born to a bunny breeder in Urnäsch, Appenzell Ausserrhoden on August 8, 1999. She came to live with us in February 2000, just before the pandemic started. She and her cousin Lino (they came with those names) were shy at first - I still remember them looking at the 3-inch cage lip as if it were a castle wall and wondering whether we were going to have to build a...rabbit ramp? But no, they were soon hopping around in a species-appropriate way, exploring every nook and cranny and worrying me more for their ability to jump up high and to fit through every tiny crevice. (Will they somehow launch themselves off the balcony?? They never did. It should be noted here that my main contribution to the bunny project was anxiety; Daniel did the actual caretaking.) Susi and Lino were Caroline's emotional support animals during the lockdown - I don't know how she would have handled it without them. 

The bunnies lived a hoppy life on the balcony, with plenty of hay and straw and food and treats, and eventually litter boxes in every corner possible corner. (You can't train bunnies to pee in one particular spot, you can only notice which spots they pee in and wishfully put litter boxes there. Susi made something of a game of finding unprotected corners. Bunny pee is gross.) Every so often there was a health scare - one bunny or the other would stop eating - and we'd take them to the vet and get the speech about how rabbits are prey animals and really not good pets and prone to dying without warning, and there isn't much you can do for them beyond filing down their teeth - but as a rule ours would get their teeth filed down and bounce right back. Lino did die in 2021, for reasons we never learned, possibly due to internal injuries after a bungled leap over the cage edge. And as it is illegal to keep pet bunnies alone in Switzerland, Susi got a new companion from the same breeder, who we named Sniffles. Thus began three-and-some years of generally uneventful bunny co-living, punctuated only by the occasional emergency vet visit for teeth-filing.

Susi's favorite things were high jumps, humping her companions (we speculate that she wasn't paying attention in bunny sex ed, also both Lino and Sniffles were castrated), hazel branches, and raspberries. She never grew big - at her heaviest she weighed just under 3 pounds - but had no trouble communicating, whether by hopping over for a pet (Daniel ONLY), honking (Bunny swear words!), scratching at the door (dinner late, again?!), or making herself Very Hard to Catch.

Last year, she started dragging one and then both hind legs. The vet thought she was done for but said we could try an anti-parasitic, which miraculously seemed to help. She never hopped well again but she could get around. Until she couldn't, but a second round of anti-parasitic at the beginning of this year only seemed to make things worse. Oh and did I mention the cheek abscess? Both vets at our local practice told us kindly but firmly that this was the end for Susi Bunny, but she soldiered on, healing and eating and drinking and pooping and peeing and generally acting like life with only two front paws was No Big Deal. So we soldiered on too, propping her up twice and then three times a day for meals and trying to keep her reasonably clean and groomed. Until yesterday, exactly on her 7th birthday, when we found maggot-infested wounds on her hind legs and decided that euthanasia would be kinder than letting her die of being eaten alive. So we made an emergency appointment at the university animal hospital, where she died in the afternoon, after being appropriately spoiled with all the raspberries she could eat.

She is survived by her companion Sniffles, who we hope will find a retirement home but at this moment is soldiering out the heat wave in his customary spot on the balcony. And by her humans, who will miss our cute and cantankerous white friend.

Rest in peace, Susi.

Tuesday, July 28, 2026

mini-break: around Lausanne

According to legend, the Abbey of Romainmôtier was founded in 450 by Saint Romanus of Condat. Parts of the Cluniac Romanesque church date to the 11th century. As you can see, there's been plenty of construction and destruction since then.

Chris and I took an overnight trip to Lausanne last week. On Thursday, we caught the train west and met Dan's cousins Pascale and Veronique for a walk to Romainmôtier, a picturesque village with a very old church. We made the mistake of not planning lunch, and our post-1:30 arrival at the restaurant in the village was not exactly greeted with joy. The host did find us a table, but when we ordered he exclaimed, "FOUR DIFFERENT DISHES?! WELL. The cook won't be happy about THIS," and then stomped off. Apparently they had planned to be closed between 2:00 and 6:30. But as this was literally the only source of refreshment available (save one self-service shop manned by a comparably grumpy-looking farm cat), the tourists kept arriving... We ate our lunch and made a hasty retreat, so I don't know whether the poor guy ever got his afternoon nap. 

*Our* afternoon was very pleasant, with a walk back to the train station, a dip in one of Lausanne's free pools, and a lovely dinner at Pascale's lovely house. We stayed overnight in her lovely attic and were loathe to leave it in the morning - but adventure called.

If you are craving castle, Chillon has you covered. Moat, courtyard, Great Room, coats of arms, weapons, latrines into the lake, back hallways for the servants, random reliquary, Byron's signature in the dungeon? Check, check, check, check, check...






Cozy window benches for reading? CHECK!
(I assume that's not what these really are, but if I were in charge...)

When we had had our fill of castle, we ate lunch at the café next door and then cruised back toward Lausanne on the 122-year-old steamboat Savoie. 

Seriously. 
...and thanks to the legendary efficiency of the Swiss train system, we were home in time for dinner. 

Tuesday, July 21, 2026

a baby step

Okay everybody, I changed my screen name to "Susannah Helen" because "Greg's Sister" often confused people, though I definitely am and always will be Greg's sister. 🩷

I was looking for an unposed snapshot of myself as a kid and Greg offered this one. It struck me as adorably typical of our childhood. We're on a horse.

Monday, July 20, 2026

The Secret Mind of Bertha Pappenheim

On Sunday, somewhat against my will, I did get out of the house, and here is a picture of a waterfall to prove it.

Book report: The Secret Mind of Bertha Pappenheim: The Woman Who Invented Freud's Talking Cure, by Gabriel Brownstein

I decided on Saturday that I was going to stay in bed and read this book all the way through, and I did. Indulgent, for sure, but also encouraging to know that my internet-addled brain and increasingly aged eyes are still capable of such a thing.

One might surmise from the title of this book that it is the story of Bertha Pappenheim, the "hysteric" called "Anna O." in Sigmund Freud and Josef Breuer's Studies on Hysteria who was the first patient to participate in what is now known as psychoanalysis. Breuer treated her many psychosomatic symptoms using something she herself named the "talking cure"--just like that, in English, because one of her symptoms was that she would periodically lose the ability to speak or understand her native German--and that she experienced an immediate and full recovery. The story of this miracle cure turns out, like so many others, to be at best embellished: Breuer did treat Pappenheim and did listen to her stories, but he did not cure her. What eventually did help, apparently, was getting the f*ck out of Dodge--in this case Vienna--and starting a new life in Frankfurt, where she became a passionate campaigner for the education of poor Jewish girls and founded the Jewish Women's Association. More, though, no one knows for sure: all of the relevant documents have since been lost or destroyed.

So the "secret mind" of the title does in fact remain a secret, and the the book is less a biography of Pappenheim than a meditation on Freud and Pappenheim as contemporaries in Victorian-era Vienna. Only three years apart in age, both passionate, both brilliant, both drug-addicted: one is a striving young doctor in search of the insight that will make him rich and famous; the other is imprisoned and thwarted by her social station and a long and ever-changing list of ailments. Brownstein says that it's impossible to retrospectively re-diagnose Pappenheim, but about half his book is about the contemporary experience of people with functional neurological disorder (FND): the clear implication is that FND has inherited the baton of hysteria, the "wandering womb" described at least as far back as the second century AD by Aretaeus of Cappadocia, "...like an animal within an animal."

If the womb wandered into the eyes, so the classical story went, the patient went blind. If it went to the legs, the legs spun out of control. Paralysis. Paresis. Unusual walking patterns. If the womb sidled up toward the mouth, it caused globus hystericus, the feeling of a lump in the throat, a common functional symptom that at its most severe can interfere with speaking and swallowing. 

So. With this as our starting point it's no wonder we still have some way to go in understanding how and why women so often suffer. I suppose Freud did move the ball forward with his theories of the unconscious mind. But my ill-informed but generally negative opinion of him was not improved by this book. Did you know that during his most productive years as a doctor, he had an intimate intellectual, emotional, and sexual relationship with one Wilhelm Fliess? Trigger warning: this is JUST GROSS.

Fliess saw an anatomical parallel between the structure of the sinuses and the structure of the vagina and the womb. He believed that all kinds of neurotic illnesses, especially in women, were caused by something that he called the “nasal reflex neurosis.” Fliess’s first course of treatment for any psychosexual problem was cocaine applied to the nostrils; the second, electrically shocking the nose; and the third, surgery: the removal of the patient’s turbinate bones, the nasal conchae, the long, thin, curved bones that flare from the middle of the face into the breathing passages. The “bad practice” of masturbation, Fliess wrote, could “only be finally cured through an operation of the nose.” He believed that menstrual pains were caused by masturbation. 

"The bromance, the eccentricity, and the misogyny of it all can distract us from the[ir] correspondence’s profundity," says Brownstein. Which first, would this really be considered a "bromance"? and second, maybe we *should* get distracted by the misogyny of it all? Brownstein largely dismisses feminist interpretations of Pappenheim's illness as speculation, but also mentions several times that Pappenheim herself had no time for psychotherapy. 

I can’t escape a feeling that I have through much of the Studies: that the patients are more important to the doctors than the doctors are to the patients. This is especially true for Bertha Pappenheim—Anna O. meant the world to Freud, the first ship in his armada, but for Pappenheim, Freud was the husband of an old friend, the colleague of a doctor who had tried and failed to help her. Freud was someone whose wise theories—if they interested her—she found appalling and unworkable in her business of saving young women’s lives. 

The Secret Mind was motivated by Brownstein's father, himself a psychotherapist. 

Freud, hero of my dad's youth, was the villain of his later years. Mulling relentlessly in his long retirement, my dad despaired over the value of psychotherapy, talk therapy, his primary avocation and livelihood. His eyes would tear up, and he'd ask awful questions. Had it ever helped anyone? He was tough to console. 

The day before he dies, the elder Brownstein hands his son an envelope containing "my masterpiece": a paper on "Josef Breuer and Psychoanalysis." But the paper mysteriously disappears. Curious what his father had turned up, Brownstein starts researching the topic and the resulting writing project (this book) grounds him first through his father's death and then through the even more terrifying experience of his wife's terminal illness. When the paper finally resurfaces, it turns out that his father argued "that Breuer's technique is or should be the ideal in psychoanalysis: two minds meeting, the doctor giving the patient room for play and self-discovery." By this time, Brownstein has come to see Breuer and his work in a positive but more nuanced light:

As contemporary neurologists have it, we should not assume that Pappenheim’s symptoms were any kind of symbolic storytelling, nor should we dismiss them as some kind of performance suggested by her doctors or the world around her. She was not necessarily trying to say or do anything—consciously or unconsciously. She was in a “hell hole,” as Oliver Sacks describes it, a place from which she could not speak but nonetheless needed to be heard. Breuer sat by her side and listened to her. This was not a talking cure in the way that Freud would later have it, and it was not the kind of partnering that happens in Massachusetts General, where David Perez joins his patients in considering the best understanding we have of the function and malfunction of the brain. What Breuer offered in 1881 was preliminary to all that—a human face, a chunk of time, and someone who would listen, all of it offered as medicine. 

..."medicine" that, helpful as it may have been, did not ultimately cure his patient, and probably got him into hot water with his wife. 

Today, people--still mostly women, lest we take our eye off the misogyny ball--continue to suffer from symptoms for which their doctors can't find a cause, and continue to find themselves disbelieved and dismissed by large swathes of the medical establishment (and taken advantage of by others). A few years ago I read another book on this subject in which men entered the psychosomatic mix after World War I with shell shock (now PTSD), but Brownstein leaves them out, tracing the majority-female lineage of this illness from the "wandering womb" through hysteria, hysterical conversion, conversion disorder, and functional neurological symptom disorder (FNSD) to today's FND. Do these patients have an undetected or as-yet-undiscovered disease? are they suffering from the aftereffects of trauma? surfacing repressed memories? acting out unconscious desires? (I'd add: playing a role in a dysfunctional family system? and/or a systematically oppressive society?) Brownstein finds that for a given person, it could be any of these things. Or none of them. The FND specialists who do successfully help the patients he interviews distinguish themselves by taking their clients seriously--but also, it seems, by projecting confidence. I can empathize with a patient who feels insulted and discouraged after a(nother) doctor tells her that her debilitating symptoms are "just anxiety" and that she should maybe take a yoga class--but then seen and cared for by the expert (maybe not coincidentally in a famous medical center, behind a 6-month waiting list) who tells her that she has FND and needs to learn to retrain her brain with breathing exercises. *And* I can understand how a third party (the insurance company) might struggle to see the difference between these two treatments... 

Brownstein concludes that our minds and our social contracts are far more fragile than we would like to believe. 

I have tried to get as close to Pappenheim as I could, to represent her in all her dynamism and not to reduce her to a cartoon. But her story remains a secret. The various attempts at interpretation and reinterpretation of the “Anna O.” case show us how we have tried and failed to know the actual woman. The centuries of argument about FND...show us how we have tried and failed to know the human mind.

I don't know that we've "failed" so much as tried (and tried and tried) and found that our theories will always be incomplete and that there is always more to learn, particularly from the voices we've never considered authoritative. And: artificial intelligence doesn't come up in this book but I wonder whether, as we learn more about how large language models work (and don't), we will become more sympathetic to our own hallucinations?

Wednesday, July 15, 2026

Religious Experiencing

I have taken precious few pictures lately, here just so this post gets a thumbnail is one of [a good bit of] my chopstick holder collection from when I lived in Japan as a child, which now lives in a box in the attic but got a short airing on the bed yesterday. 

"Religious Experiencing: William James and Eugene Gendlin" by John J. Shea (1987, University Press of America) was indeed short and sweet. Which is to say, it was a Ph.D. dissertation, and not an overly exciting one. Essentially, he read all the books on this so I don't have to. I'm all up to speed on this topic. As it stood 30 years ago, anyway. 

Both William James (1842-1910) and Eugene Gendlin (1926-2017) were interested in how our psychological lives intersect with our spiritual lives, and both recognized the primary role of what they respectively called "feeling" and "experiencing" in how we learn and grow, and also in how we relate to the divine. Left brain vs. right brain: right brain wins. James wrote:
Our impulsive belief is here always what sets up the original body of truth, and our philosophy is but its showy verbalized translation. The immediate assurance is the deep thing in us, the argument is but a surface exhibition. Instinct leads, intelligence does but follow. If a person feels the presence of a living God after the fashion shown by my quotations, your critical arguments, be they never so superior, will vainly set themselves to change his faith. 
They also agreed on the limitations of language: our full experience is always more than we can capture in words. James again:
Conceptual processes can class facts, define them, interpret them; but they do not produce them, nor can they reproduce their individuality. There is always a plus, a thisness, which feeling alone can answer for.
Gendlin took up this mantle from James when he created focusing, his six-step method in which a person intentionally creates space to feel the larger "thisness" of a problem before trying to associate words or images with it. Shea summarizes:
Usually a person tells himself or herself how he or she is feeling, what is wrong, what the problem is. “Focusing” is a complete shift in direction. If the person can stop and pay attention to present experiencing, gradually it will say what it is. The process of “focusing” is not only a step-by-step coming to know what is there, but, concomitantly, it is also an organismic way of being released, changed, and carried further in the situation. In “focusing” words come from experiencing, and these words reflect a felt difference in the way one is living. 
So: our deepest knowings are experiential. As are our knowings about the deepest things (which Shea calls "religious"; I think today he'd be more likely to use the term "spiritual"). Where, though, is there room for the experiential in religion? Anyone who has beat their head against the solid walls of a religious dogma would be tempted to throw up their hands and and say there just isn't. Shea quotes Abraham Maslow:
Most people lose or forget the subjectively religious experience, and define Religion as a set of habits, behaviors, dogmas, forms, which at the extreme becomes entirely legalistic and bureaucratic, conventional, empty, and in the truest meaning of the word, anti-religious. The mystic experience, the illumination, the great awakening, along with the charismatic seer who started the whole thing, are forgotten, lost, or transformed into their opposites. Organized religion, the churches, finally may become the major enemies of the religious experience and the religious experiencer. 
Shea outlines three ways that institutions tend to bypass the experiential in trying to communicate the religious: "process skipping" (drawing conclusions about God through logical leaps, failing to take the time for experiential steps), "ontologizing" (focusing on the philosophy of if/what God is to the detriment of how/do we experience the Divine) and "theologizing" (creating a coherent intellectual framework for talking about God but ignoring the experiential roots of theology). The danger here is larger than just talking ourselves into irrelevance--Gendlin warns that shoving values down peoples' throats can backfire:
Value-conclusions can be adopted without the experiential process leading to them, but accompanied by experiences of confusion, denial, conflict, and surrender of certain areas of enterprise. Such an adoption usually makes it less likely that the individual will ever obtain the experiential process leading to these values, than that he will arrive experientially at other values. It has a thousand side effects, including the predictable behavior differences involved in attempting to act as though he really had the given values, along with failure consequences, conflicts or inferiority, abasement, and resentment.[1]
"Attempting to act as though he really had the given values" describes so much of my experience of church.... But I'm still not at the point where I want to give up on organized religion entirely. I think its task is a fundamentally ambivalent one: spiritually is personal and experiential, but it is also about connection and our part in the Whole. The problem of finding *communal* language and creating *communal* practice to express our *communal* experience, our interrelatedness, our interdependence in the face of the Ultimate is not a trivial one. I think (hope!) that we do not need to throw out the tools we have so much as we need to recognize and admit--again and again and yet again--how inadequate and imperfect they are. Shea quotes James discussing what he calls "knowledge of acquaintance," 
...which stresses immediate experience as a starting point or as a prerequisite for knowledge...For example, I am acquainted with the color blue or the taste of a pear, but I cannot transmit knowledge about these things to someone who has not directly experienced them. [James writes:] "I cannot describe them, make a blind man guess what blue is like, define to a child just what a syllogism, or tell a philosopher in just what respect distance is just what it is, and differs from other forms of relation. At most, I can say to my friends, Go to certain places and act in certain ways, and these objects will probably come."
This makes me wonder if Maslow's "habits, behaviors, dogmas, forms" do have their place. They aren't answers, but they might help point us in the right direction. Shea quotes James Michael Lee:
Religious language arises from religious experience and/or points to religious experience and/or describes religious experience and/or seeks to clarify and interpret religious experience. The past, present, and future primacy must therefore rest ultimately on religious experience, not on religious language. The religious educator never ought to allow religious language to get in the way of religious experience.
And that is the take-home message of this book, I think. Religious language is necessary, but it is in all cases incomplete and secondary.

Have I linked to this lovely focusing video yet? If you know me you've probably been subjected to it already. I think there must be a collective equivalent to the left-brain / right-brain / whole brain analogy here: in church we need space for individual experience AND we need space for common words AND we need the participatory processes that will help us move forward with both together. I sound like a broken record on this front, I know. Give a girl a hammer...

...and she will lug it around and see nails everywhere but be too timid to smack anything?

Might happen, someday. Who knows? Onwards.


[1] This from an essay called "Values and the Process of Experiencing," which I would very much like to read in its entirety and good news! It is available from the psychology library at the University of Zurich. But not so fast Susannah - the psychology library is closed for relocation until August 31. So stay tuned on this front.


Thursday, July 9, 2026

summer

Once again I installed myself at the Landesmuseum library with the assignment to write and post *something* before going back to to my usual routine of moping around the apartment, wondering when the weather will cool down, and trying to figure out what we are going to do for the kids' upcoming three weeks of summer vacation. The summer plan so far: mope around the apartment and hope the weather will cool down.

This is, of course, ridiculous. There are so many awesome swimming opportunities in Zurich! And so many other gorgeous and fully public-transit-accessible Swiss activities waiting to be enjoyed. With luck we will pull ourselves together, slather on the sunscreen, and venture out. Or if not, maybe I will pull myself together and get some reading done. Before the Landesmuseum, I was haunting the underground stacks of the Zentralbibliothek and five (5) books leapt into my backpack. As they are wont to do.

One of the five is "Religious Experiencing: William James and Eugene Gendlin," a published version of the 1987 Ph.D. dissertation of Augustinian priest John J. Shea. How exactly it found its way to the university library in Zurich, or onto my books-to-look-at list, I'm not sure - but I'm a big fan of both philosophers and it appears to be short and sweet, so I'm excited to dig in.

Maybe it will help me work myself out of my current what-is-my-life hole, which lately only seems to be getting deeper. The longer I think about what to do next, the more dire the situation seems. Why do I get so tied in knots about things that seem to come so naturally to other people? Example: we had a choir dinner last week. I was sitting with the choir director and two doctors, successful women all, as they chatted about their work lives and extended families and vacation plans and the many languages they speak and I just sat there with not a single thing to add to the conversation, feeling more dumb and hopeless by the minute. Is this neurodiversity? Anxiety? Am I just that out of place in here? I feel like being American would be awkward enough in this situation, but I don't even have a good handle on that, so in a place where identities and roles are everything, I'm just routinely very lost.

And/or: I was looking at Eugene Gendlin's "experiencing scale" this morning, and I wonder if perhaps I feel atypically uncomfortable with conversations around stages 1 and 2 ("The speaker tells a story...") - where it seems everyone else likes to hang out - and on the other hand unusually comfortable around stage 4 ("Feelings or the experience of events, rather than the events themselves, are the subject of the discourse"). Like, depth is theoretically good, but I'm perennially on the wrong wavelength. One does not chat about existential angst during the choir dinner, regardless of how sleep deprived one is because climate change has made it too hot in one's apartment...

I have been managing to venture out occasionally: last weekend to Einsiedeln, where the sky was stunningly blue and the temperature a very refreshing four degrees cooler than Zurich. You'll have to click through to see it, but I love how someone added the little "danke!" to the end of this grumpy no trespassing sign. 

Thursday, June 18, 2026

campaigning

So the Catholic Church in Canton Zurich has a new publicity campaign. The posters look like this:




The theme is miteinander / füreinander - together / for each other - and the posters depict people doing churchy things.  

There's a video to go with it; the message is church-is-there-when-the-going-gets-tough - which is, as a friend said, "kind of dark," but I think a lot of people are feeling dark these days, so it does hit a certain nerve. From the campaign video, my rough translation:

...no one knows how things will go, but we can always grieve together, share a meal together, celebrate together; be there for each other, care for each other, live for each other.

Amen.

The campaign website talks about a survey in which 65% of respondents had a negative image of the Church (because abuse scandals, they say), but also 

The engagement of the Church in the social sector was perceived as important and positive: not only observed, but expected - and also delivered. Equally important for many people was spiritual accompaniment in emergency situations: in the hospital or after an accident or death.  

I personally would wish for a Church more able to show that it is willing to engage with its own challenges and those of society at large (even really simply: why is the video in only one language, and without subtitles??) - but if we want people to keep paying their church taxes, it's undoubtedly good to focus on our perceived strengths.

Meanwhile...

The insurance company CSS is also running an ad campaign right now, and it looks like this:



Their slogan is Glaub and dich - du bist unglaublich - believe in yourself, you're unbelievable - and each poster features a fun fact about the human body paired with an emotional affirmation.

Your muscles contract millions of times a day -
and sometimes it takes the most energy to let go.

Your skin renews itself every 28 days -
but a touch lasts for ever.

Every 50 milliseconds your body corrects its balance -
because you are made to catch yourself again.

In your sleep you repair billions of cells -
because your body believes that you will bounce back.

You generate up to 6200 thoughts a day -
and sometimes a single one won't leave you alone.

Your eyes take in up to 10 million impressions every second -
      but sometimes you see most clearly when they are closed.

Their website has a quiz about resilience, a calculator which uses your age to calculate what your body has already accomplished (my heart has pumped enough to power a Swiss house for 48 days?!), reasons to choose CSS as your insurer, and of course an insurance premium calculator.

So I've been comparing and contrasting.

  • One of these organizations is a for-profit entity trying to sell you a product that costs on the order of a $1,000/month; the other trying to convince you to keep paying optional taxes on the order of $100/month. Their ad budgets probably also differ by at least that order of magnitude. So the insurance company's campaign is slicker than the Church's. Not unexpected.
  • They're both using images of mostly-white people. Disappointing in both cases, really, but the Church did make a bit of an effort, so I guess that's something.
  • One campaign focuses on community support; the other on individual resilience. Both are important, right?
  • The campaign that touches on themes of belief and spirituality, the one that has some Good News for us...isn't the one you might expect. Must I read it as a cynical attempt to pull at heartstrings to advance capitalism? Can I wish for a Church that can express its gospel in such universal language?