Today’s blog is an introduction to what it means when I say I am a mindful heretic.  I first began to think about this idea in 1993, when faced with an assortment of scenarios in my workplace, my church, culture, and family. I wrote about ten pages in my journal at a particularly frustrating moment, needing to express and explore the things that I was experiencing. I was at an odds with the norms for what it meant to be a legitimate member of my profession, what it meant to claim an ethnic identity as a mestiza Chicana with Jewish, native American, Mexican and Basque ancestry.  And in those pages, I wrote that I felt I should proclaim a “cry for heresy.”  Since a heretic was traditionally someone who could be formally ostracized, and even put to death throughout history, I began to consider what this meant.  What if one chose to walk the path of heresy, but simultaneously knew at a very deep level that this was not a challenge to the heart of their membership or identification with the group?  What if I didn’t leave or allow myself to be run away?

The orthodoxy of a culture or group membership is the established, authorized, or expected norms of practice, behavior, belief, etc., These can be stated or unstated, but they are commonly known and used as the basis for evaluation of the adequacy, appropriateness, or praiseworthiness of an individual and/or his/her actions.  Orthodoxy can include things such as the etiquette for social relationships, rules for dress or eating, codes of ethics, and can range from formally articulated rules to unconsciously held assumptions.  But what these norms all hold in common is the shared awareness (by the members of the group) that they exist, and that it’s preferred to be orthodox over unorthodox. Orthodoxy is the defining ideal for group membership.  And a heretic violates this.

When I claim to be a mindful heretic,  I have come to know this as a result of the fact that I am a member of a group, or personally identified with one–and  so intimately connected with it that I do not simply walk away from it because I disagree.  Rather, I stay, because the sense that I should have to divorce myself from my identification or membership causes me serious dissonance or discomfort.  I’ve come to recognize, over more than twenty years during which I’ve reflected on this, that there is something about the particular group membership or association that is important to me.  There is something about that membership or association that I do not wish to give up, because it is an important aspect of what I know I must do or be in my life.  Examples of this for me are family, my culture, my role as a university professor, and my identification of myself as a person of faith.

Because of my strong identification with the group, I know these rules and norms, even if I do not agree with them all.  I am aware when I am at odds with the dominant norm for the group.  It is this knowledge that keeps people in check in normal situations, by preventing too much deviation.  We know what it is to be “unorthodox,” and because we are group members, we feel the deep dissonance between what we have come to believe and what we have learned to be required for orthodox association or identification with a group.

As a mindful heretic, I am aware that there are “big” and “small” issues and rules. The ‘big’ ones are the ones that are harder to violate or oppose without seriously challenging the idea that we are “good” members of the group. As a mindful heretic, I have come to recognize that there are some serious problems with the ways some of the ‘big’ items are expected to be maintained in behavior, attitudes, beliefs, etc.  I have come to sense that rather than walking away from the group or identification, it is the norm that is problematic–and specifically, the implied necessity to be in agreement or compliance with it.

As a mindful heretic, however, it is not enough to simply know that we are not in agreement with the orthodoxy of the group.  Mindful Heresy is not a silent practice of dissent.  A mindful heretic comes to realize that closeting one’s beliefs, actions, identity, etc., out of allegiance to a group, or desire for continued group membership, is not tolerable or acceptable. It is not desirable at an important level of principle.

As a mindful heretic, I am aware that there are consequences for violating the norms of conformity and compliance associated with group membership or association.  I am aware that it is undesirable to the group and its members, and those who identify with it, for a member to act in ways that seriously or systematically threaten the orthodoxy.  Orthodoxy, in a sense,  is what holds together the social fabric.

As a mindful heretic, I mindfully, with conscious awareness, choose to act in accordance with my convictions.  This may be through speech, behavior, public decisions, demeanor, or proclaimed intentions or statements of values or belief.  As a mindful heretic, I mindfully,  with conscious awareness, anticipate the difficulties and tensions that this will cause, along with the often strong pressures to conform that will surround me if I am in association with the group whose norms I am violating.

As a mindful heretic, I am not necessarily an activist or leader of others in efforts to change the group.  I act out of personal conviction for how I know I must live my own life in order to walk with integrity.  In some instances, this may lead to larger movements or actions for social change.  Because orthodoxy is at the heart of a social fabric, it could be said, I suppose, that by choosing to be a mindful heretic, even if I am not an activist, there is an inherent strain towards change or adaptation implied by the fact that I do not ‘leave’ or abandon the group.

When I work with my “Masks, Transformation, and Change” classes, I always suggest that when the students are going to pick a habit to break during the course’s personal transformation project (PTP), that they try not to aim too high.  We don’t know how intricately our habits are linked to other patterns, beliefs, and identities. No matter what habit we choose to break, if it’s really a habit, we will be rewarded with insight into the other things we do, think, say, and believe that help to keep us blindly obedient to its call.

A good habit often goes unnoticed, like a well-behaved child who doesn’t seem to get noticed while his or her siblings who are misbehaving in many ways seem to get more attention when they do even one ‘little’ thing well.  Similarly, we don’t notice that the reason a good habit goes unnoticed is that it’s become largely unconsciously motivated, and it takes little effort or none to remember to do it.  When we have what we consider a bad habit, it’s the repercussions of the action that get our attention.  Whether it’s our health, suffering an injury, a recurring argument with a loved one, or getting in legal or financial trouble, those things we consider to be bad habits turn around and bite us.  But if they’re habits, just like the good ones, we are often unconsciously motivated or habituated in our behavior.

When I am struggling with a ‘big bad habit,” I’m beginning to learn that often it’s the cumulative outcome of many other smaller habits that are related to similar thoughts and emotions that somehow move me to do what I don’t want to do.  And when I focus on my “big” bad habit as my adversary, I often  have failed to see the army of little bad habits holding it up.

The thing about getting used to doing what I don’t want to do, what I “shouldn’t” do, what I know will hurt me or others, what takes me down a path of shame, regret, embarrassment, or suffering, is possibly strengthened by my desire to avoid the smaller things that have been out of balance in my life–perhaps for a very long time.

When it comes to learning how to break the habit of silencing ourselves in the face of oppression or a serious violation of ethics, harassment or violence, in our workplaces, families, friendships, and even in our communities of faith, I believe that we are going to have a much harder time being an effective voice if we’ve got a lot of baggage built up around other things.  For me, that’s often resulted in a really angry tone in my voice when I speak out, even when I’m not feeling enraged about the thing I’m discussing.  But chances are that I’m pretty peeved inside about a lot of other little things to which I’m not attending.

So I’ve learned that taking on small habits, one at a time, begins to have a cumulative effect, until ultimately I am not as threatened by the bigger challenges in my life.  When I gain confidence in my ability to change destructive patterns in my life, even if it’s just being better about cleaning the house, or drinking more water in the summer, that confidence is present when I am facing the orthodoxies in my life that I truly want to challenge.  And I can do it without losing my balance, because I’ll be standing solidly on level ground with my own two feet, rather than stumbling when I try to avoid stepping on the painful evidence of what I haven’t been able to change.

As human beings, we are said to function as if we are mirrors. Sometimes we look into a mirror and see ourselves; other times, we are the mirror reflecting back from the world around us.  Commonly, we compare ourselves to what we see, and other times contrast our sense of who we think we are with the evidence around us that tries to give us a glimpse of our frailty.  “That’s not me!”  “I wonder if I am like that?” “Is that what they think of me?”

Such manic and habitual thinking works really well to keep us in our place, we might think.  But from the perspective of mindful heresy, it very often is working to keep us from our place.  Being able to cultivate a connection to that inner voice that tells us what we are meant to do is a practice that takes courage, a connection to our hearts, and a relatively deaf ear to such things as markets, careers, images, and identity.

Sometimes, the call to our hearts can come so piercingly that we are catapulted out of our little corners of predictable culture and identity, and we reach to the heights and distances that we are truly capable.  We make a difference–one that is palpable and observable, and doesn’t need to be argued in a personal statement justifying one’s life or work.  That’s when mindful heresy is no longer in a tug of war with the ego.

I was moved to write today’s blog by the story of Narayanan Krishnan, and I invite you to watch this video with his story and ask yourself, “What would I do if I were as brave as this man?”  And then realize that we are all brave enough to accomplish our life’s purpose.

Have you ever felt yourself resist laughter out of a desire to “stay put” in the way that you were thinking or looking at something?  One of the most enjoyable aspects of cultivating the potential to have more power than your own beliefs is to learn to laugh about everything.This doesn’t mean to laugh AT everything. To laugh ABOUT everything is to be able to see the humor in even the most stubborn and proper, fixed and “serious” things in your life.  This has become one of the most enjoyable parts of my life.  My reason for cultivating this practice is not to become someone who ridicules or fails to act with proper regard for things when they call for it, but to develop the ability to detect when I am rigidly opposed to seeing the humor in something.

If I am attached to a particular way of seeing myself or another, to an argument I’m making, or a perception of a situation, so much so that I cannot step back from it and see what I’m doing, I’m probably not going to be able to laugh at it.  Comedians are masters at making us look at the things we take for granted and do habitually.  A good comedian can make us see what we do and think all the time, and when we see the nature of our own performance, we laugh.  Everything is play.  Even the most serious things in our lives.

When I can let go of the most serious, sacred, and intimately held aspects of my life, enough that I can laugh at the humor in them, I have learned I am far less likely to be controlled by them.

So, part of my practice to be more capable of responding authentically to the forces in my life, rather than responding out of a role or script to which I’ve become attached, is to watch comedies.  A lot of them are my favorites, and I get a lot of help from watching them–mostly, if I am honest with myself, by relieving stress and just enjoying myself.  My favorite comedies are in a way helping me to laugh at very familiar things, but probably also things that I’m already comfortable laughing at. The most helpful comedies to watch sometimes, are those comedies for which  I cannot find a way to laugh, when it’s clear that there’s something funny going on. Especially when I can feel myself going to a place of judgment and rationalization about why I not only didn’t laugh, but “neither should anyone else.*” That’s when I have a sense of the things that I hold on to most rigidly.  Some people have a hard time laughing at slapstick or physical comedy, others at comedy that makes light of body functions, still others have trouble when the humor in religious or patriotic practices is highlighted.  I’m not talking about “making fun OF,” but noticing the humor.

Our minds are a wonderful thing, and they can help us to overcome the barriers to growth that we put in our own way.  Just think of how many times you’ve probably heard someone say that you can reduce your nervousness in a public-speaking situation or an interview by imagining your audience in a compromising way–say, in their underwear.  It’s the rigid framing of what we’re doing, who we are, the groups we belong to, and what we believe, and many other things, that slowly builds to create a strong orthodoxy in our social behavior.  It’s hard to defy an orthodoxy that has its hold on our very capacity to think.  Try laughing at something you are doing or thinking over the next 24 hours, and notice how you can actually feel yourself loosen up.

*(Note:  I wish to make clear that I am not encouraging ridicule and humor aimed at hurting others, or bullying.  In fact, that is the very opposite of what I’m talking about.  In those instances, individuals are most often actually strengthening and reinforcing rigid categories and ways of seeing the world, rather than lessening how much they are controlled by these things.)