Not so much. I did not deny that there is pleasure in killing. But pleasure does not equal happiness. Pleasure is fleeting, happiness is lasting. Pleasure leads to delusion, happiness is eye-opening. One could find pleasure in anything. What does that say about pleasure?
I should probably clarify: By happiness, I refer to the condition as described by the Buddhist tradition, not the kind prescribed by a psychiatrist. Happiness isn't just the chemical reactions Crompsin mentions; it is a workable path based on understanding oneself and others, and seeing through delusion. It is a difficult thing to achieve. You can't get it by pulling a trigger. It takes hours, if not years.
This is why I warned Crompsin about the words we use. There can be no happiness in killing, though there might be relief, pride, or exhilaration (some feelings of which are harmful, ultimately). We are seldom unaffected by violence; it usually leaves lasting, damaging effects. Happiness can only arise out of violence with great work and understanding, part of which includes forgiving and understanding (and having compassion toward) those who sought to hurt us. The "stigma" you mention, Greg700, isn't artificial, it's as innate as the savage "natures" we enjoy referencing with so much confidence. We are not unintelligent animals. We are programmed with as much sociability (if not far more) as our capacity for great violence.
And, Crompsin, it would take far more than gender-based literacy and a silenced public for a society to be what I would call civilized. What I have written here should demonstrate that.
What sucks about killing in self-defense is that one has been drawn into a painful situation that will prove a challenge to recover from. And for those who do not see this probably have deep-seated issues that would make their path even more challenging, if they choose to walk it at all.
__________________
Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
Last edited by Baraka_Guru; 01-03-2008 at 04:56 AM..
|