Beginner's Mind in Transylvania

It's always challenging on many levels to be back in my spiritual homeland, and this latest visit is no exception. I'm halfway through a month-long visit to Hungary and Transylvania to root through the archives of the Unitarian Headquarters in Kolozsvár and also in the Library of the Romanian Academy of Sciences, where enormous amounts of historical documents are now stored after being seized decades ago by the Romanian state. My graduate research is about the Rev. János Körmöczi, who was a physicist (like me) and became the Bishop of the Unitarian Church (not like me). I lived in this city for two years (1996-98) as English teacher at the Protestant Theological Seminary, and I have a lot of amazing memories from that time and the several visits that have followed.

Culture clashes are always good for a laugh or two when I'm in Eastern Europe, and I have my share of embarrassing moments as well. Perhaps because this visit is longer than usual and I've been mostly left to my own devices, I'm feeling very aware of having to struggle through this month mostly alone. I learned years ago that, even when my Hungarian was flawless, people knew from my coloring that I wasn't one of them, and often simply spoke right back to me in English. As tempting as the thought of "going native" is (sorry about that choice of wording), I have to accept that I won't simply be able to melt into the crowd, and that I will likely always inspire those kinds of behaviors that arise when people know that an outsider is watching them.

I learn a lot about the United States, for example, when I see people in other countries behaving the way they think we want them to behave. Hungarians are incredibly generous when it comes to hospitality, and sometimes try to extend "American-style" hospitality to us... that is, what they think it means to be an American.

So what do they think it means to be an American? As far as I can tell, my friends seem to believe that it means being able to spend large amounts on money on a whim. To be able to just pull out our wallets and fork over the cash for an iPod, or buy expensive clothes without saving up for them or really even thinking about it. And it embarrasses me to think that this what people think we're about or, even worse, that it actually is what we're really about.

I mentioned that this trip has been harder than most. I've had a couple difficult run-ins with people that required me to navigate angry situations in a foreign language -- the first one in Hungarian, the second in Romanian. Neither of them were fun, and both left me feeling depressed and a little ashamed of not having handled them better. I pride myself on being a good diplomat, but functioning in a foreign language, especially one like Romanian in which my abilities are still pretty basic, inevitably leads to misunderstandings... practically every day, in fact. As innocent as these encounters were, my handling of them just made me wish I was back home, where I can navigate confidently and comfortably.

This is going to sound like a change of subject, but it's not: Hungarians and Romanians are the world champions when it comes to gorgeous, decadent desserts and strong coffee. (My love for this place isn't only academic, after all.) When I was teaching here, I was a regular in a swank coffeeshop right in front of the seminary, and I've found an equally decadent one very near where I'm staying. One of my greatest pleasures is to sit down with a beautiful pastry and a big cup of coffee, and read while I dose my anxieties with sugar and caffeine.

I had to acknowledge that, in truth, I can do this anytime I want; I can plop down the money for a treat like this, or a couple of beers, or a nice dinner, without really having to worry, even with the dollar as weak as it is. And that this ability is a comforting bit of home. I don't enjoy spending when I'm back in the States, can't even stand to walk through a mall, but I admit how much comfort I find in this when I'm discouraged with my language skills or tired of being reminded that I'm an outsider. It's one of the few ways I can be in control here when I'm feeling like an alien.

And, if you were hoping that I'd get back to the subject of history of science, here you go. I was reading a feminist critique of science by theorist Donna Haraway, who is apparently brilliant but really hard to understand, who spoke about just these issues in the world of science. The perspective of science has historically been that we can look at the world from a neutral perspective, seeing nature just "as it is" without our identity or opinions getting in the way. This way, science could be the same for everyone -- each of us would see the same thing and report it in the same way. Scientific knowledge has become what we call "privileged" knowledge in this way -- more powerful than other kinds of knowing, we believe, because of this "objectivity", and practically the same thing as truth.

Haraway's critique of this is what philosophers of science and historians of science have also come to see: that there really is no such thing as being a neutral observer, and it has in fact been destructive to assume that science and technology offer such an objective perspective. Instead, she urges us to consider "situated knowledges", ways of knowing that acknowledge that we each have identities and histories which affect how we see and understand things. True, they differ from person to person, but they are at least honest that it isn't possible to just melt into the background and "consume" nature and other cultures without being touched by them. Haraway's paper was a big help for me this week in realizing that I won't be able to navigate Transylvania, or its amazing history, without the tensions and vulnerability of engaging with another culture, no matter how good my language skills are. Encounters like these don't come without risk, and there's no escaping being touched by this experience, but the saving grace for me is that every unpleasant encounter is always balanced out by several gracious and kind encounters with the people here. These moments of big-heartedness and open-mindedness are ultimately why I keep coming back, despite the challenges; as hard as it's been, it's always worth it.