Weird coincidences: thinking about the lyric "I'm the son of all I've done," and the implications of that in different belief systems, and then ending up in an (unrelated) extended convo with a dude who volunteers with the Gideon society.

Am now sitting still long enough to think out loud about this.

The idea of being the product of your actions is pretty reasonable. My main point of reference here is my understanding of the concept of Karma as taught to me when I was still attending a sangha.

Buddhism is not a monolith -- even the teachers I studied with seem to disagree about things -- but the particular read of Karma that was most useful to me was the idea that it is volitional action.

You think, choose, and act, and that is both who you are and who you become.

Obviously that affects your view of the world, and yourself, and the choices you make.

It isn't destiny -- one can always change course -- but the inertia and effects of past actions are real.

As someone who ruminates (probably too hard) about his fuck-ups, it can be very loud in my skull.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to believe that those things could be erased.

This is where that convo with the Gideon fellow is relevant. He was very enthusiastic about the idea that the "weight of sin" is a thing removed by Christ's forgiveness.

Ted Bundy was his example.

The idea being that Bundy converted, asked for forgiveness, and was thus lightened.

There's a similar Dharma story about a person named Aṅgulimāla. Long story short, he was a highwayman with a habit of collecting fingers from his victims (hence the name).

Aṅgulimāla met the Buddha, and gave that life up. He did the work, and achieved an enlightened state.

Which is cool. We love a good redemption arc.

But I struggle with both of these stories because what was done is not undone.

Divine forgiveness for an act against another person sits badly for me. If I punch Jack, it's not Jill's place to tell me we're square.

I wronged Jack. Jack's who I need to get whole with.

Aṅgulimāla is arguably an easier case in the sense that what his story is about is the end of a pattern of behavior, and the potential for all of us to do so.

You can be the worst, and still become good.

That requires significantly less buy-in, honestly.

Like, you can stop being Aṅgulimāla, but that person is part of the greater origin story.

But that still doesn't undo things.

And while a person might obtain solace from a system that ritually removes those things from play, that requires a certain amount of buy-in.

Like, if Gene steals from Jezebel, and undergoes some sort of ritual cleansing, Jezebel is still missing her stuff, and might well not recognize the validity of that act.

So yeah. This is where I am so far.

An additional thought now that I have a little time again: the one tradition I have encountered that has a satisfying sytem for dealing with this sort of thing is Judaism.

(Sidebar: Judaism is the monotheism I wish I'd had proper exposure to as a younger person; I was in fact refused opportunities to learn my family/mentors. Thanks, antisemitism!)

Judaism puts amends and repentance front and center. You messed up or did something deliberately awful? Time to do the work.

Further, the forgiveness of others is not obligatory. You have to earn it, and depending on what you did, maybe you can't. This is especially true with, say, dead people.

But you are obliged to do your best.

You have to own your wrongs.

This moves me deeply.

So yeah. I guess to wrap things up, I think my takeaway is at odds with the source material a bit; I want to try to do the kinds of things worth being heir to, but I don't want to trust the resolution of my wrongs to a mystical rebirth. Practical considerations are required.