IV The Human Experience of God at Turning Points: A Theological Expose of Spiritual Counterfeits
[With apologies that the version of Blogger for Mac doesn't do accents or even italic]
But what happens when we try to capture the vision, when we turn it into a commodity? One paradigm shift is from spatial thinking to linear thinking. There was a nice illustration of this shift in the New Yorker, except that the author is describing the shift the other way round, from linear to spatial thinking, which is the movement in conversion. Gene is an astronomer:
"In his mind’s eye, Gene holds a peculiar vision of the solar system, and it is not any solar system that I had ever heard of. In schoolbooks, the solar system is pictured as a series of flat concentric circles centered on the sun, each circle representing the orbit of a planet. In Gene’s mind, the solar system is a spheroid: a dynamic, evolving cloud of debris, filigreed with bands and shells of shrapnel, full of bits and pieces of material likely to be pumped into long ellipses and tangles, and wobbling orbits, which carry the drifting projectiles all over the place--minor planets that every once in a while take a hook into a major planet, causing a major explosion." [“Dark Time” by Richard Preston, The New Yorker, October 26, 1987, p. 72.]
To link this shift of persepective with the city/desert image, linear thinking tends to emerge in the city, and spatial thinking tends to emerge in the desert, the simplest reason being the difference in the ways our vision is focused by each environment, just as it is focused differently by the lane between hedgrows, and the open landscape.
The importance of spatial thinking cannot be overemphasized. We recently have shifted from a mechanistic to a contingent view of the universe, and we live in an age when scientists are naming newly-discovered particles “blue” or “strange”. It is ironic that hard science, as opposed to academic theology, has taken the lead in understanding the need to balance spatial thinking and linear thinking; poetry and hard logic. They are not mutually exclusive. And we need to think hard about what new theories, such as so-called chaos mathematics, have to tell us about theological method, for the method we use determines the sort of God with which we end up.
There isn’t any reason we can’t have the desert in the city, that is, that we can’t have spatial thinking as the primary, inarticulate, poetic, subliminal matrix within which linear thinking plays. But everything about the city tells us that it is oh-so-much easier if we just settle for linear thinking, following our noses along tightly logical lines, consuming or rejecting what immediately appears in front of us acording to the limited criteria that it is in front of us, and it makes us feel good or not.
Linear theology leads to such absurdities as so-called natural law that has nothing to do with the way God in fact made the universe. Among other tragedies, this so-called natural law has not only spawned the ecological crisis, it continues to ignore new information from microbiologists about the androgynous, multivalent sexual continuum within which all humans live, and in its denial has condemned a whole segment of the population. The homophobic seem unable to perceive that in addition to condemning people of same-sex orientation, they are also condemning God for making the world according to the divine wisdom instead of according to their pinched human prejudices. It is the pain of this prejudice that has created the AIDS epidemic in Europe and America: in the West, a large measure of blame can be laid right on the doorstep of the churches and their presumptuous claims to know the mind of God. And that Christianity has made us deathly afraid of our bodies almost goes without saying.
But there are even deeper reasons for us to be conscious of spatial and linear thinking. These two kinds of thinking represent two models of power, and each of these models of power leads to maturity or immaturity, salvation or a dead end, love or fear, and to each are tied attitudes that link death and power. For this reason alone—and there are many others—we need to get rid of the terms "spiritual director" and "spiritual direction" once and for all. The nuances of these terms immediately set up a hierarchical model in the unconscious that predisposes the relationship to dominance, co-dependence, and immaturity.
In the hierarchical model of power, linear thinking predominates. While linear thinking is necessary for survival, it is appropriately used only as a handmaid to spatial thinking. Because linear thinking creates a hierarchy of ideas, it is exclusionary and inherently dualistic. Thus, no matter how well-intentioned, linear thinking cannot reflect the God of unity and communion, since in order to process ideas, it must make fluid notions into static objects for the purpose of ranking and grading. By positing God, by turning God into object, it drains both life and engagement from that which it is examining—and God in essence is life-enhancing and in ungrasping relational engagement.
But what happens when we try to capture the vision, when we turn it into a commodity? One paradigm shift is from spatial thinking to linear thinking. There was a nice illustration of this shift in the New Yorker, except that the author is describing the shift the other way round, from linear to spatial thinking, which is the movement in conversion. Gene is an astronomer:
"In his mind’s eye, Gene holds a peculiar vision of the solar system, and it is not any solar system that I had ever heard of. In schoolbooks, the solar system is pictured as a series of flat concentric circles centered on the sun, each circle representing the orbit of a planet. In Gene’s mind, the solar system is a spheroid: a dynamic, evolving cloud of debris, filigreed with bands and shells of shrapnel, full of bits and pieces of material likely to be pumped into long ellipses and tangles, and wobbling orbits, which carry the drifting projectiles all over the place--minor planets that every once in a while take a hook into a major planet, causing a major explosion." [“Dark Time” by Richard Preston, The New Yorker, October 26, 1987, p. 72.]
To link this shift of persepective with the city/desert image, linear thinking tends to emerge in the city, and spatial thinking tends to emerge in the desert, the simplest reason being the difference in the ways our vision is focused by each environment, just as it is focused differently by the lane between hedgrows, and the open landscape.
The importance of spatial thinking cannot be overemphasized. We recently have shifted from a mechanistic to a contingent view of the universe, and we live in an age when scientists are naming newly-discovered particles “blue” or “strange”. It is ironic that hard science, as opposed to academic theology, has taken the lead in understanding the need to balance spatial thinking and linear thinking; poetry and hard logic. They are not mutually exclusive. And we need to think hard about what new theories, such as so-called chaos mathematics, have to tell us about theological method, for the method we use determines the sort of God with which we end up.
There isn’t any reason we can’t have the desert in the city, that is, that we can’t have spatial thinking as the primary, inarticulate, poetic, subliminal matrix within which linear thinking plays. But everything about the city tells us that it is oh-so-much easier if we just settle for linear thinking, following our noses along tightly logical lines, consuming or rejecting what immediately appears in front of us acording to the limited criteria that it is in front of us, and it makes us feel good or not.
Linear theology leads to such absurdities as so-called natural law that has nothing to do with the way God in fact made the universe. Among other tragedies, this so-called natural law has not only spawned the ecological crisis, it continues to ignore new information from microbiologists about the androgynous, multivalent sexual continuum within which all humans live, and in its denial has condemned a whole segment of the population. The homophobic seem unable to perceive that in addition to condemning people of same-sex orientation, they are also condemning God for making the world according to the divine wisdom instead of according to their pinched human prejudices. It is the pain of this prejudice that has created the AIDS epidemic in Europe and America: in the West, a large measure of blame can be laid right on the doorstep of the churches and their presumptuous claims to know the mind of God. And that Christianity has made us deathly afraid of our bodies almost goes without saying.
But there are even deeper reasons for us to be conscious of spatial and linear thinking. These two kinds of thinking represent two models of power, and each of these models of power leads to maturity or immaturity, salvation or a dead end, love or fear, and to each are tied attitudes that link death and power. For this reason alone—and there are many others—we need to get rid of the terms "spiritual director" and "spiritual direction" once and for all. The nuances of these terms immediately set up a hierarchical model in the unconscious that predisposes the relationship to dominance, co-dependence, and immaturity.
In the hierarchical model of power, linear thinking predominates. While linear thinking is necessary for survival, it is appropriately used only as a handmaid to spatial thinking. Because linear thinking creates a hierarchy of ideas, it is exclusionary and inherently dualistic. Thus, no matter how well-intentioned, linear thinking cannot reflect the God of unity and communion, since in order to process ideas, it must make fluid notions into static objects for the purpose of ranking and grading. By positing God, by turning God into object, it drains both life and engagement from that which it is examining—and God in essence is life-enhancing and in ungrasping relational engagement.
6 Comments:
Part 1 of 6: (broken into multiple parts due to length limitations)
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IV The Human Experience of God at Turning Points: A Theological Expose of Spiritual Counterfeits
"One paradigm shift is from spatial thinking to linear thinking. [....]
To link this shift of persepective with the city/desert image, linear thinking tends to emerge in the city, and spatial thinking tends to emerge in the desert, the simplest reason being the difference in the ways our vision is focused by each environment, just as it is focused differently by the lane between hedgrows, and the open landscape."
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back in feb, as part of a longer comment, i mentioned maggie doyne, a young lady who'd taken a gap year for charity work after high school, and ended up founding Blink Now (an NGO), which runs an orphanage and elementary school in nepal. in jan of this year, Emily Barrows, a nurse from the USA arrived for a year of volunteer work in nepal with that NGO, and has a blog of her own.
excerpts from each of their blogs are contrasted, first briefly, and then longer excepts to give more context, showing a 'city' person out of the city, and vice versa, and linear vs spatial thinking. (and if you follow the links, there are pictures too.)
Emily Barrows, nurse from city/suburban USA, while travelling in remote himalayan village for the first time:
"Because the land curves up and around so steeply on all sides, what you must take into your visual field as reasonable information to interpret increases exponentially."
from maggie's blog, talking about a father from one of the remote himalayan villages who was in central london (during the winter rainy season i think) while the charity 'facing the world' was giving his daughter surgery for a tumor in her skull:
"He couldn’t see the sky. There was no sun and where were the mountains? Why the heck weren’t there any mountains?"
Part 2 of 6:
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Emily Barrows blog, The Women of Oda
One morning I got lost in the rice fields. Each terrace of rice is no more than five feet wide in some places, cutting horizontal stripes of green into the mountain face. What would stretch horizontally for miles stretches into the sky like stair-steps, all the way up and all the way down to the tiny angry river raging below.
I knew I was close, the face of the adjacent mountain, the enormity of a particular jutting rock in the river below told me I was at the right angle, but I couldn't find my way up. I couldn't find the right village and every trail ended in a wall of green or a shelf of stinging nettles or the frowning face of a startled goat herder. Completely alone, lost but not lost, I was a child in a shopping mall utterly swallowed up by the world.
The mountains here are so steep that you are strangely never alone. A village on one mountainside can see the expressions on the faces of the people inhabiting the village on an adjacent mountain, but for those two people to touch one another would take a full days walk down into the valley and up the other mountain. You may be bathing in the river all alone, but the woman carrying firewood on their heads half a mile above you are looking down. Because the land curves up and around so steeply on all sides, what you must take into your visual field as reasonable information to interpret increases exponentially. It feels almost like the land is scooping up to protect you, like you are being both swaddled and exposed at the same time.
So while I was crawling through brambles, cutting back and forth on the same path, ascending, descending finding myself cut off and turning around again, the people in the very house I was trying to reach were watching from the porch as I struggled like a trapped animal.
Part 3 of 6:
and one remote villager transported to central london:
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January 2, 2009
Juntara’s father has been having some serious anxiety issues and suffering from panic attacks. The whole experience has been a lot for him to take in. He’s worried about his home and his buffalo and more than that I’m sure feels like an alien on a strange planet that he doesn’t understand. Culture shock really happens.
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January 9, 2009, From London
Juntara's father has been suffering from culture shock and anxiety, and has literally lost his mind. It's much worse than I thought. He says he needs to leave now or he'll die. He's sick and dizzy, hasn't been eating or sleeping and is constantly feeling like he is choking.
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January 15, 2009, On the Ground Again
Padam, Juntara’s father, is here and doing much better. He’s back to his normal self. There’s no doubt in my mind that he really lost his mind while he was in London though. I’ve talked to a few people who deal with ex-patriots (particularly Nepalis) arriving to new countries, and supposedly this is quite a common occurrence.
It was interesting to hear Padam tell his stories too; his impressions of that other world he’s been living in for the past two months. I listened intently, working hard to decipher his village dialect as he told everyone stories about the microwave, the washing machine, the shoes with wheels on the bottom, elevators, escalators, big machines that clean the streets—the streets, that are black and shiny with not a single piece of garbage on them. There’s hot and cold water that comes out everywhere too, and buses with wings that fly in the sky.
He says he doesn’t know what happened to him but somewhere in the week that Juntara was getting her operation, he got sick, and felt like we was going to die, and that life there for some reason just wasn’t suitable for him. He couldn’t sit down for more than a few minutes without feeling anxious. He couldn’t breathe fully. He couldn’t see the sky. There was no sun and where were the mountains? Why the heck weren’t there any mountains? And how in the world is it that you can cook food without fire?
What surprised me the most was that he didn’t stop talking about the kindness everyone showed him and how much love everyone gave to his daughter, that people there were like “Gods” to them, how Juntara was the first Nepali child Facing the World has ever encountered, and how lucky she was to have the doctors and the operations she had.
He had been so rude and crazy and short with everyone just a few days before that as I listened to him today, I had a hard time believing that he was the same man. I’ve taken back a lot of the anger, resentment, and frustration that I’ve been feeling these past few days.
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Part 4 of 6:
also from the nurse's same blog entry, a few comments on paradox:
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Emily Barrows blog, The Women of Oda
It is difficult to hold these two parallel realities in my head at the same time, the one of the overwhelmed mother of five small children, husbandless and starving in her dark hut, against the laughing girls who herd their cows to the river every day. Oda is beautiful. There is no safer place to me than drinking warm buffalo milk by auntie's fire, than bathing in the cool river, than resting in the shade by the waterfall. I have never met kinder, more clever people. At the same time there is suffering and death, sorrow and depression.
I can't run away fast enough. I fantasize about living the rest of my life here on this very hill. Every woman asks us if we will take her away, either to Surkhet or to America. Not in a pleading way, but in a curious way. Does it exist? You had the capacity to appear here, do you have the capacity to bring us there?
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Part 5 of 6:
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from a later post in the same series:
X The Human Experience of God at Turning Points: A Theological Expose of Spiritual Counterfeits
"The humble person approaches beasts of prey, and as soon as their gaze alights upon him, their wildness is tamed and they approach him and attach themselves to him as their master, wagging their tails and licking his hands and feet. For they smell from him the scent which wafted from Adam before his transgression, when the beasts gathered to him and he gave the names in Paradise--the scent which was taken from us and given back to us anew by Christ through His advent, for it is He who has made the smell of the human race sweet."
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not that the kids are 'beasts of prey', but the notion that we humans can sense danger and lack of danger, and respond with happiness when safe is what reminded me of the following blog post. (and of course the notion of transformation is something discussed numerous other times on your blog as well.)
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Transformation
I love to watch the children transform as they come into our home. They all come filthy, with nothing but the clothes on their back. Their hair and body are strewn with lice, scabies, boils. They usually have some form of illness. It takes me an hour to bathe them to get the dirt off. Their physical appearances change instantly. But something deeper happens too. Their faces change. Their eyes change. Their entire little being changes, sometimes within minutes. There’s this moment, I’ve noticed in all of them. There’s a moment where they suddenly let go of all their fear. It’s a moment of acceptance. They feel safe. Sometimes with a smile, a giggle, a deep sigh. I don’t know how to explain this in words. But from this moment, from this split second, they begin to transform.
Bindu has spent the past 5 years of her life living and begging at the local bus station. She’s actually pretty famous around here. Yesterday we went out to the market and at least 10 people stopped me and asked, “hey isn’t that the girl from the bus station?”
Welcome to your new home!!! We’re happy to see you smiling.
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Part 6 of 6:
unrelated to charity work in nepal, but related to the post above and having to do with the topic of limitations of linear thinking being the root of the ecological crisis, mansanobu fukuoka would agree with you. (as a gardener, you are perhaps already familiar with him.)
no extensive excerpts due to space limitations, but one quote from a now defunct link, that should give you a taste of what his thinking is, and current links to two old interviews with him in mother earth news that do a good job of describing his non-linear way of thinking and the results:
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[originally from fukuokafarmingol.info/fintro.html , now defunct]
While recovering from a severe attack of pneumonia, Fukuoka experienced a moment of satori or personal enlightenment. He had a vision in which something one might call true nature was revealed to him. He saw that all the "accomplishments" of human civilization are meaningless before the totality of nature. He saw that humans had become separated from nature and that our attempts to control or even understand all the complexities of life were not only futile, they were self-destructive. From that moment on, he has spent his life trying to return to the state of being one with nature.
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The Plowboy Interview: Masanobu Fukuoka (Issue # 76 - July/August 1982)
THE AMAZING NATURAL FARM OF MASANOBU FUKUOKA (July/August 1978)
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