How many stories could come from one language, how many verses before we exhaust its meaning? Our universe is but one verse flowing from the language of possibility. Our actual world has not exhausted the dimension of what-could-be. Humans are uniquely drawn to this dimension, invited to leap into the world of not-yet. Intuition and imagination show the way, and what we find in this other-worldly dimension are the most delightful creatures: Beautiful bundles of possibility desiring to make their way back with us, to the land where they may find flesh – actual existence; harmonies of values seeking embodiment.
Think of your own life – how much of your thoughts and energy are engaged with the past, and how much is occupied with the future? Of course, it can’t be accurately measured for most of it happens unconsciously, but the way in which our occupation with the past manifests is in feelings of missed opportunities, disappointments, regrets – or gratitude and a sense of wisdom gained. The way we feel the future is through anxiety, fear, or excitement and joyful anticipation. Reality is two-sided: Actuality is the story that brought us here, and possibility is what draws us forward. Possibility might not be as obviously real as actuality, but it is real nonetheless, for nothing could actually exist if it were not possible.
So much of our culture and technology keeps us occupied with the actual world. There are many ways of shuffling the components of what exists to produce something new. However, the most exciting and valuable novelties do not come from rearranging what is; rather, by reaching into the not-actual world, the world of possibility, we may find something that has never been before. We have the capacity to escort these unique bundles of possibilities through this journey of incarnation, to find a body, and become actual.
Divine Detachment.
To make the journey to the world of possibility requires some degree of detachment from what is actual. Imagination provides a path to this realm, but there are many detours. Creative imagination is not the same as entertainment. We may be entertained by watching a movie – someone else’s imagination made visible – but that doesn’t require much creativity. To truly engage our creative imagination is an intense and unique journey. It most often requires detaching from distractions, even detaching from your physical senses. Various practices of meditation and prayer have been developed for this very purpose, to reduce our feeling of what is actual and increase our feeling of what is possible.
This kind of practiced detachment is not an escape from our world, but a revitalizing of its essential source. Practices such as meditation and prayer are ways of detaching from the temporal so that we may connect more intensely with eternal values … so that these values may find a way into our actual world and transform it. The detachment is not permanent; rather, it is part of an incarnational rhythm in which Logos becomes flesh, and flesh becomes Logos as envisioned by the author of the gospel of John. Values in the mind of God find opportunity to become actual in us, and we find opportunity to participate in the eternal mind of God.
Creative Tension
In the previous article of this series, we saw, amongst other things, how both experience and understanding are interpretations of our world, and these interpretations overlap. Understanding is a type of experience, and experience is a type of interpretation. We also considered the fact that we all operate with a personal “ontology”—a framework of understanding, mostly unconscious, that tells us what is real.
It’s not controversial to state that we develop habits of thought, and our ways of thinking affect our experiences. Habits can be beneficial, but they can also devolve into boringly predictable patterns that keep us from new and valuable experiences. The future does not have to be a repetition of the past. More is possible! Experience is an act of interpretation, and interpretation harmonizes both actualities and possibilities. There is a creative tension between all we have experienced before and all we have not experienced yet.
We can contemplate ideas that are not actual. This morning, neither Mary-Anne nor I have any set appointments. I’m considering going for a cycle with her on a new mountain cycle path we heard about, and then having a coffee at our favorite spot afterwards. The idea is not actual – it hasn’t happened – yet it is real enough to influence my actions, and consequently, make it happen. Our world is filled with actual things that began as possibility-filled ideas.
Possibilities have a relational structure. Clusters or bundles of possibilities would be a more accurate description. The possibility of cycling with Mary-Anne is intertwined with the possibility of getting to the location, being well enough to do the cycle, etc. This whole bundle of possibilities can be compared to the possibility of simply staying home and continuing the research work I’m busy with. And this comparison introduces another significant concept: possibilities are structured according to value. Some possibilities have greater value than others, and thus the structure takes on the form of a hierarchy.
Intensified experience.
The distinction between actuality and possibility is significant in helping us understand every act of interpretation. Every experience is a harmonization of the influences of the actual world and possibilities of meaning. More complex centers of experience have a greater bandwidth for possibilities. An animal has more options available to it than a plant because, for instance, it has a wider range of movements available to it. One of the distinctive characteristics of being human is the complexity of our consciousness. This complexity is directly related to the quantity of aspects we are capable of harmonizing in every act of experience. A wider range of possibilities intensifies experience.
This intensification and complexification of experience requires an openness to possibility, a vulnerability to let go of what we know and allow the unknown in. Vulnerability denotes both intimacy and danger. This vulnerability—this openness to the unknown—is an ancient theme, one that humanity has wrestled with since our very beginnings, as seen in the story of Genesis. This origin story intuitively explores the very matters that made us human and holds some key insights.
Genesis 2 ended with these words:
[T]hey were both naked (arôm), the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.
Chapter 3 begins with:
Now the serpent was more wise (arÛm) than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.
Divisions such as chapters and verses came as a much later invention, and so the connection for ancient readers, between arôm, (nakedness) and arÛm (wisdom), would have been even more obvious. A more common noun for wisdom would have been “hkm” (חכם). But the author artfully draws our attention to the connection between nakedness and wisdom by using the less common word arÛm. In other instances, arôm is used to describe vulnerability. Wisdom, too, requires a certain vulnerability, an openness to new ideas and suggestions. Wisdom is the ability to make sound judgments, and to do that requires the ability to differentiate between values. Enters the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.” (2:15-17 RSV.)
Richard Friedman, in his Commentary on the Torah, says the following:
Not good and “evil,” as this is usually understood and translated. “Evil” suggests that this is strictly moral knowledge. But the Hebrew word has a much wider range of meaning than that. This may mean knowledge of what is morally good and bad, or it may mean qualities of good and bad in all realms: morality, aesthetics, utility, pleasure and pain, and so on.
The tree of the knowledge of better and worse is a striking image of the value-based hierarchy of possibilities. In philosophy, we use the word axiology to refer to the study of values and their relationships. An example of child development would be helpful.[1] Before the development of an independent self, the child is immersed in their reality in such a way that there is no separation between themselves and their world. Consequently, there are no value judgments. Things just are the way they are. To make judgments about good and bad, an independent will, a judge, is necessary. Although such independence might be desirable, the development of self-consciousness will also introduce the consciousness of death. If there is no self to preserve, there is no death to fear. We have often interpreted the pronouncement “for in the day that you eat of it you shall die” as a warning of punishment, but it could equally be read as a prophetic statement of the inevitable: Self-consciousness will open the door to death-consciousness. It is partaking of the tree of the knowledge of better and worse, this development in consciousness, that inevitably results in an awareness of death.
The Genesis origin stories can be read as a mythical exploration of what makes us human. The uniqueness of our human consciousness, the intensities of desire, and the tree of axiological knowledge all contribute to our becoming. In this story, we grasp for the fruit before we are ready for it. But it becomes clear (3:22) that partaking of the tree is not evil in itself, for God partakes of this knowledge; rather, it’s the means by which we partake that can be harmful.
Leaping into the world of possibility should be a relational adventure. Like young children, we need to grow and develop the capacity to bear the responsibility of what we find there. For as humans have demonstrated throughout history, we are both clever enough and stupid enough to destroy ourselves and our world. We would greatly benefit from finding a guide in this labyrinth, one who has traversed this dimension of possibility before us and knows the way towards beauty. We can envision God as the one who “reveals the deep and secret things; He knows what is in the darkness, and the light dwells with Him!” (Daniel 2:22)
This God, knowing all that is possible, sees what is most valuable and beautiful.[2] In relation to each of us, they (God) are able to present us with the most relevant possibilities to guide us towards a meaningful life. Your very existence is part of the process in which bundles of possibilities find embodiment. What a privilege to participate in this ongoing creative process of imagining possible values and making them actual values, of introducing novelty into our world.
[2] Whitehead wrote: “The teleology of the Universe is directed to the production of Beauty.”
…to know that in being ourselves we are more than ourselves: to know that our experience, dim and fragmentary as it is, … sounds the utmost depths of reality. – A. N. Whitehead
In the previous post, I shared an absurd, yet profoundly meaningful experience. I use the word absurd intentionally, for such experiences are not fully rational. But they aren’t illusions either. Rather, they unveil the depths of reality, and not all of reality is rational.[1] And so, we continue our exploration of the nature of experience, both individual and the larger experiences we are invited into. That word “invitation” opens up another significant area, namely desire. Desire is another word for how we feel the future and are drawn to invitations.
The movements of desire, the experience of our unique selves, and the awareness of union are all woven together. Within the river of desire, two currents provide a creative tension: The desire to be unique and the desire to belong. These two currents correspond to the very nature of reality, which is both a whole and a multiplicity, both one and many. It’s easy to see why these two desires can cause tension, for we belong based on what we share in common, but we are unique based on what we don’t share in common. However, your uniqueness does not have to contradict your belonging.
To recognize our unique, discrete, individual existence is a perspective, a way of attending. To recognize the whole, interconnected, inseparable nature of reality is an even more valid way of attending to our world. Both are true, but they do carry different priorities. Let me explain. We’ve become used to thinking of bigger things being constructed of smaller things. So, the building blocks come first, and then the larger structures. This mechanical metaphor is, however, inadequate to represent the nature of reality, for in reality, particulars develop from the whole. We first have a universe, a context in which galaxies, solar systems, and planets develop. In the case of our planet Earth, we have biological life developing subsequent to the formation of the planet. On the most fundamental level, we have quantum particles, the smallest building blocks we know of, but they would have no existence without quantum fields, fields that span the universe. Discreteness emerges from the whole. Individuals come into being through community. Your individual uniqueness arises from the undifferentiated wholeness of reality.
From Abstract Ideas to Transformed Experience.
Don’t let abstract ideas distract you – these insights can transform your experience. Our experience of reality and our understanding of reality are two dimensions of one process, similar to exercise and diet being part of overall health. Just as diet can affect your ability to exercise, and exercise can affect your appetite, so experience and understanding mutually affect each other. Both are interpretations of our world, and these interpretations overlap.
Interpretation happens within a framework – a way of referencing and contextualizing. We all operate with a personal “ontology”—a framework of reference, mostly unconscious, that tells us what is real. For most of us, this framework places a hard line between our “inner world” of subjective feeling and the “outer world” of objective fact. But what if that line is more of a permeable membrane? Is experience simply a point of contact with what is around us, or is it our most profound point of entry into the heart of reality itself? Our experiences, as limited and open to interpretation as they are, manage to unveil something true about the inner structure of our universe.
Reality, after all, has depth. It possesses an inner structure and value. Our experiences—of joy, sorrow, wonder, and connection—are not separate from this underlying reality. They belong to, and arise from, this very depth. Experience is not simply an observation but a participation in the structure of reality. To perceive this requires a certain orientation, an openness that sees beyond the surface of things. Describing this orientation, the philosopher Whitehead states: “[it] is to know that in being ourselves we are more than ourselves: to know that our experience, dim and fragmentary as it is, … sounds the utmost depths of reality.”[2] In developing his thought on the nature of reality, he came to the conclusion that experience is the most fundamental constituent of reality, writing: “final facts are, all alike, actual entities; and these actual entities are drops of experience, complex and interdependent.”[3]
Drops of Experience.
Experience, in this context, is not an exclusively human capacity. The world impresses itself upon, and is felt by, every event. Even the simplest quantum event has a decision-making capacity. In more enduring events, such as bacteria, plants, or animals, these processes of harmonizing the feelings into a unity become more complex, but they all share this internal experiential capacity. Here, we find common ground. Our human way of feeling, relating, and communicating is a powerful, if unique, echo of a capacity inherent to existence itself.
This is the core of it all: human experience is not an anomaly in the cosmos, but an exemplification of its possibilities. Humans, animals, and plants demonstrate the staggering diversity of form experience can take. Yet beneath this diversity lies a foundational reality, a common ground uniting all existence. The absurdly meaningful moment that I wrote about before was an event in which my awareness expanded beyond my individual existence and merged with this underlying reality. I’ll repeat: your unique consciousness, your particular way of feeling and being in the world, has its roots in this common ground. It is the place where all that is actual and all that is possible intertwine, finding a unique harmony in the fact of you. For all their limitations, our experiences are not just an access point to reality—they are the only access point we have.
An Ancient Intuition.
This idea of experience as both individual and universal is an ancient one. The philosopher Heraclitus wrestled with this very paradox millennia ago:
It is wise, listening not to me, but to the logos, to agree that all things are one. It is wise, listening not to me but to the logos, to agree that the one is all things.
– Heraclitus
Heraclitus, and many philosophers since, have recognized that reality is both a unifying harmony and a multiplicity, both a recurring pattern and an unceasing flow of novel events. We experience reality as both one continual flow and as a multiplicity of events intertwined. Unity and multiplicity are not mutually exclusive, but provide a creative tension. The one consists of the many, and the many belong to the one. “One” refers more to a unity than to a numerical singularity. Creativity can be seen as an oscillating movement between the many and the one, a pulsating incarnational rhythm in which the ‘Logos’ finds flesh moment by moment, instance upon instance.
The author of Colossians gives voice to this experience of divine presence in all creation:
He is the image [icon] of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. – Colossians 1:15-17
The passage refers to both a multiplicity (all things) and a unity (held together): The Son is the firstborn of all creation – first of many. And simultaneously, all things are held together in him. The crescendo of the thought comes in verses 26-27, namely, that the one in whom all things are held together – is in you! This is meant to be more than a doctrinal preposition; it’s meant to lure you into an experience, an experience in which the whole universe comes alive within you.
Meister Eckhart said it this way: “God is giving birth to his son now and eternally. What does it profit me if the father gives birth to the son, unless I bear him too?” Creation is a process in which God gives birth to Godself in us, and through us expands God’s own actual existence. In this co-creative process, we give birth to God.
The existentialist theologian, Paul Tillich, wrote:
The name of this infinite and inexhaustible depth and ground of all being is God. That depth is what the word God means. And if that word has not much meaning for you, translate it, and speak of the depths of your life, of the source of your being, of your ultimate concern, of what you take seriously without any reservation. Perhaps, in order to do so, you must forget everything traditional that you have learned about God… – The Shaking of the Foundations
We exist within this great enfolding and unfolding described by the 15th-century theologian and philosopher, Nicholas of Cusa, where “God is the enfolding of all things in that all things are in Him; and He is the unfolding of all things in that He is in all things.”
This philosophical and theological vision of a unified reality finds a surprising and powerful parallel in modern science. The theoretical physicist David Bohm took inspiration from Cusa in developing quantum theory.[4] Quantum field theory can provide some helpful insights into the unity and distinctiveness of reality. As mentioned earlier, it encompasses both the largest and smallest phenomena in our universe. On the largest scale, it identifies fields that span our entire universe, and on the smallest scale, it identifies quantum particles within these fields. Everything we experience physically – all material – consists of these quantum events. However, here’s a fascinating insight: these “particles” have no substance in themselves; they do not exist independently of the universal fields. These particles are more like nodes within the network of non-material fields. They are bundles of energy (drops of experience) that only have individual existence because of their union with the field. Here we have a scientific theory that correlates with the philosophical insight that reality is both one and many.
How does this relate to my individual experience? Grasping this unity-in-diversity is not merely an intellectual exercise; it is an invitation to experience our own lives, not as isolated fragments, but as integral, unique harmonies of the cosmos. Any particular experience I have is a unique internal harmonization of the world I belong to. Or seen from another perspective: it’s the universe individuating itself, creating novel instantiations of its fields of potentiality. Or as Iain McGilchrist writes, “experience is participation, a fusion of one’s own awareness with awareness in the world.”[5]
Conclusion.
If we can soften our sense of boundaries, if we can allow ourselves to trust our world enough to feel its depth, it will open up a space of profound experience and transformed understanding. For the depth of reality is not only a philosophical concept but a space of encounter within you. In this space, you learn that although the boundaries of self serve a purpose, they are only possible because of a more foundational truth – you are part of something… someone, that unifies all existence. Everything within this universe finds a unity (Colossians), enfolds itself (Cusa), within this drop of experience (Whitehead) that you identify as yourself. In being ourselves, we are truly more than ourselves, for our essential sound is part of a cosmic symphony. Don’t let the boundaries of identity become so prominent that they hide the depth of your true belonging.
[1] The irrationality of reality is a central idea of Wolfgang Pauli, a quantum physicist. See, Kalervo V. Laurikainen, The Message of the Atoms, Springer – Verlag Berlin Heidelberg 1997, pg. 54.
[2] Whitehead, Alfred North. Science and the Modern World, 18.
[3] Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality (Gifford Lectures Delivered in the University of Edinburgh During the Session 1927-28) (p. 18). Kindle Edition.
[4] Then, when Wilkins commented Bohm’s claim that the idea of enfoldment and unfoldment also seems to be present in Hegel, Bohm replied: “Remember, I mentioned Nicholas of Cusa with his Implicatio, Explicatio, and Complicatio.” – Interview of David Bohm by Maurice Wilkins on 6 March 1987, American Institute of Physics, available at: www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohrlibrary/oral-histories/32977-10
[5] Iain McGilchrist, The Matter with Things, Volume 1. (Perspectiva Press, 2023), 106.
It was between Christmas and New Year, summer in South Africa, that a group of friends and I started a two-day hike in a remote, mountainous area. Nature, in its raw and wild beauty, always contains surprising encounters. We carried all our gear – food, tents, etc. – and the terrain was rough. The first day was a tough nine-hour hike, but it was more than sweat and exertion. An idyllic mountain pool, deep enough to swim in, was an irresistible find just before noon. As I took my hiking boots off and immersed them in icy water, it felt as if my feet could speak, shouting “thank you!” When we found a second such pool in the late afternoon, we did not even have to make a decision – our clothes just came off unconsciously for a refreshing swim. The last two hours were the most challenging as we climbed up a steep portion of the mountain. We found a suitable space for spending the night, made a fire, cooked, and thoroughly enjoyed a well-deserved meal. With full tummies and weary bodies, the conversation soon faded, and each of us went in search of some level ground and soft grass to pitch our tents.
As the sun set over the mountain tops, the heavens came alive. There were no towns or sources of light anywhere near, and the moon was dark, allowing the heavens to shine without distraction. Surprisingly, for this area, there was no wind, so I decided not to pitch my tent but to simply crawl into my sleeping bag, a little distance away from the others, and enjoy the unhindered view. Throughout human history, this experience of gazing at the heavens has been a source of wonder and imaginative inspiration. Myths were written and pictures were drawn as we contemplated their meaning and connected the dotted stars.
I am not alone…
Lying on my back, soaking in the Milky Way, a nostalgic memory came to me. As a child, I lived in a rural area, and on occasions, we would camp out in the wild, make a fire, and this feeling of awe would come over me as the heavens reached through my eyes and gripped my heart. I could feel them reaching into me again.
But then, something new, something deeper began to unfold. I am gazing at the heavens, but I am not alone. In the utter silence, the rustle of a gentle breeze over the wild grass announces the arrival of a multitude. Ancient individuals, various tribes, and communities from all ages join me in gazing up into the heavens and experiencing this same awe through my eyes. Some experiences are too primordial to belong to us exclusively – they are common spaces into which we are invited. And that is what I become aware of – an invitation into divine memory. In the memory of God, nothing and no one is dead or static.[1] Everything lives – even the past drifts into the present on the gentle waves of divine thought.
As I experience this moment of profound appreciation, it’s as if everyone who has ever had this experience still lives within it. There is a center of experience more real than my subjective view. It’s not an experience I produce, but rather an experience I’m invited to participate in. A larger subjectivity, a universal consciousness, is hosting me and welcoming me into a space that I do not own, but where I belong. The heavens belong within this consciousness. I’m no longer gazing at stars far away; I’m participating in their existence, expanded into an awareness in which all things are part of one living body.
The boundaries of my individual consciousness continue to dissolve. The filter that limits awareness is lifted, and I am joined, not only by multitudes of human communities, but by every living thing. I can sense the blades of grass reaching for the water in the soil as it expresses this yearning to live. I feel the divine desire for life, for existence, in every bug as it consumes the grass. To experience God is not to experience an entity amongst other entities, but to experience the essence of all things. Everything is saturated with desire, with an urge to live towards beauty, with divine presence glowing in its depths.[2]
I fell asleep enfolded in the company of the multitudes and multiplicity of presences that dwell in the unity of divine experience.
Present in another.
As I reflected on the experience in the days that followed, I recalled the reference to a “cloud of witnesses” in the book of Hebrews. It speaks of those who have passed on before us. In chapter 11, it takes this thought even further. After talking about all the heroes of faith, it concludes:
And all these, having obtained a good testimony through faith, did not receive the promise, God having provided something better for us, that they should not be made complete apart from us. (verse 40)
Those who went before us are not made complete apart from us! A connection remains! There is a depth of experience in which time is not measured by minutes and hours, but rather, by awareness. In this space, processes that might seem to have come and gone are still in flux. Just as Moses and Elijah conversed with Jesus on a mountain top, the usual logic of who’s alive and who can still converse ceases in this absurd moment. From a physical perspective, people lived and died. From this deeper cosmic consciousness, these personal processes are not complete – they live still, and are being completed by their ongoing conversation with us.
I also remembered the writing of philosopher A.N. Whitehead: “The philosophy of organism is mainly devoted to the task of making clear the notion of ‘being present in another entity.’”[3] And another philosopher, Judith Jones, developed the idea of “‘ecstatic individuality’, which asserts that an entity exists with the ontological status of its subjectivity to some degree in every subject in which it comes to have an influence”.[4]
Poets, philosophers, and mystics have searched for words to describe this experience of being part of everything and everything being part of us.
Whitehead’s vision of God also came to mind. He wrote:
“[God] is the lure for feeling, the eternal urge of desire. His particular relevance to each creative act, as it arises from its own conditioned standpoint in the world, constitutes him the initial ‘object of desire’ establishing the initial phase of each subjective aim.”
In this passage, Whitehead articulates his concept of God as a persuasive force. God provides the initial “aim” or “desire” for every new event in the universe. This desire aims toward beauty and intensified experience; it is a “lure” that guides each occasion’s self-creation, while still leaving it free to choose its own path.
These beautiful ideas were no longer just interesting theories to me; they had become intense, mystical experiences. Our thoughts are meant to draw us into living experiences, rather than remaining isolated oddities. Similarly, our experiences are meant to inspire new insights, rather than remaining unexpressed feelings.
In solitude, I lie and look.
A space unfolds within.
Heavenly multitudes rush to fill this holy place,
for here, they may live again,
and in me, find their face complete.
Appreciation ignites their resurrection
In solitude, I’m not alone.
Alive again in divine experience -
the fadeless awe that sees the world most truly.
Alive again in Christ’s consciousness -
the fadeless awe that sees the world most truly.
The language of appreciation and poetry is the most flexible form to clothe such living experiences. In next week’s essay, I’ll slightly shift towards the language of explanation to show that these words describe more than fantasy. These experiences of divine union are unveiling the very nature of reality.
[1] As Jesus once said: “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.” Matthew 22:32.
[2] Teilhard Du Chardin called it “the Divine radiating from the depths of blazing Matter.” in The Heart of Matter.
[3] Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality (Gifford Lectures Delivered in the University of Edinburgh During the Session 1927-28) (p. 50). Kindle Edition.
[4] Jones, Judith A. Intensity, An Essay in Whiteheadian Ontology. (Vanderbilt University Press, 1998) p. xii.
It’s 2 pm, and we are unaware of how consequential the decision we are about to make will be. Earlier this morning, two friends and I set off on a hiking adventure consisting of a five-hour steep hike up a mountain, followed by rappelling/abseiling down sixteen waterfalls and cliffs, each between 12 and 80 meters high. We began our climb at 8 am, a bit later than we hoped, at the foot of the majestic Stellenbosch mountains.
The way up was a beautiful but grueling hike. A cool breeze was the perfect accompaniment to our physical exertion. The most exquisite views awaited us on the mountain top. We found a spot to enjoy our lunch, and it seemed as if the natural beauty and food massaged our fatigue away. After lunch, David, the most experienced mountaineer among us, suggested that we might have to return the way we came, as it was a bit late to start the rappelling descent. Once you rappel down, you cannot go back up. It’s a one-way route. However, we put the decision to a vote, and Roann and I both wanted to continue. Who wants to hike the same route again if a new experience beckons?
Because the route is rated as extremely difficult, few people attempt it. Consequently, there were no clear paths – the terrain was wild. It took us longer than we hoped to find the first rappelling site, but wow, what a stunning location! Rappelling down in cold mountain water was exactly what our bodies craved after the hot and sweaty hike up. Yet, simultaneously, we had to give each movement our attention as the cliffs were slippery, and a wrong move could result in serious injury. Amidst such beauty, intimate immersion in nature, and intense attention to detail, it is easy to lose track of time.
It was after the fourth waterfall descent that one of us noticed the time, while taking a photo with his phone. 6 pm! There were only two hours of daylight left, and no way we would make it down in time. Realizing this, we tried to phone our wives and let them know the situation, but we had no reception. With renewed urgency, we made our way down another two waterfalls. I noticed myself shivering as the evening air, high up in the mountains, turned icy, and being wet only made it worse. None of us brought warm clothing. Thankfully, we each had a thin t-shirt/pullover in addition to the wet shirts we were wearing.
We decided to push on as far as we could in the hope of getting cellphone reception and shelter from the icy wind. The next two descents were the highest and most difficult – a 40-meter drop onto a small ledge on the wet cliff face, followed by a 60-meter drop into a stream. David and I sat huddling together to resist the icy wind as Roann made his way down. I went next. My descent was synchronized with the setting sun. There was hardly enough room for two people on the ledge. By the time David made it onto the ledge, the evening dusk faded. Occasional clouds hid the stars, resulting in a thick darkness. I could not see my own hand waving in front of my face. As I stood with my back against the cliff in utter darkness, the feeling of exhilaration and adventure gave way to the harsh reality of our situation. What the hell am I doing here! But this was not the time to panic. Finding our way down was a matter of life or death. Feeling our way around the cliff face, we found the bracket on which to attach the rope. This time, I went first. Occasionally, the clouds blew away, letting through some starlight. What it revealed was both stunningly beautiful and frightening. The 60-meter drop abruptly ended amidst jagged rocks in a slow-flowing stream on the side of a thick forest in a narrow gorge. What a relief when all three of us made it down into the stream without any serious incidents. Thankfully, the gorge was not as cold or exposed to icy winds.
Surprisingly, Roann’s phone picked up a faint signal, and we were able to contact family. The time was now 10 pm, so you can imagine how worried they were, having expected us to be back around 6 pm. They wanted to contact the mountain rescue team immediately, but David, having served as a mountain rescuer, knew that there was nothing they could do based on our location. A helicopter would not be able to navigate into the gorge at night, and a land-based team, even if they were to start the journey in the middle of the night, would not reach us before morning. Our best option was to stay put and continue our descent in the morning.
We tried to settle in for the night. No food was left, as we had eaten it all at lunch. There was, however, no shortage of drinkable water. Luckily, someone found some matches in their bag, and we began gathering wood. The fire warmed us while drying our wet clothes, which we hung on nearby branches. Sleeping seemed impossible on the uneven terrain, but then again, we were exhausted. Despite the discomfort, the hunger, the sore muscles, and the prospect of another eight rappelling descents in the morning, I felt at peace and at home. Our ancestors survived and thrived in these situations for millennia.
Then, in the early hours of the morning, David started reeling with pain in his chest. He tried to sit in different positions, drank water, and we prayed, but the pain remained. Not knowing how serious the situation might be, we decided to use the last bit of battery power to phone family and alert them. They mobilized the mountain rescue team, and as the morning light emerged, we heard the rapid rhythmic buzz of helicopter blades.
The helicopter crew surveyed the area for a couple of hours, searching for the safest way into the gorge. I remember that moment when the distant sound became louder and louder, announcing our rescue. The blades seemed to be touching the sides of the narrow gorge as it hovered above us. A rope was lowered, and soon after, a rescuer made his way down with a stretcher. The noise was so amplified in the gorge that we could not hear what the rescuer was shouting, so he just began doing his thing. David was hoisted first, followed by Roann, and me last. The sight of our evening abode from above, as I slowly spun around while being hoisted, stirred a sense of gratitude. The beauty and danger of this natural world are what afford us the opportunity to be fully alive.
David was taken to the hospital immediately, and thankfully, his heart was okay. He made a full recovery in a couple of days.
I learned something about myself during that experience. The adventure of something new, of a path not yet taken, is more appealing to me than the safety of a familiar road. That inclination can be a good thing and a bad thing. It is always our strengths that are our weaknesses. This inclination also shows up in the ideas, theories, and beliefs that intrigue me. I find myself drawn in directions I do not fully understand.
A New Adventure
In my journey of faith, it feels like 2 pm on a mountain top, and I’m unaware of how consequential the decision I’m about to make will be. There is the option to travel back on the same path that brought me here, revisiting the same themes and ideas that are so familiar to my Christian community. However, I must admit that I find the prospect boring. New horizons beckon, wild and untamed.
I’m grateful for the path that brought me here,
but I have no desire to traverse it again.
Its value, accrued in memory,
would be diluted,
should I stumble across it again.
What was once wild and dangerous,
would be made tame, nothing precarious.
I’m grateful for the path that brought me here,
precisely because it did not imprison me
in endless cycles of familiarity.
New adventures beckon.
Themes, topics, terms, and their definitions,
that once were novel,
lose their value if repeated again and again.
I have no interest anymore
in mastering the subject –
what a dull accomplishment that would be.
Instead, I find myself excitedly afraid –
a wild and dangerous beast is wooing me.
I’m drawn by what I cannot grasp,
a mystery unconstrained, uncontained.
I have no interest anymore
in mastering the subject –
what a dull accomplishment that would be.
Instead, I find myself excitedly afraid –
a wild and dangerous beast is wooing me.
I’m drawn by what I cannot grasp,
a mystery unconstrained, uncontained.
In my spiritual journey, “the path that brought me here” refers to the language and the sources, primarily Bible narratives, that guided me on that journey. I’m grateful for that path, but simultaneously, I find myself completely disinterested in traversing those themes again. Hearing another exposition on “justification by faith” has no appeal. I’m sure Jesus himself rolls his eyes when he hears yet another interpretation of what he meant with: “It is finished!” I’m very aware that these phrases are precious to many – they are to me as well. The point is that we cheapen the value and meaning they refer to when we repeat the same old rhetoric without connecting to the heart of the matter and finding its relevance to our place and time. We must find new metaphors to invite our world into this living reality.
Some experiences need time to find appropriate words – language that does not confine the experience but moves with it. There are a few of these experiences that I have been hesitant to share, not wanting to reduce the life-giving event to static terms. But the time has come. I might have found the appropriate words to communicate more than a concept – to extend an invitation into a living experience. To feel the essence of this invitation, we have let go of the tame and domesticated language of our religious traditions.
Larger than our Religion and Tradition
This is not a “falling away” from the faith, but a continuation of what always happens when encountering a God that is larger than our religion, our culture, and our tradition. Divine encounters lead to expansion – expansion in perception, experience, the sources we learn from, and the traditions we expose ourselves to.[1] Even Jesus learned that our religious traditions could become obstacles rather than guides in this journey. (Matthew 15:6)
We read about figures such as Abraham and imagine that these heroes of faith had their shit together: they knew what they believed and pursued their goals single-mindedly. However, if we attentively read their stories, we’ll see that they were more like us than we imagined. They found themselves drawn in directions they did not fully understand. Prophets found themselves thinking and speaking a message so counter-cultural, so contrary to current religious rhetoric, that dramatic events followed. On occasion, the whole community was transformed; on other occasions, the prophet was killed. (Hebrews 12:32-39) Although a good outcome was not guaranteed, they followed the inclination of their hearts with integrity.
Finding new language, new sources, and new images to draw us towards new horizons, is not popular with those who have mastered the old language and its familiar ideas. I’ve often been challenged for using philosophical ideas in speaking about spiritual matters. The criticisms can be boiled down to the strange notion that theology is divine, and philosophy is human – that we encounter divine revelation in theological concepts and inferior man-made ideas in philosophy! I can only laugh at such arrogance.
Appreciation and Explanation
Theology can be done in two ways. First, in understanding the philosophical assumptions on which our theological ideas are founded. Second, in ignorance of the philosophical assumptions on which our theological ideas are founded. Whichever way, we cannot avoid philosophical assumptions. It also comes as a surprise to those who criticize the mixture of philosophy and theology that the biblical writers made no distinction between these disciplines. The separation into distinct categories of knowledge came much later. The separation had advantages and disadvantages, but that history is beyond the scope of what we’ll explore today. Instead, I’ll highlight one advantage – a distinction that is helpful to me is that theology is the language of appreciation and philosophy is the language of explanation. They overlap but have a greater involvement with either appreciation or explanation, respectively.
There is no such thing as a pure theology from above – statements from God’s perspective. Even if God took the initiative to reveal Godself, whenever we understand or speak of that revelation, it happens via the process of interpretation. Whenever you think or speak, it is from your perspective … even if you imagine that you are expounding God’s perspective. And that’s not a bad thing! There is something unique and beautiful about every perspective. It only turns bad when one loses touch with reality and considers one’s own finite perspective as the whole truth. The very concept of “God’s perspective” is problematic because the One who is present in all does not have a perspective.
All of that to say, I have found myself drawn, intrigued, and surprisingly moved by extrabiblical ideas and sources. The insights gained there have hugely influenced my experience and faith. In the coming weeks, we’ll (Mary-Anne and I) publish articles, sharing some of these transformative paths – new paths – paths on which we hope to find fellow adventurers.
[1] The scriptures themselves are not shy in referring to other literary works for validation and inspiration! References include: “the Book of the Wars of the Lord” (Numbers 21:14) and “the Book of Jashar” (2 Sam . 1:18). More than 20 external sources are mentioned by name in the Old Testament alone, all of which are lost to us. Paul, while declaring that God wants to be found in the uniqueness of every nationality, shamelessly quotes a pagan philosopher: “For we are also His offspring.” (Acts 17:28)
This article considers a common misunderstanding of Rene Girard’s mimetic theory, particularly the scapegoating mechanism.
Listen to this example:
A conversation between Jonathan Pageau & Fr. Joseph Lucas
Pageau compares the Biblical scapegoat (Leviticus 16) with Girard’s scapegoating mechanism and observes that another sacrifice was offered up, which is not the scapegoat. Based on that, he concludes that Girard only sees half the picture.
In another interview with Luke Burgis, Pageau reiterates this view, and rather surprisingly, Burgis sees nothing wrong with the view and supports it by saying: “Girard identifies a particular kind of sacrifice.” https://youtu.be/zARN5r_x2KM?si=oEspQcH4Y3PLBB5u
I think this is a fundamental misunderstanding. Girard’s scapegoating mechanism is not a ritual, it’s not a sacrifice, rather, it’s a process that lays a foundation from which these phenomena develop. Part of the misunderstanding has to do with the terminology of scapegoating and the concepts they represent from a theological perspective and from a Girardian, anthropological perspective.
The semantic history of the word scapegoat.
The Oxford English Dictionary tells us the word “scapegoat” was coined by William Tyndale for his 1530 translation of the Bible. It names “one of two goats that was chosen by lot to be sent alive into the wilderness, the sins of the people having been symbolically laid upon it.”
It simply referred to the goat that escaped – thus the scapegoat.
This earliest use of the word describes a Levitical ritual. There is no punitive meaning to it. David Dawson, in his book Flesh Becomes Word, says the following about the semantic history of the word:
it begins life as a ritual animal, spends sixteen centuries as a Christian typology, and ultimately wanders into the vernacular as an expression whose popularity and breadth of application quickly surpass that of its primary meaning. Then there is the question of its earliest metaphorical uses. One dictionary notes that “the history of the biblical scapegoat in English literature following Tyndale’s translation is virtually a blank page” and that the word “has almost entirely lost the force of biblical association by the Victorian period” and so “tends merely to indicate a person, group, or thing that bears the blame for others.”[1]
And so Dawson’s aim with that book is to examine “How does the goat that got away become a signifier of vicarious punishment?
The history of the development of the scapegoat idea within Christian typology is complex and fascinating. Even before we bring Girard’s ideas into the conversation the scapegoat embodies a complex history. But that is beyond the scope of what I want to do here. If you are interested in that, get Dawson’s book.
It’s obvious that Pageau and others begin from this theological/biblical perspective of the scapegoat and then try to work out if Girard has anything useful to add with his scapegoating mechanism, assuming that his idea maps onto the Levitical scapegoat because it shares a term in common. That’s a misunderstanding.
Girardian Scapegoating Mechanism
Girard did not begin from this Biblical perspective of the Levitical scapegoat. His idea has its birth in the events prior to ritual and sacrifice.[2] In fact, prior to humans! So, Girard is not even imagining how religious humans invented a particular kind of sacrifice, as Luke Burgis suggests. No, Girard is exploring the process that made us human. He is careful to note that this process does not refer to any one particular event, or one kind of sacrifice, but rather identifies a general pattern that lays a foundation for all kinds of sacrifice. In addition, Girard is adamant that the process is unconscious.
Let me reiterate: Girard identifies an unconscious, spontaneous general pattern of events that were instrumental in the evolution of hominids becoming human. I hope it is clear by now that when we consider the concept within its narrative sequence, we are nowhere near the Yom Kippur scapegoat ritual of Leviticus 16.
Let me give a short (not comprehensive) description of the events. In primitive communities where there are no prohibitions against violence, an outbreak of violence would easily escalate. (Another aspect of Mimetic theory is mimetic desire, which helps us understand the underlying drivers in conflict. But again, mimetic desire is not in scope.) Uncontrolled violence often resulted in the near annihilation of the whole community, and such violence became an obstacle for communities to develop into civilizations.
As Girard imagines it, a primitive community at some point finds itself in the familiar scenario of escalating tension again. Frustration grows. Violence escalates. Will this be another frenzy of violence, everyone turning on everyone else? The group is swept along as if by an unseen yet irresistible current. However, something unforeseen happens; at the very moment when the group is about to descend into uncontrolled and violent cathartic release, one of the community members points to another. The source of the frustration is suggested by this gesture. Violence finds a focus. A crowd converges upon a single victim. One dies instead of many.
Girard speculates how, when the blind passion subsides and the violence ceases, the chaotic noise makes way for a moment of silent attention. In this flicker of contemplation, everyone glimpses a symbol that overflows with meaning: the corpse of their victim: One that was in the community, is now out; yet this death means life for the remaining community. Chaos has been transformed into order by this dead body.
In Girard’s thought, the mimetic cycles and the scapegoating mechanism are not processes which humans invented but rather, the very processes that made us human. These evolutionary events transformed animals into humans by providing the possibility for complex symbolic thought and language. For Girard, the corpse of the Scapegoat corpse serves precisely as the kind of symbol that contains such an excess of meaning that it can serve as the catalyst for the emergence of the uniquely human, complex symbolic thought.[3]
The very possibility of meaning relies on the recognition of differences. Girard shows how the chaos that precedes the act of scapegoating violence represents a crisis of undifferentiation. At this stage of the crisis, rationality does not guide the frenzied mob; an irrational act of violence brings a cathartic end to the chaos. We have here a moment of possibility: a moment in which their irrational passions are satisfied, thereby creating room to consider the meaning of the moment. Mindless rage gives way to focused wonder. In no other event might opposites become as intense and obvious as in the corpse of the chosen victim. It symbolizes the death that brought life; the chaos that brought order; the violence that brought peace; the outcast and the community; the curse and the blessing; the demonic and the divine. I would suggest that maybe this was the first moment in which we vaguely heard the appeal of “the lamb slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8), to our conscience. Or more precisely, the innocence of our victim created an opportunity for conscience, a sense of right and wrong, to emerge.
Within this series of events, in which an individual or a minority are murdered or expelled from a community, the chosen victims are incorrectly blamed for the chaos. And it is because of this aspect of the process that Girard chooses the word scapegoating in its modern usage of “to blame or persecute.” And he adds the term mechanism to it to emphasize the unconscious nature of this series of events.
Ritual and Myth
Please note that process, in this early iteration, cannot be called ritual. Girard give this early iteration a different name – the founding murder. Ritual and myth will develop from it. But the scapegoating mechanism is prior to ritual, prior to sacrifice, and serves as the foundation on which the great diversity of rituals and myths will be constructed. Why? Because the community will again face a crises and they will remember how the previous crisis was averted. For the effect and meaning of the scapegoating mechanism to continue, the community needs to remember the event. And the best way of remembering in a pre-literate age will be through re-enactment. Consequently ritual develops.
If there is a valid criticism of Girard, it might be in being too broad and universal. (We might look at that in another video.) But to say that he identified a particular kind of sacrifice with his concept of the scapegoating mechanism is simply a misunderstanding.
Girard’s ideas certainly have value for how we understand biblical ritual and sacrifice. But this value will be obscured if we try to artificially squeeze his ideas into pre-existing theological concepts. First understand Girard in his own right
Summarize the misunderstanding.
There are a few reasons for this common misunderstanding of Girard’s scapegoating mechanism. First, don’t assume that the term scapegoating has the same meaning across these different domains. In fact, just don’t get hung up on terminology – understand the underlying concept.
Second, understand the development of these concepts in their narrative sequence. A series of events that contributed to the evolution of hominids a few hundred thousand years ago do not directly map onto the Yom Kippur rituals. Some careful interpretation is necessary
Third, confusing the general with the particular is another common mistake.
Why do I think this is important to address? We all misunderstand things on a regular basis. That’s just part of the human adventure. Sometimes we go on and misrepresent the ideas of others, and that is a problem because it devalues the idea.
Girard’s ideas, if we engage with them deeply, have a great depth of value. And that’s why I think it’s worth bringing clarity to some of these misunderstood areas.
[1] Dawson, David. Flesh Becomes Word: A Lexicography of the Scapegoat or, the History of an Idea (Studies in Violence, Mimesis & Culture) (pp. xii-xiii). (Function). Kindle Edition.
[2] In his second book, Violence and the Sacred (1972), Girard analyzes classical origin myths showing that despite cultural differences, similar events gave birth to similar stories. One can see a definite shift in focus to anthropology in this work. The book received a positive review by G-H de Radkowski in Le Monde, heralding it as an “enormous intellectual achievement” and “the first truly atheistic theory of religion and of the sacred.”
[3] The philosopher Paul Dumouchel observes: “Girard’s elegant and original solution is to start from an undefined, exceedingly significant single symbol, which signifies precisely through the excess of significations that it contains.” Alison, The Palgrave Handbook of Mimetic Theory and Religion, 17.