The System of Seduction

I enjoyed a wonderful time in northern Michigan these last several days. I was able to spend five days and five nights of solitary camping amongst the Michigan dunes along Lake Michigan. It was a refreshing experience. (Refreshing, as in, imagine me in a commercial, hot and thirsty, guzzling down a Coke. I exhale, deeply satisfied. Aaaaaaahhhhh. Can’t beat the real thing.)

In any event.

I read Slavoj Zizek’s The Fragile Absolute while I was enjoying the sun, wind, and air of the great outdoors. In this book, Zizek makes several interesting remarks that intersect with some of our recent discussions on The System. In these posts, we have been considering the intersection between economics, politics, spirituality, culture, and the general health of humanity.

Zizek has much to say on such issues.

For those not familiar with Zizek, his interests are philosophy, psychoanalysis, Marxism, culture, and film….amongst other things…..he is intimately familiar with the works of Jacques Lacan, an important but difficult philosophy and psychoanalytical theorist.

So, by analyzing Zizek, we are introducing a bit of psychoanalytic theory to our critique of The System.

One of the things that we have discussed is that The System exists to create discontentment. I am speaking here as an American: we have all of our basic needs provided for us (e.g., we actually waste/throw away about half of our food), so in order for our economy to continue to expand, we must be always buying. As such, advertising keeps us in a constant state of discontent: we (the consumers) must always be “needing” something new. There is a need to not just provide a needed good or service, but our economy is now invested in creating the need itself for that good or service.

Although a Marxist, Zizek says, “‘Actually existing Socialism’ failed because it was ultimately a subspecies of capitalism, an ideological attempt to ‘have one’s cake and eat it’, to break out of capitalism while retaining its key ingredient.” (p. 19)

This particular brand of socialism failed because it was actually a “subspecies” of capitalism, but left out the “key ingredient” of capitalism. What is this “key ingredient”? It is the gap between the object of desire itself and its cause.

“There is always a gap between the object of desire itself and its cause.” (21) This is a Lacanian move. Zizek gives an example.

“Henry Krips evokes the lovely example of the chaperone in seduction: the chaperone is an ugly elderly lady who is officially the obstacle to the direct goal-object (the woman the suitor is courting); but precisely as such, she is the key intermediary moment that effectively makes the beloved woman desirable—without her, the whole economy of seduction would collapse.” (20)

There is a gap between the object of desire (the woman) and the cause, the chaperone (the obstacle). This is the gap in which the motivation for seduction operates. The fact that the object of desire is blocked fuels the desire to possess/seduce the object. It is because the object is blocked that seduction can take place. Seduction operates in this gap.

Think Eve.

Think forbidden fruit.

The serpent’s “seduction” took place in the gap between the prohibition (“do not eat of the fruit”) and the desire to eat of it. Without the prohibition there is no seduction.

Without the chaperone there is no seduction, there is no gap.

In contrast to seduction is true love: “In love, the object is not deprived of its cause; it is, rather, that the very distance between object and cause collapses. This, precisely, is what distinguishes love from desire: in desire, as we have just seen, cause is distinct from object; while in love, the two inexplicably coincide--I magically love the beloved on for itself, finding in it the very point from which I find it worthy of love.” (21)

Zizek then immediately relates this back to Marx.

“What if his [Marx] mistake was also to assume that the object of desire (unconstrained expanding productivity) would remain even when it was deprived of the cause that propels it (surplus-value)?” (21)

What is “surplus-value”?

Simply put, for Marx, surplus-value is profit, interest, or rent income. Capitalism (again, simplifying) depends on the motive of profit as the cause of “unconstrained expanding productivity.”

Who was it that, when asked how much money was enough answered, “just another dollar more”? Rockefeller?

This quote, interestingly enough, is really not about greed, per se. It is a brilliantly succinct expression of what motivates capitalism: the desire for surplus-value, i.e., profit.

Zizek talks about the objet petit a (a Lacan term). The objet petit a is the unattainable object of desire. As unattainable, it keeps us in a state of something like eternal desire. It is perpetual discontentedness. “The nearer you get to it, the more it eludes your grasp (or the more you possess it, the greater the lack).” (24)

Zizek next turns his attention to Coca-cola to demonstrate objet petit a. Coke, “the mysterious and elusive X we are all after in our compulsive consumption of merchandise.” (22)

In the next post, we will continue our discussion of the system of seduction by looking further at Zizek’s analysis of how Coca-cola relates to the objet petit a (and to The System as a whole).

In the meantime, “have a Coke!”

Out to the woods

I am heading up to northern Michigan, Manistee National Forest, this weekend for a few days of solitary camping.....leaving now, back on Tuesday.

New Worlds: The Call of the Pilgrim

No really. The inner voice that’s telling you it wants six million dollars and a nice vacation villa in Tuscany – how do you know it’s really your true self, and not just another imposter taking his turn at the microphone? Besides, aren’t you a little suspicious that everyone’s true self wants pretty much the same things: chronic happiness, lots of money, good weather, universal admiration? Maybe everyone’s gone too deep. Maybe we’re all delving somewhere down below unique individuality into the universal subconscious, where everything is pure narcissism, will to power, and the longing for fabulousness. p. 34 of John Doyle’s novel The Stations

What is it that draws a pilgrim away from the gravity, the force that pulls everyone toward the same things, the same thoughts, the same ideas, the same life?

In our prior pilgrimage post, Conceived in the Restless, we saw that for the pilgrim, something stirs. It’s like the split personality of the main character in the film Fight Club: there is a violent break in the norm, Tyler is breaking through. It’s not just a purely “inner” compulsion. It’s more than just an urge to extract one’s self from all of humanity, take up residence in the nearest cave, and hang a sign at the front that says, “Local hermit, do not disturb.” No, there’s something in the air, there’s something that’s not right in the general atmosphere…..and it leaves the would-be pilgrim with deep frustration.

A pilgrim is conceived in the restless.



Ultimately, the task at hand is not to define pilgrim, or even to say “this is what a pilgrim looks like.”

“For me the pilgrimage constituted an assembly of various ideas and practices: the pieces could be taken apart, bundled with others extracted from apparently unrelated sources, then reconfigured in strange and unpredictable ways. For me the Salon’s signpost always pointed toward the unthought and the untried. No permanent trails would be laid down, because no one would come along behind to follow the pioneers. Each installation of the Salon sat at the crossroads of an infinite number of possible pathways, all leading into the unknown. The same point on a map can be the beginning of one journey and the end of another. Novices and journeymen require different gear, and the Salon would be outfitter to them all. Still, the Salon could never hope to fulfill itself. Of the road there are no masters.” Prop. Stephen Hanley, p. 100

In this series of posts, we just want to stir things up a bit. We want to explore the idea of pilgrimage but also let the idea of pilgrimage explore us. “Deep calls to deep.”

While exploring “pilgrimage” (and letting “pilgrimage” explore us), we are simultaneously engaging in a bit of exegesis. The text is John Doyle’s novel The Stations. In The Stations, Prop. (short for Proprietor) Stephen Hanley stirs things up. He’s the Prop. at the Salon. The Salon is about exploring “the unthought and the untried.” What it is will never be clear and should never be clear. What it is not is a bit easier. Despite the fact that the Salon seems to be going about the business of self-discovery and self-exploration, the Salon is not therapeutic. It is not self-improvement: “The people who walk through the Salon’s doors have been raised on self-improvement, so they’re ready to aim themselves toward other ends if someone plausible teaches them how.” p. 7

How does a pilgrim break free of the pull of gravity?

Or, why does a pilgrim break free?

What is this pull of gravity?

Nietzsche talked about the “herd” instinct. He criticized democracy as being an institution that silenced the voices of the few and muted the insights of the gifted. This put the state on the slow and senseless path of the herd.

Kierkegaard talks about “the crowd.”

“There is a view of life which holds that where the crowd is, the truth is also, that it is a need in truth itself, that it must have the crowd on its side. There is another view of life; which holds that wherever the crowd is, there is untruth, so that, for a moment to carry the matter out to its farthest conclusion, even if every individual possessed the truth in private, yet if they came together into a crowd (so that ‘the crowd’ received any decisive, voting, noisy, audible importance), untruth would at once be let in.

“The crowd is untruth. Therefore was Christ crucified, because he, even though he addressed himself to all, would not have to do with the crowd…would not found a party, or allow balloting, but would be what he was, the truth….. For to win a crowd is not so great a trick; one only needs some talent, a certain dose of untruth and a little acquaintance with the human passions.

“And to honor every individual human being, unconditionally every human being, that is the truth and fear of God and love of ‘the neighbor’; but ethico-religiously viewed, to recognize ‘the crowd’ as the court of last resort in relation to ‘the truth,’ that is to deny God and cannot possibly be to love ‘the neighbor.’ And ‘the neighbor’ is the absolutely true expression for human equality; if everyone in truth loved the neighbor as himself, then would perfect human equality be unconditionally attained….But never have I read in the Holy Scriptures this command: You shall love the crowd….It is clear that to love the neighbor is self-denial, that to love the crowd or to act as if one loved it, to make it the court of last resort for ‘the truth’, that is the way to truly gain power, the way to all sorts of temporal and worldly advantage - yet it is untruth; for the crowd is untruth.” (from The Crowd is Untruth)

Martin Heidegger brings together the thoughts of Nietzsche and Kierkegaard in his philosophy. There are original thinkers and artists who can somehow see beyond their world. They can envision new worlds, or appreciate new worlds.

Heidegger talks a good deal about “worlds.”



Terrence Malick is a Heideggerian philosopher turned filmmaker. In his filmmaking, Malick often explores “worlds.” This is particularly the case in his recent work, The New World (2005, with Colin Farrell, Q'Orianka Kilcher, Christopher Plummer, Christian Bale). This stunning film shows the collision of two worlds at Jamestown: European conquerors and the native American peoples.

We cannot reduce pilgrimage to the drive for adventure.

The New World captures the Imperialistic drive of the Europeans. They arrive to explore new possibilities for humanity—their humanity, on their terms, for the sake of their religion, and without any regard for the native peoples. They will transplant their familiar, European world into the new American world, with a few upgrades. Call in Europe 2.0.

In the midst of this collision of cultures, the film creates two characters who rethink. One is a pilgrim, she is the Pocahontas character (unnamed in the film). She loves her people and her way of life, but she also loves John Smith, and she risks alienation by reaching out to the white Jamestown settlement. She is expelled from her people, held hostage by the whites, and abandoned by her love, John Smith.

A pilgrimage doesn’t always have a happy ending.

Smith is on the verge of pilgrimage. But he chooses adventure over the life of a pilgrim. He resigns his love for Pocahontas and her people to the world of “dream.” He takes on a commission from England to explore, to look for the West Indies. Malick, in his filmmaking genius, shows us that in looking for a new geographical space, Smith abandons the infinite spiritual possibilities that were opened before him if he would have explored the “world” of the native Americans. The world of the natives is more than just the land, it is a particular approach to the land. It is not just about transplanting humanity, it is a change of perception about being human.

Smith misses it. Deep calls to deep. But no one answers back.

A pilgrim answers the call and explores the new worlds--the new ideas, new perceptions, new possibilities.

“Entering an alternate reality is like going to a foreign country. You can visit as a tourist, always staying at the big American hotel chains, buffered from the foreignness of everything that surrounds you. You can march in as a conqueror, forcibly replacing the strange with the familiar. You can be a chameleon, at home anywhere, indistinguishable from the habitat. Or you can be a traveler. You equip yourself for transport, then wait to see what happens. Use the things you find around you to assemble a rudimentary shelter. Experiment with ways of distinguishing food from poison. Allow yourself to become a gill-breather. Experience moods that have no names. You become nonexistent; you become your own double.” p. 73 of The Stations

A pilgrim equips herself as a traveler, goes to the new worlds, and experiences “moods that have no names.”

How do we describe this force that draws us to “sameness”?

“On just about any dimension you can think of, humans tend to clump together. Go farther and farther away from the center and you see fewer and fewer people. It’s hard not to see evidence of some sort of force at work, pulling everybody toward the center. Maybe the force emanates from a particular point in the world, like gravity, pulling people in. Maybe it’s a force that’s embedded within individuals, impelling them to move toward each other.” p. 47

The force. It’s like gravity.

And then there are “the outliers.”

“But what about the outliers, the people who resist the pull to the center? Do the outliers lack the normalizing force within themselves? Do they try to huddle with the masses, only to find themselves drifting away? Do they float effortlessly above the pull of gravity? Or do they exert a counterforce that drives them out of orbit? Maybe the outliers are already moving toward what’s destined to become the new center of gravity, and the rest of us will eventually find ourselves being drawn toward them. For good or for ill.” p. 47

That’s a very Heideggerian thought: the outlier envisions new worlds, explores new worlds, and eventually their imagination and vision becomes the new center of gravity.

Let’s talk more about this.

What is it that is moving through the pilgrim?

The pilgrim is conceived in the restless. Gradually (or perhaps all at once!), the pilgrim begins to realize that something is moving through her. Or, as we have previously discussed, she is latching on to something outside of herself; it’s outside and inside. Inside out.

Doyle describes it simply, as difference.

When Stephen Hanley decides to become the Prop of the Salon, there are plenty of friends to question the point of pursuing difference.

“Among our friends the opinion was consistent: Why would anyone want to pursue difference as a goal? Happiness, yes, or at least relief from suffering. Adjustment, success, serenity, self-discovery, even self-discovery of prior lifetimes (‘Regression Therapy’ took up half a page in my progressive town’s yellow pages) – these were the things people looked for from a therapist. People wanted their lives to be better than they were, preferably better than other people’s lives too. They didn’t just want to ‘get different.’ No one would come to the Salon.” p. 39

So no one would come to the Salon. That’s the prediction. And it was true. No one came. So, he went back to the way the original Prop did things: just wait on difference.

“Of course my friends were right. No one came. No one called about the ads I placed in the local paper. No one attended the free discussion groups. So I stopped advertising, stopped reaching out. I decided to do it Prop Adamowicz’s way. The ratty sign by the doorbell stayed, and so did I. I didn’t replace the sign until a long time later, when the tape wouldn’t stick to it any more and half the words had become illegible.” p. 39

In Doyle’s novel, “difference” is what is moving around and through the pilgrim. The herd huddles together, people use “the crowd” as their measure of truth, and no one seems to be interested in venturing beyond the “world” of the familiar. The force of gravity pulls at the masses of humanity. But the pilgrim, conceived in the restless, must somehow begin to understand what difference means.

The philosopher Jaques Derrida created a term, différance. This term is a play on words, it combines “deferring” with “difference.” Try as we might, things just won’t stick. Words, ideology, definition, laws, and roles. They are never fixed in any absolute position. Things are always being deferred and differentiated.

“Différance is the nameless name of this open-ended, uncontainable, generalizable play of traces.” Nutshell p. 105

This is something undefinable, and yet it is more than being different for the sake of being different. It is the calling out of something new, the voice that said to Abraham, “Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you.” Deep calls to deep. The unknown stretches out endlessly on the horizon of possibility.

Difference is the voice that cannot speak. It calls the pilgrim to new worlds.

“Perhaps Yahweh’s great concern is the preservation of differences. Humans from gods. Humans from animals. Kin from non-kin. Men from women. Perhaps, finally, individual from individual. We’re all naked and afraid. We want to merge into something that will protect us. To become one flesh. Even if it means losing the very thing that makes each of us unique.” p. 125 of The Stations

The System and Food, Inc.

....the film is about food, and how our food has become less healthy, and about the high cost of this low-cost food. But it goes beyond that. It’s about the concentration of power, it’s about the relationship of these powerful corporations to government...

Food, Inc.

Has anyone had the opportunity to see this documentary yet?

Anyone planning on it?

It isn't playing anywhere near my area.

A link to the trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eKYyD14d_0

Interesting lines:

Grocery stores are selling "the idea of a tomato."

"There is this deliberate veil, this curtain, that's dropped between us and where our food is coming from."

***********

There is a good article at Salon.com on this film.

Here are a few snippets from the interview with the director, Robert Kenner:

Q: You didn't come to this project with any particular knowledge about the industrial production of food, isn't that right?

A: Yeah, I came in as a filmmaker. I was looking to figure out how our food gets to our plate. On one hand, I think it's kind of a miracle. We spend less of our paycheck on this food than any point in history, and I think that’s a great thing. But at the same time, this inexpensive food is coming to us at a high cost. I thought that would be an interesting subject for an investigation on this food. I didn't realize when I started it that ultimately agribusiness does not want us to look behind the veil to see where our food comes from. I think I could have been making a film about nuclear terrorism and have gotten greater access.

Q: We’re talking about mainly the large producers of beef, poultry and pork. Companies like Perdue and Tyson and Smithfield, and of course Monsanto, the chemical manufacturer. One of the things this movie is really about is the tremendous amount of power they have over our food supply.

A: Well, really the film is about food, and how our food has become less healthy, and about the high cost of this low-cost food. But it goes beyond that. It’s about the concentration of power, it’s about the relationship of these powerful corporations to government, and the lack of transparency in the system. And it could probably be about a number of other subjects, but what makes it all the more powerful is that you have to eat this stuff.

Q: You told me earlier that some foodies and environmentalists are disappointed with the film, because they say it's stuff they already know. But you're aiming at a wider and more general audience here, aren't you?

A: I'm really trying to reach out and bring as many people into this movement, which is an incredibly expanding, fast-growing movement. You don’t have to be a Democrat or a Republican to not want to eat meat with fecal matter on it. We all want to feed our children healthy food. So it's not about ideology at that point. There are some right-wing religious groups who are very active on the matters of food. It's an issue that can unite people. At the same time, we're up against very powerful corporations, and we've grown to love very cheap food. It’s wonderful how little it costs, but we’re starting to see the real damage it does.

And later...

Kenner: Ultimately these corporations are scared of us. And ultimately, if there’s a movement, the government wants to follow us. So there are a number of empowering points that we try to make, even though it’s a difficult subject. I think if people see it, they’ll feel empowered. But sometimes people are scared and don't want to know where our food comes from.

**********

I am not yet finished blogging about The System. What I started to do in that series of posts was to explore the relationship of power structures (governments, corporations), our economic choices, and our spiritual well-being. Frankly, beginning to think about it was overwhelming; but at the same time, exploring this important relationships has opened many avenues of spiritual exploration.

When I use the term "spiritual," I don't just mean some vague, Christian notion of the soul, rather, I am referring to the interconnectedness and interdependency of all things. So, to speak of "spirituality" does not simply mean our private, "inner" experiences, but the way in which our "inner" is connected with the "outer," almost to the point of not even being a distinction. As such, for me the idea of "spirituality" is something that one can discuss even if one is an atheist or materialist.

In my post, The System, I said defined "the System" as disconnect:

The system defines us as economic units. We define ourselves as economic units. Everything is mediated by money. And this leads me to my primary contention in this post: the system defines itself as disconnect. I have used the term “the system,” and now I am defining it strictly in terms of the disconnect. Or more to the point, the system is self-defined as disconnectedness. This is the level that is most basic to its core, to its being....

The rule is disconnect. The system’s survival is at steak. A content, connected society isn’t interested in economic expansion as its highest priority. A discontent, disconnected, and disposable culture will continue to work harder and buy more. This is good for the economy and feeds the system.

Naturally, then, for me it is intriguing to analyze the disconnect that exists between ourselves and the land. The system is so disconnected that we are even disconnected from our food (and water). I don't think I'm overstating this case by saying that such a state of affairs is terrifying. To (loosely) quote Derrik Jensen: If the system is in complete control of a person's food and water, that person will fight to the death to protect the system.

Our very survival depends on maintaining the system, because where else would we get our food?

There is certainly hope, though. If people begin to make careful food choices by growing their own food, shopping at local Farmer's Markets, or partnering with local growers via CSA's, then each economic choice can work against the system of disconnect. It requires a very new orientation. Making major shifts in where we purchase food requires more time and energy. Eating out less is less convenient. But time is something we don't have.....and we don't have time because the system keeps families working two jobs, or workers doing overtime to make ends meet, or young yuppies working the 60 or 80 hours they need to climb the corporate ladder.....so, we don't have time to think about food. We just buy the stuff on the grocery shelves, or make a run to McDonald's or Subway.....it's the system....it's the disconnect.

Each dollar we spend on food either confirms and empowers the system of disconnect, abuse, and fragmentation, or it connects us closer with the earth and with each other. Food has always been a political issue, and a means of control and manipulation by the system.

As such, each dollar we spend can translate into our own personal anarchy against the prevailing powers. Each dollar can be a personal revolt.

Conceived in the Restless

Two hundred years ago, poets and sages sought a back way out of the modern world through the wreckage of the Middle Ages. With the Postmodern Pilgrimage the medieval was revived again.
--p. 100 of John Doyle's The Stations

The Salon.

The Salon Postisme is an idea, was an idea; it was a vision and a dream. It was an opportunity to escape the reality of the mundane and trivial. The Salon became something different, entirely. In the end, it became an institution and a corporate entity. But in the beginning? In the beginning it was a portal into another dimension, a dimension of deeper humanness, consciousness. Something deeper, yes, but also an escape from the pull and the gravity of the deep.

John Doyle’s (aka ktismatics) novel The Stations is a discussion of pilgrimage. The Salon is the vision for the pilgrim. The Salon begins as a ratty sign on a door. There are no lights, no advertising media, no marketing, no distribution channels. Just a sign on a door. Stephen Hanley walks through the door. Something is restless. Something is unsettled. It isn’t just “an inner longing.” There’s something in the air, a mood, a collective sense. The sense that even though everything is efficient, secure, and “all is well with the world,” there is still an unrest in the atmosphere.

It is this unrest that moves the pilgrim. And yet before the pilgrim is moved, there is a connection with the unrest. The pilgrim senses something about the world that disturbs her sleep.

Stephen Hanley walks through the door and is handed the baton, he is the new Proprietor of The Salon, or you can just call him “Prop.” No training. Just the vision. Just ambiguity. There’s something that is not right with the world, something in the mood of the world. There will be pilgrims, those who begin to explore difference in a world of homogeneity and same-ness. That’s what Prop is here for, that’s what he wants to do:

“My job as I saw it was to enter into the client’s real strangeness; to have the client guide me into other ways of seeing, into exotic regions of the soul that we could then explore together. What I really wanted, of course, was to become the client. I didn’t want to pull them out into my normalcy; I wanted to climb with them into their madness. I guess I’m just a romantic at heart.” p. 30

Prop is ready to climb into the madness. Their madness, their strangeness. Something is breaking through.

The film (1999) Fight Club opens with the line: “People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.” The character speaking is the main character, but he remains nameless through the film. So, some of us call him “Jack.” And Tyler Durden? Tyler Durden is Jack, Jack’s subconscious breaking through. At the beginning of the film we only see Jack’s life. It’s a pathetic life. It’s mundane and trivial. “This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time,” says Jack to himself as he boards another plane for another business trip for another corporate gig so that he can feed his slavery to “the Ikea nesting instinct.” “What diamond set defines me as a person?”

A pilgrim finds something, connects to something. There is a mood.

Jack can’t sleep. Something is restless. Ironically, it is insomnia that begins his awakening.

“How often had someone come to me wanting to stop being something, to stop doing something? They wanted to get away from their jobs, from their friends and families, from the world, from themselves. The Salon Postisme offered a way out….People often come to the Salon equipped with a sophisticated ambivalence, an ironic self-awareness, and a vague general disdain that masks an intense and personal frustration with the way life was turning out." p. 7

The pilgrim is finding something deeper within, but in another more real sense, they are not going deeper within the self but rather connecting with something in the world. It’s vague and indefinable. It seems to manifest itself as “an intense and personal frustration” with the way life is panning out. And somehow, conventional remedies don’t work.

The first instinct is to run, to get away. The first instinct isn’t always the best instinct…..of course, it isn’t always the worst move, either…..But it’s hard to put a finger on just what a pilgrim feels when the overwhelming sense is that “this world is not my home.”

The frustration grapples to latch onto something, call it “sophisticated ambivalence,” or “ironic self-awareness,” or “a vague general disdain.” These are the “masks” that express that which cannot be defined, that which should not be defined.

But this is the beginning of pilgrimage.

This is where it is conceived, where the possibility of new life begins.

The pilgrim has not yet taken her first steps. She has not even yet been formed in the womb.

There are any number of possibilities.

But this is the beginning.

[This post follows the prior post and begins our exploration of pilgrimage]

Vulnerable

Vulnerability can be truly transformative when it is combined with courage and strength: the courage and strength to accept that one's vulnerability might be rejected, ignored, or taken advantage of. But we must also have the courage and strength to go deeper into intimacy if our vulnerability is reciprocated.

From homeless to pilgrim

Last March I posted Spiritually Homeless, an honest reflection of my spiritual journey in and then out of organized religion. I didn't feel I had a place to lay my head, no "home church" or anything similar. But I embraced this reality and in the post from March, I reflected on how being spiritually homeless can truly be a positive and life-giving experience.

For one thing, Jesus was homeless.

I put the post up on my Facebook Notes. (You can try this link to get to it.) The result was more than a hundred comments: various questions, comments, and mostly support and appreciation for a sincere approach to the issue of church. It's no secret that many people are having a more and more difficult time connecting with organized religion in a meaningful and life-giving way.

In the process of all the feedback and discussion, I had an insightful observation made to me by Tamie: You are not spiritually homeless, you are a spiritual pilgrim.

Ah!

So simple.

And yet so true.

For a time period, after I exited the institutional church, I felt lost and homeless: scrambling on the streets to find a meal, take shelter for the night, and scrape up a little money for booze every once in a while.

It was survival mode.

And it was necessary.

And it was good.

"Homeless" is a derogatory term for many. But again, Jesus was homeless. And this sense of being homeless is still important for me. To feel too much like we are at home in the system of the world means that we will never challenge the system, never bring reform, and never be personally transformed into something more noble and beautiful.

Nonetheless, I feel like "pilgrim" is a better description of my current journey. It still carries with it a sense of restlessness and discontent with the status quo: this world is not my home, this system is not my identity. And yet there is a sense of purpose and calling to travel, to make a difference, to challenge the system.

Drumroll, please.......

In some of the upcoming posts, I will try to unravel what a pilgrim looks like in these days and in this system. Together we will dialog about the pilgrim metaphor. In conjunction with this dialog, I will be engaging John Doyle's unpublished novel The Stations. (John is a frequent commentator here at Theos Project, his blog and tag name are Ktismatics.) I have been interested in posting on this novel for quite sometime, but I've been holding off, with the sense that there was more in store for posting on The Stations than just straight exegesis.

The Stations tells the story of a movement of "Salons" that sweep across the nation and the world. These Salons are new approaches to being human that investigate new perceptions that human beings might have of themselves that "portal" them into alternative realities and spiritualities. It is an ambiguous and imaginative novel that stirs up some of the thoughts and questions of pilgrimage.

I would like to combine personal experiences, reflections, and an exegesis of The Salon, mix them together and see what we get.

I think we can generate some energy around the topic of what it might look like to explore this curious sense of displacement that seems inherent for those seeking to live a deeper life of faith, spirituality, or just humanness....to embrace the ambiguity and danger of homelessness while proceeding forward with a pilgrim's sense of calling.

Love and Divine Union: Summary Thoughts

Ephesians 3:14-19 (my translation):
For this reason I bow my knee before the father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, in order that he might give to you according to the riches of his glory/divinity (doxes), empowering you to be strong through his spirit in the inside person (eso anthropon), Christ living in you (katoikeo) through faith in your hearts, being firmly rooted and firmly established in love (agape), in order that you might be able to fully understand with all the saints what is the width and length and height and depth, to know the surpassing knowledge (gnosis) of the love (agape) of Christ, in order that you might be filled to all the fullness of God.

In the previous post, I wrote down a few, brief exegetical notes on the above passage. In this post, I have a few summary observations.

Summary Thoughts
The idea here in this passage of participating with God and sharing of the divinity is fascinating to me. I believe that God is essentially and most fundamentally mystery, because God "dwells in unapproachable light.” God transcends in mystery. However, the New Testament does not hesitate to open the possibility of humanity sharing in the divine nature. And, in fact, this is the heart of the Gospel. As Athanasius famously said, "God became man so that man might become God.” (On the Incarnation, 54:3) In the Gospel, the greatest gift that God gives is God's self.

This union with the divine is connected here with love. Through contemplation of love, one can begin to contemplate being “filled with all the fullness of God.”

Intriguing.

I am also intrigued by Paul’s language of the “inside person.” Early in the prayer, Paul speaks of the existential awareness of ourselves. Divine union and divine love penetrate to the “inside person,” to the self. It is this self that can realize the “surpassing” knowledge of love (v. 19).

What does it mean to discover this divine union and love?

Personally I have no answer to this question. And perhaps there is no answer, per se. Perhaps the question of divine union and divine love is a question that takes a lifetime to unpackage and reflect on.....to contemplate and to live. The point of divine union and love, I think, is the direction in which it points us. It is interesting that when it comes to mystical issues of experiencing the fullness of divine union and divine love, it seems as though we are given the direction but not the map. We are pointed in way but not shown how to walk. The process of walking seems to be our gift: to discover for ourselves how to discover union with God and the surpassing knowledge of love.

I think, though, that grace must be most basic. Often we cannot embrace the divine or understand love because something in us does not believe we deserve the "fullness" of the divine. Or we build up internal defense mechanisms to cope in the grace-less-ness of the day-to-day world, and we reach a point where we close our hearts to grace, failing to open to the gift that God gives us of God's own self and of the vast dimensions of Her love.

Grace is that openness to receive the love and the divine, the openness to be "filled to all the fullness of God."

I also appreciate in these verses how Paul opens with a deep sense of inclusivism: the whole family of the cosmic universe derives its name from God. God's desire, as expressed in chapter 1 verse 10 of this same book of Ephesians, is to bring all together under Christ. Whether Paul truly believes in an eschatological universalism is certainly not clear, but what is clear is that universalism is the goal and ideal: that the Gospel is fundamentally about reconciliation and restoration.

Off into the woods for a few days

As of today, Saturday, I'm off into the woods for a few days of camping, reading, writing, etc. I shall return next Thursday, the 4th.....but that will not keep me from posting, of course. I have a scheduled post set to pop up in a few days.

Love and Divine Union: Exegetical Notes on Ephesians 3:14-19

For this reason I bow my knee before the father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, in order that he might give to you according to the riches of his glory/divinity (doxes), empowering you to be strong through his spirit in the inside person (eso anthropon), Christ living in you (katoikeo) through faith in your hearts, being firmly rooted and firmly established in love (agape), in order that you might be able to fully understand with all the saints what is the width and length and height and depth, to know the surpassing knowledge (gnosis) of the love (agape) of Christ, in order that you might be filled to all the fullness of God.

In this post, I would like to share a few exegetical notes here, commenting on specific phrases, etc. In the next post, I will provide a few summary thoughts on the passage taken as a whole.

Exegetical notes of interest:

Verses 14 through 19 are are all one, long sentence, a continuous prayer made by Paul on behalf of the believers in Ephesus. Paul prays that the believers in Ephesus might experience a union with God through Christ and a comprehension of divine love.

The family of God the Father (v. 14-15)
In these verses, Paul suggests that every "family" takes its name from the "father." This brings the entire cosmos into the family of God.

"The father, then, is the Creator and Lord of all family groupings; their existence and significance is dependent on him." (A.T. Lincoln's Word Biblical Commentary, p. 203)

Clearly Paul is speaking here, not just of those who believe but of the entire cosmos.

"The God who is Father of all families is the same God who is Father of Jesus Christ and who is at work to redeem a cosmos which has become alienated from him." (Lincoln, p. 203)

Compare Ephesians 1:10 as the plan in the fullness of time, to unite all in Christ, those in heaven and on earth.

Whether Paul is making a universalist claim here in his letter to the Ephesians is not really the point. What is the point, I think, is that he presents a powerful and positive vision for a time when all things might be brought together in Christ. In other words, universalism is clearly the end goal and vision of the Gospel: uniting all things together because all things already "derive their name" from God the father.

Giving of the divine glory v. 16
God is giving. To me this is one of the most basic truth of the Gospel: that God gives. The Gospel is the gift. In verse 16, Paul is praying that God’s gift would be of God’s own self.

The NIV translates the doxes of verse 16 as "glorious riches," but this seems as though it entirely misses the structure of the Greek, unless perhaps I am missing something. I translate this (as do most of the other translations) as "the riches of his doxes"; that is, Paul is praying that God would give out of the richness of God's own glory and divinity.

Some of us may perhaps be used to thinking that this doxes, this glory and divinity of God, belongs to God alone. For example, in Romans 3:23 Paul says that all of have sinned and fallen short of the "glory/divinity" of God. And "For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen." (NRS, Romans 11:36) However, in this verse, Paul's prayer is clearly that humanity would share of God's divinity and glory.

Paul suggests something similar in 2 Corinthians 3:18 "And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit." (NRS)

Also note that in 2 Peter 1:4 humanity can "participate (or "partake," "share" koinovos) in the divine nature (Theios phusis). John speaks repeatedly of "abiding" in Christ and records Jesus' prayer in John 17:22, "The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one" (NRS, emphasis added).

The “inside person” v. 16
Paul prays that God would give of his/her own glory and divinity. The gift of God’s divine nature is for the purpose of empowering the “inside person” (eso anthropon). To me, this language implies the “self” that we have discussed. As Kierkegaard says, “the self is a relation that relates itself to itself.” There is a sense in which we have an inner self (or spirit or soul) that we relate to and with. A self has a certain consciousness of being a self. As human beings, we contemplate our place in the universe and the cosmos, we form a sense of identity, we look for meaning, try to discover our purpose, and we reflect on ourselves. We ask the “who am I?” questions.

Paul affirms this existential sense of ourselves with the interesting term, the “inside person.”

Lincoln has some interesting commentary on this term:
The strengthening through the Spirit is to take place in “the inner person,” a notion in popular use derived from Hellenistic anthropology of a dualistic variety. Plato had talked similarly of “the person’s inward person” (Rep. 9.589a), and Philo wrote also of “the person within the person,” which he equated with “the mind” (Congr. 97; cf. also Plant. 42; Deter. 23). In the Corpus Hermeticum this inner person is held to be imprisoned in Adam’s earthly body (1:15; 9:5; 13:7, 14), while in later Gnostic anthropology, according to the church fathers, it is used as one of the terms for the divine spark within humanity (cf. Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.21.4, 5; Hippolytus, Ref. 5.7.35, 36; cf. also K. Rudolph, Gnosis, tr. R. McL. Wilson [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1983] 88–113). The terminology is found in Paul in 2 Cor 4:16 and Rom 7:22, and R. Jewett (Paul’s Anthropological Terms [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971] 391–401) has in fact argued that Paul took over the term from Corinthian Gnostics. It is just as likely, however, that he was familiar with the phrase “the inner person” from its popular usage and chose to use it for his own purposes—in 2 Cor 4:16 in connection with the believer, and in Rom 7:22 in connection with the Jew under the law. In 2 Cor 4:16, it stands for the inner part of a person’s being, not accessible to sight, where the renovating power of the age to come is now in operation. It appears to be equivalent to the term “heart” used in the surrounding context in 2 Cor 4:6; 5:12. Elsewhere, in Rom 12:2, it is the mind, in particular, that is said to be renewed. In Rom 7:22, the inner person is equivalent to the mind (cf. vv 23, 25), and the focus is on the ability to make value judgments. Of course, context determines whether the use of such language conveys dualistic connotations. In Paul these are not present, for the inner person appears to be that part of a person which is accessible to God but which, in the case of the person under the law, is ultimately in bondage to the powers of the flesh and sin, and, in the case of the believer, is being constantly renewed. Here in Ephesians the concept is used in a similar way. It is not to be equated with the new person or new humanity of Eph 4:24 (contra Schlier, 169), but is instead the base of operation at the center of a person’s being where the Spirit does his strengthening and renovating work. In the parallel clause in v 17a its equivalent is again the heart, and in 4:23 it is the spirit of the mind which is said to be renewed. 1 Pet 3:4 has an interesting variation on this terminology when it speaks of ὁ κρυπτὸς τῆς καρδίας ἄνθρωπος, “the hidden person of the heart.” (p. 205)

For more on Kierkegaard’s view of self, see Kierkegaard and the self as well as Kierkegaard and the Self: The Fantasy of the Infinite

"Christ living in you" (v. 17)
This continues the theme of union with the divine. Christ “living” in/with us. “Living” (katoikeo) is the common word for a person’s physical dwelling place. In the Gospels, this word is used from time to time to describe the houses, residences, or cities where Christ would stay. Here in verse 17 it is used to describe how Christ lives in the souls of human beings.

It is interesting to compare this with Acts 7:48 and 17:24, where it is suggested that the most high does not live (katoikei) in temples made by human hands. Yet here in Ephesians, Paul suggests that Christ does in fact find his home in the human heart.

Also of interest is Colossians 1:9, which speaks of the Father being pleased to have all his fullness dwell in Christ. The fullness of God in Christ and Christ dwelling in the human soul. Similarly in Colossians 2:9, Christ is the one in whom the fullness of the deity (theotetos) lived in bodily form.

As verse 17 continues, Paul prays that the “living” of Christ might be “through faith in your hearts.” A.T. Lincoln comments, “As in the OT, so in Paul and now here in Ephesians, the heart is understood as the center of the personality, the seat of the whole person’s thinking, feeling, and willing.” (p. 206)

Love v. 17-19
After speaking of union with the divine, Paul quickly moves into a prayer for love. Union with God is manifested through love: being firmly rooted and firmly established in love, being able to fully understand the love of God, fathoming the vast dimensions of love (the width and length and height and depth), and knowing the surpassing love of Christ.

Love is at the heart of union with God.

Filled to the Fullness of God v. 19
The closing prayer to be filled to the fullness of God builds on the knowledge of love. Knowing the surpassing gnosis of the love of Christ, in order that one might be filled with all the fullness of God.

This idea of being filled to the fullness of God is remarkable for its scope. It is not merely a prayer for having a bit of God or drinking of an ounce or two of the divine. The prayer is for the “fullness” (pleroma) of God.

The System

We are beyond purpose. We arise from an infinite love for infinite love alone. There is no purpose that is big enough to account for us.
—James Finley

Before breaking for discussion on Kierkegaard’s view of the self, we had been discussing the relationship of economics and spirituality. In the first post, my position was that American economics is based primarily on economic expansion, which translates into profit. Economic expansion is at the heart of our entire American system. If the economy stops growing or if there is a recession, then this is a sign of “bad times.” No one questions it. Each party in the prior election agreed: we’ve got to get the economy going again. It is an unquestioned assumption.

In order for corporations to manufacture profit (and to expand the economy), consumers must buy more and workers must produce more. This produces a culture of discontentment and dissatisfaction, the subject of my second post You are your dollars. We have to find our identity in the products and services that Corporations produce. In this society and in this culture, we are most fundamentally economic units. As workers, we have the pressure to produce goods and services—we must produce more to grow the economy. After work, we put on our consumer hats and go off to make our purchases, the reward of contributing to economic growth, and now as the consumer it is our patriotic duty to buy goods and services and keep those dollars flowing through the economy.

We work, we spend.

If you would like to dispute the point, I am open to alternative thoughts, but as it is, I would say that we perceive of ourselves at a most basic level as being economic units. In this disposable society where discontentment and dissatisfaction are normative and even patriotic, this means that so many (if not all) of our relationships are mediated by the monetary system.

Jesus gets at this basic concept when he says, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” In other words, what we invest in determines our self, our nature, our souls. So, the one who “gains the whole world and yet loses his own soul” is the self who has invested himself into the economic system of the world. The self is equated with being a worker/consumer. The treasure is in the system, so by definition the self is lost.

The heart of the Gospel is reconciliation. “Therefore if anyone is in Christ he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.” (2 Corinthians 5)

The system defines us as economic units. We define ourselves as economic units. Everything is mediated by money. And this leads me to my primary contention in this post: the system defines itself as disconnect. I have used the term “the system,” and now I am defining it strictly in terms of the disconnect. Or more to the point, the system is self-defined as disconnectedness. This is the level that is most basic to its core, to its being.

This is not to say that “the system” in all of its disconnect does not produce good. Neither do I mean to suggest that there are no meaningful connections within the system. We are so fundamentally relational beings that meaningful relationships still occur. They always break through. But consider: deeply profound relationships are the exception that proves the rule. We notice meaningful connections because they happen so infrequently. The rule is disconnect. The system’s survival is at steak. A content, connected society isn’t interested in economic expansion as its highest priority. A discontent, disconnected, and disposable culture will continue to work harder and buy more. This is good for the economy and feeds the system.

Another clarification: there is no Wizard of Oz.

When Dorothy & Co. showed up to present their queries to the Wizard, they found a man behind the curtain, pulling the strings and operating the big mechanism. All it took was the little dog to pull back the curtain and reveal a weak and comical old man. But this is not the system. The system is disconnect, so there is no one person to blame. The big bad CEO’s are not to blame. In fact, those with the most wealth are the most embedded within the disconnect, so in a very real way, my most basic disposition toward those with wealth is love.

Because there is no one person behind the curtain of the system, we can say “fuck the system” in love, kindness, gentleness, respect, and goodwill. The system is the disconnect. To say “fuck the CEO’s of America” is to perpetuate the disconnect by reacting with a violence that deepens the disconnect.

In a fucked up system, everyone who participates is fucked.

The Gospel is about reconciling all things with each other: ourselves with each other, ourselves with nature, ourselves with our selves, and our selves with God.

Fuck the system.

In Jesus’ name.

Amen.

Kierkegaard and the Self: The Fantasy of the Infinite

We have been discussing Kierkegaard’s notion of the self. In the prior post, we saw that Kierkegaard defined the “self” as “spirit.” Theologically, this the “soul” or, I would suggest, the imago dei, the image of God. It is a beautiful gift, and one that must be cultivated and explored. We must treat this gift with care and love because it is so easy to lose ourselves in the world—in the busy activity, in the various roles we fulfill, and in the general fragmentation that is characteristic of the post-industrial world dominated by the desire for economic expansion.

Protestant theology of self with its emphasis on total depravity, tends to imagine that the self is completely beyond hope and in need of divine intervention. When this theology gets translated at a popular level, the result tends to be that people are looking to escape themselves with wistful thinking about the divine, or one might potentially look to a quick and easy religious experience as something that has “transformed” them.

The problem with popular Protestant theology in this regard is that it ultimately serves as an escape from truly facing our self; it also can cheat us out of the beauty and joy of exploring the “inward person” (Cf. Ephesians 3:16, eso anthropon).

To know God deeper, we must know self deeper. We must discover our uniqueness and cultivate our own awareness of our selves. “Self-consciousness is decisive with regard to the self. The more consciousness, the more self; the more consciousness, the more will; the more will, the more self. The person who has no will at all is not a self.” (p. 29, Sickness Unto Death, Hong translation)

As I mentioned in the last post, to emphasize the beauty of the self is not to say that the relation to God is any less important. This is not true, at least in part because God is in and through all things. (Cf. Acts 17:28 and Ephesians 4:6) To truly understand the creation and its interconnectedness simply is to know God. (Cf. Psalm 19, “The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”)

For Kierkegaard the God relation is important: “The self is the conscious synthesis of infinitude and finitude that relates itself to itself, whose task is to become itself, which can only be done through the relationship to God….the self is healthy and free from despair only when, precisely by having despaired, it rests transparently in God.” (p. 30) Kierkegaard in this regard stands true to the Protestant tradition; however, I think he still is able to recognize something very crucial: that the relation to God is warped if it leads us away from the self. Kierkegaard calls this “the fantastic.” The fantastic is a way of thinking about God (“the infinite”) in such a way that disconnects us from the self.

“The fantastic is generally that which leads a person out into the infinite in such a way that it only leads him away from himself and thereby prevents him from coming back to himself.” (p. 31)

Kierkegaard describes this state of being as an “intoxication.” The idea is that when one disconnects from self, no matter how good the intoxication may feel or no matter how “truthful” the doctrine/dogma may be, the result is still despair; the result is loss of self. When the connection with self is lost, the relation to God is perverse. Indeed, such a state of being is quite serious and alarming, because for Kierkegaard, this fantastic state can consume a person and leave them permanently disconnected from the self.

“When feeling or knowing or willing has become fantastic, the entire self can eventually become that….The God-relation is an infinitizing, but in fantasy this infinitizing can so sweep a man off his feet that his state is simply an intoxication….he cannot come back to himself, become himself.” (p. 32)

I think that Kierkegaard’s discussion of losing the self in a God-relation fantasy has good explanatory scope when examining the religious fundamentalist zeal of the contemporary world, especially in regards to the violence that such fervor can produce. The violence of religious fundamentalism varies in degree, from the terrorist suicide bombings to the subtle but no less damaging forms of judgmentalism, elitism, exclusivism, and isolation. Yet in its many violent forms, one can also detect that the violent religious zealot is also doing violence to their self. The self is alienated and disconnected from itself, lost in the fantastic.

As I discuss this, I wonder about the possible connection between violence and loss of self. Specifically, I am wondering if there is a sense in which the loss of self, the disconnection from self, is such a violent violation that it necessarily results in violence perpetrated toward others.

In closing, we return to Kierkegaard…..to be lost in the fantastic does not always manifest itself in ways that are obvious to the masses. It is in the context of discussing the fantastic that Kierkegaard discusses how easy it is to get along in the world without a self.

“But to be fantastic in this way, and thus to be in despair, does not mean that a person cannot go on living fairly well….It may not be detected that in a deeper sense he lacks a self. Such things do not create much of a stir in the world, for a self is the last thing the world cares about and the most dangerous thing of all for a person to show signs of having. The greatest hazard of all, losing the self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss—an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc.—is sure to be noticed.” (p. 32-33)