If we hypothetically suppose this planet Earth to be God’s physical body—and the various kingdoms in nature to be His different bodily organs and levels of being—some curious possibilities leap to mind. If we conceive of our own species as the cerebral cortex of God’s brain, even more fascinating speculations erupt before us. The various countries and mass cultures (China, India, Europe, North and South American nations, Africa, and so forth) may be likened to more or less stabilized arenas of conscious experience for this God whose ‘brain’ function is largely provided by our species. Developing our analogy a bit further, let us say that, like our own mental life, God’s ‘brain’ naturally strives to maintain a general state of equilibrium or balanced tension between the contending ‘pulls’ and drives that animate and move it. Let us assume, for the sake of discussion, that the various competing ‘wills’ or tendencies are made manifest in the principal nations or cultural schemes now present upon the earth, God’s living body. If God is not altogether insensible to pleasure and pain—if, that is to say, ‘He-She’ is not the cold, abstract clock-maker or perpetual motion machine of the late 17th and 18th century philosophers—then the various cultural schemes provide God with quite a diverse array of fairly stabilized forms of qualified experience.
At the most basic level of mental functioning, we encounter the pleasure-pain polarity. When an organism experiences pain—sharp or chronic pain—brain functions, the aim of which is to deaden or offset the pain, are automatically triggered. Some of these are neurological or electro-chemical in nature (e.g., endorphins) while others are of a more distinctly psychological character (soothing illusions that help to blunt and weaken our fears and anxieties).
Invoking a now obsolete (but once eminently respectable) idea that may still be encountered in pre-modern, traditional metaphysical systems, let us assume that analogies or correspondences can be found to exist at all levels of the totality (the ‘great chain of being’) that stretches all the way from the Supreme Godhead to the remotest atom in the outermost reaches of the universe. For our purposes, we will concern ourselves here with three of these levels—that of the Supreme deity, the great cultural-national entities, and the individual human being.
I have already proposed a correspondence between the human species and the brain of a deity whose body is the planet upon which we reside. The notion of functional ‘organs,’ or qualified centers of activity, is a key idea in this ancient doctrine of analogies or correspondences found throughout the whole. Man viewed as ‘microcosm’ (‘made in God’s image’) means viewing him as a miniaturized, functional replica of the universe itself—the macrocosm, or whole. Accordingly, the human being duplicates in miniature the essential structure of the whole that is animated and ruled over by God. Not only does this structural-organizational correspondence suggest a kind of kinship or inter-relationship with God, but it also implies a connection between what we do, suffer, accomplish, or fail to accomplish, on the one hand, and what God does, suffers, accomplishes or fails to accomplish, on the other. Our fates would appear to be subtly intertwined. There may be lapses—of consciousness, of memory, of will and love and resolve—but there are no gaps, no vacuum, no unbridgeable abysses.
Between the levels of the individual human being and the Supreme Godhead we find the national-cultural level—where again we can find analogous ‘organs’ or discernible centers of qualified activity. In this vein, we might liken the military establishment of a country to its muscular system, its academic institutions and intelligentsia to its brain and nervous system. Every developed culture that has ever existed has been endowed with something analogous to these functional organs and organ systems—brain, heart and circulatory system, stomach and intestines, lungs, reproductive organs, musculature, skeletal system, etc.—and these functions are served, ideally, by individual human beings who are naturally or temperamentally suited for these functions. When a sufficient number of qualified individuals is not present to fill the minimal requirements of that cultural-societal organ, eventually there is system failure. As with organ failure in the individual human body, the life of the entire organism can be threatened when any one of its vital components ceases to function.
Knowledge of this universal situation appears to have been possessed by wise men and women of the past, from a variety of otherwise unrelated cultures, but—along with the ‘Great Chain of Being’ idea and the law of correspondences—it seems to have swiftly passed into oblivion in the largely anti-traditional modern West. Practically no one born (and educated) within the past 75 years, here in the U.S., has ever been exposed to these ideas since they have long been regarded as little more than quaint relics from a benighted past. The words ‘arrogance’ and ‘ignorance’ rhyme for a reason—they’re bedfellows. At any event, an inquisitive person these days will be obliged to look far beyond the main menu or authorized worldview (presented to us by our modern educational curricula) if he or she is hunting for knowledge of these ‘archaic’ ideas. Such wisdom has fallen into disfavor as it has been decisively superseded by modern ‘know-how.’ Modern know-how does not appear to be even remotely concerned with ‘wisdom,’ as the ancients understood the word. The modern mentality tends to be convinced that such wisdom—if it ever genuinely existed—has little or no relevance to our present situation. Such wisdom had relevance to a worldview and to a ‘childlike’ stage of humanity that no longer exist on this planet—at least in the ‘developed’ modern West. And while we can all feel the occasional twinge of nostalgia for our own childhood days, no respectable adult would ever give up his/her modern conveniences, gadgets, rights, liberties, and powers in exchange for a return to the childlike ‘simplicity’ our ancestors were consigned to (due, as we now realize, to their lamentable lack of know-how). I may be caricaturing the modern outlook a bit, but I believe I have sketched the general outlines with some justice.
One of the notable features of the modern, as opposed to the ancient, universe is its ‘mechanical’ character. We hear on the Discovery Channel and in Nova programs that contemporary astronomers and cosmologists understand the universe in terms of ‘energy,’ ‘anti-matter,’ ‘wormholes,’ ‘string theory,’ and multiple dimensions, rather than in the blunt mechanistic terms that began with Descartes and continued through Newton up to Einstein and Heisenberg, when the old mechanical models were replaced by more mathematically and imaginatively sophisticated ones. But the truth of the matter is that these meta-mechanical theories are the playthings and darlings of an elite few, not part and parcel of the commonly shared modern mentality. In order to be comprehended, intellectually, such theories require mathematical formulas and complex computations that are by no means broadly accessible or self-evident. But, regardless of how we view and interpret the motions of celestial bodies, the way things work down here in our terrestrial world—the world we wake up to each morning, are gainfully employed in, and call ‘home’—is as machine-like as it has ever been on earth—perhaps even more so.
Our recent ‘mastery’ of large swaths of the natural world has been accompanied, perhaps paradoxically and unexpectedly, by our becoming more distantly removed from that very same natural world, with its very different natural rhythms, seasons, patterns, proportions, and lessons. We have constructed new artificial environments for ourselves—environments that are more conformable to our physical and psychological desires, cravings, and comfort levels. All of these ‘mixed blessings’ have been won at considerable cost, however, to our ‘primitive’ or ‘instinctual’ natures, which were once finely attuned to the natural environments and conditions from which we have been, for the most part, liberated.
The ‘archaic’ and abandoned principle of analogies and correspondences of traditional metaphysics more commonly employed organic, not mechanical, metaphors and models—which makes sense when we pause to consider that more often than not nature herself provided the material for philosophical and mythical speculation—not artificial objects and processes. Roughly speaking, organic metaphors implicate man in nature while mechanical ones place him at some remove from her, just as our mechanical tools and implements (I am thinking of the lever, the plow, the axe, the steam engine, the gun) give us power over her, often remotely—from a safe distance. To gain power over a thing, a set of circumstances, an animal, or a person, radically alters the terms of our relationship with that thing, person, etc. As long as there is a situation of harmonious or balanced co-existence—and not one of mere domination—man may be said to be ‘folded’ or ‘woven’ into his relationships, embedded in his context or environment. Prometheus’ gift of fire (and language, technology, etc.) to man mythically symbolizes the momentous transition undergone by our primitive ancestors—that fateful step in the direction of a power-and-domination stance towards nature, and away from the ‘snugly embedded’ condition that necessarily preceded the emergence of language and technological power.
Only a complete dunderhead (who has no inkling of what material conditions on this planet were like for everyone until just a few hundred years ago) will deny that the power (and destructive impact) that we humans have over nature is a million or a trillion times greater than our ancestors had. Could it be possible that every step forward we have taken in the direction of increased power of this sort has, at the same time, been a collective step away from our former state of implication or embeddedness in the very nature which we have sought to dominate? And if these two are not precisely symmetrical or directly proportional, I don’t think any silver-tongued devil can persuasively argue that the one has kept pace with the other.
What intrigues me most, of course, about this whole complex issue is the connection between power and distance, what we may call ‘remote control.’ I intuitively suspect that under normal circumstances, we are only able to attain power over something from which we have distanced ourselves—to some extent or another. This does not apply simply to our power relations with objects, situations, and other persons—but to aspects of our own natures, as well. I cannot have power over my sexual drives and impulses unless and until some other part of me—the part that ‘wills’ or ‘controls’—has differentiated itself from that drive or impulse. As long as ‘I’ am enslaved to (or psychically embedded in) that drive, it has the upper hand. The same may be said about the feelings of my own heart. Likewise, for the emotions and thoughts of another person I seek to influence or gain power over. In order to manipulate their emotions and thoughts, mustn’t I first attain a kind of distance or detachment from those emotions and thoughts I seek to manipulate?
This might help to explain why some of us are disposed to feel warm affection towards those persons who ‘wear their hearts on their sleeves.’ We instinctively trust their ‘good nature’ simply because we can see that they are completely identified with—or merged with—their emotions, passions, and feelings. There is no ‘distance’—no cool ‘breathing space’—between the person and his/her true feelings. They are naked, exposed. All that we might wish to know is there on display. Their ability to pose a serious threat to us is limited since we can see who and what we’re dealing with and can take any necessary precautions. We can only be manipulated and overpowered by persons who are capable of deceiving us about their true feelings and thoughts. All that free psychic space between their cool egos and the warm thoughts/emotions with which the ‘naïve’ and ‘innocent’ person is completely identified—what is this space if it is not the play room and staging area for all manner of ploys and schemes that serve the interests of the detached, exploitative strategist. Iago is one of the most insidious and effective exemplars of this form of emotionally detached strategizing and manipulation.
But if power can be gained from distance and detachment, what is lost in the bargain?
The express concerns of the founders of modern empirical science were bound up with the mastery of nature and her mysterious processes—with a view to increasing man’s comfort, ease, security, longevity, and dominion. Certainly Bacon and Descartes perceived themselves as genuine benefactors to humanity, and there is no reason to suspect that their intentions were not essentially charitable, even if neither was altogether immune to the love of fame. Perhaps they had no way of anticipating the darker forces that modern technology would unleash upon a species that so eagerly embraced the theoretical and practical science they jointly gave birth to, albeit with substantial contributions from the scientists who came after them. Did they overestimate humanity’s present capacity for wisely and moderately wielding the staggering power that would be unleashed by the new science of nature? If we and our immediate (modern) forebears have been reckless and irresponsible custodians and stewards of the gifts bequeathed by these benefactors, we can scarcely blame them and hold them responsible for the misuse of the power they delivered into our hands. We have sat back and watched as avarice and short-sighted goals have blinded us to the nobler and more just uses to which the world’s resources might have been put. We and our forebears—both the leaders and the led—have been tested and we have failed, if only because things could have been handled so much more ‘humanely’ and fairly. Instead, a slender minority has greedily profited, to obscene lengths, while many live in poverty and in dismal conditions—all of which might have been avoided, or greatly reduced, if our baser instincts had been subordinated to the greater good. It is as if we came into a great inheritance or won the lottery and, instead of distributing this wealth to those most in need, we squandered it all on frivolities for ourselves and our few close friends.
If the power and control over the physical world has become possible—as suggested earlier—by our having detached and distanced ourselves from nature, something analogous appears to have been happening all along with regard to the psyche. In removing ourselves from the natural environment—in learning to see it as mere ‘matter in motion’ or mere resources to be exploited arbitrarily for selfish ends—we have alienated ourselves from the natural world, its creatures, its once mysterious and wonder-inspiring powers. We huddle together in large, densely packed cities. We stay ‘in touch’ with the larger (human) world by means of electronic gadgets, huge and tiny screens. Our knowledge of reality tends either to be vague, fuzzy and pitifully general or absurdly precise and detailed, but also pathetically narrow and limited. This latter form of ‘knowledge’ is usually connected to our job or occupation. The contrast between these two types of ‘knowledge’ is like that between a faint, diffuse, unstable glow and a thin laser beam. Neither form of knowledge would have cut ice in the pre-modern world. The first would be counted as sterile ignorance and the second would merely draw awkward laughter, for it would make no sense at all to the bewildered beholder.