The Weight of History (4/24/13)

Perhaps more than any nation that has emerged on this planet, America has gone to greater lengths to sever its connection(s) with the past—with tradition and with memory. This diminished awareness of historical influences and factors—factors that exercise a conspicuous determining power over other nations (that are more thoroughly rooted in the traditions and values carried over from the past) has endowed many native-born Americans with special advantages, to be sure, but it seems also to have exacted a high price, culturally. It seems that our collective exemption from many of the historical and traditional fetters that other nations of the world take for granted has subtly contributed to our collective barbarization, our world-renowned and ridiculed ignorance (about the world beyond our walled borders) and our cultural philistinism and uncouthness. Of course, many Americans cannot (or will not) see this barbarity and this deplorable shallowness for what they are—largely because they lack the knowledge and experience required to make these very serious defects and educational shortcomings objectively evident to themselves. Few Americans, relatively speaking, ever venture out of the protective, insulating bubble of ignorance, half-truths, and self-perpetuating delusions that are continually being recycled by our shallow, intellectually insulting mass media and our culturally bankrupt educational institutions. Traveling extensively outside of the United States—and really getting to know and to trust foreigners who come from very different backgrounds than ours—so that we can learn from them just how different we are as Americans: this sort of educational traveling is comparatively rare among us. We are, as Mark Twain said, ‘Innocents Abroad.’

The dearth of meaningful historical-cultural rootedness in the United States has led to a collective condition wherein there is very little ballast in our ‘ship.’ Either as a consequence or as a cause (or both simultaneously), we tend to be absorbed in thoughts about our future (what we aim to do, what we want to happen, etc.) or in what amounts to a context-less present. Because the past, for us, is often little more than our picayune personal past, our historical context tends to have exclusively personal (or familial) horizons. Certainly this must hamper the sense of continuity and connectedness to the larger, more inclusive past, which remains largely unknown to most of us. And even when our educations expose us to this larger cultural-social-political past, the result is often pretty threadbare and unimpressive, when it is not deliberately distorted for present propagandistic purposes. We are usually presented with a slew of names, dates, and other bits of discrete information that are not at all meaningfully situated within a complex gestalt or context that we imaginatively and intuitively grasp.


I cannot fail to notice a superficial parallel between America’s (more or less foundational and constitutional) suspicion/aversion towards the traditional past, on the one hand, and, on the other, Ramana Maharshi’s implicit repudiation of history (as part of the not-self). All of this suggests another link (explored by James Hillman) between ‘spirit,’ the puer archetype, and the transcendence of time. From the standpoint of these constellated, linked perspectives, history is implicitly regarded as a kind of weight (or a noose) around the neck of the spirit that would be free, detached from all limited and confining forms. When I invoked the word ‘ballast,’ earlier, this same weight was viewed in a favorable, salutary light. Rather than constituting simply an impediment or obstacle to our freedom, this ballast was understood to contribute to our freedom—serving as a check against the ship’s utter helplessness against the force of shifting winds and ocean currents. Without this weight there is no inertial power to resist these potent environmental forces and factors. And without some way of resisting or counteracting these forces, it becomes difficult to speak meaningfully of freedom. To be unhindered merely so that one can be blown around by whatever trend, fashion, gust (or passion) stirs up: this is scarcely a worthwhile goal to aim for, no?

Therefore, if history—in the form of stabilizing traditions and anchoring customs—helps us to ‘stay on course’ with our lives by adding heft and weight to our personalities as a protection against flightiness or fatuousness, then perhaps we should be very careful before dismissing or neglecting it. We do not resolve problems or liberate ourselves from difficulties simply by denying that they are real or that they exist. We resolve them only by encountering them and reckoning with them, right? Have I been convinced, after studying and chewing on Ramana Maharshi’s writings all these years, that he successfully and satisfactorily resolved all the principal problems facing man, as such—or does he not appear simply to have cut the Gordian knot instead of deftly untying it, as it was presumably meant to be dealt with? I am of two minds about Ramana Maharshi on this issue. Usually I find him to be the most radical and demanding ‘teacher’ I have ever encountered—and that his writings set the bar higher than anything else I have ever come across. But every once in awhile I become a bit suspicious—that Ramana Maharshi and the other great yogis and mystics have simply retreated from the battle that being a finite and incarnate human necessarily and inescapably entails.[1] When viewed from this more skeptical perspective, the mystics and sages no longer command my highest respect and admiration, for they seem to have attained their coveted liberation by turning defiantly away from this inescapable, necessary battle rather than truly coming to terms with it. It seems to me that genuinely coming to terms with these persistent, relentless realities (that come with having a body, with having problematic relationships with other persons who demand, in some way or another, be dealt with, etc.) means acknowledging not only their real existence, but their right to real existence. To do this would not necessarily require one to jettison altogether the teachings of the mystics and the ‘detached’ sages, but it would certainly challenge their claims to absolute or comprehensive validity.

For Ramana Maharshi, since the body and the world are regarded as projections from the mind (or that the screen, the movie, the light, the film, and the projector are, all together, the One Eternal Self), there is no real split, and therefore no real problem to be solved. But for anyone who implicitly believes in the independent reality of matter (and the body)—and that may very well be the great majority of human beings, now as ever, since ‘commonsense’ thoroughly supports it—Ramana Maharshi’s position, while intriguing, is nonetheless untenable. Too much compelling evidence stands stubbornly and defiantly in the way of our adopting so outrageous a position. Of course, in those relatively rare moments when I am actually able to see ‘reality’ after the fashion of my radical, subversive teacher, Ramana Maharshi, I remember all over again just how singularly correct his assessment is. But—to hold onto that perspective—genuinely and not merely as an ‘intellectual position’: that is the challenge.

[1] Of course, they would argue that it is precisely this finitude of the not-self—or personal ego—that has been ‘seen through’ and transcended—making all such pursuits illusory.


Writing on Water (10/3/17)

Like gardens, our intellects need practically constant attention if they are to remain robust, elegantly organized, and relatively free of troublesome “weeds” and “pests.” The depth and precision sought by the devoted thinker, in speech and writing, face continual threat by incoming tides of leveling and stupefying generalities… by vision-blurring banks of mental fog. The swiftly rising floodwaters of hurricane Harvey destroyed countless irreplaceable paintings, photographs, multi-generational heirlooms, personal records, unsaved computer data, and family homes that startled evacuees were unable to save and protect here in Houston last month. Something on a much smaller scale, but cumulatively and ultimately just as individually destructive, is continually underway with regard to those irreplaceable insights and penetrating realizations that take shape in our minds after they’ve blown in like exotic seeds from God knows where.

And like the devoted caretakers of quiet, charming gardens that are tucked away in the middle of a noisy, frenetic city—or beside a watering hole in a vast, inhospitable desert—we “constant gardeners” work primarily with seed-ideas that are threatened with extinction by the intellectual equivalent of Monsanto Corporation. The comparison with Monsanto is closer than most of us probably imagine. Not only does this powerful corporation produce hegemonic forms of GM wheat and corn and employ “terminator technology” to give us “sterile seeds.” It was Monsanto that came up with that notorious herbicide, “Agent Orange.” If it seems like it has the bases covered, I would suggest that Monsanto is just the ugly tip of a gigantic dirty iceberg.

I point to a ‘Goliath’ that the intrepid, solitary thinker – slingshot in hand – is up against today. I do this in order to broaden the scope of the problems faced by thinkers who seek to protect and conserve the lingering fragments and organs of a culture that is rapidly succumbing to inner collapse, as it is steadily and insidiously supplanted by an apparently unstoppable, inhuman technological-corporatist system. Like a retrovirus, this irresistible rational-technocratic system exploits human bodies and souls both to replicate itself and to achieve its unswerving goal of global domination. No single group of human beings actually controls or steers the course of this runaway virus, despite popular conspiracy theories and despite the fact that there are highly-placed financial, governmental, and media managers who are indispensable for the continuing assimilation of mankind and the world’s natural resources into its inhuman service. It runs by its own momentum at this point and according to its own inexorable logic. Virtually all of us are its consciously or unconsciously complicit servants and the “beneficiaries” of its soulless gifts. We have literally paid with our souls.

As this epidemic spreads its toxic, dehumanizing tentacles across this scarred and feverish planet, it becomes harder and harder for me to personally justify the tending of a pleasant, tidy, and walled-in Epicurean garden – where, like a man listening to Mozart on a gramophone during an earthquake, I sequester myself with a handful of kindred spirits and a big bottle of red wine. Such an intramural retreat cannot help but appear absurdly out of place and ridiculously incongruous with the grim reality clamoring for attention just beyond those garden walls. How can one justify doting over the care and upkeep of pansies and orchids when redwoods are being sawed down all around the perimeter of our sheltered garden? If this Goliath cannot be brought down even by a pelting barrage of well aimed stones slung by a whole tribe of Davids, is that a good enough reason for withdrawing from the battlefield and into my garden to play the lyre? Or to fiddle?

But I confess to being overwhelmed shortly after I begin, yet again, to take stock of the general situation within our presently collapsing culture. And even if the external state of affairs – despite the routine outburst of irrational slaughters of “innocent” victims by some unhinged madman, such as occurred in Las Vegas two nights ago – seems relatively calm and “contained,” I and others are all too sensitively aware of the black cauldron of chaos boiling and bubbling below this deceptive surface – a pot that will boil over across the surface before long.

Surely an enormous contributor to the sense of frustration – almost paralyzing at times – that I feel these days stems from the fact that, while 98.6% of the population carries on with their generally routine, “paint-by-number” existences as if there were no active volcano poised to erupt from under our giant “game board,” the slender minority that is making a stink about the sulfuric gases seeping up from below are generally dismissed as lunatics, paranoids, religious nut jobs, etc., and ignored. And while such unfortunate and mentally unstable persons are plainly in evidence, there still remains an even smaller segment of us who manage – or attempt to manage – to “keep our heads about us” in the full awareness of the iceberg waiting directly ahead while the crew and passengers are whooping it up in the main ballroom of the “unsinkable” ship.

After the Holocaust there were writers, as I recall, who declared that it was not possible, perhaps not even permissible, to write about such an unspeakable atrocity. The sheer scale of the evil that had been unleashed in the death camps mocked even the most capacious moral and intellectual concepts and categories. Such a staggeringly diabolical but undeniable horror could only be met with dumb silence and awe. Even to begin discussing the Holocaust suggested a bungling kind of arrogance, as if this inconceivable horror – consciously planned, orchestrated, and carried out by humans against other humans – was, after all, too deep to be fathomed and, therefore, somehow beyond forgiveness. How can one’s complicity in such an abomination be forgiven when the extermination camp workers and overseers, like Adolf Eichmann, claimed – as outrageous as it sounds –simply to have been following orders?

Of course, in raising these questions I am not attempting here to absolve or excuse Nazis or present day US citizens of any wrongdoing for their ‘conscious or unconscious’ complicity in diabolical schemes and systems that – when carefully and honestly examined by a person of even average intelligence – will be recognized as a principal source of horrific injustice, human suffering, and the accelerating collapse of civil, moral, and political institutions that stand, precariously, between us and pandemonium.

I am trying here to give the reader a rough idea of how and why I, as a thinker and writer, regularly feel overwhelmed by what I take to be my proper task or calling. Unlike David before Goliath – who, let us remember, was a man, a big man, to be sure, but a human nonetheless – I lack anywhere near David’s youthful self-assurance before my inhuman (or subhuman) foe. David, at least, had those for whom he was fighting on his side in the battle against the Philistines. And unfortunately, most of the persons I know and love – whether they realize it or not – are standing behind Goliath, and placing bets on him!

And yet, I dare anyone to call me “paranoid.” Call me Cassandra, yes, but don’t question my sanity before taking a good hard look at the extent of your embeddedness in an extended poker game that cannot go on forever. And the pot continues to get bigger and bigger.

The Law of Correspondences (12/21/11)

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.

Historical Consciousness (3/13/11)

Jung teaches us that whatever is unconscious is projected. Santayana tells us, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ A related idea: to the extent that we know nothing of human experience in any other terms than those of our immediate socio-cultural environment, we are helplessly and forcibly carried along by this confluence of social and ideological currents. There are islands in the stream upon which we can climb and survey the passing flotsam of present-bound persons who know nothing besides the continual, relentless flow of current events. These ‘islands’ are the comparatively stable and secure mental standpoints provided by genuine historical consciousness and understanding. What makes such historical consciousness comparatively stable and secure is due to the fact that such knowledge is rooted or grounded within the context or gestalt that any historical epoch comprises.

The 18th century German historical thinker, Johann Gottfried Herder, developed the notion of Einfühlen—the idea of ‘feeling oneself into’ another culture or into a previous historical epoch. Of primary value here are the faculties of imagination and of empathy—for it is chiefly through the imaginative translation of ourselves into an alien worldview that we are able to breathe life, color, and a sense of concreteness into the experience. Such an experience moves far beyond reading a brief account of, say, Roman history from a high school textbook or learning about present-day Balinese by reading the Lonely Planet Guide or an anthropological study of Balinese culture. We cannot physically revisit the ancient Romans or Sumerians, as we might visit the Balinese or the Peruvian Indians, where cultures very different from our own are being lived out every day. There are levels of immersion that we can reach through the study of ruins, works of art in museums, Greek and Roman literature, poetry, historical works, and philosophy. We can learn ancient Greek and Latin in order to take our immersion a step further. But unless our imaginations are thoroughly excited and deeply captivated by all this material, we will only scratch the surface of a potentially transformative encounter with ‘the other.’

But it is chiefly through the development of the historical sense and/or an ‘insider’ understanding of several different cultural worldviews that we equip ourselves to perceive and to grasp our time and our own culture with any genuine comprehensiveness and critical understanding. Without these hard-won helps, our job becomes a hundred times more difficult. The most effective way to loosen up the cultural blinders we inherit at birth (along with our genes—so we have nature and nurture both at work here) is to try, imaginatively, to put on other sets of blinders and look at life through them. I have used the metaphor of blinders in place of a specific cultural worldview—such as the one we are exposed to here in this country, and which most of us uncritically internalize long before knowing what has happened. I use the image of blinders because every cultural worldview tends to block out or highly color much more of life and reality than it lets in without bias—but every culture has a different set of filters, blocking out and letting in different aspects of reality. All of them share the common trait, however, of providing a selective framework that interposes itself between the perceiving, culturally-shaped person and the larger reality into which we have all been mysteriously inserted at birth and from which we will presumably be snatched at death. This larger reality includes, but extends beyond, culture—all cultures—in every direction: up, down, in, out, past and to come. The ancient Greeks called this larger and pre-cultural reality physis, or ‘nature.’ But perceiving nature without the distorting, selective ‘lens’ of culture is a tricky—if not altogether impossible—business, as we post-critical, epistemologically savvy moderns have come to realize—late in the day, as it were.

Ideology and Anti-nature (9/12/16)

If the ideological scheme – or prevailing worldview – into which we were born, indoctrinated, and gradually conscripted is radically out of alignment with the more deeply rooted structural features of the ancestral unconscious from which our psyches were born, then one thing is certain: adaptation to and conformity with these less than natural, craftily engineered ideological imperatives runs afoul of our inherited natures and courts individual and collective catastrophe. Only an equally determined and relentless insurrection against this booby-trapped indoctrination affords some of us a slender chance of forging a thick life, as opposed to the mythically anemic and psychologically threadbare existence we see among “the sleepwalkers.” But for such self-liberation to get off the ground – or off the “drawing board” – we must first earn a clearer understanding of that against which our life is in revolt.

What this understanding consists in – and how it is arrived at – are perhaps my chief concerns as I near the tender age of sixty. To be plain: I have not been lazy or fainthearted all these years; rather, I have devoted my best energies to serious study, reflection, discussion, and “journaling” (as a vital and necessary aid to digestion). I have never been a namby-pamby greenhorn in whose heart the fire of rebellion waits to be kindled, for the process of uprooting and peeling away my own malignant, crippling ideological indoctrination (on a variety of fronts: religious; philosophical; political-national; moral; cultural; etc.) has long been underway. It has advanced side-by-side with the deepening and the subtilization of my understanding – both of the psyche and the forms (of thought, feeling, belief, valuation, etc.) – that makes a measure of such self-liberation possible.

A life that would be free must first come to frank and no-nonsense terms with the mental manacles by which it is bound. Since – like the prisoners in Plato’s allegory of the cave – most of us are not only content with, and possibly even proud of, our state of imprisonment, but oblivious to it – we mistake slavery for freedom, or at least for the acceptable norm. What is it inside some of us that instinctively “smells a rat” in all such norms, regardless of which “culture cave” these norms preside over? Isn’t it the nearly universal acceptance or endorsement of these general norms that arouses our suspicion and mistrust?

What, more specifically, provokes this ineradicable uneasiness and caution where such norms and collective assumptions are concerned? Aware of their anchoring and compelling power over the multitude, I soberly acknowledge the order-imposing power and the steadying influence of these blunt, categorical “rules of thumb” upon the skittish herd. We, too, like less philosophically-minded elites, typically prefer stable socio-political conditions (at least in our own backyard). It is probably safe to say that if cynical oligarchical elites did not promulgate some “noble lie” or pious fraud, around which the people, now as ever, could huddle – as around a magnetic field – the people would clamor for such an order-imposing and stabilizing fabrication. The people will always need and greatly prefer empty generalities to dense, subtle, and dangerously substantial truths – which cause them to fret and scatter – and what are these empty, puffed up generalities if they are not the same noble lies I just referred to?

The chief difference between the philosopher and the cynic is that the former sort cherishes social harmony and stability so that he may be left in peace and quiet to ply his unpopular passion (hoping that his influence upon thinking men and women will promote the common good), while the cynical profiteer sees in the same conditions the most favorable opportunities for fleecing the sheep. Lao-tzu and Plato, both from the first lot, had the temerity to counsel those from the second bunch – but Lao-tzu only as he departed, once and for all, from the palace gates. Plato chose instead, to employ a form of esoteric writing that both hinted at and concealed the radical political conservatism (or muted pessimism?) he actually espoused.

Consequences of the Split in Western Consciousness (4/1/11)

The splitting of God and Satan, along with our psyches, into good and evil opposites—where good is ‘upper’ and lit up and ‘evil’ is lower and dark—has led to a distortion and psychological falsification of both sides of this psychological equation. A small minority of men and women today are moving into position to undergo a momentous transformation—the transition from being more or less exclusively ‘moral’ in their fundamental orientation to being ‘psychological.’ The long ‘moral’ phase (roughly coincident with Christianity as the prevailing worldview in the West) has been characterized by an ongoing battle between the radically differentiated ‘spiritual’ and the ‘animal’ aspects of our shared human nature. The newly emerging ‘psychological’ phase will concern itself with soul and soul-making. Soul, as middle principle between spirit and matter, is created out of a provisional truce and the suspension of the hostilities between spirit and matter (or body) and an ongoing effort to bring them into a more or less fruitful and harmonious relation. The dramatic and painful split into warring opposites seems, in retrospect, to have been a necessary phase through which an evolving humanity had to pass—in order to differentiate and focus the light of ego-consciousness. (cf. Cornford on the discovery of the pairs of opposites by the ancient Greeks, and the Indian/Chinese parallels—not to mention the dual symbol of the Fishes in Pisces, the ruling astrological sign of the aeon.) The pressures imposed upon the fragile and slowly maturing ego were formidable, especially when a person struggled to take on as much responsibility as possible for his/her actions, thoughts, feelings, impulses, and choices. Those who left these matters to fate, to their masters, or to God, experienced far less inner stress and tension—then as now—but their ego-consciousness was correspondingly dimmer and weaker, as a consequence.


Depth-seekers and Depth-shunners (7/25/17—Quito)

When a marriage, a friendship, a political alliance, or a professional career is simply not working, despite our best efforts, do we not acquire permission to withdraw—permission that may entail a measure of free moral choice on our part but is not ultimately founded or dependent upon our voluntary choice? Where does this extra-moral permission—or should we not, perhaps, call it an imperative or a mandate—come from? And if this permission, this mandate, this imperative comes from some source or region that lies beyond or deeper than our conscious will and reason—say, from some instinctual or pre-conscious level—how much freedom is involved in the act of withdrawal? What we are describing here is a situation where one’s former investment (of desire, interest, love, trust, enthusiasm, hope, etc.) has dried up at its very source. Next, we cannot resist asking: Did we freely create or generate that desire, interest, love, etc., in the first place—and did we just as freely command or orchestrate their evaporation and extinction—or weren’t all of these rising and falling affects secretly and invisibly set into motion and then doused by unseen agencies well out of our reach and, therefore, beyond our control?

But what percentage of men and women living today have learned how to rely chiefly upon this invisible and more mysterious background out of which emerge those most compelling—if unheeded—inducements, commands, warnings, and interdictions? What portion of humanity attends, first and foremost, to these cues and clues from below, from beyond the foreground consciousness that enjoys so much more power and authority over the multitude? Why is this the case and how did it come to be this way? Why does this foreground consciousness and its stock, collective contents so commonly and so effectively muffle or drown out altogether the much older and much more thoroughly ‘road-tested’ voice from the depths—the voice, if you like, of the ancestral spirits?

If we take a close, scrutinizing look at the comparative minority, now as ever, who do in fact heed these ‘cues and clues’ (from what Jung called the ‘unconscious’), what do we observe? What, if anything, sets them apart from the majority who live, as it were, closer to the surface of consciousness rather than in and from the depths? Moreover, how might we characterize relations between these two segments of humanity? Are we justified in speaking of the depth-plumbing minority as the ‘elders’ of our species? Does their attunement—their at-one-ment—with these profounder and older strata of our shared history place them in the position of pioneers, guides, and scouts for humanity—or should we perhaps regard them as atavisms, retrograde relics from a generally barbaric and backwards past?

It must be admitted that this relative minority of depth-seekers are more conservative (and I certainly do not mean ‘right wing Republican’ by this) than the majority who instinctively avoid the quieter and darker depths. The depth-seekers may even be characterized as ‘archaic’ in some respects since the strata of the psyche into which their conscious roots descend have an ‘immemorial’ or archetypal quality about them. And yet, it would be going too far to describe them as ‘primitive,’ outmoded, or backwards. Au contraire. Like seasoned and venerable old elephants, whales, tortoises, and condors that have savored and suffered life to the full, the minority of human depth-dwellers of all ages and climes have something timeless about them. As such, they are emblematic of their kind—their type or species—like living, breathing, suffering, and delighting symbols. At once particular and universal, mortal and undying, actual and imaginal, part and whole.

Such reflections point to a welter of paradoxes respecting the multifaceted, elusive notion of freedom, depending on whether one is a denizen of the depths, the shoals, or from some place in between. The archetypal legacy or inheritance passed down from the primeval past may be likened to a deep, broad river. The waters of this mighty river are gathered from throughout the vast territory surrounding it. The river stretches from its headwaters to the delta where it merges with the sea.

For the minority of depth delvers—employing our river analogy—freedom means adaptation to, and acceptance of, the currents within the rising and falling river. At times, it is both wise and joyfully revitalizing to surrender to the current that follows a course or line of least resistance through the vast surrounding territory. At other times, it is salutary and strengthening to swim upstream—against the current—to revisit past scenes and atmospheres with new eyes and perspectives. What distinguishes the freedom of the depth-seekers is graceful movement or navigation within the all-embracing stream of life. The freedom of the depth-shunners, however, is of a very different sort, indeed.

The depth-shunners are as needful of hydration as their distant kin, the depth-seekers, but rather than immerse themselves, trustingly, into the stream of life, they prefer to dwell along its shallow banks where they can fetch what they need without having to swim—or even get wet. This, in a nutshell, is their notion of freedom. In stark contrast to the freedom I described earlier, the bank-dwellers’ freedom is freedom from immersion in the flowing stream of archetypally-informed-and-animated experience. Levees and ramparts along the river help to protect and insulate them from rising waters, while irrigation channels and hydroelectric dams allow them to exploit the river for countless benefits. Thus, because of these artificial means, the depth-shunners are able to live and move about in relative security and comfort farther and farther away from the river itself. Larger and larger tracts of the desert surrounding the river are steadily settled and inhabited by these depth-dreaders who have never seen, let alone swam in, the distant river that supports them and everyone they know via aqueducts and pipelines.

Whole generations of desert-dwelling descendants of depth-shunners come and go with only a few persons undertaking the long pilgrimage to the river to behold the shared source upon which all depend. As the centuries pass, fewer and fewer of those pilgrims are able to sufficiently overcome their fears—fostered and fueled by stories passed down through generations of depth-shunners—to leap into the magnificent river when they at last reach its distant banks. But one or two from each generation do take the plunge—and then learn how to swim and to navigate the river’s currents. Later, these same depth-seekers send emissaries to challenge and discredit the superstitions and false beliefs of those teeming, timid desert-dwellers who are ignorant and fearful of the very source upon which their thin, dry lives depend.