The Dance of Will and Surrender (Part 2)

I admit, I have largely lost my train of thought about the nature of will and our relationship with the gods (in no small part due to the intervention of scavenging trolls all over the original comment thread — but I've already digressed on that point enough). I'm going to try to recapture some of what I was thinking last week when I wrote Part 1 of this post, but it's likely to be somewhat messy. In the meantime, there have been several other ideas bumping around in my head, and I'd like to make more of an effort, on a regular basis, to get these thoughts down in some form before they fly off again.

So.

It would be easiest to jump back into this conversation by looking again at the example of Elani and the way she describes her relationship with her gods within the context of Hellenismos. I don't mean to pick on her, or to pass some sort of judgement on her relationship with her gods in any general sense since I am admittedly working from only a very brief familiarity (and I can appreciate that you can't possibly say everything in a blog post, so I'm sure her spiritual life is much more complicated that that brief glimpse afforded by blogging).... But she provides a useful example of some of the stumbling blocks that I find presented by an asymmetrical approach to deity relationships within hard polytheism.

I should also mention that Elani did respond to the barrage of questions I left in a comment on her blog post, and while she didn't really address some of the stickiest of my sticking points, she did bring up some interesting things to consider, in a roundabout way.

The first is that she says, for her, religion "always has a foundation in one or more asymmetrical relationships. Although the level of asymmetricallity varies within Traditions, and even more so within individual practitioners, the very nature of the Gods (as non-human, and often more powerful) disallows symmetricallity."

This was a very helpful way of putting it, because it made me see immediately that we were taking for granted different assumptions about the nature of asymmetrical v. hierarchical relationship. I was assuming (and I don't think I'm wrong) that when Elani speaks of "asymmetrical relationship" with the gods, she always means a hierarchy, in which the gods are superior to human beings. It seems to me that, for her, the only alternative to this hierarchy is "symmetricality" [sic], a symmetrical relationship.

I don't think I really agree with this dichotomy. It seems to me that there are many different kinds of relationship that are neither hierarchical nor symmetrical, and many of the examples I listed in my last post, drawing on analogies from ecology, would probably be considered neither. I am making some assumptions here, again, but to me the idea of "symmetry" suggests a certain kind of sameness — not simply equality, but furthermore a very specific kind of equality. Just looking at the most common definition of symmetry: "the correspondence in size, form, and arrangement of parts on opposite sides of a plane, line, or point; regularity of form or arrangement in terms of like, reciprocal, or corresponding parts." In other words, symmetry implies not only equality, but similarity. If we imagine a line that divides humans from the gods, a "symmetrical" relationship would see the gods as reflections of humanity "corresponding in size, form and arrangement." It would make sense, then, that the only way to avoid this kind of symmetry between humans and the gods is to insist that the gods are more powerful, bigger, better, superior; in short, to insist on hierarchy.

And this is where I differ from Elani most basically, and perhaps the place where all my stumbling blocks with hard polytheism come from. It seems to me that, although hard polytheists like Elani (and it's hard to say how widespread this particular conception is, but gods forbid I be accused of "over-generalizing"!) insist on the separateness of the gods as distinct, discrete beings, they tend to imagine the gods in very anthropocentric terms. (It seems to me that even this insistence on separateness has its roots in anthropocentrism, actually, since a defining aspect of human experience -- perhaps the first recognizably "psychological" event we experience after birth -- is the experience of our separateness, our perceived individuality.) In some ways, I see the gods as much more "other" than these hard polytheists do, and that otherness is not merely a matter of possessing a greater degree of power, knowledge, etc. It is an otherness that is deeply and numinously Other, and so does not conform to our expectations of what it means to be separate or individual or discrete entities.

I'm reminded of Thomas Nagel's famous philosophical essay, "What Is It Like To Be A Bat?" In which he says, "The fact that an organism has conscious experience at all means, basically, that there is something it is like to be that organism." He goes on to argue that there are insurmountable obstacles to us being able to effectively imagine the subjective experiences of (i.e. "what it is like to be") life forms that are vastly different from us. Personally, I think he goes a bit too far and maybe doesn't appreciate just how flexible and variable consciousness (and its many diverse altered states, including imagination) can be in both humans and other animals. And I'm going to hang this article link here, which provides a better break down of some of the other problems with his ideas. But this conversation about the otherness of the gods reminds me of Nagel mostly because, in the end, Nagel is arguing against reductionism and materialism. In a weird way, although I think probably hard polytheists would disagree with me, I'm trying to do the same thing. To me, the hard polytheistic approach to the gods is reductionist and limiting. It also reminds me a bit of that episode of Star Trek the Original Series, when Kirk meets Apollo, who turns out to just be an alien who pulled a fast one on the earthlings a few millennia ago. It also reminds me a bit of the amusingly nonsensical Ancient Aliens theorists who see in every description of ancient polytheistic gods the evidence that aliens from another planet visited earth and literally instructed humanity in some of the earliest evolution of civilization. In both cases, you have a vast underestimation of the human capacity for creativity, adaptation and invention, and a vast oversimplification of the source of those capacities which would rather suppose some external but basically anthropocentric entity than a more complex understanding of consciousness.

And if comparing hard polytheists to a bunch of New Age nutjobs doesn't explode a few heads, I don't know what will.

I'm getting off the point.

As for the rest of Elani's response, she describes the kinds of physical and psychological sensations and impressions she receives that she interprets as messages from the gods, noting that she's never "heard voices" or anything like that. These are... less than convincing, but she admits as much, so we can leave it there. In the end, her opening remark sets the tone for her entire response, when she says, "I'm going to try to answer them as logically as I can, but a large part of my practice is not based on logic. Faith, on principle, lacks a certain logic, but that has never held me back from having it." (emphasis added) Hello again, you old Cartesian dualism! For the record, I think this dichotomy between "faith" and "reason" which sets them at odds with each other is nonsense. There is no reason why trust, devotion and a sense of mystery (that is, in other words, what I mean by the word "faith") cannot also be logical. In fact, the radical doubt of Descartes is itself illogical on close examination, and a certain degree of trust (for instance, trusting in the truth of your premises, or trusting in the process of logic itself) is necessary in order for logic to even function. I can't say for sure what Elani means when she says her practice is "not based on logic" or that faith "lacks logic".... and part of why I can't say what she means is because I don't think she actually knows what she means, and that is precisely the breakdown that she is trying to describe and excuse. What this sounds like, however, is the recurrence of New Age warm-fuzzies in hard polytheist/Reconstructionist garb. This would be fine — I'm all for a deeper appreciation of intuition and the complex role that nonrational forms of knowledge play in our understanding and experience of the world — except that far too often I see hard polytheists and Recons setting themselves up as anti-New Age, as more grounded in facts and scholarship that we "neo-Pagans." Scratch a hard polytheist, and you find her blood as warm and fuzzy as any New Ager (she is, perhaps, just more embarrassed about showing it and slaps the bandage of piety and "UPG" on it in an attempt to hold herself together in some sort of respectable way).

That's a rather mean way of saying it, though. A better way of saying it is that we have a lot more in common than we often like to think, and I suspect it's more ego than logic (or faith) that interferes with our ability to meet on common ground to have actual fruitful conversations about our differences. I have to admit, though, it bothers me that when Elani writes that she would not want to presume to define anyone else's relationship with the gods, this is taken as an example of humility, whereas when a "neo-Pagan" (i.e. someone who is admittedly not a reconstructionist or hard polytheist) says the same thing, they are accused of fluffiness, relativism and romanticism.

Zeus and the Umbrella

In any case, if I can't get Elani to think critically about her practice, I can at least try my hand at it myself, admitting that I'm working from limited information. Let's take her example of her relationship with Zeus. When talking about her relationship with deities, she writes:

This means that--when it comes to the Theoi--I say 'how high' when They say 'jump', regardless of what is requested of me. It also means that I put my faith in Them. When I pray and sacrifice to Zeus the Thunderer for a day without rain as I do my rounds outside, I don't bring an umbrella. I trust that Zeus will either honor my prayer through kharis, or will have good reason not to. Who am I to go against His wishes and stay dry, regardless? To me, that is hubris.

There are several things that bother me about this example.

(a) Who's directing who? Elani's example seems like it's meant to illustrate how she puts her faith in the gods and trusts the instructions and messages she receives from them. And yet, in her own example, she is the one giving the orders. Or rather, making the request. She may not expect her request to be granted, but she obviously hopes it will be. There is no indication that Zeus told her to leave the house without an umbrella. It doesn't even seem like she has any particular reason for not taking an umbrella with her (I don't know what her "outside rounds" include, maybe there's a reason she can't bring an umbrella? in any case, she doesn't specify, so I can only assume that it's not relevant to her point). In other words, it seems like this is not so much an example of trust in the gods' guidance, as a deliberate test of their kharis (benevolence or grace).

(b) What is the lesson in being wet? I can think of several, of course, only the first of which is learning to be more grounded in my body and in touch with the seasons of the natural world and all their patterns and moods. (And I've certainly been caught off guard in enough rainstorms to appreciate when the gods feel a need to make this point if I wasn't getting it through my thick head voluntarily.) But I'm interested in what Elani thinks is the point of her potentially getting wet. Let's pretend Elani lives in, say, Texas (I don't know where she actually lives, but this will make for a useful thought experiment). Supposing that Zeus is more concerned with alleviating the crippling drought in the midwest than making sure one of his worshippers stays dry, he may decide to let it rain regardless of Elani's offerings. But does that mean that he specifically wants Elani to get wet? I don't see why. It seems to me, supposing that things work as Elani seems to believe they do and Zeus really does have this kind of direct control over the weather, that whether or not Elani gets wet is totally irrelevant and beside the point from Zeus's perspective. If Elani assumes that there is some special reason why Zeus would let it rain despite her offerings and prayers, doesn't that again place herself at the center of Zeus's concerns? And isn't that more than a little arrogant?

(c) Are petty deeds really examples of piety? Because in the end, she's not the Wicked Witch of the West and she's not going to melt if she gets a little rain on her. She most likely won't even catch a cold. But let's assume some other example of this kind of thinking: The mother whose child gets sick but refuses to take him to a doctor because she believes that God (or Apollo) will keep the boy alive or let him die, according to his divine plan. That's pretty extreme, and I think a lot of people find this kind of "faith" dangerous rather than admirable. (The classic counterargument to this one is, of course: Who's to say that God didn't inspire doctors to develop various medicines precisely so the boy's life could be saved?) How about another example: The Hellenist who doesn't replace the batteries in her smoke detector but leaves offerings (and lit candles) on her altar to Hestia, believing that if her house burns down it must have been Hestia's will. Or who makes offerings to Hermes and then drives around at night without a seatbelt, or headlights? Or who makes offerings to Aphrodite and then has unprotected sex, risking pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease? Or who makes offerings to Zeus, and then not only leaves the house without an umbrella, but goes golfing near a bunch of tall trees in the middle of a thunderstorm? My point is, when facing real potential risks, I very much doubt that Elani (or most people, regardless of the strength of their faith or who they have faith in) allow faith to trump common sense precautions. (On the other hand, she seems to be saying otherwise in this post — apparently she'd be willing to risk someone else's life, if not her own.) I've never had any indication from any of the gods that they feel honored by recklessness, or that it is hubris to guard against potential harm. Wearing a seatbelt, using contraceptives, having a working smoke detector, and carrying an umbrella with you when you think it might rain.... I find it hard to imagine that any of these things are offensive to the gods. In fact — and maybe this is just me imagining the gods in my own image — I'm more inclined to think they're offended by deliberate recklessness and stupidity, than by common sense. After all, if you're taking risks that might harm you, don't you think the gods who enjoy your worship (and may, depending on your beliefs, even have created you and have something invested in your future) want you to take care of yourself?

(d) Who's making it rain anyway? My final problem with Elani's approach is that, as a hard polytheist, I assume that she not only believes in Zeus as a distinct and separate being, but also believes that so are all the other rain and thunder gods — among them, Thor, Indra, Set, Oya, Lei Gong, and the Thunderbirds of Native American traditions. So let's imagine, now, that Elani lives out here in Seattle, and she makes a petition to Zeus to keep it from raining. But I make offerings to Thor because I want it to rain (make up a reason, I don't know, I just like rain). Regardless of whether or not it rains: which god gets to decide? According to the hard polytheistic view, Zeus and Thor are two different deities, but according to the traditions to which they each belong, they are each responsible for thunderstorms. So, are Zeus and Thor battling it out to determine who gets to turn the great water spigot in the sky? If it does rain, does that mean that Zeus wanted it to rain on Elani, or does it mean that my offerings to Thor were more effective? If it kept raining on Elani every time I petitioned Thor, would that be enough evidence to convert Elani to Heathenry?

This is also the issue with Recons who are cultural purists while also being hard polytheists. I was devoted exclusively to Celtic deities for most of my time as a practicing Pagan — partly because those are my own ancestral roots, and partly because I believe in the vital importance of understanding cultural context — and then Artemis came knocking on my door. And it was definitely Artemis. And like plenty of folks who think of themselves as hard polytheists, I had to accept that I couldn't wedge her into the role of a Celtic moon/wilderness goddess just because I wanted to stay within the tradition that I was comfortable with. (And to be fair, the very first thing I did was start studying up on the cultural context of ancient Greek religion, so that I could better understand Artemis and her new place in my life. But I'll be damned if that means I'm embracing patriarchy or hierarchy for the sake of historical accuracy.) So.... if Reconstructionists are, by and large, hard polytheists who believe that the different gods from different cultures really are unique and separate deities, then how can they at the same time believe that the gods of their specific tradition have control or power over universal forces or events, like weather, or disease, or fire, or any of the other areas for which most cultures have deities of one kind or another. Back when I was a monotheist, it might have made sense for me to believe that the rain was a sign from God, because there was only one and he could do whatever he wanted. It may even have made sense back in the days before very much international travel, when deities were worshipped in particular locations and were believed to have power over that particular land or cultural group, but not necessarily any further. (This was, lest we forget, the main reason that the Hebrew god Yaweh was so controversial -- he wouldn't stay put, but claimed to be mobile and to go with his people into disapora. The only way this made sense to the polytheists at the time, including the Hebrews themselves, was if they supposed that he was therefore more powerful than all the other gods.) When you're dealing with multicultural and/or diasporic hard polytheism, which is what most modern Pagans are dealing with, it becomes much more difficult to accept a literalist view of the nature and powers of the gods.

To be fair, I may be vastly oversimplifying Elani's view, not to mention the views of other hard polytheists. But these are the kinds of questions that I can't ignore or overlook, and I suspect that they are the kinds of questions that Elani avoids in declaring that her practice is "not based on logic." There is nothing wrong with admitting when we run up against mysteries and paradoxes when grappling with these huge questions, but it is during those times that I think reason and critical thinking can be invaluable tools (so long as we don't turn them into weapons to be wielded violently to force the world to conform to our expectations). This is also the time when poetry and metaphor and mythos become incredibly important, but these too suffocate and die under the weight of literalism.

Returning to Natural Polytheism and the Question of Will

In a roundabout way, this brings us back to the question of free will. We are talking about the powers of the gods and their influence over the natural world, of which we are obviously a part. This challenge of a multicultural world is one reason I include animism and pantheism along with polytheism as descriptions of my particular approach to theology. In the same way that I might be able to provoke a forest fire by striking a match, I do believe that the gods have a relationship with the natural forces of the world, and that through the medium of the natural world they manifest and express themselves just as an artist might express themselves through clay or paint or music. But I do not usually equate the gods directly with those natural forces, and if I want it to rain, or I feel bitten and beleaguered by the wind, I'm just as likely to address the storm itself. Where my animism shades off into polytheism is a bit murky, made murkier by the fact that I do also believe in the Song of the World, a kind of harmony running through and uniting everything in a single pattern (hence, my pantheism). I do not necessarily believe that the gods are all merely manifestations of a Single God, but I do believe that the melodies of their existence are dominant harmonies in this World Song in which all of our melodies have a part. For me, the Song of the World is very similar to the Daoist concept of the Dao or Way, which is both a guide and "just the way things are." The gods are just as beholden to the Way as we are, and they cannot violate it any more than we can.

But if this is true, then what of free will? Is there even such a thing, if we are all being guided and shaped (and stuck in) the Song of the World?

This question came up in a slightly different way with Dave, in the comment thread in response to John's original post, and it's what inspired the title of this too-long two-part post. The issue was, if someone claims to have submitted willingly to some external authority, isn't this itself an act of will? In other words, is it even possible to give up one's free will?

So we're coming at the question from two directions. On the one hand, if we are inextricably enmeshed in the Song of the World, an endless web of relationship and interconnection, of cause and effect, beholden to powers greater than ourselves and even to our own powers and capacities of which we might not know the full extent.... then in what sense do we have "free will"? But on the other hand, if every action is a manifestation of will, even the choice not to act or to allow another to dictate our actions, then how can we ever say that we have relinquished our will? From one perspective, we never had free will at all; from the other perspective, we can't ever be rid of it.

My understanding of will is that it is very much like a muscle. It is something that is innate to us in potentia and to a certain extent manifestly, but it is also something that we have to develop and maintain in order for it to be effective. Like a muscle, the will is not exercised either from being always lax and passive, or from being always tensed and resistant -- instead, we develop our will and keep it strong by learning how to dance. A dancer knows when to tense a muscle, and when to allow it to go limp, and either or both are often needed in order to accomplish a particular move or to avoid an injury. A dancer is in a constant conversation with gravity, and in the same way, our will is in a constant conversation with the World Song in which it is enmeshed. It is against the World Song and the many other beings around us that we exert ourselves when we tense our will, and it is to the World Song and those others that we surrender ourselves when we relax. For that matter, this is true of everyone else as well — we are dancers whose hands are not only linked, but sewn together, and so the surrender or resistance of others has a direct bearing on our own expression of will. When we are in relationships that demand that we always be limp and relaxed, we find our wills growing weak, atrophied from disuse; likewise, when we are in relationships in which others are always limp and submissive, we find ourselves constantly under the pressure of supporting their weight, and our wills, like muscles, lock up under the unrelenting strain. In both cases, such relationships cause us and others harm. (And I'll note that, from what little I know of dance, the partner being lifted needs to be as strong and sure in her movements as the partner doing the lifting.)

A healthy will is one that sometimes offers resistance and sometimes relaxes. It is also flexible and able to be stretched, and like a muscle, stretching can often seem to be a strange, even paradoxical combination of tension and relaxation. (My favorite example of this is the breathing technique that Jeff taught me for yoga, in which during the in-breath you "push" your body into the proper alignment -- f'ex, pushing your heels into the floor, or your hips into the air -- and during the out-breath, you deliberately relax your body as much as possible while maintaining that position. When done correctly, you do not seem to move at all, but the internal rhythm is there.) Healthy muscles do not "submit" to gravity, but work with the reality of its existence in ways that honor the appropriate place of both tension and relaxation. The same is true for a healthy and well-developed will.

As for the gods... they play us like instruments. When we are rigid, we cannot respond to their touch. When we are limp, we cannot sing. The same is true for everything in the world; the gods play the world itself as an instrument. Brigid plays fire with her fingertips, tripping her toes across sunbeams like a harp, stirring deep earthy tones from the rising waters of the hot springs. Artemis calls in the wind that howls like a baying hound through the trees, or places her hand on the drumhead of the moon to mute the sounds of midnight for a moment of rest. This is poetry. This is metaphor. This is the Song of the World.

The Dance of Will and Surrender (Part 1)

The conversation about faith, free will, submission and discernment continues over on John's blog, and talk has turned to the nature of the will itself, and what exactly it actually means to submit or surrender one's will to an external authority. (Setting aside for a moment the nature of that external authority.)

But let me back up. I had a conversation with Jeff over dinner tonight exploring in more detail what I find to be problematic with Elani's approach to an asymmetrical faith, in which the gods are powerful and, luckily for us, benevolent and therefore demand and expect our obedience.

On the Nature of Gods (And Other Messy Things)

A few things to note: First of all, the question of an asymmetrical faith-based relationship with the gods is separate from a question about whether or not one believes they exist. This is why I think the analogy of the marriage is helpful. I have a very equal and mutually trusting relationship with Jeff, and for us the idea that either of us would be expected to "submit" to or "obey" the other (as those terms are popularly understood is) is laughable. But having an equal relationship with Jeff doesn't mean I don't believe he exists, or that I don't believe that, at least in the most obvious and mundane way, he is a separate person from me.

In other words, despite what Elani claims, hard polytheism does not require one to adopt an asymmetrical faith-based relationship with the gods. Neither does reconstructionism as an approach to one's religious tradition. These are two assertions that Elani makes several times, and as far as I can tell, they have no real basis.

However, believing that some kind of equal and mutual relationship between the gods is possible does mean that I might not agree with certain assumptions about what the gods are like. This is not a question of existence or nonexistence, or whether or not I "take the gods seriously." (Or at least, it is only a debate over existence if you take the narrow view that in order for a god to be considered "real" it must conform to your particular theology.) It is instead of a question of whether or not a person believes that spiritual relationship is defined in terms of hierarchy. The word "submission" itself implicitly relies on a concept of hierarchy, in which the human being submitting to a god is beneath that god.

I should say that reconstructionism in general does not require a faith based in a theology of hierarchy. Hellenistic reconstructionism might very well require it, since the ancient Greek and Roman cultures were notoriously patriarchal and hierarchical. Why anyone would want to reconstruct that part of our history is beyond me. (Weirdly, Elani states in one post on her blog that because she was not raised Christian, unlike many Pagans, she does not have hang-ups about issues of submission and authority — as if old psychological wounds are the only reason a person might be uncomfortable with such concepts.)

So if I don't subscribe to a theology of hierarchy when it comes to my understanding of the gods, then what do I think the gods are like?

That is a complex question, but I find myself once again going back to ecology and the idea of "natural polytheism" as I described it back in my post on NUP:

Natural polytheism embraces the science of ecology as a basic metaphor for theological inquiry. In other words, natural polytheism seeks to understand our relationship with the gods as an aspect of interrelated systems of being, consciousness and meaning.

Hierarchies are rare in the science of ecology, and where they do exist, they usually take the form of things like trophic cascades or altitudinal zonation. In other words, though we may rank things within an ecosystem, we rank them with regard to a very particular aspect of their relationship with the larger community. A hemlock is not superior (in any existential sense) to an alder simply because it happens to grow at a higher elevation; a gray wolf is not superior to an elk, which is not superior to a douglas fir. Even when we identify species that play a special or especially important role within an ecosystem — such as a keystone species, a foundation species, or an indicator species — these species are not considered "higher" or "better" than other species. Rather, their importance is contingent upon their relationship with the rest of the community; and in fact, sometimes the same species might be a keystone in one ecosystem, but not in another. It would be impractical, if not impossible, to establish some kind of ontological ranked system for all of these species, or for individuals within a species. (Except insofar as the social behaviors of the animals themselves establish a ranking within a given social group; but even these are fluid and subject to change. You'd be hard-pressed to argue that Mr. Bobo is the alpha male gorilla because of some inherent superiority that all the other gorillas recognize. There is no divine mandate for gorillas, or for gray wolves for that matter, as we got to witness at the Wolf Sanctuary in Pennsylvania last week.) The point in all of this is that, within ecology, the idea of ranking is largely a convenient construct for understanding the complex patterns of relationship that exist within a community of living (and non-living) beings; such rankings have specific contexts in which they are relevant, and they never carry the connotation of a species of individual being "superior" or "inferior." Rank, in ecology, is a matter of function and relationship, not of a being's essential nature.

How this applies to theology and the nature of deity is something I'm still working out. Basically, what I am saying is that the gods are not "better" or "higher" than human beings. They are merely different from humans. They might be bigger, or deeper, or more expansive, or alternately more focused, in how they function and how we relate to them (as compared to how we relate to, say, other human beings)... but none of this implies a superiority on their part, or the necessity of submission or obedience on our part.

Maybe an analogy will help. We do not, for instance, "obey" a forest fire. We may be helpless in the face of such a fire, and it might even have the power of life or death over us, and we cannot help but deal with the effects of a forest fire when one occurs. But this is not obedience. All this may also be true of a god — we might acknowledge that the influence of a god is overwhelming, or that a god has the power of life or death over us (this is, if I'm remembering correctly, the very definition of a deity that Emma Restall Orr uses). But acknowledging this is not the same thing as obedience.

Furthermore, certain species of trees (such as the lodgepole pine) have adapted to the regular recurrence of forest fires within an ecosystem in ways that are to their own evolutionary advantage. For instance, their cones only open when exposed to extreme heat. On the one hand, this conserves the energy which a tree puts into reproduction, for it will not create and release seeds that are then unable to compete with older, larger and better established trees. On the other hand, this adaptation takes advantage of the conditions created by the forest fire, and young seedlings flourish in the nutrient-enriched soil and the ample sunlight available after a fire has swept through and cleared the area of older, larger trees. But it would be nonsensical to say that, in this case, the lodgepole pine "submits" to the forest fire and, as a result, benefits from its submission. In the same way, we might learn how to cultivate our relationship with a god so that we can better negotiate that god's influence in our lives, even coming to embrace that influence in a way that helps us while acknowledging that we have not altered the nature of that god.... but this is not submission, so much as harmonious relationship.

A forest fire, as an event rather than a living being, is maybe not even the best example. The best example are some of the mutualist or engineer species, which not only learn how to fit themselves into a pre-existing environment, but actually actively shape their environments in ways that carve out the niches necessary for their survival and the survival of other species. My relationship with a forest fire is, admittedly, a bit one way (though I might be able to create environmental conditions that either encourage or discourage a forest fire from happening). But the bear's relationship with the salmon is mutually beneficial to both, and also beneficial to other species within the ecosystem, even though the salmon is eaten by the bear.

In this same way, I might have a relationship with a god who influences my life in a very particular way, who shapes me through that influence and guides my life. I may choose to accept and embrace that influence, but I might just as well choose to resist it or attempt to alter or redirect it through my relationship with that god. Whether I accept or resist this influence determines how it shapes me, and it also determines the future nature of our relationship. In this case, there is a mutual relationship that can be negotiated on both sides, there is a reciprocity of influence (especially if we are assuming a personal and, to some extent, autonomous or freely acting god). But what there isn't — not even a hint of — is hierarchy.

I am still exploring these ideas, and I have a lot more to say on this whole topic — I haven't even scratched the surface of my conversation with Jeff over dinner tonight, in fact — but it is late enough now that I think some ice cream and a good book are in order.

More on this in the near future.

Deity, Discernment and Faith

John Halstead shared a very interesting post the other day, titled "The role of faith and hubris in Paganism," which has sparked a lot of thought and commenting from me. Below, I'm just going to re-post some of the (far too verbose) comments I've left both on his blog, and on a response posted by one of the people he quotes in his post.

My initial response to his blog post was:

I do wonder, though, if much of the character of faith-based hard polytheism is influenced specifically by Protestant and Evangelical denominations of Christianity, particularly here in the U.S. Long before I became a Pagan, I found myself having these kinds of conversations because I was raised in a (liberal) Catholic tradition that emphasized the vital and necessary role of a person’s own conscience and a careful process of discernment in determining how to act on “divine inspiration,” always with an awareness that distinguishing the source of that inspiration can be nearly impossible. (But then again, I’m not sure if this is something that’s really common to Catholicism but not Protestantism, or if it’s something common to liberal Christianity rather than conservative Christianity, or if it’s just an accident that this was an emphasis in my childhood church and doesn’t actually represent a larger trend at all.)

Placing devotion to a deity in the context of personal discernment pretty much rules out for me any notion of handing over my will or submitting myself entirely to an external force. Not to mention — and maybe I am just not special enough to be on any god’s mailing list — I’m rarely on the receiving end of so obvious or direct a message from the gods that it includes how high I need to jump or which bridge I should be jumping from. My spiritual life is much more an on-going process of deep listening to a complex web of urges, attractions, distractions and repulsions, the various sources of which are just as often in the natural world around me or in my own psyche as in some externalized god-form (more often, I should say). I might sometimes talk about my relationship with my gods in terms of “messages” or guidance or inspiration, but it’s almost always metaphorical, not literal.

For Elani, and others, it seems like hubris to question the instructions of the gods. For me, it seems deeply arrogant to be too eager to attribute our various impulses to some external deity, to clothe our instincts or intuitions in the finery of divine inspiration as a way of elevating or ennobling them. It seems hubris to act on our assumptions that we are receiving and hearing such messages correctly, without first turning a very careful and critical eye on all of the ways our own desires, assumptions and projections might be biasing us.

Which is not to say that I don’t believe there is some transcendent divine reality that transcends not only our individual selves (and our Selves), but also our human and more-than-human/natural communities as well. But determining what influence that transcendent divinity has on our lives has, for me, always been an exercise in retrospective contemplation, where the patterns of coincidence and chance resolve into a coherent and beautiful melody even when, at the time, I was only ever bumbling along doing my best to tease out the signal from the noise.

I followed this up with a visit to Elani Temperance's blog, where I eventually succeeded (Google bugs not withstanding) to leave this comment on her post, "The girl who kicked the hornets nest (again), part 2":

I only just got home from traveling for the winter holidays visiting family, and so I was only just now able to catch up on John's post and all of these various replies. I wanted to say thanks for continuing the conversation. I wasn't familiar with your writing and John's brief quote was the first I'd heard of it -- I mention that, because I have some questions that I'd love to hear your thoughts on and, if you've already addressed them elsewhere in your prolific blog, even just a list of links of your past writing on the subject would be awesome. :)

Firstly, I was really struck by how you consistently equated a very specific kind of asymmetrical faith-based approach to religion with religion and/or organized tradition in general. B.T. touched on this already when he pointed out that it wasn't the religiousness of your approach that was threatening to him, but the more specific *kind* of faith you described. I was wondering if you could elaborate on why you don't think that other approaches (which may or may not include the kind of asymmetrical faith you have) are "religious" or "organized." You seem to suggest that traditions without asymmetrical relationship lack structure, cohesion, "solid community, shared gnosis, etc." For instance, right after quoting B.T.'s comment, you say:

"While I doubt that a more structured religious movement within Paganism will be the end of Paganism, I also think that the Traditions based upon religious commonalities will outlast the ones without them, simply because there is some 'glue' missing."

Because you seem to be equating "religion" with *your* particular approach to faith, it sounds a lot like you're saying that the only way to have an organized religious tradition is to place an asymmetrical relationship with the gods, in which the gods hold the power and authority, at the center of one's religious life. But it seems to me that we have many, many examples of long-lasting religious traditions that do not at all include your view of faith as inherently or necessarily asymmetrical. Is that what you meant to say, or have I misunderstood your point here?

Another point that intrigues me, that you didn't really get into in this post but that I'd love to hear more about, is the exact nature of how you listen to your gods. That is, how this asymmetrical relationship with them actually manifests for you. Your example of the synchronicity of the conversation with the masseuse is interesting, but it doesn't sound like anything different from the experiences someone might have if they had a more equal relationship with their god(s), or even someone who didn't believe in or have a relationship with any god(s) at all.

I left this comment on John's original post, and I'll reshare it here because I think it has some bearing:

"Maybe I'm just not special enough to be on any god’s mailing list — but I’m rarely on the receiving end of so obvious or direct a message from the gods that it includes how high I need to jump or which bridge I should be jumping from. My spiritual life is much more an on-going process of deep listening to a complex web of urges, attractions, distractions and repulsions, the various sources of which are just as often in the natural world around me or in my own psyche as in some externalized god-form. I might sometimes talk about my relationship with my gods in terms of “messages” or guidance or inspiration, but it’s almost always metaphorical, not literal.

It seems like for Elani, and others, it's hubris to question the instructions of the gods. For me, it seems deeply arrogant to be too eager to attribute our various impulses to some external deity, to clothe our instincts or intuitions in the finery of divine inspiration as a way of elevating or ennobling them. It seems hubris to act on our assumptions that we are receiving and hearing such messages correctly, without first turning a very careful and critical eye on all of the ways our own desires, assumptions and projections might be biasing us.

Which is not to say that I don’t believe there is some transcendent divine reality that transcends not only our individual selves, but also our human and more-than-human/natural communities as well. But determining what influence that transcendent divinity has on our lives has, for me, always been an exercise in retrospective contemplation, where the patterns of coincidence and chance resolve into a coherent and beautiful melody even when, at the time, I was only ever bumbling along doing my best to tease out the signal from the noise."

I guess my question for you is, how does an asymmetrical relationship with the gods help you to "tease out the signal from the noise"? If you believe that your deities really are real, external beings separate from yourself, then how do you guard against attributing your own desires and biases to them? In other words, how do you avoid making your gods "in your own image"? What process of discernment do you use to distinguish authentic communications from your deities from your own projections or sentimental imaginings? And what are those authentic communications actually like?

Sorry to bombard you with so many questions. I find this conversation really intriguing, and I hope you'll have a chance to explore some of these issues. Thanks for being willing to share and open yourself up to criticism.

I put emphasis on the part where I quote myself from the comment I left on John's post, in part because I think this is maybe the heart of the matter for me, and in part because the second version has been cleaned up a bit for the sake of clarity. For even more clarity, I ended up commenting again on John's original post after he replied to my first comment. In particular, John said:

While I do think there is a certain amount of over-confidence in polytheistic discourse, “hubris” and “arrogance” just do not seem like the right words to describe Elani’s practice. If you watch some of the videos she has posted of her practice, you will see that humility characterizes everything she does.

To which I responded:

Thanks for bringing this up -- I should have clarified more in my original comment, and I hope I didn't step on any toes by accident. "Hubris" may not be the right word for Elani's practice at all. Reading your brief quotes from her here was the first time I've encountered any of her writing, so I really didn't mean to judge her practice specifically (since I know pretty much nothing about it). Instead, I meant to offer my own definition of "hubris" in the religious sense, in the context of our definition of and relationship with deity. (In other words, "That's not a knife. This is a knife." ;))

I'm intrigued by the idea of "kharis" that Elani mentions -- it looks like this Greek word shares etymological roots with words like charity, charisma and even eucharist, all very potent words in various forms of Christianity and many of them directly related to the theological concept of grace. An emphasis on "kharis" as a kind of divine grace once again seems to put this approach to polytheism in line with more Protestant forms of Christianity, not to mention the charismatic forms of the Evangelicals in particular. I really appreciate the enthusiasm and celebratory aspect of Evangelicalism, though being an introvert myself and more inclined to personal moments of poesis, I think I'm naturally more drawn to mysticism than public charismatic movements. :)

All that said... I'm not sure merely a belief in divine grace is enough to justify submission, at least not to me. Why would anyone submit to a deity if they did not hold a belief in the goodness of that deity? It seems like that is not so much an explanation for the choice, as it is its most basic prerequisite. One could easily believe that the gods are benevolent without agreeing that this necessitates complete surrender to them. It seems like, instead, there has to be an accompanying belief that humans are as imperfect and flawed as the gods are benevolent and powerful, in order to explain why we must not merely enjoy but utterly submit to divine guidance.

I'm not particularly convinced by the argument that "willing submission" is really just another act of will. If it is, it is only in a very limited, truncated sense, it seems to me. Take, as a more mundane example, a marriage in which a wife agrees to "submit" to her husband. In practice, this might mean that she allows him to make all of the household and lifestyle decisions (and that when she makes decisions herself, she attempts to enact what she believes is his will, rather than her own). She may relie on his benevolence and love for her to guide him to take her into account when he makes those decisions. It may be that her belief in him is justified and he does his best to do right by her. It may be that she enters the marriage freely, and it might even be that she can leave any time she wishes through divorce. But none of those things change the fact that, within the context of the relationship, she does not act according to her own will but that of her husband's. In other words, she really only has one choice to make (whether or not to submit to her partner's will), and once she has made that choice, by the very nature of that choice she relinquishes her ability to make any others. I suppose that greatly simplifies life, to have only one real choice to make, but it's not the kind of simplicity that I find all that appealing, either in my personal relationships or in my spiritual ones. It's not a model I would strive to instantiate in my life.

I also do not think that this kind of submission is the same as, or the only way to express, mutual trust. Trust is most definitely an act of will. Submission seems to me to be, by definition, the relinquishment of will. "Willing submission" is, in that case, at best a description of a single specific act in which the will itself is abdicated; at worst, it is an oxymoron that only serves to confuse the issue.

But now I'm afraid I've hijacked your comment thread for my own musings! :) Thank you, as usual, for providing so much food for thought.

I have many more thoughts on this and will probably be adding another blog post here as a follow-up. In particular, I'm still very much grappling with the issue of discernment and the theological/spiritual concept of attending (in the sense of (a) deep listening, (b) full presence, (c) service -- all of which are practices which stretch and challenge the self to both transcend and deepen).

I think I am in some respects in a "dark night of the soul." But it is a dark night full of the sound of crickets. I am finding it difficult to listen not because I do not hear anything, but because the deeper I try to listen, the louder the cacophony seems to be, so that discerning some sense or meaning in it has become a challenge. This suggests to me that maybe there is an imbalance in the different ways that I approach the spiritual work of attending -- but that is a question for another blog post.

Storyteller Spread Day 7: Dragons

I'm on Day 7 of using Dianne Sylvan's Storyteller spread, today pulling the card for the seventh position, representing The Dragon.

The Dragon is the card that represents the central issue or challenge at the heart of the entire journey or quest - the main obstacle that the hero will face along her path, the challenge that she has been called upon all along through dream and vision to rise to meet. It's the "Big Bad" - what needs to be confronted, overcome, understood and integrated in order for the hero to move forward and obtain the key and treasure which she will bring back to her home and her community at the end of the quest.

For this card, I drew the Two of Wands. I find this interesting - Wands have appeared consistently as a very important suit throughout this meditative work, but this is the first time that a card of that suit has actually appeared in a primary position in the spread. The Two of Wands depicts a courageous leader perched atop a cliff, seated astride a powerful lion, gazing out across the lands that stretch away below her. She has worked hard to attain this success and authority over the lands she now rules, and she has had to embody not only self-discipline and dedication but also boldness, courage, willingness to take risks. Yet now, the place she finds herself in is somewhat isolated and isolating - her authority and success has effectively raised her above others and kept her separate and apart. There is an ambivalence and duality in this card that must be confronted, contemplated and weighed in the balance. The polarity of Two can give rise to balance, harmony and the kind of in-tune tension that sings when played well - but it can also create harmful tension, stress and unhealthy dualism that results in division and strife.

This card to me seems to speak directly to the task I have before me: the biggest challenge will be handling the success, and what it will demand of me in terms of work and commitment, courage and bravery. Success in this initiative is a mixed blessing, as it will undoubtedly require a great deal of time and energy to keep it going. Perhaps I also have a fear of such success, for the ways in which it might beholden me to others and "lock me in" to a structure that might not suit me in the long run, or simply not be flexible enough.

Yet the polarity of two, and the emphasis on balance in the last several cards, seems to suggest also that this is a challenge that I can overcome, that I can face with grace and learn how to handle adeptly given enough time and practice (and patience!). The two supporting cards I drew were The World (XXI) and The Emperor (IV) - once again, it seems that there are incredibly powerful spiritual forces at play in what might on the surface seem to be a fairly mundane, small matter of a job. The images of the World and Emperor seem to echo each other in important ways - both figures hold a sphere or globe of light, both figures stand before a circular background that seems to encompass the all of everything, both figures even where horned headdresses. This last point might not be all that important, but it strikes me as curious. The horns of the Emperor - being two - seem to reflect the two wands of the primary card; whereas the horned headdress of the World figure has only a single horn curving away from her forward, almost like a unicorn's horn, and this to me suggests a more unified, holistic approach or worldview. The circular backgrounds of the cards echo each other - but while the background of the World card seems to have grown organically from the living greenery around her, the background of the Emperor is carved in stone, a symbolic throne depicting his dominion over all things and his bringing order to chaos in a deliberate, controlled way that is distinct from the organic, emergent order that grows up in the World card. And while the World figure seems to cradle her sphere of light in her arms, resting her forehead lightly against it as if communing, the Emperor holds his sphere squarely and purposefully between his two hands, almost as though he is pressing and molding it into shape. All these comparisons generally reflect the differences between the cards' meanings: the Emperor is a card of structure and rulership, authority and sovereignty in a more mundane political sense - while the World is a card of harmonious, natural order and beauty emerging from the chaotic flow of nature with whom the World figure communes on a deeper, more intuitive, more receptive level.

Yet these two cards also hold a lot in common, as I already pointed out, suggesting that they aren't necessarily irreconcilable opposites to each other. The figure in the Two of Wands card faces towards the Emperor and away from the World, who faces out to the left away from the other two cards in a kind of private moment of her own. This seems to me to suggest that part of the challenge will be m tendency to focus too much on the structure and order involved in the hard work to bring my project initiative to fruition, and that this may prove very difficult for me. On the other hand, learning to integrate a more relaxed "go with the flow" attitude may help me to integrate these energies better. The World figure doesn't just face away from the structure and ruling order of the Emperor, but she faces towards all of the cards in the spread that have come before - including the cards representing the motivating vision (the gift of intuitive wisdom and fanciful day-dreaming in the Ace of Cups), the skills of calmness and hope that I carry with me, the map that guides along the middle way, and the sword that balances opposites and brings them together to create life and dynamic beauty. Perhaps most important of all is the place where the journey began, the Nine of Cups. The World faces all of these, seeming to suggest that in order to overcome this challenge of discipline and order - and to do so without losing my sense of joy and spontaneity that will make the work fulfilling - I will have to remember the motivations and visions and dreams of the past, and carry those with me, following their example at times.

Perhaps not a very scary dragon on the face of it - but I find myself nervous about whether or not I'll be able to rise to that challenge. Trusting in the support and natural, emergent, beautiful order of the universe to carry this work along (like the seeds cast to the wind!).... that's what gives me hope and helps me stay calm. There's no doubt that, either way, this is very important soul-work.