Where did I come from?

 

Real Choice

Choices are such an everyday thing that it's easy to forget how significant they are.  The situation is made blurry by the fact that the majority of choices feel autonomic, and one might have to sail quite a ways before coming to a choice that rises above the waterline of habit and pragmatism.  But we always do find ourselves facing difficult decisions.  Sometimes the difficulty lies in the uncertainty of our knowledge, the limits of our reasoning power, or in the number of apparently equivalent options.  And sometimes the difficulty cuts through something more substantial and meaningful to us.

But even an apparently meaningless choice can feel vividly real.  It may not matter at all which shape pasta I cook for dinner, but I can reach a great, open space where I feel no powerful forces pushing me in one direction or the other, I'm not in a hurry and I can watch the process of decision taking place.  I can feel a visceral feeling of uncompelled freedom as my hand wavers between the tagliatelle and the spaghetti.  This feels very much like my choice: I am free to listen to every possible witness who might come forward to make a case for one or the other.  One says that I should use the spaghetti because it is only half full and I could avoid having two opened packages.  Another brings up the fact that a few weeks ago one of the children expressed mild delight in having tagliatelle.  Others come forward but none have a strong case, and there I am, left to make this universe-shaping decision.  The full impact of one choice or another in the course of eternal time may be hidden from me, but there can be no doubt in my mind that the well from which this choice is made goes very deep indeed.

The reality of our choices has a ripple effect, so to speak, in terms of implications.  If my choices are real, then I am really responsible for their consequences.  If my choices are real, then that deep well of "I"-ness from which they proceed must also contain something real.  The realness in both cases is at least as real as my experience is vivid.

But there is something much more profound than a hazily grasped notion of something casually labeled "reality".  A choice, to the extent it is real, proceeds all the way from Being, from deep in that mysterious well within us, from the realm of ideals, good, evil and consciousness, and it goes all the way out, into that shared, objective world of concrete, static objects.  And not only does it connect the inner world to the outer world, it extends along the axis of time, participating in eternity.  The pasta I cook tonight will always be the pasta I cooked tonight, and however obscure this detail, it will be eternally recorded in the annals of time, becoming a fixed and immutable aspect of my family's experience.

Given my first-hand experience of the reality of my choices, I can take a look at that ancient explanation for why there is evil: "because free will".  That is, for will to be free we can't be denied the option of choosing evil instead of good.  And if our will isn't free our being isn't real.  There is no possibility of moral choice without free (and real) will.  If a person is watching an eternal movie with no say in the matter, then nothing whatsoever could be said about their character, or even of their personality.  There would be no 'there' there, with respect to the identity of an absolutely passive observer.  A person who does not make real choices is not a person.  This leads to the terrifying truth that good and evil are also real.  That is, we make real choices which are or are not aligned in a real way with real goodness.

It's likely that a good many decisions, like my looming pasta decision, are morally neutral.  But the outcome of a decision depends almost entirely on how it is made, and the small decisions are my practice for making the big decisions.  Through small, low risk decisions I have the opportunity to explore that deep well from which all my decisions emerge.  I might choose spaghetti over tagliatelle merely because I prefer it, ignoring what my family likes, and through numerous such decisions establish a pattern of basing decisions on a very questionable set of perspectives, empowering them over others.  Or I might favor a pattern of decision making that adds up neutral factors like an accountant, lulling me to sleep with an increasingly automated and streamlined process, and end up thereby blinded to other perspectives, less able to perceive my own inward being.

This might be a lot of pressure to put on a decision about pasta, but the buck has to stop somewhere.  If not pasta, when?  When will I examine myself and dig down to the roots of my impulses and assert real ideals over autonomous preferences?  When will I establish a solid allegiance to goodness, and train myself to choose that in every situation?

If I was completely on my own in this matter I would be quite lost.  I would aspire to find good ideals, but my basis for measuring them would be fuzzy and the clarity of my perceptions would be limited to my own cognitive faculties, thereby leaving me more or less blind.  If goodness existed only in that arid, individualistic, relative form, that would be as far as I could go.  But goodness, being real, has a profoundly mysterious, yet real point of origin.  Rather than grasping at straws in a vast field of amorphous uncertainty, I can turn in that direction.

Let's look at the reality of goodness just a little more deeply.  First of all, goodness can't be objectified, it can only be understood from the perspective of being.  It is part of our inward experience.  It isn't a mere 'direction', we know this because it is absolutely not static or inert.  It is no mere 'principle', and we know this because we cannot isolate goodness from that deep well of our own being.

It turns out that reality and personhood are inextricably intertwined.  All of our experience points toward this: that realness and personhood are the same thing.  That for there to be a 'there' there, there has to be someone there.  All reality traces its origins back to being, and all being is personally experienced.  Further, our experience of being is never multiple, it is always singular.  It is irreducible.  Personhood is irreducible and singular.  Goodness is therefore no mere sign pointing toward something we will invent in the future.  It always points, with a living finger, toward the better decision, toward the better circumstance, the better path, and toward something which--right now, not later--is better.  It is not a pointer into a virtual realm where nebulous ideas explore themselves, it is clearly and blatantly a pointer beyond ourselves, far far beyond our awareness of our personal wells of being, far deeper than the ideal of our "heart's heart", toward a genuine and full Well.  Real goodness fills us and guides us.  It holds us like children, and gives us unexpected strength, carrying us through difficulty.

Yes, fortunately goodness has a real, personal source.  Not just a direction I could turn to face a lonely road, but a Person toward Whom I can turn, and fully expect to be guided.

Disclaimer: the fact that I might turn in this direction in my negligent and half-hearted way should not lead anyone to use me as any kind of measure for the Grace that ensues from doing this properly.  My very limited experience of turning 'somewhat genuinely' in the more or less right direction, while still greedily holding on to my passions, has blown me away but it is unlikely that the results could be construed as objectively impressive.

All of this is not to say that the answer is solely to turn to God in helplessness with my pasta-related decision.  Unless I turn the whole well of my being over to the well Maker, the well will not be repaired.  What is not assumed is not healed, after all.  The pasta decision is a mere wart on the surface of the misshapen beast of my fallen will.

Through small things, like decisions about pasta, I hope to gradually become illumined by Grace such that God's light may shine on more fundamental aspects of my being.  But surely I can reach deeper into my faculty of will and bring that to the altar, instead of a box of pasta.

A voice in the wilderness

"John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet: “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” - John 1:23

St John the Baptist is, himself, a path leading up to the Lord, in that he gathered up many people with the message of repentance, than pointed out Christ, saying "Behold, the Lamb of God".  But more subtly, what is the "way of the Lord" which needs to be straightened for us, and why is the voice calling in the wilderness rather than the marketplace?

The terms "wilderness" and "desert" are somewhat interchangeable, both referring to a range of experiences, all of which involve separating oneself from worldly priorities and becoming able to hear the "still, small voice".  They imply ascesis and self-discipline, denial of self will, and placing oneself far away from the noise of the city of the passions.

"For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse" - Rom 1:20

It is in the wilderness that we can see God in His Works, in creation, most clearly.  In the city, both literally and metaphorically, we surround ourselves with our own works.  When we step outside the city, and particularly when we distance ourselves from these things with a "broken and contrite heart", and our sight can return to us.

It is through repentance and humility, through a clean heart, that the way of the Lord is made straight.

All of this is still true now.  Though St John made the way of the Lord straight in an immediate, literal way all those years ago, he still points this way to us today, and this way is still the Way.  By going into the wilderness of a contrite and humbled heart, by stepping outside the city of the passions and worldly interests, by following the "immaterial" way of life of St John, of ascesis and simplicity--that is, through repentance--we make the way straight so that we can bow down and say with sincerity, "Thy will be done in me, Lord".  That is, we make straight the way into the Way.

Fine Tuning

I just read "A Fortunate Universe", which, in a nutshell, explains in great detail how utterly improbable our universe is, and then proceeds to cover the 'what it means' angle surprisingly well.  In particularly, I was very pleased to hear one of the better arguments for the existence of God presented and defended rather well.  One seldom hears the more mature arguments these days, only straw men, so having the "ultimate cause" argument explained and held up as valid was fantastic.  It was even better that it was held up against naturalism, and to see naturalisms flaccid and avoidant nature exposed.

The case for the theism was made strongly, but despite this, the authors drifted off toward the required nebulous conclusion for a book in this genre.  I imagine this is how most of us lose track of God: by drifting away into distraction without ever disproving or refuting the solid, rational arguments we have found, and without denying the powerful feelings of certainty we have encountered.  Rather, we blithely wander off onto some other train of thought and are carried far away from the memory of such things.  After enough stops, we forget that the proofs were convincing or the feelings urgent.

The proof, for those curious enough to want to know but not curious enough to read the book, was simply that everything has a cause, and that the ultimate origin of a thing has to be of a different kind.  Something has to be self-originating, or you never reach bottom.  The example is of what holds us up.  The floor?  The earth's surface holds that up, what holds that up?  Eventually you reach the earth's core, which is a different kind of thing.  In the same way, physical laws are far too specific, too complex, too elaborate and creative to say, as does naturalism, "they just are that way".  To say this is a very ignorant thing to say, a short sighted thing to say.  To say instead that "they arose from other natural laws" leads to the problem of not reaching bottom, and turns out to be a very weak and flabby answer.  The attempt to reduce the cause of what we see, which is amazing, into something less, begins to sound disingenuous.

There is a famous argument which goes something like, you are wandering through the wilderness and you come upon a watch.  Intuitively you are not likely to imagine that it just grew there, but rather that it was made.

Overall, to sum up the proof, the laws of the universe are so elaborate and so perfectly attuned to life, and so utterly improbable, that it is much more likely that they were created.

But the point I wanted to make is a comparison between the fine tuning of physical laws and what I see as their spiritual counterpart.  If you change any physical constant very much at all you end up with a sterile universe in which life is not possible.  Everything is set up so that we can exist, and it is not a simple, or arbitrary thing.  If you increase gravity just a little you get only black holes, for instance.  Similarly, if we step outside of God's spiritual laws, thinking we can do just as well on our own we will quickly find ourselves in a sterile universe, or in other words, in outer darkness.  The light is, itself, infinite and accommodating, but it requires that we stick to what is true.  Varying from truth by even a small amount causes us to fall into the consequences of falsity.

The fundamental error of evil is to try to be gods without God.  This is, of course, the error that modern humanity is attempting to repeat.  Not all of humanity, of course, but enough that it is quite disturbing to watch.

Certainly, a very large part of the population is doing exactly what Lucifer tried to do in a completely overt way, casting aside God, and with Him, all possibility of a successful conclusion.  But we do this more subtly when we attempt to change any of these fine tuned universal constants which God has designed for us to follow: when we imagine that some part of God's laws are outdated and require us to redesign them.

Of course, on first sight, there are many commandments we are unlikely to understand.  In fact it is guaranteed that we will not understand any of them on first sight, or on second sight, or after years of study.  But this is what one might call an asymptotic approach to mystery.  As we strive toward truth we find ourselves growing closer to it, without ever having reached it, per se.  At some point, the truth reaches back in our direction and then we only need to keep moving closer, no longer needing to 'get there' ourselves.

Difficult commandments require that we keep trying to understand them.  We often have to leave incomplete and faulty placeholders in the places where we have failed to understand something, but we must remember we have put our own shoddy creations there as band-aids, and not pretend that these areas are healed.

If one does happen to find that one's stream of theology is muddy, the last thing one should do is attempt to filter the water with one's own unclean hands. 

We have, rather, to dig deeper into the Church, to recover the unsullied waters that flow directly from the source.  I am regularly emboldened in my certainty of this, each time I draw from its "2000 year reading list": there are indeed clear flowing streams which accurately represent the universal laws and commandments which are suitable for our spiritual consumption.  It is still possible to drink from the streams that flow from the rock not carved by human hands.

The Problem of Evil, Redux

"Out of the depths have I cried unto you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice: let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications. If you, Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand? But there is forgiveness with you, that you may be feared." - Psalm 130:1-4

In order to love us God has to be extremely tolerant of evil. Thus the extent and degree of evil and suffering in the world is no surprise in light of a loving God.

Without goodness we would not be able to see evil. The very fact that we can see it indicates that we have the capacity to choose goodness. Therefore the evil that we see is also a choice. Our choice. It is not God's fault.

But what about the evil others experience: the suffering of the innocent?

How could goodness or evil exist if there were no possibility of doing good or harm to others? A universe without such choices, or rather, Being without the free choice of good, closes the door to the experience of goodness.

What if the suffering of the innocent could be accommodated? Then all that would be left would be the choice of good or evil and temporary pain. Imagine a way in which suffering could be experienced as growth, learning and rising upward.

This is what Jesus shows us. He demonstrates that when innocent and crucified we forgive, we love. We pray, we reach inward, we reach toward God and we are lifted. Sadness and pain do not damage our soul when we have this living water.

"And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." - 2 Cor 12:9

Against Politics

There is a bizarre phenomenon in which the vote in almost all US elections is very close to 50/50.  When there are two genuinely different choices in nature, they are never evenly balanced.  When two forces are evenly balanced this seems like a sure sign that they are part of a larger system.  For instance, the deer population and the mountain lion population are tightly coupled, and this system is geared to move back to that ratio whenever circumstances pull it away.  If there are too many deer, there's more food.  If there are too few deer, there's not enough food.

In a battle between two groups it is rare that the two sides are evenly matched and either give up or declare a tie.  It might take a long time to play out, but generally, one side or the other "wins".

Politics are a little different from predation, or from a war, in that everyone is in a broad sense on the same side but on opposing sides in a narrower sense.  Deer and mountain lions are part of the same system in a broad sense as well: the elimination of one party would be bad for the other.  They counterbalance one another and offer a check on each others' excesses.  But as humans, we are (ideally) conscious of our participation in the larger system, and therefore we consciously share some of the same broad goals.  Even if we cannot think of a single broad goal we share, we are still in the same bed, so to speak, with mutual responsibility to make it up, and with shared vulnerability to the way in which it is made.

What natural system always trends toward 50/50 results?  Well, a coin toss is a good example.  If there were something absolute and fundamental about the difference between the parties, a 50/50 balance would not be possible.

I think, rather, the parties represent slightly different approaches to the same problems, magnified many times by sensationalism, and then further magnified by desperation.  When one obtains just more than 50% it has its way and runs recklessly in one direction to the dismay and horror of the others, and sometimes to the horror of their constituency.  Then it reverses and so on.  But the clear implication is that both sides change constantly with time, and the 50/50 balance is a result of their being two sides.  If they were not in balance and could not change then a critical outlet for decision would not exist.  So, like deer and mountain lions power swings one way and then the other.

But another clear implication is that the content of each side is not fundamentally different but is rather two sides of the same coin.  Two approaches based on the same set of cultural assumptions.  Even when the cultures appear to be drastically different (as now), there are deeper sets of shared values that guide and shape the apparently different cultures of both sides.

There are very few social circumstances in which I can tell whether someone is "red" or "blue".  At work, for instance, I see people doing their jobs, and I might work with someone for a decade or longer and have no idea at all what their party affiliation is.  At church, even, my only way of knowing party affiliation is to sneakily watch which car a person gets into and observe their bumper stickers.  (I'm sure some churches make better predictors of political affiliation than others but even this is not always the case.)  It seems to me that party affiliation has very little bearing on whether one can be a good person, a good citizen, or a good friend.

Both parties have their own claims to the moral high ground.  And both parties have moral achilles heels which are are larger than the side of a barn, so to speak.  There is no complete guide to truth and goodness that can be harvested from the party lines of one party or another, or even both combined.  But political parties are worldly things.  They are amalgamations of human ideas, chaotically lumped together into giant seething masses.  It is a mob, constructed for better or worse, of people opposed generally to the mob on the other side.  People move back and forth constantly, and the party line shifts constantly in response to powerful undercurrents of belief, habit and lifestyle.

If only we could focus on these powerful undercurrents!

I don't want to suggest that we ignore our duty as citizens to participate in a democratic process.  I also don't want to suggest that we stop brushing our teeth.  These are things we need to do.  But the problems expressed through politics are symptoms of deeper issues, and it is those we must address.  Focusing on these will make us humbler in the political sphere, it will make us capable of contributing more realistically and less divisively.

Most of all, if we can see our own faults and shortcomings we will be more able to understand the other side, and gradually, hopefully, become able to steer the whole ship, rather than fighting to slam the wheel in one direction or another.

In a poem

We live in a poem.

We will never be able to reduce our experience into words for this poem but we will certainly experience its rhythm and we have already been inundated by its inescapable content.  We will never fully reach its inner meaning, but to move even one step closer to this would be our greatest joy, and to move one step away our greatest sorrow.

I thought this article would be longer, but that's all I had to say.

But I'm as much driven to understand, appreciate and live the spirit of this poem as anyone else, I will continue to speak.

In case anyone has forgotten that metaphor is closer to truth than analysis, I will start there.

Metaphor

"from Ancient Greek μεταφορά (metaphorá), from μεταφέρω (metaphérō, “I transfer, apply”), from μετά (metá, “with, across, after”) + φέρω (phérō, “I bear, carry”)" - https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/metaphor

Truths are already close to us.  Things we do not yet know can be brought closer by connecting them to what is already close.  Metaphor does this, poetry does this.

When we look outward we see fragments.  Disconnected things which have not yet been put together into something we understand.  We are free to connect these things as we like but we do not have the ability to invent their right or true arrangement.  When we experience a good and harmonious explanation, it sinks into us to the degree we feel its goodness.  Most of our own stories fall apart and turn back into dust.  True stories come closer, they endure, they are held to our chest.

There is a false kind of truth which claims authority based solely on "fact".  Everything we see is a fact, so this is no special qualification, and the arbitrariness of such a basis should be obvious.  But taken in aggregate, connected convincingly, and verified from several angles, a story can sometimes be given an extra touch of glamor.  No elaborate assemblage of details, no matter how verifiable, can come close to us unless it resonates with an inward sense of value and goodness.  But this glamor can shine like gold to us, it can give the appearance of truth.

Especially if we have taken in something false, more false things can be attracted to it and find their home in us.

How is it possible to take in something false?

If only our inmost heart were absolutely pure from the start.  In a very important way it is, and was.  But in an even more important and more practical way it no longer is.

Let's look at it in terms of culpability (our fault) and responsibility (it doesn't matter if it's our fault).  It is theoretically (though not practically) possible to live without the first but it is not possible or even desirable to live without the second.  The potential for a clean heart is always present.  The reality of unclean hearts is inescapable.  Between these we live.

Was I not clear enough?  Goodness matters infinitely more than 'fact', yet goodness is inseparable from truth.  Facts are merely raw material.  Elaborate facts are no more true than elaborate fantasies.  It is a shallow and useless sort of truth that has no value, and facts cannot invent value.

Truth, divorced from goodness, forms a dangerous and confusing landscape in which monstrous beasts prowl.  Ferocious 'truths' formed only from facts but devoid of value, seek to devour humbler truths with real meaning.

Or, put another way, value and closeness to a (pure) heart are the same thing.

"Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God." - Matt 5:8

Truth

"What is truth?" - Pontius Pilate

The most fundamental aspects of our experience, the most indisputable, the least controversial, the most utterly obvious, are these: that something is happening, that the seeing of it is central to its happening and that it could be better or worse.

Being, consciousness and goodness.  We might be confused about who we are and what is good, but we hopefully can at least agree that we are here, seeking goodness.

Truth holds a central role in our quest to understand these things: ourselves, each other and goodness, as it is the answer to all three.

There is a repulsive and suicidal notion, that truth itself is relative.  It's rationale is obviously circular, and it is really just a feeble minded justification for retreating into an infantile and solipsist view of the universe.  I mention it only because it points toward its opposite.  To embrace this puerile and narcissistic view is to give up on something.  On what?

The existence of real truth, of the singular, definitive sort, of real answers to the deepest questions, is implied to be difficult but possible by how weak and escapist its antithesis is.  The denial that there is a real truth, one which is common to all divergent views, is the denial of goodness itself, of the possibility of unity.  If the only unity we can achieve is through denial of real, mutual goodness, then it is a false and temporary unity.

But is the middle really excluded?  Is truth such that it's negation is false?  In "pure" terms, of course it is.  If one person says that the ultimate nature of all things is good and ordered, and another person says it is neutral and chaotic, there is an irreconcilable gulf of logic between them.  But is truth as we understand it, that is, incompletely and through a glass darkly, is that limited, human view of truth such that we could even begin to negate it?  Yes, but only in a limited sense.  There were two men, one a kind and thoughtful electrician, and the other a brutal crime boss.  They had children of about the same age, who were friends and had both come to school dressed up as their respective father.  They began to argue about who's father was the better role model.  One child was more correct but neither, still being children, had yet become that toward which they were aspiring. 

Along the lines of children innocently imagining evil to be good, here's a view I heard recently.  That to be certain about truth means that one will be certain about the falseness of contradictory claims, and this in itself constitutes arrogance and oppression: an imperialism of ideas.  Somehow, the assertion of encompassing truth is seen to be divisive, while escapist bumbling is imagined to be the acceptable alternative.  In this fantasy, a golden age of tolerance is imagined in which, though, nothing is true, some kind of goodness reigns supreme.  But when it comes down to it people have little enthusiasm for goodness decoupled from truth.  This view starts off with that sad, denatured glow of a plucked flower, all idealistic and full of dreams, obliquely rendering beauty through its loss, then devolves into something which really does become an imperialism of ideas: that all pervading naturalism which, in asserting that only the objective properties of objects are knowable, actively denies all other views.

It is, admittedly, a wild, an outrageous claim, that truth exists; that there is something which holds everything together, which makes sense, which actually works.

In a logical sense it is not outrageous at all, how could something without an encompassing set of principles hold together in a sea of eternity?  People try to argue that any order we do see is just a tiny little bubble in the froth of a much larger sea of chaos.  But if you press this logic you find that everything we can see is almost infinitely improbable.  We do live on a relatively small island of improbable beauty, consciousness and life, but that small island is surrounded by an impossibly vast and equally improbable set of physical laws, impossibly balanced such that our little island is possible.  In other words, no one has ever seen a chaotic universe not suited for life.  So, logically, since on close examination all we can actually discern is life-sustaining order, there is no difficulty at all in deducing a unified truth which is larger than what we see.

Experientially, however, there is a shock we must experience when we reflect on this claim.  If reality is ordered, all the way from top to bottom, then we cannot pretend to be in a little eddy off to one side, in a private bubble, living independently of this order.

People have sometimes wondered how badness could exist in an ordered universe, and have even gone so far as to question the goodness of the ordering.  The feeble, human way of imagining order is to project our neurotic delusions of power onto it, and see a total dominion: a completely deterministic order, where the top is the direct cause of everything below it.  Fortunately, the order we live in is not like this, and each level below is governed from above in broad strokes.

We are free within this order to do quite a few things.  The freedom to redefine truth is not one of them.

So, we have the ability to engage in badness at our own expense up to, but not beyond, a certain level.  The more we paint the world in naturalistic tones, the less we are able to see those limits.  The more we look at it in terms of meaning, the limits become more clear.  A lie changes the outward circumstances, often in very uncomfortable ways.  But a lie has no impact on truth or meaning whatsoever.  We are, it should be noted, creatures of both worlds: of circumstance, and of truth.  Our suffering on the circumstantial side is often limited only by the degree to which we and our fellows have not encountered truth.  This certainly leads to many unfortunate and unpleasant circumstances.  But it is also possible to live a life increasingly more identified with truth than with circumstance.

Clearly, when truth is seen as something distant and objective, a shift into a life based in it sounds more like an exercise in escapist theorizing than in any kind of actual refuge.  This is one of the compelling reasons why we need to improve our understanding of what truth is.  Because truth is a refuge: when embraced it does in fact have the power to carry us through on not just the strength of our convictions, but on its own power.  The truth is its own reward.

It stands to reason, and also to experience, that the order in the universe, the truth of the universe, is the foundation of what we mean by meaning and goodness.  The order behind the laws of the universe is the same order that undergirds the laws of biological life, and is the same order which is the architect of our being and consciousness.  Goodness and meaning are simply the natural, that is the proper, goals of any being endued with awareness.  Being, in the context of this order, this truth, has a natural course, a course which serves the truth, and which therefore serves all.

Truth touches both our potentially purified heart, which recognizes goodness, and all of the truly good things which we might recognize and hold close.  The truth is alive, after all.  Properly conceived, the truth is closer to us than we ourselves are.

Literality

People sometimes talk about "literal interpretation" as if this were something within our ability.  But take any experience we've ever had, no matter how direct, and then tell me honestly that you understood it.  Good luck with that.

It becomes even harder, not easier to interpret things which are farther away from us.  And it is harder, not easier to interpret a whole situation than an aspect of a situation.  We have to limit ourselves in some way to have any chance of understanding anything, but if we do accept limits (which are usually quite extensive) then we do have some real opportunities to understand a thing or two, in this humbled way.

This quickly adds up to metaphor being better, that is, more likely to lead to a truthful understanding, than is an analytic approach that attempts to piece together objective details into something we delusionally fancy to be a literal interpretation of events.

It isn't that literal interpretation is impossible, it is just much harder, and often lies outside our abilities.  It is much easier, and more practical, to start with a more allegorical understanding of things, a more metaphorical, symbolic, sympathetic interpretation of experience.  If we wanted to understand Shakespeare's century, for instance, we would learn more from one or two of his stanzas than from a detailed history of that century's wars.  If we don't understand someone's motivations we won't understand his actions.

Synthesis

What are we to do from within this poem?  If we attempt to carve out a channel of 'plain fact' we will only have etched a morbid and dreary line onto the fabric of our awareness, one which rather than telling us a straight story, warps us uncomfortably in order to see things in a particular way.

Too often we forget that we are beings, or we forget what it means to have being.  We should never have expected to be able to relate with objects, symbols or anything which does not also have being.  Outside of being there are only symbols, and symbols draw their entire substance from the context they are given by those who arrange them.

If we do not understand truth to be more alive than we are we are treating it as a symbol.  Value could never come from a symbol itself, it can only come from how the symbol is used, from what or rather who, is behind that symbol.  Truth, therefore, in order to be genuinely experienced, must be elevated in our understanding from symbol to being.

A truth to which we can relate is worth the loss of many straight lines, of many literal or analytical interpretations of experience.  To live the spirit of the poem in which we find ourselves is no sacrifice at all, rather it is to embrace reality not just as we actually experience it but as it actually is.  However small the glimpse we may have of truth, what matters is that it is the true truth, not how big or bright it is.  There is light at the end of the tunnel of meaning, but we have to enter into the tunnel to get there.  We are already thirsty for truth, so there is no shortage of fuel for the journey.  What we have to give up is false hope.  We have to cast aside our idols of analytic perspicacity, our half baked imaginings of concrete fulfillment, our borrowed garments of questionable assumptions.  What is most close and most real requires no real sacrifice to embrace.  We are already in the tunnel.  Once we acknowledge that the darkened light we have taken to be light is, in fact, darkness, then we will discover, with delight, that the home-like light beckons us and races toward us, from the far end of the tunnel.