Teddy

Talk about timing…  I just finished re-reading Salinger’s Nine Stories a couple days ago.  Here’s an excerpt from the last story.  It’s a 10 year old genius talking.

                “Okay,” Teddy said.  He was sitting back in his chair, but his head was turned toward Nicholson.  “You know that apple Adam ate in the Garden of Eden, referred to in the Bible?” He asked.  “You know what was in that apple?  Logic.  Logic and intellectual stuff.  That was all that was in it.  So—this is my point—what you have to do is vomit it up if you want to see things as they really are.  I mean if you vomit it up, then you won’t have any more trouble with blocks of wood and stuff.  You won’t see everything stopping off all the time.  And you’ll know what your arm really is, if you’re interested.  Do you know what I mean?  Do you follow me?”

                “I follow you,” Nicholson said, rather shortly.

                “The trouble is,” Teddy said, “most people don’t want to see things as the way they are.  They don’t even want to stop getting born and dying all the time.  They just want new bodies all the time, instead of stopping and staying with God, where it’s really nice.”  He reflected.  “I never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters,” he said.  He shook his head.

Let me also re-blog Nate’s comment:

If I may paraphrase where I think we're on the same page and then try and finesse my language a little to see if the differences may actually be less than they appear:

The Creation Story is not a systematic metaphysic. It is a rhetorical tool intended to help people live better. The message has a historical/sociological dimension as well as a psycho-spiritual dimension. The historical sociological dimension is cautionary of "civilization and progress" (see Edward T. Hall for a great explication of how this ties into the idea of abstraction). The psycho-spiritual dimension is cautionary of internal abstraction, whether conscious or unconscious.

I buy the argument that this is what was "intended" by the story "as it was written" which is so much more helpful to me than how I was raised, linking The Fall to disobedience, pride, or Original Sin.

You argued that even if that's the case, there is still another side to the story, not explored in the Creation narrative, which should be cautionary of the Tree of Life. You illustrated the danger of Life with the brutality of nature.

This point was triggered by a slip of my tongue when I said that civilization was associated with violence, as illustrated Biblically by Cain's murder of Abel. I should not have said violence. I should have said "power/coercion." Yes, your chickens peck and hump each other. But the more civilized farmer rips their heads off and makes them into a delicious meal. Hamas lobs a couple bottle rockets into some parking lots. The more "civilized" Israel sets their world on fire.

So far, no disagreement, but let me try one here: you associated Life with the dynamic and Knowledge with the static. I think you put love on the knowledge side of the ledger. I think both trees might both be propulsive (if not dynamic). I think of biological evolution as being driven by Life. I think of technology, power, language, etc. as being driven by Knowledge.

Back to agreement now: as you say the propulsion of both trees is chronically out of balance, leading to extreme dissonance. If that's so, then we must somehow recalibrate. The way Jesus recalibrated was to subvert empire by calling its bluff and letting it expose its own rot.

Here's a link to a song I wrote about this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XyV-XMOa16s

 ********

I like the power/coercion vs. violence distinction.  As a farmer, I may give a great deal less pain to the chicken than a predator does, but I have controlled all parameters of their life from day one to the day of their death.  If the chickens had some sort of free will, this would definitely be the more subtle but far more pervasive violence.  I think to extend this analogy to Israeli/Palestinian conflict, the real comparison is not just Israel’s ability to kill a thousand Arabs to their one casualty, but rather it’s their systematic coercion/power over the Palestinians’ daily life.  They’ve essentially (you might say poetically) embodied the Nazis’ spirit that continues to plague them, though maybe not as they expected.  They have made the Palestinians third rate citizens, stripped of them of basic rights from water to land to even movement.  The walls the Israeli’s have built around the Palestinian cage are far more violent than any chicken structure I’ve ever built. 

Here are my thoughts on love being on the abstract sign of the ledger.  This might be old school thought, but it still makes a lot of sense to me that love, (at least the kind that goes beyond hormonal, whether sexual attraction or maternal instinct—especially the more ‘un-natural’ love for the marginalized and the least of these),  is dependent on free will.  And when one exerts one’s will, I see that as on the abstraction side of the ledger.  Exerting will, for me is more than just following instinct or base desire without thought.  To exert will seems to involve abstracting what one desires and then manipulating one’s environment to accomplish whatever it is.  So when my wife and I are having a spat, I have to dig deeper than the immediate emotion and use my will to access what I abstract is the better tactic than lashing back like some cornered animal and hurting someone I love.  Clear as mud?

I still need to think more about both trees being propulsive.  My gut reaction is to refer back to my posts Sin Boldly and Gestalt.  I was trying to explain how I believe dynamic aesthetics drives scientific knowledge, particularly for the leaps into new paradigms.  Knowledge, it would seem, would run on that initial momentum of the leap, slowly and incrementally (and essential) filling out the structure of the new paradigm.  Chesterton’s madness is that logic locks us into whatever system we hold.  It is a force or power, you could say, but one for sustaining and building a lasting structure.  To use a concept I was just reading about in the New Yorker, the disruptive innovations, whether they are successful or not, are in contrast to companies that change incrementally.  And by definition, the innovations are not predictable by knowledge.  They are supposed to be inspired new technologies that change the playing field.  So language and technology, despite being a type of abstraction, could go in a vast number of different directions, but are propelled forward by certain aesthetics that crystalize and catch on.  However, 99 times out of 100 the innovation doesn’t latch on to anything sustaining and thus dissipates.  Sounds like evolution all over again. 

Power, however, makes me pause.  Especially power associated with coercion.  If the static does have a drive, or goal, transcending whatever paradigm it’s trying to sustain, it seems it would be coercion.  Systems, whether analytic, political, societal, religious, etc… are about control.  Somehow it seems maybe this drive for control is a static propulsion.  Certainly the message to let go and just be is as relevant in this context than it would ever be.

Am I pounding a dead horse yet?  Anybody else got another angle on the two trees?

And great song, Nate.

RE: Ignorance is Bliss

So Nate, at first your comment wasn’t showing and now it is, but I’m reblogging it here with some thoughts.

Wow. Just wrote a whole screed and then hit publish and then the computer timed out. I'll try again, but it sure won't be as good. Anyway, I seem to be at the point in this little dialectic where I repeat myself over and over again. Maybe another angle will emerge from this, but in the meantime, bear with me as I repeat my arguments again because it's fun!
So I'm not saying that people consciously bandy about ideas or invent languages and that's a big problem for our mental, spiritual, and societal health. And I'm not saying that Big Data analytics or computer modeling are by definition such terrible things.
But suppose I had just watched families turn into clans, tribes, nations and empires on the strength of violence, ambition, and networks--and that I wanted to write an Origins story that ran counter to the prevailing myths that glorified progress. I would think about what distinguished People from other animals. What is this thing that propels and sickens us? It's not intellect exactly. It's not disobedience. It's not pride. It's something to do with our capacity for abstraction (consciously or unconsciously). But it's hard to articulate, so the only way to get at it is to juxtapose it against something else (Tree of Life) and as a rhetorical devise to urge people to eschew this poisonous thing (Tree of Knowledge) in favor of it. The Genesis writers take the theme ever further. In the next chapter, God declares a preference for pastoralists (Abel) to the more civilized agriculteralists (Cain). Unsurprisingly, Cain kills Abel because civilization is associated with violence. Then there's the tower of Babel which speaks for itself. In a world like ours with communal, sectarian, and political fault lines (abstractions all); in a world where my own identity is an infinite regression of telescoping categories; God says STOP. Let go. Just be.
The story so deep though, because it's more than just about society and the history of civilization. It's also about intimacy, fear, and dislocation. So it becomes a very personal story as much as it is an allegory about history.
Do you see that I'm not saying that intellectuals are worse off than non-intellectuals? Non-intellectuals can be just as poisoned by abstraction (nationalism, pornography, etc.) as anyone else.

OK, so I’ve been writing this for a few days, typing out a few sentence here and there between a thousand other things.  My thoughts are very disjointed and I wanted to work on this to help it flow and relate better to itself, but I might never get around to posting this.  So think of this kind of like a collage of thoughts…

Great stuff, Nate.  I’ve tried to say similar things.  I think I’m also finding the nuances that I differ with.  But first I want to revisit exactly what abstraction is, which I think you are exactly right in distinguishing it from intellect primarily because it can be conscious or unconscious.  I think I was hitting on this theme in my posts Idol Making and Integrity.  Analytical idolatry was one phrase I used.  Persig calls analysis a knife, and while it can hack something like poetry to pieces, it also removes us, or cuts us off from life.  Let me throw out some more quotes…

                "While we are loving the man, bearing the pain, enjoying the pleasure, we are not intellectually apprehending Pleasure, Pain or Personality.  When we begin to do so, on the other hand, the concrete realities sink to the level of mere instances or examples: we are no longer dealing with them, but with that which they exemplify.  This is our dilemma—either to taste and not to know or to know and not to taste—or, more strictly, to lack one kind of knowledge because we are in an experience or to lack another kind because we are outside it."  Lewis

This seems to be addressing a more conscious, intellectual abstraction.

I wrote an essay years ago about the dangers within the evangelical community that is in reaction to an immediate gratification society.  This reaction makes the Christian’s default position one of suspicion towards pleasure.  Couple that with the tendency to constantly ascertain whether one is living “Biblically”, or as some put it, the self-examined life, and you render an entire community very susceptible to affectation.  Needless to say, just about everyone I showed it to didn’t understand what I was getting at, and the few that sort of got the drift of what I was saying took offense. 

Affectation, opposed to integrity, is dependent on abstracting an ideal one wishes to embody without having the ability to pursue and enjoy that ideal for its own sake.   Let me requote Lewis from an earlier post:

                If we encourage others, or ourselves, to hear, see, or read great art on the ground that it is a cultured thing to do, we call into play precisely those elements in us which must be in abeyance before we can enjoy art at all.  We are calling up the desire for self-improvement, the desire for distinction, the desire to revolt (from one group) and to agree (with another), and a dozen busy passions which, whether good or bad in themselves, are, in relation to the arts, simply a blinding and paralysing distraction…Those who read poetry to improve their minds will never improve their minds by reading poetry.  For the true enjoyments must be spontaneous and compulsive and look to no remoter end.  [my emphasis]  The Muses will submit to no marriage of convenience.  The desirable habit of mind, if it is to come at all, must come as a by-product, unsought.

My essay essentially tweeked Lewis quote to say If we encourage others, or ourselves, to act, talk or live a “good” life on the ground that it is a Biblical or Godly thing to do…  Somehow, we need to learn to pursue good things for their own reward.

I think this the kind of abstraction that cuts us off from ‘Life’ while more often than not remains unconscious, or perhaps subconscious.  Maybe because such a habit has become one’s mode of ‘living’.  Following that train of thought, we would now see the value of a psychologist trying to analyze someone to help them.  In order to break a bad pattern or habit, you have to remove or abstract oneself in order to be aware of the problem.  Then one can consciously try and change.  Here’s another Lewis quote: 

                "The surest means of disarming an anger or a lust [is] to turn your attention from the girl or the insult and start examining the passion itself.  The surest way of spoiling a pleasure [is] to start examining your satisfaction."

            So now, back to your comment, Nate.  What hit me was when you said that civilization is associated with violence and the implication of its opposite.  When I associate ‘Life’ with Dynamic quality, I see it as the driving force; a force with so much power that it could drive an evolution of species into complex beings, in total defiance of the 2^nd Law of Thermodynamics.  But to me that doesn’t equate with nice or pleasant.  I grew up being told everyone could have a general knowledge of God’s glory by looking at Nature.  That’s a bit scary really.  When we look at the whole, we can be in awe of the complexity and interconnectedness.  There are even moments of inspiring visual beauty.  But the nitty gritty of everyday life within Nature is downright brutal.  There is a very dark side to God.  Animals are not humane.  Cat’s toy with mice for a long while before finally giving the death blow.  Turkeys peck the weak ones in a flock.  Once there’s blood, there’s usually not much hope left for the poor critter.  Not only do they peck it to death they hump it as it is dying.  Even once it’s dead, the toms make a show of humping the dead body as they fluff up their feathers and snoods.  Survival of the fittest, in the long run, is a very effective in keeping the whole healthy, but it is not a pleasant reality.  To just BE, without abstraction, would be to reenter this reality.  Gone would be the infinite regression of telescoping categories, but so would love.  Particularly love for the marginalized and the ‘least of these’. 

Another way of saying this is to take issue with the statement that what sickens us is abstraction.  We are already as sick and self-consumed as any other animal.  Abstraction is simply a powerful tool we use that is unavailable to the less intelligent animals.  I like to think in terms of addiction.  We are gluttons in many ways, including abstraction.  And civilization could be characterized as an addiction to abstraction as much as a society that lives much closer to nature and plain old survival could be considered brutal, heartless and hard because of its lack of abstraction.  I hear you when you say that even if both Life and Knowledge are important, but living in such an abstract culture, we need to hear the message to just be.  I think you’re right that even when we just try to be we will still abstract far too much.  But I still think it’s important to keep in mind that Life can be just as violent as Knowledge.

One day, though, I would hope we wouldn't be just playing a balancing game of stressing one because we are constantly bombarded by the other.  That strikes me as Lewis' pursuit of being cultured.  I think the way out is in pursuing things for their own reward and their own sake.  Again integrity would have to guide us on that razor thin edge of a path.  I want to be able to completely lose myself in both Life and Knowledge.

Ignorance is Bliss

Hey, I wanted to revisit this, because I got so busy I didn't keep up with Nate's comments from "Two Trees".

Last comment by Nate:

The way I read the story, humans are predisposed toward Knowledge. That is our bent. We build towers, weapons, alphabets, systems, infrastructure. To such a People, it would make sense to say: choose Life. There would be more danger in saying both trees are important; they interact in a harmonic interrelationship, even though it's true. 


Just for the fun of it, I wanted to argue the other side.  Maybe I'm channeling Glen here, Nate.  Sure we are People of Knowledge building towers, weapons, systems, languages, but does the average Joe Shmoe build, create,and  leap to these things, or with the exceptions of a few great works, aren't these as much a gestalt emerging from the systems and events that happen to be brewing at the time, with little conscious direction?  Language seems to be the easiest to single out for this argument since only crazy people like Tolkien ever build languages out of their heads.  

I wouldn't be the first to point out that most of humanity simply accepts the systems they've grown up with and follow the norms without much thought.  Even the thinking within communities is usually tightly controlled.  Free thinking, outside of orthodoxy, in many Christian settings is not tolerated, and I don't believe that to be a good thing.  In fact, I have felt that my analytical tendencies have often isolated me in a group that goes along their merry way, without questioning consequences or direction.  You and I are perhaps the exception to enjoy banging these ideas around and playing our glass bead game, and to us definitely we need to hear "choose Life".  But what about others, for better or for worse, who live with a great deal more ease through life without our mental angst? 

To use Glen's language from our conversation in the car, don't the People just as often refuse to eat the fruit, because it is simply easier to not know and go on our merry way?

Twin Nash

A long time ago, a silly, little boy tried to write a silly, not-so-little book.  In that book he wrote about two trees.  The writing is clumsy, but some key concepts are there…

                …Two tall silhouettes, their branches slightly swaying in the night breeze, caught his attention and he forgot about all else.  As he walked over to the stream, the ground descended gradually until it leveled out, and then he was underneath the branches of the closest tree.  He remained very quiet as he approached, and then slowly extended an arm and placed his hand against the trunk.  It was a bigger tree than the Nash near Malenthir’s Dwindi—this one would take at least two persons to fully embrace its girth—and much older, judging by the bark under his fingers.  He felt all around the trunk and as high as he could reach for any chink in the protective bark, but found it solid and whole.  The young syclyxer wrinkled his brow with frustration, for he could not imagine tearing any of the bark off.  It would be something akin to sacrilege to do so since he did not know the tree well enough to judge where its life-veins would be found.  Even then it might seem an action too arrogant in the face of its age and, what struck the syclyxer in the twilight, as its majesty.  And yet he had a desperate desire that seemed to be rising with a force built on days of holding his curiosity back.  He ran his hands over the bark again to double check, but found nothing different.

                Then he decided he might as well give the other twin a look.  The roots, it seemed, of both trees had grown into the stream and were dense enough to dam the water just slightly.  This made a small swelled pool on the southern side of the trees that was too deep to cross without soaking one’s clothes.  On the northern side, however, the water was shallower, though swifter, and several protruding stones made a dry crossing easy.  The syclyxer nimbly hopped over and drew near to the second Nash.  Running his hands up and down the trunk, he found the bark as impenetrable as the first.  His internal tension only grew stronger and at last he sat down to think, trailing his heels in the small pool. 

                He could see stars reflecting in the water as they peeked through the reflection of the branches above.  There were small ripples blurring the lights in the water and with the accompaniment of the running water on the other side, the syclyxer was soon drawn into a meditative equilibrium.  He did not know how long he had sat there or what his thoughts had been when, seeing the reflections of the branches in the water, he thought of the roots that must lie underneath.  These were, by nature, funnels for multiple life-veins and of course would have little, if any, bark to protect them.  Not caring to sleep in wet clothes later on, the young syclyxer stripped and slipped in quietly.  The water was not too cold, at least not compared to the night air, and leaning back slightly to counterbalance the small but steady tug of the current, he began to feel around at once for the roots.  There was a whole network of them creating a mesh that was responsible for the pool, and it was no hard task to find good handholds coming from both trees.

                Starting with a root from the Nash on his left, he gripped it with both hands and grew still.  He remembered his uncle’s instructions, but found it difficult to relax in his growing excitement.  He still had a lingering meditative calm, however, and regaining the proper frame of mind, he slowly sensed the growing ability to probe.  He had the sensation that his mind’s eye entered the life vein and was traveling downward in some current of the sap.  It was a strong current—rich, vibrant and somewhat intoxicating.  Then it took him, willing or not, and sent him rushing deep into some far recess and soon he was no longer aware of himself as something separate from the sensations he felt.

                He was old, perhaps ancient, and the weight of such ‘ageness’ was heavy beyond measure, though he bore it with the immense strength of the dark earth itself.  Yet that was the skin, the mere crust of who or what he was.  The sensations plunged deeper, realer, and with increasing intensity.  Then there was an expansion of the awareness and he became the life-vein; a river of growing momentum, like a huge body of running water that was narrowing towards its center.  The rushing grew quicker and wilder, and what had started as ripples were growing into white-foamed rapids that smashed and churned and bounced along.  Faster and faster he went till the intensity and excitement threatened to go beyond exhilarating.

                All this had been producing friction and he became aware of a growing heat all around.  Then it was inside him, filling him up till al at once he was ablaze.  He became fire, roaring with flames that rushed upwards with infinite variety.  He was consuming, ever-consuming, but every devoured bit was converted to creativity.  The twisting, flickering, dazzling-colored flames rose higher and higher till he felt himself shoot upwards ith impossible energy.  Then suddenly there was a shift and he felt light as air, as free to move and twirl and hiss as wind itself.  Or maybe not.  Perhaps he was simply unresistant to any push or pull or force or pressure that cared to toss him about.  It was all the same to him; he loved it either way.

                But it was too much and small mind that was attempting to contain all the sensations could do so no longer, and began to separate itself.  The mind pulled away and somewhere a grip relaxed and followed suit, and then he was Athir once more.  His head and shoulders that were still above the water, were drenched, and he would have thought he had collapsed into the pool if he had not tasted the salt on his face.  He was breathing hard and sat for a long time till his respiration grew steady and the excitement coursing through his blood dissipated.  His reflex was to process what had just happened, but he found his mind blank, unable to contain the experience within any thought.  He was much too tired to fight and so let receding waves of the experience wash over him.

                He had no idea how long the ‘vision’ had gone on, nor how long he had been sitting there in the pool afterwards, when he found himself following the impulse to reach out for the roots of the other Nash.  There was resistance within him, but he was too worn out to identify it or obey it.  Before long he felt himself being pulled down in the current of the life-vein.  Again he was old—ancient with the immeasurable weight of his age—yet bearing it with the equally indeterminate strength of the earth.  This time, however, the sensation did not leave.  This was no skin or crust; or if it was, the inside was just more of the same.  On and on it went—the same ‘ancientness’ and the same strength to bear it.  It went on until at last he no longer noticed it and was aware only of an all-encompassing and serene stillness.  There was no thought of the turbulence before, no thought of even the stillness now.  Only a secure stability that brought thought to a perfect, peaceful rest.

                But this also was too much for the small mind and it retreated, separating itself.  Again the hand followed suit and Athir suddenly gasped for breath like he had been under water far too long—only this time his head and shoulders were dry.  He shook himself over to make sure he was all there, and was glad for the little tug of water around his body that reassured him he was alive.

                He was about to get out of the pool when suddenly he sensed movement above him.  He tilted backwards and looking up, could see branches swaying in some breeze above.  He laughed, for it made him feel jittery and restless like a toddler that cannot help but squirm.  But then he noticed that it was only the Nash on his left that moved while its twin remained motionless.  Perhaps there was no breeze, or else it was getting stronger, since the branches were beginning to sway significantly.  His attention became fixed straight above him where harsh scraping noises were occurring.  Then he understood the noise as he watched the swinging branches that hung over the pool colliding with those of the other Nash that remained still.  The movement only grew and the scratching turned to heavy thuds as the collisions became more forceful.  Then twigs and leaves and bark began to rain down and the syclyxer had to shield his head.  He heard the thwacks of other impacts to his left and realized that not only was the swaying Nash damaging the other one, it was going to break itself apart.  It felt so wrong and this astonished him, for though the intensity of the earlier sensation had been too much for him, it had seemed right and good.  But now what had begun as creative had turned destructive, purposelessly.

                He kept waiting for some change, but the collisions only grew louder and the debris coming down, heavier.  He realized it was not going to stop and suddenly he was horribly afraid for the lives of the trees.  It was becoming dangerous to remain where he was, but on an impulse he lunged for the roots of the Nash on the right.  “WAKE UP!” he screamed with all the mental force he had.  He felt his plea penetrate deeply and was astonished at his own power of urgency.  Then he felt the response, like a heavy sedimentary level near the earth’s foundation rising from below.  The tree itself seemed to rise upward and spread its branches over the other Nash till it was contained.  Then it began to constrict with irresistible strength and authority, causing the movement of the other Nash to become cramped and restricted.  Relief flooded over the syclyxer and he sighed heavily.  By now both trees had grown completely still though the right one remained in its posture of smothering the other.

                Athir, however, was a quick learner and a growing suspicion soon filled him.  The air around him already seemed stifled like what he could only imagine it might feel deep within the earth.  He had heard of certain people who buried their dead in the earth and for the first time he understood the connection and significance.  But he did not care for death, at least not in this context, and knew that the lives of the trees were being threatened again.  He knew what had to be done and placed his hand over the root of the Nash on his left.  He spoke with his mind to rouse the tree, but found his sense of urgency gone and his mental functions groggy.  The stillness was getting increasingly oppressive and with a great effort, he roused himself and spoke again.  To his relief he felt a low murmur of something from below.  He thought he could relax again, but the slight tremor never grew louder.  He mustered his will once more and attempted to coax whatever it was below.  He thought perhaps it had become a ripple, but it would need more force than that to grow.  Such a revival he realized, was going to cost him something.  Some portion of his life for it to feed on, he supposed.  Was it worth it?  There was little hesitation for he wanted the tree to live and so he gave, though with reserve.  It was enough, and the ripples began to grow into waves, and the waves traveled up the trunk to the branches that tossed and shuffled and shifted till they were breaking loose of the inert branches that engulfed them.  A swaying began and the Nash on his right recoiled back to its normal stature.

                This time the syclyxer allowed himself no time for relief and watched carefully, hoping the motion would level out at some point.  But it did not.  I was as persistent as momentum itself.  Noises grew and the debris began to fall and Athir moved over to the other Nash once more.  The pattern was consistent and the syclyxer soon found himself shuffling back and forth, invoking the forces of life and death in turn.  He knew he had to find a balance and desperately tried to control the rises of motion and stillness to that end.  He tried holding back on his urgency, but if the response was not strong enough it would settle back down and hten he would be fighting two momentums to invoke a second response.  Yet every time the response was enough it would grow beyond its need and dominate with increasing insistence.  He was attempting the impossible of balancing forces far greater than himself on the point of a needle.

                Then at last, by some fluke chance, there was a semblance of equilibrium.  He happened to be at the Nash on his left and its branches were swaying slowly while the branches of its twin were just barely holding on to their network of a cage.  When they looked like they were about to give, the syclyxer shifted over and coaxed.  Then then the motion started dying and he shifted back.  He went back and forth several times, just barely hanging on to the precarious equilibrium when he got the idea of holding roots from both trees in separate hands.  This mad e things easier and he thought perhaps the impossible might be feasible after all.

                He never knew how long he had sat there, straining for balance.  Eventually he became aware that his body ached, and especially his shoulders and neck, which were burning.  But his head ached too and his eyes stung from trying to stay focused on the branches above that he might know which tree to encourage.  He began to wonder if it was worth it, but every time he did, the equilibrium would be offset from his lace of concentration.  He resolved that he must continue till he could no more, for he would not let the tree destroy themselves.  But as his struggling continued, a rising enmity began to tug at his conscious mind.  When at last, at the risk of upsetting the balance, he acknowledged it, he was surprised since he knew it was directed at the trees themselves.  How could that be, had he not held them as sacred?  But he was enslaved and miserable and they were the source of it all.  He could not remember ever feeling so wretched and he was beyond exhaustion.  Finally, hating himself now as well for giving up, he let go with his hands, too tired and frustrated to do anymore.  He lay in the water, half floating, half standing, and closed his eyes.  Somewhere in his brain, it registered that the Nash on his right must have won out since he could  hear nothing and felt no leaves or bark falling down.  Yet this time he did not feel the suffocating weight, for his detachment made him immune.

                His anger began to subside while guilt and a sadness took its place.  He had been a fool to probe on his own.  Who knew what kind of irreparable damage he had caused with his inability to keep things under control?

                “O Mahelil!  What have I done?” he groaned.

                He was on the verge of tears when he noticed the water around him had grown warm.  Quite warm in fact, and it felt very soothing.  He opened his eyes and saw nothing unusual, but he could feel the frustration washing out of him.  Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he watched the Nash on his right shrink back to its normal shape.  Athir nearly laughed aloud with relief, so overjoyed that things would be all right again.  Then he sensed a change as the water seemed to be creating some sort of pulse.  The twin Nash began to quiver as if in answer and the syclyxer waited expectantly.  Nothing changed, however, and he got eh peculiar impression that the trees were waiting for something as well.  Then it came, but this time it was within him, like a voice saying, “Now take hold of the roots.”  He was reluctant to do so, but whatever the voice was, it insisted.

                Slowly, and amazed at the calm he now felt, the syclyxer took the roots—one in his left hand and another in his right.  The pulse in the water began to grow in intensity and it took ahold of him.  It filled him and then went through him into the Nash on his left.  The familiar ripples and waves traveling up the trunk sent the branches swaying once again.  There was a moment of apprehension for the syclyxer, and then he felt the motion of the tree pass through him to the Nash on his right.  This time the rippling traveled up its trunk in similar fashion as it had with the one on the left.  Only now, this Nash took the ripples and waves and steadied them, weaving them into patterns so that by the time the motion had traveled up to the branches, they swayed in a dance of complex yet exact precision.  This too, Athir felt come full circle and pass through him back to the Nash on his left, all the while feeling himself throbbing with the pulse from the water.  The pattern traveled upwards, but now the tree took it and added more or just changed the swaying as it pleased.  This in turn passed through the syclyxer and the other tree formed the motion into something consistent again.  Then back it went; and then back again, until Athir was pierced with a joy he never forgot for the rest of his life. 

               

Two Trees

I don't know if anyone is still reading this blog at all, but just in case, I thought maybe some might appreciate what's being discussed in another forum.  Nate, I hope you don't mind...

1st post:
Here's a slight variation on the creation story that I like:

There are two trees in the garden.  One is the tree of the declaration of good and evil, the tree of judgment, judging one's self, judging others, declaring people, things, and ideas to be good or bad, in or out.  The other tree is the tree of life.  Every day we have a choice.  Do we choose to live life or do we choose to categorize?  It is impossible to do both.  The story has come to be one of a fall from grace with an angel keeping us out of Eden.  But I think the angel is implicit in the choice we make when we categorize.


my response:
Hey Nate,
Is your version of the of the creation story a good one?  Is the choice for life a good choice and the choice to categorize a bad choice?  The knowledge from the tree of good and evil is implicit in everything we do and say.  That's why I believe it makes most sense to understand it in light of being aware of oneself.

The declaration of good and evil is an aesthetic declaration as much as anything else.  "This pan on the stove is hot!  I will therefore use a hot pad" is not that far from "stealing my neighbor's things leads a whole host of problems, including a nasty feeling inside.  I will therefore be an honest, trustworthy person."   Judgement that causes and in and an out, and us/them mentality comes from a slew of other motivations separate from knowledge about what is good and bad.  Usually things like selfishness, insecurity, pride, and greed. 

When the fruit is tied to awareness, the angel is just as effective as the impossibility of returning to the womb.


Nate:
I like that.  Back to the original myth though, would you agree that it seems to be talking more about the disequilibrium that comes from a judgmental orientation than about the danger of disobedience?  There's nothing in there about God's purity and the filth of sin as cause for expulsion from Eden.



me:
...But as for the Genesis story, I don't think you can read the story 'as it is written' without seeing a theme of disobedience and punishment.  The Lord is pretty pissed and curses all parties involved.  By the time you get to the cherubim with a flaming sword, the story really breaks down.  The Lord and whoever he's hanging around with at the time, whether the trinity or some angel pals, feel threatened by the self-awareness of the humans.  Gen. 3:22  "The Lord God said, 'The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil.  He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and live forever.'"  Same sort of threatened god you sense in Genesis 11 with the tower of Babel.  "The Lord came down to see the city and the tower that the men were building.  The Lord said, 'If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.'"

I suspect, like Daniel Quinn, (author of Ishmael) that the genesis story (like the tower of Babel) was not originally Jewish and was tweaked and stuffed with extras to account for so many of the problems men seemed to be faced with.  I would not be the first to see blatant parallels to the Greek stories surrounding Prometheus, whose actual name means forethought or foreknowledge.  A Titan, credited with creating man from clay, Prometheus is most known for his gift of fire to humankind.  Along with this he is credited with gifting us with civilization and science (even animal sacrifice for the gods); basically those things which involve knowledge of the analytical type which requires self-awareness.  Zeus, of course, is pissed and has Prometheus tortured eternally.  In some versions, Zeus not only tries to keep fire away from humans, but withholds "the means of life", which would enable humans to get all there work done without effort.  No toiling in the fields by the sweat of one's brow if we had been allowed such gifts.  On top of all that, Zeus sends down Pandora with her jar/box of evils.  Here is the source of disease and pain.

The best explanation that I've read that takes in the nuances of the genesis story without spinning off into weird conclusions came from C. S. Lewis book Perelandra.   In the book there is another version of Adam and Eve on Venus.  On the planet covered almost completely by water, 'Eve' lives on a floating island.  It is forbidden for her to spend overnight on any fixed land.  After she resists temptations from the 'devil' she ends up establishing her home with 'Adam' on the fixed the land.  The earthling human involved is appalled until it is explained that the prohibition was simply a matter of timing.  This fits well with the concept of evil beginning as a privation of good.  Any 'sin' in such a context as the genesis story would have to be a warped virtue (knowledge in and of itself is a virtue).  Thus the 'punishment' for disobedience can be seen as much as simple built-in cause and effect for misuse or mistiming.  Timing fits in well with the idea of self-awareness.  We all spent the first chunk of our lives being oblivious to ourselves being an entity is a specific context, with specific connections with specific people and specific cultures etc...  We simply lived and took everything that came our way for granted.  Within this stage there are plenty of things completely inappropriate to be involved in that will later be good things.  Things like lofty thoughts of philosophy and theology.  Sciences.  Political activism.  Or the obvious, like sex.  I think it telling that when God confronts Adam and Eve about eating the fruit, their first reaction is to realize they are naked.  And instead of reacting by saying "Awesome, dude!  Look at me and what these dangling things between my legs do!"--instead they felt shame; not unlike a sexually abuse child who struggles with having healthy sex for the rest of his or her life. 

I think the concept of timing with knowledge is quite central and relevant to our species.  Particularly in our technological world we live in today.  We can send people to the moon, talk on Skype clear across the globe, build cities Babel couldn't even dream about, and a gazillion other utterly impressive things, but we do it without much thought to consequences to each other or the earth we live on.  More personally, too, religious families often never learn this lesson.  Churches spend so much time shoving theological concepts down children's throats way before they are at an age to appropriately handle or comprehend them.  I grew up since before I can remember being told that my sins had been nailed to the cross.  Even as an adult I have very little idea what that actually is suppose to mean.  As a kid I had weird visuals of squiggly things leaving my body, going back in time some 2000 years and somehow being skewered on the wooden beam with a bloodied Jesus hanging and breathing heavily as he watches these squigglies descend on him.

So now I can answer a 'yes' to the disequilibrium that comes from a judgmental orientation, because such an orientation is an example of having knowledge without the maturity to handle it properly.  However, with the genesis story as it is written, it is hard to get away from disobedience, punishment, and even God and company expelling from Eden because they feel threatened.  I guess at that point it depends on your view of how you read Scripture.