Followup Questions: Aloneness and the Experience of Transcendence

[[Sister Laurel, can you explain what you mean by experiences of transcendence during periods of isolation? Are you talking about mystical experiences in prayer? This makes sense to me but not for everyone and maybe for very few people. It wouldn't happen for younger children or for families (or persons) where there is no religion would it? I don't think you are talking about things used to escape the pain of such isolation so if I am right about that what do you actually mean? Also, when you speak of unchosen periods of isolation could this include solitary confinement in prisons? Could prisoners also have such experiences of transcendence? Could they become hermits? Lastly, if an experience of solitude is healing and inspiring why would a person still need therapy or other help to deal with the harm done to them by being isolated?  Thanks.]]

Yes, an experience of transcendence is one which 'comes from' beyond the person herself,  but ('works') through her and with her, and thus, also draws her beyond herself to some extent.* It may occur when we have reached the end of our own resources to lesser and greater degrees. I tend to identify such experiences with God but we can use the language of beauty, truth, depth, etc., as well. One of the best conversations on such experiences I have ever had was a brief exchange between my violin teacher (Laura Risk) and myself. We were working on the Bach Double and had talked about allowing the notes to be transformed into music; as part of preparing the piece we had gone through various passages and noted the emotions or feelings we wished to communicate and also planned the actual memories we would each access to allow this  to be realized. We were talking about transcending the notes and other instructions on the page by tapping into our own emotional and inner lives. At the same time that our memories and emotions gave a fresh life to the music some of these memories were redeemed (given a new value and meaning) by becoming part of this music. This too was part of the experience of transcendence --- though not the heart of it.

Our conversation morphed into one on what it was like to play and compose music and especially to combine these skills to improvise (because both of us were talented in this and did a lot of "just playing" apart from written parts and scores). In doing so we drew upon our own inner lives in the same way, but we recognized something more as well. Laura commented that for her playing in this way was about "tapping into the music of the universe" --- something that was ever present there beyond and all around us, but also something which could sound within and through us. I commented that in my language (theological or spiritual) I would describe this experience as being in dialogue with the Transcendent or even touching into the Divine and allowing that to work in and through me. I said I might even call this prayer.

Whether we used the language of "music of the universe" or of "God" and "prayer," we were both describing an experience of mediating the Transcendent through our own minds, hearts, spirits, and muscles --- for we, with all our limitations and gifts, were still the ones playing and improvising. Both of us, I think, had a clear sense of something "living", something greater than ourselves sounding and singing itself through us and doing so in ways which challenged and stretched us musically and as persons. We both knew in an intimate way this reality which could sustain us even as it transformed and let us transcend the concrete circumstances of our lives --- even  as it inspired us to create amazing music and in the process empowered us to become more than we were. A somewhat similar experience is associated with art and literature of all kinds. In How Does a Poem Mean? John Ciardi once referred to a piece of this experience of empowerment and transcendence when he wrote that (reading and writing) poetry, like karate, had the power to save us as we wandered some night through a dark alley. The transformation of our lives from those of inarticulate suffering (when that is our experience) and struggle, to amazingly articulate expressions of beauty, truth, and meaning is at the heart of genuine experiences of transcendence.

Mystical Prayer?

While I am not speaking of mystical experiences of prayer per se I am certainly speaking of the dynamics and reality of prayer itself. Although I never really thought of the improvisational violin playing I did through Junior High and High School as prayer, there is no doubt in my mind that it was during these years that I learned something absolutely fundamental about prayer.

Today I speak of that by saying God worked or spoke (or sang!) Godself in and through me --- though in no way did it cease to be my own playing! I was open to that for many reasons --- some having to do with talents and gifts and others with yearning rooted in great need and deficiency. I was disposed toward "obedience" in our Christian language and the result of all that was the prayer God accomplished within me via violin. Of course, I experienced the Transcendent in many ways during those same years --- just as most of us do. Only later did I learn to pray in more explicit ways and only much later did I experience what might be called "mystical prayer". But at bottom, from violin, to lectio divina, to study and writing, to contemplative or mystical prayer, and all the ordinary moments in between, it was the Transcendent experienced mainly in silence and solitude that defined all of these.

While I don't think children (or the majority of adults for that matter) will have mystical experiences per se, I do think every child experiences the Transcendent, knows what it means to transcend their everyday lives, and can understand the mediation of transcendence through experiences of play, storytelling and reading, imagination, art, etc. As children the experience of transcendence is central for us. Everyone who has watched (or tried to deal with!) the incessant "WHY?" of children has been watching little explosions of transcendence and the drive to transcendence. The same is true of watching the rapt face of a child hearing her first Dr Seuss or (later maybe) reading a Harry Potter book, or a small child humming to herself as she colors. Such experiences use the deep resources of our own minds and hearts, the capacity for joy and play and spontaneity we have, as well as our own talents and skills, but they also can come from beyond us just as they lead us beyond ourselves.

As children (and as adults!) we read stories, we imagine ourselves in different worlds and different roles; we see and are inspired to see ourselves as capable of great feats of courage and creativity, of love and generosity. We develop the skills to bridge the gap between the "real world" and the world of our imagination and to create a different future for ourselves and others. We write symphonies and novels, create and test scientific hypotheses, develop new medicines to vanquish old enemies, build cities (starting with the ones we made of dirt and toy cars), and philosophical systems, and homes, and families and in every conceivable way we become witnesses to and mediators of transcendence. It is what we are made for, after all.

On Prisoners and Solitary Confinement:

I have written about solitude and prisoners once before a number of years ago now in Notes From Stillsong: Prisoners as Hermits. I did not write specifically about solitary confinement and am ambivalent about the possibilities of experiences of transcendence within solitary confinement or in regard to some there becoming hermits. While I do not want to limit God and either his will or power to bring life out of death, meaning out of the absurd, or, in this case, solitude out of isolation, it remains true that the person requires certain resources to help this process. Transcendence  implies not just being open to the Transcendent but also having some means to express this and to develop our openness further. Access to books and Bibles, paper, writing implements, a musical instrument, art materials, etc, are just some of the tools (resources) I have in mind here. Ordinarily God works in and through such things.

Prayer is a privileged way to the Transcendent but usually this develops in stages. We see this when we move from meditation to contemplative prayer. It is usually a mediated reality. Entering the biblical story frees our minds and hearts to some extent and opens us to the Word of God. It provides characters, values, relationships, and situations we can imaginatively interact with --- interactions which both encourage the growth of the light and help check the darkness in our own hearts. Drawing, Writing, and Reading all do something similar. Occasional conversations with others is also usually an important and even indispensable resource here as well --- especially when that someone has the capacity to help us negotiate the trap of living in our own heads and hearts, and thus too, of believing everything we think or experience is the voice of God.

Solitary confinement of itself is certainly an example of an enforced and unchosen isolation, and God can certainly move through the walls and bars of this cell as through any other. Some few may well need little else and be gifted with relatively unmediated or direct experiences of God. Generally, however, such confinement must also have some minimal resources which allow for both the mediation of the Transcendent and for our own  experience of transcendence. When this is true, when there is both physical solitude and sufficient even if minimal resources allowing for mediated reception, response, and expression, then yes, it is entirely possible for the prisoner to find him or herself transfigured into a hermit or someone with the heart of a hermit.

The Continuing Need for Healing and Therapy:

One of the indisputable truths of physical solitude, especially as isolation, is that it tears down before it builds up. When that isolation is forced on us then it becomes doubly damaging. Consider what happens when someone's family shuns them, especially if that is an extended event. Not only are they cut off from the ordinary source of formation and education as a person capable of real intimacy, but they have been rejected and hurt by those who, more than any other (except God) are meant and assured to love them. Even when one discovers and experiences the Transcendent in a way which redeems the experience of shunning, the hurt and pain are real and will need to be dealt with. Often, it will take serious healing before one can even understand the extent and import of the experience of transcendence that was also involved. The pain and loss is simply too great.

Moreover, genuine experiences of the Transcendent take time to bear recognizable fruit. Unless healing occurs, this fruit may never be fully realized or realizable. One may survive the immediate experience and have been transformed by it, but whether that is more ultimately for the better or worse will ordinarily take time to really manifest --- not least because the capacity for good and bad, creativity and destruction, are both contained in the experience of physical solitude or isolation. Still, I can speak of developing the "heart of a hermit" in some essential or fundamental sense during (for instance) a period of enforced and extended isolation whenever transcendence is experienced in ways that overshadow the destructive dimension of the isolation. Such a heart is ultimately necessary for any genuine hermit.

But whether that heart (which has been shaped both for ill and for good, so to speak) will lead to the life of a self-deceived and self-deceiving individualist, that of a misanthrope, or a narcissist with room for no one but herself, or whether it will mature into the edifying heart of a true hermit who responds to God's call and chooses the silence of solitude because she loves God, herself, and others --- the heart of one who (appropriately) persists in that response with courage and fidelity --- is a question only time and real healing will answer. As with the parable of the weeds and wheat or better maybe, the parable of the soils, we simply can't see or know what the tender green shoots of that heart will grow into; we do not know whether they will be truly nourishing to others or merely weeds, whether they will prove to be rootless or deeply rooted in God. We must let (and assist) them grow to maturity and for that to happen care of all sorts, often including therapy, is necessary.

Meanwhile some will eschew healing (including therapy and spiritual direction) and play at being hermits while their woundedness keeps them psychologically and personally crippled. The "witness" they give to the Transcendent is superficial at best and entirely unconvincing. Others will avoid such pretense but, no less crippled, act out their loss, anger, and pain on the world around them in other ways. And some will seek healing in all the ways it is necessary so that their own witness to the God who transfigures a disedifying and barren isolation into an edifying and fruitful solitude is profoundly convincing and helpful to others.

* One of the most profound and cogent analyses of "the transcendent function" in the human person is Carl Jung's. I am not unaware of this analysis but my focus here is a specifically theistic model or notion of transcendence and experiences of "the Transcendent". In fact, I think the two models, especially with their similar notions of dialogue and teleology are profoundly complementary. Jung's analysis certainly explains the above example of the "music of the universe." Jung himself, while speaking of the unconscious used the words numinous or holy to describe dimensions of the experience of transcendence and "the transcendent function" to describe the dimension of the human person that mediates between conscious and unconscious; I do so in a deliberately and explicitly theological sense to describe the dialogical nature of the "communion with God" whom we know as the authentically human being.

On Hypocrisy vs Imperfection: An indirect look at Loyalty Oaths

There are times when I struggle with eremitical life. Sometimes I just don't live it as well as I feel called to do. Sometimes I am not as generous, not as loving, not as faithful to my daily praxis and Rule as I am obligated to be by my profession. And yet I wear a habit which signals publicly that I am a hermit (for most it just says I am a nun) and I write about eremitical life here and elsewhere; I have even given interviews on the life as well a talk or two about it here and there --- and will likely do so again somewhere in the future. So, does this make me a hypocrite? Do I live a life of pretense while I show the face of fidelity to the world around me? I have certainly struggled with THAT piece of things as well!

But this year I also came to a bone deep, heart-level realization (I have been working on this for some time and, in a moment of profound healing, what I knew intellectually finally "clicked" in a deep-down way) that there is a profound difference between hypocrisy and imperfection. I am an imperfect hermit, an imperfect religious, an imperfect Christian who struggles to live fully the Gospel of God within the context of eremitical life, but I am not a hypocrite. As far as I can tell, struggle is part of my very vocation, just as it is, I think, with ANY really serious attempt to live out a divine call with integrity.

Similarly, I strive to believe what the Church teaches; as a theologian I work hard to wrap my mind and heart around every doctrine. I sometimes have struggled to give an assent of faith when that is required and I struggle to give "religious submission of mind and will" where that is required (which is a good thing since, among others, obsequium carries the senses of willingness to assent and struggle to assent). I struggle to believe that the episcopacy has a clear charism of truth in days when members of the episcopacy have made themselves incredible to me in any number of ways, and I struggle to see where Christ's church really is; I struggle, that is, to see where the Church that remains indefectible in the power of the Gospel of freedom really abides today in season and out.

I struggle with that especially in these days of "loyalty oaths" which conflate matters of faith with others that are not, which blur the critical boundaries between internal and external forums and imply (or state explicitly) that some of us are incapable of ministering to fellow Catholics because we are not "Catholic" enough or are deemed hypocritical because we wrestle with many things in today's church including the fundamental offensiveness of loyalty oaths themselves. I struggle in these days when women religious are misrepresented, demeaned and punished while members of the hierarchy commit heinous criminal acts and are rewarded anyway; I struggle in these times when it has become acceptable for the self-righteous to be happy with, indeed, to sometimes slaver over the prospect of a "leaner, purer church" while others they call "brother" and "sister" are forced, in good conscience, to leave the church for ecclesial communities where they can be genuinely respected and nourished in their faith,

I am not, however, a hypocrite. I am a Christian, a Catholic Christian whose faith is imperfect just as was the faith of Peter, or Thomas, or Mary of Magdala, or James and his group, or the disciples on the road to Emmaus. I am a Catholic Christian as imperfect as any Catholic Christian ever was or is who is set on maturing in their faith. I am a Catholic Christian who recalls that some have sometimes translated the word "perfect" in the evangelical counsel "Be you perfect as your Father in Heaven is perfect," as "whole" or "mature" or "fully alive" or "holy." And, like the Church herself --- the entire Pilgrim People of God --- I am therefore "always in need of reform," always called to conversion, always summoned to a fuller understanding and embrace of the faith Christ has entrusted to me and to the whole Church.

I have no doubt that some in the Church would like to simply stamp out or force me to abjure those dark, yet-to-be illuminated areas of my mind and heart that do not yet reflect the light of Christ or the power of the Holy Spirit. I am sure that some in the Church would say that because of these imperfections I am unworthy to minister, or to do theology, or to be a canonical hermit who lives out her life in the name of the Church. After all, I am an imperfect Catholic Christian who struggles in these and other ways as well. But perhaps these folks should reread the admonition that one deal with the beam in one's own eye before blindly and recklessly plucking at the splinter in another's. Perhaps they should reread the parables of patience, faith, and quiet growth --- where, admitting their own inability to do anything more, farmers (and indeed, Popes like John XXIII who once prayed, " Lord, I am going to bed, the Church is yours,") do indeed go to bed and trust that God is doing in the depths and darkness what only God can do.

You see, I was taught --- indeed the Holy Spirit taught me, Christ himself patiently taught me, the one I call Abba gently taught me over the space of many years --- that I am part of the Church where the imperfect are called to belong, to be, and to be made whole; it is the Church of wounded healers, the communion of those with troublesome thorns in their sides and lance holes in their hearts. I was taught, not least by the Church Council called Vatican II, that she desired my full and active participation in the "work of the people" --- a full and active participation that includes ministry to one another (EEM, cantor, lector, acolyte, sacristan, lay presider, chorister, musician, etc. --- I have done them all) as an integral part of my act of worship. This, Vatican II reminded me, was my privileged right and responsibility as baptized --- with training, yes --- but without additional public acts of faith or manifestations of conscience beyond my profession of the Church's creeds.

The lesson I learned at the level of heart this year was one the Church hierarchy could do well to remind themselves of. It is one that the self-righteous minority of orthodoxy police would do well to learn themselves. We are imperfect, all of us, but this does not mean we are hypocrites. I struggle as my own faith grows and matures, but I am called to do so and can only do so within the Communion of the Church, not outside it. Within my mind and heart grow weeds and wheat together. Only the truly foolhardy would try to uproot the weeds while thinking they will not also harm the tender wheat that grows there too. Only the pastorally naive would ask me to show the wheat and not expect there also to be weeds interspersed.

But, imperfect as my faith may be, what is there for anyone with eyes to see is a life which nourishes the faith of others nonetheless, a life which, through the grace of God, ministers in season and out, in weakness and in strength. Even I, the once-consummate perfectionist can see that! In any case, I am a Catholic not because my faith is perfect, but because with the grace of God and (his) People's assistance I struggle towards the day it will be; I am Catholic --- and an effective minister of the Gospel I have given my life to and for --- not in spite of my struggle but because of it! I am imperfect in all the ways any serious, faithful, Catholic Christian is imperfect -- and probably more as well. But I am not a hypocrite. I am surer about that today than ever.

More On Spiritualizing "Stricter Separation from the World"

In an earlier post (June 25,2011), I explained that I had not intended to spiritualize the essential element in Canon 603 known as "stricter separation from the world." In the first place I was trying to counter a rather common misconception in eremitical life, and especially the eremitical life of beginners, namely, that "the world" can be hypostatized or treated as a wholly separate reality external to the hermitage. When this occurs one hears hermits (or monastics more generally) speaking as though the hermitage or monastery is not an instance of the world, while condemning everything outside the cell, hermitage, or monastery as "worldly". We have all heard monastics say, "When I left the world" --- speaking about entering the monastery --- or, "Brother so and so has returned to the world" --- speaking about leaving monastic life, etc. Only when very carefully explained can these statements cease to mislead us into thinking of "out there" -- the everyday world -- as "the world."

But, in Scripture and in theological reflection on everyday spatio-temporal reality, "the world" is a polyvalent or tensive symbol --- a symbol which has several meanings which create tension between them --- which includes God's good creation as well as that which resists Christ. It also refers to the sinful human heart which is equally ambiguous. Because of this, the notion that one can simply close the monastery or hermitage door on "the world" is false, a distortion of reality, and in affirming this fundamental untruth one actually makes of the hermitage an outpost of that which is resistant to Christ. Because of this, I stressed that the term "Stricter separation from the world," as Canon 603 uses the term, was primarily about the state of the individual heart and its conversion, and only secondarily (though necessarily!) about physical separation from significant aspects of reality.

Abdicating our Responsibility to Discern the Incarnate God's Presence in Everyday Life

There were two other reasons I stressed the spiritual dimension of this term as well. Both are related to hypostatizing "the world" and treating it as "that which is outside the hermitage or monastery." In the first one, what we find is that when one forgets about the ambiguity of reality and embraces such an unnuanced perspective, one abdicates one's responsibility to discern what is of God and what is not. One rejects everything as "the world" in the pejorative sense of the term, (i.e., that which is resistant to Christ) when in fact much of what one is thus rejecting is good, beautiful, true, and more than capable of mediating God's presence and summoning to holiness. This affects the soundness of one's spirituality on every level. It fosters dangerous judgments about what is possible outside the monastery (for instance that holiness is not possible out in the everyday world, that lay life is an inferior form of vocation, that the ordinary affairs of people are necessarily distractions from genuinely spiritual life and divide the human heart, etc, etc).

It can lead to notions of contemplative life which are insensitive to and unappreciative of God's presence in significant ways; it can lead to notions of spirituality rooted in an anti-pleasure principle and overly dependent on pain and other forms of unpleasantness (if food is unpalatable eat it, if pleasant avoid it; if something is beautiful eschew it, if it is gratifying to the other senses, reject it, etc, etc). This all seems to me to be counter to the truth of the Incarnation: namely, that God comes to us in everyday reality and asks us to recognize and affirm him there rather than being scandalized by his presence in life's ordinariness.

The Parable of the Weeds and the Wheat Applied to this Situation

It also seems to me that Jesus' parable of the weeds and the wheat speaks to this situation very pointedly. We must not precipitously and simply attempt to pull up the weeds as though they are clearly evident and wholly separate from the wheat. In fact, this is simply not so, and we cannot see clearly enough to do this. Discernment and patience are necessary. We must live with ambiguity because otherwise we will certainly throw out some plants that actually witness to and mediate the presence of God to nourish us. More, we must allow God to clarify our own vision and hearts through all of this. Stricter physical separation from much of the ambiguity is necessary, but the hermit must always remember that "the world" Canon 603 inveighs against is a function first of all of the human heart, and it is this which is the source of our world's ambiguity.

Let me give one example of the way Jesus' parable might work with regard to conversation with others, for instance. I have spoken with a person who wishes to be a hermit who refuses to speak of anything but "spiritual matters" with those she meets. What qualifies as spiritual is God, Christ, the Saints, spiritual books (19th C or earlier --- nothing contemporary!), monastic values, etc. All other topics have been torn out at the roots, so to speak. The result, of course, is not only a loss of friends, but the very matter in and through which God reveals himself. Everything is abstracted from the concrete, and thus, rendered empty. For instance, while one can speak of love, hope, holiness, etc, one cannot speak of the nitty gritty situations, relationships, and daily struggles which give rise to these as concerns, questions, problems, etc.

Karl Barth once referred to religious discourse of this sort, especially in terms of preaching the Gospel without either listening or responding to the every day lives and questions of those to whom the preacher is speaking. It is akin to throwing a rock into a lake. It profoundly disturbs the surface of the pool and immediately sinks to the bottom; it makes ripples, the ripples spread, die away quickly, and everything is left as before --- except that now religion seems to be extraneous and even irrelevant to every day life while the Gospel is seen as incapable of speaking in an effective way to people who use non-religious language. But of course, this is what the incarnation never allows us to do. In Christ our God uses a new and scandalous form of discourse; he comes to us PERSONALLY in the unexpected and even the unacceptable place. He comes to understand our situation intimately from the inside out and he redeems us in the same way. He loves, not abstractly, but concretely. The Word he speaks to us is his own self, but it addresses our deepest needs and desires, in whatever way and language we use to pose them. If we forget this, we may well forget ourselves to listen to the person's own spiritual language, classify it as "the world," and tear up the wheat along with the weeds, long before it is able to produce fruit. This is a serious problem with those who tend to hypostatize the term "the world" as this person does.

Abdicating our Responsibility to Speak Prophetically to our World by Hypostatizing "the World"

The second problem I wanted to deal with is intimately related to this. It had to do with the responsibility of the hermit to speak prophetically to the world outside the hermitage. While the prophet certainly summons to repentance, more fundamentally that repentance is a way of affirming the deeper truth and potential of reality. It is meant to recall the world which has moved from God, and therefore to fragmentation, incompleteness, and bondage,  and draw it into true freedom in God. The hermit separates herself from the world to some extent so that she may see it clearly, and address it honestly from a perspective of relative spiritual freedom from entanglements and enmeshment in that which is resistant to Christ or contrary to true dependence upon God. The desert is not so much a destination as it is a context which allows the hermit to achieve freedom and then to summon the rest of reality to the same freedom. Hermits journey for many years in the desert, but the purpose is not only the purification of the hermit's own heart, but a return in some appropriate way to that which was left behind so that it can be loved to wholeness and reminded of its truest destiny.

When the hermit hypostatizes the world so that everything outside the hermitage is treated as though it is sinful, false, distorted, and estranged from God without also being ambiguous and so, true, beautiful, valuable, and capable of mediating God's very self to us, there ceases to be any reason to return to that world with the message of the Kingdom. We are unable to return to the world with the Gospel message and a purified heart which allows us to call the world to fulfillment not only because we treated "the world" as that which was outside us, but because we refused to see its potentialities --- the fact that it is ALSO God's good creation meant to be reconciled and brought to fulfillment as the new heaven and earth spoken of in Scripture.

The hermit does not turn her back on "the world." She attends to "the world" with and in the love of God, first as she discovers that love in the conflicted and fragmented space of her own heart, her own personal center, and then, by finding ways to address "the world" as it exists outside of herself with the hope she comes to know and embody in the silence of solitude. She learns to see what is real, what is true, what is beautiful, what is holy in everyday reality. She learns to see not only the distortion and untruth but also the potential hidden in that reality just as she learned to discern and accept the distortions and potential in her own heart. In so doing, God is allowed to bring reality to perfection and fullness.

So, again, I had no intention of spiritualizing c 603's requirement of stricter separation from the world. Physical separation is essential, but again it is meant to serve what is primary: the personal healing and sanctification of the hermit's own self, a freeing from enmeshment in "the world" precisely so she may serve reality in sympathetic detachment and prophetic presence. Once again, many thanks to the diocesan hermit/friend who raised the question!