There's a book that David Malda gave me for Christmas called "Forests" by Robert Pogue Harrison, or I think that's his name (I can't find the book; which one of you took it?). Harrison gives a history of Western literature in how we've conceived forests from biblical mythology to the present. (He uses mythology to mean stories whose purpose is to illustrate some sort of truth, as opposed to recalling a historical event). Harrison looks at the story of the Garden of Eden, and describes that as mythology for understanding the beginning of man's consciousness. After many thousands of years of evolution, humans came to a point where we no longer fit into an ecological niche. At some point, we didn't just "belong" as other animals naturally do; we no longer had a place in the ecological balance. Our relationship to the natural world was forever changed by this new level of consciousness. I'm not going to try to recall the literary history Harrison lays out after that. His main point is that, for a couple thousand years, Western literature and religion have tried to make sense of that shattered relationship with the natural world. How do we relate to the world as beings with a capacity and a tendency to destroy that which sustains us? Much of futuristic science fiction depicts humans living in an artificial, homogenous, unnatural environment. Much of our religious thinking is fixated on leaving this world behind for a better place, as Reece writes about here. This kind of religion may have even contributed to his father's suicide. But these responses to our condition do not speak for all of Western literature or religion.
For example, the Eastern Orthodox Church (which is part of the Western tradition) is centered around a present community. Orthodox Christians pray to icons because they are asking those saints to intercede for them, much the same way we would ask a friend to pray for us. They conceive of all Christians, past and present, to be living simultaneously in the same community. The need for Jesus to die on the cross is not explained away as some sort of ransom, but embraced as mystery. That mystery leaves a lot less room for the certainty of there being an evil entity that requires blood for salvation - and by extension, an evil world that will burn in its own sin. The Christian's job is to remain present and belong in the world with this community. For another example, Wendell Berry notes time and again of the gospel's call for earth stewardship, which is only possible through intimate knowledge of one's community (land and people).
We all experience moments of belonging to this world and each other. The act of giving ourselves to another person, hiking the Ptarmigan traverse, holding an injured downy owl, singing Silent Night in church, remembering Kevin with all of you, sitting by a wood stove on a stormy night looking at the Oregon Coast, climbing Castleton Tower, Sella Tower, Longs Peak all help me feel a sense of belonging. And I don't think we have to discard our religion to grow in that belonging, simply because many of our traditions have missed and continue to miss the mark. If our religions didn't leave room for growing in our belonging, trying to find poetry in life, then they would need to be discarded. I think that Elder Zosima's homilies in the Brothers Karamazov are some of the most eloquent writings on the topic of Christianity and living presently. I need to read those again.
What are your thoughts?
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