Ultimate reality

At the core of the human mind, it is possible to discover an experience of transcendent truth that exhilaratingly transforms your understanding of what your life means, giving you a sense of connection with the ultimate – a union of the self with the infinite and eternal, a taking into yourself all that is good and pure and lovely. This strikes you as the ultimate revelation of what life itself means, what your own life is for, and it connects you with the depths and heights of what it means to exist. As if this was not enough, this extraordinary revelation of truth presents itself as a personal expression of love, directly to you. You are aware that it is a universal love, but you are also aware that you are included in it, that this love has specifically reached out to embrace you.

This experience is a discovery of what is there to be discovered. It is not manufactured, manipulated, constructed by the human mind. It is. It exists. While I suppose it must be theoretically possible for a person to discover this experience and then reject it, I expect that, in practice, everyone who finds it, embraces it. Having been embraced by this experience, they joyfully accept it and embrace the experience back. It becomes the greatest treasure of your life.

It’s difficult to find any sort of analogy that does it any sort of justice. But suppose, in the external reality of the physical universe, you discovered “another country” – say, a hidden valley, that has been there all along, but somehow unknown to you. Then one day, perhaps, you stumble by accident into it. Perhaps others had heard stories of it and had not dismissed them as fables, but had been diligently searching for it. However it happens, you find yourself in the secret valley. And, in physical terms for our analogy, imagine it to be filled with the most exquisite fragrance, from flowers of unspeakable beauty, that fill the heart with such deep contentment, while at the same time the freshness of the breeze sweeps all cobwebs from your mind, leaving you vibrantly alive but also poised in utter tranquillity. If we found such a valley, would we not make it the centre of our lives, returning to it as often as we can, and valuing it more than everything else?

An alternative illustration would be as though you discover a door to a secret garden. It’s always been there, always been open to the touch, and when you enter it for the first time you can’t believe that you have passed it so many times without wondering what was behind it. But once you do, you become devoted to the garden and live for your opportunities to enter it. Importantly, the first time you enter, you have it all to yourself and are enchanted to have such wonders all to yourself. You wander through it in awe, until the truth you are experiencing whispers to you, “I love you”. After that, as you explore, you discover another person who also loves to come to the garden – and then another and another. But instead of feeling deflated that the garden is no longer “your special place”, exclusively giving you truth and love – because you’re so special, instead, as the truth and love seeps into all the nooks and crannies of your heart, it becomes part of the delight to discover that another kindred spirit has also found the garden, and loves it as much as you do. And the spirit of love you’ve found there encourages you to love each other, so that this love becomes another feature of what you love so much about this place.

Such is the discovery of “the other country” within the inner reality of your own heart and mind. Some people only enter it by strange accidents and so cannot remember how to get back into it when the mind has ejected them from it as the noise of everyday life interrupts them and drowns out the experience, such that it becomes a glittering vision, treasured beyond all memories, but one that is like a distant dream, far removed from the reality of their daily lives. But for those who have been searching, or who, stumbling in, recognise that this is to be kept hold of forever, they visit regularly, such that they become so familiar with it that they just have to close their eyes and they are there. For such people, the whole of life is infused with the reality that they have discovered. The truth that is theirs becomes an inner spring of refreshment, and at the heart of the truth is a deep, personal love. A love given to you, for you, and given for you to share with others. It is just how things are. It is ultimate realty. It is there. To be discovered.

Time and place and transience

Part 6: God is all in all

Once again we see (what a surprise!) that God is the ground of our being, the foundation of our lives, the one who gives meaning and purpose to our lives, the one who not only enriches our lives beyond measure, but who holds the preciousness of our lives so that it is never lost. His presence answers the questions – and the fears – of humanity, reassuring us that the transience of our lives, as we move through time and place, is not a problem in terms of leaving strewn behind us a trail of treasures that are now all lost to us, but, rather, our movement through life is the means of creating what is precious in our own lives, and adding our contribution to the whole sum of what is precious, as it is all held in the heart of God. God is the storehouse of the treasures of our lives.

Postmodernism offers a false solution that, in reality, mocks humanity’s hopes. It tells us not to worry about meaninglessness, emptiness or loss, just enjoy your life – if you can, if you are lucky enough to have those opportunities. It is really not much more than the advice to, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die”. And, of course, in our thinking we have focussed on the problem of how to think about the treasures of our lives and our distress at the thought that they don’t really count for anything and are all now lost in the past anyway. However, there is also the experience of pain and suffering to consider. And, while we might be able to cope with this if the balance of our lives falls heavily into credit with the many good things of our lives easily offsetting those occasional times of difficulty, we recall that for some people the balance falls heavily into suffering and loss. Our ideas about God will be able to give meaning and value to those peoples’ lives too, and we will consider that another time, while postmodernism simply says, “Bad luck! Pity you didn’t live in our wealthy, comfortable society”.

So, postmodernism promises a false freedom: enjoy your bingo; there isn’t anything more to life than that. In contrast, belief in God gives true freedom, because our faith creates an arena in which we can live our lives here on planet earth with complete assurance that we are held within the love of God. The transient events of our lives are, indeed, the best choices we could make about what to do with our lives, in the situations in which we find ourselves, yet we live and move and have our being within the life of God. It is his presence, which no time can erode, and his love, which nothing can diminish, which is the infinite and complete receptacle in which we live. It is this that gives an absolute and permanent meaning and value to our lives. It is this which fills us with joy and peace now. It is this that enables us to cope with loss and pain and suffering, because even these do not diminish the preciousness of our lives, for God responds to our loss with even more love. It is from understanding that our lives are lived with God that enables us to run our course to the last day, when, perhaps suddenly and to our surprise, or maybe long expected but still creeping up on us through the drowsy fog of our final moments, we fall into blackness and have no more consciousness. Perhaps those who love us will be there to weep over us, but we will not hear them, nor will we be aware of the wetness of their tears. But this is of no matter. Our lives are held in the hands of God, and we are free to keep moving forward till we can do so no longer. Nothing is lost. We are with God now. And we will be with him forever.

Time and place and transience

Part 5: We are the apple of God’s eye

You see why I am so keen for God to actually exist, rather than just being an idea that is useful to us humans in getting through life. If God does exist, and if we take seriously what God must be like, then God is the repository for everything that ever happens. The events of our lives in time and space, so utterly transient, are, in fact, never lost, and never insignificant, for they contribute to the reality of who God is. God himself changes and grows in response to the living of our lives. In the same way that my life is richer because I experienced my daughter’s 3^rd birthday, so God’s life is richer – both because he experienced it in his own right, and he experienced it through sharing in my daughter’s experience of the event, and through experiencing it through my experience of it.

I don’t think we are making God subject to us (or maybe we are – and which is better?) as though he is dependent on us for being who he is. God does not need us, as he is complete in himself. His character and his will do not change, because he is perfect in himself. Nevertheless, in the practicality of living in a material universe, God does indeed “grow” through sharing in our lives. Some of the philosophical problems are solved through the concept of timeless God (admittedly a mind-stretching idea!) in that, while we experience our lives getting richer as time progresses, as God is outside of time, he has already experienced all that will ever happen, and continues to experience everything in his timeless present. To that degree, creating creation did not “make God bigger than he was before” because he always contained within himself the effect of what would happen if he created a universe. Nevertheless, it is an awesome thought to acknowledge that, yes, God himself becomes richer because of our lives. This must be so. If we take seriously the idea of God sharing our lives with us, and take seriously the concept of a real relationship of love between him and ourselves, then God cannot be unmoved by the experiences he shares with us. So, in God’s mind, it’s not even just that our experiences live on, but God’s response to those experiences, and the mutual relationship that we shared with him, all these things are relived as God holds them in his mind. Surely, this gives the events of our lives, and the whole of our lives, ultimate and absolute value, for they literally exist forever. Timeless God is always living the events of our lives, and he also has the ability to “bring to mind” in the manner of how a memory relives those events (perhaps God has no need of memories as he is simultaneously experiencing everything is a timeless present moment, but God must have the ability to remember too). God “right now” (timelessly really, all language that is time related does not really apply to God, but it’s helpful for us to think in this way, as we have to progress along the time line from then to now to the future) is living (“reliving” from my point of view) my daughter’s 3^rd birthday, and my sharing of it with her, and he is living her 10^th birthday, and he is living her 30^th birthday – which hasn’t actually happened yet from my point of view.

So, everything that we ever do permanently lives forever in the mind of God. I am alive in him. Both now and forever. Nothing that we ever do is ever lost. Everything enriches the whole, with God, who is the whole, growing richer in experience through our lives.

Time and place and transience

Part 4: I don’t want what is precious to be gone and lost forever

We are used to the idea of God being the repository of all good values, but I now want to put forward the idea that he is also the repository of all experience.

We’ve met the idea before of timeless God, who experiences everything that is happening, everywhere in the universe, everything that has happened and everything that will happen, all simultaneously, in a timeless present. Let’s relate God’s experience to my own.

I am picturing now my daughter on her 3^rd birthday. That event is long ago – just a memory, but as I recall it now, the experience that I had then is present to me again. I am aware that I am still in this room now, typing, but in my experience I am also reliving a moment from her 3^rd birthday. And I think the idea of “reliving” the experience is a fair one. It is not like looking at a photograph of her 3^rd birthday, where the photo is an artefact, taken on that day, which I can now hold in my hand and observe. The photo may also spark off my actual memories of the event, in which case the photo has simply served the purpose of assisting me to bring to mind the event. As I recall the event, I am experiencing at least some of the things I saw and felt on that day.

Now, when I am dead, that memory will be gone. My wife was the only other person present at that event, so she also has memories of my daughter’s 3^rd birthday, but, in fact, the memory I am holding in my mind now happened when my wife was out of the room, so I am the only person in the world who has this memory. So, when I am gone, the memory will be gone too. This actually also applies to my daughter. As she was only 3 at the time, she probably has no memory of her 3^rd birthday, but if she did, her memory would not be of her, sitting in her chair, in her pretty blue dress; her memory would be of me looking at her, sitting in her chair.

So, we are talking about a memory of an event that happened a long time ago. The event is “lost” in the sense of being long gone – just part of the transient flux of life. Yet the memory of it is still present – for as long as I am here, the memory still exists. However, if God is real, God also experienced the event. As he is always present, everywhere, and as he is “present in my head”, God has exactly the same memories of the event as I do. (In fact, he has more because, for example, he could observe my daughter from all points of view, and, if I popped out to the loo and missed 2 minutes, God did not miss it.) So, God actually has exactly the same memories as me, as, because he lives in me, he sees things from exactly the same point of view as me.

I believe that this is a really important idea. What it means is that, when I am gone (even if there is no life after death in heaven) I still exist in the memory of God. As God reviews his memory of me enjoying my daughter’s 3^rd birthday, in just the same way as I relived the event as I remembered it, so God relives the event. The event is, at least to some extent, happening again in the mind of God. In fact, as an omnipotent God, if for some reason (though this would not happen) God found his memory of the event inadequate in some way, he could recreate me and my daughter on her 3^rd birthday so that he could experience the event again. As I say, he would not need to do this, because his memory would be sufficient to bring the event alive again to his mind – just as my memory is sufficient to bring the event alive to me now.

Time and place and transience

Part 3: What is it we’re really searching for?

So, what is it that gives being in a time and place – and whatever we do in that situation – significance?

Is, in fact, transience a problem? Does it matter that an event has happened and is now over? Is it demeaned in any way by not being permanent? In fact, how can any experience be permanent? Our lives have to be a constant flux and flow of different experiences in order for things to happen to us. Otherwise we become like sentient statues always experiencing the same view. However, this being so, what of permanent significance is being “deposited” in me by this flow of experience?

Let’s suppose I have one of those “treasured memories” moments – a “peak experience” that I will always remember – say for example, a family celebration for an important achievement. The celebration was wonderful, but now it is over. While it was in progress, I could not have felt more fulfilled, and as I look back on it now, it still fills me with joy and a deep sense of satisfaction. But it is now in the past. What is my ongoing relationship to that event? Or am I asking a foolish question? Yes, it was great, but it’s finished; my attention now must be on the next event in my life – even though that is much more mundane. However, my entire life is just a series of “one thing after another”, and one day it will come to an end and I will be gone. The problem is somewhat exacerbated by the fact that we can’t help hypothesising how we will feel after we are dead. We perhaps imagine ourselves looking at our dead body which has just collapsed and want to continue our process of acting in relation to that event. When, in reality (if there is no life after death) our consciousness has simply ceased – cut off in mid-sentence, like watching a film and a sudden power cut makes the screen go blank. We are so used to being alive that we imagine ourselves thinking, “What the heck’s going on here then!?” When in reality, all thinking has stopped – for us, anyway.

Nevertheless, it is not unfair for us to reflect now, while we still have the ability to think, what our life means, and taking up the imaginary standing point of looking down on our recently ended life is not a bad viewpoint. We can imagine ourselves thinking, “Hmn, that’s a shame; I was enjoying life. Now what on earth does that all mean?”. The harsh, but perhaps truthful answer is: “Nothing, mate!”. However, we hope there’s more to say than this. What might that be?

Time and place and transience

Part 2: You can be happy if you give up searching – but only by accepting you are lost in meaninglessness

The Greeks’ concern with transience seems to be about a search or desire for our actions to have some substance. If everything is transient, does this mean that our lives – so important to us – are really meaningless?

Jumping to the present day, postmodernism has enjoying attacking the foundations of reality and purpose by denying that there is any such thing as objective reality or ultimate purpose; everything is indeed transient and meaningless. This is often a destructive idea, undermining the foundations of society and of individuals’ sense of identity and purpose. However, some postmodernists turn this around into a liberating thing. If human beings have tormented themselves in the fruitless search for the holy grail of ultimate meaning – without realising that the search was always going to be fruitless because there is no ultimate reality – then there is joy and freedom if you accept that there is no such thing. This is because you realise that you have not failed in your quest – there is no holy grail to find. There is no burden of expectation; you are not missing out on anything; your life is not unfulfilled because you didn’t find it. While this could be a cause for despair because you realise that all life is, is a meaningless passing of the time with whatever is the most interesting activity you can find, instead, you joyfully embrace the fact that there is nothing more fulfilling to do than whatever I choose in the present moment. So, I might spend today studying to be a particle physicist, or engaged in gruelling but important charity work, or I may go shopping, watch TV or play bingo. Provided I feel that I have adequately surveyed the opportunities open to me and am happy with my choice of playing bingo, then I can revel in playing bingo as much as though I had found the holy grail. For me, today, playing bingo is the be all and end all of life. There is nothing more than the transient surfing of possibilities within the artificial construction of human society – but if you accept this, and can find possibilities that you enjoy, then your life is, after all, completely fulfilled. If anyone challenges you: “Really?! Bingo?! The prime purpose of your life?!” “Yes! I like bingo”.

This does, in fact, work as a valid logical position. Though we can’t help but feel deflated. Countless planets are uninhabited. I so easily might not have come into existence. Life has the ability to be inexpressibly wonderful, beautiful, profound. And I only have this one chance before dying into oblivion. But your answer to the big questions of life is: “I like playing bingo”. I prefer the Greek questions and answers. Rather than the postmodern “opt out” that either there is no meaning to life, or the meaning of life is whatever surface choice you make about how to spend your time, can we explore further what it might mean for our lives to have meaning and substance, and to produce something of lasting value.

Time and place and transience

(A theological reflection in 6 parts)

Time and place and transience

Part 1: Searching for a place to stand in a river of transience

I realise that I have particular concerns and interests in the issues of what it means to pass time – presumably in doing something in that time, and what it means to be in a place.

And a concern seems to be the problem of transience. What do time and place – and therefore life, for living means being in particular places at particular times – mean? It is, perhaps, the old and very basic concern about the meaning of our lives, given the transience of them, and, even more so, the transience of each moment of them.

One of the first and greatest concerns of the Greek philosophers, as humankind got round to thinking about these things was expressed in the understanding: “You can’t step into the same river twice”. This is because the river is constantly changing and, indeed, the person is also changing.

It’s possible that there is simply no answer to this problem, but the most enduring of the possible answers is Plato’s theory of the Forms. This, basically, argues that things are what they are because they partake in the essence of what they are. Although everything is always changing, you are what you are because you always contain the essence of what you are. This essence – eg humanity – can be expressed in an infinite variety, but everyone who has the essence of being human is human. And, to take it further, even though we are continually changing in the exact particulars of how we are being ourselves, we remain the same person because each of us retains the essence of being me. This theory of the Forms has directed humanity into the belief that there are essences. And, of course, if you have discovered the essence of something, then you “hold it in your hand” and it is yours. The changing nature of life does not mean that you are losing anything precious, because you have “captured” the essence of the thing. Yes, you are constantly changing, but, don’t worry, you always possess the essence of who you are. The river has surged on, but you keep hold of the essence.