born

Born

Every man is born into specific social-cultural circumstances. Capitalism, rationalism, idealism, scientificism, individualism, freedom, democracy, Christianity, Islam, all different approaches to answer the same question: what is man?

We are all defined from birth. We did not choose to be born into this conditioning space, but we were. We are so determined by these circumstances in that it affects everything from the way we speak and our social conventions to our worldview and how we see life and existence itself.

So, if I was born in the Western world, I lead my life by values inherited by Christianity—e.g. though I may consider myself the most atheist of post-modern post-Christianity, I can still be guided by an inherent Christian belief that every individual human being is endowed with a dignity, which I call person). I carry with me my family’s preconceptions, my home city’s idioms and its sociolect; and, if English were my native tongue the verb “to be” would determine my thought patterns, whereas if Spanish were my mother tongue, my worldview would be inherently colored by my differentiating between “ser” and “estar.”

Sexuality, country of origin, height, education level, history, psycho-sociological wounds, family background, father and mother “figures,” all define my experience of life in some way. But, at at the end of each day I am confronted, in the silence of my pillow, with the same ineludible fact: I am. Each  of these two words a mystery and a cause of anxious thought for the apprehensive mind. Now, I can—in a more or less conscious manner—choose to alleviate the sting of the question by trying to respond by pointing to possessions, a credo, accomplishments, my memory (or the story I tell myself about my past), a specific physical, intellectual, or sexual attribute, or any other existential palliative; but the fact remains: I am; and how I answer to this statement will dictate every word and action of who is “me”.

Now, some choose to answer to this statement in a univalent way: I am my religion; I am my sexuality; I am my past or my future; I am my illness; I am my professional prestige or my social recognition. I am Christian. I am bi. I am a cancer survivor. I am an entrepreneur. I am poor. I am successful. The danger of this lies in that it is always a reductionist view not only of man, but of being itself. And the truth, as always, is found in the tension; like music is found dormant on the stretching of the strings of the violin. Truth is much more mystery than it is factuality. To “be” is to lay open to mystery, and not try bastardize what “is” to our little boxes of understanding. The Truth of I am is… I. Am.

Photo: Sculpture by Antony Gormley

 

faith in meaning

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Why do we smile when someone takes a picture of us? Something happens when a person sees a photograph of himself, a certain relationship develops between the present version of himself and the past one, a dialogue is born. It is in the fog of memory where we seek the hope that our life has had direction and meaning—where it tries to explain and convince herself, a solace where the mind projects, that the life it has led has value in how it has responded to the vicissitudes of Being.
Maybe that’s why we smile; so that, when we see the photograph, we let our past presence convince us that it has purpose.
The enterprise of professional funeral photographer has not yet germinated. That person would surely seek to capture the full ethos of the moment: individual photographs, now just the siblings, now a group shot. He would zoom-in at  the long faces, letting the tears swell. “Everybody say cheese!” Tag. #MissYouBert.
We feel the need to justify ourselves, to tell ourselves that life has been good and relevant and happy. No regrets. After all, that is the thelos of all human life.
The deep, resounding bells arrive, those constant, existential caresses that remind us that life—that which we call “life”—will end; sowing in our spirit the memory that we will have but one last conscious thought, and then, our vision will blacken. Every cell of our body will stay quiet, and our presence will be immobile; and our body shall be received by the darkness of the earth.
Perhaps, in those moments we will ask ourselves the important questions, those which we passed our entire life avoiding. And we will bring to our mind the good things, everything we have valued until then—our loved ones, possessions, resentments; and we will try to respond with our old molds, our smiling photographs. But, In the face of imminent silence, they would, too, prove ineffective. As our heart begins to languish, those questions pick up force. What am I? What is to become of me? What purpose did my life have? We will possibly think of a god—that self-forged image we called god, to whom we rendered tribute. If not by our good actions we will seek to numb the questions with the belief that our intentions were noble; but even that idea would seem to not console at the sound of the aborning death rattle. The heart squeezes one last time. Our mind begins to cool; and, with a light taste of vomit at the mouth, with a tear drying on cheek, and the questions lingering still, we will sigh one final time. And the memory of our life will live through a couple of dissolving prayers.
Ultimately, death is an act of faith.

Picture: To comlpetely dissolve, by deadendsoul

desire

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dei desiderium in corde hominis est inscriptum

desire for god is inscribed ion the heart of man

 

This phrase may be used in one of two meaning: either the longing—the desire—that man innately has for god; or the same desire that god has for man. Regardless of its application, the central point of this phrase is desire—or, as imbued in Augustine’s Confessions, the desiderium sinus cordis (‘the longing that makes the heart deep’). This takes the form of thirst for transcendence, of longing for true beauty, a yearning for infinitude that no ‘thing’ can fully satisfy. C.S. Lewis would word it magnificently:

“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”

The Weight of Glory

If man longs for this beauty, it is perhaps because he has already encountered it. Pascal, in his Pensées would say, Tu ne me chercherais pas si tu ne m’avais trouvé [1]Pensée n° 8H r° (Laf. 919, Sel. 751), (“You would not look for me if you had not already found me”, and then, Tu ne me chercherais pas si tu ne me possédais. Ne t’inquiète donc pas.[2] n° 13N (Laf. 929, Sel. 756)   (“You would not look for me if you didn’t already possess me”). The giver is mysteriously present in the gift; and how easily we can mistake them both in our thirst. It doesn’t take much effort to see that man is in constant journey, a quest to answer the most basic existential questions that may go unasked by the mind but never by our life.

The word “desire,” derived from the Latin sides, “star,”  suggests hitching your heart to a star, bringing star-gazing into a whole new dimension. The not-yet keeps our quest restless. The already keeps that restlessness healthy. Augustine’s famous reponse to the question “What do I love when I love god?” can illuminate our approximation to “desire:”

“It is not physical beauty nor temporal glory nor the brightness of light dear to earthly eyes, nor the sweet melodies of all kinds of songs, nor the gentle odor of flowers, and ointments and perfumes, nor manna or honey, nor limbs welcoming the embraces of the flesh; it is not these I love when I love my God. Yet there is a light I love, and a food, and a kind of embrace when I love my God — a light, voice, odor, food, embrace of my innerness, where my soul is floodlit by light which space cannot contain, where there is sound that time cannot seize, where there is a perfume which no breeze disperses, where there is a taste for food no amount of eating can lessen, and where there is a bond of union that no satiety can part. That is what I love when I love my God.”

What does our desire thirst for?

References

References
1 Pensée n° 8H r° (Laf. 919, Sel. 751), (“You would not look for me if you had not already found me”
2 n° 13N (Laf. 929, Sel. 756