Part 1
The World is Too Big
In the film, Man of Steel, there is a scene where the young Superman is in a classroom, and suddenly gets overwhelmed by his sensitivity to the world. He hears distant and even the most minute sounds – the clock ticking, sirens blazing, hearts beating, and even the sound of pencils scratching on paper. He sees food digesting in people’s stomachs, eyeballs rolling in their sculls, lungs inflating and deflating, and even the clamour of his classmates’ most deplorable thoughts. Eventually, he storms out of the classroom, locks himself in a storeroom and covers his eyes and ears, hoping to silence the avalanche of information. Finally, his mother arrives, and he cries out to her, saying, “The world’s too big mom.” To which she replies, “then make it smaller.” This scene always brings me to tears for some reason.
The irony is that the human mission is to make the world bigger – to break out of our biological limitations, as it were. In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave[1], for instance, Socrates paints the picture of prisoners who, since childhood, are chained to the bottom of a dark cave. Their limbs and necks are shackled so that they cannot move. Behind the prisoners, a wall shields them from seeing anything except the wall in front. Above and further back, a fire illuminates the cave and the light shines on the wall ahead of the prisoners like a projector in a movie theatre.
Then, Socrates imagines people walking with figurines between the fire and the wall behind the prisoners, thus casting shadows in front of them. Bearing in mind that the prisoners have been chained there since childhood, their only conception of reality is the shadows that appear before them. The prisoners even interpret the feet shuffling behind them as coming from the animations on the wall – a kind of surround sound system if you will. As the allegory goes, the prisoners even develop strong feelings and beliefs about the different types of images they see, unaware that they are mere projections from a fire behind them.
Amazingly, this allegory was imagined more than 2000 years ago. Today we attend movie theatres, and even though we know that the film we are watching is not real, we nevertheless get taken in. We laugh, cry and even chant for the good guys, only to be rescued back into reality when the movie ends. This is a metaphor for our conception of reality. In the same way that the projection of shadows enthralled prisoners, and we are taken in by movies, our vision is similarly a reflection of light from objects into our eyes. Likewise, our eyes can only see a narrow spectrum of light compared to what actually exists – and the same applies to all our other senses. Needless to say, we consider everything we see as fundamentally real even though, thanks to modern science, we know it is smoke and mirrors.
It is from these biological and other limitations that scientists, philosophers and artists of all stripes have sought to break us out. Today, our instruments help us see further, and travel faster; we are even immortalised on social media and YouTube. The byproduct of these advances, however, is that we are inundated. In some sense, we have arrived at the terrible realisation that the world is too big. However, there appears to be nobody encouraging us to make it smaller. Instead, the unspoken narrative is to make it even bigger. To add more.
Part 2
Dilution of Reality
Fifteen years ago, I was fortunate to build tracking systems for cars. At the time, GPS was a relatively new consumer technology, and the idea that one could locate their vehicle on a computer, let alone a phone, was astonishing. The way GPS works is relatively simple. There is a constellation of 24 satellites orbiting the earth more than 26,000km away.[2] When your phone tries to find a location, it connects to as many satellites as possible, which in turn respond with a signal relative to where they are. If the device cannot connect to more than four satellites, it reports a signal error. A good signal is usually eight satellites or more.[3] The more satellites, the more precise the location becomes – up to one metre.
In the same way that satellites improve location, attention improves our experience of reality. But what happens when attention is compromised? Our attention, nowadays, is pulled in multiple directions at any given moment. While eating, we are listening to music, watching television, writing emails and possibly stalking people on Instagram. Therefore, the quality of our experience is greatly diminished; only one or two senses contribute towards what becomes a partial experience (of eating, for instance). This is like using one or two satellites to calculate our location, instead of the entire constellation; it is a dilution of reality. This dilution is, of course, praised as our ability to multitask. The truth, however, is that we are robbing ourselves of the richness of our experiences.
The way we perceive the world, therefore, has changed. Our ancestors did less but experienced more; we are doing more but experiencing less. Be that as it may, our biology has not evolved to account for this change. Therefore, the thirst and hunger for high-intensity experiences follows us as a shadow of dissatisfaction, boredom and loneliness, even though we are seemingly busy and endlessly preoccupied.
Part 3
Transcendence: The Antidote
Spirituality appeals to us by offering an antidote to the dilution of experience. The spiritual path demands putting things down and reconnecting with one’s senses – at least as a first step. Having put down worldly contrivances, however, we are encouraged to take further ascetic steps by suppressing our desires for sex and food. In some Buddhist schools, for instance, inhibiting pain is celebrated as a milestone in spiritual development. This was put on full display in Vietnam in 1963 [4] when monks, protesting ill-treatment from the government, occupied the street and one immolated himself, marking a turning point in the history of Vietnam. In other spiritual schools, people fast until they are completely emaciated – they mummify themselves in the name of attaining spiritual awakening. Needless to say, the spiritual need of putting the world down, as it were, has its bizarre extremes.
Nevertheless, spirituality strives for transcendence through asceticism. That is to say, by suppressing our basic instincts, and in some sense, giving up who we are with the promise of discovering who we really are. On the other hand, innovation, and dare I say modernity, also strives for transcendence by challenging or even breaking our biological limits. Both paths appear to be destined for somewhere other than where we are. Therefore, the question is, what is so wrong with where we are that we must find a sense of meaning elsewhere?
A Darwinian might argue that nature is always evolving, albeit slowly. And technology is simply a way of helping nature move faster! In other words, they make a case for self-improvement on the grounds of the inevitability of evolution. Of course, there are many questionable presuppositions about this point of view, but by justification for transcending (or going beyond where we are) is that it is inevitable.
On the other hand, there are also idealists. For them, we suffer because we are imperfect in our present state. Therefore we ought to strive toward perfection, or the ideal even if it is unattainable. In the same way that Christ sacrificed himself in this life, and became one with the Father, we too ought to sacrifice ourselves by subduing our deficiencies, and in so doing make a case for a place in heaven.
Then, an existentialist might argue from the perspective of self-preservation. For them, nature is harsh and if left alone creates chaos and brings with it creatures that have no problem turning us into their dinner. Therefore, we are well within our right to use whatever means to ensure our existence. “That is what it means to take responsibility for oneself,” they might say. In other words, we transcend our being by pursuing responsibility and meaning.
While these perspectives are not exhaustive, they all appear to find faults or inadequacies in our present form. And one way or another, they prescribe some kind of improvement, either by enhancing, suppressing or engineering ourselves. Thus, the consequence of modernity is that we are at loggerheads with nature and ourselves, and the antidote is transcendence.
Part 4
Nature’s Medicine
This diagnosis is not new. In 1903, Ralph Emerson made a similar case in his essay titled, “Nature”.[5] He remarked that “nature, in its ministry to man, is not only the material but is also the process and the result. All the parts incessantly work into each other’s hands for the profit of man. The wind sows the seed; the sun evaporates the sea; the wind blows the vapour to the field; the ice, on the other side of the planet, condenses into rain; the rain feeds the plant; the plant feeds the animal, and thus the endless circulations of the divine charity nourish[es] man.”
Even though nature serves us, Emerson nevertheless laments our dissatisfaction. He complains, for example, that for whatever reason, we find it necessary to scrape the earth and pave it with railway lines. “Mounting a coach with a ship-load of men, animals, and merchandise behind him, man darts through the country from town to town, like an eagle… By the aggregate of these aids, how is the face of the world changed, from the era of Noah to that of Napoleon!”
As an antidote to man’s madness, Emerson prescribes solitude. He adds that even reading a book ought to be prohibited when in solitude. After all, books raise questions for which nature possesses answers that need no aid for man to understand. Therefore, according to Emerson, solitude means walking amongst the trees and listening to the gentle breeze gossiping with the leaves. It means swimming in a river, feeling the smooth pebbles at the bottom of the riverbed and allowing ourselves to be carried away by the current. And in the evening, it means creating a shelter from grass, twigs and leaves. And when retiring to sleep, marvel at the splendour of the heavens and the stars, the envoys of timeless beauty that remind us of the city of God.
Oh, Emerson! Unfortunately, swooning in this paradise often comes with a rude awakening. If not from nature’s wrath – earthquakes, hurricanes and volcanoes – then certainly from the demands of everyday life. Debit orders, groceries, the leaking roof, a flickering light bulb, traffic fines, junk emails, debt collectors, rotten vegetables in the fridge, and insurance payments.
Part 5
A Clash of Two Worlds
On the one hand, we enhance ourselves to contend with the demands of the world. On the other hand, we feel a deep pull towards putting things down and replenishing our souls. The material world, it seems, is at war with the spiritual world. Furthermore, the prevailing logic is that we must choose one side over the other. We must either choose to be rich and miserable, as in the book The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari or enlightened and poor, as with the scores of people who give away hard-earned money to false prophets. I contend, however, that this is hardly a way to lead a wholesome life. There must be another way.
For starters, intelligence is the instrument we use to make a living in the everyday, practical world. Consider an unemployed person, for instance, who is tormented by purposelessness and the need to find oneself. At the core, they are actually looking for a niche in the practical world where they can make a contribution. Hence, when they find an occupation, their thirst for purpose temporarily goes away. Then, once they become comfortable in the practical world, the nagging question of purpose, albeit at a higher level this time, comes back to torment them once more. Only this time, the answer can no longer be found in the everyday, material world. Instead, the yearning comes from the spiritual world.
The spiritual world, however, is different from the practical world because intelligence and utility have no place over there. This notion is again not new. It was somewhat captured in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but more beautifully by the Rinzai school of Zen Buddhism. A famous Zen Master, Hakuin Ekaku, sought to solve this problem by offering kōans to his students – riddles that cannot be solved using logic.[6] These included questions like, “what is the sound of one hand clapping?” A monk could not graduate until they found an answer. Needless to say, some of the responses were just as bizarre as the questions. Kōans were tools to cleave the mind from its fixation on intelligence and logic as the lense through which to experience the world. They were a way of leading the student to a different world which is better described by the Japanese word Yügen, or the Christian word, Grace. Sir Roger Scruton, an accomplished British philosopher, might have called it Home.
The yearning for a higher purpose, therefore, is less utilitarian and more like a realisation. In an Emersonian sense, it is a realisation that nature works charitably in service of our well-being. Therefore, instead of fighting, sometimes we can and probably should put down our weapons of intelligence and replenish our souls with the splendour of nature. Even in tragedy, such as watching a lion tearing into the flesh of a young gazel while its mother watches helplessly, somehow we find redemption in knowing that nothing in nature goes to waste. Therefore, violent as nature might be from time to time, we always return to it in search of a kind of cosmic hug or a sense of Home. Perhaps this is what we are truly yearning for…
Part 6
Like a Cup of Tea
In one sense, the human condition is characterised by our limitations. We neither possess fangs to kill nor thick fur to keep us warm in winter. Hence, our intelligence allows us to create these extensions out of the remnants of nature – this is essentially what technology is. As we augment ourselves with technology and innovation, however, we eventually depart so far from who and where we are and slowly grow weary. Then, when we become tired of wrestling with the world, we develop a deep yearning to put things down and follow a spiritual path of replenishment. If we continue along this path, we may fall into the trap of suppressing our feelings and instincts, which is also a departure from who and where we are.
This way, we find ourselves swinging between the material and the spiritual worlds in search of a sense of meaning and purpose. However, with this to-and-fro comes a different yearning, a yearning for rest or to be at home with oneself. But consider this: a boiling cup of tea cools itself down. A block of ice, left alone, returns to room temperature. Is it therefore possible that while we can venture out of our being in search of purpose and meaning, the path home requires that we do nothing?
…like a cup of tea?
[1] Plato, The Allegory of the Cave. Brea, CA: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2010.
[2] Federal Aviation Administration, “GNSS Frequently Asked Questions – GPS,” Apr. 23, 2020. https://www.faa.gov/about/office_org/headquarters_offices/ato/service_units/techops/navservices/gnss/faq/gps/ (accessed Sep. 23, 2020).
[3] Strava, “Why is GPS data sometimes inaccurate?,” Strava Support, Jan. 12, 2019. http://support.strava.com/hc/en-us/articles/216917917 (accessed Sep. 23, 2020).
[4] R. F. Worth, “How a Single Match Can Ignite a Revolution,” The New York Times, Jan. 21, 2011.
[5] R. W. Emerson, Nature, Addresses and Lectures. Houghton Mifflin, 1903.
[6] Shambhala Publications, “Hakuin Ekaku: A Reader’s Guide,” Shambhala, Apr. 26, 2017. https://www.shambhala.com/hakuin-ekaku-c-1685-1768/ (accessed Sep. 23, 2020).
