Salvation
When a fish dies in the water it goes belly up. This is a law of physics having to do with center of gravity. When battle is imminent and one contender sees no chance of victory, he too may go belly up. You can often observe this trait literally in a pet that rolls over when its master approaches deliberately displaying its lack of defenses. Physics is not given credit for this phenomenon but in a sense perhaps it should receive at least some credit, because going belly up during a contention is a survival trait. It is pretending to be dead to protect oneself from really being dead. This strategy of going belly up does not always work; especially if the conqueror considers the conquered food, but it must have worked often enough to have become part of our survival strategy. You may ask what going belly up (pretending to be dead) and going belly up when really dead has in common. For the rational person they, of course, have nothing in common. Mythologically (something not true that has truth in it), however, a connection can be made. For the defense mechanism of pretending to die to be truly affective, the contender must truly die. Again this is a mythological statement. To the logical mind it is complete and utter nonsense, but to the irrational (the intuitive) self it is comprehensible. The defeated must truly assume himself dead to convince his adversary. For survival purposes the conqueror must believe his opponent is dead, otherwise he must render his adversary truly dead to assure his own survival. I assume that goal was originally in dispute for there to be a violent confrontation.
To die to stay alive and actually avoid being killed by this defense has no real affect on some animals; they just get up and walk or crawl or fly away when the threat is gone. On others it seems to have a social impact; it may even be the basis for the development of social compacts. In actually dying (instinctively dying, feeling as if you’re dead, accepting death) something happens to the psyche. It experiences a selfless moment. The self is lost at least for a moment, but in that moment it is free to reattach itself not just to its original self, but to another. I’m talking mythologically here. I do not believe there is actually a self. I believe our self is a figment of our imagination; however, I can’t explain the process of transference without talking about the self as if it were an actual entity. There is, depending on just how good you were at instinctively accepting your demise, a transfer of your self to whatever you believed killed you. It has after all proven to you it is more capable of surviving than you were. It has, on an instinctive level, become you. Your body has become a mere appendage of a new you and you will even go so far as to sacrifice yourself to assure the survival of this new you, the alpha, the one who beat you in the game of survival.
Moving away from our total transference of self to another (traumatic response to immediate hopelessness in the face of imminent demise), it might be productive to explore the more common aspects of this survival instinct. Dying before really dying has for the most part become so common that it is hardly even noticed in our daily social relationships though it is a part of almost all of them. Gestures suggesting peaceful intensions such as shaking hands (allowing another to incapacitate you), turning the palms up to show they hold no weapons, raising your hand for much the same reason, folding your hands together in a prayerful position, lowering your eyes, bowing your head, kneeling, genuflecting, and prostrating yourself are some innocuous examples that suggest a much milder form of going belly up. Other animals have other gestures; some not so appealing to us. There are other, more intimate, social relations that are more revealing but not as obvious, loyalty being high on the list.
This moment of death may need some further explanation, some more telling examples perhaps. When faced with an imminent awesome, overpowering event beyond your control and with no place to hide or seek shelter, you can turn to run knowing there is no escape and die in the act of running away or you can face that which you cannot control. Should you choose to face a wind so fierce you can see it bearing down upon you or a wall of water so high it blots out the sky above you or some projectile hurling towards you, something happens in the moment before death. There is a knowing that you are dead in the instant before you are actually dead. There is an acceptance, a feeling of well-being in the face of disaster. Many of us have survived such an experience, though not necessarily so extreme and often no more than an emotional trauma. You are not the same afterwards. Some have actually used the term “born again”.
That brings us to the purpose of this article. For years I struggled with an appropriate answer to evangelical Christians who accosted me with the question, “Have you been saved?” My natural response was, “Saved from what?” to which the immediate response was, “Eternal damnation, of course!” From this point the conversation goes downhill; I being convinced the person who accosted me is totally insane; he (or occasionally she) being convinced I am totally dense or at least lost beyond any hope of salvation. If I had answered yes, the questioning would continue until I was totally trapped and at the questioner’s mercy should I continue to be agreeable. If I answer no, the person who accosted me starts talking very fast and occasionally very loud in what seems to be a prepared soliloquy. Much of the time it quickly becomes apparent this person has no idea what he is talking about, but occasionally I stumble upon someone obviously trying to communicate something, but unable to adequately articulate the experience he is trying to share.
If it were not for this occasional encounter, I would simply say that the only appropriate response to an evangelical would be, “Get away from me!” There is, however, the occasional evangelical who touches something deep within me, and this I seek to justify. There are things I cannot control. I must come to terms with that, although I have come to understand that what I can’t control today, I may be able to control tomorrow. Based on the fact that there are still things I will never be able to control though others at some future date may be able to control some of them, I both rationally and emotionally extrapolate my inability to control some things into that which cannot be controlled. Some call that which cannot be controlled God; some call it chance. I don’t have a problem with either though I will not put a claim to one or the other. There is, for me, and I believe probably for all living things, an apperception of that which cannot be controlled. In the interest of clarity and at the risk of offending some less spiritually inclined, I will henceforth refer to that which cannot be controlled as God.
For those creatures aware of themselves there is a conflict between the awareness of that which cannot be controlled and our determination to domesticate (control) what we cannot control. The initial response is to go belly up (an emotional upheaval saying, “I recognize the fact that you could kill me at any moment”). Like the terrible wind or the wall of water, that which cannot be controlled bears down upon you, and you face it. There is a quote somewhere which says, “To look upon God’s face is to die,” or something to that effect. Having passed this point of imminent death (traumatic upheaval), a person often considers himself an arm of God (or of some lesser deity—an alpha self) and as such seeks favor with that which cannot be controlled and in this way attempts to domesticate Him (subject Him to some means of control—prayer, gestures, tokens, sacrifice, incense, lucky charms or whatever else might influence that which cannot be controlled. These are futile gestures, of course, but the intensions are not always self-serving. Though the survival instinct is in itself self-serving, acting in the interest of another, and even of others, propels us into an empathetic relationship with our fellow creatures that offers an entirely new environment for our emotional and intellectual enrichment.
It would seem more productive to assume that that which cannot be controlled is at least neutral (chance) and perhaps benevolent (God). Some claim to see God, but interpret Him as satanic (hostile), and attempt to appease Him (usually by sacrificing others, physically and socially.) This would seem to contradict the very nature of a beneficent deity, but those who seek favored treatment realize that such favoritism must be at the expense of others and so treats the deity as satanic though proclaiming His beneficence. Their actions give the lie to their words, but some are nevertheless hypnotized by rhetoric. The alternative is to assume that God wants the best for each of us, but is willing to let us strive toward that objective without interference from other than the physical laws of our natural surroundings and the social and antisocial proclivities of our neighbors. The situation is something like a giant playpen in which we learn to cope. Being aware of that which cannot be controlled ( being saved--accepting the continuation of our life as a gift) and seeing the world through the eyes of God, so to speak (born again--stepping outside of ourselves to see ourselves as a small part of existence, empathetic reaction to others) is part of learning to cope. It is not a religious monopoly; it is a survival trait, an emotional, irrational response to what we really are.
To die to stay alive and actually avoid being killed by this defense has no real affect on some animals; they just get up and walk or crawl or fly away when the threat is gone. On others it seems to have a social impact; it may even be the basis for the development of social compacts. In actually dying (instinctively dying, feeling as if you’re dead, accepting death) something happens to the psyche. It experiences a selfless moment. The self is lost at least for a moment, but in that moment it is free to reattach itself not just to its original self, but to another. I’m talking mythologically here. I do not believe there is actually a self. I believe our self is a figment of our imagination; however, I can’t explain the process of transference without talking about the self as if it were an actual entity. There is, depending on just how good you were at instinctively accepting your demise, a transfer of your self to whatever you believed killed you. It has after all proven to you it is more capable of surviving than you were. It has, on an instinctive level, become you. Your body has become a mere appendage of a new you and you will even go so far as to sacrifice yourself to assure the survival of this new you, the alpha, the one who beat you in the game of survival.
Moving away from our total transference of self to another (traumatic response to immediate hopelessness in the face of imminent demise), it might be productive to explore the more common aspects of this survival instinct. Dying before really dying has for the most part become so common that it is hardly even noticed in our daily social relationships though it is a part of almost all of them. Gestures suggesting peaceful intensions such as shaking hands (allowing another to incapacitate you), turning the palms up to show they hold no weapons, raising your hand for much the same reason, folding your hands together in a prayerful position, lowering your eyes, bowing your head, kneeling, genuflecting, and prostrating yourself are some innocuous examples that suggest a much milder form of going belly up. Other animals have other gestures; some not so appealing to us. There are other, more intimate, social relations that are more revealing but not as obvious, loyalty being high on the list.
This moment of death may need some further explanation, some more telling examples perhaps. When faced with an imminent awesome, overpowering event beyond your control and with no place to hide or seek shelter, you can turn to run knowing there is no escape and die in the act of running away or you can face that which you cannot control. Should you choose to face a wind so fierce you can see it bearing down upon you or a wall of water so high it blots out the sky above you or some projectile hurling towards you, something happens in the moment before death. There is a knowing that you are dead in the instant before you are actually dead. There is an acceptance, a feeling of well-being in the face of disaster. Many of us have survived such an experience, though not necessarily so extreme and often no more than an emotional trauma. You are not the same afterwards. Some have actually used the term “born again”.
That brings us to the purpose of this article. For years I struggled with an appropriate answer to evangelical Christians who accosted me with the question, “Have you been saved?” My natural response was, “Saved from what?” to which the immediate response was, “Eternal damnation, of course!” From this point the conversation goes downhill; I being convinced the person who accosted me is totally insane; he (or occasionally she) being convinced I am totally dense or at least lost beyond any hope of salvation. If I had answered yes, the questioning would continue until I was totally trapped and at the questioner’s mercy should I continue to be agreeable. If I answer no, the person who accosted me starts talking very fast and occasionally very loud in what seems to be a prepared soliloquy. Much of the time it quickly becomes apparent this person has no idea what he is talking about, but occasionally I stumble upon someone obviously trying to communicate something, but unable to adequately articulate the experience he is trying to share.
If it were not for this occasional encounter, I would simply say that the only appropriate response to an evangelical would be, “Get away from me!” There is, however, the occasional evangelical who touches something deep within me, and this I seek to justify. There are things I cannot control. I must come to terms with that, although I have come to understand that what I can’t control today, I may be able to control tomorrow. Based on the fact that there are still things I will never be able to control though others at some future date may be able to control some of them, I both rationally and emotionally extrapolate my inability to control some things into that which cannot be controlled. Some call that which cannot be controlled God; some call it chance. I don’t have a problem with either though I will not put a claim to one or the other. There is, for me, and I believe probably for all living things, an apperception of that which cannot be controlled. In the interest of clarity and at the risk of offending some less spiritually inclined, I will henceforth refer to that which cannot be controlled as God.
For those creatures aware of themselves there is a conflict between the awareness of that which cannot be controlled and our determination to domesticate (control) what we cannot control. The initial response is to go belly up (an emotional upheaval saying, “I recognize the fact that you could kill me at any moment”). Like the terrible wind or the wall of water, that which cannot be controlled bears down upon you, and you face it. There is a quote somewhere which says, “To look upon God’s face is to die,” or something to that effect. Having passed this point of imminent death (traumatic upheaval), a person often considers himself an arm of God (or of some lesser deity—an alpha self) and as such seeks favor with that which cannot be controlled and in this way attempts to domesticate Him (subject Him to some means of control—prayer, gestures, tokens, sacrifice, incense, lucky charms or whatever else might influence that which cannot be controlled. These are futile gestures, of course, but the intensions are not always self-serving. Though the survival instinct is in itself self-serving, acting in the interest of another, and even of others, propels us into an empathetic relationship with our fellow creatures that offers an entirely new environment for our emotional and intellectual enrichment.
It would seem more productive to assume that that which cannot be controlled is at least neutral (chance) and perhaps benevolent (God). Some claim to see God, but interpret Him as satanic (hostile), and attempt to appease Him (usually by sacrificing others, physically and socially.) This would seem to contradict the very nature of a beneficent deity, but those who seek favored treatment realize that such favoritism must be at the expense of others and so treats the deity as satanic though proclaiming His beneficence. Their actions give the lie to their words, but some are nevertheless hypnotized by rhetoric. The alternative is to assume that God wants the best for each of us, but is willing to let us strive toward that objective without interference from other than the physical laws of our natural surroundings and the social and antisocial proclivities of our neighbors. The situation is something like a giant playpen in which we learn to cope. Being aware of that which cannot be controlled ( being saved--accepting the continuation of our life as a gift) and seeing the world through the eyes of God, so to speak (born again--stepping outside of ourselves to see ourselves as a small part of existence, empathetic reaction to others) is part of learning to cope. It is not a religious monopoly; it is a survival trait, an emotional, irrational response to what we really are.
posted by PaulEdward Snyder | 5:14 PM
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