LeRon Shults

The Delightful Terror of "Union" with God

Recently I've posted on the delightful terror of "purgation" and "illumination" (see below), which are the first two of the classical "ways" of spiritual formation.

I repeat this only because it is so important... Steve and I have argued that we should try to move beyond a view of this transformation as a linear process of steps through which the individal soul moves one at a time.  In our TS book (see left sidebar) we argue for a model that emphasizes an ongoing intensification of redemptive relations in embodied community. 

The term "union" tends to freak out Christians in the west, especially evangelicals, because it sounds like we become divine or are melted into the divine substance.  But what if we get past the language of "substances" and talk about a "relational" union?  Of course, understanding this is facilitated by the philosophical turn to relationality, suggesting a metaphysics in which relations are real and constitutive for our coming-to-be. 

I have found that it helps to talk about "intimacy" instead of "union," at least to get started.  Notice that intimacy is scary too.  We fear being too intimate because the other may take advantage, crushing or abandoning us.  So we really fear any intimacy that involves "union," for how can I be my "self" in such a union?  But I want to be united, to be intimate, so it is equally scary if you push my "self" away.  We are caught in this tension.

Purgation can awaken in us a fresh awareness of the way in which our relations to others are crushing or alienating, increasing our desire for these relations to be transformed, which requires an illumination of the structures of intentionality that shape our lives, but which we normally do not see. 

The longing for intimacy with the other is saturated by fear and desire.  Embracing this delightful terror is part of the transformation toward "union."

Intimacy (or union) with God and with our neighbors is reciprocally mediated.  In other words, the welcoming presence of God is mediated to me through the faces of those around me who show me grace, providing space and time for me to develop my capacity for intimacy.  As I come to find my "self" primarily constituted by THIS absolute relation, i.e., by the infinite presence of an eternal love that does not threaten to crush or abandon me (like finite things do), then I am able to face others in a way that invites them toward intimacy, because I no longer have to hide my "self" out of fear of these finite faces.  This process takes space and time... and transforms them.

This has radical implications for ecclesiology, for the way in which the church understands its participation in God's gracious action in the world.

1. What practical implications might this way of thinking about (and experiencing) salvation have for Christian communities; e.g., preaching, teaching, counseling, missions, evangelism?

2. In what kinds of concrete ways can we face others, our selves, and God that might facilitate the transformation of our intimate relations?

_______________________

The Delightful Terror of Illumination

The second of the three classical "ways" of spiritual formation is "illumination."  In many traditional formulations it is described as coming after the first way, which is “purgation” (see below), and as preceding the third way, which is “union.”

In our book on Transforming Spirituality, Steve and I argue that these are not linear steps but interrelated moments within an ongoing process of intensification.

Nevertheless, we can see how illumination does follow purgation in a sense.  When the structures of life become disturbed in such a way that one is willing to face the fact that particular ways of relating are hurting others or oneself, then one is opened up to the possibility of interpreting the world differently.  More than this, one discovers the need for one’s very way of intending to be transformed.  We tend to prefer homeostasis, and will do what it takes to maintain equilibrium, as long as everything is OK or we can at least repress the feeling that something is wrong.  But purgation pushes us out of equilibrium, and we recognize that we are not in control, that we have not understood the world appropriately, that we need some new insight or way of seeing that can help us move toward health and wholeness. 

The term illumination fit well during periods of history in which (neo)Platonic conceptions of knowledge dominated, since the main metaphor for knowing was light.  This is still with us today in expressions like “I saw the light” or “that lecture was enlightening.”

The way in which purgation and illumination are tied together is hinted at by St. John of the Cross in Dark Night of the Soul:

“[The soul] does indeed receive light from this Divine light; but the soul cannot see at first, by its aid anything beyond what is nearest to it, or rather, beyond what is within it – namely, its darknesses or its miseries, which it now sees through the mercy of God, and saw not aforetime, because this supernatural light illumined it not.”

Moving beyond this medieval model of psychology, we can still make the connection between purgation and illumination.  Sometimes purgation brings little illuminations, like seeing that a particular idea was inadequate or a specific act is problematic.

At other times, however, the illumination may involve a more intense reconstruction of one’s WAY of seeing. 

Once a young man came to me, and asked for counsel about his struggle with his sexual urges.  He despised the way he saw other men treating women, viewing them as sexual objects, but was even more horrified that he saw this attitude in himself.  He was beginning to fear that this urge was simply who he IS, and that he had no way to escape it.  He was wondering whether to just give in to this desire, since he saw no way out. Yet, he really didn't want to because he felt that following such urges indiscriminately was not "right."

We talked about many things, but my explanation of the difference between the id, the ego and the superego was actually the most helpful. Set aside for now the problems with Freudian psychology, and focus on the basic insight of the self-relationality within consciousness. 

I suggested that his id was the source of these desires, and this was natural since he was a member of a species that had evolved precisely because males of the species had the desire to copulate with female members.  Then I pointed out that this alone is not who he is.  “He” was struggling with this desire, which meant that the desire did not completely define “him.”  I suggested that his superego was mediating to him a sense of ethical regulation, indicating that acting on these desires without any restraint would not in fact lead to a healthy self or social life.  The superego was also “part” of him.  The “ego” functions as an organizing agency to hold the two together, so to speak.  (I know this was simplistic… it was a young person not trained in psychology.) 

The point is that “he” was not simply the id, but a complex relation relating itself to itself in the relation as it relates itself to others.

The change in his face was the most astonishing transformation I’ve seen in a single counselling setting. 

He had come in extremely distraught, ready to give up, viewing himself as hopelessly caught by this desire.  He left smiling and beaming with joy.  He came to see… he was illuminated… The experience of facing the need for purgation opened him up to a new sense of roominess within his very being, which opened up new possibilities for shaping his intentionality in relation to others, especially young women.

These intense experiences of illumination require deeper purgation, but they are all the more transformative.

One of the implications is for ecclesiology.  If we create social structures that do not allow people to go through purgation… deep, serious, painful struggle… then we cut off the possibility for deep transformation.

The Delightful Terror of Purgation

The term "purgation" refers to the first of the classical "three ways" of spiritual formation.  In the traditional understanding, this phase is followed by "illumination" and "union."  In our book on Transforming Spirituality, Steve and I argue that the linear understanding of this process and some of the psychological assumptions behind this model ought to be refigured but that is not so important for understanding the experience itself.

Purgation often evokes the imagery of cleansing or purification, for example by fire.  This image can be helpful but we should avoid the way in which the metaphor leads us to think of the soul as a substance that is "stained" or has bad "stuff" in it. 

If we think of human personhood in relational terms, then purgation has to do with the transformation of the way in which we hold onto and are held by our relations to other finite things.  These relations constitute us, and spiritual transformation involves coming to be related to God in such a way that all other relations no longer threaten or seduce us... allowing us to relate to them peacefully and joyfully.

Here is a quote from "The Cloud of Unknowing" (anonymous 14th century author).  Please ignore the masculine language, etc.:

"Lift up your heart to God with humble love: and mean God himself, and not what you get out of him.  Indeed, hate to think of anything but God himself, so that nothing occupies your mind or will but only God.  Try to forget all created things that he ever made and the purpose behind them, so that your thought and longing do not turn or reach out to them either in general or in particular.  Let them go, and pay no attention to them... When you first begin, you find only darkness and as it were a cloud of unknowing... reconcile yourself to wait in this darkness as long as is necessary, but still go on longing after him whom you love."

When one begins this process one is overwhelmed by how difficult it is NOT to think and long after this or that particular "created thing" that God has made.  By "one" I mean "me."  It does indeed feel like reaching out into darkness, and it is so tempting to fall back into the comfort of daily anxiety about particular things.  "Things" does not mean only objects we can purchase at the mall (or wish we could purchase) but all possible experiences, connections, desires, relations, preferences, hopes, fears. 

If I give up all these relations, what is left of "me"?  Indeed, that is the terror.  But the delight is the possibility of discovering that "I" am not really defined by having and relating to all these things.  That is a false self I have constructed and that has been constructed by others.  My true self is yet to be discovered, is being discovered, as I allow my "self" to be found only in and by God. 

But this "only" is not like other finite "onlys."  It does not exclude in the same way.  Finding one's self, or being found in this infinite relation, opens one up to a way of interpreting one's finitude that includes one's relation to all finite things... through the process of purgation one's way of relating becomes intensively more "clear" or "pure," not in the sense of a stained substance being cleaned, but in the sense that these relations come to be formed in ways that manifest divine love.  The terror of purgation opens one up to the delight of experiencing all things as divine Gift.

This has everything in the world to do with "theology."  Our fear and desire in relation to finite linguistic constructions can quite easily come to constitute our lives, shaping the way we relate to others.  The temptation to repress our fear of being wrong or satiate our desire for certainty can lead us to hold onto finite theological propositions in such a way that blocks our attention to God and God's attending to us and our call to attend to others in love.

This does not mean that we do not believe anything, but that the basis of our believing is not our own finite power to secure our relation to the correct propositions; rather, our believing is being secured in and through our linguistic struggle toward and within the infinitely faithful power of God.

It hurts to let go of things.  It is scary to face the hold that things have on us.  But it is only in and through the trembling of this "purgation" that we are opened up to the delightful experience of being truly theologically transformed.

Delightful Terror II

Following up on comments from Delightful Terror (below)...

In response to Merton's question, I began to ask myself: what do I fear and desire that is keeping me from pursuing God with all my heart, soul, strength and mind?  I feared that others would think badly of me.  I feared being wrong about God.  I feared that I would need to give up certain possessions and habits that were distracting me.  I desired that others would admire me.  I desired that the beliefs that had guided my formation up to that point could be proven true with absolute certainty.  I desired to keep possessions and habits that made me feel safe and comfortable.

I was using all of my heart, soul, strength and mind to protect myself from what I feared and to grasp after what I desired.  And all of this striving was precisely what was keeping me from desiring and fearing God alone.  The process of spiritual transformation that followed began with an awakening to the realization that I can never achieve the good life for which I longed with my own finite power.  This led to a long period of purgation (which is assuredly not over), in which I increasingly came to give up my dependence on my own power and to rest in the dynamic presence of the infinite power of absolute love. 

When I am attentive to this presence (to its attentiveness to me) I experience the world in a different way -- its fragility and deceptiveness is illumined.  I find myself invited to give up my unhealthy attachment to it; not only material goods, but the structures of space, time and energy are interpreted in a new light... the light of Eternity.  Finitude and death are no longer threatening, and particular pleasurable objects lose their enticing pull.  As I feel myself united with the infinite love of God the world no longer seduces or repulses me in the same way... I am able to give all because I receive all as Gift.

Well, that's how it looks in theory.  In practice, it is a messy process mixed with successes and failures.  And for me, theology should be brought into this process.  So my theologizing becomes part of my struggle to articulate this experience of being transformed... part of my longing to love and fear God alone so that I can courageously show compassion to others in my world.

Actually, this is one of the reasons I have tried to integrate theology and my life on this blog... the medium facilitates the message... theology is not a set of propositions detached from lived experience... even the experience of wearing a goofy hat on a Mexican beach.  Embracing the delightful terror of reforming theology means facing one's own need to be reformed in relation to others... including one's desire for those others to like one's posts and one's fear that they will not.  ;) 

The Delightful Terror of Reforming Theology

Good theology should be both disturbing and comforting. 

Here are a few paragraphs from chapter 1 of Reforming the Doctrine of God, where I summarize what I mean by the phrase "the delightful terror of reforming theology."

______________

"Theology involves the reformation of conceptual space, but it is important for us to begin by recognizing that this academic exercise should not – and in fact cannot – be divorced from the practical and liturgical space of Christian life.  As the 16th century Reformers saw so clearly, the calcification of particular formulations of doctrine can cripple the praxis and worship of the Christian community.  All dimensions of the church – its theological formulations as well as its ministry and doxology – are semper reformata et reformanda, called to reformation by the grace of God.

Martin Luther protested against the “babylonian captivity” of the church, but in the 21st century we are threatened with a different kind of bondage.  Much of our theological language is imprisoned by particular philosophical and scientific categories that constrict our proclamation of the Gospel of the biblical God. It is love for the Gospel that leads us to take up the task of reforming theology, to protest whenever and wherever it is being fettered.

However, the desire to love God with all of our minds (Mt. 22:37) is also accompanied by a trembling fascination with the absolutely uncontrollable presence of divine grace.  The intensification of fear and desire that accompanies the task of reforming theology ought not to surprise us. If the “fear of the Lord” is the beginning of knowledge and wisdom (Pr. 1:7, 10:9), we should acknowledge and embrace the existentially delightful terror of theology.

Many Christians resist the biblical call to fear God because it seems to contradict the call to love God.  How can we love that which we fear? If we define fear as our response to a perceived inability to control an existentially relevant object, then we can begin to see that fear and love are not mutually exclusive.  Even in the experience of human love, we find a dialectical relation between fascination and fear.  A true lover does not desire to control the beloved, but rejoices in the freedom of the beloved to respond to love.

The beloved is the beloved precisely as a delightfully uncontrollable existentially relevant object.  If controlled, the beloved ceases to be the object of love.  In this sense, “fear” is an essential element of love.  Part of the ecstasy of human intimacy is the trembling that occurs in the presence of the unmanipulable beloved.  True love does not eradicate the element of fear, but takes it up into itself, transforming it into delight in the other.  Human love of God includes the element of fear, but it is infinitely transformed in the joy of worship.

It is our fear or love of other things that keeps us from reforming theology.  We fear cognitive dissonance (or desire the safety of psychological inertia) and so we resist the reconstruction of cherished formulations of doctrine.  We desire the affirmation of those with ecclesial power (or fear their political retribution) and so we are tempted to maintain the theological status quo.

On the one hand, some are tempted to respond de-constructively to the challenges of contemporary culture, leaving behind the intuitions of the biblical tradition in order to engage in the postmodern play with the “other.”  The danger here is the dissolution of Christian faith. At the other extreme, some are tempted to respond paleo-constructively, resisting an engagement with culture – preferring to stay behind with the “same” fossilized representations of Christian intuitions, unearthed and preserved from modern (or pre-modern) discourse.  The danger here is the petrification of Christian faith.

The re-constructive response must navigate a way between these twin temptations.  Reforming theology is the ongoing task of presenting the internal coherence and explanatory power of the Christian understanding of God in each new context. A reconstructive theological presentation is guided by four desiderata: it aims for a faithful interpretation of the biblical witness, a critical appropriation of the theological tradition, a conceptual resolution of relevant philosophical issues, and a plausible elucidation of contemporary human experience. Theology is both dangerous and difficult, but it is also good for us.

The phrase “reforming theology” indicates both the dynamic reconstruction of theology and the reformative dynamics of theology.  Because the conceptual space of theology is wrapped up within the practical and liturgical space of our lives, the struggle to articulate the doctrine of God will also reform us.  Reflecting critically on the way we talk and think about God can facilitate the renewal of our minds (Rom. 12:2).

Theology is not simply a set of propositions “out there” that we can decide whether or not to engage. What we think and how we think are not so easily separated.  It is important for us to thematize not only the beliefs onto which we hold but also how we “hold on” to our beliefs.  The reconstruction of concepts within our consciousness is an important part of the process, but radical transformation occurs only as the way in which our consciousness orders concepts is itself reformed.  God’s gracious reformation of our fear and desire can be mediated through philosophical reflection on the categories that structure our theological formulations."

______________

For me this delightfully terrifying experience of fearing and loving God was intensified in my mid-20s when I began reading the mystics and contemplatives.  Like the rich young ruler, I had come to feel that my self-righteous rule-following Christianity was simply not enough.  I longed for a taste of eternal life here and now. 

My existential journey involved struggling with this quote from Thomas Merton: "Why should I desire anything that cannot give me God, and why should I fear anything that cannot take God away from me?" This led me into an experience of "unknowing" that liberated me from an unhealthy desire to control my relation to God through propositions and an unhealthy fear of admitting that my understanding of God would always need to be reformed and reforming.

Comments, questions or stories... ?