ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, July 10, 1996 TAG: 9607100020
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JUSTIN ASKINS
MANY PEOPLE, from conservative Christians to liberal pantheists, decry the lack of the sacred in our society. While some battle for a minute of silent prayer or laws protecting the flag, others acquire crystals or cover their walls with dreamcatchers and mandalas to bring a sense of the transcendent back into their lives.
Not long ago, and before moving up to Virginia, a friend of mine was an employee of a large Southern law firm, distinguished by its political connections and its high-paid partners. As a new associate fresh out of law school, she found the hierarchical world of corporate law both intimidating and challenging, and she worked hard for the months she was there attempting to fit in. During the week, she was often at the whim of dominating lawyers involved in complex lawsuits, a secular world of power and pecking order.
To balance the pressures of her job, she would go hiking almost every weekend. Not far from the city where she worked was a wonderful natural area, which she visited dozens of times during her stay. Nature was a crucial balance to her competitive and soul-deadening job.
This is not especially a critique of law firms, for the world my friend encountered exists throughout America, in almost every area of business and government. It is the society that Gerry Mander writes scathingly about in "In the Absence of the Sacred" and Paula Gunn Allen condemns in "The Sacred Hoop."
After working for eight months - and seeing several young lawyers leave the firm for various reasons - my friend heard an unusual story one afternoon concerning a woman who had just gotten married and was leaving to move to another city.
It seems that after the morning business meeting, about a dozen members of the firm, including some senior partners, were invited by the office manager to the woman's office. She already had packed up most of her stuff, so the office was bare, but still full of boxes.
The group was greeted by another partner and a visitor no one else knew. No one seemed to know the purpose, so the 12 chatted a little at first until the visitor addressed them. He told them he was a priest and that he wanted to bless the upcoming marriage. The woman who was leaving found this a little unusual but thoughtful, even if it wasn't something she would have instigated herself.
After the blessing, however, the priest began to talk in a very strange way. Soon it became apparent that he was performing what amounted to an exorcism. Two of the participants began to giggle, thinking it was a practical joke, but they realized quickly it was a serious event. Some of the senior partners were concerned about turnover, particularly of those who had worked in this specific office: four people in just over four years. The partner who had been in the office with the priest had written him to see if he might do something about the bad spirits in the office.
Later it was revealed that most of the people in the room were uncomfortable about participating, but did so because senior partners were involved.
Now, I am not trying to make fun of this law firm. I am using this episode to reveal how detached any thoughts of the spiritual world have become. In other cultures, especially some Eastern ones, the idea of working with the psychic energy of a building or a room would be acceptable. But in our culture, such interactions seem superstitious and actually absurd.
The cause of this is hard to pin down, but I think at core our attitudes toward nature are to blame. We have created buildings and positions and a society detached from nature. Water comes from faucets, food from supermarkets or fast-food places, electricity comes from the electric company. It is a disheartening and devastating situation.
Our spiritual needs are answered in the same efficient but superficial manner: Go to a service once a week (or perhaps twice), and the need for the sacred is satisfied. But is it? A hundred and fifty years ago, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "But now the priest's Sabbath has lost the splendor of nature; it is unlovely; we are glad when it is done." How much truer today. For Emerson and the other Transcendentalists, the natural world was the most spectacular example of God's glory, which it still is, of course. But what have we done to this magnificence?
According to Morris Berman, "The view of nature which predominated in the West down to the eve of the Scientific Revolution was that of an enchanted world. Rocks, trees, rivers and clouds were all seen as wondrous, alive, and human beings felt at home in the environment. The cosmos, in short, was a place of belonging." We have totally lost this enchantment, of our spirits being intimately and marvelously connected to the world outside.
When I teach, I still try to bring this sense of belonging to my students. But within the sterile walls of the university (now more and more simply ruled by economics), I am often laughed at or seen as a flake because of some of my unorthodox methods. Perhaps I am a flake, but at least I continue to show my students that there are more important things than owning fancy cars and living in big houses.
Emerson's complaint that "Men have come to speak of revelation as somewhat long ago given and done, as if God were dead" is more true now than ever. But just look around. God is not dead. S/he lives in every blossom and in every drop of rain, in every pinch of earth and in the smallest blade of grass.
Justin Askins is an associate professor in the English department at Radford University.
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Our spiritual needs are answered in the same efficient but superficial manner: Go to a service once a week (or perhaps twice), and the need for the sacred is satisfied. But is it?
LENGTH: Long : 106 linesby CNB