In Chapter 2, The
Union of Opposites, Rabbi Meier presents his insights into the story of the
Garden of Eden. Here, I must express
some irritation and disappointment with the Rabbi for an oversimplified but
under-analyzed approach that I found ineffective on any level.
First, he offers a disappointing analysis of the relationship
between Adam and Eve fitting the Rabbi’s agenda for his oversimplified idyllic
impressions of domestic life. The opening section of the chapter offered some
charming thoughts, but no insights, and none of the charming thoughts were
original or stimulating.
In my opinion, the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of
Eden must be understood as an allegory created by ancient people for a couple
reasons. One reason was ancient man’s
natural curiosity and desire for understanding of his origin and place in
nature. In the ancient Jewish context,
this entailed a paradox. Their society was
largely based on herding, so they would have noticed that while they were
clearly superior because of the free will discussed by Meier, which placed them
“above” their animals, the animals, themselves, led more carefree lives,
spending much of their time sleeping in the shade, while their human owners
toiled from sunrise to sunset. This
raised the question of why – if humans were “above” animals – should humans
have to work much harder than their animals?
The story of Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the Garden provided a
culturally appropriate explanation.
Another reason for the allegory – also arising from ancient
Jewish culture – was legitimation of male domination. Meier appropriately writes about the
significance of guilt and lessons the story can teach in that regard, but I
believe the original purpose was to reflect the position of women in that
culture at that time. Scapegoating is a
natural human response to misbehavior, and women have been used by men as
scapegoats since the dawn of time.
In the two preceding paragraphs I have oversimplified and
under-analyzed for the sake of my own agenda, just as Meier did for his, and
probably for the same reason. These
issues are so dense with meaning for our modern consideration – anthropologically,
ethnically, culturally, historically, theologically and psychologically – that to
do them justice would require the participation of experts in all those
disciplines and thousands of pages of text. My point is, this is not a simple
three-page discussion, and when a writer chooses to use it to make a point of
his own, the limitations of his arguments should at least be revealed to the
reader.
Two other comments before moving to the next chapter. I can’t put my finger on the source right
now, but I recall reading that Meier was a “Jungian” psychologist. My experience with Jung, and Jungians, is
that they are especially insightful about the psychological meaning of ancient
folk tales. The ones I have read I have
found both highly relevant and intellectually fascinating. Without getting too deep in the weeds, Jung
developed a theory holding that humans in western cultures inherit and develop
within their psyches images or models called “archetypes” the most commonly
discussed of which are the romantic/sexual archetypes experienced by both men
and women. In brief, the theory is that
within each psyche each individual carries an image of a perfect mate. To grasp this concept, emphasis must be
placed on “perfection” – perfect intelligence, perfect empathy, perfect sex,
perfect appearance, etc. Every now and
then, a man (and his archetype) meets a woman (and her archetype), their
archetypes match perfectly, and they experience the type of “love at first
sight” poets and songwriters have written about for centuries. The theory is that the man (at the mercy of
his archetype) endows the woman with all the perfection he longs for, and vice
versa. This archetypal recognition
ignites the passion, but, over time – sometimes days, sometimes years – the man
begins to notice the woman’s imperfections (they were always there, but he
could not see them because he was enthralled by the archetype), and vice
versa. To protect the psyche, the
archetype causes the man to blame the woman for tricking him into thinking she
was perfect, and vice versa. The union
dissolves in pain with great sense of relief and remorse.[1] Maybe this scenario resonates with some of
you.
Another Jungian concept explains guilt as psychic anger and
disappointment caused by one’s violation of one’s own self-image. In other words, my self-image is that I am
not a thief. If I stole something, the
theft would violate my self-image and would trigger guilt. But a thief’s
self-image is that he is a thief, so the same theft committed by the thief
would not violate his self-image and would not trigger guilt.
I wanted to throw in the Jungian stuff – again way
oversimplified to make the point – because of Meier’s use of the terms “soul
mate” and “guilt.” It’s not enough to
simply tell folks to forget about finding a “soul mate” and get on with their
lives. If you’re talking to a 30-ish
American who has endured one of these archetypal recognition passions, it’s
likely they won’t pay much attention to your warning. The power of the experience is much too
strong to forget and move on without first gaining some understanding of what
happened and why it failed. The romantic
archetype and the mechanics of guilt are the core of the story Meier relates
from the Danish novel Niels Lyhne as
appropriately stated by the female character as follows: “Day after day I will
have to live with this stigma on my soul, and never will I meet anyone so
degraded that I won’t know in my heart that I am even more degraded.”
Chapter 3, The Voice
Within, is summarized by Meier in its last paragraph, thus: “So finally, we
are told that being in touch with the voice inside of us is part and parcel of
a much greater whole – making a connection with the beyond, being in touch with
the stars, being in touch with the infinite, being in touch with God.”
In pains me to be negative about such lovely
sentiments. I’d much rather be able to
praise Meier’s work than criticize, but – hey, I’m the one writing the blog, so
you get my thoughts, and I’m gonna be honest with you. I’d love to have another contributor who sees
things differently write a response. It
might open my eyes.
In any event, I understood Chapter 3 to be an attempt to
inspire the reader, but it was so superficial, it turned me off. In college, my Sociology of Religion prof
assigned the class to attend various religious services to observe and report
our impressions. I’ll never forget the Reverend
A.A. Allen Revival Troup from Miracle Valley, Arizona, coming to town. I’d seen a few TV preachers, but none in
person until I went to the revival. It
was entertaining and appalling at the same time. My impression was that the folks were there
expecting divine intervention to solve their problems. The message was simple – contribute money to
the Rev, and God will answer your prayers.
It was reinforced over the course of several hours with stories about
the good things that happened to people who made pledges and paid their
pledges, and the bad things that happened to those who either didn’t pledge, or
worse, pledged but didn’t pay.
Meier is certainly not a scoundrel like the Reverend
was. But suggesting that God responds to
bargaining, and telling people to listen to an inner voice without
discrimination is not just foolish, it’s dangerous. In our modern world, we are bombarded by
stimuli constantly and indiscriminately.
Even in Abram’s day, there must have been some degree of mental illness
or personality disorders that could be heard by the ancients as the voice of
God. In some primitive cultures, hallucinogenic
drugs are used as sacred rites to hear the voice of the local deity. Alcohol has also contributed to the
phenomenon, even in our day. How does
one discriminate between a message from God and an influence from years of
exposure to cultural pressures or mental illness? Don’t get me wrong, I believe God
communicates with us all the time, some of which involves dreams, or, in my
case, sudden awakenings with answers I needed.
I firmly believe God has given me direction and helped me find solutions
to many problems, so I suppose one day he may show me a path to take that would
validate Meier. But, before taking that
path, I would appreciate it if you would have me checked for mental illness!
By the way, I think I understand what it means to be in touch with God, but can anybody
explain to me what it means to make a
connection with the beyond, be in touch with the stars, be in touch with the
infinite??? Are these Christian concepts?
Peace.
[1]
If you’re interested, the best resource I know of on this topic is Robert A.
Johnson, We: Understanding the Psychology
of Romantic Love. Johnson has a
series of books analyzing various aspects of the psyche with Jungian
principles. Amazon carries them all.