Idol Worship

Satisfaction.

Distraction.

I’ve been yearning for it.

Perhaps a new dress, a scarf, a pair of shoes could brighten me up. Or perhaps some entertainment, exhilaration, absorption in a story not my own. A movie, a novel, or a few episodes of “Breaking Bad” should set me soaring.

But no, poor me, I am graced with a dream instead.

I’m in New York City, in Queens, near the county courthouse in Kew Gardens. The grassy hill overlooks a bay, layered in clouds and mist. Moist greens and grays glow with heart-wrenching beauty. Three mythical animals come dancing by. They are big as buffalo, shaped like bear, and black as raven with shaggy cowls around their throats. They smile and bounce, clowning for the small crowd drawn by the mists. Three rainbows pop up from the grass.  With overwhelming joy I think, “This is my home!”

Charles and I drive away from the hill, along an old highway enclosed by brick walls. The road takes us to historic resort city on a narrow peninsula. Shining white buildings define narrow streets, right up to the water’s edge. Cold navy blue waves break delicately into white foam on the beach. We are visiting briefly, just to have lunch. The resort city is very beautiful. But compared to the hillside, it’s plain — an earthly, ordinary beauty.

Duh. Of course a scarf won’t satisfy my restless soul. Beautiful art might call to my spirit, but it won’t bring me home. Home is not a place of quick comfort. My dream teaches that it’s a place of mystery: deep waters covered in mist, adorned with myth, and exploding in surprises I could not have imagined. Compared to it, any known place of resort and refuge is narrow, cut off from the depths, worthy only of a short visit.

The peninsula reminds me of a stray philosophical detail, the losing side in a famous philosophical debate. In articulating his “ontological argument” for God’s existence, St. Anselm of Canterbury defines God as a “Being greater than which no being can be conceived.” Such a being, he argues, necessarily exists. His fellow monk Gaunilo objects: just because I say there is an island greater than any other doesn’t mean the island exists. But Gaunilo, of course, misses the point. To Anselm, God isn’t a thing, like an island.  God is the edge towards which we reach with all our spiritual and intellectual might. In my dream, Anselm’s God manifests on the hillside, hinted at in the play of light and the spontaneous appearance of impossible, mythical beings. Gaunilo’s island is like the peninsula: beautiful, but confined. His island has nothing to do with the God that Anselm has in mind.

Idol worship, classically defined, seems a silly thing to worry about. Hebrew Bible talks about the worship of false Gods made of wood and stone. But no one confuses wooden statues representing gods with the natural powers those gods express. No one actually worships gods of wood and stone. Maybe in the most crass economic sense, people seek to be honoured for their wealth, and admired for the beautiful things they own. But Hebrew Bible criticizes that tendency directly. So, the caution against idol worship must point to something else.

Only a few days ago, I found myself seeking comfort in the experience of beauty. I hoped to consume fabric art, performing art, and literary art. But the dream reminded me: such beauty might be soul-stirring, but it is not soul-satisfying. It’s a way of placing hope in something very much like biblical idols, beautiful works of art crafted in fine media. Under emotional stress, I am easily distracted into that kind of hope.

Intellectually, big ideas and powerful metaphors set me soaring. I can be like Gaunilo, who used a physical analogy for God’s greatness, and then took it literally.  Each time I craft an elegant new metaphor to express my changing spiritual experience, I imagine I have come closer to God’s true nature.  In the thrall of intellectual exhilaration, I am easily distracted by the beauty of my own ideas.

Beauty is, without a doubt, a hint to God’s Presence. And God is present in the hints, clowning deliberately for those of us who gather to admire beauty. Yes, we should gather, and explore what appears using the tools of art and intellect. But we can’t pin God down in any of the appearances: forms shift between buffalo, bear, raven and more. Light springs up spontaneously and refracts in every direction.

No matter what you think you see, says my dream, you should take another look.

Image: raven-bear ring by walkergoldsmiths.com. “If I had this beautiful work of art on my hand, I would be reminded always of God’s true nature and I would be happy.” Please don’t take this statement too literally.

0 Comments
  1. Thank you so much for a timely reminder. When next we see each other, I’d love to talk more about this.

  2. I love what you see. I think you should gather up all of these
    thoughts and put them in a book. I would love to have this book
    and would also love to give this book to others.

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