Philosophy
Truthfully, most people in search of spirituality would probably prefer inspiration to philosophy. But there's a need for a framework that helps build the foundation for the thoughts and prayers and poems...
The arc of human understanding
The phrase “renaissance man” is used to describe an ideal of a person who is capable of making meaningful contributions to society in a wide variety of areas: some combination of arts, sciences, health, politics, philosophy, etc.
When I was growing up, the phrase was used, but a bit wistfully: it seemed clear that in an era where specialized knowledge, won through long and dedicated practice, was needed to do nearly anything of value – cure an illness, fix a car, design a building, draft a binding agreement or any number of other tasks – that socially-significant mastery of even two fields would be a monumental achievement.
As I write this, it is and has been the case that the sum of stored information doubles about every two years. This helps specialists to obtain vastly more detail on focus topics. One might think that this massive expansion of codified knowledge would make ‘renaissance’ status ever-more unattainable. Yet, it seems likely that the information tsunami will have the opposite effect: that it will make it easier for individuals to obtain the insights that they need to participate and contribute at high levels in multiple different domains.
The key to the assertion above is “codified.” There is a vast amount of specialized information on virtually any topic, but in contrast to earlier times, when access to that information required deep study amounting to an apprenticeship with others who already had access to and an understanding of domain data, access can increasingly be gained via web searches from any location. A non-specialist can access resources that would have been not just unavailable but actually unimaginable just a decade or two ago. As a result, it is possible for a non-specialist to obtain meaningful contributions by combining innate ability and passion with insight that can be gleaned from review of relevant inputs – opening a path for individuals to advance the ‘state of the art’ in nearly any area.
This is not to say that a combination of access to technology and an individual point of view will make it possible for all individuals to achieve the renaissance ideal of contributing meaningfully to societal growth in multiple areas. ‘Renaissance’ individuals are scarce not only (or primarily) because specialized knowledge is hard to access, but because it is rare for an individual to have a high level of interest and aptitude in multiple fields. It’s possible to extend the notion by saying that with advanced technology – and access not just to information but to other people – we might achieve a form of ‘renaissance society’, in which people collectively contribute to advancements/appreciation of advancements in various areas.
There are a couple of inherent dangers in a construct that posits a central role for web-based access to knowledge and access to other people. On the knowledge side, it would clearly be possible for vested interests – e.g., governments, large corporations or some other combination of powerful entities – to shape or limit the results returned by searches. This is where the presence of true specialists in debates is essential – they have the domain knowledge to identify gaps (or over-emphases) in the information provided through searches. Thee individuals can’t actually monitor search results, but they can weigh in on discussions an provide context that is needed to ensure that new made by individuals are actually advancing the overall quality of societal understanding/achievement in a specific area.
There is another danger to near-boundless information access as well: the proclivity to collect information not for the sake of increasing understanding but to reinforce existing perceptions. There comes a point in any intellectual exploration where this becomes a ‘chicken and egg’ distinction – as increased knowledge leads to a set of understandings and beliefs, incremental study tends to focus on information that will substantiate that belief. The spirit in which these explorations occur, though, is a critical aspect of their real efficacy. A hunt for facts that will support a specific position is a hallmark of partisan advocacy, but a poor basis for developing a position as a contributor to societal progress; Information aggregation in the service of confirmation bias is antithetical to the notion of improving the level of social discourse (and of the arts, sciences, health, politics, philosophy, etc.).
Experienced domain practitioners opining on the contributions of non-specialists in a particular area is not a new development. Indeed, these critiques existed before search technology, and quite possibly, back to the beginning of knowledge itself. In practice, much of this feedback is self-serving and defensive, as domain experts seek to differentiate their status from non-specialists. We ask a lot when we request that specialists evolve from authorized keepers of and contributors to domain enhancement to a role that includes maintenance of an understanding of the best achievements in an area, contribution to that area and curation of outside contributions to that area – but that is what we as a society need, to ensure that the contributions of inspired non-specialists are not drowned by the cacophony arising from individuals who are moved by bias and/or a low regard for actual achievement, and who use global platform access to broadcast their ill-formed output. Experts can help to identify meaningful contributions in their domains, and they can inform social dialogue with the goal of establishing a respectful community focused on societal progress – one that is not undermined by the actions of corporate/partisan/individual actions that position ‘others’ as simply a collection of persuadable (or merely identifiable) co-conspirators.
We – all of us – need to find a way to recognize and celebrate the contributions that can (and will) be made by non-specialists as broad trends enable a ‘renaissance revival’. Spirituality includes our appreciation of beauty, insight and knowledge – and it’s fair to say that a world in which we can interact with contributions that arise from the passions and interests of our fellow humans (and not primarily from the commercial interests of corporate entities, the partisan objectives of political organizations or even the agendas of sanctioned cultural leaders like universities and arts organizations) offers more opportunities for enrichment as both a contributor to and a consumer of achievements in arts, sciences, health, politics, philosophy, etc. – as a participant in god in the moment.
When I was growing up, the phrase was used, but a bit wistfully: it seemed clear that in an era where specialized knowledge, won through long and dedicated practice, was needed to do nearly anything of value – cure an illness, fix a car, design a building, draft a binding agreement or any number of other tasks – that socially-significant mastery of even two fields would be a monumental achievement.
As I write this, it is and has been the case that the sum of stored information doubles about every two years. This helps specialists to obtain vastly more detail on focus topics. One might think that this massive expansion of codified knowledge would make ‘renaissance’ status ever-more unattainable. Yet, it seems likely that the information tsunami will have the opposite effect: that it will make it easier for individuals to obtain the insights that they need to participate and contribute at high levels in multiple different domains.
The key to the assertion above is “codified.” There is a vast amount of specialized information on virtually any topic, but in contrast to earlier times, when access to that information required deep study amounting to an apprenticeship with others who already had access to and an understanding of domain data, access can increasingly be gained via web searches from any location. A non-specialist can access resources that would have been not just unavailable but actually unimaginable just a decade or two ago. As a result, it is possible for a non-specialist to obtain meaningful contributions by combining innate ability and passion with insight that can be gleaned from review of relevant inputs – opening a path for individuals to advance the ‘state of the art’ in nearly any area.
This is not to say that a combination of access to technology and an individual point of view will make it possible for all individuals to achieve the renaissance ideal of contributing meaningfully to societal growth in multiple areas. ‘Renaissance’ individuals are scarce not only (or primarily) because specialized knowledge is hard to access, but because it is rare for an individual to have a high level of interest and aptitude in multiple fields. It’s possible to extend the notion by saying that with advanced technology – and access not just to information but to other people – we might achieve a form of ‘renaissance society’, in which people collectively contribute to advancements/appreciation of advancements in various areas.
There are a couple of inherent dangers in a construct that posits a central role for web-based access to knowledge and access to other people. On the knowledge side, it would clearly be possible for vested interests – e.g., governments, large corporations or some other combination of powerful entities – to shape or limit the results returned by searches. This is where the presence of true specialists in debates is essential – they have the domain knowledge to identify gaps (or over-emphases) in the information provided through searches. Thee individuals can’t actually monitor search results, but they can weigh in on discussions an provide context that is needed to ensure that new made by individuals are actually advancing the overall quality of societal understanding/achievement in a specific area.
There is another danger to near-boundless information access as well: the proclivity to collect information not for the sake of increasing understanding but to reinforce existing perceptions. There comes a point in any intellectual exploration where this becomes a ‘chicken and egg’ distinction – as increased knowledge leads to a set of understandings and beliefs, incremental study tends to focus on information that will substantiate that belief. The spirit in which these explorations occur, though, is a critical aspect of their real efficacy. A hunt for facts that will support a specific position is a hallmark of partisan advocacy, but a poor basis for developing a position as a contributor to societal progress; Information aggregation in the service of confirmation bias is antithetical to the notion of improving the level of social discourse (and of the arts, sciences, health, politics, philosophy, etc.).
Experienced domain practitioners opining on the contributions of non-specialists in a particular area is not a new development. Indeed, these critiques existed before search technology, and quite possibly, back to the beginning of knowledge itself. In practice, much of this feedback is self-serving and defensive, as domain experts seek to differentiate their status from non-specialists. We ask a lot when we request that specialists evolve from authorized keepers of and contributors to domain enhancement to a role that includes maintenance of an understanding of the best achievements in an area, contribution to that area and curation of outside contributions to that area – but that is what we as a society need, to ensure that the contributions of inspired non-specialists are not drowned by the cacophony arising from individuals who are moved by bias and/or a low regard for actual achievement, and who use global platform access to broadcast their ill-formed output. Experts can help to identify meaningful contributions in their domains, and they can inform social dialogue with the goal of establishing a respectful community focused on societal progress – one that is not undermined by the actions of corporate/partisan/individual actions that position ‘others’ as simply a collection of persuadable (or merely identifiable) co-conspirators.
We – all of us – need to find a way to recognize and celebrate the contributions that can (and will) be made by non-specialists as broad trends enable a ‘renaissance revival’. Spirituality includes our appreciation of beauty, insight and knowledge – and it’s fair to say that a world in which we can interact with contributions that arise from the passions and interests of our fellow humans (and not primarily from the commercial interests of corporate entities, the partisan objectives of political organizations or even the agendas of sanctioned cultural leaders like universities and arts organizations) offers more opportunities for enrichment as both a contributor to and a consumer of achievements in arts, sciences, health, politics, philosophy, etc. – as a participant in god in the moment.
Faith and expectation: the hummingbird allegory
It's spring, and I've put out hummingbird feeders. I haven't actually seen or heard any hummingbirds, but I regularly clean and refill the feeders nonetheless.
I have faith that the hummingbirds will appear - in fact, I will stare at the feeders willing them to appear. They haven't yet, and I certainly don't know that they will, but I continue to watch, and wait, and clean and refill the feeders.
Based on past experience, when (/if) I see a hummingbird, I will be even more diligent about the watching, cleaning and refilling. I won't see a hummingbird every time I stop to look at the feeders, but I can expect to see them at least some of the time.
This speaks to the difference between faith and expectation. Faith is the belief that something that hasn't yet manifested itself will, while expectation is that something that has occurred before will occur again.
In this regard, it isn't possible to hold faith and expectation at the same time. Once you have seen the hummingbird, the next viewing is no longer a matter of faith.
Expectation is a much surer path...but the faith has a sweetness all its own!
I have faith that the hummingbirds will appear - in fact, I will stare at the feeders willing them to appear. They haven't yet, and I certainly don't know that they will, but I continue to watch, and wait, and clean and refill the feeders.
Based on past experience, when (/if) I see a hummingbird, I will be even more diligent about the watching, cleaning and refilling. I won't see a hummingbird every time I stop to look at the feeders, but I can expect to see them at least some of the time.
This speaks to the difference between faith and expectation. Faith is the belief that something that hasn't yet manifested itself will, while expectation is that something that has occurred before will occur again.
In this regard, it isn't possible to hold faith and expectation at the same time. Once you have seen the hummingbird, the next viewing is no longer a matter of faith.
Expectation is a much surer path...but the faith has a sweetness all its own!
Your impact on your world: the butterfly's wings
As insignificant as each of us may be to the entirety of the world's experiences and moments, we are central to our own experiences and moments, and integral to the experiences and moments of those who are adjacent to us - and since their experiences and moments in turn help shape the experiences and moments of people who are adjacent to them, each of us has a tangible if diminishing effect on people we are only distantly connected with, and ultimately, on the totality of experiences and moments. Given that the central premise of the writing on this site is that God lives within our moments, it follows that we shape the ways that we experience God, and that we affect the ways that others experience God.
This is the underlying truth behind the "butterfly effect" - the notion that a small change in one place can have a large effect on future conditions (or metaphorically, that the flapping of a butterfly's wings can contribute to a future hurricane in a distant location). We are not just the architects of the contexts that we each inhabit - we also have a shared responsibility for the world that we all inhabit.
It's possible to formulate the basis of a moral code from this observation. If we believe that experiencing God within our moments is important, than it is important to search for God within each moment's context, and to act in a way that positively affects (or at least, doesn't negatively impact) the ability of those we touch to find God within their moments. More contemplation and celebration in our days, and a more conscious effort to contribute positively to the moments and days of those we come in contact with, aren't just items on a to-do list - they are imperatives for those who wish to live in a Godly way.
Insight and guidance on how to find and act with God in our moments fills, literally, all of the words on this site.
This is the underlying truth behind the "butterfly effect" - the notion that a small change in one place can have a large effect on future conditions (or metaphorically, that the flapping of a butterfly's wings can contribute to a future hurricane in a distant location). We are not just the architects of the contexts that we each inhabit - we also have a shared responsibility for the world that we all inhabit.
It's possible to formulate the basis of a moral code from this observation. If we believe that experiencing God within our moments is important, than it is important to search for God within each moment's context, and to act in a way that positively affects (or at least, doesn't negatively impact) the ability of those we touch to find God within their moments. More contemplation and celebration in our days, and a more conscious effort to contribute positively to the moments and days of those we come in contact with, aren't just items on a to-do list - they are imperatives for those who wish to live in a Godly way.
Insight and guidance on how to find and act with God in our moments fills, literally, all of the words on this site.
Existence: context and interval
What is it that is constant in our lives? Certainly, existence is a constant - without it, we have no life in which to contemplate these types of issues.
There are constants within the world we inhabit; "the sun rises in the east and sets in the west" is a frequent example of one. However, these aren't really "in our lives" - they are independent of us. We experience them, but don't participate in them in any meaningful sense. Even when we find a connection (with a sunrise, a sunset, the blue of the sky or a lake or the ocean) it is a matter of internalizing an impression or feeling that is fueled by the sun's movement or the factors that determine colour in nature. What is within our lives is the impression or feeling, and in a broader sense, the reality of light or dark or space or wetness; the fact of the sun or the sky or a lake is independent from us.
The delineation between what is 'of our lives' vs. what is not provides an important starting point for understanding how we exist, and how we might find God in our moments.
At all points in our lives, we exist within a context. At one level, this context is very straightforward: it includes the geometry of space, the physical limits within which we can act. A cell provides a different context than a bedroom, both because of its size and composition and because of the limits it imposes on choice of action or movement. A room is in turn different from a field; a position on a steep hill is different from one on flat ground, etc. It would be fair to note that other physical properties can apply within a geometrically-defined space as well - for example, water or snow or ice would present different constraints on motion than air. But these are all, in most scenarios, relatively minor variances on the key theme, which is that three-dimensional space is an important part of context.
There are many other factors - connected with what might be termed our "essence" - that have a more profound effect on context. For example, you may be young or old, tall or short, muscular or thin or overweight; you will have an ethnicity, a gender (and perhaps, a gender identity that differs from those held by the majority of people around you), you will be richer or poorer, healthier or less healthy, more or less intelligent or empathetic or tranquil or joyous or witty. These factors aren't all constant over a long period of time - we move from young to old predictably, and generally, from healthy to less healthy in cycles over time - but for the most part, they change slowly. Even in cases where they change rapidly - for example, when we get a job or a major bonus, or meet someone and go from 'alone' to 'in a relationship', or in the wake of an accident where we go from 'able to walk' to 'in a hospital bed, and then wheelchair bound' - the transition may be abrupt, but the states on either side of that transition have greater longevity.
Other factors in context - which we might refer to as "incidental" - change constantly. For example, I am alone as I type this, but I will soon be with family; before sitting down at my PC, I was in a car, in a supermarket, at a gas station, driving next to a festival in a local park. We can be hungry or tired or neither, angry or anxious or neither, pleased to see lilies by the road or preoccupied by our mobile devices.
Context, then, is very complex: at any moment, it includes the space we are situated within, the factors that shape our beings and identities, and the transient aspects of our surroundings.
Context, though, is only one part of what is constant in our lives. Context shares an intrinsic connection with interval.
It is sometimes said that time is 'the fourth dimension', and there's probably a sense in which that's true, but in a very real sense, it's irrelevant. Within our lives, the key fact of existence is interval: the reality that we progress from one context to another. Time is a way of applying a quantified metric to interval, but it is as independent of us in its way as the blue of the sky or the sea is in its; the reality of our lives is the intervals that separate one context from the next, not the measure of time that quantifies the duration of the interval. For example, a night's sleep may pass as a single interval (regardless of what the clock says), or be broken irregularly by dreams. A drive may be a single context for miles, and then change rapidly with approaching traffic, a town, a deer by the side of the road. A dinner conversation may be a single, extended context, or it may shift with the topics of conversation, the moods of the participants, the courses that are served. A workday may seem like a homogeneous whole, or may be divided into discrete segments; a sport may shift context in an instant, or it may change gradually as you tire. Intuitively, we understand that interval and time are different, not the least because each interval plays a critical role in defining the context that follows.
The interplay between interval and context defines the totality of our journeys through life. We make a decision in a context - to study for a test, to apply for a new job, to smile at a stranger in a cafe, to curse at another driver, to drive after drinking, to spend time with a parent or child, or to focus instead on a sports team or social network - and our contexts change accordingly. In the near term, this is most true with respect to incidental context, and actually, it might be said that a new interval is defined by some observable change in incidental context, even if that change is subtle. The facts of spacial geometry don't change, though their limits might: we walk outdoors and our spatial parameters are defined by the sky or an awning, by a streetscape or yard or the wall across an alley; we walk inside from the rain or the cold and the context changes accordingly. Some conditions of our essence may change - we may be at least temporarily less joyous if the smile in the cafe is met with a dismissive frown, we may become somewhat less healthy if we decide to take a flight and are seated next to a sick passenger - but for the most part, these changes will not occur abruptly in the transition between intervals, but rather, be felt in longer term effects (for example, the child ignored in favour of the social network may in turn be disinclined to engage in easy dinner conversation later in life, or other factors may combine to lead the child to share a future holiday; we become more or less lonely at least in part as a result).
Changes in essence are both much slower to occur and much more lasting in their impact than incidental changes in context. For example, 2e can become happy or sad in response to incidental stimuli, but we become more joyous or more dour over time, and this in turn affects the way that we interact with context: we are more likely to be happy if we approach context as a joyous individual, or more likely to take offense to a gesture or remark if we are dour.
This discussion certainly does not exhaust all of the issues associated with context and interval, but it does serve to set up two points that are important with respect to God in the Moment. First, if our existence is defined as a series of contexts, then 'the moment' (or more accurately, a succession of moments) is a constant in our existence - which means in turn that God can be present at all points in our existence.
This is a bit different than a traditional approach to religion, in which God's presence is assumed to be a constant. Like the blue of the sky (only without the helpful characteristic of being readily observable), if such a God did exist, it would be independent of our lives.
God in the moment is not a constant through the succession of moments. There may well be a specific essence of 'godliness' that is exhibited or perceivable in different ways, but as our contexts change, so too do those ways. The appeal of a traditionally-consistent God is clear: it would be comforting to have God present as a type of ethereal glow illuminating the edges of our contexts at all points in time. However, this is not the God concept that we are evolving to understand; this is not how God works in moments.
Humans have advanced enough from our early days of thought and communication to deal with the knowledge that God is not a uniform glow at the edges of perception. We can accept that God may exist in different aspects of different contexts, may become more or less clear across intervals. It may be that there are contexts/moments in which God does not exist, or it may just be that we (or at least, I) lack the ability to find God's presence within a specific moment. However, even the potential existence of God in a moment is reason enough to search for God's presence on each of our contexts. To the extent that we have an obligation towards spirituality or acting as spiritual beings, it is our responsibility (or privilege, if you prefer) to find God in each moment.
The second essential point that emerges from this analysis of context and interval moves beyond individual moments, and refers to 'essence' rather than 'incidence'. As we establish a pattern of discovering God in our moments, we create a change in our essence; we become imbued with a sense of God's existence (or at least, potential for existence) in each moment. This affects how we approach life, along the same lines as (if in a more profound way than) being joyous or dour affects how we perceive situations. The more we apprehend God in our moments, the more we understand where and how God might be present in each moment, and as a result, the more we are able to understand each moment, or context, as a type of vessel that may/does include God.
There are constants within the world we inhabit; "the sun rises in the east and sets in the west" is a frequent example of one. However, these aren't really "in our lives" - they are independent of us. We experience them, but don't participate in them in any meaningful sense. Even when we find a connection (with a sunrise, a sunset, the blue of the sky or a lake or the ocean) it is a matter of internalizing an impression or feeling that is fueled by the sun's movement or the factors that determine colour in nature. What is within our lives is the impression or feeling, and in a broader sense, the reality of light or dark or space or wetness; the fact of the sun or the sky or a lake is independent from us.
The delineation between what is 'of our lives' vs. what is not provides an important starting point for understanding how we exist, and how we might find God in our moments.
At all points in our lives, we exist within a context. At one level, this context is very straightforward: it includes the geometry of space, the physical limits within which we can act. A cell provides a different context than a bedroom, both because of its size and composition and because of the limits it imposes on choice of action or movement. A room is in turn different from a field; a position on a steep hill is different from one on flat ground, etc. It would be fair to note that other physical properties can apply within a geometrically-defined space as well - for example, water or snow or ice would present different constraints on motion than air. But these are all, in most scenarios, relatively minor variances on the key theme, which is that three-dimensional space is an important part of context.
There are many other factors - connected with what might be termed our "essence" - that have a more profound effect on context. For example, you may be young or old, tall or short, muscular or thin or overweight; you will have an ethnicity, a gender (and perhaps, a gender identity that differs from those held by the majority of people around you), you will be richer or poorer, healthier or less healthy, more or less intelligent or empathetic or tranquil or joyous or witty. These factors aren't all constant over a long period of time - we move from young to old predictably, and generally, from healthy to less healthy in cycles over time - but for the most part, they change slowly. Even in cases where they change rapidly - for example, when we get a job or a major bonus, or meet someone and go from 'alone' to 'in a relationship', or in the wake of an accident where we go from 'able to walk' to 'in a hospital bed, and then wheelchair bound' - the transition may be abrupt, but the states on either side of that transition have greater longevity.
Other factors in context - which we might refer to as "incidental" - change constantly. For example, I am alone as I type this, but I will soon be with family; before sitting down at my PC, I was in a car, in a supermarket, at a gas station, driving next to a festival in a local park. We can be hungry or tired or neither, angry or anxious or neither, pleased to see lilies by the road or preoccupied by our mobile devices.
Context, then, is very complex: at any moment, it includes the space we are situated within, the factors that shape our beings and identities, and the transient aspects of our surroundings.
Context, though, is only one part of what is constant in our lives. Context shares an intrinsic connection with interval.
It is sometimes said that time is 'the fourth dimension', and there's probably a sense in which that's true, but in a very real sense, it's irrelevant. Within our lives, the key fact of existence is interval: the reality that we progress from one context to another. Time is a way of applying a quantified metric to interval, but it is as independent of us in its way as the blue of the sky or the sea is in its; the reality of our lives is the intervals that separate one context from the next, not the measure of time that quantifies the duration of the interval. For example, a night's sleep may pass as a single interval (regardless of what the clock says), or be broken irregularly by dreams. A drive may be a single context for miles, and then change rapidly with approaching traffic, a town, a deer by the side of the road. A dinner conversation may be a single, extended context, or it may shift with the topics of conversation, the moods of the participants, the courses that are served. A workday may seem like a homogeneous whole, or may be divided into discrete segments; a sport may shift context in an instant, or it may change gradually as you tire. Intuitively, we understand that interval and time are different, not the least because each interval plays a critical role in defining the context that follows.
The interplay between interval and context defines the totality of our journeys through life. We make a decision in a context - to study for a test, to apply for a new job, to smile at a stranger in a cafe, to curse at another driver, to drive after drinking, to spend time with a parent or child, or to focus instead on a sports team or social network - and our contexts change accordingly. In the near term, this is most true with respect to incidental context, and actually, it might be said that a new interval is defined by some observable change in incidental context, even if that change is subtle. The facts of spacial geometry don't change, though their limits might: we walk outdoors and our spatial parameters are defined by the sky or an awning, by a streetscape or yard or the wall across an alley; we walk inside from the rain or the cold and the context changes accordingly. Some conditions of our essence may change - we may be at least temporarily less joyous if the smile in the cafe is met with a dismissive frown, we may become somewhat less healthy if we decide to take a flight and are seated next to a sick passenger - but for the most part, these changes will not occur abruptly in the transition between intervals, but rather, be felt in longer term effects (for example, the child ignored in favour of the social network may in turn be disinclined to engage in easy dinner conversation later in life, or other factors may combine to lead the child to share a future holiday; we become more or less lonely at least in part as a result).
Changes in essence are both much slower to occur and much more lasting in their impact than incidental changes in context. For example, 2e can become happy or sad in response to incidental stimuli, but we become more joyous or more dour over time, and this in turn affects the way that we interact with context: we are more likely to be happy if we approach context as a joyous individual, or more likely to take offense to a gesture or remark if we are dour.
This discussion certainly does not exhaust all of the issues associated with context and interval, but it does serve to set up two points that are important with respect to God in the Moment. First, if our existence is defined as a series of contexts, then 'the moment' (or more accurately, a succession of moments) is a constant in our existence - which means in turn that God can be present at all points in our existence.
This is a bit different than a traditional approach to religion, in which God's presence is assumed to be a constant. Like the blue of the sky (only without the helpful characteristic of being readily observable), if such a God did exist, it would be independent of our lives.
God in the moment is not a constant through the succession of moments. There may well be a specific essence of 'godliness' that is exhibited or perceivable in different ways, but as our contexts change, so too do those ways. The appeal of a traditionally-consistent God is clear: it would be comforting to have God present as a type of ethereal glow illuminating the edges of our contexts at all points in time. However, this is not the God concept that we are evolving to understand; this is not how God works in moments.
Humans have advanced enough from our early days of thought and communication to deal with the knowledge that God is not a uniform glow at the edges of perception. We can accept that God may exist in different aspects of different contexts, may become more or less clear across intervals. It may be that there are contexts/moments in which God does not exist, or it may just be that we (or at least, I) lack the ability to find God's presence within a specific moment. However, even the potential existence of God in a moment is reason enough to search for God's presence on each of our contexts. To the extent that we have an obligation towards spirituality or acting as spiritual beings, it is our responsibility (or privilege, if you prefer) to find God in each moment.
The second essential point that emerges from this analysis of context and interval moves beyond individual moments, and refers to 'essence' rather than 'incidence'. As we establish a pattern of discovering God in our moments, we create a change in our essence; we become imbued with a sense of God's existence (or at least, potential for existence) in each moment. This affects how we approach life, along the same lines as (if in a more profound way than) being joyous or dour affects how we perceive situations. The more we apprehend God in our moments, the more we understand where and how God might be present in each moment, and as a result, the more we are able to understand each moment, or context, as a type of vessel that may/does include God.
Parable: The just leader deposed
There was a just and righteous man who became a leader. When he was first elevated, his people were pleased by his office and actions.
Over time, though, the relationship between the leader and his people changed. He did not become less just and righteous on the whole; but the newness of his presence faded. Over time, the society – sometimes at the direction of the leader, and sometimes simply as a matter of its own workings – took actions and made decisions that benefitted some to the detriment of others. In some cases, it was clear that these decisions were wise, just, and fair, to both the parties involved and to the society as a whole, and the baselessness of complaints made those who were disappointed by the outcomes was clear to all but those who complained and their immediate circles. In other cases, though, there was merit in competing interests and positions, and though the leader was wise and his positions were fair, there was no decision that would satisfy all deserving parties. Those who felt – not without reason – that they might have expected better treatment also became dissatisfied; and as the ranks of the disaffected grew, individuals who were persuasive but petty, mean rather than righteous, became visible in their calls for removal of the leader.
The leader became more isolated, but would not respond to these denouncers. He believed that the people recognized that regardless of their complaints, the wisdom and justice offered by the leader were best for the society as a whole. But the denouncers promised change, and there came a day when the desire for change became the most powerful voice, and the leader was replaced by mean and petty men by the citizens.
On this day, the leader was without the capacity to effectively argue his own cause, and the people celebrated his departure, even as they privately acknowledged that the new leaders would be less just, wise and righteous than the man they had deposed.
This is the way of time, of hope bruised and more desperate for its pain. In our calm and social minds, we argue that reason will triumph over the illusion of a new and separate reality tuned to each individual’s dreams. But this is not how time and hope unfold. We must meet hope bruised with hope renewed; faith in our futures will stem the seeping mire of the mean and petty, which no amount of isolated reason can stem.
Over time, though, the relationship between the leader and his people changed. He did not become less just and righteous on the whole; but the newness of his presence faded. Over time, the society – sometimes at the direction of the leader, and sometimes simply as a matter of its own workings – took actions and made decisions that benefitted some to the detriment of others. In some cases, it was clear that these decisions were wise, just, and fair, to both the parties involved and to the society as a whole, and the baselessness of complaints made those who were disappointed by the outcomes was clear to all but those who complained and their immediate circles. In other cases, though, there was merit in competing interests and positions, and though the leader was wise and his positions were fair, there was no decision that would satisfy all deserving parties. Those who felt – not without reason – that they might have expected better treatment also became dissatisfied; and as the ranks of the disaffected grew, individuals who were persuasive but petty, mean rather than righteous, became visible in their calls for removal of the leader.
The leader became more isolated, but would not respond to these denouncers. He believed that the people recognized that regardless of their complaints, the wisdom and justice offered by the leader were best for the society as a whole. But the denouncers promised change, and there came a day when the desire for change became the most powerful voice, and the leader was replaced by mean and petty men by the citizens.
On this day, the leader was without the capacity to effectively argue his own cause, and the people celebrated his departure, even as they privately acknowledged that the new leaders would be less just, wise and righteous than the man they had deposed.
This is the way of time, of hope bruised and more desperate for its pain. In our calm and social minds, we argue that reason will triumph over the illusion of a new and separate reality tuned to each individual’s dreams. But this is not how time and hope unfold. We must meet hope bruised with hope renewed; faith in our futures will stem the seeping mire of the mean and petty, which no amount of isolated reason can stem.