What Are You Willing to Give Up for It?
September 4th, 2006
I came into an understanding of process theology and spiritual ecology via the writings of Fritjof Capra, especially his book The Web of Life. Although I intuitively began to see God less as a being and more of a constant unfolding, it wasn’t until I read this book that I was able to verbalize my most intricate beliefs about God. And yet, though this deeper understanding of God brought me into a more compelling spirituality, it made me even more aware of my action in the world and the way I interact with other people. If I am truly part and particle of God, and if my action is part of God’s unfolding, then what I do changes the nature of God. And if what I do is a direct outgrowth of who I am, then I needed to be more diligent in becoming the person I envision myself to be.
The ethical implications here were life-changing, but perhaps the biggest change I was forced to make in my life was to re-engage the notion of sacrifice. As a former Christian, I had jaded ideas about sacrifice. I remember growing up hearing about Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross and not feeling at all moved by this story. If Jesus was fully man and yet fully God, was sacrifice even genuinely possible? It never seemed as though any omniscient deity could make sacrifices, for in my view sacrifice required pain.
It is probably not uncommon to view sacrifice this way; the word has many pejorative associations that traditional theology has hoisted upon it. But if sacrifice is truly seen as “the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim”, does that action have to be painful? Or can someone have enough foresight to make joyful, though perhaps immediately difficult, sacrifices?
I once had a friend tell me that she was done making sacrifices. She felt the idea of sacrifice was outdated and beholden to a notion of spirituality that she didn’t adhere to. She believed that she could have the things she wanted in life without making any kind of self-flagellating concessions.
I took a moment to think about what she said, and though I was struck by the naivete of the statement, it occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t be so surprised at the sentiment. Many people, especially white, middle class Americans with a sense of entitlement, operate under similar false notions—that acquiring anything worth having comes freely, without any kind of obligation make room for it. Many of us are willing to accept that sometimes we have give up one thing to gain something we want more—not giving in to a momentary pleasure in order to keep on track of our greater desire is a common occurrence. But what we fail to realize many times, is that even the things we want to expunge from our lives first require some sort of initial sacrifice if we’re really willing to dig it out and toss it aside.
Human beings are spiritually ecologic and holistic beings. No part of our selves, from our values, desires, preferences and causes, exists in a vacuum. Process theology helped me understand that all aspects of ourselves exist in a network, each piece relying on the whole, and the whole on each part. Every part of ourselves—even the parts we don’t necessarily like—rely upon another piece of ourselves to remain in tact. Our kindness relies on our ability to love. Our compassion relies on our ability to be empathize. Our devotion relies on an ability to commit. The good things we manifest, the positive attributes that make us who we are, act in a complex network with every other aspect of ourselves, such that when we want to rid ourselves of something undesirable or change something about our personality, we cannot merely reach inside ourselves, dig out the dirty, and cast it aside. Webs must be broken; threads must be untangled. Doing these things, changing and discarding, requires that we make sacrifices—that we “give something up” to gain (or lose) that which we need.
For years I asked God to me less selfish. But with that request comes a commitment on my part, too—a dedication to a significant personality change. And not only a personality change, but a change in the way I approached my life and deal with other people. I cannot merely ask to be unselfish and expect the change to come about without any kind of struggle. I must be willing to make certain sacrifices. In my selfishness, I don’t have to put others’ needs first. I don’t have to look outside my own comfort zone. I don’t have to worry about anyone else but myself. When I rid myself of selfishness, I give up the comfort of being committed only to myself. I give up a piece of my independence. I give up a certain solace that comes from living life with blinders on. Being open to others’ pain, others’ needs, infringes on our own sense of peace and freedom, because suddenly, our world is affected by much more than our own immediate concerns. Yet when we decide to rid ourselves of selfishness, we must be willing to give up the little things that in essence allow us to be selfish. It is not enough to pray for change if we are not willing to make the sacrifices necessary to accompany that change.
It all sounds so simple and so obvious. Even as I write this, I think, “Of course. How could I not have recognized this sooner?” But the truth is, in this culture, it isn’t obvious. It doesn’t appear natural that we have to sacrifice something comfortable to get rid of something undesirable. Yet even in practical applications, we know this is true. If we want to lose weight, we have to give up laziness and junk food and excess. If we want to rid ourselves of an abusive lover, we have to give up the comfort of familiarity and stagnation. Doing something, or moving out of a destructive situation, isn’t always easy—because whether or not we realize it, it takes some sort of sacrifice. Our society doesn’t like to talk about sacrifice—self-help books and crash diet programs wouldn’t do nearly so well if they were honest and up front about the sacrifices that go into changing our worlds, paradigms and selves.
For many of us, the notion of sacrifice carries with it the Christ on the cross, or the self-abnegation of Lent. Yet the sacrifice that is required to change one’s life isn’t sacrifice for the sake of humility—it is simply understanding that in our ecologic lives, something has to go when we decide to effect a change. The popular saying is true—There Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch. If you want it, you have to give something up for it. What are you willing to give up for it?
Hello.
I just thought I’d let you know that I have found some of your writing, by which, of course, I mean this.
Have you read Fear and Trembling?
I have a feeling that I might need to sacrifice something just in order to get on with my life, but I’m not sure what.
Hi Quentin :)
I haven’t read Fear and Trembling. Who is the author?
I’m glad you made it over. I hope I have something more interesting to write about this week. I’m not entirely happy with what I’ve been writing about lately. But at least I’m writing. It’s a start.
Fear and Trembling is by Soren Kierkegaard. It’s been on my reading list for a long time. I encountered it while at university - many of my friends were philosophers - but I still haven’t got round to reading the whole thing myself. It’s about faith and sacrifice, centring on the story of Isaac in the Bible. I have a feeling - though I may be completely wrong - that Kierkegaard coined the expression ‘leap of faith’.
Here’s a link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_and_Trembling
Ohhhhh I know what you’re talking about.
I’ve not read it, but I recall Nel Noddings talking quite a bit about it in her book Caring. She complained that Kierkegaard had it utterly wrong–that man’s first obligation is to his tangible here-and-now cared-fors, not the whim of some transcendent Deity. She complained that the kind of faith Kierkegaard trumpets in this book flies in the face of an ethic of care, as it misplaces our loyalties and puts our obligations in the wrong order.
Ever since reading her summation of the book, I’ve been wanting to read it. But I’d forgotten the title.
When I read this entry, it reminded me of the following passage which I like a lot from “The Crystal Journey” by Ivan MacBeth…. “The Crystal Journey is at an end. I have fulfilled the instructions of Spirit to the best of my ability, and have sacrificed seven years of my life to do so. It wasn’t really sacrifice in the conventional sense, because for the first time in my life I have felt purpose and the almost constant presence of Great Spirit. Sacrifice actually means ‘making sacred’ and this has certainly been my experience. My task has given me an abundance of both adventure and joy, but now it is complete. (http://www.isleofavalon.co.uk/GlastonburyArchive/ivan/CJ21.html)
I was wondering why you think that Jesus’ sacrifice was perhaps not a genuine one and what you mean when you say: ‘It never seemed as though any omniscient deity could make sacrifices, for in my view sacrifice required pain.’ How does omniscience take the pain away? And even if Jesus is fully God, does it necessarily follow that on earth as a human, he maintained that omniscience? Doens’t the NT suggest that he didn’t exploit his divinity while on earth, emptying himself so that he wasn’t omniscient here?
You also wrote: ‘For many of us, the notion of sacrifice carries with it the Christ on the cross, or the self-abnegation of Lent. Yet the sacrifice that is required to change one’s life isn’t sacrifice for the sake of humility…’ I find this a really puzzling statement! It sounds as if you are saying that Jesus died for the sake of humility, but why he would do that? Wouldn’t that be a waste of his time and ours? What would be the point of such a sacrifice from a God who is wholly humble already? And how would that help us?
Hi Luiza,
Good questions all. The question about Jesus and omniscience/pain: my thoughts aren’t fully formed on that, which is why I haven’t explored the subject in more depth. I’m a bit ambivalent at present. On the one hand, I am tempted to believe that prescience devalues the physical and emotional suffering of Christ. I think part of the reason human suffering is what it is is becuase we endure it without knowing how or when it will end. Entering the unknown in a state of agony with no foresight about its duration is, I think, quite different from agony that has a finite end and a definable purpose. I found natural childbirth very painful, but knowing it would only last X hours and knowing I would have this beautiful baby afterwards made the pain much more bearable than had I had the pain without any context.
On the other hand, if Jesus was truly fully man perhaps some aspects of human tragedy and suffering applied to him; I can’t know. But I admit to a terrible doubt towards this business of being fully man and fully human. I think that the two are so profoundly exclusive that the suggesion one could be utterly both . . .well, i suppose it’s a Christian mystery. That I don’t really accept it as true doesn’t much matter, I guess, given that I’m not a Christian.
Re: the latter question about humility. I agree it’s confusing as written; perhaps I shall edit it. I didn’t mean to suggest that Jesus died for the sake of humility. I mean two different things: one, (the one I mean outright) is that the way I was taught, sacrifice at Lent is a humble response to the tragedy of Christ. Christ on the cross was the pertinent symbol at Lent in my church, hence the two being linked in that paragraph. But also, I think in a more subconscious way, I’ve always linked the image of Christ on the cross to *my* guilt, *my* humility. I could never help but look at that image and think, “This suffering and death was for my benefit”, which was both humbling, and for me, debilitating. I didn’t want this kind of suffering linked with God’s love. There’s enough suffering in the world just by the nature of life that my cosmology and sacred history didn’t need additional suffring tacked onto it. I think many former Christians feel this way.
There are quite a lot of things about Christianity that still speak to me and shape how I view the world and how I live, even though it’s been 12 years since I left the church. If I didn’t still care I wouldn’t dedicate brain space to it. so I appreciate questions like these to help me clarifiy my own position, and to make sure I really do think what I think I think ;)
Thank you for your wonderful insight. I’m going through a tough time in my life and I can see why…I was not focusing on the what am I willing to do to get what I want part.
Blessings to you!