Wednesday, 30 December 2015

Optical Illusions and the Deception of Desire

I know those two lines are the
same length but the knowing
makes no dent in the illusion
of their difference.

In the Müller-Lyer illusion two lines of equal length are made to look unequal. One explanation of the trick is that our minds interpret the lines as the corners of buildings: the one on the left as an inside corner and the other as an outside corner. Under that interpretation, the one on the left must be further in the distance to us than the one on the right and our perceptual system adjusts it to appear bigger. I’ve read that when those lines are shown to people from the New Guinean highlands – tribes who have never lived inside rectangular houses – they judge them to be the same length as invariably as we judge them to be different. The illusion is culturally dependant

What interests me most, however, is that, like most visual illusions, knowing the truth makes no difference to our perception. We can move one line onto the top of the other, or measure both with a ruler to prove that they are the same, and yet when we look again at the two, one still looks longer than the other. What’s more, neither a psychologist who understood how the illusion works nor a neuro-surgeon who tracked down the exact set of neurons that make the visual mistake would be immune to the deception. A complete knowledge of the illusion does nothing to dissolve the illusion. The one still looks longer than the other. 

Desire

Desire often acts in the same way. 

Some of our desires spring from natural appetites and needs: a desire for warmth when we are cold, a desire for food when we are hungry. But the objects of our desires are usually selected for external and cultural reasons. We learn what to desire by imitating the desires of other people. We learn what food tastes good from our parents and friends. We learn what hair-style looks good by watching how our peers respond to each other. We learn what car is cool from marketing campaigns. We learn what jobs are valuable by observing how others value them.

As a result some, perhaps most, desires are illusions. There is nothing inherently “better” about most hair styles (despite what Paul says in 1 Corinthians 11:14!). The car most suited to your needs probably bears little resemblance to the car you are encouraged to buy. The hair and the car are desirable because we see what we might look like if we had that hair or that car through the eyes of imagined others.

We do not always succumb to the illusion. There are conscious and unconscious reasons why we might rebel against our desires, or deny ourselves the pleasure promised by the desire, or for any range of practical reasons not pursue the desire.

And yet, like the Müller-Lyer illusion, the desires themselves are immune to our conscious knowledge. We continue to desire something even when we know that the basis for the desire is flawed.

Let’s follow one example in a little more depth. We are bombarded by images of what a desirable human body looks like. Knowing how the psychological mechanism of desire operates does not change my perception that a particular cultural image of physical beauty would bring more satisfaction in a partner than alternatives. At one level that is ridiculous, for the glamorous ideal of beauty changes with time and culture.

The word “glamorous” originated from a Scottish word meaning a magical enchantment. To say that someone is glamorous is to acknowledge that their appeal is an illusion. There is a glamour over our desires, a veil so powerful that even knowing it is there does not dispel its effect.

At another level the beauty assumption is totally contrary to my experience. Good relationships do not depend on it. Why should they? Neither does good sex depend on it. On the contrary, from my limited experience, the most enjoyable sex does not depend on physical beauty but on mutual enthusiasm. But in this instance, another aspect of desire comes to the fore: from whence comes “mutual enthusiasm” if not from both people desiring each other and desiring each other’s desire?

At some other, less conscious level, however, the illusion remains. I want a girlfriend whom others would affirm as desirable and I perceive this girl or that girl in the light of that desire. I’m attracted to a house in a particular suburb not only because I am consciously aware that it will establish my social status but because I genuinely like the house and the suburb. Liking this girl or that house is totally unaffected by my conscious knowledge of the dynamics of desire.


Necker Cube

Ambiguity

In another class of optical illusions, our perception can jump between competing interpretations of an image. A simple example is the Necker Cube on the left. Which face of the cube is in front and which face is behind? You can flip between the two by focusing on either of the inner corners.

A more dramatic example is the train in this animated image, which can be made to move in either direction merely by imagining it to do so.



Such images are ambiguous and what we see depends on what we choose to see.

A similar ambiguity inhabits desire. I noted above that just as the mis-direction of an optical illusion is impossible to dispel, so too the mis-direction of desire. I think it is also true that just as there may be multiple ambiguous interpretations of an optical illusion, so too we often experience multiple ambiguous desires. Sometimes what we desire depends on what we choose to focus on.

Desires are sometimes layered. I desire that house, perhaps because of a deeper desire to impress my colleagues at work, and that may be just an example of an even deeper desire to belong.

Desires sometimes compete. The way we manage personal finances may arise out of a desire to enjoy material possessions now, a desire to save for a secure future, and a desire to use what we have to bless others: desires that ultimately might be mutually-exclusive.

Desires sometimes remain unconscious. We act in order to attain something, but we are unaware of either what we seek or why we seek it.

Add to the mix a type of self-deception that, relying on the ambiguity of our desires, allows us to believe
one interpretation, or act as though we believe it, only by discounting or even disavowing the others.

As a consequence of those layered, competing and unconscious dynamics of desires, there is rarely a clean correlation between how we act and what we desire. Nevertheless, and this is perhaps the point of what I am writing, whether and how we act on our desires can be subjected to conscious choice.

We may not be immune to the deception of desire, but we can occasionally see through the veil and decide to not be enslaved by the desire. It is possible to undermine our self-deception and to behave beyond the illusion.

Maybe this helps to untangle an apparent contradiction in a saying of Jesus. Two of his biographers record Jesus as saying “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves” (Luke 9:23, Matthew 16:24) and yet they also note that in the next breath Jesus asks “What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?” Which is it? Are we commanded to deny ourselves, to give up what is most dear to us? Or are we advised that it serves no good whatsoever to give up ourselves?

One suspects that Jesus has seen through the deception of desire. He knows that gaining everything we desire would not bring the wholeness we seek. On the contrary, coerced by our desires, we lose our very selves. But by questioning our desires, perhaps we can dispel the glamour enough to decide beyond desire. Perhaps by understanding the illusion we can regain our true selves.



Monday, 22 September 2014

Everything is holy now

Although life has been hard going the last few years – well actually, because life has been hard going the last few years – I'm no longer so black and white in the way I see many things. I used to think the alternative to black and white was an unattractive gradient of grey. But as my friend Annabella has suggested, there is another outlook: to see the world in full colour! Even hurt and brokenness is richly textured and infused with God.

Peter Mayer's Holy Now (nice live version) captures that transformation well.

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Identity: Volf, Žižek and Rollins

While reading Miroslav Volf's commentary* on 1 Peter I was struck by his thoughts on how the church establishes its identity in the world.

By describing Christians as aliens and strangers in the world, Peter establishes a clear difference between the church and the culture that surrounds it. Volf asserts that, to Peter at least, "It is Christian identity that creates difference from the social environment, not the other way around."

That dynamic is not what normally happens. More commonly, individuals and groups form their identity through the negative process of rejecting the beliefs and practices of others. We define ourselves as "not them". But rejecting the other in order to define ourselves is an oppositional stance that almost inevitably produces resentment and conflict. It makes us insecure and defensive even at the same moment as we are acting superior and aggressive. "We have to push others away from ourselves and keep them at a distance, and we have to close ourselves off from others to keep ourselves pure of their taint."

Peter's alternative is to establish his community's identity through copying from God (1:15-17) and Jesus (2:21-24). He encourages the community to be self-controlled; to be holy; to love deeply from the heart; rid themselves of malice, deceit, hypocrisy, envy and slander; to recognise themselves as a people belonging to God; submit to authorities and to each other; live in harmony with each other; speak to others with gentleness and respect; rejoice in suffering; etc. None of Peter's exhortations directly question or criticise those outside the community.

Peter surely knows that his advice will set the community apart as something different. He even expects it will result in alienation and persecution. Knowing that, he nevertheless wants to be part of a community that does not repay evil with evil but with a blessing. "But how can people give up violence in the midst of a life-threatening conflict if their identity is wrapped up in rejecting the beliefs and practices of their enemies? Only those who refuse to be defined by their enemies can bless them."

This dovetails perfectly with Žižek's recent comments on the insecurity of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS). Whereas a true fundamentalist shows an "absence of resentment and envy, the deep indifference towards the nonbelievers’ way of life",  the terrorist pseudo-fundamentalists lack true conviction and secretly consider themselves inferior. They have already internalised the judgement of the surrounding culture and measure themselves by that judgement. By defining their identity in contra-distinction to "the West" they have done the opposite of what Peter calls the Christian community to do.

Volf's interpretation also connects with Peter Rollins' claim that the Christian community is a place to eschew all identity (Chapter 5 of The Idolatry of God ). On the surface, the two views may seem contradictory. Volf is proposing a specific formulation of Christian and church identity, whereas Rollins argues that Paul, especially in Galatians 3:28, intends to subvert all religious, political and biological identities. For Rollins that radical subversion is a continual process that must even subvert any "Christian" identity.

But Rollins is big on paradox and can also write that "One's concrete identity continues to exist, but it is now held differently." His point is not that we no longer have any identity but that we hold our identities lightly, and that is very similar to Volf's "soft difference". I don’t want to imply that they share the same view: Volf's involves a degree of personal assurance (people who are "secure in their God") that Rollins' considers idolatrous. But they both wish for forms of personal and communal identity that do not fear the Other, and that consequently have no need to subordinate, blame or impose on others.


* Volf, Miroslav. 1994. ‘Soft Difference: Theological Reflections on the Relation Between Church and Culture in 1 Peter’. Ex Auditu 10: 15–30.

Thursday, 28 August 2014

What God has torn let no one stitch together

At a Peter Rollins event last night, one participant spoke of how he has lost Jesus and wondered if he was hiding behind some curtain. Someone else countered that the curtain has been torn - I assume referring to (Matthew 27:51.

Peter didn’t pick up that theme, although I know it is at the centre of his upcoming book, The Divine Magician: The Disappearance of Religion and the Discovery of Faith. What was revealed behind the curtain in the Temple when it was torn from top to bottom? We'll wait and see how Peter answers that when the book arrives, but I'm sure the answer is going to be along the lines of "Nothing". There was nothing there, and the core outcome of the crucifixion was to reveal the emptiness that often hides behind the curtain of religion.

The curtain in the Temple marked a holy place into which none but the High Priest was allowed. By tearing the curtain, God declared that there was no such space, nowhere that needed to be hidden, and no-one who needed to be kept away.

The thought came to me that too much of institutional church history looks like an attempt to stitch the rent curtain back together again. Have we been guilty of hiding God behind facades of belief? What curtains (or even brick walls!) do we erect that create some false "holy place" to which we deny others access?

Sunday, 27 April 2014

Oceans is a dangerous song

(Originally posted at Men of Strength on 1 March 2014.)

At church this morning we sang Oceans again. Yikes! that is a scarey song!
“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
… Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander …”
I advise you to think carefully before  you voice that request to God. The place of infinite trust is not likely to be a comfortable place. In fact it is guaranteed to be seriously uncomfortable. Within the borders of my comfort zone I rarely need to trust God. Sometimes I can convince myself that I am trusting God, when actually I know that even if the water is over my head I am a pretty good swimmer. But the real place of unbounded trust may involve betrayal, loneliness, poverty, weakness, sickness, loss, failure. You may drown.

That song always reminds me of what has become known as the Wesley Covenant Prayer, which shares the same dangerous idea of consciously giving God permission to do whatever God wants with us.

Only the naïve or brave can say that prayer or sing Oceans.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Released from retribution

An unstated assumption that underlies a lot of my culture's thinking is that evil deserves to be punished. As of today, I no longer believe it.

That change of heart comes from a long line of influences.
  • I read Butler's Erewhon way back about 1985. It's a humourous saga in the same genre as Gulliver's Travels, in which a lost traveller finds a land where physical sickness is punished but criminals are given medical attention.
  • I started a post-grad degree on the topic of forgiveness in mid 1990's and read Murphy and Hampton's wonderful book Forgiveness and Mercy. In that book and other readings at the time I learnt a lot about the retributive principle behind most modern law but also that there are other approaches to justice, including approaches that focus on restoration rather than punishment.
  • I've read plenty of Gandhi and Tutu and other apologists for non-violence. Come to think of it, I've read the Gospels for years!!! I've never been keen on the idea that people "deserve" anything, neither entitled to blessing nor deserving of punishment: the Bible makes plain that we live under grace rather than getting what we deserve.
  • More recently I have given away the belief that God is angry and vengeful, needing to inflict wrath on someone, if not on us then on Jesus. Reading Rob Bell and Rene Girard have helped along that path. Still reading Darrin Belousek's Atonement, Justice, and Peace to understand Jesus' death from a non-retributive point of view.

So why have I continued to believe, however implicitly, that the proper response, the just response, to wrong-doing is to punish the wrong-doer? The assumption has been so deeply ingrained that I have not been able to question it. It is woven into our legal system, into our understanding of God, into our approach to parenting, international relations, the "war on terror", asylum seekers, slave traffickers.

But it is foreign to the attitude shown by Jesus, and foreign to the image Jesus presents of God.

This fell into place for me when Belousek's book commented on these words of Jesus:
But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. (Matthew 5:44-45, NIV)

How does Jesus respond when betrayed by friends, unjustly treated in a legal system, and treated violently to the point of death? Does he show any signs of revenge? Any sign that the people harming him should fear punishment? Of course not! He says "Father forgive them"!

[I've gotta include an aside here to point out that Jesus was in the habit of forgiving people prior to dying as well. He did not need to die in order to be able to forgive people. Consequently, those who believe that Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God should have no problem understanding that God can forgive without Jesus having to die!]

Jesus tells his followers that the appropriate response to evil is love rather than retribution. But what Belousek showed me for the first time was the reason Jesus gives. Why should followers of Jesus not seek revenge? "That you may be children of your Father in heaven." That is, because God does not seek revenge and neither should God's children! God sends sun and rain equally on all people, not just those who deserve it. When we see someone metaphorically striking God on the cheek, we should never expect or hope that God will smite them, nor that God will swing to hit the "sinner" and clobber Jesus instead. Those who strike God on the cheek can expect God to turn the other cheek.

Perhaps I have found it hard to give up the idea that without retribution, people who commit horrible acts will just "get away with it". To eschew retribution can seem too soft and too tolerant of evils that really should be opposed. That misses the point. Certainly one alternative to retribution is to just accept any behaviour and not judge anything to be "evil". But that's certainly not the alternative Jesus promotes. His life stands in clear opposition to evil, and his death displays the power of love over evil. We can take the horror of real evil seriously and seek with all our heart, mind and strength to prevent, expose, and oppose evil, and to heal its consequences, without needing revenge or retributive punishment.

As I walked the streets of Wahroonga in the rain thinking that through, there was a moment of clarity and peace. Released from the need to support the retributive mind-set, I can all the more earnestly seek the well-being of even the most horrible people.

To my friends who figured this out a long time ago, sorry I have been so slow getting to this position. To my friends who still don't see it, come on guys! Catch up!

Friday, 4 April 2014

The Girard Reader

Just finished the rather daunting project of trying to understand Rene Girard through the selection of readings in The Girard Reader. Like most deconstructionist and phenomenological writers, Girard's style makes hard work for the reader! I was very pleased to read at least these main parts of the primary source material but in the end others probably explain Girardian thought better than Girard.

The part of the anthropological story that I think is still missing is what new possibilities the death of Christ brings to human society. Most of these readings focus on the way Christ deconstructs and undermines the dynamics of mimetic rivalry and scapegoating, but there is little on what alternative is created in its place. Girard claims that there is a form of mimesis that does not rely on rivalry: that we can copy Christ who copies a God who has no need to be our rival. But I'd like to see that in more detail.

I also find a core claim of Girard's insufficiently substantiated. He claims that our understanding that the victim can be innocent comes from the cross; that it is the influence of Christianity that has allowed modern society to side with the victim. He shows how this is hinted at throughout the Old Testament, and then more fully expressed in the Gospels. But was scapegoating really universal outside this Judeo-Christian tradition? Was there no other civilisation or philosophy in which some other mechanism was used to maintain social cohesion against the force of mimetic rivalry? Was there really no prior example of victims known to be innocent?