Ecclesiology and Ego, Trinity and Transformation

On October 26th, Under the Influence’s post “Christ, Christians and the Body Language of Transformation” defined right belief (orthodoxy), right practice (orthopraxy) and its own term “right transformation” (orthomorphosis.)  For good or ill, we either acknowledge or deny who we are: our true self is either unmasked or concealed by what we do or think.  Unfortunately, most religions accept a certain number of concepts and actions as orthodox.  In the hands of communal egotism, orthodoxy can assist in concealing, not revealing, the Church’s true self.

The Church exhibits “spiritual materialism” in its controversies about things sacred.  St. Paul talks about factions who say “I belong to Paul” or “I belong to Apollos.”  It’s because of  spiritual materialism that people were going around prioritizing their teacher over Jesus.  The Potlucks that followed early Eucharistic celebrations eventually went by the wayside, but Paul initially had to caution communities not to rush into “[Their] own suppers” at the expense of the Lord’s Supper, the Eucharist itself.  It’s because of Spiritual Materialism that people prioritized their own meals over the one bread of Christ.

With the exception of Saints and Yogis and Bodhisattvas, the ego renunciation task is incomplete.  Therefore, institutions are much more apt to be guilty of spiritual materialism—the appropriation of spiritual things as egoic merit badges.  Spiritually Materialistic institutions have a corporate ego that collects the “spiritual experiences” of the saints, looks for evidence of “heroic virtue” and extraordinary holiness, and reduces whole lives down to hagiographical paragraphs.  Orthodoxy is king in the Catholic Church, with orthopraxy coming in at a close and amorphous second. Orthomorphosis is nowhere to be found.   

We can confirm extraordinary holiness: we know when a saints intercession has defied physical laws but can be certain of their sanctity only after death.  There is necessary work yet to do.  We have only begun, in such spiritual gifts as “The Steps of Humility” in Benedict’s rule, to describe what a normal person looks like who, chastened by this life, has parted with his ego.   

Zen teachers, with a longstanding tradition of orthomorphosis, have the means, in spades, to measure transformation.  This allows them to more accurately diagnose, and more quickly let go of spiritual materialism’s empty promises.  Catholic School teachers are routinely charged with forming students in “knowledge of the faith” while the one thing that matters, the gift of faith itself, remains something teachers can neither impart nor evaluate.  The Buddhist author Adyashanti has said that enlightenment is judged by what’s absent: a lack of clinging to material goods or thoughts.  Ultimately what’s absent is an interior life, the “self inside our Selves”  that evaluates.  We don’t think about what grocery runs involve or what they mean, we just go buy eggs.  We crack them, make omelettes and move on to the next thing.  Catholic Schools are too preoccupied with the mental constructs of Catholicism to form students in such a renunciation.  Even if that preoccupation held no sway, even if renouncing ego were possible, Catholicism doesn’t have the codified tradition of orthomorphosis with which to facilitate it.

Lacking a program of orthomorphosis, the Church has no means to avoid egotistically appropriating spirituality.  In an atmosphere of Spiritual Materialism, careers in the Catholic Church are characterized by competition, and the commodification of spiritual knowledge. 

The Saints offer proof of this by the fact that they are forced to treat their spiritual accomplishments as qualifications.  St. Paul had a bit of a chip on his shoulder naturally.  But the only situation in which he boasted, as such, was when his qualifications as an apostle were called into question.  He expressed his qualifications (how many times he’d been shipwrecked or stoned) only when the spiritually materialistic Church insisted he do so.  He talked about the inner life of his own prayer, (somewhat feebly attributing it to “a man [he knew] in Christ). He talked about "getting caught up in the third heaven" only when ministering to others.  And he otherwise boasted of his weakness alone, (of the thorns in his flesh), and of his need for Jesus.  Paul’s ego, then, could do the self-protective work that Egos are made for, but could step out of the way when necessary. 

St. Paul said everything, knowledge included, will pass away, until the only thing that remains is faith, hope and love.  Because there are no standards for orthomorphosis, Catholic school students are told to love Jesus, and not taught to make his journey.  In the professional sphere we hang “professionalism” on knowledge.  “Masters” are those with academic degrees, not those who have undergone transformation.  While I can’t personally evaluate the genuineness of my transformation, my 7 years in the monastery are often viewed as a nice fringe benefit, foot-noted on my resumé.  Nothing has influenced my teaching and personal theology more, and yet “life experience is not qualification.” 

A church that has sussed out a coherent teaching on orthomorphosis would be able to judge individuals as “Masters” who have become, in heart, mind and bearing, like the Master himself.  That “becoming,” I suspect, is visible in the calmness of one’s expression, audible in how people speak, or don’t, of themselves.  It’s measurable by the relativized importance of self and the acceptance of reality. 

For readers new to theological psychobabble, the “Great Commission” is the sending out of the apostles. At least in the book of Acts, it took place after Christ’s Resurrection.  Jesus says to his apostles ““Go forth and preach the Gospel to all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”  Had the Church, at the Great Commission, been concerned with orthomorphosis, I’m convinced it would have changed the understanding of the great commission entirely.  In turn, a well developed tradition of orthomorphosis would have added a good bit, and perhaps changed entirely, the ensuing history of orthodoxy and orthopraxy.  To borrow a structure from the Nicean Creed, it’d be worthwhile to think about how orthomorphosis might look from a Trinitarian point of view.

The post “Not Two: on the Non-Dual Mind of Christ” talked about the Koanic worth of the phrase “in the name of Jesus.”  To do something “In the name” of a member of the trinity is to actualize what that person is about.  The Father is the locus of true identity, which contains both being and non being.  The Son is the Koan of koans, the embodiment of mu and the teacher of self-emptying.  The Spirit is the acceptance of reality, which encompasses both reality and unreality.  The Totality of the Godhead is the whole of reality: us as we are, experiencing reality as it is.

Because Orthodoxy is our oldest model for discipleship, to be baptized, these days, is to accept a certain number of philosophical statements about the Trinity.  Jesus has two natures.  The Trinity is three persons who share one nature.  The Spirit proceeds from the father and the Son, and the Church is One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic. Orthodoxy may indicate a stirring of the heart, but it may also remain a pure head-trip.  Orthomorphosisis is not as purely intellectual as the Creed.  We can’t answer a Koan, to say nothing of accept our suffering and death as the messiah did, unless we admit our fear, doubt and confusion, and learn to act in the face of it.  

From the point of view of orthomorphosis, Jesus redeems us from our false self, and we get glimpses of our True Self that’s hidden with Christ in God.  Unity with Christ has multidirectional effects: it unites us with God, (and our true identity,) and with the reality of the world, (both the demands of our “purgatorial predicament” and our own vocations.)  On the whole, the division between perceivers and the world they perceive falls away, leaving them with nothing but the anonymity of having been divinized. Following the lead of the perichoresis, they find their feet in the Trinity’s eternal waltz.

Union with our True Selves and with reality comes to fruition in peace of mind.  It pays dividends in a calm bearing.  Thich Nhat Hanh, in a 1966 letter to Fr. M. Louis Merton, said “We don’t teach meditation to the young monks.  They aren’t ready for it till they stop slamming doors.”  However much I believe prayer teaching should start early, this short statement bespeaks a connection between bearing and egoic detachment.  For Buddhists, it’s possible to evaluate when a student’s begun the process of distancing from the ego.  It’s possible to differentiate between the temporary egoic reprieves that come from “realization” and the permanent state of “enlightenment.”

Catholics can tell you what contemplation is.  Old monks have been praying for centuries that the novices will have the experience (so that, for Christ’s sake, they’ll finally calm down.)  Now that we know that the Desert Father’s “Eight Evil Thoughts” combine to form a single, ghostly identity called the Ego, it would require only slight attention to Catholic-Zen dialogue to describe what it looks like to gain permanent distance from it.  In short, Catholics are on the cusp of developing a Christian concept of enlightenment.  

Such a dialogue would bestow immeasurable gifts on the church.  Equipped with an articulated tradition of orthomorphosis and a Christian concept of enlightenment, we might be able to reserve the title “master” for the humble, instead of the intellectually accomplished.  We might be able to transmit, not just knowledge of Christ, but likeness to Christ, and institutionally recognize the resemblance.  I wish I could describe this for you from the inside out, but alas, my karmic assholery is too highly developed.

My namesake, Joshua Son of Nun, had the same problem.  When Eldad and Medad prophesied in the Israelite Camp, he asked Moses to stop them.  Moses response, his great wish, took things in another direction.  He responded “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his Spirit on them.”  The book of Acts writes “In the last days, the Lord declares “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.  Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions.”  God can keep the visions and the prophesy.  I’d be content if we had a fuller vision of what it’s like to be humble: in other words, what it’s like to be healthy and normal.  Under the Influence is really stoked to work toward describing that more fully.  Until then, you will find its author waiting behind its pages, odd and hopeful as ever.