THE PRINCIPLE OF GIFT
(Realign Your Thinking, Realign Your Life)
LAURIE SONES
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Laurie Sones
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1 - What is the Universe about?
Chapter 3 - The Principle of Gift
Chapter 4 - New Thoughts on Old Subjects
In this deliberately short work I attempt to show why creativity is the critical factor for individuals in their lives, and I introduce and explain a crucial fundamental of the universe attached to the concept. That fundamental I have called The Principle of Gift. In order to simplify things I will be making quantum leaps in thinking. Should the reader require a greater step-by-step logic then this can be found in my original more in-depth work, A Pocketful of Reasoning.
CHAPTER 1. WHAT IS THE UNIVERSE ABOUT?
I like Stephen Hawking. Who doesn’t? He is the lovable academic, a great scientist, a visionary with a sense of humour. He is also something of a hero given his achievements in light of physical limitation. In the early 1980’s Hawking stated, “I think there are clearly religious implications whenever you start to discuss the origins of the universe”.(1) The implication there could be a sort of God the Creator behind universe construction was a big thing for a scientist to say. Maybe too bigger a thing, as in 2010, Hawking, in his more recent book The Grand Design,(2) seemed to revoke the previous opinion, stating that “spontaneous creation” appeared to be the impulse for universal existence. “Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. It is not necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going.” So even the brilliant Hawking, it seems, can be torn when confronting the dilemma all of us face when reflecting on how our universe came about. Yet we do need answers on this subject in order to fathom things about ourselves. Leading off from questions about the universe and its formation are the big questions for the individual of what we are and what we are doing here.
The fact is that universal creation theory has always been trapped between the two arguments. On one side there is the “God/Creator” theory, on the other the “Spontaneous or continuous existence”. Those in favour of a God argue it simply doesn’t make sense that the universe can just create itself or just happen to be there. There would need to be some sort of creative impulse to kick things off. They would ask Hawking exactly where he thought gravity came from. Those on the other side of the fence reply that if there was a God then who created “Him”? In the end we are forced to choose between these two arguments neither of which can be proved right or wrong. Selection of either is nothing more than a belief.
I am on the “God/Creator” side of things and there is a reason for that. Purpose.Unlike Stephen Hawking 2010, I simply cannot accept that the universe with its extraordinary diversity and beauty could just appear out of nothing or just be there, all with no reason whatsoever. It makes much more sense to have a universe created, provided we can identify a purpose for that creation. If we can show purpose then we can start to understand the processes involved and how we, as individuals, can make the best of our lives by working in line with those processes. But could there be a purpose? Yes, but it is slightly complex. Let’s look
A big clue to a purpose lies in that word diversity. The universe is made up of opposites. Light/dark, fast/slow huge/tiny etc… The concept of opposites introduces the notion of comparison. We study the differences between one thing and another, and from that we make judgements. We say: “X means Y”. A cup means a small drinking vessel, not a knife or a plate. But what does “small” mean, unless we have used it in comparison with, say, “huge” and “tiny”? Only once we’ve made a comparison can we ascertain that “small” covers a particular size range, and so on. Without comparison of objects, how could we arrive even at the meaning of “cup”? If all things were the same and remained so, how would we be able to differentiate and judge between them? How would we be able to learn?
So, could we have started with a “God/Creator” that had no comparisons but required them? That would certainly identify a purpose. Ancient philosophies think so. Carl Jung referring to Taoism said, “The sages of old took as their starting point a state when the existence of things had not yet begun”. He continued:
“That is indeed the extreme limit beyond which you cannot go. The next assumption was that though things existed, they had not yet begun to be separated. The next, that though things were separated in a sense, affirmation and negation [I assume this to mean positive and negative, yes and no, the basic components of objective judgement] had not yet begun.... When affirmation and negation came into being...then came one-sided attachments.”(3)
That starting point is mind-boggling. In such a state not only would we not have things, we would also not have even the matter from which things could be assembled. There would be nothing in space because even space itself would not yet exist. Without space there is no need for the comparative concept of time. Light would also be unable to exist without space to exist in. We often regard space as nothingness, but it’s very much attached to existence of some sort. It is because it’s space; it has dimensions. It is not nothing.
Interestingly, Jung refers to the existence of “things”, in the plural (rather than “thing” in the singular). “Existence of things” indeed may not have begun at commencement, but existence of one “thing” might. It is true that existence, in our terms, always has an inherently “comparative” essence and where you have plurality you will have that comparison, but this type of existence simply may not be at the starting point of it all.
Lao Tsu in the Tao Te Ching writes:
“There is something formless yet complete that existed before heaven and earth. How still! How empty! Dependent on nothing, unchanging, all pervading, unfailing.”(4)
The Chinese have a concept they call Wu ji, the “non-beginning”, which Richard Wilhelm, in his notable translation of the Tao Te Ching, interprets as:
“...all differences are as yet unseparated and intermingled with one another...This is, in a sense, the mere potentiality of existence...[as we know it].”(5)
What’s being suggested here is the creative separation of “things” within something that is intrinsically a whole. That wholeness would have no boundaries, outward or inward, and no differentiations of form, colour, texture—in fact no differentiations whatsoever. We might call this condition a “state of uniformity”. If we speculate that the “wholeness” would be able somehow to create our “comparative” sort of existence from its own “non-comparative” sort, we could justifiably use the word Force to describe it, that term being defined as energy, strength, efficacy. The apparently enormous results of the Force’s creativity might lead us to extend its definition to include such concepts as authority, intelligence and sensitivity.
What would a universe of comparatives give the Force? What would be the purpose of it? The answer is simply this; an understanding of itself. Imagine the Force as an old man, ancient in stature, yet timeless in nature. He sits perfectly alone with his thoughts:
“The puzzle is I don’t know exactly what I am. Nothing seems to exist apart from me, so I suppose I can assume I am all. However, this is a very unsatisfactory definition of myself. If something did actually exist outside me, I’d be able to compare myself to it and this would tell me much more about myself, whether I’m strong or weak, big or small...I’ll do something to begin an exploration by starting with this premise:
I'll assume I’m all there is, but how would it feel to me if I wasn’t, and something existed outside me? What would I do; how would I behave; how would I reconcile the situation? More importantly, what would I learn about myself and what I am? In order to find out I’ll need to act.”
The problem of being “all” is that this tells the Force little or nothing of its ability and potential. Because what a thing is, is best measured by what it can do, a unitary existence renders the Force incapable of exploring what it is, as what it can do is tied completely by its state of uniformity. The assessment or measurement of anything (in this case “what I am”) is, as said previously, always linked to the notion of comparison. In our world, we say: “this weighs one kilo”, which means it isn’t half a kilo or two kilos. By measuring we are defining, and by defining we are attaching meaning. In a state of uniformity, where comparison and therefore measurement are impossible, there can be no definition and no meaning.
He smiles to himself and wags a forefinger:
“The only avenue open to me is to carry out an experiment within myself.”
The old man contemplates himself deeply; in the end, he finds he can split himself mentally into several pieces. He visualizes lines of differentiation between them, and comprehends the concept of space, and with it time also. He labels these separate pieces, knowing they are not really separate at all. He allows and encourages them to interact and watches intently. He can feel they are in his control, but he studies the movements and learns.
The old man continues his mental construction:
“Within the experiment it would be best to have the greatest variety of interactive forms to give the widest of experiences. Of course, all forms will, of necessity, be made from my own essence. The experiment is, after all, only an internal one. But I mustn’t forget that I’ll require at least one form that equates to the way I feel I am, that represents me. This way not only can I simulate myself interacting with other things but also simulate a confrontation of myself, with myself. That should be interesting!”
Nature produces a variety of forms that is essentially infinite. Man is one of those forms and no different to the rest of Nature except in one aspect, that of creativity. Whilst creativity in standard terms amounts to no more than a rearrangement of existing items rather than a making of something actually new, Man does create something really new; “new meaning”. He does this by using his conscious reasoning, a faculty other animals and parts of Nature do not have. That Man is different from Nature does not preclude that he emanated from the same source; in so many ways he is clearly a part of Nature. It is only in the realm of creativity that his scope seems to extend beyond that of the natural world. Not that this makes Nature a lesser partner. Without Nature there would be no diverse components available for comparison within the “experiment”. Nor is Nature a sleeping partner; it might seem to remain unchanged through time, yet its parts have their own slow, but nonetheless evolutionary, patterns.
From this rationale we may conclude that:
a. because the source of creation, the energy of the Force, is of a non-comparative type, all things made from it must be the same in their essence.
b. Man’s essence, the true basis of his being, must then be identical to each and all of the other forms of Nature, large and small, singular or combined.
c. the difference between Nature and Man thus lies not in essence, but in the way the essence functions in Man’s form.
Of course, the essence has variable form within Nature too. A bird is different from a reptile, a plant from a stone. Similarly, we can observe large differences between the individuals that make up Man. But all these variations are merely Nature’s clothes and Nature’s differences. There remains this functional disparity between Man and Nature.
If, for a moment, we characterize all classes of form in the universe as types of fruit, then Man might be the equivalent of, say, apple, whereas other forms of Nature would be orange, banana and so on. In this analogy the subdivision of Man, by, for example, colour or ethnic origin, indicates only the existence of different varieties of apple. But even so, each individual apple is still that bit different from any other, even one of its own particular variety. Moreover, within each unique specimen of humankind lies not only an essence in common with Nature (“fruitness”) but also a common function of that essence shared not with all natural forms (other fruits) but only with members of its own type (apples only). That common function, we have said, is the production of new meaning through use of conscious reasoning. The fulfilment of this function is attached to Man’s instinctive ability to create.
Now it is no coincidence that the main feature of the Force, as far as we are able to comprehend it, is, likewise, an ability to create. We could go further and say that this feature is more than just an ability—it is a will, it is an instinct. Indeed it is a creative instinct, just like Man’s. Man, in this sense, seems to have been “made in the image of his creator”, one who is an overridingly instinctive creator.(6)
That’s important. Not only is Man formed from the essence of the Force, in his genetic make-up supplied by Nature, but his function fully represents the Force itself. Only in this way could what Man does be experienced by the Force as if it were truly of itself.(7) Imagine a child who places a doll (or in this case a category of dolls: Man), which he considers to be the equivalent of himself and which acts like him, in amongst other toys that do not have that equivalence (Nature). The child’s internal relationship with the toys would then be changed from one of being “their God” to one of being (in the form of the special doll) “their equal”. The child would then be able to interact with them on the basis of that equality—not at variance with them, and no longer in direct control of them. Now we can see how essential to the “experiment” it is for there to be both a variety of form that is fully representative of the Force’s potential and varieties that are not. Between these categories, external interactions of the Force with things that are not itself, can be simulated.
Man is functionally identical to the Force the same way clones are to the organisms they are cloned from. He is not as the Force is in its totality (amongst other things he is confined within a physical body), yet in experiencing and making meaning within the “experiment”, he is every bit as the Force is, having the fullest form of what the Force is and does within his own make-up. We can liken this essence of Man to a drop of water taken from the sea. The droplet is not the sea itself, but it does have its essential qualities. It is in effect a mini-sea, simply having a different position from the original sea by having been detached from it. Each mini-sea (each individual), once extracted, maintains a slightly different perspective both to the sea itself and to any other mini-sea, by virtue of its unique situation.
Man is replicated in a mixture of guises, and each individual is himself a unique variant of that mixture. This property allows the Force to enjoy not only multiple interactions between the full representations of itself (Man) and the forms of Nature, but also the interactions of those full representations with each other. The Force comes face to face with itself in the interfaces between people.
Man, then, is a physical representation of the Force, creating in a similar way, and yet able also to produce the meaning that the Force, in its state of indivisible uniformity, is unable to do. We, as individuals, are critically unique creations within that denomination.
CHAPTER 3. THE PRINCIPLE OF GIFT
How are we, as individuals then, supposed to proceed from here? We are clearly creative beings with a function but how do we make the best of that? If the universe had a “rule of thumb” relating to creativity maybe we could follow that rule. We are part of that universe and would be swimming with the tide rather than against it. We would be creating in line with the universe and that would surely be something to enable us to live successful lives and reconcile the value of our existence. Well, The Principle of Gift is that rule.
It might be construed that the basis of the cosmic system is one of “take”; the “experiment” is set up in order to extract answers, to take answers out. But this interpretation seems to indicate the operation of a law of diminishing returns. As the system is internal and therefore has natural conceptual limits, the more you take out of it the less there is left to take out from. The concept of “take” appears totally non-expansive; rather it suggests contraction, at odds with the notion that creativity is an all-win state in which you end up with growth by way of increased and expanded meaning.
Although the receipt of information (answering the premise’s question, “what would it be like?”) might be the object of the universal system/experiment, it is not its primary movement, because without the construction of a finite universe there could be no information to come back. And so, if the construction can be construed as the opposite of the receipt it produces, it can be termed gift (“give” being the opposite of “receive” and of “take”). Thus it can be reasoned that the primary cosmic movement is one of gift, and we can label the concept the “Principle of Gift”. This indeed is the point from which all else originates. As Rudolf Steiner writes:
“We must realise that our own existence is a gift from the whole universe.”(8)
We might extend the application of his statement to envisage the universe itself as a gift of creation from the “Creator”. Of course, the Principle of Gift is equally as applicable to any single event, decision, or action of the individual as to the movement of the system overall. In having the same essence as the Creator, Man is conceptually the Creator, and the same primary rules of engagement apply as to all things and beings (see Chapter 2). Hence, in order to create effectively, it makes sense for us, as individuals, to apply the Principle of Gift in our behaviour. If we don’t, we are not tapping into the full flow and energy of the system, and the effectiveness of our actions will reflect that lack.
“What!” we may say. “Have we got to give away everything we have, give up everything we have built, the physical means of our security, our property, money and valuables?” No, our egos can remain calm! The Principle of Gift is not to do with giving anything away, or with giving anything up. Those terms apply only to a restrictive scenario of gain and loss. The Principle of Gift could not be aligned with such opposites; its origin is in the primary movement for setting up the universal system in which objective and opposing positions simply would not exist. Whilst the difficulty of grappling with comparatives faces all humans (furnished as we are with the faculty of conscious reasoning, which requires us to deliberate in order to produce meaning), the Force itself would have no such restrictions. It couldn’t create in those terms because there would be no polarities to consider; no “right and wrong”, no “me and you” or “gain and loss” to have to make decisions about. Such comparatives are only useable within the structures of the “experiment” of life. No, the Force creates simply because it is creative. It achieves this creativity through the Principle of Gift, one that we may transcribe not as “giving away” or “giving up”, but of “giving out”.
Underlying “giving out” is the notion that, whatever you create, it should have in it a consideration of the purpose and flow of the whole system of which it is an integral part. In one form this idea simply represents an extension of the sense of mutual benefit. But equally, it expresses the difference between creating constructively and merely grabbing what is needed to solve a problem (or boost an ego) without due consideration of others’ needs. We might ask ourselves whether our decisions are always based on the good of all, even when this “all” includes ourselves. Or is their intended benefit more usually restricted to just us and our own immediate realm?
Attempts to create, of yourself, by yourself, for yourself, are not genuinely very creative, as they don’t include any positive and constructive interaction with other things and people. Creative interaction, we reason, is the best way of making meaning. Attempts to isolate yourself from a system of which you are an intrinsic part can only prove unfruitful for you, and hold up your progress (as well as that of the system overall). The ideal of “giving out” in the Principle of Gift, which extends motive and action beyond self-requirement, elevates the whole system in general, and with it you in particular. It’s not a question of putting yourself second, more a question of bringing others’ interests up to level with yours.
The effect of “giving out” will, of necessity, be reception, since in reality the system is internal. The ability to receive is thus directly proportional to the ability first to give out. Natural justice will operate; if we give out, we will receive back. The shout into the valley from the mountain always gets its echo in reply; the echo can never initiate the shout.
If then, in the acts of our creativity, we employ the ideals of the Principle of Gift, we should expect and get a proportionate response, shouldn’t we? Yes and no! Yes, we will, based on natural justice, be repaid amply; but, no, and here’s the catch, we will not necessarily be able to show direct cause and effect. The universe is perfectly balanced but that balance is deliberately non-provable. Time-lines are stretched too far and an unconscious causality (“influencality”) may also sometimes be involved. The time-frame of life that we might use to judge whether we are getting a fair deal or not may be simply too limited.
Despite those caveats, it does appear that in operating the Principle of Gift consciously and through free will, the return is frequently very rapid indeed, provided that it is not in any way pressed for or demanded. In this way, the system acts as a test of genuine motives. Hence it would be no good speculating that if you give out “A” over there you should receive “B” back over here. That merely amounts to attempting to manipulate the system to your perceived requirements, and disappointment will usually follow. The recognition of such returns as do come can also prove difficult, but, by observation and “feel”, it can be achieved with practice, if linked to a certain self-honesty. It is worth remembering that the echo is never heard as an exact replica of the shout.
Alongside The Principle of Gift there is another important rule of creativity. It is that creativity is always positive. It is not merely a blocking of things we don’t want or even a solving of problems that come along, but a deliberate putting into place of the things we do want by “giving out” and creating them in line with the whole system. Robert Fritz, a best-selling writer on creative process, writes:
“When you create, you align yourself with your most natural state of being. As a consequence, many difficulties of your life will either disappear or will no longer be important issues for you. This alignment with yourself will not come from attempting to ‘solve your problems’ but from creating what most matters to you.”(9)
He reiterates:
“No matter what your problems are, for the most part, solving them won’t solve them. You will always have a new problem if you do not know how to create what you want.”(10)
We can realign our lives right now by applying these simple principles.
It is important to note that to create and harmonize in this world of opposites isn’t to end up with a stalemate. Neither is it to seek to converge all things into one and the same. That would be like a painter mixing all the colours together and only ever painting in the one resultant hue, a muddy brown. Great painters are those who exploit the differences among colours, utilizing contrast in the highest ideals of beauty and creation. That is how we, too, best utilize our world of comparatives in our quest for making our lives worthwhile: to create with them and their distinctive differences.
The directive for the individual is now clear. It’s not a matter of struggling blindly on, but of allowing creativity, our essential tool and talent, to lead the way forward for positive action. If we could just embrace our creativity, flanked as it is by the Principle of Gift which supplies the element of supreme quality, we really would have a very different perspective on life and our own lives. Each of us would be able to recognize our individual worth and our real influence on events. This evaluation would have, at its base, our accepted position as creators of unique meaning via both the discovery and the utilization of our unique set of gifts, and the confronting and overcoming of our unique set of restrictions and limitations. It would be understood that only I can be like me, only you like you, and nobody else. Respect for each other’s position, and indeed for the position of all things and beings, would be a natural consequence.
CHAPTER 4. NEW THOUGHTS ON OLD SUBJECTS
Each person is first and foremost a creative being. This is their natural predisposition, geared to understanding themselves and the universe around them. Their individualism is paramount and their take on life different to all other people. It’s the challenge and purpose of each to find their own meaning, but all will need to utilize well their creative interactions with others in order to achieve it more fully. Often the individual becomes something of a problem-solver and too frequently this that is mistaken for his primary purpose. The label of problem-solver unnecessarily restricts the full remit. There’s a vast difference between mending something and creating something. Problem-solving is directed at the first of these, but true creativity involves both. Commonly we focus only on the first and never at all on the second. It’s easier to be a critic than a creator. But which is more comprehensive and fulfilling?
The elements of creativity are not at all well understood. Creativity is often thought of as something only certain people are gifted with; yet in fact it is a natural human state that simply needs its basic fundamental of the Principle of Gift to be understood and applied to it. Creating is about achieving despite the problems that arise during the creative process. It isn’t a case of just fighting against and trying to repair what is, rather of using and developing it. There’s no point in wishing things to instantly be different from what they are. We can’t change present reality—but we can act creatively upon it. We can act so that things are better in the future, simply by using the existing potential. Rather than asking, “How can we change the present situation?”, it’s usually better to ask: “To what best creative use can we put and develop that situation?”
Below are some new thoughts on old subjects, contrived through creativity and The Principle of Gift being applied to them.
1. CONTROL
Man is greatly involved in attempts to control. This makes sense, doesn’t it? He needs to control his environment to ensure his survival. Isn’t attempting to control Nature justifiable when he needs to meet the requirements of food and shelter? And, of course, Man must also impose some controls on his fellows if he’s to have a civilized society. Without control, where would we be? Where indeed! Because it depends what type of control you’re talking about. In controlling, doesn’t Man so often go beyond his remit? What’s behind the control imposed through torture, violence, exploitation, greed, mental cruelty, and neglect? Where’s it all going wrong? Well, the sequence might be as follows:
First, our choice of starting-point for exercising control is generally our lack of trust in the universal system. We say we do not know how it works because we cannot find concrete proofs for it. This “not knowing” plays into the hands of our fears. We become afraid of what we don’t know and therefore can’t control; death is a simple but powerful example of this. Our fears then produce an inevitable response: if we don’t control the things we think we do know then they will control us. Now the real problem is exposed; the fear of being controlled. We’ve been sucked into the game of control and counter-control, a game we can’t possibly win, and, in truth, wouldn’t want to win.
Suppose for a moment you did control everything. At first, of course, the novelty of getting everything your own way would be marvellous. You could pick where to be, who to be with, what to own, what to do—and even who to be. All before you would be helpless to resist. But just how much would you learn about yourself, and how soon would it be before boredom sets in? Goethe’s Faust sells his soul to the Devil in return for such control but finds that the bargain can’t fulfil him. Many big lottery winners end up either unhappy or back where they started financially, or both. The price required of Faust was somewhat larger!
When we joke with our friends about the “good old days”, do we usually reminiscence about times when everything went exactly to plan and we had complete control of our circumstances? Or do we choose much more often to recall the times when everything seemed to go wrong and yet somehow we managed to find a way through? And looking back, in which of these was the most learning achieved? Of course, now those escapades are in the past they’ve returned to our control, so we can afford to laugh. But at the time...? Nevertheless, we do so often count those “out of control” experiences as among our best.
So, is the answer to relinquish all control and go for totally uninhibited self-expression? This option would surely produce complete mayhem. No, what we need to do is relinquish control in those areas where we can’t, in reality, impose it; and expand control further where we might expect to have complete command, that is, in choosing to direct our energy towards higher levels of interactive creativity. By this approach we can actually relish not having control. And the real benefits are greater, too. Creative energy is wasted when it’s used to suppress and constrict. Its natural role lies in its power to work with other things and people, not against them. If the term “control” does have an application here, it is in adapting our talents within such interactions in order to produce maximum mutual benefit in line with the principles of the cosmic system.
Besides, we can’t control Nature, even if mistakenly we think we can. The same can be said of people. The human spirit can’t be suppressed forever. In replacing constriction with co-operation we can learn far more, and in a much more pleasurable way. At first, to work with what you now begin to accept you don’t, and can’t, have any real control over, is daunting. But, by diverting and reapplying elements of that control to the flow of your energies, you may savour the challenges and excitements of the unpredictable, with spectacular results.
2. MORALITY
In a televised discussion on the notion of drawing up a “moral code” for use in schools and colleges, a young pupil asked (wryly): “Whose moral code should be chosen?” She went on to point out that any code based on many a politician’s personal life was unlikely to be appropriate! Is there a universal moral code?
Just as the individual’s meaning of himself and life in general differs from that of all others, so too will his morality differ. That is to say, morality is personal issue. That statement may sound dangerous. Surely, much as with the relinquishing of all control, there would be havoc if everyone applied their individual morality irrespective of all others. Two points can be made here.
1. People do apply their own morality, to a greater or lesser extent. Society, through laws, may attempt to lead us in certain directions, but very often the individual will break ranks by disobeying the law and upholding a personal principle. The establishment may condemn all such activities as criminal, but the public may well disagree, even calling them heroic. Either way, society at large has survived pretty well to date.
2. To identify morality with personal responsibility doesn’t presage an “everyone-for-themselves” policy in which no effective action can be taken for society as a whole. It indicates merely that attempts to control from the centre are better replaced by a morality constructed through the creative interaction of attaining personal agreement. Otherwise, we’re back to the description of control outlined above.
In essence, the only morality that each of us needs to concentrate on is his own. This morality is better not led by materialism, physical control of others, or even political power, but by personal reasoning. Ever assisted by new information and meaning, that reasoning will allow and encourage our unique morality to evolve yet further.
As for universal codes, Marianne Williamson has written:
“...God doesn’t need us to police the universe.”(11)
So, no matter how virtuous we may consider ourselves, we shouldn’t attempt forcibly to impose a code on others. The code might be correct in essence, but to sanctimoniously compel others to adopt it, and so suppress their free will, is wholly unconstructive. Individual freedom of action is vital. It’s short-sighted to contend that the suppression of free will is any more than a very temporary bandaging of deep wounds. There may be a case for bandaging in order to “stabilize the patient”, but, in the longer term, healing can only come from within the individual himself, by his choosing freely to better use his gifts of creativity and reasoning —ideally in combination with others who’ve chosen to do the same. Only then can all parties construct the most effective way forward for themselves, both as individuals and groups. Creative support and help for people is one thing, the imposition of will on them quite another. Morality is a personal freedom and a personal responsibility.
The celebrated German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) said:
“...to every rational being possessed of a will we must also lend the idea of freedom as the only one under which he can act....”
Rudolf Steiner states:
“Yet we cannot think the concept of the human through to the end without arriving at the ‘free spirit’ as the purest expression of human nature. Indeed, we are only truly human to the extent that we are free.”(12)
The freedom to choose our own morality is the same freedom used in the voluntary acts of “giving out” under The Principle of Gift, which can express and form the heights of creative action. Unwarranted imposition on our choice suppresses unnecessarily our creativity. Leadership by self-example, rather than directive, is a more effective way of promoting useful change in others. It may be a slower process, but it ends up with far more solid results. As R.H.Geer writes:
“In proper leadership of my own life, I find I demonstrate leadership for others. In pursuit of the right guidance for myself, I find I convey guidance to those around me.”(13)
3. INITIATIVE AND RESISTANCE
It’s easy to acknowledge initiative as a relevant and useful force within the creative actions of “giving out”. In initiating action we begin a creative sequence. When such sequences are blocked by persons or circumstances, however, frustration can quickly set in, along with a questioning of our decision to take the creative path and sometimes even a certain paranoia. This blocking we can call resistance.
Despite superficial appearances to the contrary, resistance, in whatever form it takes, is, like its counterpart initiative, a creativity at work. Here, simply, are two reciprocal energies operating in a world of objectivity where all things appear as having opposites. The pair, both creative forces, work to provide balanced movement/evolution through which progress is more readily achieved. They’re at their most efficient when recognized and utilized as equally valuable, interdependent parts of true creative activity (which takes account not just of an individual’s ego requirements but also of the needs of a complete spectrum of forces and movements).
Whilst it’s not difficult to regard initiative, with its dynamic traits, as creative, resistance is less easily valued, though it really ought not to be. To view resistance as destructive just because it can stall or stop initiatives, is no more warranted than to value initiative automatically as creative, just because of its dynamism. Nuclear bombs are similarly dynamic. Resistance does act creatively, this through its censorship of our over-exuberance in certain initiatives, much like a parent who resists the sometimes rash and dangerous actions of a child who knows no better at the time. Resistance can allow us to reflect upon, and learn from, initiatives. Often it draws attention to the motives behind blunted actions, the nature of which may be somewhat off-line (although not always deliberately so).
To illustrate the point, during work on my first book the memory in my computer became so badly corrupted that a valued (but not copied) segment of the text was permanently lost. It was a bad time for me, and worse for those unfortunate enough to be around me. I was extremely angry at the loss, not least because, to my mind, it denied me the chance to present information that might be useful in addressing philosophical and moral questions—trying “to make the world a better place”. All writing ceased forthwith. It was two months before I began to question whether my bitterness was more egotistic than altruistic. On finding that it was, I learnt valuable lessons about myself, and one outcome was that a book of eight chapters became one of ten!
Somewhere along the way the book-writing initiative had, without my conscious desire or knowledge, become heavily ego-weighted. The work had been losing impetus. I couldn’t see it, although others close to me had remarked that my dedication to it (just before the computer failure) seemed more like desperation. Resistance rescued the situation, although it took a little time for this ungrateful writer to recognize it, and to go on to create from it. A little later, after this self-revelation, a friend called to tell me that somehow he’d managed miraculously to rescue all but a paragraph or so of the lost work.
Though resistance often leads us to water, it’s up to us whether we choose to drink. If not at that time, then we can expect to at another. We might smooth our passage at these junctures by asking “What piece of learning did I miss?”
The story of the wayward computer also illustrates the difference between taking initiative and trying to take control. Attempts to control are actions in which only the result that we’ve decided we want and need is acceptable. We don’t learn very much from this, and often resistance will step in to drive home the message. Unlike control, initiative more resembles open-ended experimentation. We try something we feel is right, then accept and deal with the outcome, including any vested resistance, as responsibly as we can. We learn, whatever.
In conclusion, we might say this about our dealings with initiative and resistance in everyday life:
1. We should initiate where it’s felt to be creative and backed by valid motives.
2. Resistance shouldn’t be feared, even though it’s almost bound to arise at some stage in all situations.
3. When resistance does occur, it shouldn’t be seen as a condemnation of initiative, merely a natural balancing and/or smoothing of progress, and an opportunity to learn through reflection before starting “forwards” again.
Not all things are achieved instantly and without recursion, and real progress is usually of gentle pace in order to be true and effective. However correct an initiative is as an ideal, the accompanying combination of personal motives and circumstances may not be quite suitable at that particular time. We may need to learn essential things in a phase of resistance before a further stage of initiative proves useful or conclusive. So, whilst initiative conceives, resistance gestates. Patience is the virtue achieved from an understanding of the constructive interaction of these two forces.
4. OBJECTIVE JUDGEMENT
In Chapter 1 we said that opposites are a necessary part of the making of meaning, which itself is the pragmatic reason for existence. The concept of opposites provokes one of comparison. It is reasoned judgements of comparisons, in the form of conclusions, that give us meaning. Meaning itself then continues to change and evolve as comparatives are evaluated further. In other words, to do our “job” of making meaning we’re charged not only with identifying opposites but also with making reasoned judgements about them, including the “shades of grey” that fill the space between the polarities of “black and white”, so linking them. These judgements are individual to us, certainly not universal ones. Inevitably those judgements will be biased towards people and things with which we have a natural kinship. This tendency is not unreasonable, as our judgements are in some sense connected to our genetic predispositions, and prone to being led by our basic instincts for survival and reproduction. We say we prefer food to hunger, Mary to Sarah, and we reason why that is so. People and things which help and protect us we like in preference to those which we feel threaten us. The right to make such judgements of preference is perfectly in order.
Problems arise when we feel forced to make moral judgements; these are in a different category. In the face of cruelty, violence, abuse, or worse, we feel obliged to go beyond the likes and dislikes of personal preference, and to start dividing things up into good and evil, right and wrong. Yet this is where a danger lies. Each of us has a uniquely different way of reasoning and therefore a differing morality. Moral definitives such as good and evil, consequently, can only exist in the context of personal, not universal, markers. Labelling something as “evil”, for example, is merely personal opinion not a universal truth. As much as social codes (e.g. religious, civil and criminal laws) are devised, and attempts to establish moral norms made, conflict, nevertheless, is bound to arise. What’s worse, the bodies we set up to assist in this cause (e.g. churches, governments) often end up as vessels of conflict themselves, whether by in-fighting, or by seeking to impose exclusively their particular sets of values.
One way out of this problematic situation is offered by what’s often called “non-judgmentalism”. This concept seeks to retrieve us from the rash behaviour that can follow ego-based, moral evaluations such as, I win = “good”, therefore protect; I lose = “bad”, therefore destroy. I’m in control = “good”, therefore promote; I feel threatened = “bad”, therefore degrade. Non-judgmentalism removes the promotion of the “good” along with the destruction of the “bad”. Its discipline leads to the acceptance of all circumstances as “experience”. You may make comparisons but not moral judgements. A man who’s stolen may be compared with one who’s earned, but moral judgements, based on their actions, ought not be applied to the men themselves. As a concept, this is a worthy step that attempts to “stop the rot”, but it’s not an end in itself.
If your little child was found to be being abused, would you seriously be able to remain non-judgmental about the perpetrator? The proponents of non-judgmentalism might well agree that you probably wouldn’t, but would argue that this failure was simply an illustration of individual deficiency in the context of a more general human frailty. They might look at my example of the computer breakdown and feel that, although it’s not a moral issue as such, the arguments for “accepting the experience” rather than making and holding judgement about it remain valid in any situation, no matter how dire, with moral searching or not. They may have a point, but I wonder?
Firstly, with regard to the book, my move forward wasn’t brought about by a perpetual withholding of judgement, but by the making and then eventual changing of it. Secondly, if even non-judgmentalists incline to the view that to be non-judgmental in the face of gross and violent inhumanity is not completely possible, we may ask: “Was it ever supposed to be possible?” Somehow might we not always feel obliged morally to judge in such circumstances? What’s more, we know we’re “built to judge”, and because our personal morality is an integral part of our judgements, and is conceived through them, those judgements will always have some moral flavour to them. We can’t help ourselves. If we’re to judge at all, we must, of necessity, include moral content.
The alternative would be comparison devoid of judgement, even including statements of preference. But surely this would be inadequate. Comparison without the reasoned judgement that can follow denies the coming into existence of new meaning, the very thing we’re attempting to procure. Comparison without reasoned judgement leads us back to the same position as having a non-comparative “state of uniformity” from which no meaning is possible to be made. Comparison without judgement has no depth of purpose. It leads to indifference, an attitude of not caring, and meaninglessness. Galileo Galilei, the 16th Century Italian astronomer, put it nicely:
“I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has intended us to forego their use”.
No, the question isn’t whether we should or shouldn’t judge, morally or otherwise, in any particular set of circumstances, but whether we can find a way of judging that is constructive in all cases. How might this be possible? In accepting the concepts of opposites and comparison, aren’t we forced automatically to accept the good with the bad? For example, we know that in order to best create we need to maintain a positive stance. But if there’s this positivity in some instances, then there must always be negativity applied in similar frequency in other instances in order to maintain balance. The ideal is self-defeating.
An answer comes if we change the conceptual form of the polarities. Into the good–bad polarity we can introduce “potential”. At the “bad” end of the scale we can substitute the words, “potential for good/being better”. Similarly, we can replace “good” at the other end of the scale with “fulfilment of present potential/being better”. This shift releases automatically all states to the application of creativity without destroying either our identification of things as different from each other or our making of judgements from the observed differences. Instead of labelling a violent criminal with a moral definitive such as bad or evil, we can say, “In this man there is a potential to improve”.
But, you may ask, is that change in viewpoint through the use of language justifiable, laughable, or just crass?
It’s justifiable. The essence of a man’s being, irrespective of his actions, remains identical to that of all other men, whatever their individual actions. He’s still a creative being, no matter by how much his behaviour shows his current lack of understanding. So, there’s scope for improvement, and indeed the scope is huge, but so are the difficulties of exploiting its potential. Make no mistake, the attitude being suggested is no soft option. There is no implication someone’s criminal actions should be condoned in any way, or inference that they won’t ultimately have to be accounted for. What being done is to attempt to open up the possibility of interacting with that person constructively, and not just for their benefit, but for ours.
To identify a status in terms of “potential” overcomes the problems associated with conventional judgements of good and bad. If we judge someone or something as “bad”, we end up in a position in which constructive creative interaction is difficult, often impossible. Our feeling is to destroy, imprison, control, belittle or disregard. But what is really needed is to be able to learn from, and with, the “bad” one. By using the ploy of “potential”, we transpose the concept of “bad” to one of “less developed”. The object of our judgement is thereby viewed positively as something that could be “upgraded” from its present position, provided that sufficient creative energy is applied.
It follows that criticism is less productive than “identifying where potential lies”. The ideal of potential provides a stable base from which we can make better attempts to create. The use of the critical side of our nature may start out as a vital part of the learning process, but often it ends up as a way of attempting to impose control by debasement. The causes of that are our own inner feelings of weakness and insecurity. We should always try to use our more positive characteristics.
If we’re to employ criticism at all it shouldn’t be through the use of defining terms such as “bad” or “wrong”, but rather by illustrating the innate potential of the situation by giving examples of how that potential could be fulfilled:
“It might have been more beneficial to have...because...”
“It, perhaps, would be better in future to... because...”
Hence we wouldn’t be saying, “This could be better but we don’t know how”, but, “This could be better, and here maybe is something to try next time.”
That said, in the next two sections we will look at a way of further surpassing criticism, not only of other people and things, but of ourselves, by use of a construct even more suited to setting the ball of creativity rolling.
5. RESPECT
What type of approach does each of us make to any given situation? Confident, fearful, excited, reserved, indifferent? It may be any of these, or others, alone or in combination, depending upon the circumstances. Within the inherent limitations of being human there’s nothing wrong with any one of these postures at any one time, although some are more admirable than others. But there’s one central approach that will, in all cases, lead to the most creative interaction—respect.
The meaning and implications of respect are expounded fully by Rudolf Steiner, who employed the word “reverence” in this context. To him, reverence better fitted the bill because it implied a respect of greater depth. Steiner illustrates this thus:
“It is not enough that I show my respect to a person in my outer bearing: I must have this respect in my thoughts.”(14)
Reverence, in Steiner’s terms, is respect that has complete honesty as its base. There are no hidden agendas. Being superficially courteous and pleasant may show respect of a kind, but it stops short of fully honest respect if there is, say, an unseen greed or resentment lingering within. On the other hand, reverence is neither paying undue respect nor is it putting others on a pedestal and making them out to be your betters. It’s merely somehow having genuine interest in them. Steiner expands the concept to include the need for us to have reverence for all things, which translates appropriately into there being an advantage for us in having such a reverence. Creativity is possible without the use of reverence, but it’s generally much more difficult, less effective, and certainly less enjoyable.
Of course, some things will be easier than others to approach with reverence. It’s not difficult to have respect for people who already love and respect you, for instance, although sometimes we fall even at this low hurdle. If somebody is aggressive or dangerous, respect is much more difficult to muster. But, should we fail and thus refuse creative interaction, we’ll have set a dangerous precedent; one that vastly reduces our scope by limiting creativity to just things and people we approve of. The natural polarities of like and dislike will divide the world into two more or less equal sections: one half we like and are prepared to deal with, the other half we don’t and are not. The reduction of scope amounts to no less than half of the full range. Our potential for creating and learning is cut by a whopping 50%.
A trick to unravelling this block, and to finding reverence in all things, is to understand that the amount of reverence rendered initially doesn’t have to be the same in each and every case. What’s needed always is to establish the principle of reverence in some form, no matter how small. The tiniest element upon which to build purposeful interaction can be described as an “edge of reverence”. These edges don’t give us an excuse to brush misdeeds and misgivings under the carpet. Rather, they’re genuine reasons for us to unlock the polarity of dislike/hate and in so doing unleash our creative drives. They’re the ways in which we can break our mental deadlocks, and their effectiveness is based simply on their lack of size. They’re the minimal perceptions about others with which we can agree within ourselves to be positive.
A work colleague of mine earned the reputation of being able genuinely to compliment anyone put before him. He could always find an edge of reverence. One day, some wag presented him with the shabbiest of tramps. This homeless unfortunate was very dirty and most unattractive. However, without hesitation my colleague said to him: “Judging by your eyes and expression I wouldn’t mind betting your mother was a beautiful woman.” The tramp beamed, knowing this remark was indeed genuine. Positive creative interaction between these two men was now possible. If they’d been sought, many more edges of reverence might have been found for this unkempt old man. It’s the same with all people, things, and situations. If we can change our approach enough to find just one edge, then we’ll have established a sound base from which to start.
The pursuit of edges of reverence ties in well with the concept of “potential for good/being better” outlined in the previous section. Together this pairing can form the platform for positive acceptance. Acceptance here, is simply something that bridges the gap between what we like and what we dislike in terms of our ability to interact creatively with them both. It’s an acknowledgement that the person/object in their current form offers a worthwhile interaction. Without the starting point of an edge of reverence, coupled to the notion of potential for improvement, the prospect for creative interaction with things and people we don’t have a natural liking for is often extremely remote.
This class of acceptance doesn’t give us licence to attempt to change others (even if we believe it’s for their own good), but is a position from which we can create with them, for mutual benefit. As Steiner writes:
“I must try hard to pay more heed to the speaker’s opinion, feeling, and even prejudice, than to what I myself have to say at the moment about the matter in question...[The pupil] must learn to judge what importance it may have for the other person if he opposes the latter’s opinion with his own. This does not mean that he should withhold his opinion. There is no question whatever of that. But he must listen to the other person with the closest possible attention, and form his own reply out of what he has heard...The important point is not that my opinion differs from that of the other person, but that he will discover what is right out of himself if I contribute something towards it.”(15)
Although it may be particularly difficult to find things to revere in the character of, for example, a violent or inhumane person, it’s important we do so. It’s for our benefit as far as the meaning that the interaction with him will give us is concerned, notwithstanding the potential benefits to him also. Our consent isn’t blind altruism at work, but more like a sensible “business” decision. Interaction for mutual benefit.
I’m not, I repeat, condoning the person’s actions or absolving them of responsibility. But there’s a difference between absolution and being so offended by him that we decide he warrants no consideration whatsoever. In taking such offence we would be condemning ourselves by not accepting the proffered opportunity to learn and go forward. How can we achieve full understanding of ourselves, for ourselves, if we’re only prepared to learn from half the range available, the half we decide to approve of?
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