The kingdom within
Looking for salvation in all the wrong places
"Philosophy is really homesickness, an urge to be at home everywhere." —Novalis
Everyone you know and love is going to die; that's if you don't go first. This life is one sliver of light between two bookends of unknown, and that is a terrifying reality to navigate. Inherent in this formulation is loss and death, and with it, a deep longing that gnaws at the center of our being—a longing for safety and certainty.
From the dark unknown at the end of it all, we seek salvation—something or someone to save us, to provide the comforting touch that soothes our fragile souls. Jungian analyst James Hollis calls this the "Magical Other," exploring the various avenues where this appears in our lives: romantic relationships, professional success, or religion. We are all searching for that thing that will give us inner peace.
The ultimate escape
It's one of the reasons opiates are so devastatingly addictive. They soothe all the pain receptors in the system—peace from the constant battering of the neurotic mind, heaven in a substance.
As Shantaram author Gregory David Roberts describes it: "Heroin is a sensory deprivation tank for the soul. Floating on the Dead Sea of the drug stone, there's no sense of pain, no regret or shame, no feelings of guilt or grief, no depression, and no desire."
But this looks only at the removal of pain. What about the pleasure? There's a fascinating Kurzgesagt video "Why Does Fentanyl Feel So Good?" which speaks about the first time you take heroin (Fentanyl is a heroin analog) and how it feels like a supernova of pleasure. "You are sailing a sea of calm and happiness that feels perfect and eternal. The full load of a strong opioid like heroin, for the very first time, is one of the most amazing feelings humans can experience. For a few hours you are in heaven."
That has all the qualities of inner peace, where feelings of wholeness (holiness?) supersede everything. Sounds like a good deal, if only without the devastating side effects.
The relationship fix
Now I'm assuming most people reading this aren't addicted to opiates, but you've probably experienced a "lite" version of this when falling in love—when all the endorphins are telling you that this person will complete you. And then six months down the line, that euphoria works itself out, and you're basically in withdrawal. Just like opiates.
Funny how these things play themselves out.
Maybe success will do it?
Or maybe it's some benchmark of success; a destination that once you reach, you'll live happily ever after (romantic notions aside). One personal goal was starting my own business and hitting a certain revenue target. Admittedly I was probably too modest, but when I hit it, there was a feeling of "what next?" Because ultimately I still felt (and feel) incomplete. I could have just kept upping it, because goals like this are in truth somewhat arbitrary.
It's tempting to think that a little bit more will be the answer, and it's difficult to believe that even wealthy people experience this same deficit. But I'm repeatedly told they do. David Heinemeier Hansson, creator of Ruby on Rails and Basecamp, wrote about the day he became a millionaire:
"The euphoria I felt when it was finally real lasted the rest of that day. The inner smile remained super wide for at least the rest of the week.
Then a mild crisis of faith ensued. Is this it? Why isn't the world any different now? *shake, shake* Is this thing even working!?"
Later he reflects on how once pulling back the curtain on the millionaire's dream, most of the things that gave him pleasure were exactly the same as they'd always been.
"It's funny, though, because I remember rich people trying to tell me this before I was rich,” he writes. “Not necessarily in person, but through clever or modest-profound quotes and interviews. And I remember always thinking 'yeah, that's easy for you to say now — you got yours'."
Look, I too would love to be on the other side of the curtain, but then I'm sure there would be someone else to impress or some other status game to ascend, because that is just our nature. At some point I have to take it on faith that this too will not provide the balm for my soul to feel okay in the world.
The religious formula
Ah, faith. Perhaps you're one of the few whose relationship provides the absolute safety and bliss you thought it would when you entered your wedding vows. And your bank balance with its extra zeroes provides you sufficient security. And yet still, there lurks a lingering voice of incompleteness.
Let us then turn to the gods—religion and spirituality.
My personal context was evangelical Christianity. I've reflected often on the formulaic mass evangelism approach, where salvation is packaged as elegantly simple: a few words—the sinner's prayer—that will grant you eternal bliss in heaven, the Kingdom of God. Accept Jesus into your heart, and you're saved.
But the reality is that after a few hours, weeks, or months, the glow fades and the vicissitudes of life come at you again—which they inherently will. The addicts who come to Christ are often just finding salvation in something else, addicted to something else.
The formula fails not for lack of trying, but because reality is too broad to be packaged in bite-size soundbites.
Perhaps your experience of spirituality has a broader definition and you've been exposed to a range of modalities. My experience with almost everyone I've met is that this too leaves us short of the finish line. How many ayahuasca ceremonies, mushroom journeys or different spiritual practices will you traverse, communing with the spirits and still feeling the nagging sensation of "not enough"?
Seeking external deliverance from an internal condition that cannot be escaped. As Camus said, "The worm is in man's heart. That is where it must be sought."
Finding the worm
And find it we shall, although it is harder than it appears. Coming back to Jesus, he said something profound which is easy to overlook: "The coming of the kingdom of God is not something that can be observed, nor will people say, 'Here it is,' or 'There it is,' because the kingdom of God is within you."
Not in a partner or priest. Not in some imagined place after death. Not in saying some prayer, not in a plant medicine or a magic pill, or anything outside of you. Within you.
In The Eden Project, James Hollis writes: "The evidence is strong that there are no Magical Others, that we befoul our relationships with our own psychic debris, that the best relationship we can ever achieve with the intimate Other, the corporate Other, and the Wholly Other, is a function of the relationship we achieve to ourselves."
Or in simpler terms, you are what you are looking for.1
I'm coming to think that Christ's "I am" statements are more of a signal of what's possible for us, rather than meant to indicate his specialness. "I am" is, after all, a complete sentence. Perhaps he was the example, one of the first fruits of divine embodiment—literally God incarnate, showing us who we truly are. In this case, "I-am-ness" is the fundamental reality, and the garden of Eden is within us.
Salvation comes not from the other or the external, but from the recognition that we are not separate from what we seek. That we are not broken beings in need of rescue; we are the very apertures through which the divine experiences itself.
The biological reality check
But before we get too carried away with neatly reduced spiritual realizations, let's vibe check our aspiring inner gurus. Our biology does not agree with this. There are built-in mechanisms to move our species along; a deep programming to seek out intimate connection.2
Sex is an expression of the ultimate creative energy of this life. Evolution has made intimacy irresistibly pleasurable—flooding our brains with oxytocin and endorphins—because the continuation of our species depends on it.
Beyond sexual connection, we're also fundamentally social creatures. Human babies are among the most vulnerable creatures on earth, and it takes a village to raise a child. We need our tribes for survival.3
Coming home
So where does this leave us? Caught between paradoxical truths—between the recognition that external salvation is an illusion and the very real human needs for creation, connection and comfort?
Going back to Novalis' quote, maybe the philosophizing and homesickness ends when we realize we've always been home. To know is one thing, to experience is something else.
I have a feeling that it means experiencing it all—the deepest pain, grief, and fear. Admittedly, this sounds like an unpleasant realization; in my daily experience, I treat these emotions as bugs rather than features, things to suppress and hide away.
We've become so accustomed to the pleasant sensations that we denigrate the other side of the coin. It's tempting to think "if that's what the kingdom of heaven / holiness means, then count me out." What if that is actually the key to the homecoming door?
Because it is not that from which we are saved; it is part of the whole that we may embrace. Maybe this is how we become whole—realizing that this too is the kingdom of God. To embrace it all as part of what it means to be conscious: feeling, mortal sparks of divinity in a world beyond our control.
Feeling all the feels, crying all the tears, riding the waves of bliss. All in this vessel that we call home.
Postscript
My friend just had a baby. This morning I held him for the first time and cried for his innocence and beauty.
He came from the warmth and nourishment of the womb, where his every need was taken care of, but now "he" will become a subject, and have to navigate the waters of this life.
Despite the fact that he was born into a loving home with parents who will provide a strong container for his unfolding being, the inevitable consequence of living this human life is that he will come to experience the fractures of the psyche, layers of love and fear, beauty and pain.
I know this world is going to be a bumpy ride. I'm starting to play with the idea that the bumps are part of the fun, not something to be protected against.
But I also know that he is not alone. His elders will be there to help him navigate this realm, and soothe him when he is homesick. I am privileged to include myself in that group.
I pray for him the blessing of metta: may he experience love, safety, peace and well-being. May he know that all of his experience is welcome.
I couldn’t find an original attribution of this, but I’m pretty sure I heard it from Peter Crone on a podcast.
I really wanted to say "we like to fuck", but that felt too crass in context. Still, it must be said somewhere.
There were some great Hollis quotes here on relationships that didn’t make it into the final piece.
The first is "The inner marriage is all very well, but it doesn't warm my feet at night."
The second is the story of a woman at a relationship seminar who brings him a funny greeting card. On the cover is a cheerful woman, saying:
"I don't need any man in my life to show me who I am, or to fill any empty voids. I am independent and strong. I don't need anyone as an emotional crutch to get me through life. I am as an island unto myself, providing all that I need for a happy, fulfilled life. I am at one with myself and the universe."
Inside the card was the single line: "God, am I lonely!"