In today’s post-modern, post-Christian culture, it is common to hear someone describe themselves as spiritual, but not religious. The phrase has become vogue as of late. But have we ever stopped to ask ourselves what this word "spiritual" means? Undoubtedly, people use the word in different ways, so much so that, to many, it has ceased to carry any specificity or relevance. For this reason, my task here will be to grapple with the meaning of the word spiritual in hopes of emerging with some sense of why the idea it seeks to communicate is important. Upon first considering the topic, I was reminded of the research by which many of the scientists at my former job were consumed.
Before coming to seminary, I worked for the McDonald Observatory, one of the world’s foremost astronomical research facilities. Its scientists are amongst the brightest in their field and many of them worked right down the hall from my office. A major focus of today’s research in the field of astrophysics centers on the phenomena called Dark Energy and Dark Matter, two things postulated to exist based upon research of their gravitational effects, but both presently undetectable and un-provable. Scientists’ describe Dark Energy as a mysterious, unseen force propelling the ever-constant expansion of our Universe and Dark Matter as that which fills all the space thought to be empty in the voids between cosmic bodies. They even have come up with mathematical formulas to deduce that 74 percent of the Universe is Dark Energy, 22 percent is Dark Matter, and 3.6 percent is made up of intergalactic gases. This only leaves .4 percent to form everything else known to exist—namely planets, stars, and even ourselves. You would think that, given these rather specific figures, we would have more of a handle on what, if anything, these mysterious substances are, but that knowledge has yet to present itself. I bring all of this up because it provides a convenient illustration for explaining my conceptualization of things spiritual.
Much like the evasive task of pinpointing and defining the above astronomical conundrums, we face same kind of dilemma when trying to describe what we mean by the word spiritual. Surely, the word is laden with much societal and historical baggage. This only serves to further cloud an already murky discussion. For this reason, it might be helpful to first describe what the word spiritual is not. It is often used to connote the opposite of tangible, physical, measurable, and knowable. It functions as a symbolic reference to the mysterious, the miraculous, or the Divine. While some of these things may not be far off, it would be mistaken to define spiritual in such terms as to deny its physicality. After all, at its root, the word spiritual alludes to a greater source—the Great Spirit—from which all things flow and to which all things are connected. In that sense, the word spiritual is more accurately described as that which contains all reality or rather from which all reality proceeds. If one accepts the notion of a Creator or Great Spirit from which all things are generated and sustained, then it follows that all things are permeated by that force or presence which we call spirit. As the theologian Jurgen Moltmann puts it, “[all] created things on earth and in heaven point beyond themselves…” In essence, although we cannot detect this pointing with any of our five senses, somehow, cumulatively perhaps, we pick up traces of reality’s continuation.
When trying to articulate these intimations, we must resort to experiences, stories, and poetry. Each of these provide us with linguistic vehicles that allow our words to carry more meaning than any dry, intellectual portrayal could muster. Once I was driving home from a friend’s house when suddenly my mind was overcome by the very real and instantaneous flash of an image of a car slamming into the side of mine. It was so vivid that it caused me to immediately hit my brakes and drive slower. No sooner than my car had slowed did another car veer into mine. I escaped the collision unharmed, but astounded by my vision-like experience preceding the crash. I bring this story up because it falls outside of the realm of most people’s normal, everyday experience and because it evades easy explanation by orthodox religious views. For me, this instance’s sheer unexplainable nature left me with only spiritual descriptors to fill in the gaps of what had happened.
Much like Dark Matter, our encounters with these gaps, these spaces between the knowable and the unknowable, are what cause us to resort to the language of spirituality. Similar to hypothetical ponderings about Dark Matter, the spiritual is a realm that both fills the voids between the known and connects those things between which it spans. As such, the spiritual can be thought of as a conduit, for it both connects all things to one another and to their ultimate Source. It is my belief that this connection can only be proven by the individual experiences one gathers in a lifetime. Years ago, I remember encountering this connectedness when volunteering at a hospice facility established by Mother Teresa in Kolkata, India. I had been asked to cut the fingernails of all the male patients in my ward. This task required me to get up close and personal with each of the men staying there. While making my rounds, I came to a patient about my age that had been crippled and horribly disfigured by leprosy. Although we could not speak to one another, his eyes told me of his pain and frustration—they revealed his aching desire to be normal and healthy. He wanted to work, to perhaps marry and have children, and certainly to be loved by others. Instead he found himself forgotten about and languishing in a clinic for the destitute and dying. What’s more—we both recognized the random, unfairness of the disparity between us. We both knew that my health, the wealth that enabled me to travel around the world to meet him, and my quickly approaching trip home and return to my normal life were all gifts that had been bestowed upon me arbitrarily. But when I think back on that experience I recognize that, in the space between our eyes, there was something there—a mutual sharing between us that both connected us then and still connects us today. That something, that presence which facilitated that sharing, bestowed upon me a changed heart and a new lens through which I now view life. Because of the indelible memory that encounter left, I have no doubt of my continued connection with that man who lives half way around the world. And that connection, even if only relevant because of the awareness it whispered into my life, now functions more as a conduit than a barrier. But if we speak of that which is called spiritual as an awareness of our mutual connectivity—even perhaps that which fuses us to the ultimate Reality—what can be said of its significance to our lives?
The full quote of the Moltmann passage I shared earlier reads:
“Every human being is born with a hunger for God in the soul. Our whole nature is longing, desire, craving. People are never sufficient for themselves. They always thrust beyond themselves. Nothing in the created world can still the hunger for God in their souls. With their longing for God, people overtax created things and destroy their finite, fragile and transitory beauty. But all these other created things on earth and in heaven point beyond themselves to the infinite Creator, and lead the endless hunger of the soul to the infinite, which alone can satisfy it.”
Here Moltmann suggests that our spiritual instincts are innately ingrained. As spiritual beings, we are driven to seek out a fullness and satisfaction that only the infinite Source can quench. To some, this lovely, poetic portrayal of life’s condition might seem quaint, but unrealistic. My guess is that if we search our memories, allowing our intuition to guide us, we will discover the resonating truth Moltmann speaks of. But again, why does any of this matter? Many people know of the great 19th century outdoorsman and philosopher John Muir’s rapturous passion for wilderness and his valiant efforts as one of the first great naturalists that earned him the title, “Father of the National Parks,” but my guess is that not many have stopped to consider what separates their own experience of nature from his. I would argue that the key distinction lies in his perspective. When viewing a valley, a forest, or a mountain John Muir didn’t see resources to be utilized or even a charming picturesque backdrop, he saw grandiose cathedrals of intricate beauty all crafted by the loving hands divinely, artistic Creator. Surely, we can surmise that, when walking down a forest trail, the awe he recounts in many of his writings filled his heart with joy and thankfulness. All of this, because of his refined sense of awareness. It is this same transformed perspective that familiarity with the spiritual plain makes possible. We too can enjoy this grace if we allow ourselves to come alive to the Spirit which permeates, sustains, and joins together all things. Moltmann describes this paradigm shift as, “the rebirth of the full and undivided love of life” and “the total Yes to life.” This newfound vantage requires of us a complete redefinition both of our relationship to the Creator and the rest of creation. It is from this starting point that our own rapturous joy can begin unfolding.
Our conclusion then is that the word
spiritual, or rather the concept it seeks to denote, can be viewed as both a language and a vehicle. It enables us to probe the gaps where our rational, measurable knowledge drops away. Thus, as Dark Matter is to the seemingly empty space between planets in our Universe, so the spiritual realm is between that which we can definitely know and that which remains a mystery. Similarly, as the force of Dark Energy acts upon bodies traveling through space, we too are impacted by Divine unseen forces. For as long as people come together to share in each other’s stories, we will always have to sometimes resort to spiritual language to fill in the gaps. Furthermore, people will always find and retain connections with each other through the connectivity of spirit. All of this matters because, as Moltmann points out, it is through our awakening to this reality and our relationship with the Divine Spirit that we can be truly fulfilled. That, after all, is consistent with our created nature, whether we choose to acknowledge this or not. But, it is only from this place, a grounding relationship with God, that our hunger can be satiated. This alone releases us to turn our attention towards blessing others. Like John Muir, whose work was propelled his abundant, radiating sense of fullness, we too, through our own nourished spirits, can come alive to the work God has for us, but this transformation can only occur when we, by God’s grace and guidance, embody God’s empowering Spirit.
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