Roker's comment that we cannot do much ourselves, while largely true, reminds me of the famous Hundred Monkey hypothesis, made after some naturalist observations in Japan.
Japan has several small unpopulated islands where macaques, baboon-like monkeys, have been allowed to thrive and dominate the natural fauna. By the early 90's (as I recall), tourism to these islands had grown, and to increase the population for the tourists, sweet potatoes were thrown onto the beaches to enrich their (the monkeys', not the tourists') diet. At first these made little difference, as the sand that stuck to them made them inedible, until one macaque came up with the bright idea of washing the tubers off in the ocean. Others noticed, and soon all the macaques on the island were doing it.
Now, this revolution in thought had taken a decade or more to occur, but once it did, within months the macaques on all the other islands picked up the practice. How, the naturalists thought, had the idea come so quickly to the others when it had taken so long for the first? They were, after all, not in communication with each other.
The conclusion reached by some was that an idea, once held by a certain percentage of a species, becomes part of the specie's mental grid, or, as Jungians had long called it, part of the archetype or ancestral memory. Since then, other biologists, such as Rupert Sheldrake, have talked about a morphic field that pertains to classifications of living things that retain such knowledge, accessible to most members of the species from the time it is learned onward into the distant future.
I could go back to ideas of "oneness" that have been approached by physicists and mystics alike, but for me it recalls the idea of the "master of animals" that many native Americans have had traditionally, whereby a species had a master template (usually situated in a sacred mountain) by which they followed their intended design.
A lot can be drawn from these ideas (and a lot criticized, I know), but for our purposes, I refer back to Cal's idea that "little can be done." I maintained that this is largely true, but that it is not necessarily so. An idea, an attitude, that is at first maintained by a few can grow to reach others until an unspecific saturation point is reached - one hundred monkeys in our example - and the message, if not the entire spirit, becomes known to nearly everyone. Like magic.
We have seen this time and again in ideas and technologies, from the proliferation of the bow and arrow to the design and construction of pyramids. Archaeologists prefer to attribute this to diffusion, and in some cases might be right, but we might look at the acceptability of certain ideas already present to bolster our argument further. Human rights, the end of slavery, democracy, any number of ideas have been present for millenia before they became accepted as "natural and right" for human kind.
And so I suggest that one's thoughts, one's attempts at finding the sacred, might not be lonely endeavors after all, and might have much greater effects than one might think. The founder of Christianity, a man with no wealth or background, is one outstanding example.
Japan has several small unpopulated islands where macaques, baboon-like monkeys, have been allowed to thrive and dominate the natural fauna. By the early 90's (as I recall), tourism to these islands had grown, and to increase the population for the tourists, sweet potatoes were thrown onto the beaches to enrich their (the monkeys', not the tourists') diet. At first these made little difference, as the sand that stuck to them made them inedible, until one macaque came up with the bright idea of washing the tubers off in the ocean. Others noticed, and soon all the macaques on the island were doing it.
Now, this revolution in thought had taken a decade or more to occur, but once it did, within months the macaques on all the other islands picked up the practice. How, the naturalists thought, had the idea come so quickly to the others when it had taken so long for the first? They were, after all, not in communication with each other.
The conclusion reached by some was that an idea, once held by a certain percentage of a species, becomes part of the specie's mental grid, or, as Jungians had long called it, part of the archetype or ancestral memory. Since then, other biologists, such as Rupert Sheldrake, have talked about a morphic field that pertains to classifications of living things that retain such knowledge, accessible to most members of the species from the time it is learned onward into the distant future.
I could go back to ideas of "oneness" that have been approached by physicists and mystics alike, but for me it recalls the idea of the "master of animals" that many native Americans have had traditionally, whereby a species had a master template (usually situated in a sacred mountain) by which they followed their intended design.
A lot can be drawn from these ideas (and a lot criticized, I know), but for our purposes, I refer back to Cal's idea that "little can be done." I maintained that this is largely true, but that it is not necessarily so. An idea, an attitude, that is at first maintained by a few can grow to reach others until an unspecific saturation point is reached - one hundred monkeys in our example - and the message, if not the entire spirit, becomes known to nearly everyone. Like magic.
We have seen this time and again in ideas and technologies, from the proliferation of the bow and arrow to the design and construction of pyramids. Archaeologists prefer to attribute this to diffusion, and in some cases might be right, but we might look at the acceptability of certain ideas already present to bolster our argument further. Human rights, the end of slavery, democracy, any number of ideas have been present for millenia before they became accepted as "natural and right" for human kind.
And so I suggest that one's thoughts, one's attempts at finding the sacred, might not be lonely endeavors after all, and might have much greater effects than one might think. The founder of Christianity, a man with no wealth or background, is one outstanding example.
Now I feel as if I am jumping around picking pieces of the puzzle, which I am, but an idea has come to my attention while reading a biography of Bede Griffiths. He is the Oxford educated scholar turned Catholic priest who went to India to learn "for his other half" their spirituality. This he did and he was consumed (and enriched) by it, but he had his share of criticism about India, one being their "lack of creativity." This lack of creativity, or creative activity in the world, has often been the problem with the spiritual, and perhaps it is why we believe that there are so few saints. By definition, saints don't care about social accolades or recognition - nor are they often concerned with "progress," that is, with anything that does not involve the true, the Absolute. Indians are not, by in large, any more saintly than Americans, but their attention is (or was) continually pointed towards the spiritual, with the concomitant decrease in interest in changing or adding to normal life. Hand in hand with this is the importance of tradition there, which subjects creativity to convention. There are many reasons why this could have bothered Griffiths, one being the poverty and disease that was and is endemic to India through traditional lifestyles, but it is best summed up with the idea of boredom. Life among them, he saw, had no goal. They lived and died without an individual plot, climax, or resolution.
I know of what he speaks. Swinging in a hammock on hot afternoons doing nothing while living with the Indians gave me the same sense of boredom - not a "ho-hum" boredom, but a subdued sense of panic, in that my life with the Indians was not going anywhere. That is, there I sat growing old and I was doing nothing about it! One may see this as ridiculous - one is living and living well, so why the fuss? - but I'll bet that just about anyone from our civilization who lives such a life will be bothered by this sense of wasted time. It is a paradox that the Traditionalists, at least to me, have not been able to explain away. Traditional sacred culture is NOT individualistic - and in so being, does not encourage the individual to seek distinction by original thoughts or works. Innovators are rare and only come as on high from the hand of God. No Microsoft or Apple or Polio vaccine - but, on the other hand, no government - sponsored art with Christ in Urine.
There was a group of mystics- philosophers called the Quietists from the 18th century or there-abouts - their influence continued until the early 20th century - who believed as the Indians (to Bede anyway) did - that is, that contemplation of inner being, once having reached the stage of peaceful sensation- was all that one should do. The world did not need or deserve active attention, for it was of no concern from the absolute perspective. This philosophy was roundly condemned by those with spiritual and religious concerns, primarily on the grounds that to be one with God was to have compassion for one's fellow man. The point is well taken and I believe true, however - what does this mean for creativity? To help one's fellow does not mean creating a new device or method of art. Or does it? Medicine and plumbing and improved farming techniques are consequences of individual creativity. And yet this individualism has also spurred on greed and over-consumption and a planetary ecological crises - as well as saved millions to live on and strain the natural resources even further.
To add to the confusion, where does creativity come from? We have touched on the idea of the muse before, of "genius" (not exceptional intelligence, but something that comes to one without conscious thought). Does it not, or at least can it not, have a divine source? Bede understood this and reasoned that creativity came from God - and it was up to our free will to do the right thing with it. However, was not his love for India founded on the timeless religious-based traditions of the land? Would not an exaltation of personal creativity ruin it all? That is, is creativity for its own sake, as it comes, antithetical to the spiritual life?
Time for me to stop and think about it. FK
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