HANGING ON WHEN THAT’S ALL THAT’S LEFT
One of the main purposes of any religious belief, I would suggest, is what it offers its followers when that follower is faced with an apparently insoluble situation. That thought occurred to me recently when I was reading The Spirituality of Imperfection (Bantam 2002), a book coming from the perspective of what I would call Western theism, largely drawing from the spiritual underpinnings of Alcoholics Anonymous. The chapter entitled “Release”, which operates with the premise that, “so long as we cling we are bound,” opens with the following scenario:
Clifford was leaning against the fence, enjoying a beautiful view from the top of the Grand Canyon, when the wooden posts ripped from their cement moorings and he found himself plunging into the abyss.
Halfway to the bottom he caught the branch of a scrubby tree that grew from the canyon wall. Grasping, gasping, he looked up and down. No way he could climb that sheer cliff, and below yawned the chasm, unbroken by any other tree or holding place. To fall would be to die on the rocks below. No one had seen him fall, and he hung there out of sight, knowing the wind would scatter his weak voice no matter how loudly he shouted.
Desperate, he cried to the heavens: “God help me!” Hearing his own trembling voice, he wailed again, “Please, God, help me!”
To his amazement, he heard an answer. “All right,” came the voice, “Let go.”
Looking down, Clifford saw the huge boulders waiting for him.
“Let go? But God you don’t understand. I’m too far up, I’ll . . . .”
“Let go,” the voice repeated.
Silence filled the canyon. Then in a weak, terrified voice, Clifford called out, “Is there anyone else up there?”
The Spirituality of Imperfection pp. 163-164
What we have here is essentially a challenge and a promise, that when we are faced with an apparently hopeless situation, the best course is to “let go, and let God,” to trust that when all else fails, the best course is to resign oneself to a higher power, in hopes that higher power will intercede and make it right. No point futilely clinging to a branch.
And of course no promise that the clinger will be rescued, only an implied suggestion that a benevolent God will see to it that whatever happens will be for the best.
That story reminded me of a parable purportedly told by the Buddha in a sutra (though I can’t find the original source):
A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger waited to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one black, little by little, started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with other. How sweet it tasted.
From Zen Flesh, Zen Bones (Anchor Doubleday circa 1965) pp 22-23.
Here our man is in what is arguably an even worse situation. Not only is he hanging on with no option of going up or down, but the vine to which he clings is being actively chewed away by two mice, (their color scheme apparently representing the yin and yang of the Eastern cosmic scheme), their actions making his tragic outcome even more inevitable. But this guy doesn’t seem to be panicking, more like resigned to his fate. He doesn’t seem to be hoping for, much less expecting, any sort of rescue. What he does do is take a heightened (pardon the pun) interest in his immediate existence and discovers that his next few moments – perhaps his last – will be made better because of the sweet strawberry immediately before him. Perhaps more significantly, although he seems willing to take reasonable steps to survive – fleeing the tiger and jumping over the cliff – he doesn’t seem to have the slightest expectation of a miraculous intervention.
Ultimately, there’s no promise in either case that a very unpleasant ending can or will be avoided. But at least the man from the Zen parable got one last, sweet, taste of life.