A Vertiginous Position
Vertiginous means "dizzying"
I have written a lot over the last year or so about Father Luigi Giussani’s The Religious Sense, the first part of his three-part “Percorso”, which includes At the Origin of the Christian Claim and Why the Church?. In our School of Community, we are just finishing Chapter 14 out of 15 and will be done with the whole book in July. One of the friends in the community remarked the other day that this is her first experience in all her years in Communion and Liberation when we’ve actually finished a book! Usually the leaders of the community in the US or internationally get excited about something else and we jump from book to book. Anyway, I am happy to be approaching the end of this beautiful book. I found a small section that I want to reflect on in this post.
The section is labeled “A Vertiginous Position”. As the first and the last sentences say, “vertiginous” means “dizzying”. The “big questions” that human beings ask—all human beings, in every culture—can be overwhelming, dizzying, vertiginous. To stay in front of the religious sense, which is the human capacity and need for a total meaning, is not easy. I will let Father Giussani speak and then make a few comments.
If this is the existential position of reason, then it is easy enough to see how it can be dizzying. By law, by my life’s directive, I must hang suspended, moment by moment, upon a will that I do not know. This would be the only rational position. The Bible (Psalm 123:2) would say “like the eyes of a servant on the hand of his master.” For one’s whole life, the true moral law would be that of waiting for the nod of this unknown “master”, attentive to the signs of a will that would appear to us through pure, immediate circumstance.
I repeat: man, the human being’s rational life, would have to be suspended on the instant, suspended in every moment upon this sign, apparently so fickle, so haphazard, yet the circumstances through which the unknown “master” draws me, provokes me toward his design. I would have to say “yes” to every instant without seeing anything, simply clinging to the pressures of the occasions. It is a dizzying position.
The life of every human being, our very human structure, is an Advent “waiting” for the meaning and salvation of life to appear. This meaning, this salvation, is not something we can provide for ourselves. And so we wait, with our eyes like the eyes of a servant on the hand of his master. Will the Mystery of the universe reveal itself to me? Why am I in this world? Who will show me the path to life?
In order to be moral, we must remain open. But as Chesterton says, our minds can be so open that our brains fall out. The reason we have mouths and stomachs is so that they can be filled with food. But sometimes it seems like our brains are going to fall out or our stomachs cannot go on without food. But where do we go to get this food?
It is at this point that we human beings face our biggest test. Will we remain in suspense or will we take a short cut? Will we hold out or will we settle for less? The circumstances can open up the big questions of life, the hunger and thirst, the waiting for an answer, but the circumstances always point beyond themselves: farther, farther. It is understandable why so many people settle for less. In fact, I made a comment to a dear friend one time, “Don’t you just want to settle for less sometimes?!” Father Giussani calls this “settling for less” an idol. To call something the total meaning of my life that is not in reality the total meaning of my life. Or as the Psalm (115) says, “They have eyes but cannot see, ears but cannot hear, there is never a breath on their lips.” They are not the real deal. Yet an idol—a Sunday filled with exciting football games—can at least distract us for a while from the big questions. It is often much easier to live on the surface of life.
This waiting and suspense can become particularly intense for those in our world who have especially sensitive souls; I am thinking mostly of creators, artists, writers, poets, songwriters. How many times do we hear about the anguish of the most sensitive artists? In fact, these artists are so amazing because they articulate better than most of us can the drama of the religious sense, the drama of the human search for meaning. But how often does this human anguish end in tragedy? Drug or sex addiction, self-harm, suicide—the human drama can be too much. These things can be used as an escape from the unbearable human condition. It is often much easier to live on the surface of life.
So, what makes it possible to stay in the vertiginous position? What makes it possible to keep looking into the apparent meaninglessness of life and hold out for a meaning that seems never to come? Three thoughts.
We must not be alone. It may seem obvious but it is easier to bear the burdens of life and easier to hold on for the answers that really satisfy if we are walking together. A number of years ago, pretty soon after I told one friend that I wanted to settle for less, I asked another friend how it was possible for him to keep these big questions open. He simply replied that we need a companionship. But not all friendships are the same. I often ask the young people who come to Confession if they have “God friends”. Few of them do. But at least, I hope, there are people in our life with whom we can go deeper than just the surface of life, with whom we can share the drama of the big questions.
We need a witness. The saints, in particular, but also many of our friends, can bear witness to a successful struggle with the apparent meaninglessness of life. We need the witness of these heroes who have stood up in the storm and continued to say Yes to life. Sometimes those artists and poets who struggled most can help us to get back in touch with the deep questions of life. I know of some poets and novelists who did not survive the battle but who still can help others walk through the dark valleys.
We need God to speak. Father Giussani ends his book in Chapter 15 with the hypothesis of revelation. Human beings are not made to hold out indefinitely. God is not obligated to speak to us—it is always his free gift—but he does have pity on us in our human drama. In the most surprising way: God enters the human drama and lives the battle for meaninglessness all the way to the point where Jesus says on the Cross to the Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” Every other circumstance in the world, every beautiful tree or mountain, every beautiful human being, can only point beyond itself: farther, farther. Yet Jesus, this human being, this man from Nazareth, can say: “Look no further than me. The Kingdom of God is in your midst. Do not be afraid. I am here.”
I need people to watch football with. I need people to go to the movies with. I need people to barbecue and swim with. But I also need people to pray for me. I need people to talk to when life bewilders me. I need a companionship that does not let me settle for less. I need witnesses who point to the deeper things. I need witnesses that point to God with us. And most of all I need God with me, speaking and healing and calling and forgiving and saving my life.
Do not be afraid. He is here.