Necessary Shatterings

Our worldviews are not what we think they are.

“What might it mean to be drawn into meanings that, in some profound and necessary sense, shatter us?” — Christian Wiman

I’ve been reading lately about the Shakers, a religious movement that gained notable prominence in New England in the 19th Century.

They called themselves “The United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing.” Indeed, they were convinced that Christ would return to the earth very soon — any day, in fact — and with him bring the end of the world. This imminent expectancy of Divine visitation and the end of all things led them to make several lifestyle choices that were often shunned in their day, but actually made sense in light of their convictions.  

They lived in communes, for example, sharing all things in common. A few of their communal villages still stand today, converted now to historical landmarks and tourist attractions. They did not marry, nor bear any children, believing no good could come from either pursuit, because the world was so evil, and so close to ending. Besides, they believed, lust itself was a precursor to violence, and all who succumbed to it would inevitably fall prey to the violent passions that had consumed the world. 

Thus, they were celibates, and lived cloistered lives, with the men and women in separate dorms with separate hallways and stairs so they rarely crossed paths. This was much like some of the Catholic religious orders, which, as it happens, the Shakers were persecuted for emulating, just as they were persecuted as cowards and traitors to America for their pacifist convictions.

Yet they persevered, and kept to their ways. They crafted furniture, some of the best ever made. Every piece of Shaker furniture that remains from that time is highly prized today for its quality and craftsmanship. The Shakers believed in working at a slow and careful pace, staying present to things, not being in a rush. This, too, was in keeping with the expectancy that Christ could appear at any moment. Their conviction shows in the fine artistry of their workmanship. 

In nearly every way, they were a serious, sober-minded people, who lived simple, quiet lives. 

Except when they danced. 

Their worship was a quivering, wild affair, gyrational and ecstatic, infected with passion they could not express in any other sector of their lives. Their worship is what gave them their name — The Shakers — and is perhaps the main reason we remember them today with some fondness. For it was there, in their worship, that they were the most alive, the most free, perhaps the most human. Perhaps it is in their mad dance we see a glimpse of our own madness, that insatiable hunger for transcendence, for freedom, for whatever that means.

Like all human communities before them, the Shakers crafted a story of the world that they could understand, and in some way control. Once they crafted it, they crawled inside, and imbued it with power. They named it Reality. They called it the Truth. 

They did this to push back the Mystery, and to make themselves feel safe. 

It’s easier for us to see the trick when we look at some other group from the outside. How they craft a story of the world and convince themselves it’s true. How they hide away inside it, and do anything to defend it. Even die for it. Or kill. How to you it’s just a story, but to them it’s everything. It’s Reality. It’s the Truth. 

It’s much harder for us to find the courage to admit that we are just the same as them. To acknowledge that the stories we inhabit — those comforting tales that we call Reality and Truth — are just as likely to be fictions we’ve crafted as theirs were. All worldviews are in part nothing more than fragile narrative defenses against the Great Mysteries of life that we are terrified to confront: the fact that there is so very much we do not know, and perhaps can never know, about our existence here, and the fact that there is so very little of our own lives we can actually control.

Yet, I can’t help but think how much better the world would be, how much less violent and more humble, if we could all just stop hiding, and admit the truth.

“No my soul is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches,
its clear eyes open,
far-off things, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.”
― Antonio Machado, Times Alone: Selected Poems