"... the brain, when it is disengaged from the heart, turns vicious. Conversely, the heart, when it is disengaged from the brain, can become sentimental and untruthful." - Madeleine L'Engle, from Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art
Walking on Water was one of those books that I found hard to put down, even in the midst of finals. At this point in the book, L'Engle discussed some of the ideas for her characters, and any who have read A Wrinkle in Time are familiar with the huge, pulsating, disembodied brain that was the villain to Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace. It seems L'Engle did not know how apt the personification of an evil brain was until after she had written it. And I have found this insight about a disengaged brain, a disengaged heart to be very true in my own life.
"The brain, when it is disengaged from the heart, turns vicious." Truthfully, this is the side I would rather err on, though I know any preference in this matter is foolish. I think it would be a relief to function purely out of reason because of my extreme distaste for the "sentimental and untruthful." But the brain has none of the heart's mercy or gentleness. Without the influence of the heart, the brain left to its own devices sees the world in a very cold way: clinically, exactingly. But those two-- the "sentimental and untruthful"-- work as a pair. What is sentimental is rose-colored, smarmy, and idealized, and therefore not true to life. So the heart alone abandons what is true for what is soft.
I see Jesus in the middle. I can't say I understand his capacity for paradox, though-- divine but human. Just, but merciful. If that's how he is, then neither must I disengage my heart from my mind (however much I may want to), nor my mind from my heart. "I'm choosing sides," I wrote in my journal just a few months ago. "I'm pulled in two directions and I'm choosing sides-- I'm picking practical self over emotional self." I suspect declarations like this are common in pain, and I can't claim to have thrown off this wish completely. I can wish all I want, though-- I suspect that I feel too much to be in any real danger of becoming Baum's tin-man. But if I ever do come close, "Jack" reminds me of the consequences:
"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." - C. S. Lewis, from The Four Loves
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Reflections on the things other, more thoughtful people have said, and occasional ideas of my own.
4 comments:
i am so excited you have a blog.
1) Yay! You have a blog now! And I enjoyed your writing very much.
2) Some thoughts? I completely understand what you mean when you discuss having the two contrasting desires (and I have come to think being female adds a lot to the strength of our emotional preference); I keep coming to the same conclusion - that to have a heart and mind like Christ's is the ultimately greater good. His heart is so...STRONG - to be pulled and torn at and beaten and still remain as tender and deep as it is, rather than scarring over. (It's so beautiful and unexpected and totally like Him.)
The best I can figure is that where our brains and our hearts differ from His is that both of His are absolutely...True (is that the word? Or Pure?) throughout...he reasons with the utmost clarity, unblinded by any deceit, and His reason seems to result often in love while His heart automatically loves that which is of Him and hates that which is not - separating the two (in human beings) down even to the slightest intent of our hearts/minds/actions. We have trouble telling the difference so we must rationally declare our position in relation to something/someone, or love/hate the whole of it, feeling incapable of going deeper. Until He begins to show us, that is.
Maybe. :) If I made any sense at all?
As we've previously discussed in depth, this very game of tug-of-war has been one of my greatest struggles in the last few months especially. On one side you have the cold, sterile, scientific, logical, and unconcerned brain; on the other, the passionate, merciful, painfully confusing, dangerous, and mysteriously good heart.
Shall our goal be to keep the tiny flag as close the middle as possible?
I fear that about this time last year, my brain started winning the battle. My life was dominated by micromanagement, which seeped into the lives of those closest to me like a tasteless poison. It also began to wrap up my heart, in an effort at self-preservation, as Lewis described.
But something happened, and I cannot pinpoint a single event or even a series of such, but I know certainly that I was saved from myself. I was vulnerable again, able to feel things for myself as well as others - God began to grow compassion in my heart. Slowly, I began to change.
Unfortunately, I see now that the change might have come a little too late (and been a little too slow) to salvage every relationship. Some damage had already been inflicted, and remains irreversible, at least on my part.
Of course, the brain is not evil. In fact, we cannot live without it. But perhaps we are meant to go through different phases of life, always dominated by one or the other: brain or heart. We cannot pick a side.
Confessedly, I am young and not very wise just yet, but here is something that I have learned: Occasionally (haha) in life, we are faced with choices, and so often the more difficult route is also the more worthwhile. So maybe if we ask Jesus to help us see which side is "winning," He will help us fight against that side until we regain an equilibrium that is very like His own.
It is a fascinating battle between romance and reason, but they have to coexist. Tipping the scales in either direction can cause a harmful imbalance! Tis a scary thing to walk the tightrope and realize how natural falling is....anyhoo, you should read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance"...it offers some pretty heavy insight into the life of a man who lived for mending the gap between romance and reason, poetry and instruction, art and mechanics. You'd love it.
This is Sarah, by the way. Haha. I seem to have lost my blogger identity. How unfortunate.
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