The Lens of Transience:
“It’s not a far stretch to shift from the deeply moving observation of a loved one to the
deeply moving speculation about the rise and fall of creation itself.” IMAGE CREDIT: DAVID BYGOTT

Tikkun Magazine, November/December 2009

The Awe-Based Challenge to Positive Psychology

by Kirk J. Schneider

The signs of its influence are legion. You can see them in the popular press, in the burgeoning new lines of professional books by such organizations as the American Psychological Association, and on radio and television talk shows. Positive psychology or the "new science of happiness," as a 2005 Time Magazine cover story put it, has taken the public (and the psychological profession) by storm.

There are several sound reasons for this: the lack of traditional emphasis in psychology and the public on positive, that is, healthy, human experiences; the growing interest in spirituality; and the increasing desire for "solutions" to the stresses of modern life, such as the increased pace of technology, overwork, and the fragmentation of community.

Unfortunately, much of positive psychology, particularly as it has been trumpeted in the press, and even in quarters of professional psychology, is both simplistic and illusory. The great questions of life—the existential questions about who and what we are, how we live in the face of death, and what really matters to us—are barely touched by the palliatives of positive psychology. These palliatives focus mainly on techniques such as increasing one's ratio of positive to negative thoughts, redirecting one's pessimistic thoughts into those that are upbeat, and utilizing prayer and meditation to "program" positive experiences. Such techniques are now even being used with American soldiers to help them "adjust" to the war experience.

In short, despite the usefulness of positive techniques for some overt challenges, e.g., stress reduction, there are formidable problems with both the techniques and the issues they're designed to address.

For a psychology of happiness (or flourishing or vitality) to be optimal, it needs to be grounded in the blood and sweat details of everyday living, taking account of the ambiguities of life, including life's tragedies.

In my new book, Awakening to Awe: Personal Stories of Profound Transformation, I show that for many, substantive happiness requires "awe-based consciousness" or consciousness of the humility and wonder, chill and thrill of living. It is a consciousness that requires not only a positive outlook, but also a full and intensive encounter with life—in all its variegated shades. Such a consciousness is almost always precipitated by a crisis, at least in our culture. This is because in our routinized world, it almost invariably takes a jolt to shake us out of our complacency and open us to the great mysteries of life, the yawning possibilities.

All of the people I interview in the book have learned these lessons and, as a result, radically transformed their lives. Among them are a former gang leader who is now a beloved gang mediator and youth advocate; an ex-drug addict who became a communally conscious healer and case worker; and a sufferer of stage 3 cancer who evolved into a contemplative and spiritual seeker. Many other similar lives and stories are recorded in the book, and they all converge on one overarching point—awe-based happiness is achieved through an attunement to the bigger picture of life, and that picture is both humbling and grand.

To tap into awe-based consciousness, one must cultivate it at every opportunity and continually challenge the marrow-sapping forces, such as consumerism and dogmatism, that distract and divert it.

Given this situation, here are a few key steps we can take to cultivate an awe-based consciousness. In my research I've found the following "lenses" on experience (what others may call "spiritual practices") to be essential:

The Lens of Transience

This lens enables one to attune to the passing nature of time, the fragility of life, and its (relatively) rapid dissolution. The more we sensitize to transience, the more we can appreciate the preciousness of the moment and the mysterious background within which the moment is formed. I often peer through this lens when I'm witnessing my son at play or my family at a meal, but I can also experience it while walking a city street or attending a sporting event. Virtually any engagement can be perceived through this lens, because virtually any engagement can be understood in its fleeting and enigmatic character, its poignant character. It's not a far stretch, for example, to shift from the deeply moving observation of a loved one—or a beloved moment—to the deeply moving speculation about the rise and fall of creation itself. We're all a part of this drama, hurtling through the darkness, vanishing with the voids.

The Lens of Unknowing

Unlike transience, which focuses chiefly on time, the unknown extends to all dimensions—time, space, mind, and heart. Unknowing eclipses all and tantalizes us with the source of all. It is the "worm at the core" but also the dazzle, grace, and hope at the core. Although the unknown may be the greatest factor in the kindling of fear, as Rod Serling, the creator of Twilight Zone intimated, it also may be the greatest factor in the fostering of fascination. Consider, for example, the role of unknowing in film, literature, and fine art. How mesmerized we are by suspense thrillers, tales of adventure, and enigmatic characters. How we stammer before sculpture, painting, and hymnals. Indeed, the whole of our natural world is a wonder, riddled with obscurities, both large and small. Scientists like Einstein stand rapt before this spectacle and fill with exhilarating curiosity. But so do—and can—many of us, the moment we stop to reflect.

The Lens of Surprise

A chief component of unknowing is surprise. To the extent one can open to surprise, one can also enable spontaneity, novelty, and reform. Being open to surprises means being open to one's memories, dreams, and past, as well as to future possibilities. Being open to the unpredictable, finally, is like seeing the world—at least for moments—like a child. It is "big mind" in Zen Buddhist literature. For a child, each day is a blank canvas holding untold secrets and delights. It is a waiting paintbrush, a colorful palette, and a beckoning story. To the extent that we can approach these sensibilities and seize upon the "blank canvas" of our day, we can lift ourselves—even partially—out of our entrenched lives. We can "get out of our way" and greet the unexpected along our path, and we can breathe a little freer, a little fuller, wherever we are.

The Lens of Vastness

Here too, we meet the cosmological, albeit in its most prodigious dimensions. The lens of vastness opens out in infinite directions. The moment I walk outdoors, for example, I engage it. I perceive it in the distances and horizons, in parks, and in wildernesses, in the rolling hills, and amid the daunting bluffs. I connect with it while driving through urban sprawl and while peering into ocean sunsets. But beyond these physical settings, vastness embraces all that we perceive and intuit: it is the grand sweep of nature, the grand sweep of our lives.

Consider, for example, cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker's riff on the "causal chain" of human conception. When asked to discuss "where babies come from" he observed:

Since we don't know who we are, we don't know how we came here. You don't know where we came from—oh, I know, you say "the sperm and the egg." Sperm and the egg! ... Idiot answer. It's not an answer at all, it's merely a description of a speck in a causal process that is a mystery. We don't know where babies come from. You get married, you're sitting at a table having breakfast—there are two of you—and a year later there's somebody else, sitting there. And if you're honest with yourself, you don't know where they came from. You've made contact with them at the hospital, but that was another step on the causal chain. They just came, literally, out of nowhere, and they keep growing in your environment. If you stop to think about [it], which you don't, because it's annoying, it's upsetting, then it's a total mystery.

And a fascinating one at that!

The Lens of Intricacy

If the lens of vastness orients us to the macro and grand, the lens of intricacy situates us in the micro and hidden. For example, the lens of intricacy is what captivates many of us about meditation and psychotherapy. The themes that can come up can range from dizzying dreads to dazzling desires, and from meandering fantasies to timely practicalities. But the overarching effect is that the more that one is informed by such engagements, the greater one's potential for a full and diversified life—a life of depth but also vibrancy. This sensibility can be illustrated by the time that one takes with both people and things. It can be seen in one's attentiveness to one's friends, loved ones, or acquaintances; in one's sensitivity to art, beauty, and nature. When is the last time, for example, that you have attended to the markings on a leaf, or the brusqueness of an autumn wind, or the tenderness of a lover's skin? When have you paused to investigate ant colonies, or the loping grace of a running dog, or the aesthetics of a neighbor's home? How much time do you devote to digging beyond the requirements of a work assignment or exploring alternative thoughts, philosophies, or lifestyles? These and so much more are the potentialities inherent as the lenses of intricacy are polished.

The Lens of Sentiment

The experiences of emotion and of being profoundly moved are the key features of this lens. Sentiment offers us a deepened sensibility, a refined feeling, toward both people and things; life and art. The question for this lens is to what extent can we "drop in" to it, as exemplified by our responses to love and to loss, to beauty and to repulsion, or to any momentary encounter. How and in what ways can we linger over those sensibilities, take them in, and allow them to shake us to our core? For example, to what extent can we stand before beauty and allow our breath to be taken away? Can we permit this on our walk outside on a spring day? Or in the face of a ravishing woman or man? Or how about in the presence of a haunting melody? Peggy Salkind, an accomplished teacher and pianist—as well as octogenarian—opines on the latter:

Music ... is a reservoir of feeling and contains the ultimate distillation of love. It is a refuge for all the most trenchant sensibilities of the human heart. Music can change a person's consciousness without the use of drugs. It establishes an incontrovertible bond between psyche and soma. Music is a language without limits in that all who hear it can share in its wonders without possessing linguistic skills. Music subsumes sex and lasts longer. It endures for a lifetime and becomes a haven of peace and renewal for each individual who undertakes the task of exploring its mysteries. Human beings need to explore every possible avenue in an effort to cope with the beauty and terror of existence. Music is a viable means of engaging that exploration. After all ... language alone cannot express the sum total of any human being. Music is the true transubstantiation. Through it human essence is transformed into universal divinity.

The Lens of Solitude

This is one of the essential yet least celebrated lenses for awe. It may also be a prerequisite for the other lenses. To be sure, solitude is a state of aloneness; but it is also, as many in my book have testified, a state of aliveness, attentiveness, and absorption. Solitude can be isolating, but it is not generally alienating; to the contrary, it is frequently renewing, deepening, and strengthening. In this era of cell phones and instant messaging, solitude can clear a space for what really matters in one's life and for how to pursue what really matters. By encouraging us to step back, take a breath, and stay acutely present, solitude opens the way to multiple expressions of awe.

One can see the foundational value of solitude for virtually any relationship, be that with oneself, others, or the world about one. To the degree that one can stay present to and coexist with oneself, one is in a much improved position to stay present to and coexist with all that surrounds one—such as creation's transience, mystery, surprise, vastness, intricacy, poignancy, and in short, awe.

To the extent that we can tap these fuller ranges of ourselves -- such as our humility, wonder, and awe before creation—we can live a more invigorated life. To the extent we shrink from them, we shrink from opportunities to soar.

One test of a psychological theory is its merit "in the trenches," in the most dire circumstances imaginable. If awe-based psychology can hold up there, then it is reasonable to assume that it can hold up most anywhere. The following anecdote from Viktor Frankl's Holocaust classic Man's Search for Meaning underscores the way in which awe-based psychology indeed holds up in the trenches. Describing his journey on a transport train between Auschwitz and a Bavarian camp, Frankl writes:

If someone had seen our faces ... as we beheld the mountains of Salzburg with their summits glowing in the sunset, through the little barred windows of the prison carriage, he would never have believed that those were the faces of men who had given up all hope of life and liberty. Despite that factor—or maybe because of it—we were carried away by nature's beauty.

 NOTE: Parts of this article have been adapted from Kirk Schneider's Awakening to Awe: Personal Stories of Profound Transformation. Jason Aronson, 2009. 

See also Kirk Schneiders' article "Awe-Based Work" in the January/February 2008 issue of Tikkun.