Evolution and the Anthropic Principle
Richard Dawkins vs Ken Wilber
Where Am I
The Cheshire Cat
I Could Have Been a Contender
What I Wish Id Said
Keeping Up with the World
The Flight of the Phoenix
The Power of Fog
Naming the Unnamed
Principles in Art
Spirit and Matter
The Enlightenment Conundrum
On Believing
Water? What Water?
Telling Stories 2
I believe in Rainbows
Whom Can We Believe
Patterns by Paul Simon and Douglas Hofstadter
Copyright Inheritance
Broad Minded
Beliefs Part Two
A Long drawn-out solstice
The Quest for, and the Illusion of, Certainty
To the Ends of the Earth
The Meaning Of Life
We Hold These Truths
There are Beliefs
Music and Language
Circular Thinking
Runaway World
Deep Playmate
An Alchemy of Telling
Cultural Genes
The Joy of Science
The Conundrum of Human Nature
No, The Computer Isn't Smarter than I Am!
A Rant on Religion
The West Wing Turning Right?
The Geometry of Spring
Music as Language
What is Art
Beauty and Spirit
You Don't Understand Us
The New God of Probability
Gene Hackman as President
Being Lifted Out of the Ordinary
The Head and the Heart
Pay Attention!
Music Poetry and Meaning
On Seeking Truth
Perceptions and Reality
The Marriage Bond
Taboo is a Right
Copyright versus Copyleft
Cycles of Transcendence
Ego and Self
The Big Picture
Mindfulness as Larger Mind
The Power of Words
The State of the Union
Out of My Mind
Family Thoughts
One Life
Telling Stories
Small World
Bigger Realities
What Comes Next
Humor as a Higher Level of Consciousness
Sometimes Everything Goes Wrong
Emotional Resonance
Extraordinary Respect
Insight Meditation
Us and Them
Paradox and Paradigm
To Reach
I Don't Know
Don the Romantic
The Guy in the Blue Saab
The Sound of Silence
Eating is an Intimate Act
Evolution of Spirit
On Cloning and Other . . .
Creativity and Psychic Phenomena
Magic in My Life
My Difficulty with Aaron
Mindful & Mystic
Taste of Irony
Music Appreciation
Levels of Consciousness

The Head and the Heart

I have always felt two kinds of pull at me, my intellectual curiosity and my emotional hunger for—something—I don’t know; call it love or spirit. It can’t really be named. As far back as I can remember, I’ve taken things apart to see how they work. As I grew older, I did the same thing with ideas. Even philosophical and religious concepts have been the focus of my analytical explorations. Occasionally at the same time but usually in between these intellectual efforts, I’ve sought a feeling of connection with people, with life, and with the universe. I suppose most people, at some point in their lives, search for meaning in these two seemingly different directions. Some apparently give up one or the other in their effort to understand the world. It seems clear to me that neither one alone holds the answer to my questions.

Recently I came across a book by Michael Gelb, How to Think Like Leonardo Da Vinci: Seven Steps to Genius Every Day. A Barnes & Noble review describes the book this way:

When we think of humankind's greatest accomplishments and how they were achieved, the name of Leonardo da Vinci inevitably comes to mind. The paradigm of the Renaissance man, Da Vinci — painter, inventor, sculptor, architect, engineer, philosopher — was undoubtedly born with the gift of a uniquely brilliant mind, but author Michael Gelb believes that all of us, with our perfectly ordinary brains, can learn from Da Vinci's way of thinking and apply it to enrich our personal and professional lives. In How to Think like Leonardo Da Vinci, Gelb identifies seven key elements of Da Vinci's approach to thinking and learning and shows readers how they can develop and adopt these elements through practical examples and exercises. As he explores these seven principles — (Connessione) — Gelb shows us through practical exercises what Da Vinci's genius can mean to our modern lives.

While I recognized something in that description that fits with my own experience, I balked at what felt like a rather Philistine approach. "Seven steps to genius" implies a shortcut, like learning to play the piano in twenty minutes. First, I’m skeptical that one can learn to "be a genius," whatever that is. Second, the idea that a person like Da Vinci could be broken down into seven elemental characteristics seems preposterous. It’s the Big Mac approach to philosophical development. Maybe I’m misjudging the book. I haven’t read it. On the other hand, what it does seem to do is identify some aspects of a truly civilized mind.

An insatiably curious approach to life,
A commitment to test knowledge through experience,
The refinement of the senses to clarify experience
A willingness to embrace uncertainty
Balancing science and art, logic and imagination to achieve whole-brain thinking
The cultivation of grace, ambidexterity, fitness, and poise
And a recognition of the interconnectedness of all things

Personally I value each of these things. Why do I doubt that Michael Gelb can give them all to me? I think it’s just too big a promise, a kind of "extreme makeover."

As a vivid contrast in presentation, I’m reminded of Ken Wilber, who applies his extraordinary intellect to a similar (if much more difficult) effort at integration. Wilber certainly doesn’t make the process sound easy or quick.

"The integral approach is dedicated to an all-level, all-quadrant program, honoring the entire spectrum of consciousness, not just in the I-domain, but also in the we and the it domains, thus integrating art, morals, and science; self, ethics, and environment; consciousness, culture, and nature; Buddha, Sangha, and Dharma; the beautiful and the good and the true." (From The Eye of Spirit, page 135)

Wilber doesn’t try to describe his Integral Approach in one book. He’s been writing prolifically for twenty years, and he’s not finished yet. Still, I suspect that he would not quarrel with those principles addressed by Michael Gelb.

Both writers have similar visions, a kind of quantum leap in the evolution of humankind, the realization of a potential in all of us to be more than we seem capable of right now. Not to be geniuses, but to be whole.

I get it. The intellectual part of me agrees with their proposals. I find no flaw in their logic that looks toward that goal. The other part of me, however, needs more. Beyond "how to do it" books, I also need a sense of what it will mean to me. I need to want it.

This emotional response is as necessary as the analytical. In Western society, at least, we’ve been brought up with a respect for evidence and a willingness to consider alternatives. (Not that these values are at all universally held.) Mainstream culture more or less accepts that "objective proof" is a reason to buy into an approach to a problem. For example, with a proliferation of patent medicines on the market, all being touted as magic bullets in our growing contest with age, we expect that experimental demonstrations will separate the effective drugs from the snake oil remedies. Even so, most of us depend—even if the process is largely unconscious—upon our "gut feeling" to make a personal decision on any particular medication. That, naturally, is what advertising is all about. Even if the television commercial cites "evidence" of effectiveness, the real message is mostly emotional. Or we depend upon the advice of our physician—whom, not incidentally, we chose in the first place on the basis of our emotional response more than on her or his professional credentials. We go to whom we trust.

It’s interesting to me that I tend to read authors who reinforce my prior biases. When I try to read things that express or suggest a point of view that is contrary to my own, I am mentally fighting them every step of the way. And then I feel smug at having "considered the alternatives" because that also is a carefully protected value of mine. It has taken life-altering crises for me to suddenly see the light of new paradigms.

I bought into the explanations of "how things really are" by Ken Wilber only after something in my life pointed out the inadequacy of my current thinking. Once I began to see the reasonableness of his way of breaking down reality into manageable thoughts, and once I had passed the excitement phase of this new discovery of mine, I wanted something more, some reason (that is not a reason, at all, but an emotional comfort) to support my continuing pursuit along that path.

Somewhere in my reading, I copied down a paragraph from one of Wilber’s books that seemed to express something of that comfort (or at least the promise of that comfort). It strikes me as powerful and as satisfying as any of the Psalms, or even John 3:16. It speaks of (and to) the encompassing values of all humankind: the Good, the True and the Beautiful.

"And who knows, we might, you and I just might, in the upper reaches of the spectrum of consciousness itself, directly intuit the mind of some eternal Spirit—a Spirit that shines forth in every I and every we and every it, a Spirit that sings as the rain and dances as the wind, a Spirit of which every conversation is the sincerest worship, a Spirit that speaks with your tongue and looks out from your eyes, that touches with these hands and cries out with this voice—and a Spirit that has always whispered lovingly in our ears: Never forget the Good, and never forget the True, and never forget the Beautiful."


Donald Skiff, June 5, 2004

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