“Who am I? Who is this I, prey to so many temptations, dragged this way and that, drawn to the ear like the string of a bow, shot forth like an arrow? The moment I close the door, an order from destiny falls on my roof. Am I a star in the zodiac, cycling through houses of fortune and disaster, laughing in one, weeping in another? One moment I speed like the wind, the next, I’m a loafer. One moment I’m fire, the next a flash flood. Now I’m levitating over the plains, now I’m plodding through deserts and towns. Where do I come from? What rung do I stand on? In what market am I for sale? One moment, I feel the sorrow of separation. One moment, I’m a mystery in Mystery’s arms. Now waxing and waning, in pace with the moon. Now whirling and staggering, drunk on the divine. Now I’m Joseph, thrown in the well. Now I’m his brother, looking down from the rim. One moment, bandit and ghoul, one moment restless and glum, one moment, perched on a high roof. Play the song mad lovers sing! Let me hear their passion! I broke through my chains, I wrenched the post from the ground! Stay by my side, beloved. Hear me out. Don’t empty this cup of compassion. You are first and last, the light and prize at this feast. Pour wine from the tavern where meaning is on tap. For the devoted servant, there is no other wine. In a field of logic, my words are horses with no room to run. Without reason, the voice of my soul soars.”
—Rumi—
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If there’s one sentiment that’s become popular in marketing and social media over the past five years or so, it’s that “We all just need to, like, love ourselves ya know?” If only we “loved ourselves”, the world would become a kinder place, our communities would come together quicker to solve problems, and individuals would be more at ease expressing the operatic heights of their souls, or something.
It doesn’t help, of course, that such a sentiment emanates from the same online culture that is constantly pushing us to overshare intimate details of our lives whilst simultaneously punishing those who air “incorrect” or “untidy” thoughts with merciless ridicule. Nevertheless, such a culture does—in a blink—schizophrenically insist that what’s holding all of us back from personal fulfillment and joy is not a privacy crisis, or a crisis of principle, or a crisis of meaning, or a crisis of shared boundaries, but a widespread crisis of confidence that we could overcome if only we would learn to “love ourselves”.
This exhortation to “love ourselves” has been used to enrich therapists, sell beauty products, and fill vacancies at spas and resorts. But no doubt plenty of well-meaning people also propose it genuinely as much as they do ignorantly, without ulterior motive; seeing lack of “loving ourselves” as the root cause of self-esteem issues ranging from eating disorders to suicide, especially in young people.
Yet I rather suspect, like contemporary culture writer Freddie deBoer, that “Mentally healthy people, if they still exist, aren’t healthy because of the constant presence of positive feelings of self. They are healthy because of the habitual absence of any feelings of self.” That is, that what we perceive in another person as “confidence”, “self-esteem”, and “loving oneself”, is really what a person looks like when they don’t think about themselves at all. That the key to a “love of self” is to simply detach yourself, as much as possible, from the internal monologue in your head. That the antidote to self-consciousness is minimal consciousness of the self.
But there’s a second way we can think about “loving ourselves”. A more spiritual way. One that a person can resort to if, for whatever reason, simply detaching from or quieting down one’s inner monologue doesn’t work and rumination persists: we can love ourselves by meditating on the concept of Image.
Before we were a soul and before we were a body, we were an idea in the mind of G-d.
We existed first in His imagination.
Though, wading into the choppy and uncertain waters of theology, I would posit that we first existed in His imagination as persons whom we ought to be and could be and not as persons as we currently are. Which is to say, our destiny in life as children of G-d is to become like the pre-conceived “us” in the imagination of G-d. And we do this primarily through worship. Lifting our mind’s eye (and perhaps literal eye) to sacred architecture or a natural landscape, lifting our voices in chant or song, lifting our ears to proclamations of holy writ, all the while recognizing how wholly unworthy and inadequate we are at grasping the fullness and depth of things eternal (the result of which is that we eventually come full circle back to loving ourselves but without the ego in the way to pervert this love; we learn to love ourselves, but with the love of G-d “beamed into us” the more we make worship a habit).
The Karaite Jewish leader Moshe Ben Shabbetai Ratzon (1932-2004) adds onto this concept in his exegesis of the Book of Genesis, when he talks about “man being in G-d’s image” as a co-creative act; that when G-d says in 1:26 “Let us make man in our image”, He is essentially breaking the fourth wall and speaking to the reader: “I will establish an objective moral standard… a ‘mold’ so to speak of Righteous Man that individuals are capable of being… and you, in loving response, should spend your life striving to fit into that mold.” Ratzon writes:
“The Holy One, blessed be He, gave man what He gave no other animal: a conscience, a mind, an intelligent soul. Without these distinctions, a human is comparable to any of the other animals (‘so that man hath no pre-eminence above a beast’ - Ecclesiastes 3:19). So given all this, why did it say ‘Let us make man’ using plural language? ‘Let us make man’ is said in the plural for this reason: a human being is the only creature on earth that cannot be called by its name unless he truly behaves ‘humanely’ with regard to morality, love for others, hatred of evil, and observance of the commandments of the Holy One, blessed be He. A human being is even expected to act with good manners (derekh eretz!) Otherwise, what distinction is there between him and the animals which weren’t given an intelligent soul? […] The creature called ‘man’ is a godly and exalted being, but man himself has a central role in forming the humanity that is within him. Therefore, his behavior and way of life depend solely upon him. ‘Let us make’ is said in the plural because the Holy One, blessed be He, formed humanity, and in His great mercy handed him tools, but the end result depends exclusively on the man himself: if he intelligently chooses to take the right path, he will be successful. In so doing, [G-d] gave man the gift of freedom of choice.” (The Sayings Of Moshe, Chapter 6, Pg.53)
Man—if he is to be a complete Image, according to this interpretation—must be comprised of two halves: the first half is that mold, that shape, that picture of moral perfection planted by his Creator into his consciousness to “nag” him, and the second half is whoever he is at any time moving closer to that mold/shape/picture. Which means that if a man chooses instead to become squalid and base, he is an incomplete Image. Actually, worse than this, the further he moves away from divine moral order, the more the Image in him actually deteriorates. So if we think about the worst of criminals (a rapist, a serial killer, a terrorist, someone who tortures children or dogs or the elderly), the Image in them has disintegrated to the point that they’ve actually lost their very status as man. The intrinsic worth of human life that exists because we are made in the Image of G-d is no longer possessed by these, because there is no residue of goodness. Habitually and consciously forsaking righteousness and embracing wickedness to the most extreme degree, they have forfeited the value of their life and transformed from man to beast. Thus, in reflecting on the idea of the Image being comprised by two halves (the “as we ought” and “as we are”), we come to recognize that we can only become fully human and fully ourselves in contemplation of and service to the Maker.
This is similar to the ancient Greek concept of theosis, which became popular with early Christians and even still today is spoken of by Eastern Orthodox and Catholics. Theosis can best be described as an internal spiritual pilgrimage; an intentional journey one embarks upon where a person—through meditation, prayer, song, and creative pursuit—purifies their mind and body, and by doing so, nears “perfect unity with the divine”; their souls eventually being absorbed into His essence like a planet being swallowed by the sun when it orbits too close.
Such an endeavor is not free of quiet desperation and unpleasantness. Despite the perilous warning of Exodus 33:20 that “No man can see G-d’s face and live”, the Sephardic Jewish poet Jehuda Halevi (1075-1141) was undaunted in proclaiming: “To see the face of my King is my sole desire. I fear none but Him; I revere only Him. Would that I might see Him in a dream! I would continue to sleep for all eternity. Would that I might behold His face within my heart! Mine eyes would never ask to look at anything else.” The Psalmist in the Tanakh’s wisdom literature agrees in 42:2 when he sings “As a deer yearns for the streams of water, so does my soul yearn for Thee, O G-d. My soul thirsts for G-d, the living G-d. When shall I come and see the face of the Lord?”
What we encounter with Hebrew scripture and the medieval Jewish sages is a fascinating paradox: we must avert our eyes from G-d’s face unless we wish to die, and yet in order to truly love ourselves by meditating on Image and striving to become virtuous and wise, we must seek and find the face of the Lord: “If thou seek Him, He will be found of thee; but if thou forsake Him, He will cast thee off forever.” (1st Chronicles 28:9) So what are we to make of the contradiction? We are to conclude it is no contradiction at all. Yes there is a death involved in “seeing the face of the Lord”, but that death is the death of pride, of the ego, of the selfish self. To “look upon the face of the Lord”—that is, to attain theosis, to complete our Image—is to kill a version of ourselves in order to become the self imagined by G-d before our creation; a spiritually-minded self. A self who pursues virtue, who champions good over evil. A self who cannot fathom getting caught up in worldly dramas that are fleeting and without substance at the expense of that which is timelessly true, good, and beautiful.
Okay okay, but… how do we seek G-d and in what ways can He be found?
We can seek and find G-d by relishing in His words, wonders, commands, and remedies:
Reading Scripture | For 3,500 years the Jewish people chronicled their experiences with the Creator of the universe, and for another hundred so did the first Christians. The Bible is not a book, though we are used to speaking of it as such. The Bible is a library of books. A collection of human encounters with the divine that shook the people in question to their very core and redefined their life’s mission. Is your own individual perspective on spirituality greater than the testimonies of prophets and martyrs? Is your own individual perspective on spirituality more profound than the transcribed joys and griefs of judges, priests, warriors, and kings? Arrogance.
Reading Myth & Folktale | For 37,000 years, people besides Jews and Christians also constructed tales of the supernatural that sought to transmit to hearers and readers a sense of G-d and His working in the world. Acquainting ourselves with these myths and folktales from around the world—polytheistic and idolatrous though they often are—can revive in us the sense of magic and enchantment we need in order to approach and fully appreciate religious faith in the general sense.
Contemplating G-d | What good is the imagination if it does not reach beyond its grasp? What good is daring if we do not dare to scale impossible heights? To attempt to contemplate G-d is to attempt to surf a tsunami. Actually, to attempt to contemplate G-d is to be an astronaut attempting to land on the sun. There is no chance. We can’t wrap our arms around it. We can’t “get a read”. We’re no better than babies biting an arm cushion trying to eat the couch. Ants plotting to occupy a skyscraper. But what fun! What fun to contemplate—with voracious and marvelous appetite—an infinite being above all, beneath all, in all, and outside of all. And surely such a Being, in noticing our attempt, will eventually benevolently draw near and allow us to sense His presence.
Spending Time In Nature | The WWI German soldier-turned-philosopher Ernst Jünger wrote in his 1951 magnum opus The Forest Passage, “It is essential to know that every man is immortal and that there is eternal life in him; an unexplored yet inhabited land, which, though he himself may deny its existence, no timely power can ever take from him.” To Jünger, the forest signifies escape from an uncaring bureaucratic society plagued by meaninglessness and hyperreality. It is a spirit-filled fortress, of sorts, holding out against the sieging armies of artificiality/consumption/simulacra. Hence, we come to understand that regular exposure to the forest (and mountains, and empty beaches, and snow-covered fields) can act as a balm to the human soul desiring freedom and redemption.
Music! | Who can fail to momentarily feel the love and terror of G-d in the symphonies of Gustav Mahler? Fail, I dare you. Who can keep their fingertips from going numb, their shoulders from slumping, and their eyes from shutting at the sound of Itzhak Perlman’s violin? Try. Look, I don’t want to regurgitate Goethe’s proverb here—which at this point is so often quoted that it’s become cliché to do so—that “Music is liquid architecture. Architecture is frozen music.” But you know, yes, there really is something to the fact that music can stir within us the very same sense of mortal insignificance and eternal significance we feel while looking up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or down at the mosaics of the Huqoq synagogue. There are certain plains of sentiment and of understanding and of being that language cannot express. There is a type of “knowing” that can only be felt by the soul and not grasped by the intellect, and music is a messenger, delivering that “knowing” to us. (No, of course not all music. I trust you already get that. You cannot detect the “grand majesty and presence of G-d” you would detect by listening to Mahler or Perlman by listening to the Spice Girls instead. Even if it’s what you want, what you really really want.)
Prostration | Contrary to popular perception, praying in prostration is not exclusively a “Muslim thing” nor did it begin with Islam, and we shouldn’t allow that demonic faith to monopolize a prayer posture that existed centuries before its existence. We are not just minds, we are not just bodies, and we are not just spirits, we exist as all three; and thus, it makes sense to pray before G-d with our whole selves. To make our prayer as much a physical act as an intellectual and spiritual one. In fact, during the time of Persian captivity, we find that prostration was such a revered form of worship among the Jews of antiquity, that when Mordechai, uncle of Queen Esther, refused to lay down in prostration before Haman, it set in motion an obsession on Haman’s part to completely destroy the Jewish people; ultimately requiring Queen Esther to act fast and approach her husband, King Ahasuerus (Xerxes I), to have Haman sent to the gallows. The Tanakh’s inclusion of the story of Esther as its own book is surely meant to emphasize, then, the significance of prostration before G-d.
Acts of Service | There’s a large focus on individual salvation in religious songs and sermons. Especially in Christianity. But a concept that often gets neglected and overlooked is that of collective salvation. “Loving yourself” by seeing yourself in others and caring for them. Service to your family, service to widows and orphans, service to your nation. Every major empire—from the Egyptians to the Persians to the Greeks to the Romans to the Chinese to the Ottomans to the British—conveyed to their people, for very good reason, that a person’s reputation and salvation, while not wholly dependent upon duty, was nevertheless bound up in duty; that duty being one’s efforts to help their relatives, their neighbors, and their civilization fight for resources, land, or power, rather than childishly squealing “Kumbaya!” and bemoaning that such a struggle even exists. To possess in one’s mind an order of affections that act as both anchor and compass. Why? Because to be trustworthy is to identify with a home, and by extension, to be trustworthy is to seek the good of that home. I won’t devote any time here to ranting about people who piously claim to “have a global outlook”, except to quickly point out that a lot of self-proclaimed “world citizens” employ flowery humanist rhetoric to mask their complete lack of loyalty to anyone but themselves, while a lot of cosmopolitans behave like parasites “relying upon locals to create the various customs, flavors, and identities in which they dabble” (to quote Roger Scruton). The reason that identifying with a home (a family, a country, a specific people over all others) is a prerequisite for trustworthiness, is that belonging entails the possibility of sacrifice. Conversely lack of belonging entails a lack of willingness to sacrifice. A wanderer who wanders solely for love of wandering—seeing all places as being equal, none more special than the other—is a person who has no true allegiance; a person who at best will be a mere coward in times of unrest, but at worst could be a real menace. Either way, the person with “no home but the whole world” will never stick their neck out for a piece of it or for those who dwell therein. (If you’re still scratching your head as to what I’m talking about, consider the dreaded partner who “loves being in love” rather than loves being in love with you.) More to the point, however, if you find it too inconvenient to devote even a small portion of time out of your life to the flourishing of individuals in your nation, your family, and among the poor, then those individuals are likewise going to find it inconvenient appearing as favorable witnesses in your post-death tribunal. (And yes, you will have one of those.)
You’ll notice that none of the seven items on this list encourage giving any amount of thought to ourselves. The items are facing externally. That seems counterintuitive when the goal is to “love ourselves”, but our soul’s true home is not in us (our physical bodies), but in a world beyond; and therefore our root spiritual identities (that which we are really speaking of when we speak of “loving ourselves”) can only find comfort and confidence when we develop habits that are spiritually necessary in order for the soul to return to that world beyond.
If you want to “love yourself” in the only way that will work long term, if you want to “love yourself” in a sustainable way, if you want to “love yourself” in a way that leaves a lasting impact on those you love when you depart this life, persevere in Him who made you. Even in His silence, He does not abandon you. Even in His silence, His all-seeing eye is always upon us.
