Chaosmos

Reflections and musings occasioned by Caputo, The Folly of God,

“James Joyce proposed a felicitous formulation . . . with the magnificent locution ‘chaosmos’ . . . adding the right amount of madness to get an optimized dis/order, in/stability, an/archy, which is deconstruction in a nutshell.” (Caputo, The Folly of God, 28)

On the surface, I like the orderly Newtonian cosmos—a structured thought for every entity. Deep down, however, I prefer the Quantum chaos—each entity capable of being in two different places at the same time and what you seeis what you get. Chaosmos is my world.

Each day is like every other day and yet not two days are the same. I tend to think the same thoughts and yet no two thoughts ever come out the same. I love the old poster: “Bloom where you are planted.” Except that when you bloom, the ground from which you sprout doesn’t even vaguely resemble the ground into which you are planted. You can’t step into the same river twice.

I Thinkfeelthat is why I want a theological pathway that walks outside the box. I need the box—the collected insights of past journeyers—to guide my path but I cannot walk wherethey have walked. I can only walk asthey walked, trusting into trust.

Like the Hebrews at the Red Sea, there are long robe warriors approaching from behind. And in front, the deep sea of the unconditional—and it goes all the way down. Will I be like the leaders of the tribes who stood on the shoreline and peed their pants in terror or like Nashon who waded into the deep afraid, but trusting into trust? When I simply analyze the situation—for a long time that was my ‘auto-pilot’—I end up with pee-stained trousers. I have learned to Thinkfeel(and sometimes even to Feelthink) when trapped by life’s vicissitudes. The deep has become both terrifying and welcoming. I have learned, in a small way, to trust into trust.

Only when I was willing to let go of God—willing also to have God let go of me—did I find my way into that mysterious presence we call divinity or creativity or the unconditional. The mystics are right. God is pure folly. And I am the jester.

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