Control. Control. Control.

I've been reading a little book by Hartmut Rosa, called Uncontrollability. It's an interesting read. He explores an idea at the core of a lot of his thinking, part of a set of things that make modern life (at least in the wealthy West). He writes about an idea that's as obvious as the air we breathe, but is unique in history. That's the idea that our purpose in life--in our individual lives and in society at large--is control. He calls this "dynamic stabilization," meaning that we are only secure when we are moving, gaining ground, controlling more, accumulating more, speaking louder, and growing toward something (sometimes illusive) that we seek. With that dynamic, the world (nature, society, our bodies, relationships in general, our sense of meaning) become "points of aggression," meaning that if we don't control these things we risk loss, failure, vulnerability, and death. Even time must be conquered.

The tremendously powerful idea that the key to a good life, a better life, lies in expanding our share of the world has arisen as a cultural correlate to the structural logic of dynamic stabilization in modernity’s understanding of itself, working its way deep into the tiniest pores of our psychological and emotional life. Our life will be better if we manage to bring more world within our reach: this is the mantra of modern life, unspoken but relentlessly reiterated and reified in our actions and behavior.

He lists four aspects of this push. One: we try to understand more. This begins by assuming that all things are knowable, and so mystery is a sign of something we don't yet know. Two: We try to make the world accessible, within our grasp, in a kind of "land grab" through technology and economics, and more. Three: we try to make the world, and life, "manageable." And four, related to three, is that we try to make the world "useful." Put simply, we have a hard time leaving things alone. 

Yikes. Might not explain everything, but, for me, he puts a finger on something important and true. And the sad thing here is that this power grab doesn't just fail, it also often produces the very thing it's trying to solve. In all our attempts to control, we lose control. Crashes happen less often, maybe, but when they do they're catastrophic.

Now Hartmut Rosa is not a theologian. I've no evidence that he's even a believer, though he's not hostile toward belief. He's a sociologist, philosopher, and social critic. But, when he offers an antidote to our woes he talks about resonating with what's uncontrollable, accepting mystery, letting things go in order to relate to them without power, and embracing give and take (speaking and listening) as a way of being.

He also speaks of how Christian faith has talked of prayer, as an "ultimate, potentially transformative relationship of mutual listening that also allows each side its 'own voice' and freedom to respond.” Prayer not as begging God, but as listening and speaking with respect, openness, and love. "In contrast to what happens in the practices of alchemy or magic, in prayer, there is no attempt to manipulate the other side or to engineer a particular result." Sounds pretty theological to me.

And he even writes of the Christian understanding of grace: "Religious concepts such as grace or the gift of God suggest that accommodation cannot be earned, demanded, or compelled, but rather is rooted in an attitude of approachability to which the subject-as-recipient can contribute insofar as he or she must be receptive to God’s gift or grace.”

"Insofar as" is a scholar's term. But it simply means that we should accept life as a gift, treat it as a gift, and open ourselves to each other as we open ourselves to God.

Maybe there's an answer after all--not one that keeps us in control, but that gives us hints of a God-given life.