Wholeness (part two)

The archetype of wholeness has a long history. It appears, for example, in the Pauline letters under the name of pleroma, where it refers to the Cosmic Christ — or God’s Wisdom — holding the universe together. It is also recognized in Jungian psychology as the symbol of the final aim — the integration of the parts of one’s personality, which paradoxically often peeps out in earlier dreams as a signal pointing to the end of the process. People dream, for example, of square gardens or rotundas.

In the middle between macrocosm (universe) and microcosm (soul), the archetype of wholeness also appears in our social interactions. It is the ideal city in which everybody has a purpose and a function. We tend to project it also on our families. Here, one discovers that archetypes can also be dangerous and even destructive.

The average American mind is quite idealistic — or at least it has been until recently — and many times I observed disasters in the making because of idealistic expectations that people placed upon their Thanksgiving dinner. Or rather, upon themselves and upon members of their families, especially if they had not seen each other for a year or even longer.

To me, as a foreigner, this always looked like creating on purpose, year after year, the perfect storm. Unless one belongs to a family that has managed to work out its inner conflicts, which is very rare.

But Thanksgiving can also be an occasion of inner work, if one becomes apt at observing one’s own expectations and projections, learns how to harness them back, and keeps observing one’s reactions in case of challenges or conflicts.

I confess that I can’t really catch the spirit of Thanksgiving, if there is one. I know the criticisms raised against it, a bit of its history as a fabrication in the 1830s or so, and I experienced the anxieties around it when I lived in the USA. I also enjoyed the dinners to which I was invited, always recognizing the work put in by the hosts to make everything go smoothly.

One can, of course, focus on the word itself and make of the day an occasion for giving thanks. After all, Meister Eckhart did maintain that saying “thanks” even just once might be enough of a prayer for a lifetime.

But let’s not trivialize his sentence. He meant that the essence of prayer is welcoming reality, living it not begrudgingly but fully. There is no need for elaborate petitions to God if one is present, attentive, and accepting. That is the only good ground for a true prayer of thanks. And that ground is possible only after leaving aside idealizations such as projecting the archetype of wholeness onto one’s family.

I remember now morning church services on Thanksgiving day, in the parish where I was the priest, in the Diocese of Los Angeles, which were quiet and meditative, including one when I was hit by a sun ray while preaching, and another when a bird decided to spend the entire service flying calmly over us. Does this mean that after all, there is a spirit of Thanksgiving haunting me?

Banner Image: Sharing gratitude for creation. Photo by Min An on Pexels.

Queries for Contemplation

What does it mean for you to be “spiritual” on Thanksgiving Day?

Related Readings by Matthew Fox

One River, Many Wells: Wisdom Springing from Global Faiths

Original Blessing: A Primer in Creation Spirituality.

A Spirituality Named Compassion: Uniting Mystical Awareness with Social Justice

Order of the Sacred Earth: An Intergenerational Vision of Love and Action by Matthew Fox, Skylar Wilson, Jen Listug

Julian of Norwich: Wisdom in a Time of Pandemic–and Beyond

Meditations with Julian of Norwich

Occupy Spirituality: A Radical Vision For a New Generation by Adam Bucko and Matthew Fox