Two visions of God?

Eight pm last evening, I relaxed by watching a video of a song I’d not heard before by one of my favourite bands, Gentle Giant.

It is mainly sung in the ethereal voice of keyboardist Kerry Minnear, and musically it is certainly typical of his composition. It speaks of a death, ostensibly through a storm at sea, though this may well be a metaphor for the storms of life eventually bringing death as a universal inevitability. Here are the lyrics:

Rose in early morning, as the light came through
Searching in the ocean, did what he should do
Seeking not adventure, just a way of life
Sky above turned grey, wind cut like a knife
This was his last voyage, this was his last time
Pulling up the anchor, letting go the rope
Age rules over all things, fate rules over hope

Then as bow was broken, water soon to rise
For they would have nothing, Nature’s trust unwise
Through his boat and fortune, not for him that day
If he went to God, for him they would pray

As the tempest thundered, as the storm broke free
Suddenly in darkness, fear there none to see
Visions in his memory, what was meant to be
When the storm was over, nothing could be seen

Life and boat were taken, God knows what it means
Rose in early morning, as the light came through
Searching in the ocean, did what he should do
This was his last voyage, this was his last time
Pulling up the anchor, letting go the rope
Age rules over all things, fate rules over hope

Kerry is (and was then) a committed Christian, and the lyrics seem to reflect his outlook more than that of his usual lyricist, singer Derek Shulman, who is, as far as I know, a non-observant Jew.

Either way, I think the song is beautiful and unworldly, which is perhaps what inspired the poster of the video to generate the visuals from an AI algorithm that firstly morphs the faces of the band, and then segues into a psychedelic experience that, sometimes, almost touches reality with images of zebras or crowds, but mainly produces swirling patterns of light that are, indeed, abstract. It is not actually chaotic, but is certainly incomprehensible.

Here I want to focus on that video, which I found very beautiful, but rather unsettling. That was not because it gave me a migraine or sea-sickness, but because it seemed to resemble the experiences I have heard described of LSD or mescaline “trips.” I can’t confirm that from experience. But I’m not sure I trust either chemicals or AI to take hold of my mind.

That is not so for others, of course, who have told me that they saw God when they took acid. If the imagery in the video is anything to go by, that apprehension is not surprising – especially if the imagery were coming through one’s own senses and brain, rather than merely a small computer screen.

Who knows? If it were possible in this body, without immediate dissolution, to see the heavenly Father face to face, perhaps it might be some exponentially greater version of that video that would be too great for us to bear. God, after all, holds all the forms, colours and movements of creation as one simple cognition, according to classical theology. But he exists in eternity, and we do not. That is one reason why his Word, the eternal Son, became incarnate to make the invisible God visible. And perhaps that is why the reality he has created for us to dwell in, and to experience his goodness, is not psychedelic. Let me exemplify that.

Eight am this morning, and I took my faithful fox-red Labrador for a walk along the deserted lane. Up on our hill the sky was clear, with a few wispy cirro-stratus clouds contrasting with the cobalt blue vault. In the valley far below to the right, the fields and farms were partly covered in an opaque blanket of white mist. Where it was clear, a scattering of herds of cattle and flocks of sheep dotted the Devon countryside.

The sun had not yet risen enough to bathe the lane, but it shone brightly above the hill to the left, spotlighting the leaves of an ash tree, on which perched a murder of crows. In fact, there were several such congregations of both crows and jackdaws in the trees, and wheeling around the sky, with their various corvid calls breaking the morning silence. There were several hundred in all. This is the time of year when this spectacle thrills my eyes and ears, even though it is less celebrated than starling murmurations. I think I also saw a peregrine exiting the scene in the distance: I suspect there were too many eyes on him to make attempting a kill worthwhile.

If it is possible to sense God in a scene, I sensed him in this almost-everyday landscape. I pondered why it spoke to me more than the spectacularly confluent imagery of the video, which instead just made me uneasy. The provisional answer I have come to is that the bucolic peace of the natural world held meaning. Some of that meaning I could already comprehend – the species of the birds, the physical reason for valley-mist, or the nature of the distant Methodist chapel where I used to attend elders’ meetings. Other parts I could conceive of learning – for example, what social function is served by the conglomeration of the crows, or who lives in that large white house near the village.

The rest of the scene clearly held meanings and associations which I could never hope to learn (both from sheer quantity and limited human understanding). But their nature was sufficiently manifest to be certain that other people did know them (who are therefore worthy of my time), and if not, then they were clear to the God who made them, eliciting my sense of wonder.

My conclusion? Even if psychedelic or transcendental experiences were, in some sense, a direct apprehension of God (and that seems a little more plausible than that they are an apprehension of the devil), it is in the ordinary that we can come to know God better. My walk with Flinn the dog is one instance, but hearing and understanding God’s word in church, or enjoying a meal and a conversation with friends, or (topically) sharing a pint of warm ale with the Labrador in an English country pub, have meaning that no AI video, however mind-blowing, can offer.

The song, though, is certainly worthy of your attention.