Choosing the Fall
October 24, 1999
© 1999 Matthew S. Cockrum
I've always loved autumn…always loved this time of year. I don't know completely why, actually. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, as a June baby, I was conceived near the fall. All I know is that the crunching of autumn leaves underfoot, the crispness in the air and the coming of the days when I can don a warm sweater in the daytime and light a fireplace at night have always brought greater satisfaction to me than the sensual pleasures of any other season. You can keep summer's bikinis and sun worshipping. The creaking of the trees in the winter snow leaves me absolutely cold. And the wet, fresh spring, though a close second, could never compare to revelry of autumn for me. It's simple. I've chosen the fall. And it's chosen me.
Like me, the earth seems to take great pleasure in donning her autumn garb. She draws close around her the cloak of her creation and of all that she is…reclaiming for a few months the glories of life…absorbing them back into herself. The world is painted in bright autumn hues and then sinks back into itself…to rest…to renew…to re-create itself yet again.
And yet autumn for many people is a time of recollecting the glory days of other seasons. I can't tell you how baffling it is for me at times - being an autumn child. So often I hear the lamenting of those lovers of other seasons, recalling the golden days of their favorite times of year, "Gosh, it's getting so cold. Remember when we were at the lake every day this past summer? I can't wait for next year." Or, "I just wish fall would hurry up and get over, I just love the beauty of winter." Or worse yet, "Autumn is so depressing. All of this death. Ugh. Give me the life of spring."
I suppose everyone's entitled to their opinions. But I'll never fully understand how some folks can just totally miss the glories of a good, cool fall.
Certainly, the sentiment about death is a common one. It is difficult to be reminded of our mortality…of the certainty of our own deaths. In a culture that is so completely death-defying and denying, it is seductive to imagine that we will never actually have to face it.
But like Freddie, in our children's story this morning, we are all eventually faced with the finite nature of our lives. And the beauty of the certainty in this comes, for me, with the manner in which we chose to fall. On the trip down from the tree of life, what will our view be? Will we fall with regret, anger and despair - clinging to the branch with all we have within us, with every last bit of energy? Will we curse the necessity of the fall, recounting the glories of our days in the spring and summer of our life? Holding fast to the "golden age" of our time? Or will we allow the winds that blow in the autumns of our lives to carry us down to the waiting grounds, nestling us among the snow and the other fallen leaves who have gone before? It is certainly a choice. How do we fall? And what does it mean?
The "choice" and the "fall" are two concepts that are ripe with personal, theological and spiritual implications, I believe. Interestingly enough, a variety of religions practiced around the world propose accounts of the descent of human kind from a previously superior and more desirable state of being. Often the results of this descent or fall is the issuance of mortality upon humankind and the first representation of evil and death in the world. The characters vary from tradition to tradition and the ascription of fault or blame varies from being placed upon careless deities to disobedient humans. But the result is the same, nonetheless. These tales all seek to define, describe and explain the current state of affairs in the world, while often offering suggestions as to how this blunder can be corrected, understood or dealt with. Indeed, French scholar Julien Ries suggests that all tales of "the fall" contain three essential elements: 1) the concept of a "golden age" in the beginning; 2) an explanation of an accident that causes the break in the original harmony of the universe; and 3) an explanation of the present, human condition.
It seems that the recipe for a "fall" story seems to have a lot of the same ingredients as many of those I heard told by my grandparents and parents - and which I, disturbingly enough, catch myself telling from time to time as well. You know the type, those ones that start with, "When I was your age…", or "I just don't understand the world nowadays. Things used to be so simple." There must be a collective consciousness somewhere that we all borrow from in order to create the belief that life was always better before…that there was order in the universe at one time…it just made better sense then. And somehow it all just got fouled up along the way.
Now, at the risk of sounding a bit simplistic, I'd like to pose the possibility that this type of sentiment is at the heart of many of these creation and fall stories. In particular, let's take the example of the story from the Hebrew scriptures of the book of Genesis that we read from earlier. It is the fall story with which I am most familiar and one which pervades our western culture, whether we claim it as fact or fiction.
Let's revisit the story of the fall of Adam and Eve in light of Ries' recipe for the fall. The original state of harmony or golden age is clearly represented by the story of the creation of the garden of Eden. Surely humans were then meant to dwell there in harmony with creation in perpetuity. The implication of the words of the Old Testament god, "for in the day you eat of it you shall die", seem unquestionable. The "mistake" or accident that led to the fall was the choice made by Adam and Eve to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. More to the point, they disobeyed a direct order from their commanding officer. They chose otherwise. And finally, this resulted in the visitation of mortality upon humans, the beginning of childbearing complications for women, the establishment of marital strife, the list goes on and on. It's a tidy little package, isn't it? One simple act ruined it for the rest of us.
The outcome? The fall of humankind. The reason? A choice.
The characters in this tale made a choice. In keeping with the tradition of the Hebrew and later Christian scriptures, Jehovah was not a god to be taken lightly. His judgement was absolute and his punishment swift. And as time wore on through history and through the documentation of these peoples, the idea - the very exercise of - a free will and choice increasingly compounded humankind's state of misery. Indeed, the idea of choice became such a sticking point that the root for "heretic" and "heresy" stems from the Greek word "hairesis", which means, "a choice, opinion or way of thinking."
Yet, choice was clearly not completely the fatal element. If we are to take the biblical creation stories as whole, we must include the fact that Adam began by making some pretty good decisions, apparently. God brought all of the animals to Adam to see what he would call them and gave Adam the pleasure of naming all of creation. I guess he couldn't have done too badly for himself there, huh? Perhaps the issue of choice isn't completely problematic, then. Could it be the particular choice made by the pair? What did Adam and Eve choose, after all, when they chose the fall? And did so fully aware of the repercussions as outlined by the creator god in their story. Some might say that they chose death over life...others, that they chose knowledge over obedience and communion with their god. Did they chose the pleasures of the flesh and one another's company of the company of their creator? I'm afraid I may be asking more questions than I'll be able to answer here. But the questions of the matter of choice and what they chose are clearly at issue here.
Indeed, this may be seen as the very cornerstone of the conservative biblical literalism and puritanical interpretations that led to much of the world view in which we find ourselves today. Despite the fact that the early reformers of Christianity and the church based much of their arguments upon the importance of individual conscience, much of the tradition that remains rests upon the key assumption that the human capacity to chose is clearly not enough. Original sin permeates our paradigm. Many of us may have been raised to believe that human's choices are innately flawed and problematic, using this very scripture as proof positive. And so, though perhaps we cannot attribute to the characters of Adam and Eve the foresight of knowing the effects that their actions might have upon future generations (indeed, did they even have an inkling that such a thing as a future generation might exist?), they clearly made a choice. And that choice was viewed as flawed, evil and sinful by the authors and many of the subsequent recipients of this tradition.
Which brings us to the consequences of the choice to fall. Ever since the bites from the fruit of the tree of knowledge (whether that fruit be apple, as commonly represented, or fig as theorized by subsequent Jewish commentators), humankind has been working to right the wrongs of this fateful decision…to return to that original state of grace…that golden age. The concept of repentance can be traced to this action. The two most common words for repentance in Hebrew scriptures are nªham and žõb , meaning "to be sorry or change one's mind" and "to turn back, to return", respectively. So it can be argued that since the dawn of time, humankind - at least from the perspective of the Jewish and Christian scriptures and creation myths - has been struggling to be sorry for and to turn back to the original state of harmony…a right relation with god…a return to a state of obedience.
I must admit, this viewpoint seems a bit too pessimistic for me. As one who believes in the inherent tendency of humanity towards goodness, truth and light, I cannot believe that our origins, whatever those may be, include a flawed decision which led to a permanent state of being eternally self-effacing and self-flaggelatory. Yet, the story of the choice, of the fall and of repentance resonates with me. It holds significance and speaks to me at the turning of the seasons and particularly during this season of impermanence, change and, yes, death.
The earth, in its seasons, seems to reflect this very creation story. Spring comes, and there is light. Summer's rays of warmth and life are reminiscent of Adam and Eve's time in the garden in peace and harmony. The choice for knowledge comes, and there is a falling away from simplistic ideals of perfection…the world is a complicated place. And then comes the exile from the garden…winter.
But the story doesn't end there, though, either in nature or in the biblical tradition. Indeed, it is just the beginning. The cycle continues…and continues…and continues. It is a timeless tale. One that is retold in every culture, by every religion, at every time. It is a way of making sense of the world. And it includes within it the very nature of the Earth.
Perhaps, just perhaps, life itself is our golden age. Perhaps the connections we weave, the relationships we build and the meanings we make are the very glory days for which we seek understanding and to which we cling. And perhaps the choice to seek knowledge of ourselves, of our universe, and of one another is rewarded with the bittersweet awareness and experience that this choice comes with a price. Our knowledge is but fleeting, as are we. The only permanence is change and the ongoing cycle of life, death and rebirth. And the choice to remain in the garden of eternal summer, to know only one season of the soul, would yield a shallow and bland existence. And so, given the choice, I chose a life of awareness…of knowledge and connection. I chose the experience of good and evil, to use the biblical terms. I choose the autumn, as the earth welcomes back the leaves to the ground from which they sprung, cloaking herself in their colorful cape and wrapping herself in knowledge of what she has created…and will create again. I choose the fall.
