calfThere’s a story in the Hebrew scriptures, about the people of Israel after they had escaped from Egypt. In the story, which is absurdly rich in symbolism and image, the people are making their way through the desert when their leader Moses climbs a mountain to commune with God.

To cut a complicated narrative unreasonably short, the impatient Israelites get fed up waiting for Moses to return, and decide to melt their golden jewellery to create an idol – a golden calf, which they then proceed to worship.

Moses, who has spent 40 days on the mountain eventually returns to find all this going on, loses it a bit, and a load of the Israelites pop their clogs. When you read serious Jewish interpretations of the story, it grows more complex around the edges, considering the motivations of those who built the calf, and so on.

So here’s the thing: as with many Bible stories, there are two predictable dangers when we read the story: 1) The story is written off as complete nonsense: “It didn’t happen, and it has nothing to say to us.” 2) The story is taken totally literally, as though it is a modern historical account: “This is exactly what happened to a ‘real’ people, in a ‘real’ place, at a ‘real’ time.”

Neither of these two approaches manage to capture the complex subtleties of the story, which was almost certainly written down or collated from oral tradition as part of the process of nation building while the Israelites were in captivity a few centuries BCE. While this whole question – the historicity of the text – makes for fascinating reading and discussion, I’m not about to run through all that here.

I’m more interested in the question of the Golden Calf: what does it represent?

I think there’s a strong case to be made for the Golden Calf as representative of certainty.

Moses’ disappearance up the mountain was for ’40 days’ a term used to represent a long time. Faced with the disappearance of their spiritual leader, the people grew upset, and eventually chose what they felt to be a logical course of action.

“Give us a god to go before us,” they said, “for we don’t know what has come of this man Moses.” (Exodus 32:1)

What the people wanted was some sense of security, a kind of certainty that they could cling to. Moses, a man who had difficulty communicating at the best of times, had left them to wait for him while he communed with an invisible, unknown God. Would he ever return?

To put this in to a framework with which people who read this blog are familiar: Moses led the Israelites into a period of major league deconstruction. He took them out of the brutal certainties of Egypt, where they had suffered, but at least they knew what was what, and into the wilderness.

And then he had left them…

Extended uncertainty, lets be honest, really gets to you. It grates. maxresdefault

And after a while – a long time – they began to crave some sense of certainty. ‘It’s time to reconstruct, to rebuild: give us a god to go before us…’

When they eventually came to act upon this craving, they constructed something which would have been culturally very familiar – and they gave a lot to it – this was no petty endeavour. A lot of gold went into making that statue.

This is precisely what happens to many who try to find some solid ground on which to stand after deconstruction, they go for something familiar, they invest in it, they give it their all, and in the end they create another idol.

I feel huge sympathy for the Israelites, mainly because I think I may have felt just as they did. And yet from the benefit of some elevation, looking down from Mount Sinai, Moses who was a somewhat absolutist sort, could see the futility of this search for comfort. And lost his rag. Understandable yes, but harsh, Moses, harsh: dwelling in uncertainty is difficult.


Are you struggling with deconstruction? Taking apart beliefs and ideas with which you’ve lived for years?

Are you considering reconstruction, and wondering if that is right for you, now? I’m running a retreat for people like you in November, you can book here. Or alternatively, contact me to find out about other ways I can help. 

doorway1I hear from a lot of people who have been through, or are going through, a period of deconstruction. I’ve come to realise that, as with many things, there are stages, and one or more of those stages involves a strong desire to reconstruct.

It’s natural – anyone who has had to pull down an edifice around which they had built their life, is likely to reach a point where they think ‘ok, that’s all gone, now I can rebuild.’ For some this means seeking out a church or other religious space where they can feel at home. For others it becomes about latching on to a particular spiritual or religious leader or movement with which, or with whom, they identify.

In some circumstances, this is positive. For instance, the discovery of a safe, supportive and nurturing community can be a real boon. Particularly when one has been without such a support network for an extended period of time.

This is not universally the case, however, and it can indicate that the individual has not yet reached a point of maturity where they feel able to engage with the causes of their deconstruction in genuinely grown-up terms. Over the years I’ve observed, in myself and others, the desire to strongly attach one’s self to a figure head or cause, something which is, ultimately, indicative of a lack of spiritual maturity. It speaks of our desire to deify ideas and people, which is natural for a child, but in an adult quickly becomes unhealthy and unhelpful.

At best, reconstruction is very helpful – it allows us to develop our questioning narrative in a safe place, and in community rather than in isolation. But it can easily dull the senses, and give us a sense of security which we don’t want to lose by doing too much questioning. Dogma is safe, solid, and secure – or at least it has that illusion, but when you feel safe, you’re much less likely to take a risk with a step in to the unknown.

I don’t discourage anyone who feels that for them the time is right to reconstruct, if they can make that work, I’m glad for them. However, I am deliberate in my refusal to prescribe it: the great story of Jesus in the desert tells how he was tempted in a number of important ways. The unwritten, but implied temptation was the temptation to run back to civilisation, to a place of safety. Had he done so, it would have spoiled the story, of course. So I encourage people who are in the desert, and have the capacity to remain there a while longer, to do so. Face the reality of who you are, what you have built up around you, your motivations, and your desires. That’s difficult – I recognise that, and if you can find someone to walk with you, it’s a good thing.

The story of Antony of Egypt, a renowned ‘Desert Father’ goes that he stayed in the desert for twenty years, before returning to found a monastery. And even then, the cells were scattered and the monks were solitary for much of the time. That is because, when/if the time comes to reconstruct, that which we rebuild may be quite different to that which went before.

When I teach stillness meditation I teach people to neither resist, resent nor retain any thoughts, for its amazing how many wonderful ideas flood into your head while you sit in meditation. Better to let those thoughts pass by, than to try to grab them. If they are as marvellous as they seem, they will return in time. Likewise, when you’re in a period of deconstruction, don’t rush to reconstruct. If in time a natural opportunity comes your way, then by all means walk with it a bit, but don’t cling to it too firmly, and don’t allow a new dogma to replace the old one.

Finally, there is a koan that goes: ‘If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him.’ The Buddha, the road, and the killing are all symbolic: it means that if you find precisely what you think you are looking for, be careful, for what you are looking for may not be what you really need.


Are you struggling with deconstruction? Taking apart beliefs and ideas with which you’ve lived for years?

Are you considering reconstruction, and wondering if that is right for you, now? I’m running a retreat for people like you in November, you can book here. Or alternatively, contact me to find out about other ways I can help.