horizontal and vertical
more than one way of knowing
There is a vast and growing body of literature on neurodiversity — or neurodivergence — the wide variety of ways people’s brains process information and express behavior. Conditions such as autism spectrum disorder, dyslexia, and Tourette’s syndrome are among the better known, though there are many others.
In the final chapter of the late Oliver Sacks’ book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (which I referenced previously), titled “The Autist Artist,” he tells the story of “José,” an autistic man who, though severely lacking in ordinary language and social interaction skills, is an exceptionally gifted artist.
John Donne made the poetic observation, “No man is an island, entire of itself.” José with his autism, Sacks comments, might contradict Donne’s claim. “But this is precisely what autism is — an island, cut off from the main… Is being an island, being cut off, necessarily a death?” (221)
Sacks’ book was published in 1985. A great deal of research into autism has occurred since then. Sacks’ reflections at the time were not the final word — as he himself later knew.
He speaks of “horizontal” and “vertical” connections of relating to the world. Horizontal connections are the conventional commands of language and social interactions, to put it simply. José has immense difficulty with these. It is the way most people operate. Vertical connections, however, involve what might be called inward, passionate, and transcendent communion with form and beauty. José thrives in such a realm. That is how Sacks describes his art.
Thinking of the experience of time, I wonder if we can see a difference. Maybe “horizontal” relates to our understanding of time as linear, chronological: one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and so on. Could “vertical” indicate a sense of timelessness? Free from boundaries?
Sacks wonders whether there is a place in the world for those like José. The past few decades have seen much discussion on matters raised by those concerns. With a sigh (so I would surmise!), Sacks laments that despite José’s artistic gifts, “he will do none, unless someone very understanding, and with opportunities and means, can guide and employ him. For, as the stars stand, he will probably do nothing, and spend a useless, fruitless life.” (222)
However, Sacks would withdraw his sigh! Why? There has been a seismic shift in fostering the art that those like José produce. For example, Yoel Emet, speaking of the work of Shlomi Leizerov, boldly says, “we can, should we choose to be elected to observe the expanding phenomenon of autism as a sign that Nature is now in the process of creating an alternative to the current state in which humanity and the Earth exist.” Nature itself is reacting to the abuse foisted upon it.
Emet continues, “We may be witnessing the evolutionary process of a new species of human that has yet to develop the ability to survive on its own. And we are privileged to be the godfathers of this wondrous process.”
Now that is quite a grand statement!
So perhaps we put the question to ourselves. How are we faring in that respect? How well are we welcoming those who operate in a “vertical” fashion? How well are we as the church in welcoming these vertical saints?
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Do the scriptures shed any light on the matter?
It has almost become commonplace for those so inclined to assign diagnoses of neurodivergence to Biblical figures. I freely admit there might be truth to many such efforts. But I am hardly the first to note that caution be used when consulting millennia-old records of pen to parchment. The holy writings are not lab reports!
Still, the Bible does present us with José-like figures — those who dwell in mystery and see the world differently. Individuals like Moses, Samson, Elijah, and others have been explored for autistic qualities. I would like to cite Job and Ezekiel.
In the book of Job, after we have been subjected to Job’s suffering and the arguments with his friends (with the cryptic figure Elihu throwing in his two cents worth), God enters the picture. For four chapters, there is no divine encouragement or elucidation. Rather, there is a voice in the storm. Job is challenged to explain the cosmic and chaotic forces in creation, which exist completely apart from human comprehension. These are realities entirely beyond Job’s frame of reference.
Maybe 38:26 is as good a statement of that as any. Who brings “rain on a land where no one lives, on the desert, which is empty of human life”? It’s a place completely devoid of human experience, a wilderness with no human in it.
And yet, in the midst of the tempest, Job hears the utterance of the Almighty. Job, perhaps not unlike José, receives messages in a transcendental fashion.
Consider also the prophet Ezekiel, whose visions are as powerful as they are perplexing. That opening vision of those wheels and creatures and eyes convinced some folks he had an alien encounter! He lies on his side for extended periods of time, eats scrolls, and performs symbolic acts that defy rational explanation.
The final nine chapters feature the prophet’s vision of the temple. However, the building in his vision differs greatly from the temples (the first and the second) that were actually constructed. Some say the visionary structure and its measurements offer a view of a future temple. There are those who say it is an ideal or it is symbolic. Other viewpoints are expressed.
Here’s a suggestion: can we see a “vertical” transcendent communion at work? Is Ezekiel demonstrating his prophetically artistic faculty? Is he communicating the vision he’s been shown, using language that doesn’t match up with reality — at least, with our reality? Is there nothing of the seer being displayed?
I don’t know — and perhaps that’s precisely the point.
Is the goal to bring Job and Ezekiel, and yes, José into our world? Or is the challenge to step, in however a hallowed and humble way into theirs?
Perhaps the kingdom of God is shaped not by the ease of fitting in but by the courage of reaching across what we don’t understand. And there is plenty we don’t understand! I myself have fallen prey to the temptation of pretending I know.
Job heard God in the whirlwind. Ezekiel built temples no one could find on a map. And José? He drew beauty into being. Let us not rush to explain away such gifts. Instead, let us honor them — standing in the sacred space where mystery and communion meet.
