Flight.

For earthbound, two-legged beings, humans have one strange and curious longing that none of the other creatures on earth desire: we all long to fly.

I can't imagine the cow looking up at the bird in the sky and thinking to itself: "If only I had wings." And no monkey, after swinging freely in the rainforest canopy, would ever dare catch itself imagining flight. Yet, deep within our subconscious, deep within our hearts, yea, even deep within our souls, humans long to fly. That's why our mythologies (and our psychologies) are peppered with dreams of flying men, and why some of our greatest inventors have been those who have attempted to give us wings. That's why our modern systems of communication (both commercial and entertainment) are full of Red Bulls that give us wings and other forms of synthetic elevation.

In the movie Avatar, Jake Sully says that he keeps having dreams of himself flying. What he desires here is both natural and supernatural. He desires natural freedom of movement (ie, he doesn't have working legs, so he desires freedom from his natural bondage); but he also reveals that he desires supernatural freedom of movement (ie, because humans don't naturally fly anyways -- whether they are physically handicapped or not).

I've been musing about this a lot lately. Flying is risky business. I wrote a poem about the danger and glory of flight on my personal blog. To fly is inherently both simultaneously terrifying and dangerous. It reminds me of something that John Eldredge once said: "To desire is to open our hearts to the possibility of pain; to shut down our hearts is to die altogether." (Desire, 23) And desiring [= hoping] is a lot like flying.

In the spiritual sense, I believe that hope and flight are the same. They are dangerous. Hope deferred will make the heart sick. When your wings fail you will plummet... and the landing isn't pretty. But they are also both glorious. When desires comes, it is a Tree of Life. [See Proverbs 13:12] When you fly, when you soar, it is unlike any other feeling on this earth.

I am convinced that there are two types of flight in the world. The first I will call Mechanical Flight, and the second I will call True, or Organic, Flight. In the ancient Greek tale of Icarus, Daedalus warns his son not to fly too high or too low. Icarus, though, captured by the joy of flight itself, flies towards the Sun -- his wings subsequently melt and he dies in the sea. In Iron John, Robert Bly calls young men like Icarus "ascenders." They are so focused on the joys of flight that they end up crashing and burning. In modern Christianity when we see a pastor or a young person do this, we say that they have "burnt out."

But I want to propose a different thought. Perhaps Icarus' problem wasn't that he flew too high, but that he flew with the wrong type of wings. As William Blake said, "No bird flies too high, if he soars with his own wings." See the birds of the air! None of them ever have to fear the heat of the Sun. And, from a Christian mysticism perspective, I believe that God made us to keep flying higher and higher. At least, that seems to be the nature of His Kingdom -- a continual progression and growth in the Presence of God.

St. John of the Cross expressed this in his poem "Of Falconry":

Upon a quest of love,

hope sturdy and steadfast,

I flew so high, so high,

I caught the prey at last.

 

In this divine affair,

to triumph – if I might –

I had to soar so high

I vanished out of sight.

Yet in the same ascent

my wings were failing fast –

but love arose so high

I caught the prey at last.

 

Just when this flight of mine

had reached its highest mark,

my eyes were dazzled so

I conquered in the dark.

I gave a blind black surge

for love – myself surpassed!

and went so high, so high

I caught the prey at last.

 

The higher up I went

there, in this dizzy game,

the lower I appeared,

more humble, weak, and lame.

I cried, But none can win!

and sinking fast oh fast

yet went so high, so high,

I caught the prey at last.

 

Then – marvelous! – I made

a thousand flights in one,

for hope of heaven will see

all it can wish, be done.

I hoped for this alone;

I hoped; was not downcast.

And went so high, so high

I caught the prey at last. 

       (St. John of the Cross, from The Poems, 37-38)

St. John flies with different wings than Icarus did. Had he flown with mechanical wings made from the strength of man, he would have fallen and crashed and burned. But he flew on organic wings, on the wings of faith and hope. On wings that take their strength from God rather than from man.

Jake Sully finds the same. He is offered mechanical flight: the Colonel tells him that if he will follow orders, he will get his legs back. But Jake's heart knows that there is better out there. He dreams of it. He doesn't dream of walking; he dreams of flying. When Jake Sully finally decides to be one of the Na'vi [notably around the time that he falls in love; there could be another post altogether about the differences between synthetic falling in love and divine falling in love...], he discovers a flight that is risky and dangerous (symbolized by Toruk Makto), but altogether worth it.

St. John had found a flight of pursuing the Presence of God that was radical and dangerous -- to the point that he was imprisoned for his love of God. But he knew it to be altogether worth it.

Icarus, on the other hand, and the Colonel, are earth-men with mechanical wings. Their wings are not fueled by the strength of God, but by the strength of men. And it is because of this form of pride that they fall. The devil has the same problem -- he viewed his beauty as his own, rather than as a gift from God. Mechanical flight will always lead to a long, painful fall.

But organic flight, flight "with our own wings" (as William Blake might put it), flight not by our own strength, but because someone else gave us wings, flight that is of heaven, rather than of the earth -- it is glorious and beautiful. There is no greater feeling in the world than flying knowing that the very wind that takes you up is the Breath of the Holy Spirit. Through Him, we can dare to desire, dare to hope, dare to dream, and dare to fly.