"Don’t Fence Me In" or De-constructing the Colonized Religious Mind

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze,
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in.

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies.
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise.

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in.



The old Cole Porter song that seems to celebrate the free spirit of the American cowboy has become for me, in the last few years, a parable of something else. The “fences” that seek to keep our thinking within normal bounds have been raising a chorus within my mind. The hobbles and the fences within which I lived comfortably for so many years now seem to imprison my spirit, and my soul cries out, “Don’t fence me in.”

First, it must be admitted, that fences inspire a certain sense of security and a great deal of comfort. To know just where we stand, what we believe, what the nature of reality is all make us feel comfortable in our minds and secure in our persons. It is this colonization of the mind by thoughts, ideas, beliefs, which have been imprinted on our minds since we first became aware of the world which surrounded us.

Our experience of the universe is mediated through language, which contain the thought forms that define reality for us. “Mommy, what is that?” we asked. “That is a ‘tree’, dear” we were informed on the authority of a trusted parent, and later confirmed by our experience with others. “Treeness” became a concept that helped us to manage a reality and evolved as we experienced different kinds of “trees”. The conceptualization of this reality in a single word, helped us manage an experience that was still largely outside our field of knowledge. That is “tree” signified a specific object, but apart from a visual and auditory experience we really knew little about the reality we had learned to label.

Language helped us manage reality conceptually. Once we knew the names of “objects” in the universe, we would manipulate them in our minds, as well as in spoken, and later, written, language. In this way language became the first tool of the colonization of our minds. Soon we were able to move beyond “concrete objects”, those which were directly available to sensory experience, to “abstract concepts” and learn names for concepts which were not directly available to the experience of the senses. Learning concepts like “love” or “joy” which were recognizable in our experience, but not directly available to the senses; that is we could not see, feel, touch, taste or smell them.

However, while language makes the world around us more familiar and manageable, reality keeps crowding on us. Sun and rain, day and night, sunrise and sunset, are experiences we have named, but a name is not sufficient. We want to know more about them. “Where does the sun go at night?” We need more than words or names to be able to handle the basic existential questions about suffering, disease and death. Questions about the very existence of the objects which we have learned to label call for more than language in the sense of vocabulary. “Who made the birds?” requires an expansion of the conceptual framework in which we had become comfortable and secure.

So far, our minds have been colonized with linguistic concepts that have helped us to organize our sensual and abstract experiences. The existential questions call for a different technique to help us cope with our experience. Thus religion, philosophy, arts and science are born. They increase our feeling of security in the universe in which we live by supplying us with answers to questions that trouble us. Since the answers we are given are not easily verifiable by the experience of our senses, we develop a capacity by which we can give intellectual assent to concepts we cannot experience and verify immediately, or without mediation. Enter faith.

A third ingredient is needed to implement the process of colonization: authority. The authority of the parent, teacher, preacher, philosopher, artist or scientist is the agent for imprinting the concepts, understandings, or explanations on our minds. Without a parent, who can instruct the child on the linguistic handles to manage the reality that confronts him, the child cannot learn. However, the parent is not only an agent of instruction, but an agent with authority. It is the unquestioned authority of the teacher that makes the implanting possible. Thus, in response to a bit of learning being questioned, “where did you get that idea?” one replies, “I read it in the Bible.”

Thus, the authority of the teacher, preacher, philosopher, scientist, artist, theologian, or sacred writ, is an essential ingredient to the process of the colonization of the mind. In the children’s religious song, “Jesus loves me, this I know,” the basis of the certainty of the knowledge rests on the assertion, “The Bible tells me so.” Thus the Bible, the Koran, the Torah and other religious writ carry the force of certainty, unchallenged and undisputable authority. Within the colony even the thought of questioning the authority risks severe sanctions, both within the individual and within the community.

Side by side with the influence of external authority exists questioning of authority and even rebelling against authority. In other words, authority is not absolute. As disciples, or learners are colonized and feel confident about their ability to function within the context of the colony they begin to develop a level of authority within themselves. Thus the child learns, grows, matures and comes to a point where he/she feels secure in his/her knowledge of the system. No longer a child, the individual begins to assert an authority of his/her own, and even challenge the authority of the parent, teacher, preacher, philosopher, artist or scientist. But even this challenge takes place within the general conceptual framework of the colony. Having been colonized the basic conceptual framework holds sway. The thoughts, notions of the individual is formed in language, and embedded in the individual. Even when one challenges concepts, ideas, theories or dogmas, it is often a reformulation of that against which one is protesting, and seldom a radical departure.

Is a radical departure an option? Can one “ride to the range where the west commences, gaze at the moon ‘til I lose my senses’? “’Aye, there’s the rub.” We are afraid of losing our senses, or even worse, our sense of who we are. We are afraid that having peeled layer after layer of the onion we may be left with nothing or, as the sociologist Peter Berger termed it, “anomie.” The question becomes, is the self any more than the layers of learnings, the conceptual definitions of what we experience in the world around us? Is the individual any more than an onion?

A number of years ago a friend and I decided to take a day off in retreat at St. Benedict’s Center. We invited another member of the clergy group in which we both participated. He declined, as he said that he was afraid he would lose his faith if he shared in discussions with us. The fear of losing our faith, of losing our sense of who we are, of descending into a sense of nothingness, or anomie, keeps us from venturing out too far, lest we fall off the edge of the world. The sense of security that is born of the certainties we have always known, even a false sense of security, hobbles us and prevents us from exploring a world which has no edges off which we might fall.

While it may not be feasible to completely escape the field of gravity that holds us, to completely escape the linguistic formations which enable us to conceptualize our universe, I believe it is possible to broaden our horizons, to inhabit “land, lots land under starry skies above.” I believe it is possible to shake off the “hobbles” and tear down the “fences” which limit us. I believe it is possible to risk and to discover that we are, indeed, more than a series of layers of learnings.

But, first we must begin a process of de-construction. We must risk asking questions. We must not be afraid to question authority. The injunction of the Apostle Paul to “test everything, and hold on to that which proves out” applies. I remember when I was a young boy, just beginning the process of thinking about these things I started to write an essay I titled, “Is He or Isn’t He?” referring to the possibility that God may not exist. I did not get very far, as I felt that the very thought was sinful and blasphemous. We must be willing to shake off the hobbles and ask the questions.

Ultimately the process of de-constructing the colonized mind never ends. We never arrive at definitive answers to the eternal questions. It may be that we may “ride to the range where the west commences”, and “gaze at the moon ‘til (we) lose our senses” and never know any more or any better than we do now. But to be able to broaden our horizons, to inhabit “land, lots of land under starry skies above” we need to shake off the hobbles and tear down the fences. The risk that we may never again know the safety and security that we knew as children, living in homes guarded by loving parents, is real. If it is safety and security we seek then living within the bounds, the fences, and being limited in how far we wander by the hobbles may be where we need to be. It may well be that having our minds colonized is the best for which we can hope. Yet, it is only a tenuous sense of security, at best. As the Apostle Paul says, “Now we see through a mirror, darkly…” In other words we can't ever be certain that what we absolutely know is so. For most of us the time comes when we need to “…put away childish things…” and venture out into the uncertain, and sometimes scary, world of the adult.