Aach...ye speak like a poet, but ye punch like one too...
Monday, May 31, 2004
Hahaha...amen
Some fantastic lyrics from "Foregone Conclusions," the second track on Pedro the Lion's latest album, Achilles' Heel. You can go to the latter link to listen to the album if you're so inclined.
Some fantastic lyrics from "Foregone Conclusions," the second track on Pedro the Lion's latest album, Achilles' Heel. You can go to the latter link to listen to the album if you're so inclined.
i don't want to believe that all of the above is true
but i could be persuaded if you were to give me proof
why don't you come over thursday maybe we can talk it through
as if some new information were possible to comprehend or introduce
after all you and i are nothing more than foregone conclusions
you were to busy steering the conversation toward the lord
to hear the voice of the spirit saying shut the fuck up
you thought it must be the devil trying to make you go astray
besides it couldn't have been the lord because you don't believe he talks that way
too close to call yet still so tightly wound around our foregone conclusions
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
...so it turns out Galileo was right
Had an interesting experience last week that I've been wanting to write about. I've been waiting for a properly significant treatment to bubble up out of my subconscious, but as that doesn't seem to be in the offing I'm going to content myself with a fairly straitforward account of the event.
I was at a bachelor party for a friend of mine who's getting married in a couple of months (the party was held unusually far in advance of the wedding for a variety of unimportant reasons). The best man in the wedding, another friend of mine named Travis, hooked us up with a great camping spot on his father's land south of Kerrville. The event was quite a bit of fun, and involved tearing on a jeep through some of the most beautiful backcountry I've ever seen , eating freshly killed wild pig, and smoking pipes beneath the black Texas sky, a sky uncluttered by artificial lights, as we were miles and miles from any sort of civilization.
The highlight of the trip involved this absolutely clear sky. We were looking at the stars while the pig cooked, trying to identify the planets. We were pretty sure we had Venus pegged--it's hard to miss, as it's generally the brightest thing in the sky besides the moon and tends to hang out in the same place near the horizon. We weren't sure, though, and were debating it with probably more heat than the subject merited when Travis got the idea to go into the house and get his dad's binoculars.
These were no Boy-Scout-camp-store variety binoculars, I assure you. They weighed probably ten pounds and were about a foot long. The magnification was amazing. It occured to me when I first looked through them that they were probably as powerful as the first telescopes. We looked at the planet in question, and determined by the blue tint that it was in fact Venus. But, incredibly, we were also able to see a discernable crescent shape to the planet. It was being partly blocked by something, maybe the Earth. But I don't know enough astronomy to say with any certainty (nor do I feel like puttering around the internet long enough to find out).
But the truly incredible event came when we turned them upwards, towards another planet-ish body whose identity was also in question. Mars or Jupiter, we knew, but had no way of knowing which. Travis looked first, and reported a definite circular shape (indicating that it was in fact a planet), but also the existence of moons. I had to ask him to repeat himself. I couldn't believe that moons would be visible through even high quality binoculars. He confirmed that there were in fact moons, four of them, all clearly visible and lined up right next to the planet. When my turn came I saw it for myself. Jupiter proper was maybe the size of a thumb tack head seen from across the room: small but discerable. And right next to it, like a line of ducks, were four pinpricks of light in a perfect row, exactly as I've seen in pictures. Ganymede, Callisto, Europa, and Io if I remember correctly. If I were to observe them night after night I would see the arrangement shift as they moved from one side of the planet to the other, following their orbits.
Incidentally, this is exactly what Galileo saw that led to his heliocentric model of the solar system. Those four little lights I caught through the binoculars kicked the Earth out of the center of the universe. It was amazing, really. I've always heard about Galileo's discovery as though it were this huge scientific thing, and of course it was, but the realization that I was looking at exactly what he looked at was somehow stunning. I still don't know exactly why it had this effect on me--Travis and Mark thought it was cool, but their reactions didn't seem to be anywhere nearly as extreme as mine. I think, though, that it had something to do with the realization that those moons have been circling Jupiter for millions of years, since before there was anything that could be called human on this planet. They were there all the time that we thought everything in the universe revolved around us, and they've been there ever since, unchanged. Our ability or willingness to perceive them has nothing whatsoever to do with their existence.
I want to run with this a little further, but I'm starting to fall asleep at the keyboard. It's almost three in the morning. Yikes. I may try to pick back up here either tomorrow or the day after.
Had an interesting experience last week that I've been wanting to write about. I've been waiting for a properly significant treatment to bubble up out of my subconscious, but as that doesn't seem to be in the offing I'm going to content myself with a fairly straitforward account of the event.
I was at a bachelor party for a friend of mine who's getting married in a couple of months (the party was held unusually far in advance of the wedding for a variety of unimportant reasons). The best man in the wedding, another friend of mine named Travis, hooked us up with a great camping spot on his father's land south of Kerrville. The event was quite a bit of fun, and involved tearing on a jeep through some of the most beautiful backcountry I've ever seen , eating freshly killed wild pig, and smoking pipes beneath the black Texas sky, a sky uncluttered by artificial lights, as we were miles and miles from any sort of civilization.
The highlight of the trip involved this absolutely clear sky. We were looking at the stars while the pig cooked, trying to identify the planets. We were pretty sure we had Venus pegged--it's hard to miss, as it's generally the brightest thing in the sky besides the moon and tends to hang out in the same place near the horizon. We weren't sure, though, and were debating it with probably more heat than the subject merited when Travis got the idea to go into the house and get his dad's binoculars.
These were no Boy-Scout-camp-store variety binoculars, I assure you. They weighed probably ten pounds and were about a foot long. The magnification was amazing. It occured to me when I first looked through them that they were probably as powerful as the first telescopes. We looked at the planet in question, and determined by the blue tint that it was in fact Venus. But, incredibly, we were also able to see a discernable crescent shape to the planet. It was being partly blocked by something, maybe the Earth. But I don't know enough astronomy to say with any certainty (nor do I feel like puttering around the internet long enough to find out).
But the truly incredible event came when we turned them upwards, towards another planet-ish body whose identity was also in question. Mars or Jupiter, we knew, but had no way of knowing which. Travis looked first, and reported a definite circular shape (indicating that it was in fact a planet), but also the existence of moons. I had to ask him to repeat himself. I couldn't believe that moons would be visible through even high quality binoculars. He confirmed that there were in fact moons, four of them, all clearly visible and lined up right next to the planet. When my turn came I saw it for myself. Jupiter proper was maybe the size of a thumb tack head seen from across the room: small but discerable. And right next to it, like a line of ducks, were four pinpricks of light in a perfect row, exactly as I've seen in pictures. Ganymede, Callisto, Europa, and Io if I remember correctly. If I were to observe them night after night I would see the arrangement shift as they moved from one side of the planet to the other, following their orbits.
Incidentally, this is exactly what Galileo saw that led to his heliocentric model of the solar system. Those four little lights I caught through the binoculars kicked the Earth out of the center of the universe. It was amazing, really. I've always heard about Galileo's discovery as though it were this huge scientific thing, and of course it was, but the realization that I was looking at exactly what he looked at was somehow stunning. I still don't know exactly why it had this effect on me--Travis and Mark thought it was cool, but their reactions didn't seem to be anywhere nearly as extreme as mine. I think, though, that it had something to do with the realization that those moons have been circling Jupiter for millions of years, since before there was anything that could be called human on this planet. They were there all the time that we thought everything in the universe revolved around us, and they've been there ever since, unchanged. Our ability or willingness to perceive them has nothing whatsoever to do with their existence.
I want to run with this a little further, but I'm starting to fall asleep at the keyboard. It's almost three in the morning. Yikes. I may try to pick back up here either tomorrow or the day after.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Abigail and the Seamonster, pt. 4
Part 1 . Part 2 . Part 3 . Part 4 . Part 5 . Part 6 . Part 7
It's been awhile since the last installation of Abigail and the Seamonster, but Clan McMains has been pestering me to get back on the ball. So that's one of my goals for the summer--to finish this up. It's still much in need of polishing, so (as always) feel free to offer whatever criticisms you might have.
ABIGAIL TOOK A LONG time to fall asleep that night. She lay awake in the dark, thinking about the seamonster, and wondering if it was friendly or not. Finally her eyes closed, and she began to dream.
She had a very strange dream. In her dream the man who lived under the lake was walking along the bottom of the lake whistling. As he whistled bubbles of air dribbled up from his lips. Then, out of nowhere, came the seamonster. He swam around the man who lived under the lake. He was enormous! She saw his entire body, not just his head. He had four legs that ended in broad flippers, and a tail that was as long as the rest of his body. He swam around and around the man under the lake, faster and faster, until he was just a purple blur. Then he stopped swimming, and looked at her. The man who lived under the lake was riding on his neck, just behind his head. He looked at Abigail and waved, and the seamonster swam towards her, getting bigger and bigger. Then she woke up.
The next morning she got out of bed before her mother, even though her mother usually had to come in and shake her shoulder to wake her up. From the windows at the back of the house she looked out over the lake. The sun was just coming up, and the lake was covered with fingers of gray fog. She leaned against a window and watched it for a long time. After a while her mother came into the room drinking coffee.
"You're up early today, honey."
Abby looked out the window with her chin in her hands, her elbows sprawled on the windowsill. "I wanted to see if I could see the seamonster," she said. "I had a dream about him."
"What happened in the dream?" asked her mother.
"I don't know," said Abby. "He was swimming around a lot. I think he knew I was watching him."
"Have you seen him this morning?"
"No, there's too much fog."
"Why don't you eat breakfast, and then you can go down to the lake and look for him. There won't be as much fog then."
Abby's heart started beating faster just at the thought of going down to the lake. The thought of seeing the seamonster again scared her more than anything she had ever seen or thought of. But it was the only way she could see him again, and he had given her the green shell. She thought she should at least say thank you. She wanted to see him, too, even though she was scared. She felt very confused, like there were a bunch of different colors swirling around in her stomach without ever mixing.
After she ate breakfast she walked slowly down the hill. The sun was higher now, and although the air was still mostly cool from the night the fog was gone. When she got to the edge of the lake she realized she didn't know what to do. She walked up and down the edge of the lake several times, looking for the seamonster. After awhile she got her courage up to yell across the lake, "Hey, seamonster! I'm here!" She yelled this several times, and even threw some rocks out into the lake to get his attention, but he never showed his head. She had just sort of assumed that since she was looking for him, he'd be easy to find, but that was turning out to not be right. Suddenly she realized that he must've been living in the lake for her entire life. Anything as big as the seamonster must be much older than her. But he'd been there her entire life and she'd only seen him for the first time the day before. That meant that it might be years before she saw him again. With a sick, sad feeling in her stomach she sat down in the dirt and hid her face in her hands, trying not to cry.
"Hello, Abigail."
A deep voice boomed across her ears. She looked up. The seamonster's purple head, as big as a car and not twenty feet away, was smiling at her. She screamed and scrambled away from it, then turned around to run back up the hill.
"Stop!" the seamonster said. She stopped where she was standing, then turned slowly around to face the seamonster. The front part of his body with his long arms was propped up on the shore of the lake, his back sloping down into the water. "Didn't you have something you wanted to say to me?"
Abby caught her breath, and then realized she hadn't told him anything about wanting to talk to him. "How--how did you know that I wanted to talk to you?"
"You've been calling my name all morning long, child," he said. "I heard you."
"But--why didn't you come right away?"
"I had other plans," he said. "It was better this way. But what did you want to say to me?"
Abby looked down. She felt suddenly shy. "Did you leave the green shell for me?"
The seamonster made a rumbling, wheezing noise that Abby thought might be laughter. "I leave all the shells for you, child. But yes, the green one was a special gift. Did you like it?"
"Yes. Thank you." She didn't know if she should call the seamonster "sir".
"I'm glad you liked it. I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time."
"Really?" She couldn't believe that the seamonster had been looking forward to meeting her. "How did you know about me?"
He made his hoarse laughing noise again. "You live on the shore of my lake. You play in my water and go in the boat with your father to catch my fish. Every night I see you with your father and mother sitting down to supper. I saw you this morning staring out of the window at the fog. I've known you for a very long time, Abigail."
Abigail didn't know what to say. She stared at the seamonster, looking at her with big eyes as blue as dinner plates. She had a sudden picture in her head of what she and her family must have looked like to the seamonster, the light from their windows shining out across the lake, their dark silhouettes moving across the lights. She thought about the times she and her father took the boat out, how the boat must've looked from underneath the water, and how she must've appeared in the mornings when she walked up and down the shore with her basket for shells, crouching at the edge of the water. Part of her felt scared by this strange creature watching her and her family day and night, but another part felt small and safe at the thought that he had been looking in on her for as long as she had been alive.
"Would you like to see the bottom of the lake, Abigail?" the seamonster asked. It was funny that he called her by her full name that her parents only used when she was in trouble. She nodded at him.
"Climb onto my back."
She started to walk out into the water, but realized there was no way she would be able to climb up the seamonster's tall, wet sides. "I can't do it," she said.
"Then hang on," he said. The seamonster reached up and over his head with the long whip of his purple tail. Abby didn't realize what was happening until he wrapped it around her waist and suddenly hoisted her into the air. She gave a little scream of surprise and clutched to the tail roped around her middle. For a second she was high in the air, as high as her house at the top of the hill, and she looked back for a moment and saw her mother through the kitchen window washing dishes. Next thing she knew she was seated high on the seamonster's neck, peering out over his head. She had just enough time to clutch tight to the wet, wrinkled skin at the back of his neck before he raised up high and dove backwards over his body into the lake. She screamed again as she saw the blue water rushing towards them, sparkling with morning sunlight, then shut her mouth as they fell into the lake, the water roaring in her ears.
Part 1 . Part 2 . Part 3 . Part 4 . Part 5 . Part 6 . Part 7
It's been awhile since the last installation of Abigail and the Seamonster, but Clan McMains has been pestering me to get back on the ball. So that's one of my goals for the summer--to finish this up. It's still much in need of polishing, so (as always) feel free to offer whatever criticisms you might have.
ABIGAIL TOOK A LONG time to fall asleep that night. She lay awake in the dark, thinking about the seamonster, and wondering if it was friendly or not. Finally her eyes closed, and she began to dream.
She had a very strange dream. In her dream the man who lived under the lake was walking along the bottom of the lake whistling. As he whistled bubbles of air dribbled up from his lips. Then, out of nowhere, came the seamonster. He swam around the man who lived under the lake. He was enormous! She saw his entire body, not just his head. He had four legs that ended in broad flippers, and a tail that was as long as the rest of his body. He swam around and around the man under the lake, faster and faster, until he was just a purple blur. Then he stopped swimming, and looked at her. The man who lived under the lake was riding on his neck, just behind his head. He looked at Abigail and waved, and the seamonster swam towards her, getting bigger and bigger. Then she woke up.
The next morning she got out of bed before her mother, even though her mother usually had to come in and shake her shoulder to wake her up. From the windows at the back of the house she looked out over the lake. The sun was just coming up, and the lake was covered with fingers of gray fog. She leaned against a window and watched it for a long time. After a while her mother came into the room drinking coffee.
"You're up early today, honey."
Abby looked out the window with her chin in her hands, her elbows sprawled on the windowsill. "I wanted to see if I could see the seamonster," she said. "I had a dream about him."
"What happened in the dream?" asked her mother.
"I don't know," said Abby. "He was swimming around a lot. I think he knew I was watching him."
"Have you seen him this morning?"
"No, there's too much fog."
"Why don't you eat breakfast, and then you can go down to the lake and look for him. There won't be as much fog then."
Abby's heart started beating faster just at the thought of going down to the lake. The thought of seeing the seamonster again scared her more than anything she had ever seen or thought of. But it was the only way she could see him again, and he had given her the green shell. She thought she should at least say thank you. She wanted to see him, too, even though she was scared. She felt very confused, like there were a bunch of different colors swirling around in her stomach without ever mixing.
After she ate breakfast she walked slowly down the hill. The sun was higher now, and although the air was still mostly cool from the night the fog was gone. When she got to the edge of the lake she realized she didn't know what to do. She walked up and down the edge of the lake several times, looking for the seamonster. After awhile she got her courage up to yell across the lake, "Hey, seamonster! I'm here!" She yelled this several times, and even threw some rocks out into the lake to get his attention, but he never showed his head. She had just sort of assumed that since she was looking for him, he'd be easy to find, but that was turning out to not be right. Suddenly she realized that he must've been living in the lake for her entire life. Anything as big as the seamonster must be much older than her. But he'd been there her entire life and she'd only seen him for the first time the day before. That meant that it might be years before she saw him again. With a sick, sad feeling in her stomach she sat down in the dirt and hid her face in her hands, trying not to cry.
"Hello, Abigail."
A deep voice boomed across her ears. She looked up. The seamonster's purple head, as big as a car and not twenty feet away, was smiling at her. She screamed and scrambled away from it, then turned around to run back up the hill.
"Stop!" the seamonster said. She stopped where she was standing, then turned slowly around to face the seamonster. The front part of his body with his long arms was propped up on the shore of the lake, his back sloping down into the water. "Didn't you have something you wanted to say to me?"
Abby caught her breath, and then realized she hadn't told him anything about wanting to talk to him. "How--how did you know that I wanted to talk to you?"
"You've been calling my name all morning long, child," he said. "I heard you."
"But--why didn't you come right away?"
"I had other plans," he said. "It was better this way. But what did you want to say to me?"
Abby looked down. She felt suddenly shy. "Did you leave the green shell for me?"
The seamonster made a rumbling, wheezing noise that Abby thought might be laughter. "I leave all the shells for you, child. But yes, the green one was a special gift. Did you like it?"
"Yes. Thank you." She didn't know if she should call the seamonster "sir".
"I'm glad you liked it. I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time."
"Really?" She couldn't believe that the seamonster had been looking forward to meeting her. "How did you know about me?"
He made his hoarse laughing noise again. "You live on the shore of my lake. You play in my water and go in the boat with your father to catch my fish. Every night I see you with your father and mother sitting down to supper. I saw you this morning staring out of the window at the fog. I've known you for a very long time, Abigail."
Abigail didn't know what to say. She stared at the seamonster, looking at her with big eyes as blue as dinner plates. She had a sudden picture in her head of what she and her family must have looked like to the seamonster, the light from their windows shining out across the lake, their dark silhouettes moving across the lights. She thought about the times she and her father took the boat out, how the boat must've looked from underneath the water, and how she must've appeared in the mornings when she walked up and down the shore with her basket for shells, crouching at the edge of the water. Part of her felt scared by this strange creature watching her and her family day and night, but another part felt small and safe at the thought that he had been looking in on her for as long as she had been alive.
"Would you like to see the bottom of the lake, Abigail?" the seamonster asked. It was funny that he called her by her full name that her parents only used when she was in trouble. She nodded at him.
"Climb onto my back."
She started to walk out into the water, but realized there was no way she would be able to climb up the seamonster's tall, wet sides. "I can't do it," she said.
"Then hang on," he said. The seamonster reached up and over his head with the long whip of his purple tail. Abby didn't realize what was happening until he wrapped it around her waist and suddenly hoisted her into the air. She gave a little scream of surprise and clutched to the tail roped around her middle. For a second she was high in the air, as high as her house at the top of the hill, and she looked back for a moment and saw her mother through the kitchen window washing dishes. Next thing she knew she was seated high on the seamonster's neck, peering out over his head. She had just enough time to clutch tight to the wet, wrinkled skin at the back of his neck before he raised up high and dove backwards over his body into the lake. She screamed again as she saw the blue water rushing towards them, sparkling with morning sunlight, then shut her mouth as they fell into the lake, the water roaring in her ears.
Friday, May 14, 2004
It's not my party but I'll cry anyway if I want to, dammit
I've got a friend's graduation party tonight that I really don't want to go to, and another tomorrow night in San Antonio which I want even less to attend, but I suspect I'll be at both. My last final was Monday, and I haven't found a job yet, which means I've been unspeakably depressed the last couple of days (also, I tried unsuccessfully to quit smoking this week. We'll sally forth again next week and see if it takes).
I've had conversations with both Sean and Michael about the strange quirk of male psychology that triggers immense depression when we are without gainful employment (this isn't to say that women don't feel this as well, or that all men feel this--I'm just drawing on a fairly small demographic sample here). It wasn't bad during the semester despite the fact that I was not working, due most likely to the fact that I was taking nineteen hours of classes and was therefore able to fool myself into thinking I had some kind of job. This is especially interesting to me as I'm not typically the sort of personality that's terribly motivated by external factors. But when it comes to what I'll term "life structures" such as work or school, things that give one a specific, external tasks to be accomplished every day, I gotta have something.
Anyway, here's hoping. I've got some applications out and more ready to be delivered on Monday. Sean has aquired/had aquired for him (depending on how you parse the exact interaction of human action and divine providence) a job up at Texas State, which will save him a drive to Austin every day and allow him to eat lunch with me between classes come fall...exxxcellent. And hopefully I'll find some income generating task to which to apply myself, and soon.
In good news, our Bible study had a great party at the park last night, featuring an hour-long game of tag on the greatest playground ever constructed, my grade report today came up all A's for the semester (except for Spanish, which was a gracious C), "Paschal Song" won the Gates-Thomas Prize for this year's Persona literary journal at the university, and the Spirit of God is still hovering, inexplicably, over the dark waters of this unspeakably screwed up world. Maranatha.
UPDATE: ...and I'm back, and I had a great time, am feeling much better, and danced--physically danced--for the first time in something like ten years. Can I get a witness? Anyone? Witness?
I've got a friend's graduation party tonight that I really don't want to go to, and another tomorrow night in San Antonio which I want even less to attend, but I suspect I'll be at both. My last final was Monday, and I haven't found a job yet, which means I've been unspeakably depressed the last couple of days (also, I tried unsuccessfully to quit smoking this week. We'll sally forth again next week and see if it takes).
I've had conversations with both Sean and Michael about the strange quirk of male psychology that triggers immense depression when we are without gainful employment (this isn't to say that women don't feel this as well, or that all men feel this--I'm just drawing on a fairly small demographic sample here). It wasn't bad during the semester despite the fact that I was not working, due most likely to the fact that I was taking nineteen hours of classes and was therefore able to fool myself into thinking I had some kind of job. This is especially interesting to me as I'm not typically the sort of personality that's terribly motivated by external factors. But when it comes to what I'll term "life structures" such as work or school, things that give one a specific, external tasks to be accomplished every day, I gotta have something.
Anyway, here's hoping. I've got some applications out and more ready to be delivered on Monday. Sean has aquired/had aquired for him (depending on how you parse the exact interaction of human action and divine providence) a job up at Texas State, which will save him a drive to Austin every day and allow him to eat lunch with me between classes come fall...exxxcellent. And hopefully I'll find some income generating task to which to apply myself, and soon.
In good news, our Bible study had a great party at the park last night, featuring an hour-long game of tag on the greatest playground ever constructed, my grade report today came up all A's for the semester (except for Spanish, which was a gracious C), "Paschal Song" won the Gates-Thomas Prize for this year's Persona literary journal at the university, and the Spirit of God is still hovering, inexplicably, over the dark waters of this unspeakably screwed up world. Maranatha.
UPDATE: ...and I'm back, and I had a great time, am feeling much better, and danced--physically danced--for the first time in something like ten years. Can I get a witness? Anyone? Witness?
Friday, May 07, 2004
More on Merton and the Dao
It's been awhile since I posted, I know. Finals and papers have been eating me alive. But for tonight at least I emerge from the dungeon of academia to post a paper I wrote for my Asian philosophy class. It (the paper, not the class) grew out of a post from a few weeks back concerning Thomas Merton's perspective on Daoism. The paper is basically some preliminary thoughts on how Christian theology might engage Daoist thought. I thought you crazy kids might get a kick out of this. Plus I figured you could give me a heads up (or a heads off, haha) if I've stumbled into some manner of gross heresy. Theologians, start your engines.
"The Dao of Merton - Towards a Theology of Dialogue"
What I want to do in this paper is briefly describe the fundamentals of Daoist philosophy and consider Thomas Merton's suggestions for how Christian theology can engage Daoism in dialogue without losing its own identity. This is not an attempt either to refute Daoism or to suggest that Daoism and Christianity are essentially the same; indeed, I will suggest that both of these approaches, which characterize much of contemporary inter-religious dialogue, are problematic. The twentieth century Trappist monk Thomas Merton extensively studied eastern religions, and in his essay "Christian Culture Needs Oriental Wisdom" he pointed out a number of parallels and points of similarity common to Christianity and Daoism. I want to analyze the case he makes for a Christian appropriation of Daoist thought, but will begin by offering a description of Daoism itself.
Daoism is notoriously difficult to define. Most accounts of Daoism begin with the first verses of the Daodejing, the basic text of Daoism, which read, "The Tao that can be told is not the true Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal Name" (Mitchell 1), or "A Way that can be followed is not a constant Way. A name that can be named is not a constant name" (Ivanhoe 159). The word for Dao or Tao simply means "way," "path," or "teaching," (Ivanhoe 159 n), and the paradoxical assertion with which the book begins sets the tone for the philosophy as a whole. The observation here is not that the Dao is not describable, but that no description of the Dao is complete. This is not in itself Daoism, but it serves to frame the discussion and set limits if not on our understanding, then at least on our ability to express that understanding. Even in as esoteric a book as the Daodejing it can be easy to think that we've arrived at the essence of the Dao; this opening poem, though, reminds us that any articulated truths about the Dao are at best approximations. The character of the Dao is such that it cannot be grasped by human language. Joel Kupperman compares this recognition of the limitations of language in talking about the transcendent to medieval theologians who preferred to talk about God in negative terms, recognizing that language cannot contain the eternal (97).
But what are the characteristics of Daoism? One of the philosophy's central ideas is that of non-action. Kupperman writes, "Typically a major element in the dao of Daoism is a harmony with the natural world, which includes the primitive emotional structures of humanity. To follow this dao is never actively to go against the rhythms of the world, and never to undergo a tense struggle with your own emotion or desires" (94). Just as the dual nature of language ensures the failure of any attempt to fully describe the dao, so extremes in living make the practice of the dao impossible; indeed, to strive too hard in anything is not to practice the dao. Daoism recommends gradual, non-forced change, as any strenuous effort in one direction is likely to have unintended consequences that bring about the opposite (Kupperman 100).
The idea is central to Daoist ethics, which center around the idea that, as Kupperman phrases it, "virtues have produced vices" (100). This is rooted in the earlier Daoist understanding of duality. In any dualism, in this case the dualism of virtue and vice, the existence of one implies the existence of its opposite. In any endeavor, according to Daoism, striving too hard for one thing can lead to something very different than what was intended. Setting up a category of moral actions implies by necessity immoral actions (100). Poem 18 of the Daodejing makes this clear: "When the great Way is abandoned, there are benevolence and righteousness. When wisdom and intelligence come forth, there is great hypocrisy" (Ivanhoe 167). This is counter-intuitive. We tend to think in moral terms, so the appearance of benevolence and righteousness should be a good thing. But the teaching here is that when the dao is followed there is no need for virtue as such, and therefore that the appearance of virtue as a category implies the appearance of immorality. The Judeo-Christian tradition offers a striking parallel to this idea. In Genesis sin and death enter the world as a result of Adam and Eve's eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Through attempting to navigate the dualism of morality, fellowship with God is broken.
This parallel leads naturally into the question of how Christian theology can approach Daoism without hostility, but also without losing its own distinctive characteristics. Contemporary approaches to inter-religious discourse tend to become polarized. Traditionally orthodox or conservative Christian responses center on refutation, while more liberal writers and theologians gravitate towards a unified view of religions that denies or ignores a number of important differences. This need not, however, be the case. Christianity has a long history of fruitful dialogue with other religions and worldviews, beginning with the New Testament itself. John's account of the Gospel begins with the phrase "In the beginning was the Word [Greek logos]" (John 1:1). The concept of the Logos comes from Greek philosophy, originally Heraclitus, and asserts a divine, impersonal Word that gives existence and order to creation. John fused this idea with the Christian idea of a personal God revealed in Christ, identified Christ himself as the logos incarnate, and deepened Christianity's understanding of its own doctrine. Similarly, Thomas Merton cites the positive influence of Platonism on early Christian thought (302-303).
There are a number of parallels between Christianity and Daoism beyond the one already cited. The view of dualism and moral categories discussed previously is echoed again in Ecclesiastes, where the Teacher writes, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot..." (Ecc. 3:1-8). The Teacher lists a number of dual activities, and recommends everything in its own time. He also says, "Do not be overrighteous, neither be overwise--why destroy yourself? Do not be overwicked, and do not be a fool--why die before your time?" (Ecc. 7:16-17). In the New Testament, Jesus points out in the Sermon on the Mount that a fixation on the external forms of moral propriety can obscure the essence of righteousness, which lies in the disposition of the heart (Matt. 5:21-48).
Thomas Merton finds another, deeper parallel between the Sermon on the Mount and the sixty-seventh poem of the Daodejing, which reads (in his version), "Because I am merciful, therefore I can be brave...For heaven will come to the rescue of the merciful and protect him with its mercy" (Merton 298). He points out the similarity of this passage to Jesus' statement, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" (Matt. 5:7). Later in the same passage he articulates the "Golden Rule": do unto others as you would have them do unto you. In both this and the Daoist text we see the idea of merciful action motivated by faith in a reciprocity guaranteed not by the unpredictable people to whom we show mercy but by heaven itself.
The scope of this paper limits further discussion of these similarities. Additionally, in closing it's necessary to at least point out that for all the similarities between Christianity and Daoism there remain some significant differences. Indeed, Merton himself writes that, "...it is quite clear that no non-Christian religion or philosophy has anything that Christianity needs, in so far as it is a supernaturally revealed religion" (302). While it's true that within Christianity a case can be made for the non-dual nature of true righteousness it is equally true that Christianity sees this non-dual approach to morality as lying within or as only approachable through the precepts of morality (the Law), while Daoism tends to see them as necessarily separate. Additionally, Christian theology is centered around the doctrine of the Incarnation, of God revealed in Christ, and so a Christian articulation of Daoism would probably involve a personal understanding of the dao, i.e. that Christ himself is the dao, not merely a teacher of dao (much as the logos was personalized when introduced to Christianity).
While this paper has barely scratched the surface of the subject at hand, I hope that it at least suggests some ways in which a more fruitful discussion between Daoism and Christianity might proceed. The Daodejing is an ancient book, and much of the wisdom there complements rather than contradicts the historic doctrines of Christianity. Further study and reflection on the teachings of Daoism not only make possible dialogue between the two religions, they offer Christian theology an opportunity to deepen and enrich its understanding of its own traditions.
Works Cited
Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1985.
Ivanhoe, Philip J. and Bryan W. Van Norden, eds. Readings in Classical Chinese
Philosophy. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing, 2001.
Kupperman, Joel J. Classic Asian Philosophy. New York: Oxford UP, 2001.
Merton, Thomas. A Thomas Merton Reader. Ed. Thomas P. McDonnell. New York:
Doubleday, 1989.
Mitchell, Stephen, trans. Tao Te Ching. New York: HarperPerennial, 1991.
It's been awhile since I posted, I know. Finals and papers have been eating me alive. But for tonight at least I emerge from the dungeon of academia to post a paper I wrote for my Asian philosophy class. It (the paper, not the class) grew out of a post from a few weeks back concerning Thomas Merton's perspective on Daoism. The paper is basically some preliminary thoughts on how Christian theology might engage Daoist thought. I thought you crazy kids might get a kick out of this. Plus I figured you could give me a heads up (or a heads off, haha) if I've stumbled into some manner of gross heresy. Theologians, start your engines.
"The Dao of Merton - Towards a Theology of Dialogue"
What I want to do in this paper is briefly describe the fundamentals of Daoist philosophy and consider Thomas Merton's suggestions for how Christian theology can engage Daoism in dialogue without losing its own identity. This is not an attempt either to refute Daoism or to suggest that Daoism and Christianity are essentially the same; indeed, I will suggest that both of these approaches, which characterize much of contemporary inter-religious dialogue, are problematic. The twentieth century Trappist monk Thomas Merton extensively studied eastern religions, and in his essay "Christian Culture Needs Oriental Wisdom" he pointed out a number of parallels and points of similarity common to Christianity and Daoism. I want to analyze the case he makes for a Christian appropriation of Daoist thought, but will begin by offering a description of Daoism itself.
Daoism is notoriously difficult to define. Most accounts of Daoism begin with the first verses of the Daodejing, the basic text of Daoism, which read, "The Tao that can be told is not the true Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal Name" (Mitchell 1), or "A Way that can be followed is not a constant Way. A name that can be named is not a constant name" (Ivanhoe 159). The word for Dao or Tao simply means "way," "path," or "teaching," (Ivanhoe 159 n), and the paradoxical assertion with which the book begins sets the tone for the philosophy as a whole. The observation here is not that the Dao is not describable, but that no description of the Dao is complete. This is not in itself Daoism, but it serves to frame the discussion and set limits if not on our understanding, then at least on our ability to express that understanding. Even in as esoteric a book as the Daodejing it can be easy to think that we've arrived at the essence of the Dao; this opening poem, though, reminds us that any articulated truths about the Dao are at best approximations. The character of the Dao is such that it cannot be grasped by human language. Joel Kupperman compares this recognition of the limitations of language in talking about the transcendent to medieval theologians who preferred to talk about God in negative terms, recognizing that language cannot contain the eternal (97).
But what are the characteristics of Daoism? One of the philosophy's central ideas is that of non-action. Kupperman writes, "Typically a major element in the dao of Daoism is a harmony with the natural world, which includes the primitive emotional structures of humanity. To follow this dao is never actively to go against the rhythms of the world, and never to undergo a tense struggle with your own emotion or desires" (94). Just as the dual nature of language ensures the failure of any attempt to fully describe the dao, so extremes in living make the practice of the dao impossible; indeed, to strive too hard in anything is not to practice the dao. Daoism recommends gradual, non-forced change, as any strenuous effort in one direction is likely to have unintended consequences that bring about the opposite (Kupperman 100).
The idea is central to Daoist ethics, which center around the idea that, as Kupperman phrases it, "virtues have produced vices" (100). This is rooted in the earlier Daoist understanding of duality. In any dualism, in this case the dualism of virtue and vice, the existence of one implies the existence of its opposite. In any endeavor, according to Daoism, striving too hard for one thing can lead to something very different than what was intended. Setting up a category of moral actions implies by necessity immoral actions (100). Poem 18 of the Daodejing makes this clear: "When the great Way is abandoned, there are benevolence and righteousness. When wisdom and intelligence come forth, there is great hypocrisy" (Ivanhoe 167). This is counter-intuitive. We tend to think in moral terms, so the appearance of benevolence and righteousness should be a good thing. But the teaching here is that when the dao is followed there is no need for virtue as such, and therefore that the appearance of virtue as a category implies the appearance of immorality. The Judeo-Christian tradition offers a striking parallel to this idea. In Genesis sin and death enter the world as a result of Adam and Eve's eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Through attempting to navigate the dualism of morality, fellowship with God is broken.
This parallel leads naturally into the question of how Christian theology can approach Daoism without hostility, but also without losing its own distinctive characteristics. Contemporary approaches to inter-religious discourse tend to become polarized. Traditionally orthodox or conservative Christian responses center on refutation, while more liberal writers and theologians gravitate towards a unified view of religions that denies or ignores a number of important differences. This need not, however, be the case. Christianity has a long history of fruitful dialogue with other religions and worldviews, beginning with the New Testament itself. John's account of the Gospel begins with the phrase "In the beginning was the Word [Greek logos]" (John 1:1). The concept of the Logos comes from Greek philosophy, originally Heraclitus, and asserts a divine, impersonal Word that gives existence and order to creation. John fused this idea with the Christian idea of a personal God revealed in Christ, identified Christ himself as the logos incarnate, and deepened Christianity's understanding of its own doctrine. Similarly, Thomas Merton cites the positive influence of Platonism on early Christian thought (302-303).
There are a number of parallels between Christianity and Daoism beyond the one already cited. The view of dualism and moral categories discussed previously is echoed again in Ecclesiastes, where the Teacher writes, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot..." (Ecc. 3:1-8). The Teacher lists a number of dual activities, and recommends everything in its own time. He also says, "Do not be overrighteous, neither be overwise--why destroy yourself? Do not be overwicked, and do not be a fool--why die before your time?" (Ecc. 7:16-17). In the New Testament, Jesus points out in the Sermon on the Mount that a fixation on the external forms of moral propriety can obscure the essence of righteousness, which lies in the disposition of the heart (Matt. 5:21-48).
Thomas Merton finds another, deeper parallel between the Sermon on the Mount and the sixty-seventh poem of the Daodejing, which reads (in his version), "Because I am merciful, therefore I can be brave...For heaven will come to the rescue of the merciful and protect him with its mercy" (Merton 298). He points out the similarity of this passage to Jesus' statement, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" (Matt. 5:7). Later in the same passage he articulates the "Golden Rule": do unto others as you would have them do unto you. In both this and the Daoist text we see the idea of merciful action motivated by faith in a reciprocity guaranteed not by the unpredictable people to whom we show mercy but by heaven itself.
The scope of this paper limits further discussion of these similarities. Additionally, in closing it's necessary to at least point out that for all the similarities between Christianity and Daoism there remain some significant differences. Indeed, Merton himself writes that, "...it is quite clear that no non-Christian religion or philosophy has anything that Christianity needs, in so far as it is a supernaturally revealed religion" (302). While it's true that within Christianity a case can be made for the non-dual nature of true righteousness it is equally true that Christianity sees this non-dual approach to morality as lying within or as only approachable through the precepts of morality (the Law), while Daoism tends to see them as necessarily separate. Additionally, Christian theology is centered around the doctrine of the Incarnation, of God revealed in Christ, and so a Christian articulation of Daoism would probably involve a personal understanding of the dao, i.e. that Christ himself is the dao, not merely a teacher of dao (much as the logos was personalized when introduced to Christianity).
While this paper has barely scratched the surface of the subject at hand, I hope that it at least suggests some ways in which a more fruitful discussion between Daoism and Christianity might proceed. The Daodejing is an ancient book, and much of the wisdom there complements rather than contradicts the historic doctrines of Christianity. Further study and reflection on the teachings of Daoism not only make possible dialogue between the two religions, they offer Christian theology an opportunity to deepen and enrich its understanding of its own traditions.
Works Cited
Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1985.
Ivanhoe, Philip J. and Bryan W. Van Norden, eds. Readings in Classical Chinese
Philosophy. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing, 2001.
Kupperman, Joel J. Classic Asian Philosophy. New York: Oxford UP, 2001.
Merton, Thomas. A Thomas Merton Reader. Ed. Thomas P. McDonnell. New York:
Doubleday, 1989.
Mitchell, Stephen, trans. Tao Te Ching. New York: HarperPerennial, 1991.
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