Month: December 2007

Black and White

It’s been so rainy and grey around here lately that I haven’t even tried to get out and take pictures. But I finally had to get Skye’s medicine, and I refuse to drive all the way to Steillacoom and not stop at the lake.

By waiting to mid-afternoon I managed to take the walk in the least dark part of the day, and even saw a patch of blue just before it poured on me.

Perhaps sun wasn’t necessary, though, because all of the birds I got close to were solid black anyway, like this elegant crow, that was part of a huge flock:

Crow

this American Coot that nearly walked up and tapped me on the leg, apparently wondering what I was doing walking around in the middle of a storm,

American Coot

and this pair of cormorants who rushed to take advantage of the what little light there was to dry out their wings.

Pair of Cormorants Drying Wings

At least I can’t complain that the birds’ brilliant colors appear faded because of the lack of sunlight.

I’ll try to do better tomorrow when I stop at Ridgefield Wildlife Refuge on the way to my dental appointment, but it’s supposed to be raining tomorrow too, so don’t get your hopes too high.

A.C. Graham’s The Book of Lieh-Tzu

I’ve started reading A.C. Graham’s translation of The Book of Lieh-tzu: A Classic of Tao. I’ve only read the Preface, Introduction, and the First Chapter so far, but I’ve already found much of interest. Of course, considering how little I still know about Taoism, that might not be saying very much.

Still, Graham’s introductory notes build on what I’ve learned from my earlier readings of the Taoteching, Chuang Tzu, and Klodt’s The Tao of Abundance, allowing me to see the Taoists a little more clearly. One bit of information cleared up an earlier question I’d had about Taoism, with Graham referring to this form of Taoism as “philosophical Taoism; but as a way of life for the tired of office it remained largely dissociated from Taoist alchemy and magic, and had an offshoot in Chinese Buddhism as Ch’an or Zen.”

Graham cleverly distinguishes between Confucianism and Taoism, pointing out that “The Way of Confucianism is primarily a system of government and a moral code, mastered by study, thought and discipline, while:

For Taoists, on the other hand, man occupies the humble position of the tiny figures in Sung landscape paintings, and lives rightly by bringing himself into accord with an inhuman Way which does not favour his ambitions, tastes and moral principles:

Heaven and earth are ruthless;
For them the myriad things are straw dogs.
The sage is ruthless;
For him the people are straw dogs.

One characteristic of this accord with the Way is ‘spontaneity’ (tzü-jan, literally ‘being so of itself’)-a concept, prominent from the beginnings of Taoism, which assumes the central place in the thought of the Lieh-tzü and of philosophers of the same period such as Kuo Hsiang. Heaven and earth operate without thought or purposes through processes which are tza-jan, ‘so of themselves’. Man follows the same course, through the process of growth and decay, without choosing either to be born or to die. Yet alone among the myriad things he tries to base his actions on ought and knowledge, to distinguish between benefit and harm, pose alternative courses of action, form moral and practical principles of conduct. If he wishes to return to the Way he must discard knowledge, cease to make distinctions, refuse to impose his will and his principles on nature, recover the spontaneity of the newborn child, allow his actions to be ‘so of themselves’ like physical processes. He must reflect things like a mirror, respond to them like an echo, without intermediate thought, perfectly concentrated and perfectly relaxed, like the angler or the charioteer whose hand reacts immediately to the give and pull of the line or the reins, or like the swimmer who can find his way through the whirlpool…

I found this image of Taoists in a Sung landscape painting quite compelling, and revealing.

Later, Graham points out that:

The Taoist, it will already be clear, cannot be a ‘philosopher’ in the Western sense, establishing his case by rational argument; he can only guide us in the direction of the Way by aphorisms, poetry and parable. The talents which he needs are those of an artist and not of a thinker, and in fact the three classics of Taoism are all in their different ways remarkable purely as literature (in the original Chinese, I hasten to add).

I hadn’t really thought of Taoism in quite this light before, but I’m sure that this explains a part of its appeal to me. As I’ve pointed out on numerous occasions I’ve acquired much of my philosophy, and a good part of my religion, from artists. While I’m not adverse to reading philosophy, I’m more apt to be moved by a poem or a drawing or painting than I am by a philosophical treatise.

Boldt’s “The Beauty of Abundance”

Now that I’ve finally gotten the Christmas gifts off to the Colorado Websters, I’ve finally had time to finish Boldt’s The Tao of Abundance, a book I’ve enjoyed far more than I ever imagined when I bought it several years ago, and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend to others of a like mind.

Luckily, the final chapter entitled â€?”The Beauty of Abundance” was well worth waiting for:

This chapter examines the principle of li and the beauty of the Tao revealed in the natural order of the universe. The organic patterns within nature, the collective human consciousness, and the life of each of us as individuals reflect the natural order in life. For one living in the Tao, these organic patterns serve as essential guideposts on the path of beauty. The role of art is to orient the human imagination to these patterns and to show us in them a reflection of the wholeness, harmony, and rhythm of the universe. Today, art has largely been taken over by commercial interests whose purpose is not to lead us to transcendence or the path of beauty but to sell us things.

This cosmic li runs through all levels of Being, including the human being. As Chu Hsi puts it, “Principle [li] is not some separate thing in front of us; rather it’s in our minds. People must discover for themselves that this thing [li] is truly in them, then everything will be okay.”

Looking back, I realize that discovering these â€?”organic patterns” has been one of the major goals of my life, whether through art, literature, mathematics, or science. In fact, it may well have been the single unifying principle of my life.

Klodt offers a different way of seeing â€?”beauty” one we often forget as artists caught up in our own personal efforts:

Thus, we can conceive of li in three broad dimensions: First, there is the li of each individual thing; second, the li within the human consciousness; and finally, the cosmic li, which in a sense is the grand pattern of patterns. It is this threefold understanding of li that we will use to elucidate our discussion of beauty. Beauty is the revelation of the organic patterns, the underlying cosmic principle of organization in and of things. The principle of li will help us to appreciate the Beauty of (or Tao in) the whole universe, the Beauty of (or Tao in) the individual thing, as well as the Beauty of (or Tao in) the human consciousness.

Perhaps this explains my love of Whitman, despite the fact that I lack his eternal optimism. He, more than any other artists, seems to pay tribute to all three elements, while most of us mere mortals find it difficult to pay tribute to one element at a time.

And I suppose it goes without saying that I found particular comfort in this observation by Klodt:

Is it really remarkable that those who live in nature be they ancient Chinese Taoists, eighteenth century Native Americans, or nineteenth century naturalists like John Muir so often said essentially the same things? For example, when Muir said, “When we tug at a single thing in nature, we find that it is attached to the rest of the world,” it could have been Chuang Tzu or Chief Seattle speaking. Wisdom is inherent in nature and reveals itself to people of any nation, race, or time if they will open themselves up to it. We too can avail ourselves of this wisdom by making time to spend in nature.

I could only hope that one or two of my photographs seem attached to the rest of the world, even though that is usually the way I see those things that I photograph.

Klodt’s Leisure of Abundance

Klodt’s chapter “The Leisure of Abundance” sounded strangely reminiscent of a conversation another birder and I had at Nisqually the last time I was there, two old guys wondering why cheaper goods didn’t result in people having to work less. After all, when I was young, way back in the old days, the dream was that modern machinery would free man from having to work, or at least work so hard or so long.

As Klodt points out, this dream has largely been sacrificed in the name of consumption:

To be sure, the emphasis on efficiency in the workplace has resulted in tremendous increases in productivity. Yet productivity gains have not been translated into increased leisure but have instead gone into increased consumption. In her excellent book, The Overworked American, Juliet Schor notes that if Americans today enjoyed the same standard of living they had in 1948, they could work every other year or take six months off. Today we have a variety of “labor-saving” devices and entertainments unknown to earlier generations. In 1948, Americans didn’t own dishwashers, home air conditioners, microwaves, or automatic dryers. They didn’t have televisions, computers, compact disc players, or VCRs. Fewer Americans owned their own homes, and the typical single-family dwelling was smaller (roughly the size of today’s three-car garage). Yet we could well ask if the material: things and comforts we have gained in the last fifty years are worth six months of the year, or half of the time of our lives.

At the very least, we should ask how things might be different if we had opted for more free time rather than greater consumption. It is pretty clear what things we wouldn’t have, but what would we have that we don’t have now? Would marital relationships be stronger? Would our children be better cared for and feel more secure? Would we have greater opportunities to express ourselves creatively? Would communities profit from increased participation in their social, cultural, and political life? Would we feel relaxed and enjoy the simple things of life more fully? Would we be friendlier and take more interest in our neighbors? Would we be healthier in body mind and spirit?

Obviously, all we can do is speculate about what might be if we weren’t driven to consume so much, but what better time to think about our values than amidst the Christmas season which increasingly seems dedicated to Mammon rather than to Christ?

Of course I’m already biased this way. Leslie and I long ago gave up giving gifts to each other, and last year our family decided that the only gifts adults would give to each other is homemade gifts, which is really quite simply the gift of time. That, of course, explains why my leisurely approach to blogging has been temporarily interrupted by a hectic rush to finish Christmas projects, but at least all of the things I’m doing are things I like to do.

I’m sure early Taoists, just like early Christians, could never have imagined how addicted modern Americans are to their things, but it’s clear they would consider us hopelessly addicted to our possessions.

Klodt comments on this passage from Lao Tzu:

These are my three treasures,
Compassion, frugality, and humility
Being compassionate one has courage,
Being frugal one has abundance,
Being humble one becomes the chief of all vessels.
-Lao Tzu

Lao Tzu said, “Being frugal one has abundance.” In a society in which social standing and even personal worth are measured by our possessions, frugality is hardly a value. Yet if we trace the origin of the word, we find that it is derived from the Latin frux, or fruit. To be frugal is to be fruitful. To save, to conserve, to mend, to repair, to do without what is unneeded – surely these are virtues. Yet Madison Avenue has convinced us that these behaviors are neither sexy nor desirable. We go ’round and ’round in a cycle of work and spend, in the interest of preserving the social, which is to say the economic order.

To those who say that society would fall apart if people thought a little more before they bought, or bought a little less, we could well ask if it is not already showing ample signs of breakdown? We could ask what our commitment to ever-expanding production and consumption are doing to our humanity. Moreover, sooner or later, we are going to have to face the fact that there are limits to the earth’s capacity to support runaway growth.

Better that we confront and deal with this problem now than cover our eyes and wait until we are forced by major ecological and economic crises to face it later on. It’s up to all of us to explore alternative visions of abundant living, with a view toward creating a social order that is ecologically responsible and committed to preserving, and indeed nurturing, human- heartedness.

Obviously much of what Klodt discusses here has more to do with our contemporary world than Taoism, but one could certainly argue that most great religious leaders have offered the same advice, which just shows how difficult it is to get people to see beyond material possessions.