Saturday, April 08, 2006

Sexual Politics

Check out this story from the Lexington Herald Leader about a gay student being kicked out of a Baptist school. Not a big shock. But, interestingly, I'm not sure that this student even violated the misguided rules of the school. After all, their policy (if the article is accurate) pertains only to sexual behavior, not orientation or identity. So claiming to be gay on Myspace.com would not violate the policy unless that statement were also accompanied by some evidence that he had, as a student at the school, engaged in homosexual sexual acts.

In other words, this looks a lot more like fear and discrimination than strict adherence to a moral code, unless they claim that thinking about sex counts as sex. And, of course, if they do, then they'll have to kick out all of their students, and probably most of their faculty!

[note: I need to read more carefully. Their policy also forbids promoting forbidden sexual behavior. Evidently the school thinks that someone claiming to be gay promotes homosexual behavior. I wonder how that works. I'm certainly not more likely to engage in homosexual activity because I heard that a twenty-year-old college student thinks he's gay!]

My Budding Bodhisattva: A Vacation Story (or, What Do My Son and the Dalai Lama Have in Common?)

To say that this is a vacation story is to abuse the English language. Really this is several stories from a single vacation, lumped together under what I hope is a nifty title, a mingling of Buddhist terminology with Rocky and Bullwinkle. Anyway, here goes.

Wednesday, just after noon, we headed out on our mini-vacation. I'd made reservations to stay in a small cottage about half-way between Nashville (Brown County - not Tennessee!) and Bloomington, Indiana, called Woods Edge. That's all I knew. We picked the cabin because it was available, not because we really knew anything about it. In other words, for the first time in a long time I had few expectations.

Our first stop was the Realtor's office, where we picked up a map and the keys to our cottage. Sure enough - according to the map - the cottage sat almost exactly half-way between Nashville and Bloomington. And sure enough, the name Wood's Edge seemed appropriate, as it lay just inside of Yellowood State Forrest, a very pleasant surprise.

We drove through Nashville, turned toward Bloomington, and entered Yellowood State Forrest. Wood's Edge my ass! This is more like Deep Forrest. It was gorgeous, situated deep in the heart of the forrest, where we could see literally nothing but trees. Looks like this is going to be a good vacation.

Wednesday evening we drove into Nashville and ate dinner at my favorite little corner diner, a former drugstore. None of the stores were open, turns out they all close by 5pm. But we had a good time strolling through the town, planning out our next day.

Thursday morning, I got up before everyone else, fixed a bowl of my mother-in-law's fruit salad for breakfast. What she lacks in charm she makes up for with her culinary creations.

I'd love to say that after that I did something spiritual constructive, like a devotion or a prayer or a meditation. But actually I took advantage of the fact that this cottage came equipped with ESPN and about 100 other channels that I don't get at home. I sat like a spud in front of the television, watching Sports Center until Adam finally woke up to join me.

What's the attraction to television on vacation? Is it the familiarity of it? We go off to get away, only to find that while away we are basically the same people we were at home, doing the same things we do at home. I remember one time going to the beach, swearing that I wouldn't watch a minute of TV. I was going to maximize my time there, seizing every moment. At the beach I would do only "beach things." It was my version of a "mindful vacation." The first night there I turned on the television to watch my favorite show.

After everyone else woke up, a handed the kid off to his mother and her mother, and set off for the woods. Our cottage was right by a formidable hill. I wondered what was at the top of it.

Our vacation, as some of you have noticed, lasted only about 48 hours. I was hoping for some ideal or perfect 48 hours; some transformative 48 hours in which everything happened just right. When I stepped out of the cottage to explore the woods and the top of the hill, I realized that God or nature has little interest in conforming to your expectations. Rain everywhere. I may as well have been in Washington state.

But rain, in and of itself, is not bad. It only becomes bad when we label it "bad." Trying to salvage my perfect vacation, I refused to label the rain "bad." I simply walked in it, feeling it fall on my, all around me. I didn't label it or the way it felt on my skin. I didn't judge it, or the experience. I simply felt it. It didn't have to be bad.

The hill was harder than it looked from the bottom. Its been a long time since I was an eager Boy Scout, with the energy to hike all day and climb mountains. Five minutes into my trek I already noticed that I'd set a bad pace. I was wheezing, my asthma uncontrolled. I slowed down, literally and metaphorically. This is a vacation, not a race!

Legs and lungs burning, cursing my lack of fitness, I reached the top of the hill. Standing there, between the tall, thin trees stretching out for light and air and moisture, feeling the rain fall on and around me, I had what in Zen is known as a moment of satori, a flash of enlightenment. A religious experience. The rain really wasn't bad, if you didn't label it as such. The rain just was. It was a fact.

I stood in the rain for what seemed like a lifetime, stretching out with the trees, drinking in the moisture. It may have only been a minute or two. Time didn't matter. I just stood, 'til I didn't need to stand anymore. Then I set back out towards the cottage.

I got back just in time to head out for the day. Everyone else was complaining about the rain, just like I would have been if I hadn't been out in it all morning, realizing that rain is simply a fact, not a nuisance. I didn't need to judge the rain. I certainly didn't need to let it ruin my vacation. Doesn't do any good to complain about the weather, and all that. The weather isn't listening. The weather doesn't care.

We had a good time in Nashville. Ate lunch in a neat little coffee shop, the kind of place that's probably right down the street from my house, but I'd never notice because when I'm not on vacation I live my life with a sort of agenda, moving from task to task trying just to make it through the day, waiting for my "real" life to begin. Vacation opens my eyes, slows down my time, gets me off my to-do list and into each moment.

I went to my favorite little independent bookstore, The Book Loft, run by a retired Lutheran pastor with whom I have great discussions. It is one of two bookstores where, every time I visit, I have to walk away with something, out of a sort of moral obligation. Anyone who runs such a lovely shop has to get a little money tossed their way for their effort, even if technically speaking I don't have any money to toss. The other bookstore is the Twin Sisters Bookery in Wilmington, NC. At The Book Loft on Thursday I bought Marcus Borg's The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith and Thich Nhat Hanh's Calming the Fearful Mind: A Zen Response to Terrorism.

Thursday afternoon we dropped my mother-in-law off at the cottage and set out for Bloomington. Our first stop was Dagom Gaden Tensung Ling Buddhist Monastery, but when we got there, no one was home. I stood outside in the driving rain for a little bit, while Sami and Adam stayed dry and warm in the car. This lasted just long enough for me to feel quite silly. Then I got back in the car to head to our next stop.

It turns out that it may have been just as well that I couldn't get anyone at Dagom Gaden Tensung Ling to open the door. I didn't know it at the time, but they are a schismatic group opposed to the Dalai Lama, and are often considered to be a cult. They have been criticized by most other Buddhists for using a particular deity as a rather scary moral enforcement mechanism. This deity will curse you and your family if you don't do what the group wants. Not exactly the sort of Buddhism I wanted to encounter on vacation! Reminds me a little bit too much of my former job.

Our next stop was the Tibetan Cultural Center, founded by the Dalai Lama's older brother, Thubten Jigme Norbu (a former professor at Indiana University), in 1979. This is no schismatic group, and no cult. They were extremely friendly and welcoming.

I got to brush out my mad Sanskrit (the sacred language of Buddhism) and Pali (the "original" language of Buddhism, predating Sanskrit) skills in philosophic conversation [note: my Sanskrit and Pali are as bad as my Hebrew and Greek; I know only a few key words here and there] while they let Adam roam around playing with everything.

We had to take off our shoes to enter the Kumbum Chamtse Ling interfaith temple, which was dedicated by the Dalai Lama in 1996, and consecrated by the Dalai Lama in 2003. It is their sanctuary, full of sacred relics. To my surprise and their delight, they let Adam play in the temple. He ran around climbing on everything, and generally making mischief. Ordinarily I would have been embarrassed and stopped him, but they wouldn't let me. They kept saying how nice it was to have such a small and pleasant child around, and that we should be proud of him.

The highlight of the day was when they let Adam climb the step to the sacred chair reserved for the Dalai Lama. No one but the Dalai Lama is allowed to sit in their chair. It is sacred space. While Adam was not allowed to sit in the chair, they did let him become the first person other than the Dalai Lama to climb up to the chair and touch it. It was quite an honor, and I wish that he would be able to remember it.

They said that Adam was a budding bodhisattva, who brought great joy to their temple. A bodhisattva is an enlightened being who puts off nirvana so that they can help end the suffering of all other sentient beings. It is the ideal of Mahayana Buddhism. Tibetan Vajrayana Buddhism is one of many forms of Mahayana Buddhism.

We finished our day of Tibetan culture in Bloomington at Little Tibet a Tibetan restaurant in the international district. Sami has some assortment of noodles, vegetables and tofu (a staple in our diet), while I had Mo Mos (a Tibetan dumpling) filled with assorted vegetables, with a spicy dipping sauce. Adam feasted on assorted vegetables, and Temo, a Tibetan steamed bread. The only word that comes to mind is Greek, ambrosia, the nectar of the gods.

The next morning, hoping to share my satori point with the people I love most, I put Adam on my back and set off up the hill with Sami. This time I knew better than to set a frantic pace. We reached the top together as a family, with no asthma attacks or pulled muscles. The climb wasn't so hard. I had just made it hard by not knowing myself well enough to set a decent pace.

After our hike, we all packed up the car and headed into Nashville for one last day in the town.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Purity to Compassion in Three Stories From Mark (Part I)

When I left professional ministry last October, I didn't exactly know what I was going to do. I certainly didn't know my relationship to the church. Both vocationally and spiritually I was starting over.

Providence led my family to Fourth Ave UMC, in Old Louisville. Coincidentally, when Sami and I first got married we lived just two blocks from that church, in an old rat hole of an apartment. Now we get to see our old haunt at least once a week.

At Fourth Ave I am blessed to teach a Sunday School class full of teenagers who have never studied their faith before. Each week I get to read the Bible with a room full of people who are seeing its contents for the first time. What a way to break through all of my biases and see the text with fresh eyes!

For this season of Lent we have been looking at Mark's portrayal of Jesus. A friend of mine once called Mark's Gospel the comic book Gospel, because our hero (Jesus) sweeps in from out of nowhere, performs some miracle (be it a healing or an exorcism or some other extraordinary feat) and then quickly leaves, ordering all who witnessed the event to say nothing to nobody.

So my reading of Mark has always been colored by that approach. I've always seen it as a series of improbable miracle stories with little to say to those of us who've never seen a miracle, and find stories about them incredulous.

Now I'm not saying that Jesus didn't perform miracles; that he couldn't have performed miracles. What I'm saying is that whether he did or not, that in and of itself has little to teach me. If I look to the life of Christ as some model for who I should behave, what can I learn about myself from stories of his miracles? Until recently, very little.

Reading through Mark with a room full of functionally agnostic teenagers, trying to show them the reading the Gospel can help them to come alive, I've been forced to see the text of Mark through new eyes. In this post I will do my best to lend those eyes to you.

I can't recreate my lessons, because strictly speaking, they aren't my lessons. Rather, they are our discussions. So much of what happens is context dependent. I respond to their comments and questions as we respond to the text. But what I can do is share some of the observations which came up in the context of our discussions on the text.

The centering theme for our approach to much of Mark is borrowed from Marcus Borg, who argues that Jesus' ministry can be seen as a shifting of the focus of religion (in his case Judaism, in our case Christianity) from purity to compassion.

The religion of Ancient Israel could, according to Borg, be summed up in this command:

Be holy as the Lord your God is holy.

Holiness is here seen as being both pure and set apart. It is also both personal and corporate. Individuals are called to be pure and set apart, and the community is called to be both pure and set apart. If any individual in the community is impure, then their impurity makes the entire community impure.

We will return to this idea when we dive into the stories.

Jesus, however, inverts this focus on purity, shifting it toward compassion. His approach, according to Borg, can be summed up in this command:

Be compassionate as the Lord your God is compassionate.

Jesus reimages the defining trait of God, and as such changes the focus of religion. As we look at these three stories we should keep this theory in mind.

Our first story comes from Mark 1:40-45, the story of Jesus healing a leper. The NRSV translation reads:

A leper came to him [Jesus] begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." Moved with pity [or "anger"], Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him and touched him, and said to him, "I do choose. Be made clean!" Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, "See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them." But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every corner.

This story is so full of treasures that we discussed it for an hour and didn't even begin to cover what was in it. Before I go into our discussion of it, and how that connects to Jesus inversion of the religious values, and the shift from purity to compassion, let me briefly point out some interesting bits that we couldn't cover. Mine them for yourself:

1. Some manuscripts have Jesus moved by "anger" rather than "pity." This is, in fact, the version preferred by Bart Ehrman, because it presents us with a more challenging statement. Why, he wonders, would scribes change the text to present us with an "angry" Jesus? It seems much more reasonable to assume that scribes saw that the text said Jesus was moved by "anger," and thinking that that couldn't possibly be right, changed it to say that he was moved by "pity." (A simplification of his argument.)

If the best texts indeed have Jesus being angry in this story (and this is a very open question which cannot be resolved by Ehrman alone), does that pose an interpretive problem for us? When answering this question, here are a few additional questions to consider:

i. Why is Jesus angry?
ii. At whom is Jesus angry?
iii. How can this be seen in light of Borg's thesis that Jesus shifts the focus of religion from purity to compassion?

2. Why would Jesus not want the man to talk to anyone about what happened, and why would the man disobey the order to keep quiet?

Our discussion focus more on the act of the healing itself, and how we can respond to it. I mentioned earlier that for me miracle stories pose a problem, in that I have never seen much less performed a miracle. If Jesus' life is to be a model for us (and for theological reasons I think that it is), how then can we who don't see much less perform miracles have our actions be informed by such miracle stories?

In considering this we must look more closely at the problem in this story. The man who approaches Jesus is identified as a leper. This does not necessarily mean that the man had what we call "Hansen's disease," leprosy properly speaking. Rather, it means that he had some sort of a skin condition, identified by a priest in accordance with the laws in Leviticus 13. Such a skin condition made one "unclean" or "impure" in a society in which purity was godliness. And being impure in a society driven by religious purity laws, in which the impurity of any member of the community made the entire community impure, you can see that there would be disastrous social results.

Leprosy, then, entailed two problems:

1. A physical problem: that is, the disease itself.

2. A social problem: that is, when one is identified as being impure, which comes with this skin condition, one is no longer welcome in the community.

The physical problem may be a very real and serious problem, but the social problem was akin to social death. If you were identified as a leper then you could no longer have any sort of human contact, for fear that your impurity would make others impure as well.

In this story Jesus, in the way in which he heals the leper, addresses both problems. Through the way in which he heals the leper we can see how we, who are certainly not imbued with miraculous powers of healing, can participate in this act of healing.

Simply put, Jesus heals the leper by touching the leper. This was beyond taboo, for two reasons:

1. The disease itself was considered to be contagious, and so per the understanding of the day, in touching the leper Jesus risked catching the disease.

2. The act of touching that which is impure makes one ritually impure. So, in touching the leper Jesus took that impurity into himself.

In this story, then, we see Jesus' inversion of the dominant religious values. Placing compassion above purity Jesus makes himself unclean in order to help out another person.

How can we relate to this? We certainly can't go out and heal someone's physical disease merely by touching them. But we can, in our own way, touch and heal lepers.

I asked the teenagers to identify people in their own lives who are lepers, and to come up with ways in which to touch them. Their responses were, frankly, moving. In such a vicious social world these kids, who'd never taken their faith very seriously, deeply engaged the social problems around them, and came up with creative and compassionate responses to those social problems. The challenge is for us to do the same thing in our social world.

So the questions I take out of this story, as I try to allow it to inform my moral actions, are:

1. Who, in my life, is a leper?

2. How can I touch them?

If anyone is interested, please address these questions in the comments.

I was planning to deal with all three stories in a single post, but it is clear now that won't work. This is getting too long, and I'm almost out of time to write.

The good news is that I'm leaving shortly to go on a vacation. The bad news is that, while I am becoming a better person, I am not yet as good as I wish I were. Sami's grandmother - as those of you who read this post and this post well know - died earlier this year. Since then her mother, who lived with and took care of her mother for the last two decades or more, has been very lonely.

My mother-in-law and I have never really gotten along. The first time I met her she forbid me to ever see her daughter again, and I'm not sure we ever got past that moment. But she was my leper. Living alone in the country she is on a social island, with few if any human contacts. She calls us a lot, and generally just gets on my nerves. But in the wake of her mother's death I have started to learn how to have compassion for her.

Thinking myself a better person than I really am, I invited her to go with us on our vacation this year. Now a few days of rest and relaxation to the woods is turning into a festival of stress. No one should feel sorry for me. I'm not a pitiable character in this story. If anything, I'm the villain, still wishing my mother-in-law were someone she's not rather than accepting her and *gasp* loving her for who she is. This week, on our vacation, I will be getting a steady does for her. Now I can finally learn true compassion.

Perhaps I will find, as Jesus did, that when I touch the leper they will no longer be a leper, but just another human being worthy of love and compassion.

When I get back I'll post my treatments of the final two stories. In the meantime consider the questions raised here, and try to leave a comment for discussion.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

A Couple More American Zen Stories

I can see that today will be a busy day for me in blogland. I've already posted an paper on Hobbes and Aristotle, and I hope later to post some of my wrestling with the Gospel of Mark. But right now I just have to share some stories from the wonderful book One Bird, One Stone: 108 American Zen Stories by Sean Murphy.

I picked this book up a few weeks ago (for $1!), and have been picking at it since, reading a story here and a story there. Every now and then (see Carve Me a Buddha) I find something that just has to be shared, with some brief explanations.

Today's first story concerns Shunryu Suzuki, whose teachings were immortalized in the classic book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. Suzuki Roshi (Roshi is a respectful term for "teacher," not entirely unlike the Hebrew "rabbi") marks a change in the American approach to Zen from the philosophy to the practice, and his book (compiled by some of his students from talks he'd given) reflects that. It reads more like a manual on how to meditate than on a meditation of human nature.

According to Murphy, Shunryu Suzuki came from Japan in 1959 (at the age of fifty-three) to lead a Soto temple in San Francisco. While there he not only tended to the needs of his Japanese congregation, he also reached out to many Americans from the counterculture, helping spread Zen into the broader culture.

Here is my favorite story about him, as told by Murphy:

Elsie Mitchell of the Cambridge Buddhist Association reports an early visit from Suzuki Roshi, in 1964. He'd written that he would be arriving on Wednesday night, and they planned to have someone meet him at the airport.

On Tuesday afternoon a number of the members set to work housecleaning. That evening the meditation room was in the process of being scrubbed down when the doorbell rang. There on the front step, a day early, was Suzuki Roshi, wearing a big smile on his face, and highly amused to find everyone in the midst of preparations for his arrival.

Ignoring their protests, he tied back the sleeves of his robes and insisted on joining in "all these preparations for the important day of my coming!"

The next morning, Mitchell says, after she'd left the building to run some errands, "he found himself a tall ladder, sponges, and pails. He then set to work scrubbing Cambridge grease, grime, and general pollution from the outside of the windows in the meditation hall. When I returned with the groceries, I discovered him on the ladder, polishing with such undivided attention that he did not even hear my approach. He had removed his black silk kimono and was dressed only in his Japanese union suit. This is quite acceptable attire in Japan. Nevertheless, I could not help wondering how the sedate Cambridge ladies in the adjoining apartment house would react to the sight of a shaven-head man in long underwear at work right outside their windows!"


What strikes me most about this story is Suzuki's insistence on participating in the preparations for his own arrival. How Zen is that!

Each of us are, I hope, headed somewhere. We are moving toward some unspecified destination, working toward some inarticulatable existential goal. But to get there we must, in some way, participate in the preparations for our own arrival.

Or, something like that.

The second story concerns the first Korean Zen Master to teach in America, Seung Sahn, who came to Providence, Rhode Island in 1972. He worked at a Laundromat, was sought out by student at Brown University, and founded the Providence Zen Center.

Here is a story about him and one of his dharma (teaching) heirs, Su Bong Soen Sa, as told by Sean Murphy:

After seeing Seung Sahn speak for the first time, Hawaiian American Su Bong Soen Sa asked if he could have a private meeting with the teacher, to which Seung Sahn agreed. Su Bong Soen Sa showed up with a big volume of Zen sayings, which he had been studying, and hoped the master might clarify them for him. Seung Sahn made him wait for a long while before he would see him. Finally Seung Sahn invited him in for the interview. Su Bong Soen Sa, heart pounding at being before a master for the first time, turned the book toward Seung Sa and pointed with his fingertip, saying, "There's a line in this book by the Sixth Patriarch that I wonder if you would explain for me..."

In a flash Seung Sahn leapt at the book and slammed it shut on his finger, shouting, "No more reading! Who are
you!

Su Bong Soen Sa couldn't answer. He decided at that moment to become Seung Sa's student, and eventually went on to become one of his dharma heirs.


As someone who's life has been interpreted through the lens of the books I've read, I found that story to be a powerful reminder that we are more than just a product of the external ideas which we try to take in and make our own. Of course we should read. But we should read as people who are in the process of becoming, who read as one of many ways to facilitate that process. When we become more a collection of other people's ideas and less our own creatures, we should stop reading, as the reading is no longer helping.

Of course I realize that many Americans have exactly the opposite problem.

Hobbes v. Aristotle (While Taking a Sick Boy to the Doctor)

In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been writing much lately. That's because Adam has been sick, and that's causing him not to sleep. When he doesn't sleep, I don't sleep. When I don't sleep I can't see straight, much less read or write. The last few days I've been wondering how I ever survived his first few months in the world, in which I was taking 18 hours of classes to finish up my BA in Philosophy, while working as a Youth Minister.

Now, if I had any sense I would have taken Adam to see the doctor as soon as he stopped sleeping. It would have saved some series wear and tear on Sami and me. But I don't have any sense, so I didn't. Until yesterday. Yesterday I just couldn't take it anymore.

Sami is taking a week off from work (Spring Break!), so she talked me (or nagged me) into agreeing that the boy needs medical help. Turns out he has one hell of an ear infection, so of course he can't sleep. Every time he lays down in his crib fluid drains from his ear, causing no small amount of pain. If I'd taken him to the doctor sooner he'd be better by now. When he grows up he'll probably kill me for stuff like this.

Anyway, on the way to the doctor my wife noticed something which reminded me of a paper I wrote while taking a seminar on Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan. Because of some seriously stormy weather (I had to retrieve roughly 70 pounds of trash and the dumpster that used to hold it from my neighbor's yard!) several stop lights on the way to the doctor's office were out. For some reason law enforcement had not yet noticed this. Or, if they did, they didn't seem to care. There were no signs indicating how we should drive absent the stoplights, and no traffic cops to enforce the absent decrees.

But despite the fact that there were no externally imposed and enforced directives, people were driving quite well. Of course this doesn't always happen when the lights go out. But yesterday we saw cooperative driving at its best. This caused my very un-philosophic wife to raise some pretty interesting philsophic questions. She wondered, for instance, if people don't actually drive better when there isn't some authority above them enforcing apparently arbitrary decrees.

I asked her why she thought that might be the case. She said something about needing to cooperate. She said that when someone is above you telling you what to do, you don't think about how best to handle a situation. You're just looking out for yourself, trying to stay out of trouble. But when no one is above you pushing the rules down on you, you have more freedom. Some of that freedom implies freedom to do what's best. People don't always do what's best, but when no one is telling them what to do they have that chance.

As she said this (or soemthing like it - notice that I didn't use any quotation marks) I remembered my seminar on Hobbes. In it I wrote a paper comparing and contrasting Hobbes and Aristotle on human nature and its relation to political philosophy.

One of the hallmarks of Hobbes is his interest in self interest. Government works best when it is powerful enough to convince every self-interested creature within a society that their own interests are - on account of the extreme power of the sovereign - identical to the common good. That is, the sovereign has such power that it can make sure that what it wants is - by virtue of the threat of force against your person - what's best for you.

Anyway, here's a paper which I wrote dealing with that notion in a little bit more detail. It never really saw the light of day, as I wasn't pleased with it when I wrote it. I've cleaned it up some, but was surprised to see that I don't hate it anymore. Is it worth reading? I hope so. At least Brian Cubbage should be interested in it, as he kept trying to get me to tell him about that seminar while I was in it. So, Brian (and whoever else), here it is:

Both Hobbes and Aristotle present us with particular views of human nature, and both Hobbes and Aristotle use those views of human nature to develop their politics. And in a few important respects, Hobbes’ and Aristotle’s views on both human nature and the politics that follow from it are similar. But there are some very significant differences between Hobbes and Aristotle on both human nature and the politics that follow from it. Those differences are a key to understanding Hobbes’ project in his seminal political work, Leviathan, and they demonstrate a major problem in Hobbes’ Leviathan: he has fundamentally misidentified human nature.

It is, however, hasty to claim that Hobbes has misidentified human nature, because some philosophers, such as Hannah Arendt, claim that, in Leviathan Hobbes does not identify human nature at all. Leviathan is a study of politics rather than humanity. As such it is interested in the artificial man far more than it is in natural man. As such, Hobbes is not concerned with human nature, and defines human nature – to the extent that he defines it at all – purely as a tool to help him set up with politics.

Whether this claim is true or not, it has no bearing on this paper. That is because, whether or not Hobbes’ description of human nature is sincere or merely a tool he uses to get readers to go along with his politics, he uses his description of human nature – or, at least of humans in a state of nature – the same way that Aristotle uses his description of human nature in his Politics. Both philosophers, whether they hold that their description of human nature is accurate or merely useful for understanding human politics, use their descriptions of human nature to build their views on politics. In fact, as it will become clear later, if the contention of those such as Arendt who hold that Hobbes does not actually offer a view of human nature is correct, that only strengthens the claim that the differences between Hobbes and Aristotle on human nature help us to understand Hobbes’ project better, and help show where Hobbes went wrong.

Hobbes, whether or not he believes he is offering a view of human nature, describes human beings in a “state of nature” in the thirteenth chapter of his Leviathan. This state of nature is one of radical individualism. All men in it are roughly equal, at least in the sense that – whether by strength or cunning, or a combination of the two – any man can kill any other man. This puts all men in a constant state of anxiety, and a constant state of either cold or hot war for limited resources. This is because, since all men are roughly equal – at least in their ability to kill each other – each man can hope equally to get what he wants. This “equality of hope” ensures, according to Hobbes, that when two men desire the same thing and only one of them can have it, those two men become enemies.

In this view there is no natural cooperation, only competition. In paragraph nine of Chapter XIII, Hobbes says that “every man is an enemy to every man” in this war for limited resources. Even if, as in paragraph three, some men come together for a time, for some purpose, that alliance is not really motivated by cooperation, but rather only by a radical self-interest. The alliance, in this case, is not real, because since all parties are motivated purely by self-interest, and because there is no external means of enforcing whatever agreement it is that has brought this alliance about; each member of the alliance – and there are in the end no members of an alliance and no real alliance – must still fear everyone else in that alliance, because there is no reason to believe that they will not turn on the others at any moment. The only example of such an alliance that Hobbes gives in the state of nature is a group that gets together to steal a man’s property. In this case, the invading group or individual has, according to Hobbes, as much to fear as the man whose property they invaded, because at any moment the same thing could happen to them.

So, whether or not there are any real humans in a state of nature – and it is a real stretch to say that the kinds of individuals that Hobbes describes in his state of nature count as humans – everyone in a state of nature, is, by nature radically independent and competitive. Everyone is in a constant state of war against everyone else. And, importantly for Hobbes, war is not just a time of fighting. Rather, war is a time in which, whether or not there is any actual fighting, there can be no assurance that fighting will not break out at any moment for any reason. And this is key to Hobbes: any individual in a state of nature has nothing to keep them from a violent end but their own strength. Because of this, everyone lives in a constant state of not only competition, but fear. Fear of being killed at any time for any reason.

But, according to Hobbes, as much as human beings desire power and property; they value survival even more. In fact, survival is the overriding human drive. It is built into Hobbes first law of nature. So, human reason, which exists in a state of nature, drives us out of a state of nature and into a commonwealth. This is how Hobbes uses his description of humans in a state of nature to build his politics. The “condition of man,” which is man’s condition in a state of nature, is, according to Hobbes, a “condition of war.” Everyone has a right to everything, but no one has power sufficient to enforce any right. And so, through the use of their reason, humans decide to voluntarily surrender most of their rights for the security that a commonwealth provides.

That men are willing to voluntarily surrender their rights for security is easy enough to observe. And, in this respect, Hobbes has accurately – if only limitedly – described human nature. This is apparent throughout history. In a time of war people surrender rights that the once clinged to. This was obviously the case after the attacks of September 11th, when Americans voluntarily gave up their cherished freedoms of speech and privacy, convinced that the laying down of those rights would secure some peace, or at least make the state of perpetual war that is the so-called War on Terror more secure.

But there is a danger here that Hobbes has not identified. While it is the case that people will, under certain circumstances, voluntarily give up some of their rights; they are much more inclined to give up the rights of others. In America, during the Second World War, Americans of Japanese descent were piled into camps until the end of the war. This was because the Americans whose faces did not so much resemble the faces of an identifiable enemy felt more secure that way. Of course, the treatment of Japanese-Americans in America was nothing like the treatment of Jews in Germany at the same time. Their very right to life was involuntarily sacrificed in the same of security. Yet, despite this natural tendency to sacrifice the rights of others for the sake of security, Hobbes never provides any check on the power or authority of the sovereign that he creates to provide security for the commonwealth built by the human tendency to lay down rights for the sake of security. This laying down of certain rights may be natural in the sense that people naturally do it for the sake of security; it may not be natural in the Aristotelian use of natural: that is, what is the proper end of a thing.

And, that is one real difficulty in comparing Hobbes’ view of human nature – to the extent that he has one – to Aristotle’s: they do not use the word “nature” in the same way. If it can be accurately said that Hobbes’ description of humans in a state of nature is a description of human nature, then by nature Hobbes probably means that which occurs in all or almost all humans, regardless of social conditioning. Yet when Aristotle refers to nature he is talking about the best that any thing can possibly be. The natural end for an acorn, for instance, is to be a tree; and not only a tree, but a flawless tree. Similarly the natural end of a man is to be a good man; that is to perfectly embody that which makes a man a man.

This difficulty notwithstanding, it is still possible to compare certain aspects of Aristotle’s view of human nature to Hobbes. For instance, Aristotle, in his Politics, claims that human beings are naturally social and political. While he does mean that humans must be social and political to fully realize their potential as humans, this is not all he means by this. He also means that humans, whenever we find them always exist in a social and political context. This approach is very different from Hobbes’ approach. While Hobbes does not claim that his state of nature actually ever historically existed – he does not claim, for instance, that there was a point in human history at which all humans lived in such as state of nature – Hobbes nevertheless feels that he has to posit such a state of nature as a kind of mental construct to explain why humans are political. But Aristotle needs no such mental construct, because to him human history indicates that humans are political, as well as social, by nature. No further explanation for why human beings have become political is necessary – though Aristotle does explain the role of politics. This is because human beings are political. They have not become political at any point. They are political by nature, in the sense that human beings cannot be human beings if they are not political. It is a part of our make-up.

This is, according to Aristotle, evident merely by observing the way in which humans live. Humans always arrange themselves into political communities. The most basic of these political communities is the family. “The family is the association established by nature for the supply of men’s everyday wants.” Families serve a role, which is to supply the wants of men. But, they do not exist merely because they serve that role. They are not reducible merely to that role. To establish that families exist one need not conceive of some mental construct in which there are no families, and then say that the only way in which the needs met by a family could be met is by the formation of some kind of artificial family. First and foremost, families are “established by nature.” They naturally exist.

This recognition that families are a kind of political unit is an important one for seeing how it is that Aristotle may be used to both understand and critique Hobbes. This is because Hobbes’ radical individualism does not really allow for families. Hobbes holds that men are by nature entirely competitive. Yet Aristotle observes that every man born is born into a social and political context: the family. Of course Hobbes knows that no one is born into total isolation, but in creating his state of nature he does not allow for the impact of our social situation at birth on our nature.

Hobbes holds that all people are born into the state of nature. Yet all people are born into a social and political context. No one is born self-sufficient. All people are born dependent on others. Those others, whether or not they are biological relatives, are our families. The family is a naturally occurring political unit in which everyone learns cooperation. The message taught to us by our family, regardless of all other messages, is that we depend on others. There is a natural bond which removes us from radical emotional isolation before we have our first conscious thought. There is never a time in which a fully-functioning human is aware and yet devoid of relationships. These natural relationships make human beings social and political by nature, as Aristotle observed. And that we are social and political by nature means that we need to posit the mental construct of a Hobbesian state of nature in which everyone is in a war with everyone else, in order to explain the origins of politics.

Hobbes, or one of his defenders, might argue that we can imagine a situation in which someone has no social context – or at least, no cooperative social context. What about, for instance, a case in which a child is abandoned, and yet somehow survives despite not being found until much after most of their neural pathways for the acquisition of social skills have closed. Such a person would not be naturally social or political. However, such a person would not, in the Aristotelian sense, be natural. In some very important ways that person would, rather than being a natural human, be a defective human. They would have no language skills, or social skills. They would have severely impaired cognitive abilities. They would probably be mentally, if not also physically ill. This person would provide no insight into human nature, because they would be missing most of the traits that we use to identify humans. They would probably be only genetically human, and surely that is not enough for us to want to use such a person as an example of human nature.

In the same way, the person who resembles anyone with the traits that Hobbes gives those in a state of nature might be seen – rather than as an embodiment of human nature – as a defective human. Someone who is in a constant state of war with everyone else, and who cannot cooperate in any way without seeing how doing so would be in his interests, could very well be someone who in important ways fails to be human.

This disagreement over what constitutes the natural is an important disagreement. After all, both Hobbes and Aristotle build their political views from their views on human nature. And, Hobbes, from his description of humans in a state of nature, builds a politic which depends on extreme external enforcement. In Hobbes human beings are fundamentally in need of restraint. And while he holds that that restraint is a kind of self restraint, in the sense that men voluntarily covenant into the commonwealth, that voluntary restraint is enforced by a sovereign with a monopoly of power and no practical checks or balances.

Of course, in order for the sovereign to provide the kind of security which is his duty to provide, he must have power sufficient to hold everyone else in check. Human beings are naturally dangerous. This is a fact not lost on Aristotle, who said that a man can, if left unchecked, “the most unholy and most savage of animals.” This danger, and the need for some kind of restraint on individual men, is apparent to Aristotle. The difference is, that for Hobbes men are apparently incapable of restraining themselves – despite his description of voluntary restraint mention above. I say this because, for Hobbes, the sovereign is the sole possessor and bestower of power in a commonwealth. No one has any power unless they are given that power by the sovereign. Because of this, no one has any kind of power over the sovereign, no matter what the sovereign does. The sovereign is the author and source of all laws, and so is not bound to any law. For Hobbes this is necessary because it is the only way to preserve peace and security.

Hobbes, then, does not trust humans to restrain themselves (except the single act of self-restraint which is the formation of the commonwealth); but he evidently trusts a single human, the sovereign, to exist without any restraint on his power except God. Having God as a check might count as a limiting of the power of the sovereign if Hobbes believe in some kind of divine intervention in the natural world; but if his religious view are accurately described by the passages of Leviathan that deal with religion, then he does not.

This monopoly of power in the name of security can lead to the trampling of many of the rights that we would give to anyone. It may not necessarily lead to such a trampling – but it may, if the only axiom about the corrupting nature of power holds true – but if it did, in fact, lead to the abuse of power and the trampling of the rights of people, there is no way to correct that. As such, if Hobbes’ political views were held by all people, then there could be no internal check on the power of an abusive dictator. There could be no justification for revolt or revolution, or even for the peaceful exchange of power from someone who does not voluntarily surrender it.

If one accepts Hobbes’ view of human nature, however, it may be the case that this exchange of rights for security is necessary. After all, if humans, by nature, exist in a state of perpetual competition and war, with no natural cooperation or social interaction – much less compassion or altruism – then some radical step may be necessary to secure peace and security. However, Hobbes – to the extent that his state of nature describes human nature – has not accurately described human nature. Aristotle, whose Politics is also very flawed in that it justifies natural slavery, racism, and the subjugation of women, among other things, nevertheless much more correctly observes human nature. A political theory based on Aristotle’s views of human nature would, in allowing for natural social and political cooperation, avoid some of the problems that Hobbes creates and justifies in giving the sovereign a monopoly of power.

There is, however, some overlapping between Hobbes and Aristotle. Hobbes builds his political theory on a view of human rationality which holds that a human being is being reasonable when he correctly identifies his interests and also correctly identifies the means by which to best obtain those interests. The primary interest identified by Hobbes – and the on which overrides all other interests – is survival. Aristotle observes much the same thing when he says that humans “meet together and maintain the political community also for the sake of mere life”; and that “we see men cling to life even at the cost of enduring great misfortune.” However, even in this Aristotle avoids something which is a real problem for Hobbes.

In holding that the desire for survival trumps all other desires, Hobbes lays a groundwork which, while it appears consistent with what we observe in humans, is – upon careful analysis – not. In his radically individualist notion of human nature, Hobbes gives each individual the right to resist violence done to their own person – even by the sovereign. But he does not give any individual the right to resist violence done to another. This is perhaps because, for Hobbes, everyone is governed by a radical self-interest which does not extend to others. But, because human beings are – contrary to Hobbes’ view – social by nature; it is often the case that our own interests are indistinguishable from the interests of another.

While both Hobbes and Aristotle observe that a person will go to great lengths to preserve their own life, Hobbes’ view of human nature does not account for situations in which a person might reasonably choose to sacrifice their own life for the sake of another. For Hobbes such an action would be unreasonable, because everyone is primarily driven by a desire to preserve their own life. But such a quest is futile, and surely Hobbes knew that even if he did not make use of it. After all, it is apparent that all human beings have finite life spans. The quest, then, to preserve one’s own life must end in failure. This knowledge informs the actions of some in ways that Hobbes does not seem to allow for. But Aristotle’s view of human nature does allow for this, because people are not by nature isolated an independent. Rather, they are social, political, and interdependent by nature. This could lead to the kind of moral reasoning in which one may voluntarily lay down one’s life for another, or for a cause, or for some other reason, without being irrational.

As such, it is again evident that Aristotle came much closer to correctly identifying human nature than Hobbes. If Hobbes had not built his politics on his impoverished view of human nature this point might be trivial. But, in an age in which the political climate is becoming much more Hobbesian, it is important to note the way in which Hobbes built his political theories on the back of his flawed view of human nature – whether or not he presented this view of human nature sincerely or just as a means by which to set up his politics.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Lost on Twin Earth

My good friend Brian Cubbage (you've seen him here a time or two) has a new blog, Lost on Twin Earth. He's only got two posts up so far, but I highly recommend checking it out.

That's today's shameless plug. Nothing constructive to add. I guess I burned myself out temporarily with all of those posts last week.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Concerned About Joel Osteen

Ben Witherington has an excellent post today on Joel Osteen. In it he says basically everything that I wanted to say about Osteen, only perhaps even more forcefully. I have very little to add to it.

Osteen represents to me the worst sort of hybrid between Christian liberalism and evangelicalism (perhaps I represent the best hybrid?):

He takes the un-defendable liberal denial of human sinfulness and combines it with the ridiculous false promises of the prosperity Gospel of the televangelists.

Witherington does an excellent job of communicating the differences between the Gospel of Joel and the Gospel of Jesus. There is nothing left for me to say. Reading Witherington's piece, and pretend that I wrote it!

Monday, March 27, 2006

"every abortion is a loss..."

I just read this excellent op-ed piece in today's Christian Science Monitor. Written by someone who is pro-choice, and who has worked in abortion clinics, it reminds us that every abortion is a loss, not just a medical procedure. Such acknowledgement can help most of us find some common ground on the polarizing issue of abortion.

As many of you well know, I have wrestled with the issue of abortion, arguing that while most abortions may seem morally indefensible, abortion itself is a complicated moral issue, and should remain a legal option for women with troubling pregnancies. [note: see the sidebar on Theology in/of the Culture War for the fruits of my wrestling]

This op-ed piece reminds me that in many cases those of us who are pro-choice and those of us who are pro-life share at least one hope: that at some point in the future abortions will be unnecessary.

I am pro-choice, but that is not because of some great fondness for abortion. When I read that op-ed piece, I found someone who wrote what I wish I could have written on the subject. Please read it if you have any interest in the subject.

"Carve me a Buddha"

Sokei-an was one of the earliest Zen Buddhists in America. He and six other students of Sokatsu Shaku came with their teacher to San Francisco from Japan in 1906. He was part of a few failed attempts to plant Zen Buddhism in that area, before he moved to New York City and became a writer of some renown.

He eventually moved back to Japan to complete his Zen training, and - having been sanctioned as a teacher in 1928 - returned to New York. In 1931 he founded what became the First Zen Institute in America. He was the first to teach Americans to the study of koans - mysterious and non-rational teaching stories.

Because of the fear and xenophobia in America after the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, he was put under constant FBI surveillance and, in 1942, was incarcerated in an interment camp. His experiences at that camp wrecked his body and destroyed his health. He died in 1945, from a disease contacted at that camp.

It is said that his last words were:

I have always taken nature's orders, and I take them now.

Sokei-an, like all Zen masters, had an unusual teaching style which led to many strange phrases. Of those, two stand out. After failing twice to explain Zen to an American, he reportedly said:

Zen is: "I am from Missouri."

Another time, while delivering a formal lecture in New York on the Sutra of Perfect Awakening, he said:

In Buddhism purposelessness is fundamental. No purpose anywhere in life itself. When you drop fart you do not say, "At nine o'clock I drop fart." It just happen.

My favorite story from his life is, like much of the preceding material, recorded in Sean Murphy's delightful book One Bird, One Stone: 108 American Zen Stories. Murphy's telling of it reads:

Before Sokei-an came to America, when he was just beginning the study of Zen, his teacher arranged a meeting for him with Soyen Shaku. The master, having heard he was a wood carver, asked, "How long have you been studying art?"

"Six years," replied Sokei-an.

"Carve me a Buddha," said Soyen Shaku.

Sokei-an returned a couple of weeks later with a wooden statue of the Buddha.

"What's this?" exclaimed Shaku, and threw it out the window into a pond.

It seemed unkind, Sokei-an would later explain, but it was not: "He'd meant for me to carve the Buddha in myself."


While there are many differences between Christianity and Buddhism, we Christians can learn a great deal from our Buddhist brothers, and vice versa. Christianity teaches that externally imposed divine grace is needed for internal transformation, while Buddhism teaches that great effort and discipline in one's meditative life is the mechanism for change. But both teach the necessity for that wholesale transformation which comes from dying to the claims of self.

Internal transformation, be it from some moment of satori or the process of sanctification, is central to our religious life. Sokei-an was to carve a Buddha in himself, and thus realize his own Buddha nature. I am to bring Christ into myself, and therefore by God's grace become a new creation. But both Sokei-an and I are to change. We are to transform. And this change is not just a change in our outward behavior, but in our innermost disposition.

Let us heed the call to be transformed, so that we no longer conform to the pattern of a selfish and senselessly violent world.
________

Eucharistic implications:

The dominant theological conversation about holy communion is one between transubstantiation and consubstantiation, concerning whether or not the physical elements, the bread and the cup, are literally and physically transformed into a new substance: the body and blood of Jesus Christ.

But if our religious concern is internal transformation, in some kind of analogy with carving the Buddha within, that brings a very different focus to the Eucharist. The question becomes not one concerning the transformation of the elements, but one concerning the transformation of the consumer of those elements.

You need not hold that the bread and the cup literally and physically morph into the body and blood of Jesus Christ to hold that holy communion is a means of grace. That is to say that when we participate in the Eucharist, we encounter the grace of God. How? By, in some special way, taking in the essence of Christ, and being internally transformed by that essence.

Communion, then, becomes a sacral act of meditating on the nature of Christ which, by grace and through the Eucharist, is now within you. Your job is to allow your sinful self to pass out of you to make room for the nature of Christ which, through the bread and the cup, comes within you.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Bits, Pieces, Birthday Greetings, and Another Bumper Sticker

While I finally found some time for a "bloggy" post, I still won't be able to write about the impending demise of my all-time favorite chocolate shop. Catherine's Belgian Chocolates, from which I just acquired a small bar of 88% cocoa (for more on my strange relationship with high concentrations of cocoa, see this) is closing, evidently because I was their only customer. And I don't even have time (yet) to write a proper eulogy.

Why? Because right now I should be packing my munchkin and all of the stuff that comes with him into the minivan. Today my "little" brother (who now stands a good 2+ inches taller than me, so is hardly little) turns 24. Happy birthday, Jason! We'll do our best to make it on time for your dinner.

As if that weren't enough, tomorrow my darling wife - who has tolerated me for almost 5 years now - officially turns "almost old." My dad, in a rare moment of near honesty, once said that for him the most traumatic birthday was his thirtieth, because when he turned thirty he became "old." After that, no matter how old he got, it was only a matter of degree. The distance between "young" and "old" is far greater than the distance between "old" and "older."

In honor of my dad's theory of aging, my beautiful Sami shall be declared, upon turning 29 tomorrow, officially "almost old." This is to remind her that the few grey hairs looking at her in the mirror each morning really do belong to her, even if I gave them to her. Soon they shall be joined by more and more of their kind, gradually taking over her head, an undeniable sign of the irrepressible movement of time.

Happy birthday, dear! Sorry I'm so sadistic.

But that's not why I decided to write instead of packing the car for our trip to see my brother. I had to write because my mother-in-law just phoned in the mother of all bumper sticker watches.

For those of you uninitiated into my appreciation of bumper stickers, please see the following posts:

The Mystery of the Missing Magnetic Ribbon

Magnetic Ribbons and Bumper Politics Revisited

Holiday Cheer, Another Bumper Sticker, and Growling in the Parking Lot

Bumper Sticker Watch

Bumper Sticker Watch 4.0

Anyway, just a moment ago my mother-in-law called me because, well... I guess she knew that I'd be home (where else would I be?) and she had to share this with someone. On her way home from doing whatever it is she does with her time she saw a bumper sticker which read:

I MISS IKE!
hell... I even miss Harry.


That says it all, doesn't it?

But we know we're in trouble if they ever make one that says:

I MISS DICK!