The Concept of Fluency of Meaning - Book Report/Review Example

?It seems that there is a stream of limitless meaning flowing into the life of a man if he can but patiently entrust himself to it. There is no hurry, only the need to be true to what comes to mind, and to explore the current carefully in which one presently moves. There is a constant fluency of meaning in the instant in which we live. One may learn of it from rivers in the constancy of their utterance, if one listens and is still. (Bugbee, p. 83) This quotation, and the story about the Indian boatman who managed his boat through the hazards of rocks and waterfalls when the river was low, made a very big impression on me because it helped me to find a new way of thinking about life. I have always struggled to find a way of figuring out what life actually means. The different world religions offer multiple answers to this question, whether it is by following a guru or holy person, or worshipping God in particular ways, or studying sacred texts and trying to put their lessons into practice. I appreciate the value of all these things, but sometimes I look around at the natural world, with all its beauty and all its problems and I really wonder what it all means. The concept of “fluency of meaning” which Bugbee mentions is the key insight that made me stop and think about this passage. On its own this is an abstract idea that is hard to grasp. In connection with the image of the river, and the skilled boatman enjoying the challenge of guiding his craft through the water, this concept makes sudden sense to me. Rivers are always moving, always changing, and yet in another sense they are constant features in the landscape. Seeing life as a phenomenon that takes place in a flowing river gives meaning to every thought, every action that we do. I now think of the meaning of life as something living and in the present, rather than as some distant absolute, and I am happy with the thought that maybe in the past I have tried too hard to figure things out with my head. This little passage shows me that sometimes it is enough just to live, using the physical and mental and emotional faculties altogether, just as the boatman does when he steers his craft. The men who talked were talking very low. Someone in a steady, quiet voice began to sing, and there were soon others singing with him. In the closing light of that day, riding to the endless swells, they sang the song of men in our position. And it was Christmas in the wilderness. (Bugbee, p. 72) This passage was important to me because it reminded me of a time when I was under a lot of pressure from various negative influences in my life. I felt that I had lost my way and that the people who were closest to me had abandoned me. Everything seemed pointless, and I had no real faith in anyone or anything. This is a kind of spiritual wilderness, and although on the outside things were quite normal, on the inside I was in a very dark place. The passage above describes the experience of a crew of men on a boat in the middle of the ocean. They could see very little because the weather was bad, and there was nothing fixed that the men could focus their attention on. It was Christmas time, but Bugbee and his colleagues no doubt felt very far from home, and somewhat lost in this watery wilderness. What happened in the passage above is that just one person took it upon himself to start singing a Christian song. I guess it was most probably the hymn that contains the lines “for those in peril on the sea”. When one person started, then others joined in. I had a similar experience during that time of doubt when I walked through a shopping mall and saw a group of security staff singing Christmas hymns. They all looked happy and I remember wondering who was looking out for the criminals if they were all singing carols. Then a young woman came up to me and asked me to join in with the singing. I did not feel at all like singing, but I took a hymn sheet and joined in. Singing with the other shoppers and staff released some of my negative thoughts, and I really enjoyed the feeling of being with the group. This showed me that even simple traditions can bind lonely people to the mainstream crowd. I had never thought much about rituals and cultural practices but after this experience I realized that they contain deep truths in a light-hearted wrapping. But the notion of “the good man” seems to me risky. It suggests he possibility of ‘our arriving,’ and does not give due place to the ambiguity of our condition. Even further it may suggest that equally precarious notion of insular self-sufficiency which becomes rather prominent in later Epicurean and Stoic conceptions of “the wise man.” (Bugbee, p. 72) I have always been a big fan of Socrates, because he is the one ancient philosopher that makes me laugh as well as think about things. I like how he leads his students into making statements and then proves how these statements are false. The notion of “the good man” that Bugbee criticizes here is taken from the ideas of Socrates. I was surprised that Bugbee would be so negative about this idea, because public morality and private morality are a big part of modern philosophy and of religion. I was also intrigued about what Bugbee terms “the ambiguity of our condition”. Actually, I think on this occasion I do not fully agree with Bugbee that the human condition is ambiguous. I think, along with Kant, that there is an absolute imperative to behave morally, and I don’t think this is ambiguous. Human beings often do not live up to their own ideas of what is good and proper, but this is not ambiguity, it is a simple gap between what we can imagine and what we can achieve. I also disagree with Plato and Socrates, incidentally, in linking the good and the beautiful together, and in any assumption that those who live moral lives will somehow be automatically blessed. Socrates was a prime example of a man who was treated in a way that he did not deserve, and the world is full of tragedy that is visited on people without any regard to their moral standing. I think we should retain a belief in the concept of “the good man” and “the good woman” and there is no harm in holding an aspiration to reach this status, so long as this is not construed as an absolute term. There are degrees of goodness, and I think it is perfectly fine to aim for them. Very early on the twenty-seventh morning of the third moon, under a pre-dawn haze, transparent moon barely visible, Mount Fuji just a shadow, I set out under the cherry blossoms of Ueno and Yanaka. When would I see them again? One of the things that strikes me about Basho’s writing is the very vivid way that he describes the landscape of Japan as he travels through it. The mention of Mount Fuji and the cherry blossoms of Ueno reveal a love of his homeland. These two natural features are even today still highly characteristic of Japan. Basho does not go into detail about what these two features mean to him, but he certainly feels an affinity with them. He evidently is very fond of them and misses them when he is on his travels. When I was reading this passage I began to reflect on the way that human beings easily become attached to the places and natural features that they regard as “home.” We all seem to have a need to identify with a particular part of the world, and we miss home when we travel to other places. I think there must be a deep psychological need to have roots, and to feel attached to the earth in some way. The image of Mount Fuji probably stood for great beauty and permanence for Basho, because it rises like a perfect cone out of flat landscape all around it. Americans probably think of the Rocky Mountains in the same way. Rocky features give us something permanent and fixed to orient ourselves to. The cherry blossoms, on the other hand, are so fleeting that they remind us of the impermanence of human life. This keeps us humble. When I was young I had a close affinity with a particular tree at the end of our road. It was very old, and I use to climb into its lower branches sometimes and look at the world from that high spot. I think children have an ability to draw strength from nature, but that our modern lifestyle gradually erodes this by forcing them to stay indoors and use computers and other technological things. I felt very safe up there, and reading Basho has reminded me that I could and should commune more with nature and draw from its wordless strength. Head shaven at Black Hair Mountain we change into summer clothes Sora was named Kawai Sogoro. Sora’s his nom de plume. At my old home – called Basho-an [plantain tree hermitage] – he carried water and wood. Anticipating the pleasures of seeing Matsushima and Kisagata, we agreed to share the journey, pleasure and hardship alike. The morning we started, he put on Buddhist robes, shaved his head, and changed his name to Sogo, the Enlightened. So the “changing clothes” in his poem is pregnant with meaning. (Basho, p. 6) This passage was a bit of a mystery to me at first, because I was not sure what the great significance of the change of clothes was all about. I reflected on the Buddhist tradition of seeking enlightenment. In Buddhism there is a great emphasis on letting go all the superficial things in modern life and going back to basics. I can see a parallel of this identity shift in many other religious traditions. The haiku reminds me of itinerant monks in the Middle Ages in Europe, and wandering evangelists in the Southern States of America. Many traditions have wise men and women who retreat from everyday society and take another role on themselves, often depending on other people for basic needs like food and shelter. The outward change of clothing and rituals like shaving the head are signifiers of a change of outlook and they encourage other people to behave differently to the person who performs this ritual. I have seen also Muslims preparing for their pilgrimage to Mecca and part of the preparation is the donning of white robes. I think people need this visual transformation of the self to encourage themselves to stick to their plan, and to mark themselves out as special for the duration of their devotional act. I certainly will think of this the next time I am planning to make a change in my behavior. A physical change in my appearance, or the wearing of some symbolic item would be a good way of reminding myself of my good intentions. References Bugbee, Henry and Mooney, Edward F. The Inward Morning: A Philosophical Exploration in Journal Form. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 1999. Print. Busho, Matsuo and Hamill, Sam. Narrow Road to the Interior And Other Writings. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications, 1998. Print. Read More