The Daodejing and God
I live in a large-scale society, and I think that the knowledge of that fact is not something
that can be un-known. The Primitivists of ancient China thought that people shouldn’t travel
because it broadens their perspectives and makes them desire things they can’t have. Desiring
what other people have in other nations is what causes nation to fight nation and war causes
poverty and brokenness.
So the alternative is go to live in total seclusion, because any part of this society has
constant reminders in it that there is more to be had – on the TV, on magazine covers, in books.
There are people smarter than you, more attractive that you, richer than you, happier than you,
and you want that. What are you going to sacrifice to get there? Your sanity, your health, your
family? The argument is that if we just ignored these things, if we went out into the countryside
and lived by the work of our own hands, we would be content with what we had. If we worked
the ground ourselves, if we were always busy, we wouldn’t have the time for leisure, or only for
simple pleasures.
But my counterargument is that I’m too far in. I’ve been a part of this world for two
decades, and I am not about to forget the potential, the possibilities. I’ve seen so many people
whom I could get to know, seen all the things that could be had and all the experiences out there
waiting for me to stumble across them. I’ve had just a taste, but you can’t have just one. (Thanks
All of this is well and good and inspirational, but I continue to argue with myself. At least
when you see things in the world, the adventure or the money or the fancy technology – the
things to aspire to, at least they are possible. There is chance, albeit a rather small one, that I
could achieve my dreams in this world.
But how many dreams? I cannot be both a chef and an engineer and teach high school
algebra and work at a ski resort all at the same time. Of course, my poor mind is now trying to
organize in which order I should do these things so that I can fit them all in to one lifetime. But
the point is that it isn’t possible. What else isn’t possible? The things of dreams and novels. I will
never be able to fly unassisted. I will never meet Tony Stark. I will never be flawless. I will
never have a metaphor-loving, awesome-as-hell, cancer-stricken boyfriend who takes me to
Amsterdam as his dying wish.
Just as one cannot travel and be happy, one cannot dream and be happy. Shall we rein in
all of our hopes and dreams? Shall we shut down that part of our brain? Shall we be rid of hope?
Shall we work the earth with our hands and turn off our minds until our hearts stop beating?
What of love? What of hope? What of faith.
A faith in God rests essentially in hoping for something better. It lies in seeing the
beautiful things that come with Jesus Christ – healing and life – and desiring it desperately. But
the difference is this: where the rulers of state that the Primitivists were reasoning against had an
overwhelming desire for more material possessions that resulted in taxation of the poor and war
against neighboring states, our desire for Jesus Christ and his healing can only be satisfied
through surrendering our lives to Him.
Not through trampling over others’ beliefs, not through war to eliminate anyone who
doesn’t believe, not through trying to change anyone else’s life in any sort of way, but through
placing our trust and hope in God. And through him, all things are possible. Those dreams of
mine – those are possible. But irrelevant, for if we truly surrender ourselves to God, we only
want what he wants, and none of us are exactly sure what that looks like in our day-to-day lives.
Sometimes that’s a frustrating paradox, but I think that it is ultimately a beautiful one.
that can be un-known. The Primitivists of ancient China thought that people shouldn’t travel
because it broadens their perspectives and makes them desire things they can’t have. Desiring
what other people have in other nations is what causes nation to fight nation and war causes
poverty and brokenness.
So the alternative is go to live in total seclusion, because any part of this society has
constant reminders in it that there is more to be had – on the TV, on magazine covers, in books.
There are people smarter than you, more attractive that you, richer than you, happier than you,
and you want that. What are you going to sacrifice to get there? Your sanity, your health, your
family? The argument is that if we just ignored these things, if we went out into the countryside
and lived by the work of our own hands, we would be content with what we had. If we worked
the ground ourselves, if we were always busy, we wouldn’t have the time for leisure, or only for
simple pleasures.
But my counterargument is that I’m too far in. I’ve been a part of this world for two
decades, and I am not about to forget the potential, the possibilities. I’ve seen so many people
whom I could get to know, seen all the things that could be had and all the experiences out there
waiting for me to stumble across them. I’ve had just a taste, but you can’t have just one. (Thanks
All of this is well and good and inspirational, but I continue to argue with myself. At least
when you see things in the world, the adventure or the money or the fancy technology – the
things to aspire to, at least they are possible. There is chance, albeit a rather small one, that I
could achieve my dreams in this world.
But how many dreams? I cannot be both a chef and an engineer and teach high school
algebra and work at a ski resort all at the same time. Of course, my poor mind is now trying to
organize in which order I should do these things so that I can fit them all in to one lifetime. But
the point is that it isn’t possible. What else isn’t possible? The things of dreams and novels. I will
never be able to fly unassisted. I will never meet Tony Stark. I will never be flawless. I will
never have a metaphor-loving, awesome-as-hell, cancer-stricken boyfriend who takes me to
Amsterdam as his dying wish.
Just as one cannot travel and be happy, one cannot dream and be happy. Shall we rein in
all of our hopes and dreams? Shall we shut down that part of our brain? Shall we be rid of hope?
Shall we work the earth with our hands and turn off our minds until our hearts stop beating?
What of love? What of hope? What of faith.
A faith in God rests essentially in hoping for something better. It lies in seeing the
beautiful things that come with Jesus Christ – healing and life – and desiring it desperately. But
the difference is this: where the rulers of state that the Primitivists were reasoning against had an
overwhelming desire for more material possessions that resulted in taxation of the poor and war
against neighboring states, our desire for Jesus Christ and his healing can only be satisfied
through surrendering our lives to Him.
Not through trampling over others’ beliefs, not through war to eliminate anyone who
doesn’t believe, not through trying to change anyone else’s life in any sort of way, but through
placing our trust and hope in God. And through him, all things are possible. Those dreams of
mine – those are possible. But irrelevant, for if we truly surrender ourselves to God, we only
want what he wants, and none of us are exactly sure what that looks like in our day-to-day lives.
Sometimes that’s a frustrating paradox, but I think that it is ultimately a beautiful one.
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ReplyDeleteIndeed, it is true that our cultural immersion has gone too deep. I struggle even now to think of a time when I might have had a pure thought. To be clear, I define clear as a thought that is a prior of the sociological and ideological influences that so often permeate our decision making paradigms. A pure thought, I imagine, comes from an experience, as you have suggested, in a “total seclusion” from the world we’ve come to know. A thought not motivated by the experiences, heredity and character we’ve developed… but a thought separate of these, in fact wholly separate from the “I” in the equation.
ReplyDeleteTruly a beautiful and frustrating paradox… to live for that which is unseen, for it is eternal. We seek daily something to grasp onto in a desperate attempt to make what is eternal temporary (we do so ignorantly), to make what cannot manifest through our feeble methods, manifest.