Barkout at the OK Corral

As I was reposing in my homemade hot tub recently, the as-good-as full moon radiated its brilliant orange-yellow face over the eastern ridge. From my vantage point, it lit up the entire evening sky, throwing shadows of spindly branches and stout trunks across the hillside. Tomorrow it’d be full, but tonight for me and all the other night critters, it was about as round and bright as it ever gets. Many creatures, who would otherwise be bedding down at that moment, noted the luminous glow and ventured forth, to frolic in the unaccustomed light.

The crystal-clear air had also formed layers that bent sound waves back towards earth, rather than carry them high into the sky. As a result, we moonstruck critters could hear sounds from much farther away than usual. On nights like that, it’s as if one’s ears and eyes are far more sensitive than usual: one can see deep into the woods and listen to remarkably far-off animal calls.

Dogs are drawn into noisy activity on nights like this, to participate in extended barking chorales. Their acute ears can hear challenging barks that are far more distant than my ears can hear; so their canine chorus is much larger than mine. Yet, as I listened, I could hear the night air overflowing with barks, yaps, yowls, and yelps—arriving from all compass points. The natives were sure restive!

There were many kinds of doggy voices in the moonlit choir. I could hear Suzi, the incessant soprano, trying to lead the pack. Then Rover, the tenacious tenor. Followed by Mimi, the audacious alto. Fido, the boisterous baritone added his contribution, followed by Duke, the booming bass. Yes, then I was sure I could even hear Butch, the timid countertenor.

The dog choir shouted exuberantly into the bright night, thoroughly enjoying their performance—though not a one of them paid enough attention to the Great Conductor to keep the performance the least bit polished. Although I’m sure they considered their evening’s entertainment to be a masterful one, it sounded to my ear to be a little too avant-garde and even jarringly post-modern. It was quite atonal, randomly syncopated, and rather monotonous. They might call it music… I call it dissonance.

The doggy chorale flowed and ebbed, surged and decayed, gushed and waned. Now and then, there were blessed silent moments, which became abruptly terminated by one or more choir members eagerly jumping in, trying to outdo one another. On occasions, one overly enthusiastic hound would launch into a frenetic solo, in his attempt to grab the moonlight limelight. Others would hold back and then burst forth with a maniacal bark.

Later, when the chorale seemed to be tapering off, I could hear what I call the “Bark Heard Round the World.” Sometimes I’ll call it “Around the World in 80 Barks.” Here’s how it goes: I could hear, after a quiet pause, one nearby dog, just to the south of me, set off with an explosive yap. In doggy call-and-response fashion, he was answered by another dog, a little farther to the south. Several more barks could be heard, slowly fading over the southern ridges. That traveling yapping wave was followed by a few quiet moments, when the only sound I could hear was a gentle breeze wafting quietly through the trees, as if exhaled by that gorgeous moon.

 Then suddenly I could pick up the faint sound of a bark, way off to the north. It was answered, closer and closer, until the wave of barks rolled on past me, and flowed once again off to the south. I think the wave was bent on navigating the globe one more time!

Film on Bubble

Self-Inquiry--Part 2

Merton used the dialectical process as a way to grow spiritually. For example, he first went to the monastery because he needed to retreat from frenetic society and immerse himself in the cloister, literally casting off civilization. So, his initial thesis was to turn his back on society, in order to develop his spiritual life. But as he opened himself to his process of self-inquiry, he also realized that he cared very much for humanity and felt drawn to help them. His antithesis: engage with society and become active in social justice work. How could he do both?

These opposing tendencies tugged at him for years, and it systematically guided him—through the dialectical process—to become a prolific writer on social issues. His synthesis: become a contemplative activist; remain a monk while reaching out to the world through his writings and critical analysis. Because he was not swept up in society, Merton developed a unique insight into social problems and became a highly-regarded prophetic voice on contemporary concerns.

Something similar to the dialectical process is played out in scientific research. Here’s a simplified example of a dilemma that occurred a few decades ago. A scientist may have pondered the following problem: Why do stars in a galaxy move in a way that defies the current understanding of the nature of galaxies? The stars’ motions don’t seem to be what we expect, given our current knowledge of gravity and the mass of the stars. What are we missing? A thesis (or theory) would be proposed. Another scientist may have put forth an opposing theory. Who was right?

An answer (or a better theory, a new synthesis) could arise if they discussed the matter in an honest and open manner—listening to each other’s thinking. Together they could arrive at some experiments to run, that led to a synthesis: for example, that the mysterious star movement is caused by something never before anticipated. Through collaboration, they cooperatively reach the conclusion that some new form of matter is sprinkled throughout the galaxy. Let’s call it dark matter! Together, they arrived at an improved theory that accounts for the star movements.

In the process, however, a new question arose: What is dark matter? They’re still working on that one. Such is how science often progresses and evolves. Many astronomers are currently dialoging in a dialectical process that all of them hope will soon lead to the discovery of the nature of dark matter.

The dialectical process—whether done as a self-inquiry method or between disagreeing people—is a powerful technique that persistently leads to growth and understanding. A crucial property is that this approach avoids dogma and the belief that a final answer has been found. Those who grab an early answer before they fully understand the situation can become dogmatic and rigid in their beliefs.

The dialectical process requires integrity and humility. In Merton’s case, it led to his becoming one of the 20^th century’s spiritual giants. It also just might soon crack the nut of that mysterious dark matter.

Carolina Chickadee

Self-Inquiry—Part 1

In one way or another, we all (humans and other critters) are trying to increase our understanding of the world we find ourselves inhabiting. Why? The better we understand it, the more successful our life will be. At the least, every living thing aims to keep living.

One method we humans can use to improve our understanding of the world is called the dialectical process. While this technique is usually employed between disputing individuals or groups of people, it can also be employed as a means of self-inquiry. The dialectical process is one in which deeper insight into an issue is arrived at by a careful consideration of opposing viewpoints. The idea is that each of two opposing perspectives may have an element of truth to it, so rather than choosing just one and discarding the other, we look for a way to find common ground between them or, better yet, seek a new and better viewpoint that contains the true parts of both perspectives.

The dialectic process most often is used when two people disagree on their views of an issue. Through respectful debate and discussion, they eventually arrive at an understanding that is more accurate and truthful than either one of them initially possessed. It’s not a compromise, but the creation of a new perspective that is better than either starting one. The dialectical process is rarely used in today’s polarized society, where opposing sides shriek out their point of view, hoping to shout down their opponent and triumph. It requires that people listen to one other—an action that has gone very much out of style.

As I wrote above, the dialectical process can also be employed by oneself, as a type of self-inquiry. The best practitioner of this solitary technique that I know of was Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk who was a member of Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky, in the 1950s and ‘60s. Merton lived a life of contemplation (which is a lifestyle from which I derive much inspiration). His lifelong task was to search for truth, which is just another way of saying that he was searching for a better understanding of our world. He saw his work as a gradual, lifelong process. (Since we can never arrive at THE TRUTH; our best bet is to move progressively towards it, throughout our life.) In fact, in Merton’s case, the dialectical process was a mystical process, in which he sought deep spiritual truths that are beyond the average human intellect. He saw it as seeking union with the Divine.

By definition, deeply spiritual questions are beyond the cognitive ability of humans to answer definitively. (I would add that it’s often much the same case for scientific questions. More on that later.) Although some answers may indeed come to one from divine inspiration, Merton felt that there were still countless questions about life—the smaller personal spiritual inquiries—that require an ongoing self-examination via the dialectic process. He often found that, although an answer to a given question may not be initially accessible, through contemplation, one might at least generate a better question. In fact, one of the paradoxes that he encountered is that a good question can often be a kind of answer in itself.

The specific method that Merton employed was to ponder a question whose answer was initially beyond his cognitive reach. A potential answer—or thesis—eventually came to mind. (In fact, Hegel regarded this as the first step of dialectical reasoning, wherein one develops a “thesis.”) Next, one plays devil’s advocate with oneself—coming up with a viewpoint that is contrary to the first answer. In debate or dialog, this is called the “antithesis,” which may be held by the other person. To generate an appropriate antithesis during self-inquiry requires that one be spiritually and intellectually honest, in order to come up with a valid antithesis. This calls for some degree of detachment from one’s beliefs and ideas.

Then, through continued meditation and contemplation, one weighs and examines these two opposing ideas. If done candidly, a resolution to the conflict between thesis and antithesis may eventually come. This may be called the synthesis, whereby a new idea comes to mind that settles some of the disagreement between thesis and antithesis. It is closer to the truth than either initial viewpoint; it is a more valid understanding. The key factor is that one has not simply selected either thesis or antithesis (thinking one must be completely true) and discarded the other (thinking it’s false).

Since the full truth may still not have yet been discovered by arriving at a synthesis, the process can go on with additional iterations. An answer might not be found each time, but a better question may have been discovered. If done honestly, one’s understanding gradually improves. A final answer may never come, but the truth can slowly be approached.

More on the dialectical process next time…

My Friend Shell's Sunset Cow Photo