Etiquette, Empathy, and Animals

The short radio segment stayed with me.  It did so because it was about something people shared and didn't share in their ways of looking at the world.  The article (on NPR radio) was about a survey showing that in the U.S., both parents and schoolteachers thought it was important that children be kind.  But when the survey dug a little deeper, it revealed a significant difference in what the adults meant by “being kind.” Parents tended to think it meant that a child had good manners.  In contrast, teachers tended to thing that being kind meant that a child had learned to empathize with what other people are feeling.

In its usage today, the word “manners” lies on a spectrum between “etiquette” and “courtesy.” Etiquette encompasses practices that have to do more with locale and social standing.  Such as where the fork, knife, and spoon are placed around the dinner plate.  Or how a person manipulates their fork while eating.  Although manners can overlap with some codes of etiquette, the word “manners” implies ways of behaving that are more fundamental to smoothing the wheels of social interaction. Such as saying “please” and “thank you.”

Even learning manners, however, does not require being sensitive to what other people are feeling (as those schoolteachers tried to remind us).  Being well-mannered means that I have developed some self-restraint, civility, and forbearance in my actions.  But that does not mean that I can empathize with the feelings and needs of other people amid the complexity of real-life situations -- so that I can compassionately adjust my response to the needs of the moment.

Even some non-human animals can be said to be well-mannered based on the demands of their own social groups.  For example, animal behaviorists (such as the 20th-century pioneer Konrad Lorenz), have studied how dogs have evolved instinctive rituals for greeting each other.  And dogs have even developed such abilities as recognizing that a human's smile showing teeth is a sign of friendliness, whereas instinct usually interprets the baring of teeth as meaning aggression. However, such an extension of knowledge beyond one's own species is uncommon. For non-human social animals, “manners” are in most cases confined to their own species.

In contrast, as the Christian eco-theologian Thomas Berry has pointed, we humans are unique in our ability to feel compassion for all other species. Although instances have been observed in which some mammals have shown distress when an animal of another species was in anguish, to the best of our knowledge, only we humans can try to identify with what all other species experience.  And behind that possibility, in addition to our conceptual powers, lies the remarkable ability of humans to empathize with what another creature might be feeling.

There is a classic story out of the ancient Chinese faith-tradition of Taoism.  The wise teacher Chuang Tzu and a companion, walking together, pause on a footbridge to watch the fish swimming in the water below.  After a bit, Chuang Tzu says “How happy those fish are!” The second man replies, “You are not a fish.  So you cannot know what a fish feels.”  But Chuang Tzu cleverly responds by saying, “If that were the case -- and you not being me -- then how can you know what I do and do not know about fish?”

~ ~ ~

What do you think prevents us human beings from better cultivating our ability to empathize?

(The story “The Joy of Fishes,” in poetic stanzas,
 can be found in The Way of Chuang Tzu by Thomas Merton, © 1965.  pp. 97-98.)

(The pictures are from Konrad Lorenz's books Man Meets Dog and
  King Solomon's Ring, and are used under Fair Use.)

Paths, Not All Straight or Narrow

The front lawns in the suburb where I live display varying degrees of maintenance.  Some are impeccably trimmed; others are half-wild.  Although my lawn fits within the mid-range on that spectrum, it does have one distinctive feature, especially when the grass becomes dormant in the winter.  There is a diagonal path across it where the grass is kept matted down by the regular passage of neighborhood cats.  (Even though my wife and I are not sure how many cats use the path, it is clearly defined.)  That mark on our front lawn reveals to me that cats have joined a long tradition of animals and humans who have found it wise to follow a path that has been trod before, a path either secular or sacred.

Almost anywhere you look in the history of animals or people, you can come across the idea of following a path.  Just to take some examples from the U.S.:  James Fenimore Cooper's 1840 book The Pathfinder was inspired in part by stories about native Americans being skilled in finding their way in the wilderness.  American legend also contains the story of how in 1775 the hero Daniel Boone found an opening through the Appalachian Mountains, thus making possible the "Wilderness Road" for Europeans to move further west.  In fact, the trail he found was already there, having been used by Indians for generations.  And how did the Indians know about it?  By watching animals, particularly the buffalo.  They were the original pathfinders.

Turning to the other side of the globe, one of the most important scriptures of Buddhism, by its very name, indicates that honing one's life in a spiritually honorable fashion is like following a path.  A collection of elegant sayings of the Buddha is named The Dhammapada, which could be translated "The Path of Truth" or "The Path of the Teaching."  Furthermore, the idea that the followers of Buddhism are, in a sense, walking behind the Buddha is given beautiful artistic expression by the Buddha sometimes being represented symbolically by two footprints carved side by side on the ground in stone.

The religious symbol of a "path" or "way" is just as explicit, although in a somewhat mystical manner, in philosophical Taoism.  Particularly in Taoism's premier scripture, the Tao te ching.  In most English translations of that small classic, the word "Tao" is even translated as "way" because of the double meaning that English word can hold.  In one meaning, "the way" is the nature of the world, in the sense that we might speak of "the way things are."  In a second sense, "the way" is the way we ought to live our lives to best coordinate ourselves with the way the world truly is.

True, the cats that follow a path of tramped-down grass on my front lawn might feel they are just taking the smoothest route to the bowl of food my neighbor puts out.  But I know the cats are following a widespread and noble tradition by being led by fellow creatures who have traveled a path before them.

~~~

Is there a particular way that your life has followed a path of some people who went before you?

(The photo of Buddha footprints is by "Nemo's great uncle"

and is used under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-commercial License.)

The Message of Water

Over the past few years, there have been two words frequently heard in national news reports: The words "flood" and "drought."  Less frequently heard has been an integrally related word that has religious connotations:  The word "water."

The words "flood" and "drought" speak of fears.  The word "water" speaks of life.  (I wonder if we, in our frequently urbanized lives, would appreciate Nature more if the news media more often talked about water itself.)

As I said, water has religious associations, and they are rich.  As examples from the Bible: Water is the very source of life, is associated with the water of birth (and of being re-born through baptism), is a symbol of fertility, and is a means of cleansing, both physically and symbolically.

In only the first four chapters (about one-fifth) of the New Testament's Gospel of John, the word "water" appears sixteen times, thus demonstrating its power as a theological symbol.  A few decades ago in the U.S., when the northern and southern branches of the Presbyterian Church re-united, the baptism liturgy became inordinately lengthy because there were so many Biblical references to water that both branches of the church (with their separate liturgical wordings) wanted preserved.

In the most famous book from Taoism, the Tao Te Ching, water becomes an important feminine symbol of the unnameable Ultimate.  The ironical ability of water to change even stone over time also turns water into a metaphor for ideal human behavior.  Such as in this passage:

"Nothing in this world seems softer and more yielding than water,

but nothing can compare with water

for defeating the hard and strong."

                              -- Tao Te Ching (Chap. 78)

In our lives and society today, do we know where the rivers and bayous that wind around and through our cities run?  Can we trace their paths in our minds?

The Hindu tradition contains in the Rig Veda a prayer that is perhaps the oldest written prayer in the world.  The prayer uses the cycle of water back to the sea in order speak to the unity and purpose of all of life:

"May the thread of my song

be not cut

before my life merges

into the sea of love."

~~~

Where do you see water in the world around you?  What is it like?  What is the water doing?

(The passage from the Tao Te Ching, by Lao Tzu,

 is my own rendering based on several translations.)

(The Rig Veda translation is adapted from that of Eknath Easwaran, in God Makes the Rivers to Flow, © 1991.)