An Argument for the Incarnation

The argument against incarnation is pretty clear.  Let’s say you believe in some ultimate reality — a transcendental source of creation, being of all beings and perfection of all perfections.  How could that being be a particular person?  How could it be born, die, go to the bathroom?  What does that even mean?

An argument for incarnation is that if we think about such a Being of All beings, it is already incarnating in us, as we are thinking that thought.  And we are born, die, and go to the bathroom.

So, everybody believes in incarnation.  The only questions that are left (and they’re important) are how, why, and who?  For a long time the last question was answered “my guy (or lady) and definitely not yours.”  But now that the human race has invented WMD that answer is too dangerous for anybody of good will to maintain seriously. It’s also, once you get to know something about how these ideas pop up all over the place, pretty unsupportable.


Analogy of Being

God exists but not like a tack exists

Not exactly, but by analogy.

And so I asked my friend, my teacher Dreyfus

Who knew many of the old songs that nobody remembered any longer how to sing

(Although we would also ask each other — if there is something everyone could do —

but chooses not to do — and don’t their whole life long — do they remember it — or do they not?)

What does that mean?  Because I understand the analogy between, say, a frog and a man —

here are the legs, there are the legs, here are the eyes, there are the eyes, but one is small and soft and lives in water, the other big and tough and lives in a house —

But what is the analogy between how something could be and something else could be?  Where are the parts to tick off — this one the same, this one different?

And he said chuckling “Maybe the Being of God is only spoken of as being analogical

By analogy.”

Everything passes away, especially teachers, either because we choose not to learn from them anymore, because it is time, or for the usual reasons.

Nevertheless I can’t help but notice things, or maybe I can help but notice things, but choose not to (better than to have them notice me first and get the jump on me, right?  Right?)

I’ll tell you another thing he taught me.  When we turn eternity into a castle and pull up the ladder and stay there during the earthquake

The earthquake and the riots that follow claim our family. Not just our family, our hearts, our bodies, our pain, our pleasure, our everything, and we trapped up in the castle’s attic are left with nothing at all.

Til like Dorothy we fly away.