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Showing posts with label Asia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asia. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

What are the best cities?

Lijiang: honorable mention.  If they hadn't busted me here for Bible
smuggling, maybe higher. 
The Mercer Quality of Living Survey rated the best cities on earth in which to live. It turns out most of them are German, if you believe Mercer. Aside from Vancouver, Aukland, Singapore, and Copenhagen, 6 or the top 10 are German-speaking cities in Germany, Austria, or Switzerland. 

It occurred to me the first time I saw one of their surveys, in which six German towns also won top honors, that Mercer is wrong, and it might be a nice break from serious subjects to post an alternative way of judging cities here. 

First of all, you probably shouldn't begin with a set of criteria. Begin by getting to know great cities on their own terms. Walk.  Smell.  Taste.  Chat.  Get lost on the boulevards and in the parks. 

But if you really need some criteria, say because you want to be "scientific" or have some other neurosis, here are a few ideas, in more or less random order:

(1) Did God make this the right place for a city? Its amazing how often people put cities in the wrong places. Why Phoenix? Can anyone explain?

(2) A good city needs beautiful buildings. It's nice if some of them are old, but it's not absolutely necessary. Gargoyles, bright lights, reflections, are all pluses. All major Japanese cities lose points; small towns where only old people live gain points.

(3) Of course beautiful women also make a city beautiful.

(4) A great city needs great food. Of course every large city nowadays has an infinite variety of ethnic cuisines -- the key here is good CHEAP food, served by real human beings, if possible, and with some flare.

(5) Do the people here have a sense of humor?

(6) Are there lots of kids? A city without children is a museum.

(7) Are kids allowed to light firecrackers, make noise, splash in pools, and play at the beach with their dogs?

(8) How many generations helped build the city? Are there ghosts of great writers and statesmen and scientists about? Take off points for famous tyrants and totalitarians, present of course but also past. Such boring ghosts they make. 

(9) Give points for top universities, multiply by the inverse square of the metropolitan population, or something like that.

(10) Takes points away for high taxes, add points for low taxes. Sorry, Berlin, Stockholm, Oslo.

(11) Add 50 points if the city is by the sea, 20 for a large (clean) lake, 10 for a (beautiful) river.

(12) A good city needs mountains nearby, with old trees. Extra points if you ski. 
Seattle: forget coffee!  This is a day-trip away.

(13) Add lots of points if you can drive three hours to (a) broadleaf woodlands that turn color in fall; (b) coniferous forests where they let you cut Christmas trees; (c) farms (1 hour or less); (d) ocean beaches; (e) glaciers; (f) desert.

(14) Does the city have a beautiful skyline at night?

(15) How many languages is worship conducted on the weekend here?  The more, the closer it is to the vision of heaven in Revelations. 

(16) Who do the sports fans hate? Add points if everyone hates the Yankees, Tokyo Giants, Manchester United, or some such placebo. Subtract points if you have one of these vile teams in your city.

(17) Yeah, take a few points off for unemployment, high murder rate, blight, smog, earthquakes, terrorism, and the like if you must.

(18) Now throw your scoring system out the window. If a cop or a nag comes up to you and gives you a scolding, burn all your bridges, shake the dust off your feet, and never come back. If someone politely throws it in the garbage can, smile once, get out of the car, walk for an hour, talk to a few people, and make the call exclusively on the mood you now find yourself in.

Someone suggested Budapest.  Someone else, Montreal.  A frequent poster here, Brian Barrington, suggested Australia, then France (which of course are not cities, but do contain some):

I'd agree with David that the best way to judge a place is to go and walk around a have a look. The place I have been to with the highest quality of life, if you just look at the overall country rather than specific city, is Australia. It's sunny, it's rich, it's safe, it's friendly, everything works, it's optimistic, the cost of living is not outrageous, the restaurants are good, healthcare is good. If you like beach life and outdoor activities you are sorted. One disadvantage is that it's very far away from everywhere and it doesn't have much in the way of history or culture.

If you take all that into consideration as well, then the place with the best quality of life is France, because it is a country with EVERYTHING.

So those would be my personal observations, and I get support for them from another Quality of Life survey:

http://www.internationalliving.com/Internal-Components/Further-Resources/quality-of-life-2010

http://www1.internationalliving.com/qofl2010/

Well, I haven't been to Australia.  They don't have much snow, anyway, or enough mountains, and too many snakes and deadly spiders. Plus it takes forever to get anywhere else. 

I have been to France, and much of it is gorgeous, without too many snakes.  If I knew the city better, I might include Nice, which is nice, from the mountain looking down on the city and the Mediterranean sea in the morning.  But judging a city by its looks alone is too superficial: I don't know any French cities well enough to evaluate them fairly.  (I did have some delicious peaches in Cannes, which helps. but doesn't quite get us there.)

So the following list is admittedly limited by my very limited travels or sense of a few places I have not been. 

Drum roll .  . . .

(1) Hong Kong -- even if you do have to live in a rabbit hutch, there's no place like it. The world's most spectacular skyline.  Everything moves -- water, people, trams, double-decker buses, hovercraft, subways.  Islands. Hills.  Monkeys.  Cantonese food.  Brilliant new architecture.  700 year old villages.  (Downside: so humid in long summer.  Dirty beaches.) 

(2) Vancouver Good, cheap Chinese and Indian food (among others) everywhere.  Beautiful views in every direction.  Community feel.  Nice houses, lots of trees.  Better recent architecture than Seattle.  Skytrain works. 

(3) San Clemente, CA -- no wonder Richard Nixon got tanned, rested and ready here -- it's a gorgeous little town with red-tile rooves, clinging to the hill above the ocean.  After speaking at the also very attractive Presbyterian church in town, walked down to the pier for some fish and chips. 

(4) Black River, Kyushu, Japan -- really just a hot springs resort, you can walk up and down the creek and sample the best hot springs by lantern, then drive up to the world's biggest caldera the next day.
A couple random kids at Nugget Creek falls, just north
of Juneau. 
(5) Juneau, Alaska.  Maybe the most beautiful natural setting for any capital in the world, when it's not drizzling.  Avalanches twisting down Mount Roberts in the snow.  Bald eagles.  Glaciers you can walk to, and pick semi-precious stones. Echo Ranch Bible Camp.  But prepare to be depressed in the fall.
 
(6) Shanghai Why Shanghai?  I don't know, ask the students at Nanjing University -- they all want to move there.  Renao, "hot and sweaty," in a good way.  Electricity in the air.  Spectacular skyline, but some old buildings, too.  Come at October 1st, and get bopped on the head with big air-filled hammer-balloons. 
(7) Oxford You can walk everywhere.  Hike through the trees above C. S. Lewis' house on a windy autumn day, and watch the oaks and maples turn into Dryads and Naiads.  Walk along the Cherwell, and look for Alice punting.  Listen for echoes of the debate between Sam Wilberforce and Thomas Huxley at the Pitts River Museum. 

(8) Honolulu -- I'd say Kona, but need the Asian stimulation.

(9) Seattle  You can see the mountains of three national parks from the city on a moderately clear day -- and three snow-crested volcanoes, including Mount Rainier.  (Mount Saint Helens used to be visible.)  Every day the Olympics look different across Puget Sound from my parents' house in West Seattle.  Salt water borders the city on the west, glacier-scoured Lake Washington on the east.  Coffee may not taste like much, but it smells good.  Some cool buildings.  Not too many muggings. (Well, one is too many, but you get my drift.)  Some decent Asian food.  (Seattle loses points for its great phobias against dogs on beaches, plastic bags, and firecrackers.  Never mind the rain, or Vancouver and Oxford are sunk, too, not to mention Juneau.) 

(10) Toss-up and honorable mention: Bath, Beijing, Hangzhou, Lijiang, Madison, Wenzhou, York, Petropavolovsk for all the volcanoes. 

Friday, December 28, 2012

Perspectives: Dai village


This village was just a few miles from the Vietnamese border inside China. Getting there involved buses up and down spectacular mountains, whose lower slopes were covered with banana trees or rice terraces, and winding through villages of several different minorities.  The people in this village belonged to a minority within a minority, a non-Buddhist subgroup of the Dai.  (The Dai are closely related to Thais, especially northern Thais. Some of them used a strange old written language with hundreds of letters, that I tried to learn.)  You might round a corner in this village and find a little water mill, or a girl with a flower in her hair.  Hot water ran out of the ground and into a large bathing pool just around the corner.  I'm afraid to think how this little bit of Shang La has changed since. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Ko Thah Byu: Murderer and Apostle to the Karen

"God has chosen the weak things of the world to overcome the strong," wrote St. Paul, thinking perhaps of his own journey as a one-time theo-thug and ayatollah of hate, to his role in bringing the Greco-Roman world to Christ, who preaches love.  So, might the people of Burma think about a man named Kho Thah Byoo, a one-time mass-murderer and slave who was partly responsible for the conversion of millions of Karen to Christianity. 

Friday, October 21, 2011

Korea proves full of nice people.

After the Night of the Drunks, I wasn't optimistic about my short stay in Korea.  For one thing, where would I stay? (I had tried to make contacts before I came, but without success.)

I decided to gamble on my one, thin relationship in the country: a brief e-mail exchange with the Dean (or something) at a graduate school for missions and / or ministry in South Seoul.  So I packed up my backpack full of books, made my little suitcase as light as possible (the perpendicular vector of its force on muscles already carrying a heavy load hurts more than the straight downward push of dead weight), and set out for Seoul.

The express train was almost empty, maybe about ten people on the whole thing.  The girl who took our tickets wasn't occupied, so I tried to catch her attention and learn a few words of Korean along the way.  She didn't even turn her head, deeply engrossed in her entertainment box. 

This, it turns out, is how most young people in Korea occupy their time on trains: movies and games on little screens.  Gone are almost all of the books and newspapers one used to see.

We glided over the island where the Incheon airport is located, and which still hosts a little agriculture as well, and out over the vast mud flats that the communists trusted in to protect them, underestimating Douglas MacArthur.  I noticed little mud canyons with water at the bottom, and mud uplands about six feet higher, on and on for miles -- what a place to land with heavy weapons, and artillery heading your way! 

I changed trains at Seoul station, then again, and dragged my luggage, lugged my draggage, down bumpy sidewalks for about a kilometer, turning a couple times, and found myself at Torch Trinity Graduate School. 

It's a remarkable institution.  The main buildings appear to rise about four or five stories above both sides of a wide stairways ascending a little hill.  In reality, most of the buildings are connected underground, with maybe another 4 or 5 floors of dining halls, cafeteria, classrooms, offices, below ground.  Rooms are named things like "Faith Hall," "Joy Hall," etc, the purpose of the room apparently fitting its title. 

The school is half in Korean, half in English.  Students are recruited from around the world, and also from Korea.

It turned out that was the day for Open House: 2-5 for Koreans, 4-7 for internationals, with the overlap being a public meeting with skits and a welcoming, vision-type sermon. 

The Dean was in.  She was busy preparing for the Open House, but kindly gave her unforseen visitor fifteen minutes.  She mentioned a guest house, which turned out to be part of the complex, and arranged to allow me to stay there. 

Blessed be, no drunks!  Trees, a well-stocked library with this very computer (and comrades), friendly mission students, inexpensive meals.  In the two days I've been here, I've met students from Pakistan (she introduced me to the missions prof), the Ukraine, Kenya, another African country, Korea of course, and Mongolia (whose great-grandfather, surprisingly, turned out to have been a Christian -- presumably one of the "two and a half Christians" Donald Treadgold used to say were in the country before the Soviet takeover.)  She said there are now about 100,000 Christians in the little country, about 5% of the total.        

My mission in Seoul is to sound out local publishers about Korean editions of two of my books.  The attempt to visit these companies proved time-consuming and difficult. 

I quickly learned that giving workable directions to foreigners is not one of the motivating interests of Korean culture.  An elevator at the airport said the train was on 1 Fl.  It turned out that meant 1 Fl basement, not 1 Fl prime.  Inside the elevator the legend said less about 1, and more about basements . . . Naturally I went to the wrong place, as, no doubt, have countless visitors before me. 

Addresses and street signs are almost all only in Korean.  Even in Mcdonalds, I lined up in the wrong place, and missed lunch (no great trajedy), because the signs telling people the till had closed were in Korean.  Few people speak English, Japanese, or Chinese, and if they do, they can't always figure out the directions I have in English. If they do give directions, one still can't read the signs to which those directions point. 

Furthermore, the telephone in my room was 6 stories and a labyrinth of rooms from the computer, so directions by e-mail -- the only kind that work -- involved running back and forth several times to obtain.  And I couldn't print directions out.

And that was just the start of difficulties. 

Another problem was that people confuse book stories, which I was not looking for, with head offices for publishing companies, which I was.

On the up side, many Koreans proved extraordinarily helpful in trying to point me in the right direction -- even when it was the wrong direction -- and sometimes more than point. 

So in a day and a half of trying, I visited three Christian book stores, belonging to the main three publishers in Korea, but no headquarters.  I did, however, manage to get my books into the hands of two publishers, and get to know two contact people at the right offices in the process.

Last night was a particular adventure. 

After much calling and vain computer searches, I finally procured a couple addresses for one of the companies.  (One my American publisher had recommended, as a matter of fact.)  They rounded up a girl who could speak English and was involved in the publishing end of things.  I was given spider scratches on paper which, I was assured, represented the company headquarters, plus a transliteration of a Korean address in English.  Of course I had no idea if the two matched. 

If not for the generous kindness of many Koreans, my epic journey across Seoul that afternoon would have proven a complete failure. 

Several people pointed me in the "right" direction, sometimes however wrong by several subway stops. 

An older gentleman loudly starting a conversation on the train, the kind that begins "Where are you from?  I went to New York and Los Angeles once."  In Japan, this would  likely provoke icy silence all around, indicating that the speaker was romancing the fine line between crudity and lunacy.  Here, there seems to be no such stigma attached to chatting up strangers: we had a good conversation.  Off at the wrong stop (of course), another gentleman then spent considerable time phoning and mapquesting, and got me (finally) to the correct train stop.

A taxi driver didn't know the place.  I tried to pay him for all the time he spent trying to figure it out, but he refused. 

After wandering around and asking at random (including a cop -- no English!), I began to lose hope of tracking the place down by closing time at 5 PM.  I stopped at a jewelry shop and bought an alarm clock -- the owner pointed me back the way I just came, with a flury of Korean that I could almost pretend to get the gist of.  Several blocks and queries later, a couple who spoke decent English took it into their big hearts to escort me all the way to the building on the paper, a full mile or more away.  We jogged a good part of the distance in an effort to get there on time, and they were a bit heavy. 

When we arrived, I gave them a copy of my China book to say thanks, and learned they were both novelists!  We parted friends as well as comrades. 

But of course it wasn't company headquarters, it was a bookstore, and I was late.

A little more ringing by the girl at the counter, and the girl I'd talked with at headquarters came half an hour after her work day was finished, took me to a cafeteria, and bought me a strawberry drink and desert (on company dime) and we had a good talk.  She turned out to have a background in YWAM and literature, so we talked missions, Shakespeare, Chesterton, and East Asian culture.  She recorded some of my replies to her questions.  Finding that I was interested in learning more about Korea, she then kindly bought a little Korean primer for me, on her own dime. 

Missed dinner, then went jogging along a river this morning, and missed breakfast as well.  Bought manjiu and strawberry yoghurt at a 7-11.  I'm heading to a place where I can speak the language, again, but I'm almost sorry to be leaving Korea this afternoon.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Seoul Music

I'm sitting in bed in a "hotel" room, aka "guest house," it being dark outside, not counting the street light, and no idea what time it is.  There are no clocks in the room, the TV doesn't work, and my internal clock is fowled up by the 12 hour flight from Seattle.  A car passes only very occasionally, so I guess its the middle of the night here, though time to get up back home. 

Two bulky drunks are waiting outside the door.  One appears to be English; the other mumbles too much to tell where he's from.  Now one is singing.

The first sign that they were there came when one yanked on the door several times.  I was awake, having just been jotting plans for the following day on the back of a card, so heard it clearly.  The door was stout, fortunately.  (It's a fairly spartan room, otherwise, but clean enough.)  I had slept for a few hours, earlier, which is good for the first day of a trip.  Then came the knocking. 

"Go away!  This is not your room!" 

"Where should we go?"

"Go down to the first floor (they call it that, here), and talk to the people down there."  (I assumed they were looking for their own room.) 

"Yeah, there's lots of people down there.  We talk to them, and they just mumble.  You're the first person who's talked to us like this in an hour.  Open the door!"

"I'm not going to open the door, but I will call the police." 

"Yeah, like that'll help.  You have three choices."

I waited to hear the three choices, not expecting to like any of them.  But the drunk could only recall one, got stuck on it, which turned out to be one I actually approved of.

"If I were you, I wouldn't open the door." 

He went on explaining why keeping it shut might actually be the better option, apparently trying more to reason for himself than to convince me, and ended in incoherence.

I did try calling the police.  But he was right about that, too.  There wasn't much of what you could call a phone in the room.  There's something you can pick up, without about 5 buttons and words in Korean next to them, and little lights.  The top buttom made a little alarm sound, not enough to bother anyone outside the room.  The next few seemed to do nothing.  The bottom one rang.  I tried this one with some hope, ten or so times, and at one point heard a man speaking a few gruff words of Korean.  After that, it didn't even ring much. 

I considered other options, should my neighbors find a way of openning the door.  Weapons?  I could throw the TV at them, maybe.  On further reflection, the TV stand seemed like the only remotely servicable weapon in the room, and it didn't look like it could fend off more than a very sleepy lion cub. 

Could I break the window, and escape to the street?  Kind of a last option, though we were only on the second floor -- looks like pavement down there. 

Now I begin revising my "things to do tomorrow morning" list. Ask for my money back?  Not only was my "sleep" interrupted, but even in a 4000 won guesthouse, they ought to provide a phone and a little security -- this place is like a death trap.  Go to the airport and tell the Info lady to strike this place off her list of places to stay?  All in all, I think I'll begin with the police. 

Heck of a way to start a trip.  Guess I'll just hope they eventually think of somewhere else to go, and don't locate a battering ram or a blasting cap. 

Mount McKinley was magnificent, anyway.  I've flown by it before, and drove with my cousin to the park, but never saw the mountain clearly before.  First some other alpine mass came into view, with a tall summit at the center, and I wondered at first if this might have been it.  But when Denali floated into view, there was no doubting it.  The summit was not far beneath the level of the plane.  Beneath it, lesser peaks, still sharp and snow-covered, were as grasshoppers. 

The only glaciers I could spy associated with the mountain were low elevation valley glaciers.  I wondered, is there anywhere in the world that sports a larger elevation spread over which ice rules?  A smaller but still tall  peak (Foraker?) rises to the south of McKinley, close yet distinct enough to count as part of the same mountain, or not, as your fancy leads. 

After McKinley, I spent hours in conversation in the back of the plane with Bill, a man about the build, age, and a little of the attitude of Bill Maher.  Not that he attacked religion -- he was grateful to the Christians who mended him when he got hepatitis in Pakistan or China.  His father had been CIA, so he grew up all over, and has traveled even more all over ever since.  (Preferably by bicycle.)  He said the CIA kids were the left-wingers, State and Military kids more conservative.  We swapped travelers' tales: if it was a contest, no doubt he won. 

Still singing out there.  As poorly as I sleep the first night of a trip, can I possibly sleep with those two drunks at seige?  Maybe I'll give it a try. 

I've never seen a "guest house" quite like this one.  It's on a city street a mile or two from the airport.  From the outside, it looks like an office building.  Go into the lobby, and there's a little "Travel Agency" room to the right, and that' where they sign you in.  Then someone gives you a key, shows you to the elevator, and after a long wait, you're on the second floor. 

Here the strange inner design of the building reveals itself.  There's a kind of atrium or courtyard at center, with maybe 15 stories of rooms that look like Tokyo rabbit hutch apartments rising on two or three sites, with walkways facing the atrium.  There is an attempt at a potted plant (plastic?) or two, but nothing of any charm whatsoever. 

Whistling now.  The sound of metal.  No battery rams, I hope?  High-pitched, wordless singing. 

An airplane sounds over head.  Early morning flight, I hope? 

I see this from two perspectives.  One is that of a newspaper article about something bad happening in a hotel in Korea.  The other lies in the past perfect perspective of an anecdote about a rough start to a trip.  (The bank hassle and missing camera yesterday being the harbinger of trouble.) 

In any case, I will not now be staying here three nights. 

(Postscript: I dozed off, after all.  Turned out so did the drunks.  Didn't see them again.  Someone said they were crazy, shook his head when I asked.  I told the airport girl, not the police.  Took the train to Seoul, and am now staying at a kind of graduate school / missions training center in South Seoul.  There's a hill above the center, in pine, ewe, chestnut, part of which I can see from my room, and no noisy drunks anywhere to be seen.  Korean lunch for $2 in the cafeteria!)

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Alexandre de Rhodes in Vietnam



I've only visited Vietnam once, a visit that lasted about ten minutes. That short visit, however, was only part of a highly memorable trip. I traveled through mountains along the southern border of China where every village spoke its own language and wore its own clothing: Yao with peaked red hats, Miao, Hani, Han, at least two kinds of Dai. The scenery was so beautiful coming back that I got off the bus to take pictures, then hitchhiked with a gem smuggler back to the next main town. (I took this picture of a minority family bringing groceries and kids home from market from out of the window of the bus.) The smuggler operated a mine in the mountains of Vietnam, hiring Hmong tribesmen to carry gems down the mountain -- he gave me one, which unfortunately I lost. This counted as an honest trade in the border regions: I felt comfortable spending the night (on another trip) at the home of jade smugglers, and even a local church businessman smuggled Hyundais: it was those who dealt in heroin or women that bothered me.

A series of Dai villages near the border seemed like Shangri La -- straw roofed huts, girls with flowers in their hair, a popular hotspring next to rice paddies.

But locals told me I was the first American to visit the area since they'd shot American pilots down in the Vietnam War. China had has its own Vietnam War, and the bridge between the two nations, called Friendship Bridge, was new, the previous (Friendship?) bridge having been blown up. I was allowed to cross it without a visa, or any kind of check, for a short visit to Vietnam.

Recently I read a book about a western visitor who spent much longer, and had a remarkably deep impact on that country.

His name was Alexander de Rhodes, the Jesuit founder of Vietnamese Christianity, and one of the creators of the written Vietnamese text.

Few people know about Rhodes. He might be described as a disciple of the great Mateo Ricci -- he followed Ricci's methods of finding good in Vietnamese culture, and seemed to borrow some of Ricci's ideas in the Chinese classics. But in some ways he was more successful than Ricci. In 25 adventurous years in and largely out of Vietnam, training lay Christian leaders, with very few missionaries, the Vietnamese church grew to some 300,000 -- about the same as in China and in Japan after most of a century, larger fields with more missionaries, and which by any reasonable measure count as successes in their own right.

And de Rhodes (and a few colleagues) did all that with little in the way of European hard power, and much (it seems) in the way of diplomacy, wisdom, love of Vietnamese culture, and perhaps a little divine preparation. By contrast, the Inquisition in Goa, India -- established on the suggestion of Francis Xavier -- burnt dozens of infidels to death, imprisoned thousands, and forbid even the mildest "Hindu" customs. It was like the contest Aesop describes between the wind and the sun to see which could get the coat off a man: cruel force was used in Goa, and gentle persuasion in Vietnam.

I'd like to share a few exerpts from Peter Phan's wonderful book on Alexander Rhodes, Mission and catechesis : Alexandre de Rhodes and inculturation in seventeenth-century Vietnam.

Rhodes's methods of preaching, on visiting a town in Tonkin for the first time:

"As soon as the Porguguese ship reached shore, a crowd rushed out to see who the newcomers were, where they came from, and what merchandise they were bringing in. De Rhodes took advantage of the people's curiosity to clarify in fluent Vietnamese (to their surprise!) the purpose of his mission. He explained that while most of the people who had just arrived were Portuguese merchants seeking to trade goods adn arms, he had a precious pearl to sell so cheap that even the poorest among them could buy. When the people wanted to see the pearl, he told them that it could not be seen by bodily but only by spiritual eyes. The pearl, he said, was the true way (dao) that leads to the happy and everlasting light."

De Rhodes reflected:

"Having heard of the Law which they call dao in the scholarly language and dang in popular tongue, which means way, they became all the more curious to know from me the true law . . . I decided to announce it to them under the name of the Lord of heaven and earth, finding no proper word in their language to refer to God . . . I decided to employ the name used by the apostle Saint Paul when he preached to the Athenians who had set up an altar to an unknown God. This God, he said, whom they adored without knowing him, is the Lord of heaven and earth."

Dao here is the Chinese word 道, which means not only road or way, but morality (for Confucius, whom the Vietnamese also read), and the Supreme Principle of reality, for Lao Zi.
The Chinese also spoke of "Heaven and Earth," and Jesuits in China most often called God the "Lord of Heaven." De Rhodes didn't know the Chinese classics as well as Ricci, or he might have used the terms Shang Di and Tian, or their Vietnamese equivalents. Still, the term he used would surely have been well-understood in China, Japan, and Korea -- and apparently Vietnam.

Comparing the Gospel to a pearl goes back to Jesus' "Pearl of Great Price." Early Christians told a beautiful story about Jesus as a pearl salesman who was also a doctor. The analogy would, of course, have been readily understood in sea-hugging Vietnam.

"One of the converts, whose Christian name was Lina, opened a residence for the poor. There was also near the church in Van No, a leprosarium which the missionaries frequently visited. Many lepers became Christians."

Outreach to the poor and to lepers is a near-constant in Christian missions.

"Amidst these successes, there began opposition to the missionaries, especially on the part of Buddhist monks. They challenged de Rhodes to a debate."

The opposition eventually developed into overt persecution. In his debates with Buddhists, de Rhodes may have been more clever than Ricci. Ricci would debate directly, which could be a lose-lose proposition: win the argument, and you cause the Chinese to lose face; lose the argument, and you lose the argument.

By contrast, when De Rhodes was asked to debate, he invited an educated Vietnamese Christian (Ignatius) to argue the Christian side on his behalf. Ignatius was "very well versed in all their books and possessed special grace for disproving all the errors of these idolators." The downside of this approach was that persecution was directed at the Vietnamese Christian, who as I recall was eventually martyred.

Some Buddhist monks also converted to Christ, though.

Rhodes was willing to use what Don Richardson calls "redemptive analogies:"

"I noticed one custom among them that might suggest that our holy faith had been preached at one time in that kingdom, where nevertheless all memory of it has been obliterated by now. As soon as children were born, I often saw the parents put a crossmark on their foreheads with charcoal or ink. I asked them what good this would do to the child and why they daubed this mark on its forehead. 'That,' they used to tell me, 'is to chase away the devil and keep him from harming the child.' . . . I did not neglect to disclose its secret to them by explaining the power of the holy cross. This often served me as a means of converting them.'"

This is like stories in the Old Testament, in which God gives Pharoah or the king of Babylon a riddle, then sends Joseph or Daniel to explain its meaning.

De Rhodes took a nuanced and complex approach to Vietnamese beliefs, Phan argues. He opposed practices that he saw as immoral, appealing both to the Gospel and to folk wisdom to oppose such things, when possible. (As did Augustine, in City of God.) What he saw as good, he adapted. He strongly opposed introducing European practices that would set Vietnamese apart from their own culture.

De Rhodes comes across, in Peter Phan's book, as a wise, humble, yet dynamic and spunky missionary. He set the Vietnamese church up as a truly Vietnamese institution. As a result, Christianity spread rapidly during those first decades, and to this day, there are some 7 million Christians in Vietnam, mostly Catholic.

There is a lesson for missions in this contest between wind and sun that I hope we never forget.

A stone monument originally erected in 1941 in Hanoi, and placed in 1995 in the garden of the National Library, gives a strictly historical account of Rhodes’ life and works, aside from the following quote, which underlines the friendship he helped establish between the Gospel and Vietnam, his greatest legacy:

"I left Cochinchina in my body, but certainly not in my heart; and so it is with Tonkin. My heart is in both countries and I don’t think it will ever be able to leave them.”

Saturday, March 05, 2011

How Many Christians are there in China?


Since Mao Zedong died in 1976 and the Cultural Revolution ended, no country on Earth has changed more dramatically and significantly than China. When I first visited Canton in 1984, crowds would gather around us every time we stopped to buy oranges in the street. We stayed in a dorm for 6 yuan a head -- less than a dollar in today's money. The streets were full of bicycles, which marked Canton as a prosperous city.

Over the past twenty years, China has followed the upward economic growth curve pioneered by Japan, then Taiwan, South Korea, Hong Kong and Singapore before it.

Christianity has spread in China at a rapid pace as well. There has been much debate over how many Christians there are in China. The official figure is some 20 million, but popular rumors, often ascribed to some government official, often put the number at over 100 million. (Even the figure of 200 million is thrown around.) Loren Cunningham, founder of Youth With a Mission, has cited 110 million: when I challenged that figure, he said he obtained it from David Barrett, editor of the World Christian Encyclopedia, whose numbers are often cited as authoritative. Two years ago, The Economist bandied about a figure of 130 million.

My own view, based on travel throughout China in dozens of visits, and two longer-term stays, and study of the data, has been that a figure of 50-70 million, for Protestants and Catholics combined, is probably closer to the mark.

Figures of over 100 million seem to me to fly in the face of reality. Even in cities like Wenzhou, the "Jerusalem of China," one sees about three temples for every church. When I ask people their religion, that seems about the right proportion. Even in Henan Province, thought to be quite a citadel of Christianity, most young people seem to be "hand-me-down" skeptics. And there are vast areas of China -- Sichuan, Guangxi, Hunan, some parts of Yunnan -- where Christians remain fairly rare. (Though that may be changing.)

Last year, Baylor's Institute for Studies of Religion completed an exhaustive survey of religious belief in China. Sponsored by a grant from the John Templeton Foundation, and guided by Carson Mencken (who kindly sent me a copy of the report), Byron Johnson, and Rodney Stark. The study involved more than 7,000 respondents.

At first glance, the results yield a surprisingly low number of Christians, and a surprisingly high percentage of unbelievers. Only 2.7% of respondents described themselves as Protestant or Catholic. 17% called themselves Buddhists, and 77% claimed to have no religious beliefs. (Only 1% claimed other religions -- Daoism, Confucianism, and Islam included.)

The number of Christians appeared low to the researchers, too, so they commissioned a second survey to test the response rates of people whose religious identify they knew. They found that two thirds of Christians refused to answer the survey, while only one third of non-Christians refused.

Adjusting the data according to this bias, it appears that there are about 70+ million Christians in China today. (This includes Protestants and Catholics, also nominal believers and cultists. It may also be based on adult response, then include children in the total -- I'll have to see how they extrapolated. If so, this procedure would probably be less valid in China than in countries where children of believers generally go to church, and the true number might be a bit lower.)

I haven't had a chance to study the numbers in detail, yet, but I guess the number of Muslims here also seems too low. "Taoist" and "Confucianist" are vague terms -- often people who call themselves "Buddhist" have been as much influenced by these, or folk religions, as formal Buddhism. Most likely the number of committed and informed believers in Buddhism, in any recognizable sense, is a small percentage of the supposed 17%, while many included in that number would more accurately be described as followers of folk religion.

The survey showed that women were 2.3 times more likely to call themselves Christians than men. That seems a bit high to me, though there certainly has been a remarkable "people movement" among elderly ladies! Probably men (and young people) more often refuse to respond, since religious faith would be more of a stigma for men.

All in all, the survey confirmed what those who have been involved with China for a long time recognize: communism has had a real and lasting effect on how Chinese see the world. The country is still something of a spiritual desert. Compared to those in the West, who often convert away from Christianity and have conceived a great distaste for it, many of China's "agnostics" are conventional in their second-hand skepticism, and in many cases seem open to changing their minds. Most regions of China with few Christians (aside from Guangdong), also seem to have few "Buddhists," apparently because of the latent winter-like effect of Maoism on all spiritual shoots. It seems, though, that the winter may soon be over, and the desert about to bloom.
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(photos: (1) a large rural church near Wenzhou in Zhejiang Province, one of many; (2) a believer in the same area, some 20 years ago, telling me how the Gospel had spread through miracles from village to village; (3) John 3:16 in stylized Chinese, on the wall of a church in Wuhan, Hubei; (4) White Horse Temple, founded outside the capital of China near modern Luoyang, in 68 AD, the oldest official Buddhist temple in China, though the present buildings are more recent.)

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

How Confucius proves Jesus


How Confucius proves Jesus.

The Gospels are commonly subjected to intense skepticism. In recent years, skeptics like Robert Price and Richard Carrier have claimed that not only are many of the bare facts related in the Gospels false -- but even that Jesus may have never lived.

Are the Gospels believable?

The evidence for them, I think, is historically compelling. If they did not tell about miracles, and if some scholars did not find philosophical reasons to doubt such things can happen, with the evidence in front of us in the Gospels alone, no one would think to deny the outline of Jesus' life, personality, career, teachings, teachings, death, and (yes) resurrection.

In this post I'll consider an interesting parallel, the great sage whose life and personality stand at the heart of Chinese tradition, as Jesus does in Western tradition. (My arguments are largely adapted from a chapter in my book, Why the Jesus Seminar can't find Jesus, and Grandma Marshall Could.)

The Analects of Confucius is, in some ways, quite similiar to the Gospels: a collection of sayings and anecdotes about a wandering ancient teacher, written down some time afterwards by disciples. I know of no serious China scholar who denies that Confucius lived. Few doubt that the Analects, especially the first chapters, provides a fairly accurate picture of who Confucius was, what he taught and did.

Yet as historical sources, the Gospels have many advantages over the Analects:

(1) Timing. The Gospels are probably closer in time to the main events they record. Confucius died at the age of about 70, so his early life would be much further removed from the time of his death, than was the case for Jesus.

(2) Multiple attestation. There are four Gospels, but only one Analects. A house with four pillars stands in an earthquake, when one resting on one pillar topples in a breeze!

True, scholars find a relationship between the Gospels, especially the first three "Synoptics." Probably both Matthew and Luke borrowed heavily from Mark. But both writers also relied on their own material, named by scholars (doubtless after breakfast), "Special M" and "Special L." So together with John, we still have at least four early and detailed sources for the life of Jesus, compared to just one for Confucius.

(3) Cultural specificity: H. G. Creel effectively applied the principle of what Jesus scholars call "dissimilarity" to the Analects. On the one hand, the book is free of the jargon and freeze-frame philosophy of later Confucian thought. On the other, while respectful towards traditional writings, Confucius has a different agenda, and even language, from the classics. For example, he often spoke of Heaven, the contemporary term for God, but seldom of Shang Di, the term earlier poets and historians used, or "Heaven and Earth," (except in late chapters), a pantheistic term that would be popular later.

In the Zhuang Zi, a couple centuries later, the character called "Confucius" would parrot Taoist ideas: "Just go along with things and let your mind move freely." But in Analects, he speaks in a unique and what we recognize as his true voice, reflecting and interpreting prior beliefs, floating distinct ideas down the current of tradition for later generations to work over.

The eminent British scholar N. T. Wright tests the gospels by the more strenuous tool of 'double dissimilarity:"

"When something can be shown to be credible (though perhaps deeply subversive) within first-century Judaism, and credible as the implied starting point (though not the exact replica) of something in later Christianity, there is a strong possibility of our being in touch with the genuine history of Jesus."

Wright shows that even by this much more rigorous standard, much in the Gospels is affirmed by stringent historical method.

(4) Realistic details. "Zu Gong wanted to dispense with the live sheep presented at the Ducal Temple at the announcement of the new moon. The Master said, 'Zu! You care for the sheep. I care for the ritual.'"

Analects is full of non-dramatic anecdotes of that kind -- daily conversations one can imagine springing up around a person of Confucius' sort. The combination of specific background facts, concrete, believable characters, and sayings that carry the flavor of the teacher's thought, make the text credible.

The same is also true of the Gospels. One gets the feeling of meeting a real person in the Gospels, mediated by place, personalities (of disciples as well as master), disputes, and unique teachings.

(5) Embarrassing! Scholars also evaluate Analects by the "criterion of embarrassment." Confucian educator Chen Jingpan argued we can believe in it in part because the book contains a lot of material

Confucianists would not appreciate:

"Chapter 19 details squabbles between the disciples, and 19:25 tells us that one of them said Confucius was no better than the disciple Zu Gong. In 6:26 it is related that Confucius had an interview with a notorious duchess; this had embarrassed countless prudish Confucians, and was used by their enemies to mock them in Han times. Yet these things were not deleted from the text, which must increase our respect for it." . Notice, Chen argued more than just that certain sayings would not have been invented by skeptics. More, their willingness to report dicey goings on helps establish their credibility. The entire text, or at least the chapters where such sayings are found, deserve our respect.

The Gospels relate far more material that is much more deeply "embarrassing" than these examples. Jesus not only met one sinful woman: he saved one from stoning, chatted another up by a well, and told dinner hosts that another impressed him with her love! Jesus is not only said to be no better than Peter, he is accused of sorcery and betraying sacred traditions. The criterion of embarrassment therefore supports the historicity of the Gospels far more strongly than that of the Analects -- and it supports the latter quite well.

(6) Criticism of subject. Here the picture of Confucius appears to have been slightly airbrushed. A few complaints are reported, in an off-hand way, but nothing serious enough to explain why at least one tried to assassinate him.

The Gospels, by contrast, are full of intense, heated, and realistic criticism of Jesus. Strong verbal attacks on Jesus are reported, sometimes without defense. The four gospels contain nit-picking, suspicion, entrapment, barbed comments, and angry denunciations, directed by respectable citizens at Jesus. He is accused of being a commoner, sinner, "Samaritan and a demon," of breaking Jewish law, the Sabbath in particular, not paying taxes, lack of education, blasphemy, insanity, and black magic.

What disciple would have made all this up? It is hard to think of any parallels -- the wind-bag sage in Apollonius of Tyana is treated with almost universal adulation, as is the "Jesus" of the Gnostic texts. The Gospels, in this regard, seem raw to the touch with uncensored reportage.

(7) Emotions Many ancient writers, both in the Greco-Roman and Chinese worlds, were leary of honestly depicting the emotions of their heroes. (So, of course, are many Hollywood screenwriters -- which is how Arnold Schwarteneggar became an actor!) One way the early records about Confucius persuade us of their honesty, is by recording the raw emotions of the teacher: "If I have in any way done wrong, may Heaven reject me! May Heaven reject me!" "When the Master was in Chi (note: the large state to the north) and heard the Shao music, for three months he was unconscious of the taste of meat. 'I did not imagine,' he said, 'That music had reached such perfection as this!'" "When Yan Yuan died the Master said, 'Alas! Heaven has bereft me!'"

The Gospels confront us even more powerfully with raw human emotion. (By contrast to the Gnostics, where Jesus is a cosmic stick figure.) Jesus shows his feelings naturally, and without apology. Despite the bold authority with which he spoke, his eyes were not focused on himself. He did not project "death-like serenity" or "austere severity" like some gurus. Nor, like others, did he brag.

Jesus was never blase or incurious. He asked, "Who touched me?" He felt pity, became indignant, showed anger, expressed frustration, and displayed delight, joy, and sorrow. . Thomas Cahill complains that Luke "consistently omits" the emotions of Jesus. But in that Gospel, Jesus weeps over Jerusalem. He prays "in agony" in the Garden of Eden, until sweat pours down his back. Passion is often implicit in his words: "Was no one found to return and give thanks to God but this foreigner?" "Blessed are the eyes that see what you see!" "Simon, Simon, Satan has asked permission to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail." Jesus' stories, like the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, are intense in their feelings. . A good modern novelist can make up realistic emotions, of course. But can anyone point to a genuine parallel in the fiction of the ancient world?

(8) Unique quality A wise man does not build his house on sand, nor can a great civilization rest on shaky epigrams. On close consideration, though sometimes his teachings border on platitude, the sayings of Confucius surprise us by their very humility and common sense. Later scholars exagerrated his teachings or ignored the fine balance he found. Confucius' sayings, while not unmatched, and sometimes prosaic, are sensible, and played a mostly positive role in East Asian civilization.

Reading later Confucius literature, such as the Book of Rites, it is hard to imagine any Confucian scholar making up these sayings. They are too personal, too humble, too sensible, and too balanced, for a second-teer scribe to invent.

While some of it is puzzling or off-putting, overall, the quality of teachings given in the Gospels is far more astonishing. "No one ever taught like this man." Even after 2000 years, this anonymous voice in the crowd offers what seems a mild statement of the obvious, as true to the words that prompted it as every other crowd response in the Gospels.

Modern giants of literature and scholarship, surveying a far vaster range of thought, have echoed that ancient comment. The editors of National Review called the words of Jesus "inimitable" -- which, obviously, they are. Dickens described the parable of the Prodigal Son as the best story in literature. Tolstoy spent a lifetime trying to live up to the Sermon on the Mount. . Lin Yutang was one of the great literary figures of 20th Century China. He wrote novels, social criticism, biography, practical philosophy, an anthology of Chinese and Indian literature, and a dictionary. Lin grew up in the Church, left, studied Buddhism, Taoism, Western and Indian thought, and then concluded, "No one has taught as Jesus Christ."

The Gospels are the background Muzak of the Western world, and it may be hard for those who are too familiar with them -- including some biblical scholars -- to see them for what they are. Clearly Jesus' great teachings could only have come from some paramount genius. It is folly to imagine anonymous clerical bookworms making this stuff up. The Gospels preserved the teachings of Jesus, because they recognized from the beginning that he spoke as no one ever else could.

(9) Women. Females figure little in Analects, except for Confucius' nieces, whom he married off to worthy disciples. Another exception was his visit to an upper-class woman of shaky reputation, followed by vehement denial of impropriety. Confucius was, in general, almost as much of a prude as his later followers might wish. . The Jesus of the Gospels, by contrast, consistently treated women with compassion, and without fear, condescension, or male superiority. Walter Wink argued that Jesus' behavior towards women is "astounding:"

"In every single encounter with women in the four Gospels, Jesus violated the mores of his time . . . his behavior towards women . . . was without parallel in 'civilized' societies since the rise of patriarchy roughly three thousand years before his birth."

Skeptics often suggest the Gospels were written to preserve traditional male hierarchy. But how could Jesus have torn down gender conventions every single time he talked to a women in them, if they were written to devalue women? At least one must conclude that the authors were unusually honest patriarchs, to record so much that seemed to undermine their biases. Radical criticism thus shows the humility and honesty of the gospels from yet a new angle.

(10) Caste. Confucius did not pose with famous people all the time, like Apollonius of Tyana. But he was fairly class-conscious. He spen most of his time with disciples or officials, though he would teach a poor student, if need be. His approach is only very mildly revolutionary.

In seeing people, Jesus was blind to the social boundaries of his day. A lot has been written on this topic in recent years, no doubt because we esteem "equality" and "pluralism" highly. These were not the dominant values in the 1st Century, however. In Jewish culture, holiness was defined by placement within a series of concentric circles. The high priest was the most righteous, followed by ordinary priests, Levites, Israelites of pure blood, illicit children of priests, Gentile converts, children born out of wedlock in general, foundlings and eunuchs, those born with deformed sexual organs, then last and least, non-Jews.

By sharp contrast (and Jesus Seminar founder Robert Funk has written well on this), Jesus was willing to fall in with anyone. He "routinely breached the walls and barriers that set sacred space off from profane, and he trampled indifferently on the social dividers that enforced segregation." When Jesus told a story, one was not surprised to find half-breeds, tax collectors, and beggars as heroes. This is the Jesus the Jesus Seminar believes in:

"In contravention of the social order, Jesus was socially promiscuous: he ate and drank publicly with petty tax officials and 'sinners,' yet he did not refuse dinner with the learned and wealthy. He was seen in the company of women in public -- an occasion for scandal in his society. He included children in his social circle -- children were regarded as chattel, especially females, if they were permitted to live at birth -- and advised that God's domain is filled with them."

Like the servant in Isaiah, Jesus displayed a strange, redemptive blindness. In steadfastly failing to notice caste, class, gender, or age, he began to change the world.

How likely is it that such a figure was the invention of pious fiction writers? Read the "Gospel of Judas," even the "Gospel of Thomas," to see what a fictional "Jesus" would look like, praised by so many clever intellectuals, but a proper Gnostic bore. The real Jesus was too original, even while preserving and extending the deep truths of Jewish culture, to be a pious stick figure. These are just ten of the fifty traits that I found describe Jesus in the four canonical Gospels. Each of these, like the winding threads of nucleotides in DNA, suggest that the texts originate from a complex and unique person. It is not easy to invent aphorisms and stories geniuses like Dickens, Tolstoy, and Lin Yutang would stand in awe of: it passes belief that several anonymous early followers of Jesus did so. One cannot believe that Jesus' concern for women was ascribed to him, with deft realism, by several unknown 1st Century proto-feminist propagandists. Jesus' teaching only makes sense as coming from a Jew, and only makes sense as the source of Christian doctrines: yet it makes no sense as merely Jewish, or merely Christian, as N. T. Wright demonstrates.

And on it goes. Each argument, like a strand winding around other strands, makes the whole immeasurably stronger. The evidence for the life, teachings, personality, acts, death and resurrection of Jesus is, as purely historical evidence, thus exponentially greater than for the life and teachings of Confucius. And almost no one doubts, or should doubt, that Confucius lived, and did much of what the early Analects say he did.

But is even such strong historical evidence, strong enough? Is it good enough to persuade us that Jesus walked on water, healed the sick, or raised the dead? Confucius did no miracles. We are not asked, in the Analects, or Quran, or Lao Zi, to move beyond the intellectual familiarity of practical materialism. Someone might well respond, "So maybe the evidence for Jesus is overwhelming. But I can't believe in miracles, anyway. Such things just cannot happen."

The validity of such a response is a question to consider another day. But one has to wonder: If skeptics have for so long overlooked truths that stand out clearly in the Gospels, like an "elephant ten yards away in broad daylight," as C. S. Lewis put it, is it not possible they have overlooked other things, about the world in general, that ought to fit into the background knowledge by which they evaluate the Gospel evidence?

Monday, October 11, 2010

Did Lao Zi Prophesy the Coming of Jesus?

A philosopher who was involved with the Democracy Movement in China, Yuan Zhiming, makes two bold (some would say "wreckless") claims in his book Lao Zi vs. the Bible: (1) The "Dao" Lao Zi, the founder of Taoism, wrote of is a synonym for God, and (2) the "Sage" (聖人) Lao Zi spoke of is Jesus.

Both these claims sound incredible. Both offend many ears -- atheists who doubt God can speak at all, traditional Chinese who disapprove of what they might perceive as religious imperialism, Christians who are afraid Yuan is falling into the trap of "syncretism."
I've been reading a dissertation this past week that analyzes these two claims. The author interviews 25 Chinese scholars, all but one of them Christians, and most of whom think Yuan has, at least, gotten a bit carried away.

What do you think? This is a new blog, and there are not many readers yet. Also answering the question would involve doing a little homework. But let me throw this out. Read the Dao Dejing -- it will only take an hour, it's a remarkable book well worth your time, and there are dozens of translations. Pay close attention to what the book says about "the Dao" (or "Way," or "Truth," or "Reason," depending on your translation) and "the Sage."

Could Lao Zi have been a theist of some sort?

Might he have been looking, warned perhaps in a dream, for a Savior like Jesus?

Let us know what you think in the comments forum below.