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Parable of Six Blind Men and an Elephant An ancient East Indian parable speaks of six blind men, who, upon encountering an elephant for the first time, each concluded something very different about what an elephant must be. One, feeling the trunk, concluded the elephant must be like a large snake. The second, feeling the tail, concluded, to the contrary, it was very like a duster. The third, coming up against the side of the elephant, said it must be a kind of curved wall. The fourth felt one of the elephant's legs and concluded it was a species of tree. The fifth caught hold of the elephant's ear and said, "No, it is more like a winnowing basket." And the last, grasping the elephant's tusk, said, "You're all wrong! It is more like a plow." What is the elephant of human religiousness anyway? Is there a way of comprehending unity in all of the diversity, a unity that recognizes and appreciates significant differences as well? Indeed, what is any one religious tradition? How is it possible to see and comprehend it in the round and not just from one angle only? Let's consider the parable of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant again, but this time in a different form more suited to explaining the different ways of being religious. Once upon a time there was an elephant and six partially blind elephant handlers, each of whom knew a certain elephant well, very well, or so each thought. But each knew the elephant in a different way and, because of the peculiar nature of his blindness, a lack of peripheral vision, each knew nothing at all of the other ways of knowing the elephant. The first was the tenth in a long line of ceremonial elephant handlers who, on ceremonial occasions, were placed in charge of this, the King's elephant. He "knew" exactly how this particular elephant should be handled: what words to say, what gestures to use, how appropriately to approach the elephant to get it to do the most impressive thing~all in the same way his predecessors had done in the past. Above all, he knew what was right, appropriate, and timely: his handling of the elephant was always and invariably graceful, orderly, and elegant. He "knew" the elephant, or so he was convinced. The second was a practical, down to-earth, no-nonsense sort of fellow. He believed that you really didn't know the elephant unless you worked with the elephant as he had in getting practical things accomplished-heavy loads lifted and moved about, jungles cleared, new roads built. From long experience with the elephant in carrying out such tasks, he was confident he "knew" that elephant, or so he was convinced. The third was a deeply sensitive and passionate person. He believed that you really didn't know an elephant unless you had somehow formed an intimate personal friendship with the elephant as he had, a friendship that shared the joys and sorrows, the accomplishments and frustrations, of daily elephant existence. Moreover, he was convinced that it was a two-way relationship: not only did he know the elephant personally, but from the way the elephant responded sympathetically to his own emotional highs and lows, he was sure that the elephant knew him in the same way too. He "knew" the elephant, or so he was convinced. The fourth was something of an eccentric. Like those Native American medicine men of the plains who knew how to make contact with the spirit of the bison or the spirit of the antelope to ensure a successful hunt, this man was able, by entering into a trance, to commune so closely with the spirit of that elephant that he was able to bring about an uncanny, cooperative rapport between himself and the elephant. It seemed the elephant would do anything he desired it to without his having to speak aloud or make overt gestures at all. He "knew" the elephant, or so he was convinced. The fifth was a quiet, contemplative person who believed that you really couldn't get in touch with the elephant unless you let go of all other preoccupations and became very, very quiet, very still, completely receptive to whatever the elephant revealed of its elephant self, as he had been able to do. Above all, the handler was aware. Nothing escaped his notice: the sounds of the elephant's voice, the elephant's digestion, every movement of the elephant; its smells, its moods, its subtle yet meaningful gestures; its eyes; the rhythm of its swaying, its breathing, and the twitching of its tail-subtle revelations that others miss entirely. He "knew" the elephant, or so he was convinced. The sixth and final man was a very learned person who knew more about this breed of elephant and this specific elephant than most of us can imagine. He had studied all about elephant physiology, elephant metabolism, elephant ethology, elephant psychology, everything ever written about the care and feeding and breeding of elephants, and in particular, the history and genealogy of the particular family of elephants from which this elephant had issued. He knew all there was to know about elephants in general and about this elephant in particular. Arid it wasn't just abstract, ivory-tower, book knowledge either, for he was so effective at applying this knowledge to the practical care of elephants that the King had wisely appointed him as chief caretaker of all his elephants. He "knew" the elephant, or so he was convinced. Now, did each of the six men know the elephant? Of course! Indeed, each knew the elephant as well as the elephant could be known-from each man's peculiar angle of approach and in his own way. From the perspective of that way in that place in that time, the elephant could not be known better. But lacking peripheral vision, each knew nothing of what the others knew. And so, each tended to dismiss the others' claim to know the elephant that he knew: "You don't know my 'way' and so you can't possibly know the elephant-at least not as well as I do." Furthermore, each dismissed the idea that he might have something to learn from what the others knew from their different perspectives. Though each supposed he knew the elephant in the round, in fact he did not. What each lacked was an awareness of the limits of his own quite genuine acquaintance. Or, to put the same thing differently, what each man lacked was a sense of the transcendence of the elephant beyond his own limited acquaintance, hence his need (in order to know the elephant in the round) to explore empathetically the other men's knowledge of the elephant. What initially seemed to contradict each man's knowledge and understanding would thereby turn out to complement his own limited perspective. This parable illustrates how we stand in regard to any religion we think we know well, and how we stand in regard to religion in general. That is to say, each religion is a different elephant, as it were, and there are at least six different ways of being acquainted with it. A religion is not at all the sort of thing that lends itself to being fully known from a single perspective. |
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Web site by Gerald Boodoo,Ph.D. created through funding from Andrew Mellon Foundation
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Last Update: 08/017/98
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