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Perichoresis and kenosis in Salinger’s “Teddy”

A few months back, I was reading a New York Times interview with Anne Lamott on her favorite books. When asked what book made her want to be a writer, she answered with J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories (a collection you remember me swooning over a few posts ago). Lamott said she loved the ninth story, “Teddy,” saying, ”I still remember the moment when the little boy Teddy, who is actually a sadhu, tells the reporter on the ship that he first realized what God was all about when he saw his little sister drink a glass of milk — that it was God, pouring God, into God.”

So because of Anne Lamott, and my love for Salinger, I thought I would spend this post exploring “Teddy,” perichoresis, and kenosis.

Perichoresis

“I was six when I saw that everything was God, and my hair stood up, and all that,” Teddy said. (p. 189)

Let’s start here, with panentheism. So Teddy is a described as a Hindu holy man, but so much of what he says can be seen as ascetic Christian theology. (Minus the whole reincarnation thing.) Panentheism, for example, is the belief that God’s spirit is in all things. It’s not that everything is God, but the one God is in all. 10-year-old Teddy isn’t exactly describing panentheism, but to me it’s a worthy interpretation, at least for us here at T&L. What might Teddy teach us about Christian theology?

“It was on a Sunday, I remember. My sister was only a very tiny child then, and she was drinking her milk, and all of a sudden I saw that she was God and the milk was God. I mean, all she was doing was pouring God into God, if you know what I mean.”

So if we view this as panentheism, you can understand this metaphor as perichoresis–God pouring God’s self into God’s self while receiving God into God’s self. Fun, isn’t it?

Periochoresis is an understanding of the Trinity. No one part of the Trinity can stand alone. The Son wholly relies on the Father; the Father the Spirit; the Spirit, the Son. I’ve heard it described with birthing imagery: the Father gives birth to the Son, but the Father cannot be a father without the Son, therefore the Son gives birth to the Father. And so on.

So I love the imagery that Salinger gives to this: milk pouring into milk. The milk in the glass receives the milk in the carton.

Kenosis

A little later in the story, Teddy describes to Nicholson what I understand as kenosis, something even more interesting than the milk metaphor, if you ask me.

Kenosis is derived from the Greek word for “self-emptying” (κενόω), a term used to describe the incarnation. Christ emptied himself of his divinity and took on the human form (Philippians 2:7). Teddy mentions this self-emptying as a vomiting up of all the stuff one knows intellectually in order to hold what you might know intuitively.

“You know that apple Adam ate in the Garden of Eden, referred to in the Bible?” [Teddy] asked. “You know what was in that apple? Logic. Logic and intellectual stuff. That was all that was in it. So–this is my point–what you have to do is vomit it up if you want to see things as they really are.” (p. 191)

I’m working on another post on Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos, on the symbolism of Adam’s fruit. In that book, the apple represents useless information (information not translated to true knowledge or wisdom). In “Teddy,” the apple is learned knowledge, logic that holds one back from really knowing.

Can you actually “know too much”? Can your collection of facts about God keep you from knowing God?

“The trouble is,” Teddy said, “most people don’t want to see things the way they are. They don’t even want to stop getting born and dying all the time. They just want new bodies all the time, instead of stopping and staying with God, where it’s really nice.” He reflected. “I never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters,” he said. He shook his head.

I love Teddy’s commentary on epistemology. How do we really know what we know? Is it by labeling this thing or that? Or is it by connecting with God or with nature? He suggests we teach children how to really listen–to meditate, to see how things are, not just what they’re called. He says he’d want school children to “vomit up every bit of the apple their parents and everybody made them take a bite out of” (p. 196).

“I’d want them to begin with all the real ways of looking at things, not just the way all the other apple-eaters look at things–that’s what I mean.”

Conclusion

This short story has helped me see perichoresis and kenosis played out in different ways and explained with less lofty language. As for perichoresis, I’m able to see the Trinity as someone tangible like milk being poured into milk. As for kenosis, I’m deeper into my exploration of what that fruit in Genesis 3 really says about humanity, knowledge, and Adam’s sin. Was Adam and Eve’s curiosity really at fault–or is there a deeper truth to that story?

About Lauren Sawyer

I am a student of theology and culture in Seattle, Washington. I love coffee, rainy days, and John Updike. Learn more about me at laurendeidra.com.

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Holden Caulfield and the Idiot Disciples

It’s been a while since I’ve read The Catcher in the Rye. To be honest, of Salinger’s books, it’s on the bottom of the list. (What can I say–I’m in love with the Glass family.) But there’s something about Holden’s attitude toward religion that I’ve never forgotten.

J.D. Salinger and Theology

I’m aware that Salinger’s other books have “nods” toward theology, if not overtly so like in Catcher or maybe the Franny novella. I’m surprised I wasn’t as aware of this back in my obsessed-with-Salinger days. (Every night I slept curled up next to a copy of Nine Stories.) Now I’m curious about the theological, or at least the philosophical, voice(s) inspiring Salinger’s books.

But, until then, I want to spend a moment with Holden Caulfield, particularly in a section in chapter 14 of his narrative. Holden tells us:

Finally, though, I got undressed and got in bed. I felt like praying, or something, when I was in bed, but I couldn’t do it. I can’t always pray when I feel like it. (p. 99)

I wish I would have re-discovered this book last semester in my Prayer class. I think that passage would find its way into a paper.

In the first place, I’m sort of an atheist. I like Jesus and all, but I don’t care too much for most of the other stuff in the Bible.

Holden Caulfield and the Idiot Disciples

And this is where I really want to go with Holden’s analysis: to his view of the Bible, specifically of the Disciples of Jesus. I think Holden is giving a voice a lot of angsty Christian young adults with this passage, whether Salinger was aware of it at the time. He goes on:

Take the Disciples, for instance. They annoy the hell out of me, if you want to know the truth. They were all right after Jesus was dead and all, but while He was alive, they were about as much use to Him as a hole in the head. All they did was keep letting him down.

My New Testament instructor taught us that in each of the Gospels, the Disciples show varying degrees of “getting it.” In Luke and John, they seem to understand what Jesus is saying. But in Matthew, and most of all Mark, the Disciples are, in Dr. Rick Beaton’s words, “dumb as boards.”

So when you read through the Gospels, especially Mark, and if you have any ounce of irreverence in you, you can’t help but agree with Holden. The Disciples really don’t get it. They’re pretty useless. And it’s pretty surprising that Jesus spent all his energy with them.

My favorite example of the Disciples’ stupidity is in Mark 8, right after Jesus fed the 4,000. And I mean literally right after they fed the people, Jesus and the Twelve got on a boat, and this happened:

Now the disciples had forgotten to bring any bread; and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. And he cautioned them, saying, “Watch out—beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod.” They said to one another, “It is because we have no bread.” (Mark 8:14-16, NRSV)

And the Disciples, filled with anything but wisdom, assumed that Jesus was making some obscure reference to the lack of bread in the boat. Not, “Hey, guys, I’m using this as an opportunity to teach you a lesson about life.” But rather, the Disciples yet again think that their present circumstances are all that matter. They have forgotten already: “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink. … Is not life more than food …?”

Holden Caulfield and the Random Twelve

I like almost anybody in the Bible better than the Disciples. If you want to know the truth, the guy I like best in the Bible, next to Jesus, was that lunatic and all, that lived in the tombs and kept cutting himself with stones. I like him ten times as much as the Disciples, that poor bastard.

Good God I love that–so, so funny. Holden goes on to talk about a guy at school, Arthur Childs, who he’d get in arguments with about this distaste for the Disciples.

[Childs] kept telling me if I didn’t like the Disciples, then I didn’t like Jesus and all. He said that because Jesus picked the Disciples, you were supposed to like them. I said I knew He picked them, but that He picked them at random. I said He didn’t have time to go around analyzing everybody.

I think Holden is giving us a chance to consider Jesus’ choosing of the Twelve. I read in Gerhard Lohfink’s book Jesus and Community that Jesus picked these Disciples to represent the twelve tribes of Israel. Lohfink explains that the institution of the Twelve at this point (when there were only two and a half tribes still existing) was meant to symbolize “the complete restoration of the twelve-tribe people [which] was expected for the eschatological time of salvation” (p. 10). Jesus started this process of restoration when he named the Twelve as his disciples.

But Holden’s statement doesn’t make us question why twelve–but why these guys? Why “idiot” Disciples instead of the learned Pharisees? Why not choose a group of men who might actually get it, who wouldn’t forget about the loaves and fishes when Jesus says “the yeast of the Pharisees”?

Conclusion

I think books like Catcher in the Rye give us opportunities to ask questions of theology (or Scripture, particularly) that we might not otherwise think to ask. One thing I love about fiction is the chance it gives me to see life in another person’s perspective. I will never have a chance to grow up in the 1940′s like Holden. But by reading his narrative, I can experience a bit of that life. I can see things through his perspective and start to ask the same questions of God that Holden asks.

About Lauren Sawyer

I am a student of theology and culture in Seattle, Washington. I love coffee, rainy days, and John Updike. Learn more about me at laurendeidra.com.