Understand Physical Realities
Accept and Adapt
Live within Gaia
The theological discussions in these posts are mostly based on an Abrahamic world view. Yet the causes and consequences of the ecological crises are not limited to Christians, Moslems and Jews. In particular, it is important and useful to understand the faiths/philosophies that developed in eastern nations such as China and Japan. They may provide different insights into the manner in which we respond to the Age of Limits. In this section we consider one of those spiritual philosophies: the Tao, and the book Tao te Ching. The book’s authorship is attributed to Lao Tzu (~600-500 BCE), although it is likely that other authors were involved.
The Abrahamic religions are based on the concept of a single, omnipotent deity who is both creator and moral lawgiver. His authority is absolute, requiring obedience from his followers under a covenantal relationship. Christians further believe that God took human form. Taoism, on the other hand, is more of a spiritual philosophy centered on aligning oneself with an ineffable force that underlies and sustains the universe. Therefore, it may not make sense to use the word ‘theology’ when studying the Dao. (While it originated as a philosophical tradition, it has since evolved into a religious system with its own deities, rituals, and temples. Nevertheless, the Dao is not a god but a principle that governs natural order, spontaneity, and balance.)
In the Taoist tradition, the Tao (道) is the Way: the deep, underlying pattern of reality. It is not a deity as understood by the Abrahamic religions, nor is it a system of rules, but rather the source and structure of the cosmos itself. It is the rhythm by which all life flows. The Tao te Ting emphasizes concepts such as wu wei (non-action or effortless action). Individuals are encouraged to live in harmony with the natural flow of life rather than imposing control. Lao Tzu warns against striving, control, and arrogance. Instead, he teaches humility, simplicity, and harmony. (The English phrase ‘Go with the flow’ captures the same idea.)
The Tao and the Moral Law
In discussions to do with climate change, resource depletion, and ecological collapse, it is striking how often we hear appeals to moral responsibility. We are told that we ought to reduce emissions, care for the vulnerable, preserve ecosystems, and act justly toward future generations. These claims are often made with conviction and passion. These convictions are not merely pragmatic — they are transcendent in tone and content.
Yet, as we have seen, many of the people who make these claims consciously reject formal religion, and are sometimes openly hostile to its language and traditions, particularly those parts of Scripture, such as Genesis 1:28, that have been interpreted as licensing human domination over nature. Nevertheless, these secular environmental advocates speak in moral terms. They act and argue as if certain things are truly right or wrong, not merely advantageous or disadvantageous. They do not say, ‘It’s unwise to destroy the biosphere’. They say that ‘it’s wrong to destroy the biosphere’. They say that we need to protect those who suffer the most from climate change for pragmatic reasons. They say that we need to protect them because it’s the right thing to do.
Many of these same individuals exhibit what might be called a vague spirituality. They may not pray or participate in ritual, but they speak reverently of the Earth, of interconnectedness, of balance and beauty. They express awe at complexity, grief at destruction, and hope for renewal. These are spiritual responses. And they suggest that even when religion is discarded, the hunger for meaning, connection, and moral grounding persists. The Tao tells us that we are not the center of the universe. That the world is not ours to dominate. There are boundaries that we cross at our peril, and values that endure even when society forgets them.
For those of us who come from the Abrahamic faith traditions, this approach should not be threatening. Indeed, it should be encouraging. It means that the truth we have received — about the goodness of creation, the call to stewardship, the command to love our neighbor — is not alien to the modern world. It may be obscured, distorted, or forgotten. But it is not lost. It continues to shine, even if through a glass, darkly. We can join hands with all those who feel, however dimly, that the world is charged with moral meaning, and that addressing Age of Limits issues is morally good, and requires no further justification.
So where does this moral conviction come from? If they reject revealed religion and traditional doctrine, what is the root of this sense of obligation?
In his book The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis introduces the concept of the Tao to a Western audience. He sees the Tao as explaining the universal Natural Law or Traditional Moral law that underlies all human cultures. He catalogs examples from diverse civilizations — ancient Egyptian, Babylonian, Hindu, Confucian, Norse, and Christian — and shows how they converge on a common core of ethical insight: justice, mercy, truthfulness, self-restraint, and respect for life.
Lewis argues that this shared morality is not invented but discovered. It is part of the fabric of reality, just like gravity or the laws of motion. He contends that attempts to build ethics without reference to this moral order, without the Tao, lead not to liberation but to the collapse of meaning and ultimately, to tyranny.
The Tao and the Word (Logos)
The first two lines of the Tao te Ching are well known, as is the first verse of the Gospel of John.
The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.In the beginning was the Word (Logos), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
In ancient Greek philosophy, especially Stoicism, Logos referred to the divine rational principle that orders the universe. John adopts this concept and radicalizes it by identifying the Logos with Jesus: a personal incarnation of divine truth. In Christianity, Logos becomes personal, ‘The Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14)’. In Taoism, the Tao remains impersonal and formless; a cosmic way rather than a personal God; the true Tao is beyond words and form. The Tao is ultimate reality, but it cannot be fully expressed or grasped through names or human reasoning. It is the source of all being, yet it remains ineffable. (The early Jesuit missionaries in China translated Logos as Tao in the Gospel of John.)
In spite of these differences, there is a deep philosophical kinship between Tao and Logos in that both refer to the ultimate ordering principle behind all things. Both are pre-existent, life-giving, unifying and beyond full human comprehension. Nevertheless, it would be a theological overreach, from a Christian perspective, to say that Tao created God. Instead, one could say: the Tao is a concept that, in its mystery and transcendence, points toward the same reality that Christians understand more fully in the person of Christ.
The Ineffable Name of God
The next two lines of Tao te Ching correspond to passages in the Hebrew Bible.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain (Exodus 20:7)
In the Tao Te Ching, the act of naming creates a boundary. To name something is to define it, and therefore to make it manageable or understandable. But the Tao transcends all categories. Any name we give it is necessarily inadequate.
This idea resonates strongly with the Jewish tradition of the unnameable name of God. For example, when Moses asks for God's name at the burning bush, the response is. “I am that I am” (Exodus 3:14). In other words, God does not provide a name, he merely provides a verb of existence, a refusal to be pinned down. Whether called Tao or Yahweh, the divine source eludes full human naming and control.
It is not necessary, or even desirable, to collapse these two traditions into one. They each bring something unique. But there is an echo between the Tao’s mystery and the biblical experience of the un-nameable, pre-existent Word. To people living in an Age of Limits, where language is often used to manipulate, sell, and control, this shared reverence for what cannot be said offers precisely the humility we need to recover.
In a time of environmental crisis and spiritual uncertainty, this shared reverence for what cannot be spoken may be more relevant than ever. We live in an age of noise: slogans, ads, arguments, and algorithms. But the ancient wisdom of both East and West reminds us that truth may dwell in silence. That the sacred may resist our attempts to possess or define it. And that the deepest realities may be found not in the word that is spoken, but in the Word that simply is.
