~ New York Times Review of Books November 21, 1982 Most people think they use language to communicate. But language is insidious; it determines the way we think. Modern philosophers say we live in a universe limited by our language. Ludwig Wittgenstein even said we were ''bewitched.'' James Powell goes a little further. He examines the symbols of language the way a biologist examines cells. By inquiring into the nature of symbols themselves, he hopes to show the transcendental capacity of language not for mere communication but for ''communion.'' He assures us that the universe is a silent partner in a dialogue that goes on all the time and that throughout history certain images and techniques of meditation have led consciousness to break through the limitations of language. Mr. Powell argues that we tend to underestimate the volatility of symbols. In world politics, we can easily see the danger of a breakdown in communication. When one world of meaning has no reality for the other, dialogue stops, sometimes violently. If the breakdown is taken as a failure in communication, in which each side sees the other as willfully irrational, the result is explosive. If, however, the failure is seen as a collision of symbol systems, each of which has absolute internal reality, then dialogue may be pursued with a different understanding. 'The Tao of Symbols is Mr. Powell's attempt to bring occupants of different worlds together (Buddhist and Moslem, scientist and sage) and to suggest the basis for a new kind of dialogue. Some Suggestions for Interreligious Dialog In addition to his published works, he collaborated with Imogen Cunningham on a photographically illustrated translation of the verse of St. John of the Cross. ) Prologues to What Is Possible 1. There was an ease of mind that was like being alone in a boat at sea, A boat carried forward by waves resembling the bright backs of rowers, Gripping their oars, as if they were sure of the way to their destination, Bending over and pulling themselves erect on the wooden handles, Wet with water and sparkling in the one-ness of their motion. The boat was built of stones that had lost their weight and being no longer heavy Had left in them only a brilliance, of unaccustomed origin, So that he that stood up in the boat leaning and looking before him Did not pass like someone voyaging out of and beyond the familiar. He belonged to the far-foreign departure of his vessel and was part of it, Part of the speculum of fire on its prow, its symbol, whatever it was, Part of the glass-like sides on which it glided over the salt-stained water. As he traveled alone, like a man lured on by a syllable without any meaning, A syllable of which he felt, with an appointed sureness, That it contained the meaning into which he wanted to enter, A meaning which, as he entered it, would shatter the boat and leave the oarsmen quiet As at a point of central arrival, an instant moment, much or little, Removed from any shore, from any man or woman, and needing none.

Hi there and thanks for visiting my goodreads profile. I'm a writer working in the foothills of Appalachia, Ohio. I've got a new collection of essays coming out. It's called In Praise of Nothing. If you'd like to take a look, you can download an excerpt here. There's also a multimedia version of the book with audio and video content. You can find a sample of that material at the book's website, which includes three "playable" essays based on some familiar games: http://www.inpraiseofnothing.org Feel free to get in touch. It's a quirky collection, and I'd welcome your thoughts.

Emeritus Professor of Philosophy at the College of Marin in Kentfield, California. He is known for writing introductory books on philosophy and philosophers which attempt to make philosophical ideas accessible to novices. He also illustrates his own books. Currently he is visiting Assistant Professor of Philosophy at North Carolina State University in Raleigh, North Carolina.