Tag Archives: kenosis

kenosis

Odds are not bad that first glance at this word will make you think of keno, that game where you make bets on up to ten numbers, and then 20 out of a possible 80 are drawn and your payoff depends on how much you bet and on how many numbers. There are a variety of ways to play, but it has one endearing distinction, at least in the way Ontario Lotteries and Gaming does it: if you bet on 10 and you match none at all, you actually win a small amount. The only lottery-type game I know of where you get rewarded for coming up empty!

But once you know that the stress in kenosis is on the second syllable, it moves the word away from keno and sister games and towards metaphysics. Star Wars, for instance. Oh, come on, that’s not forced: tell me you don’t hear Kenobi here. You know, “Old Ben Kenobi,” the crusty hermit who turns out to be – to have been – Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi master. He was a great Jedi, but after he took on the training of a pupil with greater powers, and the pupil turned to the dark side, he voided his membership in the order and took on a much more humble form.

Although Obi-Wan Kenobi was played by Alec Guinness in the original Star Wars trilogy, the name does rather sound Japanese, doesn’t it? And it makes me think how kenosis also has a strong echo of kensho – the goal of Zen Buddhist meditation, the incredible flash of insight wherein one sees the emptiness of all things (or, as they say in Japanese, mu, “nothing”*), with oneself as not separate from all else. But let not “emptiness,” also called “voidness,” mislead you: as Robert Thurman (Buddhist scholar and father not of a mu but of Uma) has said, “voidness does not mean nothingness, but rather that all things lack intrinsic reality, intrinsic objectivity, intrinsic identity or intrinsic referentiality. Lacking such static essence or substance does not make them not exist – it makes them thoroughly relative.” Physics tells use that, physically, we are wave functions; Buddhism essentially agrees.

But kenosis is not a Japanese term, nor a Buddhist one. It is Greek, and it has come into English thanks to a passage in Philippians (one of the letters of Paul in the Bible): ἀλλὰ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν μορφὴν δούλου λαβών – “but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave” – well, let me give you the whole passage for context: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.” The verb ἐκένωσεν is related to the noun κένωσις, kenosis, which is our word du jour. The idea is that Jesus, though God, let go of Godness to come slum with us – and we, too, should let go, empty ourselves (might as well – you can’t take it with you) to allow the divine to flow through us, like waves of light through – well, not through but in; waves of water are not other than the water, you know. So we come up empty and thus win.

The details and implications of the established Christian presentation of the idea are of course different from those of the Buddhist presentation. But one way or the other, you can see the o in kenosis as not just a hole but a channel, a pipe, a space but perhaps also the lips of the divine (or of mu!) ready to give you one kiss (that flash of kensho) to impart the gnosis, so that you experience the drowning in the sea of all (SOS!) that is actually your victory (Greek nike). Then let you and all be not two – o, be one: kenosis!

*Not a direct translation of sunyata “emptiness”, which in Japanese and Chinese becomes a word (kòng/kuu) that can also refer to an empty room or spare time, both requisites for meditation.

stenosis

Does this word refer to a sister who does stenography? Or does it sound somehow dinosaurish? Well, there is a steneosaurus (a word “badly formed (after Teleosaurus),” Oxford says), but one is probably more likely to think of stegosaurus. But stegosaurus uses stego from Greek stegé “covering” (like stegos “roof”), whereas the steno root comes from stenos “narrow.”

Narrow? Well, the dinosaur has a narrow beak. And, while life in a steno pool (a job that pretty much doesn’t exist anymore) was probably rather narrow, stenography – which means “shorthand,” as in those quick forms of minimalist cursive writing designed for taking notes as people talk – was thus named (by 1602, when it appeared in a book title) just because it took up less space on a page. (It is not to be confused with steganography, which means writing hidden messages and secret codes, and is from the same root as stegosaurus).

OK, but, really, this is all getting a bit thick. What the heck does stenosis mean? Well, one could say it does mean “getting a bit thick,” if by “thick” you mean that the walls of some passage in the body – the mitral valve, the larynx, the spine, or the pyloric sphincter, for instance – are thickened and the result is that the passage narrows. (Other factors can cause stenosis; the mitral valve may simply not open wide enough, for example.)

And if you have noticed – as you undoubtedly have – that stenosis sounds rather like kenosis, which is used to refer to Christ’s at least partial renunciation of the divine nature in incarnation, then actually there is a link: kenosis means “emptying” (and so connects us to Buddhist concepts too, but let us mu-ve on), and emptying is one thing that doesn’t happen well when there is stenosis. Or, anyway, it happens in the wrong direction. If you want details, you can look up pyloric stenosis yourself; it’s unappetizing and I’ll spare those who don’t want to know. I had more than enough of it in my infancy anyway. (Happily, it’s surgically reparable; otherwise I wouldn’t be writing tasting notes now, I dare say.) And if you are now thinking of sthenia, again it’s the opposite – asthenia, “weakness” – that stenosis tends to cause.

But how do you like saying this word? It’s all on the tip of your tongue; the only thing that involves the back of your mouth, really, is the raised back of the tongue in the /o/, and for that you balance by rounding your lips. So it keeps the tongue in a pretty narrow range, even more so because there are only mid and high vowels (nothing like in stall or stand). But your nose sits in the action, closed for the stop [t] and open for the nasal [n].

And to look at it? Quite innocuous. The nastiest anagram is stones (which is a different health problem anyway), or maybe ESSO snit or stein SOS, the one a gas hissy fit and the other a beer emergency. Eight letters, three-two-three in syllables, bookended with s‘s and with the little rises of t and i just inside. Not too narrow or crowded. Maybe a little clinical-looking because of the osis. But, really, not the kind of word that would make you sick. You’d think.