Inner-duction

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In Dudeism’s “Take It Easy Manifesto,” we pose questions that fellas wiser than ourselves have contemplated across the sands of time:

“What makes a religion? Is it being prepared to do the right thing, whatever the cost? Isn’t that what makes a religion? Or is it that along with a pair of testaments?”

As for definite answers to these timeless queries, well, Dudes, we just don’t know. There are just too many theological ins and outs and ecclesiastical strands to keep in our heads, man. Besides, we smoked a lot of Thai stick back in seminary, so, truth is, we don’t remember a lot from our world religions class.

One thing we can say for certain, though: Most religions have a sacred book, a pile of holy writ that most adherents believe is the uncompromised first draft direct from God or what-have-you that really ties the cosmos together, wraps ‘er all up. For instance, Jews have the Torah in addition to 3,000 years of beautiful tradition from Moses to Sandy Koufax; Christians have Gospels that tell the miraculous story of how the Jesus rolled; and the fanatical cult of rich fuck reactionaries, well, they have The Wall Street Journal.

Scriptures, epistles, laws, prophecies, psalms, command-ments, stock market analyses. So many learned men and women throughout the ages have disputed what they all mean, it can be quite stupefying. Even the religions that are some kind of Eastern thing—like Hinduism and Buddhism—have produced endless reams of Vedas and Sutras and rituals and chants and whatnot.

One exception to the whole divine-revelation-through-written-word thing, however, is Taoism. According to religious scholar Huston Smith, Taoism has only one basic text, the Tao Te Ching (or, in English, The Way and Its Power), a slim volume that, as Smith says, can be read in half an hour or a lifetime. Legend has it that a Chinaman by the name of Lao Tzu one day said “Fuck it” (loosely translated from the Chinese), hopped on a water buffalo (possibly with rust coloration), and started heading a-way out west to Tibet.

On his way out, someone stopped Lao Tzu and asked if he would write down the tenets of his ethos before leaving town. Being a lazy man, Lao Tzu lodged his water buffalo against an abutment long enough to write the Tao Te Ching’s 81 short verses. When finished, he kicked his water buffalo into gear and, tossing his ringer to the man, rode off into the misty horizon of legend and myth.