For all that atheists insists that everything about our world can be explained by science, I am fortunate to have first-hand experiences - and second-hand experiences of people I trust implicitly - that science cannot explain. Where did Maureen's ovarian tumor go? What caused the supernatural phenomena that Marta experienced?
Every other spiritual experience of my own life could probably be explained away by a true skeptic. But these things must simply be accepted or dismissed. Oh, I suppose someone could allege that Maureen was the beneficiary of the untapped healing power of the mind, but that's as much an issue of faith as anything I believe.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
What's it all about, Alfie?
What motivates atheists to not be narcissists, or more generally, to be good people? Given any conflict between what they want to do and what they've been socialized to believe is right, why do they choose the latter?
I choose to do what I believe to be right not primarily because of fear of God's punishment, but out of thankfulness for what God has done for me - the gift of salvation and the blessings that overflow in my life - and a resulting desire to become the person God would have me be. But in the absence of God and, more specifically, of Christ's example, what would drive my sense of right and wrong?
I can see why "do no harm to others" might be a mantra, and I can see why some of the social changes that secular society espouses arise from this approach. But what constitutes harm, and why should I make any undue sacrifice - even undertake sometimes-greater "harm" to myself - for the sake of others? And what constitutes an "other," for instance from the standpoint of beginning- and end-of-life issues? How do even scientific criteria (consider how we protect an endangered species throughout all stages of development, but not a human being) manage to take a back seat to freedom of individual choice, which seems to really be the motto by which society is guiding itself? And if this life is all there is, shouldn't I just try to cram every experience and pleasure I can manage into it?
I don't see how we can survive as a society without the central concept of being endowed by (our) Creator with certain unalienable Rights. If our rights are not divinely appointed to us, I do not understand why else we have any grounds to feel we have any rights at all.
This is not a mere academic exercise. If there is no god, my concept of the person I should be and my motivation to strive for such a standard vanish together.
I choose to do what I believe to be right not primarily because of fear of God's punishment, but out of thankfulness for what God has done for me - the gift of salvation and the blessings that overflow in my life - and a resulting desire to become the person God would have me be. But in the absence of God and, more specifically, of Christ's example, what would drive my sense of right and wrong?
I can see why "do no harm to others" might be a mantra, and I can see why some of the social changes that secular society espouses arise from this approach. But what constitutes harm, and why should I make any undue sacrifice - even undertake sometimes-greater "harm" to myself - for the sake of others? And what constitutes an "other," for instance from the standpoint of beginning- and end-of-life issues? How do even scientific criteria (consider how we protect an endangered species throughout all stages of development, but not a human being) manage to take a back seat to freedom of individual choice, which seems to really be the motto by which society is guiding itself? And if this life is all there is, shouldn't I just try to cram every experience and pleasure I can manage into it?
I don't see how we can survive as a society without the central concept of being endowed by (our) Creator with certain unalienable Rights. If our rights are not divinely appointed to us, I do not understand why else we have any grounds to feel we have any rights at all.
This is not a mere academic exercise. If there is no god, my concept of the person I should be and my motivation to strive for such a standard vanish together.
Lasting impressions of Disney World lead to other memories
I was just observing to a friend who's currently in Orlando that I can't believe it has been 37 years - and six Presidents - since we visited the Hall of Presidents on our Disney World visit when I was 15 years old, the summer after my dad died. I was going to share this with her, too, but it doesn't seem like the sort of distraction I'd want to have if I were on a family vacation. (So if you're reading this from there, you might want to save it for later.)
That summer trip brings back such fond memories of youthful naivete. Dad had died the summer before, which had been quite a shock, and there were major revelations yet to come about him. I'd finished my freshman year in high school, and already on this road trip I'd replaced my unrequited crush on my eventual friend Therese (the next year, when we'd start being friends, I became privy to her nickname, Tree, though I've always thought she should have spelled it Theree; there's an outside hope we might get to see her in September . . . ) with an unrequited crush on my cousin in Jacksonville Beach, Sue. This trip would serve as a dual impetus for mom to eventually tell me the truth about my paternity. Later in the trip, visiting with Dad's family in Kansas, some of his Michigan family was visiting too, and when they met me one of them observed, "So this is Gary's boy . . . . ?" Turns out that was either a misguided observation about mom and dad's dishonesty or a misunderstanding of which of us really was his biological child. In the fall, emboldened with fresh hope for a relationship with my Florida cousin over whom I was still obsessing, I inquired whether she really was a blood relative. Since she was mom's cousin's daughter, if I was really "Gary's boy" (as opposed to my mom's, I thought) then Sue would be fair game. Stupid teenage thoughts. Mom pretty much had to set the record straight at that point, explaining that Gary had adopted me when they'd married, a couple years after I was born, instantly chopping several years off of the length of their marriage in my mind. Later in the school year, an old neighbor would stop by after school one day when mom was at work, and she nearly spilled the beans about dad's suicide, which prompted mom to finally come clean about the means of Dad's death.
. . . where was I? Oh yeah . . .
The Hall of Presidents was one of my most lasting impressions of WDW. I was into history, and I thought the animatronic Presidents were amazing. There was no Epcot yet; and mom wouldn't let me ride the new Space Mountain ride. [She was a wee bit overprotective - before she met my stepfather, at least. I was going to observe how ironic this was until realizing that, no, he intentionally and systematically broke down her protectiveness. (see why I wouldn't want to dump all this on an unsuspecting friend on their family vacation?)] So the high points that I now remember most were the Pirates of the Caribbean - which I imagine is an even better attraction today given the great success of the film franchise - and the Hall of Presidents.
That summer trip brings back such fond memories of youthful naivete. Dad had died the summer before, which had been quite a shock, and there were major revelations yet to come about him. I'd finished my freshman year in high school, and already on this road trip I'd replaced my unrequited crush on my eventual friend Therese (the next year, when we'd start being friends, I became privy to her nickname, Tree, though I've always thought she should have spelled it Theree; there's an outside hope we might get to see her in September . . . ) with an unrequited crush on my cousin in Jacksonville Beach, Sue. This trip would serve as a dual impetus for mom to eventually tell me the truth about my paternity. Later in the trip, visiting with Dad's family in Kansas, some of his Michigan family was visiting too, and when they met me one of them observed, "So this is Gary's boy . . . . ?" Turns out that was either a misguided observation about mom and dad's dishonesty or a misunderstanding of which of us really was his biological child. In the fall, emboldened with fresh hope for a relationship with my Florida cousin over whom I was still obsessing, I inquired whether she really was a blood relative. Since she was mom's cousin's daughter, if I was really "Gary's boy" (as opposed to my mom's, I thought) then Sue would be fair game. Stupid teenage thoughts. Mom pretty much had to set the record straight at that point, explaining that Gary had adopted me when they'd married, a couple years after I was born, instantly chopping several years off of the length of their marriage in my mind. Later in the school year, an old neighbor would stop by after school one day when mom was at work, and she nearly spilled the beans about dad's suicide, which prompted mom to finally come clean about the means of Dad's death.
. . . where was I? Oh yeah . . .
The Hall of Presidents was one of my most lasting impressions of WDW. I was into history, and I thought the animatronic Presidents were amazing. There was no Epcot yet; and mom wouldn't let me ride the new Space Mountain ride. [She was a wee bit overprotective - before she met my stepfather, at least. I was going to observe how ironic this was until realizing that, no, he intentionally and systematically broke down her protectiveness. (see why I wouldn't want to dump all this on an unsuspecting friend on their family vacation?)] So the high points that I now remember most were the Pirates of the Caribbean - which I imagine is an even better attraction today given the great success of the film franchise - and the Hall of Presidents.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Defensiveness
I find that the most consistent indicator of my security (about anything) is my inner state when I encounter someone who disagrees with me. If I feel defensive or dismissive, I'm probably not really so sure of myself, whereas if I feel peaceful I'm generally more comfortable with my own position.
I wish I could claim this was an original thought, or that an insight that I gained by careful self-observation. This is almost universally true, and my long-ago counseling team was the first to successfully convict me of it. It ended up being a breakthrough moment in therapy for me, and a lesson I've never forgotten.
I may not have finished with this counseling team, but I probably took my biggest strides with them. There was one counselor in particular who seemed to be able to pose just the right question or make an insightful observation to pierce my defensiveness and help me to see a deeper truth that I'd been avoiding.
As a result of my experiences, I tend to think that those who are most vitriolic in their discourse are similarly insecure with regard to the positions they espouse. This has the effect of pouring the fuel of false self-assuredness onto the fires of disagreement.
I wish I could claim this was an original thought, or that an insight that I gained by careful self-observation. This is almost universally true, and my long-ago counseling team was the first to successfully convict me of it. It ended up being a breakthrough moment in therapy for me, and a lesson I've never forgotten.
I may not have finished with this counseling team, but I probably took my biggest strides with them. There was one counselor in particular who seemed to be able to pose just the right question or make an insightful observation to pierce my defensiveness and help me to see a deeper truth that I'd been avoiding.
As a result of my experiences, I tend to think that those who are most vitriolic in their discourse are similarly insecure with regard to the positions they espouse. This has the effect of pouring the fuel of false self-assuredness onto the fires of disagreement.
Today's word
vilipend \VIL-uh-pend\ - 1. to hold or treat as of little worth or account. 2. to express a low opinion of : disparage
An appropriate word given the tone of political discourse today.
An appropriate word given the tone of political discourse today.
Revelatory questions
Could it be that questions tell us more than answers ever do? - Michael Card, Could it Be?
Sometimes they do, if we pay enough attention to them. I have a friend who just publicly wondered why, years after moving into her current home, she is just now unpacking some boxes. I think she's likely to find an answer to what caused her to be doing so now, and she might find therein a surface answer to why she hasn't done so previously.
But the reasons beyond the surface are probably worthy of a bit of her consideration, not in the sense of revealing any major personality flaw, but in the sense of "how we learn to be the best-version-of-ourselves in small ways." It's the small choices that each of us makes daily which most often stunt our growth and thereby serve as the greatest barriers to us in our lives and our relationships.
And that's as true for me as for anyone.
Sometimes they do, if we pay enough attention to them. I have a friend who just publicly wondered why, years after moving into her current home, she is just now unpacking some boxes. I think she's likely to find an answer to what caused her to be doing so now, and she might find therein a surface answer to why she hasn't done so previously.
But the reasons beyond the surface are probably worthy of a bit of her consideration, not in the sense of revealing any major personality flaw, but in the sense of "how we learn to be the best-version-of-ourselves in small ways." It's the small choices that each of us makes daily which most often stunt our growth and thereby serve as the greatest barriers to us in our lives and our relationships.
And that's as true for me as for anyone.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Nurturing foolishness
As he considers his nature so as to better understand himself and make good decisions in life, there are some thoughts a man should not let his mind linger upon, lest they influence his choices in wrong directions.
If he does unwisely nurture such thoughts, he ought not write them down in order to return his mind to them, nor should he refine them in great detail so as to maximize their attractiveness.
If he be so utterly foolhardy as to record and burnish them thus, he must not share them.
But should he do all of these unwise things, he must remember always that they are just thoughts, and that he would never choose the actions they might indicate.
If he does unwisely nurture such thoughts, he ought not write them down in order to return his mind to them, nor should he refine them in great detail so as to maximize their attractiveness.
If he be so utterly foolhardy as to record and burnish them thus, he must not share them.
But should he do all of these unwise things, he must remember always that they are just thoughts, and that he would never choose the actions they might indicate.
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