In my mind, things to which loyalty can be given are separated into four corners of likability. The first corner belongs to those things to which I am apathetic or neutral. I don't really care how the Atlanta Braves do this year. The second corner belongs to those things with flaws that are invisible to me. I don't see the downside of penguins, so I think they're pretty cool. (See what I did there?) The third corner belongs to those things which I like, and I refuse to see the downside. This is blind loyalty. I refuse to acknowledge that chili dogs are terrible for you. The fourth corner belongs to those things which I dislike or hate because of their flaws. I hate the Steelers because they are an unpleasant, dirty team. I see their flaws and recoil in disgust. The fifth corner, however, belongs to those things that have flaws of which I am completely aware, yet love and follow despite and even because of them. I see many of the problems with Cornerstone, but I am still loyal to it because it is my school.
The same can be said of people; they fall, for me, into the same five categories. (Although, few fall into the third category.) My opinions and relationships of and with them are similar to these five. But there's something rare and beautiful about that fifth category. It's unconditional love, something to which we Christians are called. Not blind love, but aware and forgiving.
I have experienced this to an extent in many relationships/friendships. It is mainly seen in my family. Despite what they do, I still love them. But their quirks still irk me. (I just did another thing.) There's only one person I have ever known with which I completely have this type of friendship. I am able to love them (not in a romantic way, mind you) for who they are, despite and even because of their flaws. I am very aware of the things that others might find distasteful, and neither do I think these attributes are good. But I can look at this person and see them as a whole, appreciating even the flaws. It baffles me. I want to understand exactly how it works and try to apply it to all my other relationships.
Monday, August 29, 2011
The Last 10%
If I had to describe myself in one word, it would be "opaque."
By "opaque," I mean non-transparent, although some of its other uses might apply. I'm not a very transparent person. I may be vocal about my opinions and ideas for the most part, but when it comes to how I feel, not much escapes my filter.
I visited Frontline Community Church for the first time today. (I have an idea I'll visit again.) Before the sermon, there was a short clip about wearing masks for various reasons, utilizing the iPad in a clever if unoriginal manner. I was relevant because the pastor spoke about lying, and specifically why we lie. He said that sociologists have determined that we lie for basically one reason: to avoid pain. The pastor preceded to list the various forms of pain that we try to avoid by lying.
Pain of consequences, pain of embarrassment, and pain of two words that are currently blank spaces on that handy little handout. (See what I did there?) But what really hit me was the end, when he mentioned "the last 10%." He described it as being the little bit of truth about your life that you leave out. The last bit to make 100%. Then he asked three questions. "To whom are you telling the last 10%? When? Who are you letting tell you about their last 10%?" And that was when I realized: I have no answer for the first two questions. There is nobody with whom I share this, for various psychological and irrational reasons. I just don't. And that's a problem.
So where to go from here? I'm not sure. But I know that I at least need to become translucent, if not transparent.
By "opaque," I mean non-transparent, although some of its other uses might apply. I'm not a very transparent person. I may be vocal about my opinions and ideas for the most part, but when it comes to how I feel, not much escapes my filter.
I visited Frontline Community Church for the first time today. (I have an idea I'll visit again.) Before the sermon, there was a short clip about wearing masks for various reasons, utilizing the iPad in a clever if unoriginal manner. I was relevant because the pastor spoke about lying, and specifically why we lie. He said that sociologists have determined that we lie for basically one reason: to avoid pain. The pastor preceded to list the various forms of pain that we try to avoid by lying.
Pain of consequences, pain of embarrassment, and pain of two words that are currently blank spaces on that handy little handout. (See what I did there?) But what really hit me was the end, when he mentioned "the last 10%." He described it as being the little bit of truth about your life that you leave out. The last bit to make 100%. Then he asked three questions. "To whom are you telling the last 10%? When? Who are you letting tell you about their last 10%?" And that was when I realized: I have no answer for the first two questions. There is nobody with whom I share this, for various psychological and irrational reasons. I just don't. And that's a problem.
So where to go from here? I'm not sure. But I know that I at least need to become translucent, if not transparent.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Destiny (Part 3 of the Rapid Fire)
This is going to sound very narcissistic, but have you ever sensed destiny?
What I mean is, have you ever gotten the feeling that your life was meant for something big? We all have a destiny; God has a plan for all of us. But does it ever seem that your life is going to make a difference on a large scale?
Like I said, it sounds narcissistic, but I often get that type of feeling. I don't know what it means or if it's true. Maybe I just have delusions of grandeur. But I feel, deep down, that I'm going to make a difference, even though I have no idea how. I have a gut feeling that in the near future, America is going to change drastically, and the way American Christians live will change with it. So maybe that's it. I don't know, it's just weird.
It's just that my life so far has been so freaking perfect. basically everything just lines up for me. It doesn't mean I don't work hard. But everything works out, almost too easily. Every job I've had has fallen in my lap. I ended up living at Cornerstone when I thought I would commute. And other things like that just seem way too coincidental.
Someone I respect once told me that I will have say no to a lot of things, that people will follow me. She told me that she would follow me. And that sunk in. Maybe that has inflated my ego's idea of the future a bit. But it didn't help.
I think when I started feeling this started when I almost died. To make a long story short (although the long story is pretty cool/funny, depending on how I tell it), I had an allergic reaction to a hornet sting and went into anaphylactic shock. If I had arrived at the med center ten minutes later, I probably would have made frog noises. But ever since that instance, I have thought about death differently. First, I view death in a better light. Death is just a door, and for a Christian that's good news; it's the finish line. I'm fine whether I have vital signs or not. But second, I figure that if I'm still alive, God must have a reason for it, whatever that is.
Everyone wants to feel important. Everyone wants to feel special. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe my ego has a Messiah complex and thinks I'm going to save the world. Maybe my feeling is right. But maybe it's not. Maybe I'll just be an average guy who makes an average impact on the world and lives around him. Either way, that's okay. I'm just excited to see what God has for me in the future.
What I mean is, have you ever gotten the feeling that your life was meant for something big? We all have a destiny; God has a plan for all of us. But does it ever seem that your life is going to make a difference on a large scale?
Like I said, it sounds narcissistic, but I often get that type of feeling. I don't know what it means or if it's true. Maybe I just have delusions of grandeur. But I feel, deep down, that I'm going to make a difference, even though I have no idea how. I have a gut feeling that in the near future, America is going to change drastically, and the way American Christians live will change with it. So maybe that's it. I don't know, it's just weird.
It's just that my life so far has been so freaking perfect. basically everything just lines up for me. It doesn't mean I don't work hard. But everything works out, almost too easily. Every job I've had has fallen in my lap. I ended up living at Cornerstone when I thought I would commute. And other things like that just seem way too coincidental.
Someone I respect once told me that I will have say no to a lot of things, that people will follow me. She told me that she would follow me. And that sunk in. Maybe that has inflated my ego's idea of the future a bit. But it didn't help.
I think when I started feeling this started when I almost died. To make a long story short (although the long story is pretty cool/funny, depending on how I tell it), I had an allergic reaction to a hornet sting and went into anaphylactic shock. If I had arrived at the med center ten minutes later, I probably would have made frog noises. But ever since that instance, I have thought about death differently. First, I view death in a better light. Death is just a door, and for a Christian that's good news; it's the finish line. I'm fine whether I have vital signs or not. But second, I figure that if I'm still alive, God must have a reason for it, whatever that is.
Everyone wants to feel important. Everyone wants to feel special. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe my ego has a Messiah complex and thinks I'm going to save the world. Maybe my feeling is right. But maybe it's not. Maybe I'll just be an average guy who makes an average impact on the world and lives around him. Either way, that's okay. I'm just excited to see what God has for me in the future.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Knowledge Versus Belief (Part 2 of the Rapid Fire)
One of the things Rene Descartes (possibly my favorite philosopher) is known for is coining the phrase, "I think; therefore, I am." He went into seclusion until he could prove that the world was real. He eventually came out, using this reasoning: I think; therefore, I exist. I cannot create the universe; therefore, there must be a God. God is good and He wouldn't trick us (a sneaky little trick - that assumes God is good); therefore, this world is real.
What I like about Descartes is the way he questioned reality; he took nothing for granted. He started with doubt.
It's this sort of philosophy that has made the statement, "You can't even know that the chair you sit on is real." I have heard Christians criticize this way of thinking as foolish. But I totally disagree and am slightly insulted; extremely intelligent people thought like that. And they were right.
If knowledge is defined as being completely and objectively certain through the use of flawless logic and irrefutable evidence, then there is no way to know that this world exists. You could very well be living in a world of your subconscious's creation. In fact (and other Christians will cringe when I say this), but there is no completely objective way to know that God exists. We can't be sure that there is a God. Any "evidence" you have that supports this could be a figment of your subconscious, or a lie handed to you by some being looking to deceive you.
People might freak out at this, but it's actually a very good thing. It's a good thing because it emphasizes even more the importance of faith. We live in a world in which we make many assumptions, simply to navigate reality. We sit believing the chair will hold us. We speak, believing the people who hear us are real. We pray, believing God is real and hears us. This may sound like heresy, but it's not. It is vitally important to realize that nothing you can do, none of the evidence you collect, can prove the existence of God. It's a matter of faith. If we can see that we need faith simply to live our lives, we can appreciate more fully the role faith has in our relationship with God. We choose, out of all the alternatives, to believe that the world is real, God is real, and His sacrifice was extremely real. We believe it, but we can't know it. Unless we redefine knowledge.
I read a book in Philosophy called Longing to Know. The woman who wrote the book compared "knowing" (mainly knowing that God is real) to getting to know and trust her mechanic. She de-emphasized evidence and facts, and instead highlighted the importance of trust and experience. Ultimately, knowing is a matter of belief.
I can't know that God exists. But I choose to believe in Him and His existence and goodness. Because, ultimately, I belief will be shown to be well-placed.
What I like about Descartes is the way he questioned reality; he took nothing for granted. He started with doubt.
It's this sort of philosophy that has made the statement, "You can't even know that the chair you sit on is real." I have heard Christians criticize this way of thinking as foolish. But I totally disagree and am slightly insulted; extremely intelligent people thought like that. And they were right.
If knowledge is defined as being completely and objectively certain through the use of flawless logic and irrefutable evidence, then there is no way to know that this world exists. You could very well be living in a world of your subconscious's creation. In fact (and other Christians will cringe when I say this), but there is no completely objective way to know that God exists. We can't be sure that there is a God. Any "evidence" you have that supports this could be a figment of your subconscious, or a lie handed to you by some being looking to deceive you.
People might freak out at this, but it's actually a very good thing. It's a good thing because it emphasizes even more the importance of faith. We live in a world in which we make many assumptions, simply to navigate reality. We sit believing the chair will hold us. We speak, believing the people who hear us are real. We pray, believing God is real and hears us. This may sound like heresy, but it's not. It is vitally important to realize that nothing you can do, none of the evidence you collect, can prove the existence of God. It's a matter of faith. If we can see that we need faith simply to live our lives, we can appreciate more fully the role faith has in our relationship with God. We choose, out of all the alternatives, to believe that the world is real, God is real, and His sacrifice was extremely real. We believe it, but we can't know it. Unless we redefine knowledge.
I read a book in Philosophy called Longing to Know. The woman who wrote the book compared "knowing" (mainly knowing that God is real) to getting to know and trust her mechanic. She de-emphasized evidence and facts, and instead highlighted the importance of trust and experience. Ultimately, knowing is a matter of belief.
I can't know that God exists. But I choose to believe in Him and His existence and goodness. Because, ultimately, I belief will be shown to be well-placed.
Indirectly Objective (Part 1 of the Rapid Fire)
Bias. It's there. And if we want to be fair, we try to avoid it. But what's with the push for objectivity? It's to put oneself aside and make the right decision, yes. But why? Why does it matter all that much? In my opinion, it gets to the very heart of our ambitions.
To be objective is to avoid bias, and a bias would be a conflict of interest. Bias is a flaw. So, to attempt to be objective is to admit something: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. My decisions aren't always right. Objectivity, then, is this: The counteraction of imperfection, especially in decisions. The objective of objectivity, in this light, reflects a sort of Platonic pursuit. Man tries to reach the form.
This is not always true, of course. People don't always attempt to be objective. But in this, they embrace a sort of selfishness that neglects such a pursuit of the form. But those who do understand that, in order to get closer to the ideal man or woman, they must cast off the things that cloud their judgment.
The problem with the pursuit objectivity is this: True objectivity doesn't exist. There isn't an instant in which a man can be completely objective, because he lives in this world. And living in this world causes his logic to be influenced by numerous factors. Because of this, two people who have absolutely no stake in a situation can come to two different conclusions regarding an action that must be taken. This is why a jury often argues amongst itself, as well as why it is made of more than one person. Objectivity cannot be achieved.
This doesn't mean that one shouldn't try, of course. Objectivity is still a noble pursuit. It whisks away a few of the clouds that have been cast over our judgment. It's still an attempt to counteract imperfection. But it is important to realize the limits of this pursuit. A belief that one is completely objective assures him or her that the surface under him or her is solid, when in fact it is not. This realization forces one to question his judgment, to check the ground. Because, we live in a subjective world where we make subjective choices.
There is one more thing regarding objectivity: I don't believe God is objective. Why would He be? If objectivity is an attempt to counteract imperfection and flawed judgment, God has no use for it. He is able to make decisions with complete bias and interest and make the right--the perfect--decision.
Objectivity is a myth, but one worth pursuing. It is our calling to pursue Perfection.
To be objective is to avoid bias, and a bias would be a conflict of interest. Bias is a flaw. So, to attempt to be objective is to admit something: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. My decisions aren't always right. Objectivity, then, is this: The counteraction of imperfection, especially in decisions. The objective of objectivity, in this light, reflects a sort of Platonic pursuit. Man tries to reach the form.
This is not always true, of course. People don't always attempt to be objective. But in this, they embrace a sort of selfishness that neglects such a pursuit of the form. But those who do understand that, in order to get closer to the ideal man or woman, they must cast off the things that cloud their judgment.
The problem with the pursuit objectivity is this: True objectivity doesn't exist. There isn't an instant in which a man can be completely objective, because he lives in this world. And living in this world causes his logic to be influenced by numerous factors. Because of this, two people who have absolutely no stake in a situation can come to two different conclusions regarding an action that must be taken. This is why a jury often argues amongst itself, as well as why it is made of more than one person. Objectivity cannot be achieved.
This doesn't mean that one shouldn't try, of course. Objectivity is still a noble pursuit. It whisks away a few of the clouds that have been cast over our judgment. It's still an attempt to counteract imperfection. But it is important to realize the limits of this pursuit. A belief that one is completely objective assures him or her that the surface under him or her is solid, when in fact it is not. This realization forces one to question his judgment, to check the ground. Because, we live in a subjective world where we make subjective choices.
There is one more thing regarding objectivity: I don't believe God is objective. Why would He be? If objectivity is an attempt to counteract imperfection and flawed judgment, God has no use for it. He is able to make decisions with complete bias and interest and make the right--the perfect--decision.
Objectivity is a myth, but one worth pursuing. It is our calling to pursue Perfection.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A Salute to Stevens
You're not officially a Cornerstone student until you've developed an irrational excessive admiration for one of your professors. For some, it's B-Shak. For others, it's VanDyke. Personally, I think Stevens is the man. Here's why:
A. Stevens is a genius.
One characteristic I value is the ability to think abstractly. Stevens invented that, I'm pretty sure. In one of his classes, you're sure to learn and develop insanely if you choose to be attentive. The way he draws connections, the way he conveys ideas--it speaks of his intelligence. I took Writing in Culture with him, and I learned very little about writing, but I learned soooo much just hearing him rant and rave, stuck on another rabbit trail.
B. Stevens is crazy.
Certifiable. It's fantastic. Sit through one of his rants or watch him throw a chair. Or a bible. Or a marker. He'll throw pretty much anything. You can see in his eyes that he could snap at any moment. In a good way, of course.
C. Smoking cat.
D. Stevens is passionate.
When the guy feels strongly about something, you know it. He's filled with pathos. Whether he's for or against something, his opinion is clear (although he never forces his views on you as if you must agree). The Red Light District sex trade is crap. Technology often enslaves us. Michael W. Smith really doesn't sound all that great. His arguments are compelling, and you're left sitting in your chair, wanting to agree with him.
E. Stevens is a huge part of why I'm me.
Something about Stevens--something about that class--changed a lot about the way I think, the way I view things. I think for myself, even more than I did before that class. I can appreciate that profanity can be used to communicate with precision. I am wary of what technology does to us (as I write on my blog at 1:44am). I don't know--I just figure he'll be one of those people that I will think of as formative in my life.
Helter-skelter. Uneven. No flow. That's what this entry was. But hey--it's the Stevens way, right?
F. Stevens reminds me of Mel Gibson.
A. Stevens is a genius.
One characteristic I value is the ability to think abstractly. Stevens invented that, I'm pretty sure. In one of his classes, you're sure to learn and develop insanely if you choose to be attentive. The way he draws connections, the way he conveys ideas--it speaks of his intelligence. I took Writing in Culture with him, and I learned very little about writing, but I learned soooo much just hearing him rant and rave, stuck on another rabbit trail.
B. Stevens is crazy.
Certifiable. It's fantastic. Sit through one of his rants or watch him throw a chair. Or a bible. Or a marker. He'll throw pretty much anything. You can see in his eyes that he could snap at any moment. In a good way, of course.
C. Smoking cat.
D. Stevens is passionate.
When the guy feels strongly about something, you know it. He's filled with pathos. Whether he's for or against something, his opinion is clear (although he never forces his views on you as if you must agree). The Red Light District sex trade is crap. Technology often enslaves us. Michael W. Smith really doesn't sound all that great. His arguments are compelling, and you're left sitting in your chair, wanting to agree with him.
E. Stevens is a huge part of why I'm me.
Something about Stevens--something about that class--changed a lot about the way I think, the way I view things. I think for myself, even more than I did before that class. I can appreciate that profanity can be used to communicate with precision. I am wary of what technology does to us (as I write on my blog at 1:44am). I don't know--I just figure he'll be one of those people that I will think of as formative in my life.
Helter-skelter. Uneven. No flow. That's what this entry was. But hey--it's the Stevens way, right?
F. Stevens reminds me of Mel Gibson.
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