Christian Philosophy

In this post and the next few to come I'd like to share a few thoughts on Christian Philosophy. 

Let me begin with this caveat- I was not a stellar student. For one, I came into the Philosophy department having spent the first two years of my college experience as a History major, and so I didn't have as deep or wide a foundation as a student would have who had taken philosophy courses from the word go. For another, I was working full time, and often neglected my studies in favor of my career. Finally, I was an angry young man, and the chip on my shoulder was so large as to sometimes obstruct my view of the page I was reading. Let me also say that, as a mere undergraduate, one ought to read what I'm writing with a grain of salt, at least until I get a few more impressive letters after my name. 

At any rate, I studied Philosophy at UNCG, where I think it's safe to say that there was a majority of professors who were not Christian believers. I didn't get a lot of hostility toward the gospel, aside from the normal antipathy toward the Jerry Falwell/moral majority types that liberal intellectuals love to hate, but I did get a lot of indifference. Where it was discussed in detail, it was recalled as something one struggled with while one was being raised in a Christian home, and which one finally heaved off one's shoulders as he ascended the airy heights of intellectual endeavor. 

Professors being educated in the 1950's, 60's, and 70's have two things going against them in terms of Christian belief, in my opinion: the intellectual climate, and the Christian alternative.

The first is the prevailing intellectual wind at the time, being saturated with the behaviorism of Skinner and Watson on the psychological front and the verificationism (and resulting scientism) of contemporary epistemology and the sciences. 

Behaviorism is the theory that people learn by being conditioned. The most famous instance of this principle comes from Pavlov's experiments on his dogs. Every time he fed them, he would ring a bell. He did this for a length of time and then, one day, rang the bell without feeding them. The dogs had so closely associated the bell with lunch that their mouths began to water without there even being food present. It was taken from this that the brain forms associations between two things, and that what cements that association is pleasure and pain. The result is something called "Conditioning." 

Everyone accepts this, but some people thought that it accounted for EVERYTHING we learn. These people were called Behaviorists. "Give me a child", Skinner famously boasted, "and I'll turn him into a doctor, a lawyer, or whatever you want." One merely had to carefully control the input- after all, garbage in, garbage out.

This view caught on because we had just beaten the Nazi's, who thought that people's value came from their lineage. The intellectuals of the 50's and 60's were still reeling from the horrors of the Holocaust, and the theory that people could be in charge of their own development was a welcome alternative- and so the pendulum swung from nature to nurture (There was a lot of Marxist dialectical materialism in there too, but let's not go there for now).

Verificationism is the belief that it only makes sense to believe something if you can prove it beyond doubt, and the only way to prove something beyond doubt is to prove it by science- that is, using the five senses to do experiments which produce predictable and reproducible results. Since religious claims can't be submitted to scientific testing, people thought that not only were they wrong, but meaningless.

Just as the parable of the sower illustrates, it would be difficult to believe in the gospel surrounded by such thick brambles as these. But now consider the Christian alternative.

During the 60's, 70's, and 80's, evangelical Christianity was largely confined to fundamentalist circles. An anti-intellectual strain has always existed in the Church and has been combated since the early fathers, but as the academy became not only increasingly secularized, which had been happening since the enlightenment and especially since Darwin, but also more and more hostile to theistic belief, the American community of believers became increasingly reactionary, aiming to produce "Christian versions" of the sciences and largely withdrawing from the Philosophical community. Intellectual rigor is often lacking in these separate versions, and many fail to pass what good old Dr. Terrence McConnell called "the straight face test."

The mid-20th century intellectual, therefore, looked at a Christianity which emphatically insisted that to be a good Christian meant puppy-like devotion to things like six literal, twenty-four hour days and a young Earth, and found it profoundly intellectually dissatisfying. 

Consider this exchange between Christian philosopher Dr. William Lane Craig and a questioner. It's a bit long, so bear with me:

The question:

"I really can't see how God would punish me, if I lead a good, honest, a compassionate life but just feel that [naturalism] is the only position that makes sense of the world around me and what I understand about it. This does not seem to me to be worthy of condemnation when I compare my attitude to standards of evidence and investigation to those of some Christians, especially those who hold extremely unreasonably dogmatic positions. If I accept the findings of science, will God punish me but reward those people who reject all scientific evidence and adhere only to scientifically insupportable positions, such as a literal interpretation of Genesis whereby the entire universe was created between 6 and 10 thousand years ago?

I would add to this by saying that many of the advocates of this position, so called Young Earth Creationists, disseminate outright falsehoods and misinformation and everything from astronomy, to geology and biology, any field of science which disagrees with their reading of what they regard as divinely inspired scripture."

To which Dr. Craig responds:

"...at the heart of the Christian doctrine of salvation is God's unmerited grace.

This teaching is obscured today by a sort of cultural Christianity which has shaped American culture. Cultural Christianity teaches that if your good deeds outweigh your bad deeds, then God will forgive your bad deeds and reward you with eternal life in heaven. (How Jesus Christ fits into this picture is unclear—maybe as a living illustration to us of what God is like.) By contrast biblical Christianity teaches that no one is good enough to merit heaven. To be judged on the basis of our deeds would be the worst possible thing that could happen to us, for none of us measures up to God's moral law (perfection)...

So forget about the Young Earth Creationists! Why let them stand between you and God? Why not receive God's transforming grace yourself and then be better than the Young Earthers? You know that I don't hold their views about the age of the universe. Neither do most evangelical Christians, despite the high profile of their movement in churches. So why not become a Christian and then be a better thinker than they are? (In fact, you just might find that God will do a transforming work in your own heart, replacing what seems to be hatred and resentment toward these folks with a genuine compassion for them.)"

So much for the prevalence of atheistic philosophy on contemporary college campuses. I'll follow up soon with some thoughts on my own experience of Christian Philosophy, and how it didn't come together for me until I read the existentialists. 






For the masochists among you who actually want to read further about the subjects I've mentioned, find here some useful links:


The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entries on the subjects:

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/behaviorism/

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/logical-empiricism/


The exchange between Dr. Craig and the skeptic in its entirety:

Will God's Judgement be more Tolerable for Atheists than for Young Earth Creationists?

We All Matter to Someone

The following is a reproduction of an article of mine that ran in the June 20th, 2014 edition of the Greensboro News and Record:


Know This: We All Matter to Someone

Asked which three words of the English language carried with them the greatest measure of Pathos, I'd wager that the average man on the street would breezily respond with "that's easy-'I love you.'" Allow me to submit an alternative, familiar to anyone who's suffered loss: "now we can't."

"Now" evokes the passage of time, from which none are free, and the point at which we are closest to eternity. "We" is the pronoun of communion, of "I and thou." "Can't", as observed by many a manager and coach, is a seemingly innocuous but ultimately corrosive conversation ender. It stifles debate, and defies reason, because it doesn't come from reason. "Can't" is an emotion, a belief, as is “can”- consider the recent success of "yes, we can!" As a slogan. “Can’t” is informed by experience but is ultimately a condition of the heart, to be overcome only by the will, and the aid of Providence.

I offer this missive in memorandum of my dear friend, who, in the cosmic equivalent of taking his ball home because he didn't want to play anymore, took his own life in June of 2011.

Suicide, like the M*A*S*H* theme says, brings on many changes (though it is indeed not painless). Everything changes, and nothing changes. Author Wendell Barry observed this in a short story in which the reality of a beloved cousin's untimely death is lost on the young protagonist until he saw, hanging on a hook in the barn, the dead boy's coat. This was now a world, he realized (though it had been all along), in which a coat could be hung up and never retrieved; in which people can leave and not come back, and the unthinkable was not impossible. This, in my view, is the loss of innocence, from which many never recover.

Read these words, and really let them sink in. Whether you believe in a morally ordered universe divinely governed, or prefer instead the great purposeless chaos of a cosmic car crash, you matter to someone. Without you, nothing will change- the world will keep on spinning, and the price of tea in China will still fluctuate-but everything will change as well. Everything you could have said, or been, or did, or meant to those around you, would be gone. And that would be tragic.

Fans of "House, M.D." will recall the curmudgeonly doctor's observation that "almost dying changes nothing, but dying changes everything." I almost died of cancer a couple of years ago- allow me to recommend against it if you're given the option- and I can therefore confirm this sentiment. I liked, and continue to like, gummy bears, video games, and making snide remarks, both before and after remission. What has changed, however, is that sense of infinite possibility, the waxy wings with which so many young people fly too close to the sun. The world will get on without me, as it happens, as deflating as that realization was, but without my unique contribution, or yours, which no one can make in our stead, the world will not be what it could be.

Find what you're good at, O reader. Find what brings you joy, and then find out where they meet. Use those gifts to help people, to alleviate their suffering, and to empower them to use their own gifts. Be, in military terms, a force multiplier. "Be the change you wish to see in the world." You can’t relive the past, but here’s what we CAN do: "do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." People will notice. Because you matter to someone.

Church Time

Columnist Peter Hitchens once remarked that the King James Version of the Bible was written "to be remembered, to lodge in the mind and to disturb the temporal with the haunting sound of the eternal." (Full article here) I share his sentiment about the beautiful, ancient language of that translation, and would add something else to the list: the liturgical calendar.

I first encountered the liturgical calendar at the top of the program I was given as I entered Ebeneezer Lutheran Church on Walker Ave. in Greensboro as a college student. I read that the day I had come was a "Sunday of Epiphany". I had no idea what that meant. Shortly afterward, as soon as I had gotten used to the flow and melodies of a Lutheran service, the music abruptly changed one Sunday as we entered into Lent. Believing I had things down, I sang out confidently the wrong melody and drew some embarrassing attention to myself. 

The idea is that, at different time of the year, Christians focus their energies and attention on different aspects of their spiritual lives. The time we presently find ourselves in is the season of Advent.

Advent is comprised of the four weeks before Christmas. It's a season of expectant waiting. But waiting for what?

Before Christ was born, people who believed in God and trusted Him to fulfill His promises knew that He was sending someone to redeem them from their sins and set things right. Jewish tradition called this person the "Messiah", or anointed one (for an interesting list of predictions concerning the Messiah and their fulfillment, check this out).

I've never really attached any significance to dates. Aside from the avaricious hunger for stuff that I experienced as a kid waiting for Christmas, I don't ever remember eagerly anticipating or reveling in a day simply due to it's occurrence on a calendar. This can be good, for instance, when I don't experience a breakdown on the anniversary of a tragedy, but also dangerous, causing me to be extra diligent to remember my girlfriend's birthday or our anniversary. 

But the liturgical calendar calls me to attend to the realities that shape my existence. Advent is a reminder that a lot of my life is built upon waiting for the things I've been promised. Some passages from Hebrews 10 come to mind:

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds... -Heb 10:23-24

You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. For, "In just a little while, he who is coming will come and will not delay." Heb. 10:36-37

The life we're called to live is difficult. If the Bible is right, and we're not made to live in this world, then we're called to live somewhere we don't belong, and that's a hard thing. But it won't always be that way. Advent reminds us that waiting is part of life, and also affirms that it's not forever. We will receive that which we patiently seek- for every Advent, there is Christmas. 

"We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"

-1 Corinthians 13:12The Message (MSG)

Some Reflections on Friendship

I've been blessed with many friends in my life, and during this season of reflecting on the gifts I've been given, I want to talk about the gift of friendship. Aristotle, the Greek philosopher who got the human race started on pretty much everything, somehow found time in his busy schedule to write a treatise on the institution. In it, he describes two tiers of friendship. The first is defined by a series of mutual goals, desires, or interests. A shared love of golf, sports, or music creates pleasure for the interested parties, and a friendship begins. Writer C.S. Lewis opines that "the typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one." 

Aristotle believed that there was another level of friendship, as well. While the first one rose and fell along with the interests and goals, and fell away when the mutual desires were met or discarded, the second was characterized by a deep and abiding regard for the well being of the other. This higher friendship wants what is best for the other for their own sake. He also believed that it took a certain kind of person to be capable of this higher form. He called such a person a καλὸς κἀγαθός (kalos kagathos), which means, roughly, "man of wisdom and virtue". 

His point was that it takes someone who is capable of selfless love to love selflessly. But while he believed that such love was off limits to everyone except the very best, I believe that all of mankind is stamped with the image of God, and can, as such, speak the language of love. Anyone who's spent any time with a mother of a newborn can apprehend this. 

I believe that friendship is a gift we're given. Here's Lewis again:

“In friendship...we think we have chosen our peers. In reality a few years' difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another...the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting--any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking no chances. A secret master of ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples, "Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you," can truly say to every group of Christian friends, "Ye have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another." The friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.”  

Let me encourage you to look at the friendships in your own life, and thank God for the people He's brought alongside you. 

What's the Nugget?

It seems to me that what we expect to remember about our lives and what we actually think about when we're reminiscing are usually quite different. A friend of mine once remarked that life is more like a slide show than a news reel, and I'm inclined to agree.

I went hunting with some friends in Virginia once a few years ago. After a harrowing climb up a tree stand with very skinny steps and no rails I sat in the cold and waited for a deer that never came for about three hours. By all accounts the trip was a failure, but about halfway through I heard something behind me so I turned to look. One tree over, maybe about eight feet, was a woodpecker, blissfully unaware of my presence. "Maybe this is it," I thought. "Maybe seeing this bird is the nugget." It turns out that it was.

I'm of the opinion that our lives are ordered in such a way as to provide us opportunities for moral development, and it follows from that that there is something to learn from every situation. for some things, like touching a hot stove, the lesson is immediately clear. For others, like cancer, it's a complicated answer that unfolds over time. But there's a nugget in there somewhere, every time.

It doesn't eliminate the fear and discomfort of life to know that it's possible to grow from everything you do, but it certainly can add some perspective.

Of course, this only works if you think you'll live forever somewhere, and will benefit from those lessons indefinitely.

Just my two cents.

"Air"

I don't have any deep philosophical musings tonight, only a recommendation. I'm posting a link to J.S. Bach's Air (on the G string), presented only with the comment that the soul is nurtured by Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, and that Bach was a devout Lutheran who gave the world much Beauty to be nurtured by.

Air (On the G String)


I also want to present a poem that's come to be meaningful to me, in the hopes that it might speak to someone else as well:

Pablo Neruda

Tu Risa

Your Laughter

Quítame el pan, si quieres, quítame el aire, pero no me quites tu risa

Take the bread from me, if you want take the air from me, but do not take from me your laughter

No me quites la rosa, la lanza que desgranas, el agua que de pronto estalla en tu alegría, la repentina ola de plata que te nace.

Do not take away the rose, the lanceflower that you pluck, the water that suddenly bursts forth in your joy, the sudden wave of silver born in you.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo con los ojos cansados a veces de haber visto la tierra que no cambia, pero al entrar tu risa sube al cielo buscándome y abre para mí todas las puertas de la vida.

My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life.

Amor mío, en la hora más oscura desgrana tu risa, y si de pronto ves que mi sangre mancha las piedras de la calle, ríe, porque tu risa será para mis manos como una espada fresca.

My love, in the darkest hour your laughter opens, and if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh, because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword.

Junto al mar en otoño, tu risa debe alzar su cascada de espuma, y en primavera, amor, quiero tu risa como la flor que yo esperaba, la flor azul, la rosa de mi patria sonora.

Next to the sea in the autumn, your laughter must raise its foamy cascade, and in the spring, love, I want your laughter like the flower I was waiting for, the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country.

Ríete de la noche, del día, de la luna, ríete de las calles torcidas de la isla, ríete de este torpe muchacho que te quiere, pero cuando yo abro los ojos y los cierro, cuando mis pasos van, cuando vuelven mis pasos, niégame el pan, el aire, la luz, la primavera, pero tu risa nunca porque me moriría.

Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die.

- translation by Donald Walsh

Go to Your Work with Joy

I've taken a long break from posting because I've taken a job that involves a lot of work out of town. We leave Monday morning with clean clothes and come back Thursday night or Friday afternoon with a bag of smelly socks. My efforts have been focused on learning everything I can and giving a good account of myself.


Work is noble. Man was given work in the garden; it only became burdensome after the curse of sin. I have a few reflections on work to share, if you'll indulge me, as I meditate on godly work.

As a kid growing up I used to watch Thomas the Tank Engine. The show followed the adventures of a bunch of trains who lived and worked on the Isle of Sodor, presided over by a man named "Sir Toppham Hat." Whenever Thomas would come through and save the day, his reward was that the boss would announce in front of everyone that "Thomas is a very useful engine," and Thomas would positively beam with joy (trains being very emotive on the Isle of Sodor).

There's something like this in the parable of the talents, as well, when the master returns from his journey and praises his men by saying "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

There's something about doing and being what you were designed to do and be that feels like nothing else in the world. Maybe that's why there are so many workaholics in America.

Work is good. The Bible says "whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."

As I let that really sink in, a couple of things stick out.

First, how much more could we accomplish if the Lord of Hosts was our boss? How hard would we work? How much more would we pay attention to "trivial" details? How much happier would our customers be? Our patients? Our parishioners? Our clients?    

Second, what does that even look like? Exodus gives us a clue: "Six days you shall labor, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even during the plowing season and harvest you must rest." Even God rested on the seventh day. Why? Did He need a breather? No, He was giving us a model. 

Read: REST IS NOT OPTIONAL. At least not Biblically. So why is everyone so tired and strung out?

Economic pressure is one reason. Part of that is society making things exceedingly difficult for low-income earners (that's right, conservatives), and part of it is poor decision making arising from a lack of self control and not practicing Biblical principles of finance and wisdom (are you listening, liberals?).

But there are some people who have plenty and still work too hard. Why? 

It's easy to derive your sense of worth as a human being from your ability to produce, and that heady feeling of satisfaction from a job well done is addictive. But work cannot save you, or justify you. Only the risen Savior can do that.

The danger of being human and therefore fallen is that our hearts are constantly searching for something with which to replace God as the center of our lives. The problem is, our souls weren't designed to be sustained by anything else. "Man does not live by bread alone, but by every work that proceedeth from the mouth of God."

People who work as if their lives depended on it are, in a narrow sense, right. But just as those who crave youth and beauty inevitably grow old, Midas will eventually starve to death. Only Christ's sacrificial death and resurrection on your behalf can free you from the cruel, slave-driving frenzy of the idol of work. 

Third, and most importantly, such a high standard of work can only by sustained by a daily refill of grace. This one is tough. Being a Christian is like driving an electric car. It's clean, good for the environment, and the insides are quiet and calm. But get too far from a charging station and you'll grind to a halt. "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect."

It's easy to pray and get a fill-up, and it's also easy to go too long without a charge and forget that, as USMC Maj. Shawn Madden writes, "No matter what kind of bad ass you think that you might be, his rod and his staff is what sustains you on that long journey, not your own misconstrued concept of your feeble abilities."

So, what? Act like God's your boss, because He is. Rest, and don't feel bad about it- it's required. And pray every day. How? I like what Luther suggests in his Small Catechism:

"In the morning...say [a] little prayer...Then go to your work with joy..."

RIP Robin Williams

The news of the death of Robin Williams broke yesterday. Like many of you, I grew up loving his many films, his role often being that of ambassador to the outcast and, like Holst's Jupiter, the bringer of jollity. My impressions of him were well received by people who didn't mind precocious children behaving spastically, or at least were willing to pretend they didn't. 

We had HBO when I was a kid, and I remember when Mrs. Doubtfire came on about three or four times a day and I would watch it in the playroom as I build Lego fighter planes or pretended I was a dinosaur. 

I remember going to a friend's house who had a SEGA Genesis, and being faced with an impossible decision: we could either keep playing, or switch over to the VCR to watch Aladdin. 

The other ones people like weren't so influential. I've never seen Dead Poet's Society, for instance, or Good Will Hunting. No, put your pitchforks down. I pretty much have to now, as Facebook populates with movie playlists in the wake of his death. 

I remember my parents sighing at the deaths of people they grew up with. It's beginning to happen to me, round about the same time that music I liked in middle and high school makes its way onto classic rock stations. 

 I find that I have a troubling tendency to be insulated against tragedies. Maybe some of you feel the same way. Seneca wrote that "constant exposure to dangers will breed contempt for them", and the Proverbs 31 woman "laughs at the days to come", inviting them to 'bring it on'. But while these things embody a defiant outlook, I think we're all scared of death, especially of dying alone. 

Our society makes it happen behind closed doors. We don't bury people at church anymore, where people have to walk past them to worship. We also don't die at home in bed anymore, either. It happens in sterile, pastel hospitals to smooth jazz as drugs dull our final moments, sometimes mercifully and sometimes out of convenience, so we'll go gentle into that good night.

Our fear of death influences almost everything we do. A band I like, "Darkest Hour", says that "all we need is  a little transcendence to mend us, but all we have is sedation that numbs all our senses."

Poet Phillip Larkin calls religion "a vast moth-eaten musical brocade, created to pretend we never die."

To which Peter Hitchens, a favorite of mine, responds:

"But what if the brocade, rather than being a pretence and a curtain in front of emptiness, was telling the truth?  What if the brocade was created to proclaim, rather than pretend, that we never die – and that we have come to prefer to believe that death is the end because we do not love the implications of the other idea?"

Lots of smart people think that death is the end, and if that's the only side you're ever given, you probably agree with them.

But lots of equally smart people disagree.

I didn't know Robin Williams, but I do know some people who have died, and believe that when one of us is lost we all lose:

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; 
It tolls for thee. 

Aim

I've been packing up my apartment this week, and I found a little yellow legal pad on which I had recorded some thoughts. One of them was a quote from Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz: "Pursue one great decisive aim with force and determination."

I'm a thinker. I've never been good at focusing. It's in my nature to tackle ten things with ten percent effort, rather than one thing with 100 percent. For example, I have six books on the "currently reading" list on Goodreads. 

In keeping with my theme of bringing things into order, I've been focusing this week on finishing what I start. Part of that for me is finishing the books I'm reading before I start any more.

One of the books I finally finished as a result is "Financial Peace: Revisited" by Dave Ramsey. In it, Ramsey says something to the effect of "Focused intensity over time is what moves the needle."

I'm a planner. I make lists. I'm not OCD, but I've found that one thing that calms my chaotic thoughts is a clear, concise, step-by-step vision of what I want my day, week, month, and year to look like. But when my life circumstances depend on factors outside of my control, I get nervous and anxious. I don't make lists, or confine my lists to inconsequential areas that don't bring any comfort or stability. 

So, for me, pursuing one great decisive aim with force and determination doesn't come naturally. But as I try, I begin to see results. Those results encourage me, and I start to feel like I can win.

True despair and hopelessness seems to come when one divorces one's efforts from one's results. A toxic fatalism sets in: "it doesn't matter what I do, I'll always fail, I'll always be stuck." 

But there are basic laws of the universe: What goes up must come down. There are also basic laws of finance, business, art, or any field of human endeavor: supply and demand, reciprocity, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. 

By learning the basic laws, one cultivates wisdom. By adapting oneself to the basic laws, one learns virtue: patience, fortitude, temperance, thrift. 

I believe the basic laws are found in the Bible. Several examples are found in the book of Proverbs, for example. 

I also believe that, since God is the source of Truth, the more I apply biblical laws to my life, the more Christ-like I become, and the more I will thrive and flourish. 

But the Clausewitz quote is about war, you retort. What does that have to do with being Christ-like?


"I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war."
-Revelation 19:11 (NIV)

"The LORD is my strength and song, And He has become my salvation; This is my God, and I will praise Him; My father's God, and I will extol Him. "The LORD is a warrior; The LORD is His name. "Pharaoh's chariots and his army He has cast into the sea..."

-Exodus 15:2-4a (NIV)

  

How would the Bible respond to the quote? I think it's found here:

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."

-Colossians 3:23


Then:


"In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."

-Proverbs 3:6 (KJV)



So, in conclusion, act like God is your boss. Do what He says to do, and He'll make it clear what your next step is. And when that step becomes apparent, hit it with everything you've got.

That's my plan. Here goes.

Order

The Germans have a phrase that was used often in my family: "In Ordnung bringen." I means "to bring things to order" and it means everything from tidying up to taking command of troops. In English, "coming to order" means things quiet down and the official business of a meeting begins. This is often accompanied by a prayer. Why?

I believe that the Creator of the universe is a God of order. Otherwise, how do you explain the existence of mathematics? A complete, logical, coherent system that exists outside of everything else? Come on. Forget about it.

I also believe that one of the central purposes of human life, and sources of human flourishing, is to become more Christ-like by cultivating wisdom and virtue.

So, if God is a God of order, then mimicking Him and following His example means that we ought to become more orderly as well.

I can already hear the complaints of the 'free spirits' and creative types: "What, my desk is messy so I'm not a good Christian?" Not at all, O cluttered one, for I, too, am a bit of a slob. I'm spending the day cleaning up my bathroom, and if cleanliness is next to godliness, then I'm down in the ninth circle. I also think that a little creative destruction once in a while is a good thing. Jesus didn't tidy up the money lenders' tables, after all. But, in general, order is better than chaos.

I've heard it said that creativity can only exist when and where there is discipline. I've also noticed that I feel better when my space is clean and neat, no matter how quickly it descends into chaos again. Something inside of me breathes a sigh of relief when things are clean. If you're really messy, I'm not mad at you, I'm right there with you. But there's hope for both of us!

Andrew Kern, president of the Circe Institute (whose blog I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone who cares anything about Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, which can be found here) stated recently that we've been given a model for how to get things done in the creation narrative in Genesis 2. First, God said "Let us do such and such", then He did, then He assessed His work and said "it is good." Finally, when He was done, he rested.

When I've attempted to implement this process to my daily tasks, I find that a very good goal is "Let us bring such and such into order."

Yesterday I brought my car into order.

Today I'm bringing my kitchen and bathroom into order.

This month I'm bringing my job into order.

This year I'm bringing my finances into order.

This five years I'm bringing my career into order.

This lifetime I'm bringing my soul into order.

And it will be good.

Beauty in the Duty

Welcome, everyone. This will be a platform for my reflections and observations, such as they are.

My hope and desire is that someone will read what I have to say and think "You too? I thought I was the only one." If that's you, leave a comment or send a message. I enjoy getting feedback, good, bad, or indifferent.

A question that comes to mind as I write this morning:

If you didn't know what age you were, what age would you be?

I had a girl in college tell me once that she thought I was an 'old soul'. At the time I took it to mean that I had an air of sophistication and allure, but I was prone to many errors as a teenager. What it means to me now is that one understands oneself as part of a whole, making contributions to that whole instead of viewing the world as merely a playground sandbox for building ones own pleasure and fulfillment. But this doesn't necessarily come with age- so one of the questions that the above question spins off is, what's the difference between age and maturity?

I've heard maturity defined as the ability to delay gratification. Forbearing from the donut or pizza today so you can run a 5k and fit into your high school jeans, or packing your lunch so you can invest in your kid's college fund or save up for car repairs. There are many examples. But, like Jerry Seinfeld commented on the Tonight Show some years back, "Everyone is trying to lose weight, and nobody is doing it."

Also, what about this phrase, "for the young at heart?" There is certainly a childlike wonder that fills the heart with joy and possibilities when one looks at the world. There's a tendency for 'maturity' to take the form of a sober, even morose stoicism, and, indeed, the older one gets and the more tragedy one sees and experiences, the more illusive and even illusory that wonder becomes. Christ said that we must "become as little children" to enter the kingdom of heaven. So, is this joy is a component of maturity, or its necessary companion?

I believe that we're put on this Earth to become more Christ-like by cultivating wisdom and virtue, and to live lives of sacrificial service to other people. Contemplating what that means is a worthy pursuit. So for me, the goal of any life is to become wise, and apply that wisdom to the challenge to helping people, whatever that looks like.

Some parts of becoming wiser aren't optional- we can't stop the passage of time, so we all get older. Check. We all have experiences. Check again. But, and this seems dumb to me sometimes- while suffering is not optional, learning from it is.

We all have a choice about how to respond to the things that happen to us.

I also believe that the soul was designed to run on Truth, Beauty, and Goodness. The more of these things you surround yourself with, the more your soul will thrive, and the closer to God you will draw.

So, to wrap this up, I'll answer my own question- there are days when I feel about eighty-five, and all I can think about is the end of the line. There aren't many days when I feel like I'm five and dance and play and eat candy, but there are many minutes and hours. There's a bolt of joy that goes through me when I hear certain music or see certain things that's like the bolt of fear that goes through an arachnophobe when they see a spider. But I must confess that I often come at things from a duty-driven perspective, and it can be tough to find joy in that outlook. Tim Keller calls it "duty without beauty." As such, I have to work extra hard to allow myself to contemplate Good and Beautiful things, and to keep the muscles that allow me to do that strong.


Here's a poem for you to contemplate. It's a bit of a downer, but it's short and sweet and gives some words to the feeling of longing that we all feel from time to time. It's by a Yorkshireman named A.E. Houseman, and it's good to recite it on days when I feel like I'm a hundred years old.


Into my heart, an air that kills
From yon far country blows;
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content
I see it, shining plain
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again