20 February 2006

My reply to a rather interesting email.

If I read you correctly, you’re saying that human nature is a conception. (Actually, that’s a near direct quote) In other words, it’s a idea developed by mind, more than a thing that is tangible and real. In other words, it’s again not a nature, but an idea -- like the idea of a dragon, or the idea that it might rain today, or it might not. There’s the conception of human nature, but not the reality of it. If I understand you correctly, do you see the muddle I’m hinting at? You’re at once stating that there is a nature, and then swiftly denying it.

The question can be clearly rephrased: Is there something fundamental to the human, inherent in it, a thing (or things) which -- in terms of behavior and thought -- allow us to say, “This is, generally, how a human behaves -- or how we expect a human to behave.” It seems absurd, to me, to say that there isn’t a nature, just as it’d be absurd to say, “There is no nature of gravity; merely a conception.” For their to be a conception, there must be a nature which the conception describes; else, there is only imagination, the fairy and the dragon, and we’d be utterly incapable of interacting with the world. So -- I’d say that this argument (unless you utterly disagree with me, and you’re -- of course -- encouraged to) would be best framed in terms of the character of that nature, and its capabilities and limitations.

(As a side note, in response to your side note -- I’m hardly arguing for the perspective that you’ve grown up with, Theologically. I, myself, have grave difficulty with the particular idea that man is utterly depraved; the particular view seems nonsensical. But I think you’re doing an injustice to that perspective. #1, a position is hardly justified based on whether you enjoy it or not. #2, if man -- in line with one -- were utterly evil, it would follow that man would be worthy of death. Theologically, that’d follow. Morally, that’d follow. It is the natural extension of #1, and hardly ludicrous or absurd as such. The point, in fact, is rather trenchant, since it clearly follows from #1. #3, you may be, anyway, misconstruing that particular position -- I’m not sure that many would argue that man was utterly evil, so much as separated. The fall story merely indicate that man will sin, and will therefore be separated from God because he’s just not good enough, in the presence of utter good. It’d be somewhat akin to having a requirement for a certain purity for chemical processes. Certain purity levels are required, in certain acid reactions. An acid with less than the requisite purity is not bad acid; it’s merely not pure enough for the purposes. I think that’d be more in keeping with the Fall Narrative than the “utterly evil” mantra. Utterly evil also implies, in my mind, the impossibility of any sort of redemption. -- and, if that were the actually theological significance of the fall narrative, I’d agree with you. Utter Depravity is more of a Calvinistic position, and I tend to find Calvinism a bit.... foolish. Anyway, again, I’m not trying to define a position here -- because my position is so murky -- , so much as to point out that your conception is more passionate than gracious. -- though I’m not sure I made the point as clearly as I’d wish.)

This only occurs to me only now, but would I be wrong sensing that you’re being presumptive regarding my position on human nature? -- or, even, the reasoning behind my position (such as it is) on human nature? As I skim through your email, I’m realizing that many of your arguments aren’t necessarily in reply to our discussion, but a particular discussion we never, in fact, had. The last bit, particularly...

Back to the topic -- several points. You say, “The question is, does this nature even exist?” The reality that you’re capable of identifying a thing called “human” implies the presence of the nature. If a thing has no nature -- that is, no thing that makes it identifiable as that thing, nothing which can be classified... it hardly exists, or we cannot know it. The formal logic: to know a thing, it must have a nature which can be identified. Humans can be identified. Therefore, humans have a nature.

“If it does, wouldn’t we be bound to it somehow with no inquisition? ” -- I’m not entirely sure what that means. The universe has a certain nature, classifiable qualities inherent to its existence. Are we bound to it, without the capacity to explore it? Certainly, we’re limited -- but the exploration reveals what are real and what are artificial boundaries.

“Shouldn’t we KNOW our own instincts instead of questioning them?” -- can we know anything without questioning? Do children just “know” things, or do they learn through questioning? Certainly, they “know” certain things -- the more reflexive behaviors, etc -- but they generally learn through trial and error, through questions, through exploration. You’ve learned who you are through questioning, come to certain conclusions about this world -- if they are accurate, you ought to know them from birth, at least according to your reasoning. Or, the things you’ve considered do not, in fact, exist, since you didn’t inherently know them. Life explores, develops, and learns. It’d not be specious, I think, to identify that as part of the nature of life.

“But can the nature of things ever be truly answered without doubt or inquiry?” -- Well, no. I’m a mite confused by this point. It occurs to me that you’re likely being rhetorical with the previous questions, since this seems rather inconsistent with the previous. I’m not sure if you’re arguing for or against inquiry, or whether you’re implying that I ought to be for or against inquiry. By way of response, though, let me say this -- things can be answered without doubt or inquiry, at least in a superficial manner. Without doubt or inquiry, I can say that I exist, since it would be a logical mess to try and argue otherwise. (“I sense that I exist, but I don’t exist.” Eh?). Doubt and inquiry may extend the understanding of my existence. I may understand -- without much doubt or inquiry -- that fire hurts. But inquiry leads me to believe that fire can be beneficial... So, my answer is yes and no -- but the most productive way is inquiry.

“Or is this the essence of nature. That once we come to a logical conclusion the nature of paradoxicalness claims it all for itself...” Are you saying that human nature can be whittled down to “they inquire”? If so, that’s an interesting thought, though hardly paradoxical. If that is the whole of human nature (I don’t believe it is: I think we all know incurious people, and would hardly describe them as “inhuman”), it’d be more logically consistent than paradoxical...

Eh -- this is all too long. I’m going to stop now. Reply if you will -- and, if I get a chance, I’ll discuss a bit more with you on the LCD problem which was the genesis of this discussion. But clarify, if you will. I’d like to understand more of your thoughts.

( C: 2 )

18 February 2006

Post the top 20 songs on your iTunes playlist!

1. A Good Man is Hard to Find - Sufjan Stevens
2. Endless Deep - U2
3. E-Pro - Beck
4. When I Remember - Blindside
5. Adagio for Strings - Samuel Barber
6. Grace - Stavesacre
7. Piano Fire - Sparklehorse
8. Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie
9. Re-Offender - Travis
10. Summer Skin - Death Cab for Cutie
11. Someday You Will be Loved - Death Cab for Cutie
12. When in Rome - Nickel Creek
13. Finally - the Frames
14. Best of Luck - Nickel Creek
15. A Mind of Her Own - Pedro the Lion
16. This Time - Blindside
17. Dream Awake - The Frames
18. Lately - David Gray
19. Marching Bands of Manhattan - Death Cab for Cutie
20. Opaline - Dishwalla

( C: 3 )

... perhaps the proper response to any offer of power is “No”, so that -- when the offer is accepted -- it be accepted from the giver in deference to his authority. And, thus, the acceptance of power is made in humility of submission -- not for one’s self should the power be grasped, but for another...

... he speaks with an affected lisp, the tone of his voice nasal, hovering around the same note like a badly played clarinet. His words are quick, they effuse from him, they roll and tumble, they circle around the note and return. His gestures are the same -- hands move in unison, and frequently in symmetric half-circles. The motions are always small, they hop and halt, then continue as if he’d just rediscovered the action...

... do my ears deceive me, or did that middle-aged woman open her wide, lake-blue eyes and say, “I don’t know where the money from Katrina went -- maybe into Halliburton’s coffers?”

... a man can be confident without self-confirmation, he can be sure that the  chair will hold him. But -- that may not be a chair...

... Contextless -- the unbound man has no place to shout and nothing to shout. This is the greatest punishment -- freedom without context. It leaves a man free to choose, but with no capacity to choose...

... Preacher -- some Sunday past -- seemed to indicate that we (“I”) are primarily spiritual. He imaged a rapture: slumped bodies tossed about, spirits drawn away to their maker. “For,” he questioned, in a disparaging tone. “Why would this” (he plucked at his shirt) “Come with?” -- as if it would be an absurdity, that the physical dwell (or be drawn) to God. Yet the prophet’s body was never found; a man walked and was no more. And we will have new bodies, redeemed bodies. Were we (by nature) non-physical, if “I” were purely (or, when purely “I”) Spirit, why confuse this with the physical? Why offer a new body? Why would our bodies be reassembled?

...God is ultimately terrifying, though not immediately. Man is immediately, but not ultimately...

*A More Creative Title than “More Notes”

( C: 2 )

15 February 2006

...The day rode past me and I idly watched and stretched a weak hand... but I still was apart, left behind. -- not sadness, but despair, the cold that numbs the extremities, then the innards, then the mind. His body slows in worldly movement, he slows in internal movement, then he slows to nothing. And when the intrepid explorers find him, they observe how restful he appears, how externally young...

... perhaps the those things I regard as deep and complex thought (as I snidely regard other’s thinking as simplistic) -- those are perhaps the simple thought, as I pursue them without acknowledging the world’s many faces, many thoughts. Perhaps the complexity is not a single thing which may be understood, but is rather found in the multitude, in the many single things become one...

Before me sit six women, like six storm-worn trees, bark grey and torn from wind and light. Like those trees, these women have lived long, their roots are buried deep into time and (with every year) their roots dig deeper, searching for nutrient and refreshment. These women move slowly, speak slowly, are grave and indomitable. The wind or the fleeting hardly moves them, so deeply burrowed are they. -- it is only when they’ve grown deep, sapping all the life-stuff from the ground, that time’s shaking and rumbling damages them. Life has ceased to givem vigor. And when the ground roars and creases, they shatter and fall and die.

The young, with less-deep root, do not die from the earthquake -- they shift, they grow at absurdly twisted angles, but they continue to grow, for they are not firmly entrenched in time. And they have not yet used all of life to satisfy their growth...

These six have not yet grown deeply enough, yet. But they are near -- there is only the vestige of movement in the wind. They smile only a little, move their hands but a little their eyes are sunken and dull... their roots are deep in time, they’ve used most of what the Finite has to offer...

... I think I’d name my dog “Johnson Chucklesworth”: I’d smile whenever I called his name, guaranteeing frequently good moods...

( C: 2 )

13 February 2006

...In all seriousness, though -- this sort of thing doesn’t quite fit into my world view. I can fit myself into it, but can hardly fit other people, especially one as this. The world’s a crapper... one wonders how any amount of joy can fit into it, sometimes. -- when the joy seems so much more brittle than the pain.

I wonder if that’s somehow part of the significance of marriage -- two operating as one seems to at once intensify the joys, and weaken the pains. At least, that’s how I imagine it. It’s odd: when two people are happy, their joy is greater for it being shared. And when two are sad, the sadness weakens for it being shared. I wonder if only in marriage (or perhaps, close friendship) that one can find the depth of joy and the weakening of pain...

( C: 4 )

12 February 2006

“This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that will be spoke against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” -- Luke 2:34-35

Is there a more poetical, mythological verse? An old man lives for a promise, a sight, a glance at a land he’ll not fully see. I imagine him -- there! In the dusty courtyard. He is bent and he shuffles, walking without purpose. His brown eyes once sparkled with vigor, smiles once creased his face. But he is old now: his face is creased, but not with smile and his eyes are dull from a life’s vision. He is alone, now. And only a vague hope holds him to this world.

He’s felt Israel’s failures, watched as his people have falling and betrayed the Fathers. He’s read of signs, but not seen them, heard of Messiahs and seen their fall. He’s seen the end and watched death’s terrible sigh. His life has been full -- too full, he may whisper to himself... full but empty, hopeful yet waiting for consolation, knowing but wondering, knowing but ignorant.

Is there a greater man to speak these words, then the aged man who has seen and known the offerings of life? The statement was not lightly made: no, it carried the weight of his advanced years and advanced cares, the hopes and weaknesses of man.

I see him speaking it in both joy and anguish, caught between what should be and what will be. -- and why the last statement? There is such gravity there! It is spoken as an aside, but it is not -- it is as if Simeon fixed his solemn eyes upon Mary and said, “There is no simple story, no accidental event. It is no mere joke of the gods, or drama in which all end satisfied and while. Your heart will be pierced by the sword and you will die. This is your end Mary. There is no happy end to your story, Mary. His end will be a triumph - but yours, a tragedy.”

And this is the moving element, the tragic element. We anticipate the hero’s triumph, but a heroic act with no consequence leaves us unmoved. the greatest of stories involve the end of a hero’s companions, their choice to accept the cost of an ideal only known to the hero. We anticipate a hero’s conflict, but expect him to follow the great truth, even sacrificing his companions -- for he knows that truth deeply, and considers it the highest end.

But his companions -- oh, a sword will pierce their hearts, they die for a thing they do not and cannot know. This is their tragedy, and their triumph -- for they die in hope, they die in faith. It is faith which allows the heart to be pierced for a thing that cannot be known.

Oh, Mary, heart pierced by another’s destiny, the way of the martyrs.. in that way, becoming a part of the destiny and through faith receiving the impossible...

( C: 0 )

07 February 2006

I’m tossing this out, primarily because I’m in beyond my depth. I’ve been reading a book on economics, and find myself fascinated by the idea of inflation -- specifically, how it relates to the value of my student loans. I tossed off the following letter to my friend, with some simplified numbers, as an attempt to determine whether I’d end up saving money (in the end), by letting my payments continue over the life of the loan, instead of paying it off immediately.

Now, I’ll say this -- these thoughts are based on my single day of reading a rather simplified economics book, and I haven’t any idea whether they’re reasonable or not. And, certainly, I don’t know if we can count in increased inflation. What is clear to me is this -- if there is approximately 2.6% inflation every year, and current savings account rates are as they are, one isn’t making a whole lot -- merely keeping up with inflation.

I’ve done some calculations with a yearly inflation of 2.6% -- if that rate continues, it would seem that I’d save money, in terms of the adjusted value, by not playing off the loan immediately. The loan -- taking into account interest -- is for $20,000, and I borrowed it in 2003. I found an on-line calculator and generalized the future values. My current payment (this isn’t precise; I’m using easy numbers for the sake of seeing it played out) is about $2000/year. By the 10th, and final, year of the loan, I’ll still be paying $2000/year, but the adjusted value of that $2000 will be $2700.

In other words, an item I purchased in 2003 for $2000 would now sell (10 years later) at $2700. My calculation is this: in 2003 dollars, my total payment will be $20,000 ($17,000 for the actual loan; $3000, interest). However, if I take into account inflation, year by year, the total payment would have been $24,016.

Perhaps I’m interpreting this incorrectly (‘tis possible), but it would seem that, assuming that my salary increases in accordance with inflation, I’m saving $1000 by not paying it off immediately. The value of the dollar has decreased, decreasing the actual value of the loan.

It would seem that the loan is worth only 83% of its initial value.

( C: 5 )

06 February 2006

I walked... just down by the lake. I was compelled: my heart was both heavy and frantic from the hours of sickly fluorescence and painted board walls. My classroom lacks cheer and it lacks pathos: it hardly moves the heart, as would a sun loved day or a rain caressed afternoon. It saps the heart, removing the heart’s will, rather than diverting it.

And I walked along the lake, examining my impulses, feeling the happy blush of cold air. I resisted my impulses -- to run and laugh, to move with whim, to move with the wind. I felt as if released from an ancient confinement, but I resisted the very true, very necessary madness -- the alacrity of a man newly free. For (it must be admitted), my confinement was hardly epic and it very well may be odd to run about -- as an adult -- the lake front by one’s self. That sort of caprice requires two, for one is foolish, but two are wise...

My feet traveled the boardwalk, I stood at its end, I looked toward the east and watched the water bend and fall from the earth into that godless expanse. The music in my ears failed, and I understood the sailors of old, I saw my end -- my ship flailing in windless seas, I could feel the spit and wash of the ravaged water as it pulled and fell toward the torn, utter beyond. The deck tilts and the sails puff their cheeks at the sudden shift, the sea screams in terror and my feet are lifted and I fall and I rise and I am swallowed by water and by spirit...

I watched the seagulls of lazy wing float and fly and swing. They fell across the horizon and returned, calling sharply and returning that call. I heard the purl and slap of water against the flat, border stones and the glug of their swallow and their whisper for more. -- Water shattered on ramshackle stone, fragments white from sapphire whole. To the whole they fell, scattering the surface and resting upon the old glass flow...

( C: 4 )

02 February 2006

...The day’s pain is a ragged cliff stretching from crown to eye, the jagged cruelty of a thousand spoken words...

...The highest expression of love-as-committment is the contract, the rational committment of two businesspeople...

... Christ said, once, “What good is it, if you gain the whole world, but lose your soul?” I submit the opposite as true, though it be a difficult statement: “What good is it, if you gain your soul, but lose the world?” -- that is, if the pursuit of the ideal disconnects a man utterly from the physical world (Kierkegaard’s “finite”), such that he lives only within himself. I am left wondering whether he has even gained his soul...

... You sell yourself into perdition
For the sake
Of her permission...

... I now realize this -- my pain is too small for the problems I face...

...Perhaps it’s all a consequence of not taking the world seriously enough to dream of it. My dreams are macabre, disconnected and dead -- the empty dreams of Echo’s screams, drifting through the night. If my dreams are empty and devoid of power, oughtn’t I conclude that the same is true of their subject? If a painting fades and crumbles before its time, isn’t there a flaw in the basic material? & so the dream fails. -- in a different artistic parallel, one finds that the pieces which are serious tend to outlast those that are merely beautiful, or display some great but shallow humor.

One cannot dream without a world to dream about. And one cannot dream properly, without knowing that world and taking it seriously. A dream demands a real subject...

... it is one thing to enumerate the possiblities and wholly another to chose and willfully limit them...

( C: 6 )