Monday, March 27, 2006

Words

What's your favorite word?

Mine is "nevertheless." It sounds awesome, it's got a lot of syllables without being complicated, and it's so optimistic, while still recognizing the negative reality.

That's what I love about this word. It's me. It's a practical optimist. Yeah, sure, everything's gone bad. Nevertheless!

Oh! I also like it because it makes such a powerful one-word sentence. How often do you get that?

In perfect parallel, my favorite French word is the traduction of my favorite English word: Neanmoins (with a little accent mark over the "e"). Pr. something like "nay ah mweh," but don't try or I'll have to punch you. Love that word. It's even better than the English.

Ahh...good times.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Greatness: A Poem

Today is like every other day
In one way at least

The dead pity the living.

God: A Poem

He looked me in the eye, and said,
"If I'm going to Hell anyway, I might as well do it."

And none of us has seen him since.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Greatness: Archetypes

Daniel and Brad and I used to sit around discussing such things, and we once settled on a set of four symbols, four archetypes to define the various kinds of Great Men -- those people living the deliberate, examined life.

These are the ones we settled on: the Shepherd and the Wolf, the Poet and the King. The Shepherd and the Wolf are pure archetypes, the Poet and the King are hybrids. I eventually defined them based on their focus, and their intended goal -- self, or others.

The Shepherd
The Shepherd focuses on others for others' sake. The Shepherd devotes his life to truly understanding the people he encounters, and to making their lives better.

The Wolf
The Wolf focuses on himself for his own sake. (These are mythical characterizations, not naturalistic ones -- yes, I know that the wolf is actually a highly social animal, but I'm playing off the symbolism, not the science. So shove off!) The Wolf is highly independent, and most fit for survival in difficult circumstances.

The Poet
The Poet focuses on himself for others' sake. He examines his life, his world, his thoughts and emotions to try to find some Truth to share with others. Unlike the Shepherd, he's an introvert, independent.

The King
The King focuses (you've probably already guessed this, if you've been paying attention) on others for his own sake. The King is highly social, capable of getting along with others (through charm or manipulation or authority, or any combination of these), and focuses highly on the people around him in order to attain his own ends.

...

Just some things I find interesting. Thought I'd put them down on paper, as it were. My navel-gazing post prior had me feeling a little embarrassed, but then I decided, based on my archetypes, that it's okay to do that from time to time (since I do strive to be like The Poet), so there you go.

And, anyway, that got me thinking about the archetypes, and I thought they should be documented somewhere. Comment if you like.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Greatness: Silence

Daniel has often commented that the time he spent with my whole family growing up has had a big impact on his friendship with me, as he has had the opportunity to see the dynamics and factors that went into making me who I am.

One of those factors, from the time I was about six, was noisiness. Most of you know or have my met sisters, and most of you probably won't think that what I'm about to say is a fair characterization, but remember it was the appraisal of a six year old boy, concerning a seven year old girl and a four year old girl. Or something like that.

Anyway, that age was probably the earliest point in my life when I really stepped back and said, "I can see people behaving this way, and I choose to behave that way." Heather had a good friend who lived nearby (and I didn't, and that probably plays into this to some extent), and when she and Cheryl would get together, they would just talk and talk and talk. Chatter, it's called. It wasn't the volume, so much as the quantity, and the perfect obviousness of the fact that it was all nonsense. I mean, second grade gossip, how valuable is it gonna be?

And then there was Shannon, and with her it was the volume. She was the little one, and the last one, and she had to speak up to be heard at all, and when she caught on to that, she sure went all out. I think there was something wrong with her hearing for a little while, too? I'm not sure on that one. Anyway, she made noise.

And, even at that age, I decided that I really didn't like all the noise, all the ruckus. I spent a lot of time playing by myself, out in the trees and pasture below our house, so I got used to the quiet anyway, and I just decided that that was more valuable, to me. Well, no, that's not true. Back then I wasn't so generous. I decided that noisiness was awful and horrible altogether, and that being mostly quiet was ideal.

And, of course, when I got together with my other friends, all six year old boys, I'm sure we raised quite a racket. I don't remember doing that, but I'm sure we did. Whatever. The point is, I decided that an aspect of my personality was going to be silence, and I incorporated that into who I was.

I was talking with Trish about this on Monday, driving home from Little Rock, in case you're wondering why I bring it up here. It's not really something I've thought about recently, but it occupied my mind quite a bit in high school. I'll get to that, in a moment.

So, way back then, I had a handful of friends from church, but church was about half an hour away, and most of them lived on the other side of it, so it's not as though we saw each other at all aside from church events (and occasionally inviting one or two friends over for the afternoon on Sunday). Other than that, as I said, it was mostly the playing by myself. So this philosophical choice I'd make about Silence was pretty much a foregone conclusion, anyway.

But when I was twelve, my family moved to Wichita, and I was enrolled in a school that had a Gifted Program (and, y'know, more than 200 people K-12 -- probably well over 200 people just in the middle school). This meant a lot more people for me to have someone in common with, and for the first time I had a group of friends at school. Friends I interacted with on a pretty much daily basis.

And most of my interacting was just practicing silence. It seems almost imagined, when I think back on it now, because it's so different from who I am today. I would sit in a group of people who, adjusted for age, pretty much exactly matches the group of people I hung out with in high school, and the group of people I hung out with in college and, though the number has shrunk, the group of people I hang out with now.

Talkative people. People who listen to the news and ponder life's big questions, and talk out of their ass from time to time just to sound sophisticated. People who debate constantly, trying to find an answer, or score a point, or challenge someone in a way that will make them think something new (or just get a rise out of them). It is a constant babble, but somehow it strikes me as different from the chatter, the meaningless blab that I'd discarded when I was little. So I didn't mind it so much.

However (and this is the disconnect), when I was a part of this group in middle school, I would sit for hours and listen to them talking, but I wouldn't participate. Not much. I mostly just listened. I assume I was the same way with the youth group, but I can't say for sure, and the only people who really could (aside from maybe my parents) have known me for too long since then to answer with any more clarity than I can, I think.

But I definitely remember the dynamic among my friends at school, and for a rather embarrassingly vain reason....

Okay, I'll tell you. When I was in sixth grade, I wrote my first novel. It was called The Scorekeeper, and it was about...errr...an archangel who came down to Earth (well, not Earth, but to the world where my fantasy novels are set) to convince four prophesied heroes to fulfill their destinies and save a kingdom. However -- here was the tricky bit -- even though he had foreknowledge and immense power, he wasn't supposed to interfere. The heroes were supposed to have the adventure, because it was a human situation and humans were supposed to resolve it. So he followed along, watching these people, occasionally having a hearfelt discussion with one or another of them, and without ever touching the world he subtly, gracefully led them along the path for which they were destined.

Err...okay, it was my first novel, and I was in sixth grade, so the grace and subtlety weren't what they should've been, but that was the point of the character.

And I remember one day, shortly after finishing it, I intervened in a conflict among a couple of my friends, and resolved it to everyone's satisfaction, and Haley Rumback (I had such a crush on her at the time) stopped me in the hall between classes and said, "You really are the Scorekeeper, aren't you? You'll save us all."

Okay, this whole post has been worth it to me, just for the warm memory. I'd forgotten that bit, mostly, until I worked my way up to it.

Anyway, that wasn't something I'd intended at all, in the conception of the story, and I'd never thought of myself in that way, but when she said that, I thought about it heavily (as I tend to do), and I recognized this aspect of my interaction with my friends. The thing I'm talking about in this post, I mean, where I would sit back and listen, barely participate at all, but really listen, and when I did speak up, I had something so worth saying, that they all paid attention. And, at least that once, I was able to really help.

Man, those were good days....

Then there came a time, early in my high school career, when I decided that I could be sociable. That it was a matter of behavior, not genetics, and all it took was getting up and participating in the conversation, rather than hiding from it. This is one of my mom's proudest memories of me, because she saw me learning to face social challenges, but it's also one of the things I most regret about my own development.

Because it worked. I was successful, to an extent. You all know that I'm still a pretty shy person, that I still am very uncomfortable meeting someone for the first time, and I'd much rather interact in a small group than a large one (or out in public), but even so...I'm way better than I was in middle school.

Mostly, though, it's just a matter of participation. I jump into the mix. I make wry comments when the opportunity arises (well, I think they're wry). I start conversations, rather than waiting to see what others will talk about.

(I'm not bragging here -- I'm not particularly good at any of these things, it's just that I do them at all.)

Anyway, I devoted most of a year (probably my Freshman year in high school) to learning to do these things. I really worked hard at being social, and my circle of friends grew. I got to know a lot more people, and more people thought I was fun to hang out with. I don't remember anyone really coming to me for advice, though. I don't remember solving a lot of problems. I do remember regret. By my Junior year at the latest, I was missing what I'd once had. I'd gotten to the point that I spoke up a lot more, but I said a lot less. That really bugged me, and I decided to go back to the way I'd been.

I've decided that at least once a year, ever since then. I've never succeeded, not even a little bit. I wish I could be the contemplative listener, the thoughtful observer, instead of the shining socialite I've become.

And what's the point of all this? What's the point of the post? More chatter, I guess. Something I should've kept to myself, but said out loud instead. I guess this is really more of a diary entry than an essay, but there you go. At least I wrote something today.

There are some lessons, though. You can choose to shape your own personality, within limits. You can choose to become something you admire, or avoid something you dislike. There's a certain gravity to some characteristics, though, and those are particularly the shallower ones. There are some evils that, once invited in, are hard to chase back out. And sometimes they look beautiful as strangers, but once you've gotten to know them, you wish you didn't have them at all.

So maybe it is a topical post after all. For Julie, at least, who has been discussing these things lately. Here's my personal experience, with all of the issues you wrote about today. Maybe it's worthwhile. Maybe it's worthless vanity. Make of it what you will.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

God and Greatness: Absolution

I've been thinking a lot lately about absolution -- about sin in general, and the afterlife as well.

In my time, I've been a lot of different places on the topic of life after death. There was a long time when I felt like there was no NEED for a life after death -- on a personal, individual base, the extent of your consciousness IS eternity, after all. I built up a big argument for it, trying to work my way around to "Live life to the fullest," I guess, but it just doesn't match with anything I believe, long-term.

I sort of outgrew that phase, without really replacing it with anything. I just settled back into default, I guess.

Then I started this blog, about a year ago, and sometime around a week after I wrote "The Magic Architect," I really started understanding what I really believe these days.

(And I was already arguing the supporting points back at the very beginning, but it's only recently that the pieces fit together into a big picture, y'know?)

So. What is salvation? What is grace? What about "neither height nor depth" separating us from God, and whatnot? What about Love keeping no record of wrongs?

I asked these questions before. You've seen me mull them.

Why would Jesus give up his divine life, so that we could walk a knife edge that we'll almost certainly going to fall off? That's a huge sacrifice for a pretty risky investment. We're told he died to save us from everlasting death, not just to give us a fighting chance....

Me, I see people screwing up. People screw up all the time. Life is just a big string of terrible mistakes. Daniel asked me recently if I thought people ever really stop sinning, if anyone ever really overcomes temptation, and I said I'm pretty sure that happens when people die, and not really before.

And I don't mean that as a pessimistic statement, and I don't mean it as a snarky way to score a conversational point. I think Life is a kind of hell -- or, to use someone else's terminology (and I'm mostly thinking of Lewis here), a kind of purgatory. It's not where we're supposed to be, and it's not something we're good at, and it's got more negatives than positives about it.

I think that (as I've said before) thanks to the gift of absolution, humans having to suffer through Life is a kindness. It's an opportunity that we desperately need, to learn the important lessons without facing the eternal consequences for the little mistakes along the way.

I cherish Life, for this reason. I'm proud of all those people I see living it, really participating in the experience. Which is not say those going out of their way to make mistakes, in the hope of learning from them (or, to use someone else's words again, those people who are "going on sinning so that Grace may increase"). No, I think anybody rushing blindly into folly after folly after folly without trying to learn from it is setting himself up for some long-term suffering.

But there are some people who try to really experience Life, who try get everything they can out of it. And let me tell you (as if you didn't already know), living life boldly will result in mistakes, and missteps, and grand catastrophes from time to time. Living life boldly will result in sins, and addictions, and suffering (and, to make sure it's real suffering, it won't just be your own, but your mistakes will cause suffering to those that you care about). Living life boldly means that, from time to time, you will be viciously, horribly guilty.

And that's where absolution comes in. We are not called to a spirit of timidity, but to a spirit of boldness. We could try to hide behind a Law, we could try not to commit sins, and we could commit a whole life to not being bad, but that would be -- listen carefully -- that would be a life wasted. That would be nothing learned. That would be all the pain of temptation rejected, and in the end you are where you started -- you know what is wrong, and what is right. Hiding behind rules does not mature you, does not better prepare you for tomorrow, or for infinity.

To do that, you must come out from behind the Law and experience Good and Evil. You must enter into the actual knowledge of both, and choose Good. But doing so will leave you marked with all the filthy stains of your journey, all the wickedness you surrendered to along the way. By the time you're in a position to choose Good, you're too filthy a thing to do so.

And, of course, our God provided an answer. He paid a heavy price, but it was a price he was willing to invest in his children. Absolution. He invested Christ, not in the goodie goodies who avoid mixed swimming and run away from temptations (the older sons, as it were). No, he invested the blood of Christ in all those who have tasted everything the world has to offer, the Good and Bad, and who, having seen the fullness of what the devil has to give, are willing and able to reject it in favor of the kingdom. Those are the ones who will truly know the value of what they have obtained, and it was for them that the blood was shed.

All things are permitted to me, but not all things are good for me. Life...life is an opportunity to learn both halves of that statement. Get started.