Onward Christian Soldiers - The God Debate (Part 1)

Soldier, from Arc de Triomphe

Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,

with the cross of Jesus going on before.

Like a mighty army moves the church of God;

brothers, we are treading where the saints have trod.

We are not divided, all one body we,

one in hope and doctrine, one in charity.

-"ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS" by Sabine Baring-Gould,

It is a wonderful thing to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven. There are, of course, many different sides to it and it never quite looks the way you’d expect. It’s better than that. But I’ve recently been thrilled by a series of recent Christian and Theist victories in the battlefield of ideas. It is at times like this that the church can truly be seen “spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners” [1]. The old Catholic phrase “The Church Militant,” technically describing the Christians alive today, seems to be an apropos metaphor.

Now before we begin, I’ll need to take care of another bit of metaphor housekeeping. I will be using martial metaphors throughout this essay. I think that when it comes to ideas, we are all in a battle (and if you disagree with me on this point, I’ll fight you :). Thought it is a battle, I think it ought to be a knightly battle, where both sides gain honor when they fight nobly. My celebration of Christian victories does not mean that I hate Atheists any more than my celebrating a Dodgers’ victory means I actually hate the Giants. I love a good game, or as the case is here, a good debate. Of course, I think these matters more serious than ballgames, but the mutual respect of ballplayers for each other captures a bit of the chivalry that I think we need to bring to all our differences of opinion, trivial or grave.

There have been a number of developments recently that bode well for Theists and Christians in the field of ideas. Over the next few posts, I’d like to explore a few of them. I hope you’ll join me! The first part is the story of a debate.


The Showdown
Recently, the world’s leading Atheist champion was challenged by the world’s leading Christian champion to a debate at Oxford, the Atheist’s home institution. A battle to end all battles! I wish I could describe their meeting. I wish I had the words to tell a modern day epic, one that would be remembered for decades or centuries to come. I wish I had the wisdom to understand and discuss it with theist and atheist alike, and to present my opinions here on this blog. But I can do none of these things. I cannot tell you what happened, because the Atheist never showed up. Citing the immorality of the otherwise well-respected Christian, he declined. A chair was left empty for him should he change his mind. But he never did. The Christian dismantled the Atheist’s written arguments with efficiency, and spent a few minutes discussing how groundless the accusations of his immorality were [lecture video].

Over the past few years, the self-titled “Four Horsemen” of the New Atheism (Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennot and Christopher Hitchens) had been gaining fame by beating some of the smartest Theists, pastors, scientists and philosophers. They believed that Atheism was more rational, and so accepted debates with most anyone in the spirit of free thinking. Their books were New York Times bestsellers (most notably “The God Delusion” by Dawkins ~2.5 million copies and “God is not Great” by Hitchens). And then a Christian champion arose, William Lane Craig [2]. He debated dozens of atheists before getting noticed by the Four Horsemen. Of them, he first he challenged Hitchens to debate in 2009. And, though there’s no official judge in these debates, it is clear that he won (Hitchens conceded his closing statement; debate video). Then he challenged Harris and won (rarely are you ever able to show that your opponent’s view is not just wrong in its premises, but is logically false; debate video). Most recently, he planned a trip to Oxford, and everybody was waiting with nervous anticipation: how would he do against Dawkins? But the question was never answered. On October 25, 2011, Richard Dawkins refused to debate William Lane Craig. On October 25, 2011, we entered a new phase of the debate on God’s existence. Up until that day, there was some question as to which side was winning.

If Dawkins showed up and lost, I would say that it was just one debate. The question as to “who’s winning?” would still be open. Both Atheism and Theism are contending valiantly in the arena of ideas, sometimes winning and sometimes losing. But Dawkins didn’t lose. He fled [3]. And, to be sure, many other brave Atheists in Britain did debate Craig, showing that the debate has not been finally settled. But their leader left the field. And so we enter a new era where Atheists now have to explain to Theists that, unlike their leader, they really are intellectually serious.

This is one battle in the war of ideas. It is important in itself, but in part is part of a larger movement in higher thought back to God. Next post, I'll talk about the most important discipline and it's return to God.

[1] Lewis, CS. “The Screwtape Letters”

[2] Technically, he’s been “arising” for a few decades. But he really started to get notoriety more recently.
[3] Of course, he has plenty of reasons why he wasn’t there, ranging from “I’m busy” to “This Christian 'philosopher' is an apologist for genocide.” In his UK Guardian article he writes, “Would you shake hands with a man who could write stuff like that? Would you share a platform with him? I wouldn't, and I won't.” By one count, Dawkins has given 12 different excuses as to why he won't debate with Craig. 



Part 1 - Introduction
Part 2 - Theism in Philosophy and Science
Part 3 - Onward!

Dialogue on Suffering

[Begin full fiction mode. This was based on nothing but my imagination. To pretend to be not totally arrogant, I’m going to put my arguments in the mouth of the character Paul. But even that’s pretty presumptuous. I suppose that’s an inherent problem with dialogue. It’s like playing chess with yourself. Of course you’re going to win. So watch as one figment of my imagination totally works another. So here goes another attempt at this medium:]

I was walking with my good friend Paul (he’s from a place called Tarsus, right off I-5, if you know where that is). We were enjoying the crisp January air when we saw our mutual friend, Job.

“Good day, Job!” said I.

“What is good about it?” he asked.

“Light and life and breath, to begin with,” said Paul. “We live in a wonderfully ordered world under an astonishing heaven ruled by a Good God.”

“Good God?” asked Job sarcastically. “How can you dare to say that? And to me, of all people? Don’t you know that He killed my ten children? Don’t you know that this has been my daily torture for these long years?”

“Dear Job,” said Paul, “I have wept with you about your children. And I have walked with you through those valleys. But this attitude is unbecoming. What alchemy has transmuted your sadness into anger? What has made the pure cold gold of mourning into the boiling lead of rage?”

“It is only rational,” Job retorted. “Rage is the only proper response to so blatant an offense. What have I done to deserve this? What possible good is it accomplishing? And even if there is some good, could it not be accomplished with less suffering?”

“These are all excellent questions,” said Paul. “To answer them, I will need to tell a story and you will need to do a bit of imagining. Would you like me to answer your questions?”

“Though I know it is a dangerous thing to do with you, I will play your game.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Paul. “Imagine a woman is pregnant. The pregnancy is complicated and the woman dies in childbirth. The woman’s husband and now father of the child names him Jamal. Jamal’s doctors notice that he looks blue. He is worked up and diagnosed with Tetralogy of Fallot, a birth defect of the heart. Untreated, Jamal has slightly better than even odds that he’ll make it to his fourth birthday and almost no chance of seeing adulthood. The doctors tell Jamal’s father that there is a cure, but it will require multiple, painful heart surgeries. What should Jamal’s father do?”

“He should get the surgeries.”

“But wait,” said Paul. “He is causing terrible pain to his own son. He’ll have to spend countless days in a nightmarish hospital, away from the sounds and sights and smells of home. It will involve a hundred needle sticks that Jamal will not understand, tape and tubes, beeping and buzzing. For his first few years of life, Jamal will several times be thrown into a whirlpool of confusion and pain.”

“Yes. But it will be for his own good. Several short years of pain will lead to a tenfold longer life.”

“Alright. But shouldn’t we get the consent of someone before performing a procedure on them?” asked Paul.

“If it is possible. But here, it’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jamal cannot understand,” said Job. “He doesn’t understand about the genetic inheritance patterns, ventral septal defects, the failure to adequately oxygenate blood. He can’t even know about adequate hydration and the need for a needle stick and IV fluids, let alone the complexities of cardiothoracic surgery. ‘Informed consent,’ requires that a person understand at least the very basics of their condition and the procedure. Jamal, being a newborn, cannot understand these things. His father must make the decision for him.”

“So you think that when someone cannot give informed consent, the decision should fall to another?”

“Yes. In this case, the father is clearly the one who has the responsibility to care for him and to make decisions on his behalf until he is old enough to make his own decisions.”

“So now imagine,” said Paul, “that it’s four years down the road, and though he should be cured, Jamal’s case is complicated and he needs one final surgery. He’s now old enough to fear hospitals and hate doctors. Jamal’s father tells him, ‘Jamal, we need to go to the hospital again to get you healthy.’ This time Jamal pleads, ‘No! I won’t go! It hurts! Why are you hurting me, Daddy?’ What could the father reply? After the reply, what should he do?”

“There isn’t much he could say that would satisfy Jamal. He could say, ‘Jamal, I know it hurts, but it is what is best for you. Do not worry, because I will be there with you, and I will suffer with you.’ And then, whether Jamal likes this answer or not, he should still take him for the surgery.”

“So even in this case when Jamal has clearly against the idea, his father should do his best to explain it, promise to be with him, and do it anyways.”

“Yes.”

“So,” said Paul, “We have established that because a child lacks understanding, certain decisions should be made on his behalf. Now what if Jamal asked, ‘Daddy, if I have to go, can you ask the doctors to make it hurt less?’”

“The father should reply, “Jamal, they are already doing everything they can to make it hurt less. The cure for your sickness requires a lot of pain. If there were a better cure, don’t you think I would have chosen it?’”

“So long as the father is minimizing pain in his attempt to reach a good end for his son, he is justified in causing it. Is Jamal capable of knowing if a given needle stick is a required part of his medical care?”

“Of course not,” said Job.

“What about the number of surgeries? Can he know by the apparently gratuitous number of his surgeries that his father is actually not loving?”

“It would be impossible. Such a question is difficult for health policy experts, let alone for four-year-old children.”

“It this is impossible, wouldn’t it also be impossible for him to then to know that his father loves him?” Paul asked.

“No. Jamal can see it. He can feel it. Most of all, when he sees his father suffer with him. When he cries at a prick, his father’s face looks as if it were hurt. The promise I put in the father’s mouth at the beginning, that he would always be with Jamal, is perhaps the greatest proof of love when it is fulfilled.”

“But can he prove that his father loves him?”

“Love is not the sort of thing that can be demonstrated by mathematical or scientific proof. It is something that is sensed on a deeper level. Jamal can know it, but he cannot prove it.”

“So,” said Paul, “We’ve established that the father should act in Jamal’s best interest, regardless of how painful it might be.”

“Yes.”

“And we’ve agreed that Jamal would have no adequate understanding of his condition to make any judgments.”

“Yes.”

“And finally, we’ve shown that even though he lacks understanding, he can still know that his father loves him through his pain.”

“Yes.”

“Now allow me to tell the story in a different way,” said Paul. “What if instead of a newborn named ‘Jamal’ we were talking about an adult named ‘Job.’ And instead of an earthly father, we were talking about God. A physical birth defect in the heart becomes a spiritual one. Jamal suffers for four years to gain 70 of life; Job suffers for 80 years to gain a millennium of life and more. Job, how is your position any different from Jamal’s?”

Job was silent for several minutes. His eyes darted to and fro, searching for an escape but finding none. Finally, with a reluctant tone, Job said, “I see your point: I am Jamal. I will have to reflect on this.” 

The three of us walked along the road together, enjoying the warm sun and bright blue sky.

Dialogue on God’s Hair Color

I was recently having a discussion with a friend about God and he objected, “But what about God being a man? Surely you don’t think he’s sitting on some throne up in the sky, do you?” The following is inspired by a real conversation, but as I have the personal memory of a goldfish, I’m going to kinda have to make up most of it. And in attempting to remember a real dialogue I’ll probably end up like Eric Cartman) and/or Plato in making my position sound totally awesome and my discussant a total fool. But this is not reality, and my apologies to my real-life discussant. I might try this style more often, especially as I have other real life events to inspire them.

So as I was saying, my friend asked me “But what about God being a man? Surely you don’t think he’s some bearded man sitting on a throne up in the sky, do you?”

I thought about it for a minute, noting how my discussant intentionally tried to make it sound as ridiculous an idea as possible. And I said with confidence, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”

And then there was a wonderful silence. I’m beginning to see why Jesus said shocking things all the time. It really bothered me at one point. I used to think, “Why don’t you just answer them straight? Really, Jesus? I could have given a clearer answer in line with Christian Orthodoxy than you just did.” And perhaps I could have. But what I’m beginning to realize is that it’s not all about true information. Presentation matters.

After the silence, he asked a real question. Or rather, he asked a question whose answer he was going to pay attention to: “Why?”

I asked him, “Do you think the idea of God is something easy or hard to understand?”

“It’s very hard. Maybe even impossible.”

“Harder than physics?”

“Much harder.”

“I agree,” I said. “When we try to understand physics, we have to use symbols and metaphors. Gravity works like a bowling ball resting on a rubber sheet; a marble will ‘fall’ into its divot. Relativity can be understood by imagining twin astronauts. And so on.”

“OK. But what does that have to do with God?”

“Because,” I said, “If we think God is harder to understand than physics, then wouldn’t it be reasonable to try to understand what we can of Him using similar tools?”

“Sure.”

“So could I say, ‘Imagine God has a white beard’?”

“Yes, but he or she or it doesn’t. It’s above that.”

“And gravity isn’t a rubber sheet. I said, ‘imagine’.”

“OK. God has a white beard.”

“What does a white beard mean?”

“Male. Unshaven.”

“Think literary. What attributes might an author be communicating if he gives a character a white beard, as opposed to, say, a black beard, or a clean chin?”

“Age. Maybe wisdom.”

“Good,” I said, “So the visual image communicates something about Him.”

“And that’s another thing. Why do you keep saying ‘Him’. The concept is above such crude biological concepts. God is not a man.”

“Isn’t He?” I asked. “Does manhood communicate anything? Would the image be different if it were a woman sitting on the throne?”

“Well, I suppose.”

“What if it were not a man or a woman, but energy. Would that image be more or less relatable?”

“Less.”

“So,” I said, “The image of God as a white-haired old man sitting on a throne says to the reader, ‘God is like a wise old king,’ which we can imagine, even if God’s true nature is unimaginable.”

“I envision God genderless. Why does God have to be a man?”

“He doesn’t have to be anything.” I said, “The hero of a story could have black hair or brown hair. It’s a story. The writer may give him black hair to go along with his mysterious nature, or brown hair to match his boots and ground him. God doesn’t have to be white-haired. But in Daniel 7, He is. It’s less useful to complain, “Why does he have to be white-haired?” and more useful to ask, “Why is he white-haired?” Perhaps we need to think of God less like grown-ups arguing theology and more like kids reading a story. And a kid reading that God is a man might think, ‘God is a man like Dad! He must be strong and smart and brave, and good at keeping the bad guys away and making sure there’s no monsters under the bed.’ In fact, on this attribute, God was not just pictured as a man, but took on the flesh of a first-century Jewish man.”

“But it seems so provincial! How can God just pick one race? Isn’t he more universal?”

“It’s a suit. We can’t see God in heaven, so he ‘clothes’ Himself with humanity. He puts on a suit so that we can better understand him, so that we can talk to Him face-to-face.”

“But why can’t it be another color?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a little arbitrary?”

“Definitely,” I said. “But He just as well might have picked another color suit and you could justly ask why He hadn’t put on the one He did. Keeping on the suit analogy, if He chose to mix all dyes, it would be a black suit; if He left it undyed, it would be a white suit. Even if we could understand “every color” or “no color,” black and white are both still colors. Perhaps He could’ve picked a transparent suit, but then we’re back where we started: an incomprehensible, invisible God. He’s gotta wear something. And He happened to wear the First-Century-Jewish-Man-In-Palestine suit.”

“So you’re saying that we can learn something from a first century Jewish man in Palestine?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Renewing of the Mind (Part 1) Phil 4:5-7

I've recently been more and more interested in Psychiatry and specifically in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I’ve had several intriguing conversations with Jeffrey Schwarz (who showed the brain changes that occur with CBT) and I’ve studied under David Burns (most famously of Feeling Good) and his TEAM therapy. CBT as I understand it, essentially focuses on intentionally practicing certain thoughts. The idea is that many mental illnesses are at their core an irrational belief which leads to a habit of bad thinking. If this irrational belief can be identified, confronted with rationality, and then finally ousted through practice of right thinking, there will be some healing. Essentially, the theory asserts that you can choose your thoughts, and so by indirect consequence, you can choose your moods. If you think depressing thoughts, you will wind up depressed. If you think pleasant thoughts, you won’t. The role of the therapist is to help teach a person to identify the irrational thoughts and practice rational ones.

[Now please note: this is what I have learned from two specific thinkers in CBT. CBT doesn’t strike me as a standardized orthodoxy, so these observations might not be true elsewhere, and as I am only a neophyte, it might not even be true here.]

I was reading in Philippians yesterday and chapter 4 really jumped out at me because it seemed that Paul in the First Century had figured out CBT. This will begin a long-running series on Psychotherapy in the Bible. I’ve had the thought before, but decided “here” was as good a place as any to start. If you have other passages that speak to this question, please let me know and I’ll (eventually) write about them. I’d be interested to collect these from other traditions, literature and philosophy. So if you’re a Shakespeare scholar, send some passages my way. Or if you know about parallel passages in the Koran, please let me know.

5 Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; 6 do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4, ESV)

The sections starts off with “reasonableness,” and moves immediately to anxiety. The alternative to anxiety is prayer with thanksgiving. The immediate consequence of this thankful prayer is the peace of God. And this peace itself becomes a defense of both the heart and the mind.

One of the major ‘irrationalities’ that cause anxiety is the desire to control. What if I fail that test? It’s Friday night and I’m out of town; what is she doing right now? I don’t know everyone at the party; what if they don’t like me? I’m speaking in five minutes; what if I say something stupid? What if the plane crashes? Everyone has the temptation to fall into these anxious thoughts. What does Paul advise? Pray. Give it to God.

What does that do? It helps you realize that it’s in God’s hands, anyways (everything is, after all). Kneeling before the Throne Room of the Universe, one feels humble; not the big shot who has something to prove. And then when one rises from prayer, and walks out of the Throne Room, one realizes that one was just in the THRONE ROOM OF THE UNIVERSE. What problem could possibly concern Heaven? And what problem could possibly concern one of its citizens?

Also, we can’t forget the thankfulness. No matter how bad things get, every Christian can open his prayer with: “Thank you Father, for life and breath and salvation.” Though every once in a while you get a man like Job, most can go a lot further than that prayer. Most can be thankful for family, health and even wealth. Most have some hint of nature (sun or stars or sky if nothing else) that they can be thankful for.

Paul tells us to pray a lot. He tells us to practice this set of thoughts and attitudes. And when we do this, we’ll be armored from further assault to both heart (emotions) and mind. Exactly in agreement with CBT, Paul says that something you practice by conscious effort (prayer) will be a guard against future perturbation of mood (“heart”) and thought (“mind”).

So let’s imagine our first character, overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety for an upcoming exam. He is anxious probably because he’s grasping onto his pride and playing out the worst case-scenario in his mind, over and over again. He’s imagining getting the test back, with a big “F” on it, and his having to take the course again, and lose his scholarships, and be ridiculed by friends, and have to go home and tell his parents, and not get into medical school, and, and, and… Now let’s let him pray:

Father, I thank you for life and breath and salvation. I thank you that you have given me the opportunity to study at this wonderful school, that you’ve given me friends that believe in me and a family that loves me. Thank you for this beautiful day, the warm sun and calm green trees. I lift up this exam to you. I have been diligent in my preparation; I have studied what I have studied and done all that I can. And so now I pray that you give me success. Passing this exam will ultimately help me serve your children by entering medical school. Nevertheless, not my will but yours be done: I trust that you will be with me and will do what’s best for me, be it to fail this exam or to pass. Amen.

 If our young friend prays this prayer (or others like it) for 15 minutes a day, he’ll have a lot harder time stressing out about the exam. It’s in God’s hands. He’s accepted the possibility that he might fail, but he’s not worried about that either. On top of it all, he began with gratitude; even this alone will put him in a better mood than when he started.

The pattern of Philippians 4:5-7 is brilliant and powerful:
1. Begin with being reasonable.
2. Don’t worry.
3. Instead, pray and be thankful.
4. This will guard your heart and mind.

New-found Freedom to Think in Medical School

Last week I had a conversation with one of my attending physicians. His critique of my presentation was the only thing I would ever be praised for before: exhaustiveness. “What lab data do you want? What do you think is relevant?”

It’s a question I haven’t really had to answer before. I’m used to being asked, “What’s the bilirubin?” Or listing off all the values in the complete metabolic panel. But which to I think are presently relevant? Well, I’m not really sure. I’d have to think about it.

To think about it

That’s exactly what is finally being asked of me. Not “Memorize this” or “Learn this physiology” but finally, “Figure out this clinical problem.” Of course, all the memorizing and learning is necessary for there to be any problem solving. But there has been an abrupt change in the focus.

In our Practice of Medicine course, we would sometimes take 4 hours to go through a single case. Many of the exercises involved creating comically exhaustive differential diagnoses or similar tasks. Criticism would be mainly for being not exhaustive enough. Of course this exercise in recall is useful in helping us learn the common conditions associated with symptoms, but it’s still just recall. Now I have been asked to vet the list myself.

I have been waiting for two years to hear someone say “Think!” I’m no longer evaluated purely on conformity to a rubric, on my ability to list off everything that might possibly cause jaundice ever. It’s objective, to be sure. But it’s not all that doctors actually do. Doctors think. And when they tell other doctors what they’re thinking, they do not behave like patients with head trauma, with comatose brains, vomiting up (and possibly aspirating) undigested information.

For medical training, the beating heart of the medical student, with its passions and emotions, was put into arrest so that we could be “objective.” The medical student reports the information without passion or emotion (for these, of course, would “cloud” judgment). As a result, his verbal presentation is given in a monotone voice with exactly as much life as his heart has that is as flat as his EKG. But to become a real doctor, the student’s heart must be shocked back to life. He must take on bias, bias for his patient and for truth). He must start to care about what the diagnosis is. He must care enough to argue for his patient, to defend his view on the diagnosis, and to persuade others that he is right. No longer are patients presented as a list of facts; they are presented in a story.

And only human beings, alert and oriented with beating hearts, can tell stories. And they do tell stories. Doctors tell stories. And medical students should pay attention, for this will help them to emerge from the stasis that their first two years have put them into.

It’s never pleasant receiving criticism. But the criticism I got last week shocked me back to life. It was liberating! I could and I should behave like a real doctor now, not just a mindless, heartless medical student. I hope that my mind remains alert and my heart stays beating.

Milestone

Blogs are funny things and because you are publisher, editor and author, a personal blog is always “The Number One Source For What I Happen to be Thinking About” (to use the words of one of my favorite bloggers, BradleyWright). Right now, I am thinking about writing, and specifically (because I like to think about me a lot) my writing. This is the 200^th Arena-Man post. And this week, the 10,000^th visitor visited. A vast majority of this traffic was since I started posting consistently in January (and, I think, this was the wrong webpage for many a poor Googler). I might meta-blog too much (i.e. blog about blogging). But it’s my blog, so I can meta if I want to.

I’ve recently been approached by a few friends and acquaintances and thanked for my thoughts or for encouragement via Blog. I’m usually not quite sure how to feel about it. Firstly, it’s a bit startling to realize that real people actually read my stuff. When I spit out a few paragraphs on this or that subject, apparently it might actually have implications. It’s also strange to know that people are in my head; by my writing, I have opened the window of my soul and let strangers peep in. This creates an unusual sort of relationship: one that is unidirectional. And I suppose this has always been true of writing. The thoughts or ideas or visions of one person are transformed into black ink on white paper (or in your case, photons from a monitor) which are sensed by the retinas of another, and translated back into an idea. You send paper by mail, data by internet, and ideas by writing.

Writing allows for worldview to be shared. It allows the eyeballs through which one person understands the world to be shared by others. But unlike conversation, the relationship is unidirectional. The reader gains something from the writer, but the writer learns nothing of the reader (except, usually, how many companions he has; that is, the number of books sold, page-views, etc). And this has traditionally been the only way.

But the Internet has allowed for a new paradigm. It has allowed for readers to directly interact with the writer, and in real time. Not only does the writer transmit his ideas, but readers can reply with their reactions. Requests for clarification, challenges, encouragements. The little “comments” box at the bottom of posts and the “share” button of Facebook allows for conversation. It allows aspiring writers to express themselves in a single line or several. It allows those who want to transmit the ideas they agree with to their friends. And it allows enemies (real or philosophical) to engage directly. It allows for strangers from around the world to sit down to a cup of tea and discuss ideas like neighbors and friends, or to debate in chivalry, like esteemed opponents.

As you might know, discussion on deep questions is one of my favorite things to do. I get so excited when I find out someone has initiated a discussion; someone has become that first commenter, that first person to step out of the anonymous crowd into the Arena. Consider the discussion that took place when I discussed Fairy Tale Romance. I was so encouraged to hear from people I hadn’t talked to in forever. And I learned something from them. What had been a theory in my head could be interpreted in light of others’ experience. A discussion on Scientific Faith and on Alexandra Wallace have been electric, and in both cases, my argument was challenged, clarified, and through the conflict, strengthened.

I realize that writing is something I really enjoy and really want to get better at. And it makes me happy that what has been a hobby of mine has been an encouragement to others. Thanks for reading! I hope to hear from you in the comments.

Beauty Fast

Sterile floors. Sterile hands. Sterile computers. Sterile people. White walls. White ceiling tiles. White tile. All illuminated by fluorescent white lights. Straight halls, every room like every other. Uniforms. Doctors: Blue scrubs, white coats. Patients: hospital gowns (with open back). Beeping monitors. Beeping pagers. Beeping intercom. Beeping, beeping, never-heeded, never-ceasing beeping! An arms race of volume and pitch! No music, not even in doctors’ voices. They are flat and sharp like scalpels. No touch but through breathless gloves. Dry hands, chapped by alcohol sanitizer. And the smell. The musty smell of the hospital interrupted only by periodic nasal stabs by the alcohol on the way in and out of every room. And the occasional whiff of urine or feces or vomit. These are the ingredients of the Hospital Aesthetic.

And so after six days of this, I was hungry, but not for food. I was hungry for something else. My soul needed a drink. I needed transcendence.

I went to church and two lines into the first song, I was struck by the beauty and truth of it and I shed a tear. I felt great joy because of a story that was told. I felt deep humility and power in Communion. I returned home and, it being Sunday and a beautiful day, I had an overwhelming and unexplained urge to go for a bike ride. So I hopped on my bike and rode a few miles down the road. I thought of beautiful places on campus and then biked to them to take in more beauty.

The straight lines and curves of the Stanford arches towered above me, showing me my smallness. The tiny little leaves whirled around me, showing me my greatness. The tan brick, blue sky, yellow sun, green trees, black road, white clouds. The smell of dirt and a thousand thousand plants. Wet hands from sweat, unwashed and greasy from the bike. The bright sun, so bright I had to squint. A full spectrum of light, to make the bluish bulbs of the hospital seem silly, like the photocopy of a diamond. The sun showed through in beams and streaks, through the canopy of the endless oaks.

I ate the experience of today like a starving man. My eyes drank in the light like a lost man drinks an oasis. When I had finished, I was rejuvenated. I had taken my fill. And I am ready to endure another week of sterility.

The body withers away if it lacks food; the immune system weakens, the strength fades. What about a soul? What would happen to a person who is starved of transcendence, who never sees beauty, who never sees something so beautiful that it brings tears? Could this weaken a soul (psyche) as starvation of food weakens a body? What happens to our psychic immune system when we are not properly nourished?