ADD & Me

I've recently learned that I have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).  And while it is that knowing what afflicts you is helpful -- it certainly brings to light some of the reasons that I have chronically underachieved my whole life -- it is also, to my addled way of thinking, a tad bit detrimental. 

For example, I now have the added pressure of realising that so much of what has gone wrong in my life has been directly as a result of my scrambled brain.  So, not only do I have to make up for what I messed up, but I also have to correct my neuro-inheritance; i.e., the way my brain turned out because of my undesirable upbringing. 

Then, when I have accomplished that much, I have to set to work correcting my most important relationships: my marriage, and my fatherhood.

I feel dragged out, and beaten down by all of this.  I'm sure some of you out there can relate.

Something interesting has come of this for me, however.  Specifically, my wife commented to me a couple of weeks ago that "if [I'm] not thoroughly repulsed by the reasons why [my] brain has ended up the way it is, then [I'm] not ready to change." 

I'll admit that, at first, I was a little confused by what she said.  Why would I need to tread back over old feelings: anger, confusion, depression, etc. just so I could change my brain chemistry.  It didn't make sense.  However, as she explained more of what she meant, it became abundantly clear that she was right: I have to purposefully determine to reject any and all notions or behaviours that contributed to the reason why my brain has been disordered.  Until I do so, I'm not individuating from those occurences (e.g., childhood abuse), and I'm allowing myself the discomfort of keeping company with past shames.  Essentially, I'm living a shame-based identity.

Once my wife had explained this more, I felt a strange sense of liberty: it's okay for me to be really angry, to be pissed-off, unremittingly maddened about what contributed to my neurosynaptic misfirings, and deeply disgusted by how that has contributed to some fairly self-destructive patterns and underachievement.  It's not even unChristian of me to do so.  In fact, it would be entirely unChristian of me to deny myself and wish my condition away on a fanciful prayer or two.

No, no.  I have the work ahead of me.  And dammit!  I'm going to fix the problem and not leave this as another area where I've underachieved and self-destructed.

I love my wife.

Speck, Meet Log

When does it become acceptable to change your mind? I've been thinking about this recently.

Obviously, there are a great many things a person can change his mind about. No-one would really be concerned if I changed my mind about wanting old cheddar when I had stated previously that I wanted medium cheddar. There would be very little outrage, if any, if I waffled over reading Ayn Rand or Leo Tolstoy, and then finally decided on Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Obviously these are morally neutral scenarios unless imposed upon by contexts I haven't listed here (e.g., avoiding college assignments on Rand and Tolstoy, and opting for a personal interest in Dostoevsky).

Even more so, if I were to change my mind and, say, reject existentialism in favour of solipsism, people might be curious as to why, but I'd wager there wouldn't be an outcry, or a feverish reaction to my decision. At best, I could reasonably guess that people would question my reasons, politely disagree, and we would move on amiably with our lives.

The same affability does not extend, however, to issues concerning family, friends, psychological boundaries, schooling, politics, lifestyle, religion, or even diet. These particular affiliations, dispositions, and alliances seem to balance precariously on most people's breaking points. That is, if I were to change my mind about eating a low fat diet to eating a high fat diet, I would have to endure the criticisms of most of mainstream culture. Suddenly, what I put in my mouth would become many people's moral issue de jour. Were I to balk at libertarianism, I would find myself in the favour of the world's majority; most people believe implicitly that they want to be regulated because that is what is marketted to them. If I were to change my mind, however, and advocate minarchism, or even anarchism, I would then be reprobate and immature (as was recently expressed to me).

Issues of religion, politics, sexual habits, diet, and parenting techniques certainly have the potential to be morally charged topics. However, I can't help but wonder if people shouldn't set aside their personal agendas, their inconsiderate crusading tactics, their implicit need to proselytize without invitation, in order to first listen. People naturally incline towards others who are like them. But when one of us changes minds on an issue, affiliation, or what-have-you, shouldn't the first moral issue that arises be the one that would prompt the need to crusade against the change? That is, shouldn't each of us first take up our own indignations as the first moral issue before moving on to examine the motivations of another's change? Christ summed this up well when he stated,

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye."

Where I'm At #2

My article, Where I'm At, met with some interesting comments and questions. Most notably, one respondant, Nick, has expressed curiosity about my religio-spiritual developments. Nick makes note that,

"I'm mostly interested in where you are at, what you believe about religio-spiritual matters that are important to you, what ideas you are newly exploring, that sort of stuff."

I think that's a fair expectation for conversation, so what follows is some of the stuff I've been trying to work through in the past while.

First, I've been trying to figure out just what criteria legitimize the scholars. It's one thing to suggest that so-and-so is the foremost scholar in a certain field. It's another thing to realize that unless you are experiencing the physical data of the empirical sciences, all scholars are simply telling a story. And they're telling that story through a certain lense. Does that invalidate, or illegitimize their narratives? Certainly not. But it does bring into question the relational capacity of truth-telling.

That is, how does one determine the truth of another's claim? We could formally parse logic for a while. That sounds like fun. Kind of. But in the end, structuring another's claims along our own limited understanding and experience, and then charging bravely along the line of linear rationality commits a grievous fallacy: it assumes an objectivity that doesn't actually exist. What we think we know, we only know on our own. Other people may agree, but none of us actually have another's experience with the information being presented. Truth claims have no co-inherence from one person to the next; that is, there is no kindred connection, no 'fellowship' of knowing, if you will.

I'd be happy to be wrong about this, but I see no way around it without actually parsing the formal logic of the problem, and thereby dedicating one's self to the same problem while trying to solve it. And that's the problem with circles: if they're not broken, they just keeping going round and round, round and round.

Second, if truth-claims are non-relational, it would seem a person has to terminate on radical skepticism, or faith. But from where I sit right now, radical skepticism seems rather juvenile: there's no way to support such a view since it calls itself into question, and is thus self-defeating. Faith seems both noble and novel: noble because it means that a person is willing to trust even though they might not 'know' with any measure of certainty; novel because it provides a convenient excuse to abdicate one's responsibility to pursue knowledge, all the while looking pious and moral in the process.

Given these two things -- that truth seems non-relational, and skepticism and faith don't offer helpful answers -- how is a person to trust that anything they are exposed to in scholarship is actual, and/or beneficial? We can go the pragmatic route and suggest that 'whatever answers the most questions with the least amount of problems left over' seems trustworthy, but that fails to recognize itself as a useful tool. In a sense, it's like utilitarianism: how does one determine what is morally good for the most amount of people? And what is 'good' in a pragmatic scheme? In the same way, how does one determine what removes the most amount of problems while answering the most amount of questions? If we're all coming at a situation or issue (say, like, theodicy) with individual minds and experiences, it would make sense to suggest that all answers are questions marked by a period.

The Principle of Parsimony seems to fail, too: it doesn't take itself into account.

So, given that truth-claims aren't relational -- that is, they don't straddle the divide between your personhood and mine -- they can't be believed by virtue of another's authority on a subject, they don't terminate on skepticism, are not made relational by 'faith', can't be experienced mutually via pragmatism, and seem to transcend Occam's razor, what is left?

Nihilism is plain stupid. Existentialism is short-sighted.

So, where am I at, Nick? I don't know.

Where I'm At.

I've lost a member of my 'following'. That doesn't sound creepy at all, does it? :S

In any case, I can only guess that it's because I haven't been posting as much these past couple of months. One of my readers quipped to me at lunch the other day that she comes by the site a couple of times a week, but "meh. There's nothing new." That's true: I haven't posted anything new.

Sadly (for me, that is), not having electricity at home renders self-publishing on the internet a trifle difficult. Hopefully November will turn up some more practical living arrangements, however. Not that living in the bush with no running water, and no electricity isn't practical -- it's the original practical, when you think about it -- it's just not cosmopolitan enough to warrant something so fancy as electricity.

On another note, a friend of mine asked me how my agnosticism is coming. I'd like to take a moment to shout out to Aaron. I miss your tongue-in-cheek humour, bud! Nevertheless, it would be unfair of me to leave this blog dangling, as it were, on the hooks of my last two articles. They were, admittedly, somewhat maudlin and full of serious doubts. Aaron picked up on the natural conclusion to some of my meanderings: that I seemed to be turning agnostic.

I'll admit, things have been taking a radical turn-around for me. The history of the church, of my Christian beliefs has been put under intense scrutiny this past while. I've had questions about inspiration, inerrancy (I plan to buy that book, Ed!), the legitimacy of dogmatics, ecclesiology, the efficacy of prayer, the nature of truth, epistemology and revelation, illumination, the list goes on. In a nutshell, I've been re-visiting the truth-claims of my faith.

Some of them I've found wanting. For example, the purported necessity for a hierarchical church structure. I used to be Lutheran. I used to believe that a very definite, rigid structure needs to be in place; one ruled, as it were, from the bishop down through the clergy. While I agree with the biblical precedent for the necessity of elders, bishops, and deacons (the office I was ordained into in 2004), I disagree that the laity is under the rule of said 'servants' of the Church. In short, bishops, elders, and deacons are to serve the Church (i.e., the people of God) without reservation or prejudice toward certain faith traditions, and without jockeying for lordship amongst themselves (e.g., the Roman church's apotheosis of the bishop of Rome to a jurisdictional authority over all other bishops). The needs of the people should always outweigh bureaucracy. In the same way, the true servant of God always considers the needs of the people as irrefutably more important than the polity of his ecclesial (church) community.

Recognizing that, I could never be a sold-out, hardcore Lutheran. Nor could I ever be a friend to Roman Catholicism -- except to be the kind of friend who is willing to take scorn for attempting to correct a wrong.

Given that example of changes in my beliefs (not to mention many others), where am I as regards the Christian testimony? Well, rest-assured Aaron, I'm not agnostic. Nor am I an atheist. One wit I read about called himself a 'recovering Christian'. While I can appreciate the humour of his sentiments, I think that kind of terminology can be misleading: I'm not casting off an addiction; I never had one to begin with. I'm compelling myself toward the true, amorphous nature of oecumenism -- that is, wholistic Christianity. I'm not hemming myself in by divorcing principalistic authoritarianism (e.g., Roman Catholicism) from real flesh-and-blood people. I'm pro-actively moving away from the apartheid mentality of Christendom; that is, Roman Catholicism cannot commune with Lutherans, Lutherans cannot enjoy the free-spirited nature of the Anabaptists, the Anabaptists cannot espouse the rich cultural and intellectual heritage of Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy.

Enough. Grow up! The Western world got past the subjugation of peoples according to race -- thanks, in part, to the Church. However, the Western church cannot seem to get past its wanton need to subjugate its own people to this-or-that other faith-tradition. I refuse to take part in it any longer. And to a large degree, that will bring into question, if not stark contrast, my views about God, Jesus, and the Christian community. I'm prepared to answer those questions.

So, if any of you are interested, this is the place to ask those questions. I'm open to dialogue. And thank you, Aaron, for prompting me to write an answer to your question. I'm grateful for your concern, and humour.

Bad Christian

Overall, I'd say I'm a bad Christian.

Here's the laundry list:

1. I consistently forget to pray.
2. I seldom read Scripture. Though I really enjoy it when I do.
3. I swear.
4. I am a moody, moody man.
5. I can't pay attention to things that don't interest me.
6. I will take long hiatuses from church and not be bothered by it (last one was 2 years).
7. I commune my kids.
8. Much to the anabaptist's chagrin, I baptise my kids.
9. I can't stand evangelical Jesus-is-my-boyfriend lingo, sentiments, or worship.
10. I refuse to buy in to the latest programmatic/formulaic Christian rubrics for successful conversion of unbelievers.
11. I'm not a pacifist.
12. I read anti-Christian literature, and I don't think Harry Potter will damn me.
13. I watch movies that sometimes have violence or nudity in them.
14. I can't stand most “Christian” music (though I do love Handel and Bach).
15. Politically, I'm libertarian.
16. Philosophically, I'm a Christian anarchist (à la Jacques Ellul).
17. I'm an epistemological agnostic – which is to say that I believe all knowing has a limit as to its origin and scope. After that, I hold fast to “the assurance of things hoped for, and the conviction of things unseen” (Heb. 11:1) in combination with seeing through a glass, darkly (1 Cor. 13:12). So, I hang fast to St. Augustine's dictum, “Crede, ut intelligas” (believe in order that you may understand).
18. I refuse to spank my kids despite all traditional misinterpretations of Proverbs 13:24. Here's why.
19. I don't believe that having a talent, or gift automatically, or ipso facto indentures me to using those talents or gifts in front of the assembly every Sunday morning.
20. I think Sunday School, by-and-large, is a fantastic excuse for absolving yourself of the responsibility of guiding your children into a common, family experience with the holy (there are, admittedly, some rare exceptions).
21. I don't smile because Jesus loves me. I love Jesus and sometimes I smile.
22. I spend a lot of money on organic food. Apparently that makes me unconventional, and financially irresponsible. But if you don't have your health...
23. Sometimes when I pray, I get really sarcastic with God, even angry.
24. I don't think two people necessarily have to have the blessings of the church, and the licence of the government to be married. Though it is a well-reasoned assurance, I think it is mostly an insurance policy. Real marriage, I think, takes place between two people who honestly love each other wholeheartedly, and strive to follow through on life-long commitments to each other. Sex consumates that wholehearted commitment, and thusly signifies two as one.
25. I am a semi-convinced theistic evolutionist.
26. I think homeschooling is the only logical choice for people who really want to develop the depths and riches of what a family really is.
27. I avoid Swiss Chalet on Sunday afternoons because that's where all the Pentecostals are. I eat at Pizza Hut instead because that's where real community happens.
28. I'm not totally into tea 'cause I'm not a teetotaler.
29. Fruit juice during the eucharist doesn't assure me that I'm not going to be an alcoholic, or that I am an alcoholic, or that other people have the same assurance.
30. I like dancing. Sometimes it leads to sex, and I'm okay with that. 'Cause I'm married to the woman I like to dance with.

There must be more to that list, but I really can't think of anything else at the moment. That should be enough to have people mercilessly impugn me, however.

Cynical?

I'm not sure where to start. There's been so much that's gone on in my life it's a wonder I'm even here. My parents thought I'd end up in jail, or dead. I guess in some metaphorical ways I did. I'm sure we could agree that never being allowed to express your emotions is like living in a prison – you're always tethered to your fears of rejection, incarcerated by the knowledge that who you are is not welcome beyond your appearance. When you live that way long enough, you start to wonder if you ever have any impact on anyone around you, if they even know you have value.

Is that like being dead? Feels that way. At least to me.

I don't wish that on anyone. I mean, in some ways it's helped me to be a more insightful person I can spot an underdog as if he's a celebrity; others' emotions appear as text in their eyes, or in the way they carry themselves. It's heightened my sense of empathy. From that perspective, a guy like me can avoid the cliché, “a cynic knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.” Instead, I can empathize. I can look about and understand that there's not much value in being cynical; the price is too high. You've got to be willing to be an intellectual sloth to maintain a cynical attitude, especially when you can do better than what you were handed in life.

Take me, for example: I admitted already that things were pretty dark growing up. And if they weren't dark then I was just invisible. Maybe that makes things easier to understand. I don't know. In any case, by whatever turn of fortune, I was able to see, able to grasp that I don't have to give people the treatment (or lack thereof) that was given me. I don't have to refuse them passage into how I'm feeling. I don't have to treat them in some disaffected way such that their best efforts to relate to me – on whatever level – are met with empty stares, or off-handed remarks. I can greet every person I meet with a confident smile, a sturdy handshake, and a heartfelt desire to ensure their value, affirm their worth. I guess you could say that it's possible, if you pay attention, to come out of the dark and into the light; to be visible if for no other reason than because you're valuable. Inherently.

But knowing that isn't a fool-proof combination, unfortunately. Knowing something doesn't elevate you beyond the common platform of humanity, or 'being human'. There are all sorts of things that can interrupt, even break your confidence, make you question your worth all over again. Falling in love and having your heart broken; that's a pretty common experience for people. And it's certainly something that rocks your world to its foundations when it happens.

I remember when it happened to me. There was so much health, so much security and joy when I found myself breathing affection, and pulsating her name. It's just not true that 'all that glitters is not gold' when you're in love. I mean, love is the gold and all it can do is glitter, right?

No. Like everything else, it can tarnish, too. That's what happened to me. Time, exposure, misunderstandings, shortcomings, words spoken in haste... It all adds up. It's a slow but desperate accretion of pain and helplessness. Your feelings tumble our of control, and all the energy you once had flowing out of you to that other special someone now stabs inward like an unstoppable spear of hate. That darkness, so familiar to your life, robs you of the light again, envelops you and turns you invisible once more.

But you know what? Enough of that. I don't need to re-hash how I – or anyone else, for that matter – can get out of that darkness. Let's just agree, for the sake of argument, that there is such a thing as hope. You know, a real, substantial, palpable, better way of being that can make a difference in the way you relate to the world; or sometimes even the way the world relates to you.

That's something to be grateful for, right? That despite all the dross that can grow out of the human condition, there's still enough dignity in each one of us that we can softly, gently, ever so quietly and humbly hope our way into a continuous love for others.

I think it's pretty basic, really. Think about it: if you relate to anything I've just said, you probably understand that, at your core, you just want to be loved and accepted. It's that same need for love and acceptance that I'm getting at here. We all need it. We all crave it on some level. So it would seem the best way to get it is to give it, right? I mean, when it stops being passed around, when it stops being given, that's when nobody's getting it.

So keeping hope alive, keeping the darkness back, keeping things light, visible, dignified and valuable sometimes means giving our love, and rejoicing in 'the other', even when it's easier to just be cynical. Isn't that what being alive should be about?