The studios in my building are rented out in three varieties: Deluxe, Regular, and Economy. Obviously, the Deluxe is the most expensive of the studios, the Regular is of a more moderate price tag, and the Economy is -- relatively speaking -- cheap. From these three descriptions, one might assume that this pricing scale is reasonable and appropriate in its correspondence with the quality of the rooms. And within a certain rationale, it is. The Deluxe studios are located in the corners of the building and therefore possess two windows instead of the standard one. The Regular studios do not directly face another building and instead are buffered from this invasion of urban privacy by one of four streets. The Economy studios, however, have the misfortune of facing the dilapidated Deli & Market that shares the block with my building. Veritable tenements, indeed.
My studio is of the "Economy" variety, but I am fortunate enough to be facing the heart of the city, towards the waterfront. My window is a frame for the buildings -- a snapshot of the skyline. The high rises have invisible skeletons at this time in the evening, and are nothing more than a collective glow, like giant cheese graters illuminated from within. On the tallest of these structures, little red eyes peek from the top corners, fading in and out, yawn-like. They are the protectors, the warning to the heavens, and yet they do not dismiss their ceremonial duties of illuminating my window and entertaining my eyes. This is as close as humanity can come to imitating the beauty of the natural world, and it's all contained within my window -- for a lesser price than other windows.
Clearly, price is not always an adequate indicator of value. But what then is the relationship between value and price? Does one possess meaning and the other lack it, or are they both confined to the realm of the arbitrary?
This price-value quandary is chiefly a dilemma of symbols -- in essence, a linguistics problem. To examine the same issue from another angle, think of the word "tree". Obviously, no two trees are identical. Equally obvious is the fact that it would be extremely difficult to give each individual tree its own specialized word with which it can be referenced. Instead, we have the word "tree", which, far from specifying an exact object, merely points to a very general and abstract category -- an arbitrary construction that does not physically exist. There is no such thing as a "tree".
It might be suggested that if numbers were utilized, it would be theoretically possible to "name" every tree in the world, by assigning each tree a distinct value. This hypothesis is flawed, however, since it bases its assertion on the word "tree" -- the very word to be avoided! Why should one only name trees? Trees are made up of bark and twigs and many other parts. Why assume that bark and twigs should be collected together in the category of tree, even if you are replacing "tree" with a unique number? The track is circular. Even in our most clever attempts to utilize infinity to circumvent language, we are bound to our starting point: Words.
It is no different with the pricing of my room. How does one go about determining the price of a room? You could assign a number to certain criteria, i.e. the number of windows and the direction they face, but why limit yourself to those criteria? Why not measure the distance from the studio door to the stairs? Or why not account for the effect of wind chill on different sides of the building? Why not count the specks of dust on the window sill and figure that into the price of the studio? As with the tree, there is no level of categorization that is more meaningful than another. Price, like language, is just another attempt to sort the universe into arbitrary divisions. Both price and language are symbols.
And symbols are what separate humanity from infinity.
"Out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name." Genesis 2:19
Friday, November 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
A Thought Experiment
Imagine you want to buy a car. You go to a dealership and the dealer offers you a choice between two cars. The cars are identical in almost every way – make, model, year, mileage, price. There is, however, one exception. Car A has a maximum speed of 40 mph, while Car B can go up to 120 mph.
-Which car do you choose?
-Car B, of course.
-Why?
-Because it's better.
-How so?
-It can go faster.
-Why does that make the car better?
-In today's road environment, there are many situations where it is necessary to drive faster than 40 mph. It is a necessity to go faster than 40 mph.
But why should it be a necessity? For the majority of humanity's existence, no one has had the ability to travel faster than 40 mph, let alone need to travel at such speed. It was not until travel at such a speed was realized to be feasible that it became necessary to do so. And here is the underlying principle: In a progress-based society, the moment a technological advancement is birthed is the same moment that the said technological advancement becomes a necessity. You do not argue with the ability to travel faster than 40 mph. Now, obviously this phenomenon, when specifically applied to vehicle speeds, has been limited by the state in the form of speed limits. But government intervention does not void the effect of a "progress" and technologically oriented society; to the contrary, it reinforces it. For example, it may be illegal to drive faster than a certain speed, but it is also equally illegal to drive slower than a certain speed. There is no other option; technology has eliminated the choices.
Take, for example, the atomic bomb. It was not necessary to have a weapon that could destroy cities until the weapon was invented. Now, it is seen in the best personal interest of every country to have nuclear weapons, not necessarily because the country intends to use them, but "just in case". Why build something you do not wish to use? But that is the control of technological advancement: There is no other option.
Technological advancement and progress become the masters of society – even daily life. To live in a world that values efficiency and speed is to be enslaved.
-Which car do you choose?
-Car B, of course.
-Why?
-Because it's better.
-How so?
-It can go faster.
-Why does that make the car better?
-In today's road environment, there are many situations where it is necessary to drive faster than 40 mph. It is a necessity to go faster than 40 mph.
But why should it be a necessity? For the majority of humanity's existence, no one has had the ability to travel faster than 40 mph, let alone need to travel at such speed. It was not until travel at such a speed was realized to be feasible that it became necessary to do so. And here is the underlying principle: In a progress-based society, the moment a technological advancement is birthed is the same moment that the said technological advancement becomes a necessity. You do not argue with the ability to travel faster than 40 mph. Now, obviously this phenomenon, when specifically applied to vehicle speeds, has been limited by the state in the form of speed limits. But government intervention does not void the effect of a "progress" and technologically oriented society; to the contrary, it reinforces it. For example, it may be illegal to drive faster than a certain speed, but it is also equally illegal to drive slower than a certain speed. There is no other option; technology has eliminated the choices.
Take, for example, the atomic bomb. It was not necessary to have a weapon that could destroy cities until the weapon was invented. Now, it is seen in the best personal interest of every country to have nuclear weapons, not necessarily because the country intends to use them, but "just in case". Why build something you do not wish to use? But that is the control of technological advancement: There is no other option.
Technological advancement and progress become the masters of society – even daily life. To live in a world that values efficiency and speed is to be enslaved.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Don't worry...
It's okay to be unimportant. To live from day to day, with no more visible an impact than a trimmed lawn and a dumpster at the corner of your driveway. It's okay to be, in the cosmic scheme of things, meaningless. It's alright if the only positive things your life seems to produce are smiles when you volunteer at the soup kitchen. The strokes on the canvas don't have to be thick, bold, and daring. A few will paint such grand things, but the rest of us will be impressionists: small, indecisive flicks of kindness tied together in an overarching theme of life that we cannot see until we stand back and gaze on the whole. It's okay not to see the big picture in your mind's eye, not to pursue it with flair. We fear a lack of meaning, but in doing so we limit the true grandeur of our own lives. Who can tell what impact a kind word may have? Who can say what a moment of silence can add to a conversation? Life screams for idealism in all its seasons, but in our pursuit of miracle cures fit to remedy the world's ailments, let us not forget the magic of living. Let us not confuse the means and the ends, for in our modern age the two have often -- and evilly -- merged as one. As Gandhi said, "There is no way to peace. Peace is the way."
It is in the simplicity of wholesome living that we will save the world.
It is in the simplicity of wholesome living that we will save the world.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Sin, guilt, and Baghdad
So I was browsing YouTube tonight and I came across an amazing web documentary: http://www.hometownbaghdad.com/. It's a series about the lives of a group of middle class 20-somethings in Baghdad, filmed by an Iraqi crew. It's the most honest, unbiased stuff I've seen on Iraq... Ever.
In turn, Hometown Baghdad led me to it's sponsoring site, http://www.chattheplanet.com/, a group dedicated to a global dialogue between young people. It's exactly the kind of thing I've thought the clash of Christian (like it or not, America is viewed by the world at large as a Christian society) and Islamic societies have needed, and it is incredibly refreshing to see someone actually doing something to promote understanding.
And it was troubling.
During one of the discussions, an American student talks about how she feels helpless to help those in Iraq. She wants to do something, but doesn't know what to do, and doesn't think she could do it even if she did know. In another discussion, an American student asked if the students in Iraq felt like the young people of America were responsible for the state of Iraq today. The Iraqis said no.
What was so troubling is that it was very evident in these convesations that the American students' concern was not really for Iraqis; it was for their own consciences.
Sure, it's great for people to feel guilty for starting a war and to have that guilt spur them on to action. But it also can be a very dangerous platform for restoration and healing, because as soon as the guilt more or less disappears, the restoration and healing will disappear too.
Jacques Ellul writes that in the modern age of nation-states, sin becomes less and less an individual matter and more and more a corporate, societal matter. The magnitude of the wrongdoings of the individual may decrease with the increased prosperity, enforcement of justice, etc. that comes with the modern nation, but the magnitude of the wrongdoings of the people as a whole increases exponentionally. Most in America, at least to some degree, feel the guilt associated with Iraq. Whether we consider Iraq a good cause handled poorly or a purely evil grab for oil, there is some hint of guilt -- Collective, corporate guilt.
Of course, we don't assume responsibility for this guilt. It is transferred, in a horrible step of illogic, to our leaders. Just as if we and our society had nothing to do with the mess. At all. Bush bears the weight of our guilt -- and so we despise him. This is a very dangerous line of thought. When Bush (and the other neo-conservatives) becomes the sole source of all of the problems and troubles which America has brought to Iraq, the solution seems simple enough.
Elections are coming.
Remove the leaders; remove the guilt.
I am terribly afraid that Americans will kick out the neocons, and throw our guilt out with them. And since our efforts to rebuild Iraq are based on our guilt, all progress towards healing and restoration will stop.
And Iraq will suffer even more.
Our aim cannot be to make amends between nation-states. That kind of guilt is far too easy to erase. Our repentance must be personal; we must aid in the healing ourselves. We cannot allow ourselves to get tricked into thinking that because we don't feel resposible for the situation in Iraq, we have no reason to help rebuild.
Because after all... If not us, then who?
In turn, Hometown Baghdad led me to it's sponsoring site, http://www.chattheplanet.com/, a group dedicated to a global dialogue between young people. It's exactly the kind of thing I've thought the clash of Christian (like it or not, America is viewed by the world at large as a Christian society) and Islamic societies have needed, and it is incredibly refreshing to see someone actually doing something to promote understanding.
And it was troubling.
During one of the discussions, an American student talks about how she feels helpless to help those in Iraq. She wants to do something, but doesn't know what to do, and doesn't think she could do it even if she did know. In another discussion, an American student asked if the students in Iraq felt like the young people of America were responsible for the state of Iraq today. The Iraqis said no.
What was so troubling is that it was very evident in these convesations that the American students' concern was not really for Iraqis; it was for their own consciences.
Sure, it's great for people to feel guilty for starting a war and to have that guilt spur them on to action. But it also can be a very dangerous platform for restoration and healing, because as soon as the guilt more or less disappears, the restoration and healing will disappear too.
Jacques Ellul writes that in the modern age of nation-states, sin becomes less and less an individual matter and more and more a corporate, societal matter. The magnitude of the wrongdoings of the individual may decrease with the increased prosperity, enforcement of justice, etc. that comes with the modern nation, but the magnitude of the wrongdoings of the people as a whole increases exponentionally. Most in America, at least to some degree, feel the guilt associated with Iraq. Whether we consider Iraq a good cause handled poorly or a purely evil grab for oil, there is some hint of guilt -- Collective, corporate guilt.
Of course, we don't assume responsibility for this guilt. It is transferred, in a horrible step of illogic, to our leaders. Just as if we and our society had nothing to do with the mess. At all. Bush bears the weight of our guilt -- and so we despise him. This is a very dangerous line of thought. When Bush (and the other neo-conservatives) becomes the sole source of all of the problems and troubles which America has brought to Iraq, the solution seems simple enough.
Elections are coming.
Remove the leaders; remove the guilt.
I am terribly afraid that Americans will kick out the neocons, and throw our guilt out with them. And since our efforts to rebuild Iraq are based on our guilt, all progress towards healing and restoration will stop.
And Iraq will suffer even more.
Our aim cannot be to make amends between nation-states. That kind of guilt is far too easy to erase. Our repentance must be personal; we must aid in the healing ourselves. We cannot allow ourselves to get tricked into thinking that because we don't feel resposible for the situation in Iraq, we have no reason to help rebuild.
Because after all... If not us, then who?
Saturday, February 10, 2007
They're like hobos -- in the best sense
So the Jehovah's Witnesses have hit our house three times in the last two weeks. My mom and I joke that they must have marked the house with a scratch on the fence or something, like the hobos do in old movies.
Not that I really have anything against JWs. They're certainly always polite. And I have to thank them, because every time they swing by and try and sell their faith to me I'm confronted with the reasons for my own faith -- Something that's easy to lose sight of.
The problem with arguing about religion with the intent to convert someone to your flavor of thinking (and why else does one argue about religion?) is that it reveals an underlying flaw in your belief: If you sincerely believe that you can win this person over with an argument, then it stands to reason that your own faith is based on an argument. And if your faith is based on an argument, not only are you faced with your own arrogance at assuming you have it all figured out, but you also have to be on the lookout, because who's to say that some bigger and better argument can't come along and convince YOU that YOU'RE "wrong"? Sounds like a pretty shaky faith to me.
One of the most life changing books I have ever read is Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, and although the entire book is amazing, it's the first couple of chapters that were/are most influential to me. In this chapter, Rob's talking about doctrines, which are what I suppose you could call the "pillars of faith" that any religion is built on; the specific beliefs that are vital to a particular flavor of religion. I.e. Jesus Christ being born of a virgin, or that he was crucified and rose again on the third day, or that God is three distinct persons in one (the Trinity), etc etc. Rob says doctrines can be like bricks; they build on top of each other. For example, some people would say that if you don't believe in a literal, six-day creation of the world, then there's no way you can believe any of the Bible. Each doctrinal brick builds on top of another; the problem being that if one brick is removed, the whole system falls over. It's religious jenga.
And then Rob asks a question that totally changed my perspective: If we somehow found irrevocable proof that Jesus Christ was not born of a virginal Mary, but actually had an earthly father named Bob, would you stop believing and following Jesus Christ?
My answer is, of course not.
Rob's idea here is that doctrine is meant to help explain God; not to be so arrogant as to think it explains God completely. But I think the issue here is much bigger and affects all aspects of life.
Back to my answer. We find out that Jesus had a dad named Bob, and still I'd call myself a follower of Jesus. Why? Because my faith isn't based on a doctrinal wall; it's not based on an argument. I call myself a Christian not because I've got all the answers figured out, not because I know the Bible from front to back and can tell you what every little word means. but because I know how messed up I really am, and life, love, friends, movies, TV, books, songs, coffee shops, family, sexuality, and nature have all taught me just as much about God and life and people as the Bible and Sunday sermons have.
And this is a huge relief... We can totally abandon the whole attitude of "I'VE GOT A GOD AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE HIM!" We can acknowledge that faith is a journey, not a map. There is no need to be afraid of saying the wrong things, no need to have it all figured out, no need to "defend the faith".
I mean, really, defend the faith from what?
You only have to defend against something if you're worried that it might make you change your mind. Sounds like a pretty shaky faith to me.
Not that I really have anything against JWs. They're certainly always polite. And I have to thank them, because every time they swing by and try and sell their faith to me I'm confronted with the reasons for my own faith -- Something that's easy to lose sight of.
The problem with arguing about religion with the intent to convert someone to your flavor of thinking (and why else does one argue about religion?) is that it reveals an underlying flaw in your belief: If you sincerely believe that you can win this person over with an argument, then it stands to reason that your own faith is based on an argument. And if your faith is based on an argument, not only are you faced with your own arrogance at assuming you have it all figured out, but you also have to be on the lookout, because who's to say that some bigger and better argument can't come along and convince YOU that YOU'RE "wrong"? Sounds like a pretty shaky faith to me.
One of the most life changing books I have ever read is Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, and although the entire book is amazing, it's the first couple of chapters that were/are most influential to me. In this chapter, Rob's talking about doctrines, which are what I suppose you could call the "pillars of faith" that any religion is built on; the specific beliefs that are vital to a particular flavor of religion. I.e. Jesus Christ being born of a virgin, or that he was crucified and rose again on the third day, or that God is three distinct persons in one (the Trinity), etc etc. Rob says doctrines can be like bricks; they build on top of each other. For example, some people would say that if you don't believe in a literal, six-day creation of the world, then there's no way you can believe any of the Bible. Each doctrinal brick builds on top of another; the problem being that if one brick is removed, the whole system falls over. It's religious jenga.
And then Rob asks a question that totally changed my perspective: If we somehow found irrevocable proof that Jesus Christ was not born of a virginal Mary, but actually had an earthly father named Bob, would you stop believing and following Jesus Christ?
My answer is, of course not.
Rob's idea here is that doctrine is meant to help explain God; not to be so arrogant as to think it explains God completely. But I think the issue here is much bigger and affects all aspects of life.
Back to my answer. We find out that Jesus had a dad named Bob, and still I'd call myself a follower of Jesus. Why? Because my faith isn't based on a doctrinal wall; it's not based on an argument. I call myself a Christian not because I've got all the answers figured out, not because I know the Bible from front to back and can tell you what every little word means. but because I know how messed up I really am, and life, love, friends, movies, TV, books, songs, coffee shops, family, sexuality, and nature have all taught me just as much about God and life and people as the Bible and Sunday sermons have.
And this is a huge relief... We can totally abandon the whole attitude of "I'VE GOT A GOD AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE HIM!" We can acknowledge that faith is a journey, not a map. There is no need to be afraid of saying the wrong things, no need to have it all figured out, no need to "defend the faith".
I mean, really, defend the faith from what?
You only have to defend against something if you're worried that it might make you change your mind. Sounds like a pretty shaky faith to me.
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