The Other-Centered Life

So this is a column that was run in the PHC Herald last semester. It pretty much describes the foundation of my ethical theory. I’m planning on doing more work with this later.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, at least, amongst Patrick Henry students, that man is a political animal. And though most of us are not as close to the form of the political animal as, say, Tony Cavicchi, we do realize this underlying principle: we are created to desire interaction with other people.

At this point, it’s easy for us to say, “well, duh!” and not push the question any further. But it seems that our very familiarity with this concept causes us to miss the truth contained within it.

Do we realize that we, as humans, were created for someone else? Of course, we all realize that we were created for God and that we derive our utmost fulfillment in him. But we also find in Scripture that “it is not good for man to be alone” and that we are created to enjoy the company of each other. We desire that which is outside of ourselves- both in God and man. We are designed to live an other-centered life.

That’s not really what you hear in culture today. There’s a lot of rhetoric about “my rights,” a desire to do whatever I want as long as I don’t hurt anyone, and a culture generally motivated by self-interest. But the mere fact that we desire to be served implies that there is someone who is supposed to serve. And since it seems that you can’t be served unless there is another person who is serving, it follows that it is more in keeping with human nature to serve than to be served.

So from a Christian perspective, doesn’t it make sense that if we were created by a loving God, the very thing that we were created to do will bring us the most enjoyment? And doesn’t it follow that if we all serve each other, we will also be served?

“But wait!” says the skeptic. “That’s all idealistic and such. But in reality, nobody’s going to do anything for you, so you’ve got to stick up for yourself.” There is some merit to this, but only because of the Fall. In an Edenic state, the way we were created to live, it is easy to conceive of everyone serving and being served by each other. Instead of sticking up for ourselves and defending “our rights,” we cheerfully execute our duties to one another and derive fulfillment from doing so. And when we are served by others, we are blessed.

Admittedly, in the post-fall world, there’s a bit of prudence to be applied. The hard truth is that service isn’t reciprocated, and duties to yourself now require greater emphasis. I’ll leave it to a Political Theory major to flesh out precisely how far this adaptation goes. But the principle is this. If it is a fundamental part of our nature to serve God and others, maybe the fulfillment derived from doing so is worth the initial self-denial.

Sartre on Freedom and Anguish

So, as some of you may know, I’ve been working my way through a big project on existentialism. I came up with some notes from a professor at the University of Indiana named Paul Vincent Spade on Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. One particular aspect of his synopsis intrigued me. It was the summary of one of Sartre’s defenses of absolute metaphysical freedom, particularly as relates to nothingness. Without further adieu, here’s the argument.

I stand at the edge of a precipice and look down. I begin to feel a little dizzy. What’s going on here?

It can hardly be that I am, in any objective sense, afraid of falling over the edge (at least not in most cases). Let’s suppose the ground is reasonably firm, the wind is not blowing so hard it’s going to puff me over the rim, there’s no real likelihood of an earthquake. None of that is what is really causing my dizziness.

No. For Sartre, what is bothering me is not the possibility that I might fall; it’s the possibility that I might jump. There is no other way to accommodate the facts. I look, as it were, down there into the future and see myself tumbling head over heels over the edge to my death. Now, of course, in an obvious sense, I am not that man I see in the future. I’m up here on the top, reasonably intact; he’s down there on the bottom, all smashed. But in another obvious sense, I am that man I see down there in the future. That is, I recognize myself in that moment. If I didn’t somehow recognize myself in that future man, why would he bother me so much? The kind of vertigo I feel at the prospect of my tumbling over the side is quite different from whatever I might feel at the prospect that someone else might fall or leap over the ledge.

No, that’s me. And yet, it’s not me. I am what I am not, and I am not what I am. And, just as in the case of the gambler looking into the past, so too here in the case of the future, there is a way of putting this in terms of freedom: What is it that prevents me from being that man in the future in so strong a sense that I too propel myself over the side? Answer: Nothing. What is it that compels me to do it? Nothing. In short, nothing SEPARATES me that prospect. And that nothingness is just another way of talking about freedom.

And in fact, the closer I get to the edge of the cliff, the more obvious it is that nothing prevents me from actually doing it. It’s as if the literal distance between me and the edge is a kind of symbol of my own freedom. And that is what’s so scary, what produces the dizziness or vertigo. This fear of my own freedom is what Sartre calls “anguish.”

Copyright 1996 by Paul Vincent Spade. Used with permission.

Thoughts?

A Defense of the Authority of Philosophy Over Science

Perhaps the line between science and philosophy has been excessively blurred, and the two are meant to work more closely than they do currently. But equally dangerous is the notion that philosophy’s observations are dependent on science for their meaning. In fact, a quick foray into the current discussion on quantum mechanics finds a number of conflicting metaphysical theories being brought forward as plausible explanations for various observed quantum phenomena. It seems critical, therefore, that we establish the dependency of science on philosophy and the authority of philosophy over science.

It seems to me that there is a fundamental difference between the analysis of the object, and analysis of the subject. Classically, science has concerned itself with the analysis of the object. That is not to say that philosophy is not also concerned with the analysis of the object- there are many metaphysical observations of the object that fall within the domain of philosophy. Nonetheless, the scientist observes the world around him, collects and analyzes data about the object. The data can then be used to postulate a theory, which is then verified through more empirical observation. At such a point as the scientist begins postulating theories that cannot be verified through empirical observation, he has left the domain of science and entered the domain of philosophy. Admittedly, he must do this at times in order to press forward the investigations of science. It is important to note that these are philosophical conjectures, and that the scientist is acting in the capacity of a philosopher. Perhaps this is an excellent argument for overlap between science and philosophy. At the present, this is not our concern.

We find, therefore, that the scientist deals with empirical observations of the object. It is critical to note that these observations occur subjectively. Many criticisms have been made against the notion that the subject can divorce its subjectivity from its observations, and observe the object objectively. It would take significant time to present all of the objections to this theory, so I will present the one that I find most compelling. We, as humans, are born into a social and philosophical paradigm. Our beliefs and knowledge are shaped by our environment. Even behavioral scientists stress the importance of the developmental stages of childhood on the emergence of personality traits that are critical in scientific inquiries. I think the link may be established on even more solid grounds. The individual is provided with certain basic socially conditioned mechanisms for interacting with his environment, for example, language, a pre-existing scientific climate, certain standards of accepted procedure. The scientist learns to think in these ways, and brings these to bear when he conducts his scientific endeavors. Even if he tries to approach the field as objectively as possible (a laudable aim, to be sure), he finds himself, at a most basic level, communicating and interpreting with a certain language and grammar which he can never escape. If he tries to escape and construct a more objective mechanism, he finds that he has simply birthed another subjective context, one that is dependent on its mother subjectivity.

As such, we find that all scientific observations must first pass through a subjective context before they are made use of. And this subjective context is precisely the domain of the philosopher. Now it is true that the data produced at times provides for an alteration of the subjective context. But the scientist, in altering the subjective context, does so in the understanding that his field of study is the empirical, and that he must remain in the empirical domain. The scientist can thus provide us observational data on the way things are. He cannot extrapolate philosophical implications. Now admittedly, Empiricism is a philosophical position one might take, but to defend Empiricism empirically is merely to beg the question. Which perhaps is Empiricism’s downfall, but that is outside the scope of this article. Furthermore, science derives its ability to function from a subjective context, and analysis of the subject is the domain of philosophy. Thus, in order for the scientist to even begin his analysis what he is doing, he must employ philosophy. His field of study is entirely dependent on it.

An example to illustrate. We find raging in the field of philosophy a debate between materialism and dualism. We find materialists assert the idea that the human self is wholly material. We find the dualist assertion that the human self contains an immaterial dimension, a soul that participates in a non-physical reality. In this context, the scientist conducts his empirical observations, for example, observing certain electrical impulses in the brain, and analyzes the data. He therefore concludes that thought is linked with the material. Here, his observation must cease. The scientist cannot next assert that thought is solely material. If he does so, he crosses the domain from the scientific to the philosophical. The dualist is not refuted on these grounds. Furthermore, the scientists link between a thought and an electrical impulse is wholly contingent on a pre-existing philosophical notion of a thought. The philosopher thus retains his autonomy and authority over the scientist.

Lewis Carroll, Epistemologically Speaking

In What The Tortoise Said To Achilles, perhaps one of the most enjoyable articles ever written in the field of epistemology, Lewis Carroll (of Alice in Wonderland and Jaberwocky fame), puts forward a dialogue between a tortoise and the great Greek hero Achilles.

The dialogue essentially takes the principle of Zeno’s paradox and applies it to deductive logic. According to Zeno’s paradox, in order for a fast runner to catch a slow runner, he must first run to the slow runner’s current location. By the time he arrives at that location, however, the slow runner will have advanced, and the fast runner must run to the slow runner’s new location. Upon arriving at the new location, the slow runner will have advanced again, repetitio ad infinitum. The fast runner must therefore run to an infinite number of locations in order to catch the slow runner. With Carroll, we find the following basic deductive syllogism split apart in similar fashion.

(A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to each other.
(B) The two sides of this Triangle are things that are equal to the
same.
(Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each other.

Upon a first glance, the conclusion seems to follow necessarily, but Carroll points out that we are assuming the hypothetical proposition “If A and B are true, then Z must be true.” In such a case, we can assume A and B to be true, but deny the hypothetical, and thus be under no obligation to accept Z as true. To compensate, we must construct the following syllogism:

(A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to each other.
(B) The two sides of this Triangle are things that are equal to the
same.
(C) If A and B are true, then Z must be true.
(Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each other.

We find on examination that we are similarly assuming another premise, let’s call it D, which is “If A and B and C are true, then Z is true.” Rinse, lather, repeat, ad infinitum.

Of course, we all find the idea of accepting A, B and C while denying Z to be utterly ridiculous. But the fact that we must assume an infinite number of hypotheticals points to a useful truth. The statement that a conclusion follows necessarily from the premises is not a statement of absolute necessity. It is a statement of practical necessity. If humanity were to operate under the rigor of perfect rationality, not only would inductive reasoning be insufficient, but deductive reasoning itself would fail us.

It appears that various “rational” methods that we use to interact with reality are not purely logical, but merely resemble logic, or approach logic, much like an exponential function approaches zero. But the fact that the function never reaches zero does not cause the mathematician to deny zero’s existence. Similarly, the fact that we never arrive at perfect rationality does not cause us to deny the existence of the perfectly rational. It merely points to an infinite qualitative distinction between the human and the rational, or an uncrossable chasm between human “rationality” and perfect rationality.

It also seems that human rationality is not merely an “imperfect” rationality, but that it differs in substance from true rationality. We would not say that the exponential function is an imperfect form of zero, we would say that it is a substantively different way of approaching zero.

Finally, it is worth noting that we do recognize rationality. Though we cannot explain why a statement is rational (any attempt to do so would send us off on an infinite regress again), there is an innate understanding that the syllogism we are perceiving is indeed rational. We participate in rationality though we do not know what it is. And as such, we retain the distinction of being rational animals, or perhaps a more accurate description would be that we are reasonable animals. We are able to reason, even if we cannot do so rationally.

Joy To The World

Christmas today has seemed to lost its point. It seems to me that most of American society today goes one of two directions with the holiday. On one hand, you have the secularization of the holiday, with all its consumerism, tolerance, and other such things that you would expect from a non-Christian relativist culture. On the other hand, you have the radicalization of the holiday, as we loudly sing all the Christian songs, angrily say the word “Christmas”, and in general make a point to be as caustically pro-Christmas as possible. Both miss the message of the Incarnation.

So it bears being reminded of what we already know- the story of Christmas.

It starts at the beginning. God created the heavens and the earth. He created man and gave him full authority over creation. He instituted communion with man, he walked with man. And yet man blasphemed his creator. He arrogantly spurned the command of the all-powerful God upon which everything exists. He severed his source of life and divinity.

The response was breathtaking. For man now tainted by sin, the logical next step would be an eradication of blasphemous scum from an otherwise perfect world, and perhaps another creation of the imago dei. Yet God loved us, and promised redemption. Through the eons, He chose and endured a people who continuously spurned and rejected him, and reminded us of the promised Emmanuel- the restoration of communion, God with us.

And then on Christmas, he become incarnate. The very word of God, the logos, by which all things were made, and in which all things live, move and have their being, became flesh and dwelt among us. The perfect God of the universe emptied himself of his divine rights and dwelt in a body cursed by the blasphemy of his own creation, that he might be agonizingly crucified by the very people he came to restore communion with. That blasphemous creation upon whom, mysteriously, “his favor rests.”

It is a sacrificial love so inhuman, so transcendent, so divine. It overflows the limits of human sensibility, it is written throughout the fabric of the universe, yet we are only able to absorb small glimpses of it.

And in it, we find ourselves utterly disarmed. Any objection we can raise, any assertion of rights, any act of ego we dare to mount is so absurd, so irrational that the mere mention of it in the face of an all-loving God is our utmost shame. Instead, we find a command to love. To love sacrificially and unconditionally, to evangelize and spread this Gospel to all.

So the mystery of the incarnation is that our Lord is come, that he is bringing joy to the world, that he has come to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

Memento Mori

In a short story idea proposed by a friend of mine, a concept emerged that I thought was highly fascinating. I post the fascinating part on my blog. The story features a murder, and then a collapse into insanity.

“Until that guilt is confronted factually and addressed as a living, breathing reality will there be hope for forgiveness and redemption. But continue in denial, continue in habit, and continue spinning, spinning, spinning, then what power you possessed to confront your wrong will be gone. It will haunt you daily. And after spending a lifetime confronted with death, you will die yourself. Death. We all find it curiously fascinating. Its cruel, cold, unfair, and yet poetic justice.”

-’Chuck Watson’, Scissors that go Squeak, not Snip, 11/10/11

From a Christian perspective, death is a very complex, multifaceted concept. To simplify to its basest form, it is a paradox. As we were all originally designed to live in Eden, we were designed to live free from death. Death, therefore, is unnatural.

Yet as a result of Adam’s sin, we are all cursed to live in a fallen world. And our very existence in this world is unnatural. Death, therefore, provides us an exit from the unnatural. To the non-Christian, however, the only recourse that is left is another unnatural fate- that of eternal punishment. To the Christian, however, there is hope in the natural- a knowledge that our death with ultimately result in a deliverance from the unnatural, and a wholly fulfilled, natural rest in the arms of the eternal.

We see that two different perspective on death emerge, then. First is a non-Christian perspective- it sees life as unnatural. Now to be sure, most give formal assent to the idea that life is natural. There is, however, an innate sense of a transcendent in which we are participating. Take for example, the problem of evil. The mere fact that humanity poses the question “why do bad things happen?” implies that there is some external answer. There are those that take the concept of the unnatural and call it natural (say, Darwinists), but the concept still meets the average individual with natural repulsion. A thoroughly Darwinian morality repulses the average human. So the fact that we exist is taken as unnatural. They are, however, acclimated to it, so that they go on operating as if it is natural.

The non-Christian also sees death as unnatural. Death is viewed as inevitable, but it is always loathed, avoided, shunned, not discussed. It is seen as an impending non-existence, an annihilation of the self. There are indeed circumventions. The idea of reincarnation attempts to naturalize death by recycling the energy into another existence. Vague and fearful concepts of an afterlife attempt to provide some explanation, but largely fail to solve the problem. Whether the afterlife is an unnatural existence, or a completely nature-lacking, existence-less nihil, death is seen as a gateway to the unnatural, something uncomfortable, something to avoid.

And then, from a Christian perspective, the non-Christian experience with death includes an unnatural punishment that was never intended, for all eternity.

For the Christian, we see this existence as unnatural- until our justification. At the point of our justification, we are imbued with another nature, one that we were intended to have from the start. We also see death as unnatural, something that was not meant to be in the created order. Thus, the Christian view entirely encapsulates the non-Christian view- it sees existence as unnatural and death as unnatural. But the Christian also has a more robust understanding of death. We understand not only the unnatural existence, but also the natural existence- that paradoxical struggle of old man and new man. We see not only the unnatural aspects of death, but also the role of death in delivering us to a wholly natural state. Death, to the Christian, is paradoxically natural and unnatural.

Because of this, it is imperative that the Christian take a full-orbed picture of death. Yes, it is true that death can contain some poetic justice for the sins that we have committed. But it was never intended to be our fate. Our death, insofar as it attests to our unnatural existence and this disorder of the universe, is ultimately tragic, infinitely more so for the unbeliever destined for eternal damnation. It must be considered a tragedy.

Yet death is also not poetic justice for the Christian. It is an ultimate respite, a deliverance from the City of Earth to the City of God, and an entrance into God’s eternal peace. Thus, it can be the most natural thing ever experienced in this life.

The Christian author therefore has a unique ability. He can paint a much more hopeful picture of death than the temporal, fleeting, non-Christian glimpse of death allows.

When applying the perspective on death in a literary context, you have a few options. You can demonstrate the futility of the non-Christian perspective, and allow the unnaturality of the concept itself serve as an apologetic for Christianity. But fully as important is to focus on the higher view of death, that paradoxical viewpoint that allows us to embrace death in the loveliness that only a Christian surrendered to his master can see.

Remember, you die. But it’s not just a horror story.

Journal Entry: Love- The Foundational Virtue

Journal Entry: 9-27-2011

In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul mentions three crucial elements upon which the Christian faith is based: Faith, Hope and Love. Out of these three, the greatest is love. This is not to say that any of these are separable from each other, but suggests a certain ordering of virtues, the most foundational of which is love.

When reading Corinthians, we notice the context of which these are listed. They are noted in the context of eternity. They are what abides when the perfect comes and the partial passes away (1 Cor 13:10). The exercise of this virtue, therefore, is unique to the Christian, as an unbeliever does not participate in the eternal, but merely the partial.

When looking at love, we see other virtues emerge. We see that encapsulated in love is patience (v. 4), humility (v.4), desire for truth (v.6), et al. This particular form of love is charity, an unconditional form of love required from us as believers towards all man. It also points us to our disposition towards God (love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength) and others (love your neighbor as yourself). It is active, and demands sacrifice of any who would possess it. Christ’s love is an example as he sacrificed himself. Our calling, to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow him, also entails sacrifice.

This sacrifice may manifest itself in a number of different ways. All of our vices stem ultimately from an indulgence of self- selfishness, obviously is an indulgence of self. Impatience is from someone taking to much of our time. Arrogance is making ourselves look better, of having a lofty opinions of ourselves. So as we cultivate these lesser virtues, we are denying self and cultivating a nature of love.

As we exercise this virtue of charity, it becomes engrained in us. We see that as we apply the command to love God and love our neighbor, our default disposition towards them changes, and we begin to desire loving them.

The beauty of love is that it is the meta-virtue upon which all others are founded. Doing what is right is comprised of humility, patience, kindness, etc. The specific virtues are sub-virtues, if you will, to the meta-virtue. If we cultivate the lesser virtues, we find that we are better able to exercise love, we become more habituated to exercising love and we have greater ease in implementing all of the other virtues.

Journal Entry: The Chaos of Belief

Journal Entry: 9-23-2011

Our beliefs are constantly in a state of conflict, are often without justification and frequently are ill-merited or derived.

Our desire shapes belief in devastating ways. Who hasn’t accepted claims blindly just because they wish them to be true? Once accepted, these belief become embedded into our greater system of belief and shape the way we view the world and process other beliefs.

For beliefs that do not serve our purposes, we accept them blindly insofar as they cohere with our other beliefs. But we’re not able to call upon all our beliefs simultaneously to test if the belief actually coheres. So when we test a new proposition for coherence, we only test it in the context of a few beliefs brought forward for consideration.

Consequently, we form beliefs in contradiction to each other.

For example:

Given propositions A, ~A, P and Q, where A is justified by P, P and Q justify each other (by mere coherence) and Q and ~A justify each other, we accept A within consideration of P and Q, and we accept ~A within consideration of Q and P. We therefore, unknown to us, have accepted A and ~A into our structure of beliefs, and act upon those beliefs. We act as if A and ~A are true simultaneously, for as long as A and ~A are not considered simultaneously. If we ever were confronted with a situation in which we realize that we are holding A and ~A simultaneously, we would of course resolve the contradiction by eliminating one of the propositions. But as long as we don’t realize it, we operate upon a contradiction

Haven’t we all come to a point where we say something, and then sheepishly admit “oh yeah, I guess that is in contradiction with <x other thing I said>”? And that’s only when we realize that we’re in contradiction, there are other times, I’m sure, where we don’t realize it.

So the above example, using letters and logical relationships, was very simplified and perhaps unlikely. However, the problem becomes worse as the beliefs become further removed in logical relationships from each other, or the logical relationships become more complicated, and enthymematic, and the likelihood of the problem occurring becomes higher.

Consider the following propositions:

P= The foreign nation of Olympia has an annual expenditure of USD $1 billion.
A= Olympia spends USD $500 million annually on various agricultural subsidies.
B= Olympia spends USD $500 million annually on national defense.
C= Olympia spends USD $500million annually on welfare and medical programs.

Now let’s introduce these to a test subject (let’s call him John) sequentially. Upon being presented with proposition P, John accepts P into his belief system unquestionably. After all, why shouldn’t he believe his roommate who, while surfing the internet, says to him, “hey John, didja know that Olympia spends $1 billion annually?” It doesn’t contradict with any of his beliefs, or at least none that he can recall at the moment, and so he accepts it blindly. It isn’t at the forefront of his mind, but if someone questions him on it, or somehow jogs his memory, he can bring that belief up.

In various random fashions, John hears A, B and C at various points in time (in that order). Accepting propositions A and B would be logically consistent, but then accepting C would not be (as it would conflict with proposition P considered in context of A and B). It is unlikely, however, that John will be considering all four propositions in the context of each other, especially if his hearing the various propositions comes over the course of several weeks, maybe even a couple months.

John, upon hearing A, may accept it on its own, without considering it in context of P. If questioned, he can still recall P, and maybe at times the thought comes up while he’s considering something,, but it doesn’t strike him on consideration of proposition A. Similarly with B, only nowits further unlikely that he will consider it in context of P and A simultaneously.

And now when C comes along, he may test for coherence with P or he may not. If he fails to check all three other propositions for coherence, he may conclude that C actually does cohere with his beliefs. He thus accepts the contradiction into his belief system.

To notate, we start with a pure contingency that is a logically necessary statement that:

(A · B · C) -> ~P

Which we would say is “If A and B and C are all true, then P is not true,” a logical necessity given that “If A and B and C are all true, then Olypmia spends $1.5billion USD” and “The proposition ‘Olympia spends $1.5billion USD’ is mutually exclusive to ‘Olympia spends $1billion USD’”

So, John would recognize the obviousness of the statement if confronted. Let’s now construct our syllogism.

1. (A · B · C) -> ~P
2. P
3. A
4. B
5. C
6. A · B · C           (3, 4, 5 CONJ)
7. ~P                     (1, 6 MP)
.:. P · ~P               (2, 7 CONJ)

Which is a contradiction.

Yet, John acts upon believing this contradiction until it is brought to his attention. He may justify a certain action on the basis of P (“look how fiscally responsible they are, they spend $500 million less than this other country, I’ll vote for that candidate promising those foreign policy plans towards Olympia!”) or A (“I like agricultural subsidies, so I’ll vote for this referendum granting money to Olympia”), etc, etc. (the complications that arise may be compounded if, say, John is in a position of responsibility that involves considering foreign policy positions towards various countries).

This scenario is still a relatively basic construction. In other scenarios, the repercussions may be amplified throughout a host of propositions and a mess of complicated logical relationships, causing the contradiction to become even more difficult to flesh out.

We may criticize John for being so reckless with his beliefs as to accept propositions blindly, but even for the most rigid and thoroughly logical of us, there are just some points in which we have to accept beliefs relatively untested into our belief system so as to avoid being overly scrupulous or skeptical. We MUST operate on some principle of coherence in order to be able to function normally, and we can’t bring forward our entire belief system simultaneously to check for coherence. This is the modus operandi for humans, we walk around with our beliefs in a state of chaos, acting upon them and persisting in inconsistency and error.

Themes: Coherentism, Justification.
Influences: Keith Lehrer
Responses To: Foundationalists

Journal Entry: The Eternal Craving

Journal Entry 9-19-2011

“The possibility of this sickness is man’s advantage over the beast; to be aware of this sickness is the Christian’s advantage over natural man; to be cured of this sickness is the Christian’s blessedness”

-Soren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death

The soul is a synthesis of the eternal and temporal. Man exists in the temporal and is designed to experience reality in sequence and duration. Yet the very existence of the temporal implies a source, and is thus contingent upon the eternal. Temporality, consequently, is rooted in the eternal. Similarly, mankind, an aspect of temporality, desires to be rooted in the eternal.

Mankind’s chief craving, therefore, is consistency, staticity, the familiar. A parallel, or perhaps a tangible manifestation of the eternal. Peace.

As man pursues his life as a natural man, he is laboring and hoping for stability. This is the mother desire that drives all other desires- a craving for the eternal.

But the eternal Objective is not visible to the temporal Subjective. Consequently, man attempts to fill his desire temporally. He misplaces his hope and when it fails him, despairs.

This is the ultimate end of natural man- to lose all hope for eternal stability, to thereby lose purpose, to be in despair.

The only solution is a leap of faith towards the eternal. The only sense of purpose possible is eschatological hope.

This eschatological hope is a surrender of all of one’s person- all properties, essence, etc- to a faith in the eternal.

Without a leap of faith, there is nothing but despair and death.

While in a state of hope, however, despair is still possible. Anytime that the faith in the eternal, the imperfect, subjective observation of Objectivity, is eclipsed by the temporal, hope is suspended and man feels despair until such hope is restored.

Themes: Existentialism, Fideism, Hope and Despair.

Influences: Soren Kierkegaard
Responses To: Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus

Journal Entry: Christianity vs. Post-Modernism- The Only Difference

Journal Entry 9-17-2011

“Thinking in isolation and with pride ends in becoming an idiot. Every man who will not have a softening of the heart must at last have a softening of the brain.”
-G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Christianity and post-modernism actually bear a number of commonalities. They start from the assumption that humanity is inadequate.

The biggest difference, of course, is that from the Christian perspective, all humanity is contingent upon the eternal. The post-modern rejects the eternal (thinking in isolation, if you will) and asserts that reality only exists as seen through the subjective human perspective.

From the subjective perspective, however, Christianity and post-modernism are nearly identical. They both view human reason as woefully inadequate, human constructs and structures as illegitimate, and both conclude that in the absence of a transcendent universal, there is no purpose.

The Christian looks upwards and appeals to the transcendant.
The post-modern looks downwards and appeals to the self.

The Christian finds meaning from outside of himself and thrives.
The post-modern fails to find meaning inside of himself and dies.

Themes: Post-Modernism, Hope and Despair

Influences: Soren Kierkegaard, G.K. Chesterton
Responses To: Jacques Derrida, Albert Camus