Can't but Critique of Pure Emotion
Let's pretend for a minute that selflessness is not a virtue.
The entire point of being a student is to expend copious amounts of time and energy on oneself. "Copious" doesn't satiate the message: our adolescent lives are spent extravagantly splurging on everything surrounding us and sucking it into ourselves. The teacher exists for the student, the parent exists for the child, the friend exists for one's own happiness and support, and- dare I say it- nearly all (attempted) romantic relationships work the same way. It's far from a valid excuse, but I'm reluctant to blame it on us teenagers. Society has designed a perfect path to making us all that way, at least for the mean time. If any person or group of people has everything given to them, or at least (supposedly) dedicated to them, they're bound to assume it should rightfully be that way.
If you haven't tried it, look at anything you currently perceive as personal input in an objective manner, and I can guarantee you will see a plethora of interesting new things. It seems positively scandalous to suggest enjoying church for ulterior motives. We must tread lightly, lest we all start attending church for reasons other than personal spiritual growth and fulfillment! Yet I would dare you to sacrifice the attempt to apply David and Moses and Abraham to your life (again) for just one week. Dare to reflect on your Sunday sermon instead as a routine gathering of a bunch of regular adult men and woman, from Seattle, from the Pacific Northwest, from the USA, from the 21st century. The same can be asked about the speaker: what's influenced the way he talks? What kind of education did he have, what kind of upbringing, what would move him to say what he does in the way he is? How does the audience impact his message? These things all contain a vast array of sociological implications, and they all affect what you've been listening to from week to week.
The audience I am a part of on Wednesday nights is the one I described at the top of this post. Teenagers. Being one, I feel safe saying that teenagers are the weirdest, scariest, most horrible and- at times- most wonderfully interesting creatures ever. Principally when you're observing instead of participating.
This was the question: "When does it feel like God has disappeared and what do we do when it happens?" (My favorite.)
These are the most prominent answers that emerged:
God seems absent when:
1. I'm alone.
2. nothing very interesting's going on.
3. life just sucks.
To rephrase:
God seems absent when:
1. no one else is paying attention to me.
2. nothing I'm sucking into myself is pleasing or upsetting me in any extraordinary manner.
3. nothing around me makes me happy.
Let's be clear that I ain't judging, nor am I suggesting that these sentiments are illegitimate. But just look at the way our culture has affected those things that make us feel like God's absent! We're such individualists and so concerned- obsessed- with quality of life (when "quality" is shallow, momentary happiness) that a lack of it blinds us to the existence of an omnipresent God.
Our lives rest on a blanket of emotion. When it jerks, our lives roll all over, like little kids on a parachute. (Just smile and nod if you don't know what I'm talking about. You must have had a deprived childhood.) The problem is only this: that we can't afford to believe that whichever way our nose is pointed is up.
What I mean is that we apply our "student" attitude to matters of faith, and God's quite a different sort of teacher than we're used to. Normally, when things are adequately meeting OUR NEEDS, we feel like those things have good merit. We see loneliness or mundaneness or unhappiness or general crappiness as need; since God can be nothing other than a being of good merit, naturally he would meet those needs. Meaning, he would make things happy and exciting for us. We believe that he is all the wonderful things we're taught he is, but if we're to be honest with ourselves, that doesn't make sense: it's like oil and water, dark and light. Subconscious or not, we've made God's presence- intervention- work- all inversely proportionate to the amount of pain and ish and ugh in our lives. The more painful and ishful and ughful our lives become, the less we feel God's presence. Because if he were truly here, he'd be more effective at meeting our needs, as anything with good merit would. After all, nothing has purpose if it doesn't serve the will of the people.
(Luckily, God is smart enough to recognize that people themselves are of greater worth than human will on its own.)
We could remain in the parachute, getting tossed up and down and whirled around in all directions but still persisting in a steadfast belief that the direction your nose points is up. Kudos to you for strong faith. But isn't it better to recognize that we don't have a freaking idea which way is up while if we're always rolling around? Emotion isn't bad, it is absolutely necessary. But the kind of emotion I condone actually stabilizes us: it gives us drive, motivation, and purpose. It's what makes us love, it's what gives us hope, it's what lets us relate to the Gospel message. But it doesn't look like the emotion we're used to seeing. The kind of emotion we see is blind and stupid and unsafe, because lots of very important things, like our faith, are founded on it. That's what makes it go up and down: the fact that everything's been founded on it.
It's crucial to realize that good and bad is not how "well" our lives are going, because our ups and downs and ishs and ughs are extremely subjective in their "truth." There's a bigger Good and Bad outside of what we're feeling that we could be focused on. That's the kind of emotion that will pull us out of the parachute.
So What if I'm happy? So What if I'm sad? It's irrelevant, not masochistic. God isn't going to walk in and give me a hug and tell me it's all going to be better, though remembering purpose and salvation and love can be comforting. There's little point to reading random selections out of the Bible when your life "sucks" in the hope that something will be miraculously revealed and make everything better. His presence isn't something that descends upon me in my sorrow to make me feel grounded and peaceful when I really "need" it. He knows I'll be made a thousand times stronger if I have the opportunity to fight through that. The struggle brings you out better. Unsettling emotion is nothing but a fact that I need to work through. It is unhealthy to neglect it, but equally unhealthy to live it. There's a way to recognize it and deal with it, but it oughtn't be what we stand on. Parachute emotion is baggage we don't need to carry.
Let's stop pretending selflessness is not a virtue.
The entire point of being a student is to expend copious amounts of time and energy on oneself. "Copious" doesn't satiate the message: our adolescent lives are spent extravagantly splurging on everything surrounding us and sucking it into ourselves. The teacher exists for the student, the parent exists for the child, the friend exists for one's own happiness and support, and- dare I say it- nearly all (attempted) romantic relationships work the same way. It's far from a valid excuse, but I'm reluctant to blame it on us teenagers. Society has designed a perfect path to making us all that way, at least for the mean time. If any person or group of people has everything given to them, or at least (supposedly) dedicated to them, they're bound to assume it should rightfully be that way.
If you haven't tried it, look at anything you currently perceive as personal input in an objective manner, and I can guarantee you will see a plethora of interesting new things. It seems positively scandalous to suggest enjoying church for ulterior motives. We must tread lightly, lest we all start attending church for reasons other than personal spiritual growth and fulfillment! Yet I would dare you to sacrifice the attempt to apply David and Moses and Abraham to your life (again) for just one week. Dare to reflect on your Sunday sermon instead as a routine gathering of a bunch of regular adult men and woman, from Seattle, from the Pacific Northwest, from the USA, from the 21st century. The same can be asked about the speaker: what's influenced the way he talks? What kind of education did he have, what kind of upbringing, what would move him to say what he does in the way he is? How does the audience impact his message? These things all contain a vast array of sociological implications, and they all affect what you've been listening to from week to week.
The audience I am a part of on Wednesday nights is the one I described at the top of this post. Teenagers. Being one, I feel safe saying that teenagers are the weirdest, scariest, most horrible and- at times- most wonderfully interesting creatures ever. Principally when you're observing instead of participating.
This was the question: "When does it feel like God has disappeared and what do we do when it happens?" (My favorite.)
These are the most prominent answers that emerged:
God seems absent when:
1. I'm alone.
2. nothing very interesting's going on.
3. life just sucks.
To rephrase:
God seems absent when:
1. no one else is paying attention to me.
2. nothing I'm sucking into myself is pleasing or upsetting me in any extraordinary manner.
3. nothing around me makes me happy.
Let's be clear that I ain't judging, nor am I suggesting that these sentiments are illegitimate. But just look at the way our culture has affected those things that make us feel like God's absent! We're such individualists and so concerned- obsessed- with quality of life (when "quality" is shallow, momentary happiness) that a lack of it blinds us to the existence of an omnipresent God.
Our lives rest on a blanket of emotion. When it jerks, our lives roll all over, like little kids on a parachute. (Just smile and nod if you don't know what I'm talking about. You must have had a deprived childhood.) The problem is only this: that we can't afford to believe that whichever way our nose is pointed is up.
What I mean is that we apply our "student" attitude to matters of faith, and God's quite a different sort of teacher than we're used to. Normally, when things are adequately meeting OUR NEEDS, we feel like those things have good merit. We see loneliness or mundaneness or unhappiness or general crappiness as need; since God can be nothing other than a being of good merit, naturally he would meet those needs. Meaning, he would make things happy and exciting for us. We believe that he is all the wonderful things we're taught he is, but if we're to be honest with ourselves, that doesn't make sense: it's like oil and water, dark and light. Subconscious or not, we've made God's presence- intervention- work- all inversely proportionate to the amount of pain and ish and ugh in our lives. The more painful and ishful and ughful our lives become, the less we feel God's presence. Because if he were truly here, he'd be more effective at meeting our needs, as anything with good merit would. After all, nothing has purpose if it doesn't serve the will of the people.
(Luckily, God is smart enough to recognize that people themselves are of greater worth than human will on its own.)
We could remain in the parachute, getting tossed up and down and whirled around in all directions but still persisting in a steadfast belief that the direction your nose points is up. Kudos to you for strong faith. But isn't it better to recognize that we don't have a freaking idea which way is up while if we're always rolling around? Emotion isn't bad, it is absolutely necessary. But the kind of emotion I condone actually stabilizes us: it gives us drive, motivation, and purpose. It's what makes us love, it's what gives us hope, it's what lets us relate to the Gospel message. But it doesn't look like the emotion we're used to seeing. The kind of emotion we see is blind and stupid and unsafe, because lots of very important things, like our faith, are founded on it. That's what makes it go up and down: the fact that everything's been founded on it.
It's crucial to realize that good and bad is not how "well" our lives are going, because our ups and downs and ishs and ughs are extremely subjective in their "truth." There's a bigger Good and Bad outside of what we're feeling that we could be focused on. That's the kind of emotion that will pull us out of the parachute.
So What if I'm happy? So What if I'm sad? It's irrelevant, not masochistic. God isn't going to walk in and give me a hug and tell me it's all going to be better, though remembering purpose and salvation and love can be comforting. There's little point to reading random selections out of the Bible when your life "sucks" in the hope that something will be miraculously revealed and make everything better. His presence isn't something that descends upon me in my sorrow to make me feel grounded and peaceful when I really "need" it. He knows I'll be made a thousand times stronger if I have the opportunity to fight through that. The struggle brings you out better. Unsettling emotion is nothing but a fact that I need to work through. It is unhealthy to neglect it, but equally unhealthy to live it. There's a way to recognize it and deal with it, but it oughtn't be what we stand on. Parachute emotion is baggage we don't need to carry.
Let's stop pretending selflessness is not a virtue.
Oh, and I apologize for the painful-bad title. Just can't help it.
ReplyDeleteHey Marié,
ReplyDeleteThis is Gazelletrek. :P I was just afraid of "spamming" Matt's blog, since I don't really know what his stand is on having Socratic discussions in his comment feed... haha, unless you do?
As for the question you had, it's a good question...I mean, I'm not sure if people can consciously know to do Good without knowing and believing God... Ultimately, good is defined by God, so...well, but the thing is that it seems as if Jesus makes it very clear that He is the /only/ way, truth, and life...no one comes to the Father /except/ through Him. In light of that, I don't think I would say that simply by doing Good, one can know God, and therefore know Christ...it is only through Christ that we can come to the Father...so I guess I don't think that doing Good can lead to Christ, unless Christ leads you to Him through that Good, but doing Good alone is certainly not enough...I don't think. I'm not sure, though...I was just thinking of selfless people who don't know Christ, yet seem to do "Good," but then...I guess, there, the question is whether what they are doing is truly Good? Not sure...your take? :P
Also, if you don't appreciate my "spamming" /your/ comment feed, let me know, too... :)
(I apologize for my s-o-c writing. ><)
ReplyDelete:) You can read in the sidebar that "it is [his] hope [to] be blessed and enlightened by something [we] read on [his] blog. Or if anything, that it spurns a decent conversation." I doubt he minds. Besides having read that, he doesn't seem like the type of person who would shun theological debates about his blog posts. That being said, I don't mind you ranting on my blog, either. :D
ReplyDeleteIf you want to look at the Way/Truth/Life passage, this is how I'd respond:
The way I see it, there is a distinction to be drawn between Good, which is essentially all of Goodness, the concept. God is Goodness. We cannot DO Goodness, though we may do good things, which are a reflection of Goodness.
Now- because we're limited human beings, we will never understand God in his fullness. We won't even get close. No human ever understands more than an infinitesimally small fragment of God's being. So if someone that has never heard of the man Jesus of Nazareth but walks the Way, looks for Truth and loves and pursues Life, don't they know God just as much as we do? If God = Christ = Good = Way = Truth = Life, then knowing Life and Truth and Way and Good are just as accurate methods of getting at Christ and God as through the historical/Biblical depiction of him.
This idea must be taken with a large pinch of salt: this gets at the answer to your concluding question. The Life and Truth and Way and Good must be the *real* Life and Truth and Way and Good, otherwise they are not actually these things. Where the line lies between imperfect understanding and complete misunderstanding of these concepts, I don't know; it's possible for us to draw that line because it's so grey. That's why God gives us the ability for faith. We have no right to judge because we don't have the ability to draw that line.
You clearly have not read Ayn Rand.
ReplyDelete