Francis Berger's Blog, page 150
July 24, 2019
You Are Under No Obligation To Meet Evil Halfway
Evil will never meet you halfway, but insists you are morally obligated to meet it halfway. Evil will never accept any of your points, arguments, and beliefs, but demands you accept some of its points, arguments, and beliefs. Evil will ask for concessions without ever offering any in return. With Evil, it's all take and no give.
Those who believe negotiating with Evil will restore some sort of harmony or resolve a timeless chasm are ignorant, arrogant, and foolish.
Evil does not need you to go all the way to achieve its aims. Halfway is more than enough for Evil because halfway represents a willingness to mediate and mitigate, and this willingness reveals you no longer see Evil for what it truly is, but rather for what it is not.
Here's the trick - Evil urges you to compromise so that you may be compromised.
Evil knocked at the door. You answered, invited it in, and made the necessary accommodations. Don't be surprised when Evil decides to stay long after you have firmly asked it to leave. On the other hand, you might grow fond of your little houseguest and ask it to remain with you forever.
Strange things tend to happen when you are fooled into believing you have some sort of moral obligation to seek reconciliation with the irreconcilable.
Those who believe negotiating with Evil will restore some sort of harmony or resolve a timeless chasm are ignorant, arrogant, and foolish.
Evil does not need you to go all the way to achieve its aims. Halfway is more than enough for Evil because halfway represents a willingness to mediate and mitigate, and this willingness reveals you no longer see Evil for what it truly is, but rather for what it is not.
Here's the trick - Evil urges you to compromise so that you may be compromised.
Evil knocked at the door. You answered, invited it in, and made the necessary accommodations. Don't be surprised when Evil decides to stay long after you have firmly asked it to leave. On the other hand, you might grow fond of your little houseguest and ask it to remain with you forever.
Strange things tend to happen when you are fooled into believing you have some sort of moral obligation to seek reconciliation with the irreconcilable.
July 23, 2019
The Gray Area Offers No Sanctuary or Reprieve
When I was a university student, applying a gray area mode of thinking to practically everything that was or had been previously accepted as distinctly black and white was regarded as a clear sign of perspicacity and erudition.
All you needed to do to prove your sanity and sophistication was regard something obviously bad as not all that bad, or not totally bad, or not as bad as believed or actually bad but in a good way, etc. The same applied to Good. Pick it apart. Deconstruct it. Relativize it. Re-contextualize it. Declare it to be a social construct. These methods and countless others craftily tugged the Good into the gray area and dissolved it, corrupted it, and skewed it.
The gray area philosophy was actively encouraged and adhering to it was viewed as a sign of open-mindedness, good judgment, and swayable unbiasedness, but anyone who is serious about Reality cannot in good conscience continue to reside in this contrived interzone – nor will Evil permit them to do so.
Many who have settled down in the gray area worldview fail to understand it will not and cannot be a permanent place of residence. Evil actively lures people into the gray area, but it does not let anyone put down roots in this interzone. Contrary to popular belief, the gray area is not a safe haven nestled between Good and Evil, but a temporary transitional zone where people will eventually be forced to choose a side.
Seen this way, the gray area offers no sanctuary or reprieve. It is not a diplomatic safe zone. Evil knows this very well. At first, it will praise and laud gray area dictums and declarations, but over time it will maneuver those sporting “neither here nor there” worldviews into choosing a side. It will call their bluffs and force their hands.
The gray area is shrinking and shrinking fast. Things are becoming distinctly black and white again. Bruce Charlton has frequently referred to this on his Notions blog as “things coming to a point”, and I wholeheartedly agree with his overall assessment of our current situation. Waters once considered muddied are now clear again. The era of fence-sitting is swiftly drawing to a close and fence-sitters will not be tolerated, nor will they be regarded as worldly and wise. One way or another, we will all have to choose sides. We will have to be openly be for or against.
Those who refuse this demand will be left exposed in a veritable No Man’s Land, and they will have no protection whatsoever when the fire starts to rain down. So if you count yourself among the undecided, the neutral, the open-minded, the impartial, the compromising-just-to-get-along, do yourself a favor and actively choose which side you want to be on now - decide whether you want to be here or there.
Then live your life accordingly.
All you needed to do to prove your sanity and sophistication was regard something obviously bad as not all that bad, or not totally bad, or not as bad as believed or actually bad but in a good way, etc. The same applied to Good. Pick it apart. Deconstruct it. Relativize it. Re-contextualize it. Declare it to be a social construct. These methods and countless others craftily tugged the Good into the gray area and dissolved it, corrupted it, and skewed it.
The gray area philosophy was actively encouraged and adhering to it was viewed as a sign of open-mindedness, good judgment, and swayable unbiasedness, but anyone who is serious about Reality cannot in good conscience continue to reside in this contrived interzone – nor will Evil permit them to do so.
Many who have settled down in the gray area worldview fail to understand it will not and cannot be a permanent place of residence. Evil actively lures people into the gray area, but it does not let anyone put down roots in this interzone. Contrary to popular belief, the gray area is not a safe haven nestled between Good and Evil, but a temporary transitional zone where people will eventually be forced to choose a side.
Seen this way, the gray area offers no sanctuary or reprieve. It is not a diplomatic safe zone. Evil knows this very well. At first, it will praise and laud gray area dictums and declarations, but over time it will maneuver those sporting “neither here nor there” worldviews into choosing a side. It will call their bluffs and force their hands.
The gray area is shrinking and shrinking fast. Things are becoming distinctly black and white again. Bruce Charlton has frequently referred to this on his Notions blog as “things coming to a point”, and I wholeheartedly agree with his overall assessment of our current situation. Waters once considered muddied are now clear again. The era of fence-sitting is swiftly drawing to a close and fence-sitters will not be tolerated, nor will they be regarded as worldly and wise. One way or another, we will all have to choose sides. We will have to be openly be for or against.
Those who refuse this demand will be left exposed in a veritable No Man’s Land, and they will have no protection whatsoever when the fire starts to rain down. So if you count yourself among the undecided, the neutral, the open-minded, the impartial, the compromising-just-to-get-along, do yourself a favor and actively choose which side you want to be on now - decide whether you want to be here or there.
Then live your life accordingly.
July 22, 2019
Your Own Private Siege of Nándorfehérvár
On July 22, 1456, John Hunyadi, the Voivode of Transylvania, successfully defended Nándorfehérvár (today Belgrade) and repelled the advancing Ottoman forces of Sultan Mehmed II. The media here in Hungary has been commemorating the victory all day. The Hungarian president visited Belgrade at the invitation of the Serbian president and participated in the unveiling of a statue dedicated to Hunyadi.I spent a great deal of time thinking about John Hunyadi and the Siege of Nándorfehérvár today, and it was my intention to write a long and detailed essay exploring the meaning and significance of the event and its influence on our own contemporary world, but the home renovations I am currently embroiled in have left me too drained to write the kind of essay that would do Hunyadi or his victory justice. Nevertheless, I still feel impelled to jot down some scattered thoughts about this mostly forgotten historical event.
To put this 537-year-old victory into perspective, it is important to remember Mehmed II conquered Constantinople in 1453, a mere three years before he launched his assault against the Kingdom of Hungary. It goes without saying that Christendom suffered a major defeat at Constantinople. According to some historians and theologians, the loss was so great psychologically that Christendom never fully recovered. After the fall of Constantinople, the Ottomans turned their attention to the West, and the conquest of all of Europe was regarded as a very real possibility. Hunyadi’s victory stalled the Ottoman advance into Europe for about 70 years, but the Kingdom of Hungary eventually succumbed to the Turks and remained under occupation for nearly two centuries.
The Siege of Nándorfehérvár was an extremely big deal in 1456. When Mehmet II began laying siege to Nándorfehérvár, the Pope ordered all church bells across Catholic Europe to ring at noon as a call for Christians to pray for the defenders. Everyone at the time understood that if Hungary fell, Austria and Italy would be next. In this sense, Hunyadi and his troops were not merely defending Hungary, but all of Europe. The noon bell rang when the victory was eventually announced as well, and it has been ringing every day since for 537 years. Yet how many who hear the noon bell today remember or know anything about John Hunyadi, Giovanni da Capestrano, or the Ottoman defeat in 1456?
Of course, Christendom is a thing of the past. To claim Europe, in its contemporary form, reflects or represents any sort of Christendom would be absurd. Perhaps the historians and theologians are right. Perhaps Constantinople marked the beginning of the end of Christendom. What the Ottomans could not conquer from without was slowly but surely corroded from within. No, there is no Christendom anymore. Mere mention of Hunyadi’s victory over the Ottomans probably makes most contemporary Europeans uncomfortable. Few would regard the event as heroic. Even fewer would understand why men like Hunyadi were willing to lay down their lives during the siege.
But this is completely understandable. After all, few contemporary Westerners would be willing to die for anything. I imagine men like Hunyadi and Giovanni Da Capestrano would find this perplexing. They would struggle to understand how people unwilling to die for anything could possibly find anything to for which to live. And is that not the obvious truth of contemporary Europe? The church bells continue to ring every day at noon, yet barely anyone remembers or understands why. And even if they did, very few would actually care.
The Siege of Nándorfehérvár was both a physical and a religious battle in an ongoing spiritual war. This spiritual war continues today. The surface characters and circumstances have changed over time, but the essence of the war and its stakes remain the same, especially for individual Christians living in Europe. No Christendom envelopes European Christians today. No Pope orders the ringing of church bells as a call for defensive prayers. No Giovanni Da Capestrano rallies the simple folk to join the struggle. No John Hunyadi fights to repel enemy forces.
Modern European Christians are on their own and under perpetual siege. Each has his or her own private Nándorfehérvár to defend. When they hear the noon bell ring every day, they should remember John Hunyadi but more importantly, they should use the occasion to pray for themselves and their fellow besieged defenders.
In contemporary Europe, these individual victories are the only ones to be had for the time being, and the only ones that truly count for now. Perhaps the day will come when the noon bell commemorates these as well . . .
July 21, 2019
Pleasure Is All We Have Left Because Pleasure is All We Deserve
A brief excerpt from my novel focusing on hedonism as a substitute for true meaning in a world stripped of all religious and moral principles . . .
___________________________________________________________________________________________
“It’s not worth it. I’m bored with the little indulgences. They’re fun for a while, but when they end, I feel empty inside. It’s nothing but meaningless pleasure.”
A distraught look came over Verge’s face. He looked down at the photographs and pushed them about on the table with his hands. “Pleasure is the only meaning we have left. It is both foolish and dangerous to believe you need more.”
“I need to have some meaning in my life,” Béla said in exasperation.
“You want meaning? Delude yourself into believing you are working to make the world a better place. Work toward social justice or battle against oppression or join the struggle to save the environment or some other such nonsense,” Verge said stifling a yawn.
“That’s not what I meant,” Béla said. He paused and stared out of the window for a moment, then added, “You want to hear something strange? I was happier when I was with Suzy! I felt like I had a purpose then. Life seemed fuller. I don’t know why. Maybe because I loved her.”
“Ah, that blasted love again. I told you to refrain from using such profanity in my presence.”
“Say what you will. When I was with her, I felt whole. Complete. Sometimes I wish we were still together,” Béla said, sadly. “You know, she came up to my room one night a while back and told me she wanted to get back together. She told me she still loved me. I turned her away. Maybe I shouldn’t have? Maybe I still love her?”
Verge’s hands started to tremble. “Love! And what did that love bring you? That woman made an ass of you! Off to the doctor with you – the clap is seeping into your brain!”
But Béla was riled up and refused to be quiet. “And there are times I feel the same way about the work we do. When I wrote, I created meaningful work. But these videos and magazines we make? They’re all meaningless. None of it will last. They provide vulgar pleasure – that’s it. When I started in this business I wanted to create art, capture beauty, but there is nothing artistic or beautiful in what we’re doing now. On the contrary, our stuff becomes uglier all the time.”
“You must give the people what they demand. What they demand is what they deserve. Ugly, vulgar pleasures is what they demand – that is what we must provide!”
“What about the girls?”
“What about them?”
“We exploit them! Defile them!”
“No one put a gun to their heads.”
Béla scowled. “If pleasure is all we have left then what’s the point of it all?”
“That’s precisely it! There is no point to it all!” Verge stepped out from behind the table and pointed his finger at Béla in an accusatory fashion. “Pleasure is all we have because pleasure is all we deserve. Pleasure is meaning. Death is lack of meaning. There is nothing else in-between.”
“If pleasure is the only meaning, then we are not fully human.”
“Exactly! For centuries we wholeheartedly believed we were part of divine creation. We based our entire existence around the core of this belief. Well, I have news for you, dear chap – that belief is no longer valid. It has been stolen from us by the same people who fight for social justice and struggle against the tyranny of oppression. It is they who have reduced us to the level of animals. We are objects – commodities to be bought and sold. The quicker you accept that imposed truth, the happier you’ll be!”
Béla was aghast. He stared at his friend in disbelief. “These women we film and photograph are more than just objects.”
“Are they? Do you remember the names of the girls we were with last night?”
The only answer Béla could provide was a blank stare.
“Precisely!” Verge snickered. “And you have the audacity to lecture me about objectification!”
“You can’t believe the women who work for us are just objects.”
“I do,” Verge said firmly. “I must.”
“That’s hateful.”
“I don’t hate, my good man, but I don’t delude myself with love either. When it comes to people, I merely tolerate or enjoy.” He lowered his finger and took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. In a quieter tone of voice, he said, “Get thee to a doctor. Thou art ill. Thou hast need of medicine . . .
___________________________________________________________________________________________
“It’s not worth it. I’m bored with the little indulgences. They’re fun for a while, but when they end, I feel empty inside. It’s nothing but meaningless pleasure.”
A distraught look came over Verge’s face. He looked down at the photographs and pushed them about on the table with his hands. “Pleasure is the only meaning we have left. It is both foolish and dangerous to believe you need more.”
“I need to have some meaning in my life,” Béla said in exasperation.
“You want meaning? Delude yourself into believing you are working to make the world a better place. Work toward social justice or battle against oppression or join the struggle to save the environment or some other such nonsense,” Verge said stifling a yawn.
“That’s not what I meant,” Béla said. He paused and stared out of the window for a moment, then added, “You want to hear something strange? I was happier when I was with Suzy! I felt like I had a purpose then. Life seemed fuller. I don’t know why. Maybe because I loved her.”
“Ah, that blasted love again. I told you to refrain from using such profanity in my presence.”
“Say what you will. When I was with her, I felt whole. Complete. Sometimes I wish we were still together,” Béla said, sadly. “You know, she came up to my room one night a while back and told me she wanted to get back together. She told me she still loved me. I turned her away. Maybe I shouldn’t have? Maybe I still love her?”
Verge’s hands started to tremble. “Love! And what did that love bring you? That woman made an ass of you! Off to the doctor with you – the clap is seeping into your brain!”
But Béla was riled up and refused to be quiet. “And there are times I feel the same way about the work we do. When I wrote, I created meaningful work. But these videos and magazines we make? They’re all meaningless. None of it will last. They provide vulgar pleasure – that’s it. When I started in this business I wanted to create art, capture beauty, but there is nothing artistic or beautiful in what we’re doing now. On the contrary, our stuff becomes uglier all the time.”
“You must give the people what they demand. What they demand is what they deserve. Ugly, vulgar pleasures is what they demand – that is what we must provide!”
“What about the girls?”
“What about them?”
“We exploit them! Defile them!”
“No one put a gun to their heads.”
Béla scowled. “If pleasure is all we have left then what’s the point of it all?”
“That’s precisely it! There is no point to it all!” Verge stepped out from behind the table and pointed his finger at Béla in an accusatory fashion. “Pleasure is all we have because pleasure is all we deserve. Pleasure is meaning. Death is lack of meaning. There is nothing else in-between.”
“If pleasure is the only meaning, then we are not fully human.”
“Exactly! For centuries we wholeheartedly believed we were part of divine creation. We based our entire existence around the core of this belief. Well, I have news for you, dear chap – that belief is no longer valid. It has been stolen from us by the same people who fight for social justice and struggle against the tyranny of oppression. It is they who have reduced us to the level of animals. We are objects – commodities to be bought and sold. The quicker you accept that imposed truth, the happier you’ll be!”
Béla was aghast. He stared at his friend in disbelief. “These women we film and photograph are more than just objects.”
“Are they? Do you remember the names of the girls we were with last night?”
The only answer Béla could provide was a blank stare.
“Precisely!” Verge snickered. “And you have the audacity to lecture me about objectification!”
“You can’t believe the women who work for us are just objects.”
“I do,” Verge said firmly. “I must.”
“That’s hateful.”
“I don’t hate, my good man, but I don’t delude myself with love either. When it comes to people, I merely tolerate or enjoy.” He lowered his finger and took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. In a quieter tone of voice, he said, “Get thee to a doctor. Thou art ill. Thou hast need of medicine . . .
July 20, 2019
Károly Ferenczy's Reading Paintings
I recently became familiar with Károly Ferenczy (1862 -1917) during one of my spontaneous online meanderings through the landscape of Magyar art. As I explored Ferenczy's work, I noticed a motif running through some of his paintings - specifically, men in straw hats reading. 
Man Sitting On a Log - 1895 
October - 1903 
Morning Sunshine - 1905 
Red Wall - 1910 I read somewhere that these four paintings are all essentially self-portraits - that the straw wearing man is Ferenczy himself. Whatever the case, I find the last painting, Red Wall, the most appealing because the scene is so quintessentially Magyar, a quintessence Ferenczy captures perfectly in the composition.
Man Sitting On a Log - 1895 October - 1903 Morning Sunshine - 1905 Red Wall - 1910 I read somewhere that these four paintings are all essentially self-portraits - that the straw wearing man is Ferenczy himself. Whatever the case, I find the last painting, Red Wall, the most appealing because the scene is so quintessentially Magyar, a quintessence Ferenczy captures perfectly in the composition.
July 19, 2019
A Little Downtime Yesterday
My family and I are spending a lovely weekend at Lake Balaton here in Hungary. I have my laptop with me, and I had every intention of writing a post yesterday, but the drive down and the subsequent swim afterward left me completely drained, albeit in a wonderfully pleasant way. It was also nice to spend the evening chatting with the family, which I did not want to disrupt by scurrying off to write a post.
I will certainly take some time to post something later on today, but first it's off to the lake with my little boy. Everyone needs a little downtime now and then, including me.
I will certainly take some time to post something later on today, but first it's off to the lake with my little boy. Everyone needs a little downtime now and then, including me.
July 18, 2019
Strength and Sensitivity - S.K. Orr
"Some of my acquaintances enjoy poking fun at me because of the tender spot I have in my heart for animals. Their (mostly) good-natured ribbing descends to the level of derision when I include in my circle of affection the plants and trees in this world around me."
These are the opening lines to Waste S.K Orr's thought-provoking reflection on sensitivity and tenderness, emotions to which most modern people react with a strange blend of amusement and scorn. After I read the lines above, I asked myself why modern people equate sensitivity to sappiness, gentleness with mawkishness, and sympathy with delusion?
I surmise much of it derives from a lack of real contact with Goodness, Beauty, and Truth. We live in a world where everything has been inverted - evil is seen as Good, ugliness is regarded as Beautiful, and lies are celebrated as Truth. When these inversions are accepted and internalized, actual Goodness, Beauty, and Truth are viewed as excessively and objectionably sentimental or outright ridiculous, perhaps even insulting.
Modern people prefer a different kind of sensitivity - hypersensitivity inspired mostly by platitudes based on notions like equality, diversity, inclusivity as well as social/political issues such as human rights, racism, sexism, transgenderism, etc. This hypersensitivity breeds resentment, outrage, anger, and grievance, all of which relentlessly rail against the injustice of an imperfect world. Modern hypersensitivity claims to be motivated by the Good, the Beautiful, and the True, but nothing could be more removed reality. In actuality, modern hypersensitivity is purposefully opposed to Reality. Its sole aim is the subversion of Reality, which is why modern people find true sensitivity that is attuned to and aware of Reality so repulsive and sickening when they encounter it.
Sensitivity attuned to Goodness, Beauty, and Truth encompasses gentleness, warmth, fondness, friendship, benevolence, courtesy, and, above all else, love. Seen is this light, true sensitivity is one of the pillars of religious thinking - more specifically, Christian thinking. To be sensitive is to be aware, to recognize, and to know. It's about being receptive, perceptive, attentive, appreciative, and wise. Sensitivity also forms a large part of the romantic temperament, which our muddled and comatosed world so desperately needs to recapture. Sensitivity is often a sign of consciousness that is alive and active in a world of loving creation full of purpose and meaning.
Yet most modern people will have none of it, and treat sensitive people with disdain and distrust, regarding them as little more than weak, delusional, overemotional fools. Though this may be true in some cases, in most cases sensitive souls are anything but weak and delusional, as S.K. Orr goes on to explain his post:
"I have worn the uniform of military service and I have heard shots fired in anger…I have fired at living human beings myself. I have assisted physicians with patients who are screaming and bleeding and thrashing about. I have provided care for mentally ill adults, some of them quite dangerous. I know what it sounds and feels like when a hand grenade explodes within 50 meters and peppers my flak jacket and helmet with shrapnel. I say all this not to provide some dubious bona fides for smirking strangers online, but to provide perspective, because I realize that I regularly express thoughts that make me appear to be a doe-eyed, emaciated, hypersensitive little artiste who feels triggered and needs safe zones and perhaps wears pajamas with feet in them. I am in many ways a hard-eyed realist, but I am also a man who wants to kiss ducks on top of their heads and who worries about thirsty cows and who says prayers for the deer he sees on the side of the road and who rescues spiders and crickets from offices and carries them outside to the grassy medians."
Contrary to contemporary belief, true sensitivity is not a sign of weakness, but of strength. It is the mark of a tough and realistic individual fully invested and involved in Reality.
Do not be afraid to display sensitivity and all it encompasses. And if it happens to inspire derision, wear the derision as a badge of honor marking your understanding and recognition of Goodness, Beauty, and Truth.
Read all of S.K. Orr's excellent post at Steeple Tea, here.
These are the opening lines to Waste S.K Orr's thought-provoking reflection on sensitivity and tenderness, emotions to which most modern people react with a strange blend of amusement and scorn. After I read the lines above, I asked myself why modern people equate sensitivity to sappiness, gentleness with mawkishness, and sympathy with delusion?
I surmise much of it derives from a lack of real contact with Goodness, Beauty, and Truth. We live in a world where everything has been inverted - evil is seen as Good, ugliness is regarded as Beautiful, and lies are celebrated as Truth. When these inversions are accepted and internalized, actual Goodness, Beauty, and Truth are viewed as excessively and objectionably sentimental or outright ridiculous, perhaps even insulting.
Modern people prefer a different kind of sensitivity - hypersensitivity inspired mostly by platitudes based on notions like equality, diversity, inclusivity as well as social/political issues such as human rights, racism, sexism, transgenderism, etc. This hypersensitivity breeds resentment, outrage, anger, and grievance, all of which relentlessly rail against the injustice of an imperfect world. Modern hypersensitivity claims to be motivated by the Good, the Beautiful, and the True, but nothing could be more removed reality. In actuality, modern hypersensitivity is purposefully opposed to Reality. Its sole aim is the subversion of Reality, which is why modern people find true sensitivity that is attuned to and aware of Reality so repulsive and sickening when they encounter it.
Sensitivity attuned to Goodness, Beauty, and Truth encompasses gentleness, warmth, fondness, friendship, benevolence, courtesy, and, above all else, love. Seen is this light, true sensitivity is one of the pillars of religious thinking - more specifically, Christian thinking. To be sensitive is to be aware, to recognize, and to know. It's about being receptive, perceptive, attentive, appreciative, and wise. Sensitivity also forms a large part of the romantic temperament, which our muddled and comatosed world so desperately needs to recapture. Sensitivity is often a sign of consciousness that is alive and active in a world of loving creation full of purpose and meaning.
Yet most modern people will have none of it, and treat sensitive people with disdain and distrust, regarding them as little more than weak, delusional, overemotional fools. Though this may be true in some cases, in most cases sensitive souls are anything but weak and delusional, as S.K. Orr goes on to explain his post:
"I have worn the uniform of military service and I have heard shots fired in anger…I have fired at living human beings myself. I have assisted physicians with patients who are screaming and bleeding and thrashing about. I have provided care for mentally ill adults, some of them quite dangerous. I know what it sounds and feels like when a hand grenade explodes within 50 meters and peppers my flak jacket and helmet with shrapnel. I say all this not to provide some dubious bona fides for smirking strangers online, but to provide perspective, because I realize that I regularly express thoughts that make me appear to be a doe-eyed, emaciated, hypersensitive little artiste who feels triggered and needs safe zones and perhaps wears pajamas with feet in them. I am in many ways a hard-eyed realist, but I am also a man who wants to kiss ducks on top of their heads and who worries about thirsty cows and who says prayers for the deer he sees on the side of the road and who rescues spiders and crickets from offices and carries them outside to the grassy medians."
Contrary to contemporary belief, true sensitivity is not a sign of weakness, but of strength. It is the mark of a tough and realistic individual fully invested and involved in Reality.
Do not be afraid to display sensitivity and all it encompasses. And if it happens to inspire derision, wear the derision as a badge of honor marking your understanding and recognition of Goodness, Beauty, and Truth.
Read all of S.K. Orr's excellent post at Steeple Tea, here.
July 17, 2019
Funerals. Relevance. Perspective.
My uncle's funeral was today. The priest presiding over the burial focused almost exclusively on Jesus and the promise of resurrection. There were no long, sentimental digressions about the life my uncle lived, or the lives he touched, or his achievements during his time in this world, or how much he would by missed, or how the world would feel emptier without his presence in it.
The service was not a celebration of life, but a celebration of resurrection and life eternal; a solemn and pertinent reminder of the gift Jesus offers to every single one of us - but only if we choose to accept it. In this respect, I found the funeral service the priest gave to be profoundly relevant. It provided the proper perspective of death and mortality, a perspective that would benefit most contemporary people if they ever bothered to show any serious interest in their own mortality and the gift Christ offers.
The service was not a celebration of life, but a celebration of resurrection and life eternal; a solemn and pertinent reminder of the gift Jesus offers to every single one of us - but only if we choose to accept it. In this respect, I found the funeral service the priest gave to be profoundly relevant. It provided the proper perspective of death and mortality, a perspective that would benefit most contemporary people if they ever bothered to show any serious interest in their own mortality and the gift Christ offers.
July 16, 2019
Time To Get Off the Meds
When Neo took the red pill instead of the blue pill, he chose reality over illusion, harsh truth over comfortable lies, cruel knowledge over blissful ignorance, and dangerous freedom over tranquil security. It was a tough choice, but most who have seen The Matrix would agree Neo ultimately made the right choice when he decided to wake up to reality - that choosing the red pill over the blue pill was the only moral choice.
I surmise this understanding is part of the reason why the scene has become such a popular and lasting meme in our culture and why the concept of taking the red pill has spawned an entire line of other existential and philosophical pharmaceuticals including the black pill and the God pill among others. Irrespective of the pill's color or content, people seem to enjoy getting 'pilled'; however, once they have swallowed a pill, they become addicted to taking pills and immediately begin looking around for the next one. And then the next one.
It is worth remembering that Neo took only one red pill. Many contemporary people appear to be hooked on swallowing all the pills they can. This succeeds in doing little more than promoting a prolonged lifestyle of perpetual pill popping. Some people are not merely pill takers, but are bonafide pill pushers who exude tremendous effort flooding the world with a seemingly endless supply of truth-inducing drugs. One could argue this is unavoidable. Neo's red pill was terrifyingly blunt and comprehensive. Once Neo had taken it, there was no turning back, and there certainly was no need to take any more. Our world lacks such potent pills; hence, one could argue pillers must swallow bitter truths piecemeal - one pill at a time. In this sense, each pill serves as puzzle piece, and every truth pill must be consumed for the overall picture of truth to become comprehensible.
As rational and appropriate as this sounds, I can't help but feel this represents a wrong turn. Rather than focusing on the harsh truth a given pill has exposed and working out a comprehensive understanding of how this harsh truth may be connected to other harsh truths through the process of thinking, pill poppers turn their attention instead on securing the next hit. The next high. And that's what chronic pill popping seems to produce. A rush of pill-truth is quickly followed by a desert of despondency, which can only be tolerated by another rush of pill-truth. Accessing truth quickly sinks to the level of recreational drugs.
In my estimation, chronic pill-popping breeds passivity. Impotent revolt. Bitterness and resentment. None of these help a person deal with revealed harsh truths. And that is the big question hanging over our 'pilled' culture. What does one do once one has seen the truth behind the lies?
The answer is accessible for those who have seen the Truth. Despite beliefs to the contrary, this answer does not come in pill form. The answer is simple, but requires work. A radical realignment of thinking and Being. Those blind to the Truth but addicted to truths will continue to pop pills in the hopes that one of the pills will eventually reveal all, but no pill ever will.
Which is why it is best to get off the meds and begin approaching Reality with something approximating exalted sobriety instead.
I surmise this understanding is part of the reason why the scene has become such a popular and lasting meme in our culture and why the concept of taking the red pill has spawned an entire line of other existential and philosophical pharmaceuticals including the black pill and the God pill among others. Irrespective of the pill's color or content, people seem to enjoy getting 'pilled'; however, once they have swallowed a pill, they become addicted to taking pills and immediately begin looking around for the next one. And then the next one.
It is worth remembering that Neo took only one red pill. Many contemporary people appear to be hooked on swallowing all the pills they can. This succeeds in doing little more than promoting a prolonged lifestyle of perpetual pill popping. Some people are not merely pill takers, but are bonafide pill pushers who exude tremendous effort flooding the world with a seemingly endless supply of truth-inducing drugs. One could argue this is unavoidable. Neo's red pill was terrifyingly blunt and comprehensive. Once Neo had taken it, there was no turning back, and there certainly was no need to take any more. Our world lacks such potent pills; hence, one could argue pillers must swallow bitter truths piecemeal - one pill at a time. In this sense, each pill serves as puzzle piece, and every truth pill must be consumed for the overall picture of truth to become comprehensible.
As rational and appropriate as this sounds, I can't help but feel this represents a wrong turn. Rather than focusing on the harsh truth a given pill has exposed and working out a comprehensive understanding of how this harsh truth may be connected to other harsh truths through the process of thinking, pill poppers turn their attention instead on securing the next hit. The next high. And that's what chronic pill popping seems to produce. A rush of pill-truth is quickly followed by a desert of despondency, which can only be tolerated by another rush of pill-truth. Accessing truth quickly sinks to the level of recreational drugs.
In my estimation, chronic pill-popping breeds passivity. Impotent revolt. Bitterness and resentment. None of these help a person deal with revealed harsh truths. And that is the big question hanging over our 'pilled' culture. What does one do once one has seen the truth behind the lies?
The answer is accessible for those who have seen the Truth. Despite beliefs to the contrary, this answer does not come in pill form. The answer is simple, but requires work. A radical realignment of thinking and Being. Those blind to the Truth but addicted to truths will continue to pop pills in the hopes that one of the pills will eventually reveal all, but no pill ever will.
Which is why it is best to get off the meds and begin approaching Reality with something approximating exalted sobriety instead.
July 14, 2019
Fathers and Sons - The Importance of Family
Before he retired eight years ago, my father worked as a chef. He was employed mostly by large hotels and usually worked the afternoon/evening shift, which ran from three in the afternoon to eleven at night. In addition to his full-time job, my father built and sold houses in his spare time. He had a well-defined daily routine, one he adhered to for the bulk of my childhood. He would wake up at seven, cook my sister and I breakfast, send us off to school, and then put on his tool belt and work on a construction project until about one o'clock, at which time he put his tools down and got ready to go to work at the hotel. On his days off, he worked on his houses in the day, and spent the evenings with the family. Simply put, my father was a hardworking man. He was driven by a deep desire to see his family prosper. And nothing was more important to him than his family. I began helping my father on his houses after I turned thirteen and continued to help him well into my twenties when he finally got out of the business altogether. At first he gave me simple tasks to complete, like painting, but as I grew older he entrusted me with more complex tasks. I learned a great deal from my father during those years, not just about construction and the virtue of hard work, but about the importance of family and life in general.
I have many wonderful memories of the two of us working side-by-side on everything from pouring concrete foundations to putting up drywall on interior walls. During these times we would discuss everything from my school work to the old Western films we sometimes watched together on the weekends. He enjoyed and appreciated my company while we worked together, and I felt fortunate to have the chance to work with him for the sake of the family.
I have always had a deep respect for my father's work ethic and his dedication to his family. You see, he did not have to work so hard. The salaries he and my mother earned were enough to keep us all clothed and fed, but my dad chose to put in the extra work because he wanted to give his family every chance to succeed in life. And for that I am immensely grateful.
My father is now seventy-three, but his love of work and commitment to family has not diminished a bit. He is currently visiting us from Canada. As he has done for each of the past three summers, he is helping me with my own ongoing home renovations. I often insist he take it easy and relax while he is visiting us (he is seventy-three, after all), but he will have none of it. He insists on helping me the way I had helped him in my youth. And I am happy he wants to help. The truth is, there is nothing else either of us would rather do than spend time working together for the benefit of the family. It is the tie that binds us.
I am blessed to have had and continue to have such a wonderful relationship with my father, and I cannot even begin to fathom the immense positive influence his love of family has had on my life. I hope I can instill this love of family into my own son, and I hope my little guy will grow up feeling the same sort of father and son bond that I have experienced with my own father.
If he does, I know I will have accomplished something truly special and meaningful.
