Context
Shreve Memorial Library, where I work, held a Staff Development Day yesterday. One of our speakers came to talk with us about the Fish! Philosophy. Fish! has four basic components: play, be there, make their day, and choose your attitude. After I’d been back at work for a little over an hour today, I had a conversation with a coworker that caused me to mentally convert “choose your attitude” into “slam their attitude.” A little while after that, I recognized how wrong, wrong, wrong that was.
Commentary
It is my perception, correct or not, that I have a more sensitive conscience than other people. My sins are like Cole Sear's dead people; I see them all the time. This is one of those traits that some people think must make me unhappy. On the contrary, I consider my conscience a huge blessing from God for a couple of reasons:
1) I’m really, really aware of other people’s sins, too, as you can tell by my comment about this morning. I’m already pretty insufferable about it; imagine if I didn’t see the log in my own eye.
2) I cannot be a Christian without it. People have many different definitions of Christianity, but mine, which probably owes a great deal to my upbringing in the Lutheran Church, is this: it’s the religion that exists because people sin and they need to be saved from it.
I believe in Jesus Christ is the person who saves me from my sin. Having a tender conscience reminds me of my sin and so, perhaps somewhat ironically, reminds me of everything Jesus has done for me. So every time I see myself sinning, I see Jesus. Yay! St. Paul has something to say about whether we should continue sinning so grace can abound, but that’s a topic for another time.
What did you see today?
4/20/2006
4/17/2006
I saw an article about faith
Context
The American Library Association has a e-mail list that's supposed to relate to intellectual freedom called IFFORUM (archives here). Because it's unmoderated, it often becomes a magnet for all kinds of political commentary. Today someone posted an excerpt from this interview with Sam Harris. There was a great deal of food for thought in the interview, (translation: I could rant about it all day, if you let me), but I was particularly struck by this exchange:
Amazon.com: In other words, you are careful to distinguish between what you term "faith" and "spirituality." In a nutshell, what is this distinction?
Harris: "Faith" is false conviction in unjustified propositions (a certain book was written by God; we will be reunited with our loved ones after death; the Creator of the universe can hear our thoughts, etc.). "Spirituality" or "mysticism" (both words are pretty terrible, but there are no good alternatives in English) refers to any process of introspection by which a person can come to realize that the feeling he calls "I" is a cognitive illusion. The core truth of mysticism is this: It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate "self" in the usual sense. Such a change in the character of one's experience need not become the basis for making unsupportable claims about the nature of the universe, however.
Commentary
Let's start with where I agree with Sam Harris: I, too, think there's a difference between "faith" and "spirituality." When I'm at my most cynical, I think faith is when you actually believe in something and spirituality is when you have the vague feeling that you want to/ought to believe in something, but haven't settled on anything in particular.
Thanks to my husband, Mark, I've started thinking about the distinction more rationally. Faith is still when you believe in something, or as the writer of Hebrews would have it, "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1 NRSV)
Spirituality has more to do with what one believes in. I agree with Harris that it is something separate from the self, but I think he’s too anthrocentric about it, in that he views the transformation of the individual as the important component. I think the most important aspect of spirituality is learning about an entity that is separate from the self. I’ve been taught to call this entity the Holy Spirit.
At this point, Harris would be perfectly justified in crying “foul!” I’ve taken an article in which he defines spirituality as something separate from the most evil aspects of Western religion, and stuck it smack dab in the center of the enemy camp. The problem is, despite Christianity’s reputation for couching things in terms of black and white, I don’t see the duality Harris proposes. In fact, my “real” definition of spirituality is in some way related to my cynical one above. It’s that separate entity, whether we call it “God,” or “the Holy Spirit,” or “Nature,” or “the Avatar,” that prompts us to think, “maybe I ought to believe in something that’s outside my immediate experience and self-interest.” In other words, “maybe I ought to have a little faith.”
That being said, I think Harris does have some faith himself. For example, he believes that, “It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate ‘self’ in the usual sense.” Personally, I think that’s an unsupportable claim about the nature of the universe.
What did you see today?
The American Library Association has a e-mail list that's supposed to relate to intellectual freedom called IFFORUM (archives here). Because it's unmoderated, it often becomes a magnet for all kinds of political commentary. Today someone posted an excerpt from this interview with Sam Harris. There was a great deal of food for thought in the interview, (translation: I could rant about it all day, if you let me), but I was particularly struck by this exchange:
Amazon.com: In other words, you are careful to distinguish between what you term "faith" and "spirituality." In a nutshell, what is this distinction?
Harris: "Faith" is false conviction in unjustified propositions (a certain book was written by God; we will be reunited with our loved ones after death; the Creator of the universe can hear our thoughts, etc.). "Spirituality" or "mysticism" (both words are pretty terrible, but there are no good alternatives in English) refers to any process of introspection by which a person can come to realize that the feeling he calls "I" is a cognitive illusion. The core truth of mysticism is this: It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate "self" in the usual sense. Such a change in the character of one's experience need not become the basis for making unsupportable claims about the nature of the universe, however.
Commentary
Let's start with where I agree with Sam Harris: I, too, think there's a difference between "faith" and "spirituality." When I'm at my most cynical, I think faith is when you actually believe in something and spirituality is when you have the vague feeling that you want to/ought to believe in something, but haven't settled on anything in particular.
Thanks to my husband, Mark, I've started thinking about the distinction more rationally. Faith is still when you believe in something, or as the writer of Hebrews would have it, "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1 NRSV)
Spirituality has more to do with what one believes in. I agree with Harris that it is something separate from the self, but I think he’s too anthrocentric about it, in that he views the transformation of the individual as the important component. I think the most important aspect of spirituality is learning about an entity that is separate from the self. I’ve been taught to call this entity the Holy Spirit.
At this point, Harris would be perfectly justified in crying “foul!” I’ve taken an article in which he defines spirituality as something separate from the most evil aspects of Western religion, and stuck it smack dab in the center of the enemy camp. The problem is, despite Christianity’s reputation for couching things in terms of black and white, I don’t see the duality Harris proposes. In fact, my “real” definition of spirituality is in some way related to my cynical one above. It’s that separate entity, whether we call it “God,” or “the Holy Spirit,” or “Nature,” or “the Avatar,” that prompts us to think, “maybe I ought to believe in something that’s outside my immediate experience and self-interest.” In other words, “maybe I ought to have a little faith.”
That being said, I think Harris does have some faith himself. For example, he believes that, “It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate ‘self’ in the usual sense.” Personally, I think that’s an unsupportable claim about the nature of the universe.
What did you see today?
4/04/2006
I saw my boss's boss make a face
Context
My boss's boss came to my cubicle to invite me to a meeting today. When I asked questions regarding duration and agenda, she said, "I don't know," and made a "why are you asking me questions" face.
Commentary
"Perceived" sounded too pompous. We'll just deal with the fact that sometimes "What I Saw Today" will encompass "What I Heard Today."
My boss's boss's reaction (is that a fun phrase, or what?) to my inquiries made me ponder what causes us not to want to hear questions. I think I've broken it down to three basic reasons:
1) We don't know the answer, and we think we should. I think this fit the situation today. This is sad, because I thought "I don't know" was a perfectly reasonable response, but it seemed to make my b.b. unhappy to have to say it.
2) We think the questioner doesn't actually care about the answer to the question. In other words, he/she's trying to provoke a reaction, not being genuinely curious.
3) We know the answer and we're uncomfortable giving it. When we hear the question, we respond by saying something like, "I was afraid you were going to ask that."
I'm wondering if we can get over having a unfavorable reaction to questions. I'd like to accomplish this both because I think questions are generally a good form of communication and because I frequently have all the responses listed above.
Just to let myself off 1/3 of the hook, I'll say I don't think the #3 reaction can be vanquished. It's never going to be pleasant to say, "no, I'm really not interested in dating you anymore," or "it's going to take $500 to fix this and your warranty has expired."
Reaction #1 begs a flippant answer: just make sure you know everything you think you're supposed to know. OK, not likely. How about: become more comfortable with your ignorance? That's better, but still not wholly satisfying. After all, maybe you'd be perfectly OK with saying "I don't know," but you think your questioner expects you to have all the answers. Isn't this why we're so reluctant to admit our ignorance when questioned by a little kid? I mean, we're adults, haven't we had time to learn everything yet? Um, no. The best thing about questions, particularly little kid questions, is that they open up the possibility of learning more if we choose to.
And then there's reaction #2. If we're correct about our questioner's motivation, then we have every right to be unhappy with the question. The problem that frequently happens in my life is assumption of provocation where none was intended. What if I were to treat every question as if it were asked in good faith? Does it actually do any harm to act this way even if someone is actually trying to get your goat?
I am a fashion nightmare. It would be easier to if I could just say I don't care about clothes, but that's not true. I care deeply about my clothing, and my opinion about what looks good is different from just about everyone else on the planet. When I was in middle school and sensitive about such things, fashionistas would look at my outfit and say, "are you in a play?" This would cause the usual adolescent angst on my part, but what if my answer had been, "no, but if I was, I'd be sure to let you know. Thanks for asking."?
If we do that, the insulting person will think we were ignorant of their intent. We'll look like we didn't know something we were supposed to. In that case, refer to reaction #1. Although why we would want to learn more about how evil people can be is beyond me.
What did you see today?
My boss's boss came to my cubicle to invite me to a meeting today. When I asked questions regarding duration and agenda, she said, "I don't know," and made a "why are you asking me questions" face.
Commentary
"Perceived" sounded too pompous. We'll just deal with the fact that sometimes "What I Saw Today" will encompass "What I Heard Today."
My boss's boss's reaction (is that a fun phrase, or what?) to my inquiries made me ponder what causes us not to want to hear questions. I think I've broken it down to three basic reasons:
1) We don't know the answer, and we think we should. I think this fit the situation today. This is sad, because I thought "I don't know" was a perfectly reasonable response, but it seemed to make my b.b. unhappy to have to say it.
2) We think the questioner doesn't actually care about the answer to the question. In other words, he/she's trying to provoke a reaction, not being genuinely curious.
3) We know the answer and we're uncomfortable giving it. When we hear the question, we respond by saying something like, "I was afraid you were going to ask that."
I'm wondering if we can get over having a unfavorable reaction to questions. I'd like to accomplish this both because I think questions are generally a good form of communication and because I frequently have all the responses listed above.
Just to let myself off 1/3 of the hook, I'll say I don't think the #3 reaction can be vanquished. It's never going to be pleasant to say, "no, I'm really not interested in dating you anymore," or "it's going to take $500 to fix this and your warranty has expired."
Reaction #1 begs a flippant answer: just make sure you know everything you think you're supposed to know. OK, not likely. How about: become more comfortable with your ignorance? That's better, but still not wholly satisfying. After all, maybe you'd be perfectly OK with saying "I don't know," but you think your questioner expects you to have all the answers. Isn't this why we're so reluctant to admit our ignorance when questioned by a little kid? I mean, we're adults, haven't we had time to learn everything yet? Um, no. The best thing about questions, particularly little kid questions, is that they open up the possibility of learning more if we choose to.
And then there's reaction #2. If we're correct about our questioner's motivation, then we have every right to be unhappy with the question. The problem that frequently happens in my life is assumption of provocation where none was intended. What if I were to treat every question as if it were asked in good faith? Does it actually do any harm to act this way even if someone is actually trying to get your goat?
I am a fashion nightmare. It would be easier to if I could just say I don't care about clothes, but that's not true. I care deeply about my clothing, and my opinion about what looks good is different from just about everyone else on the planet. When I was in middle school and sensitive about such things, fashionistas would look at my outfit and say, "are you in a play?" This would cause the usual adolescent angst on my part, but what if my answer had been, "no, but if I was, I'd be sure to let you know. Thanks for asking."?
If we do that, the insulting person will think we were ignorant of their intent. We'll look like we didn't know something we were supposed to. In that case, refer to reaction #1. Although why we would want to learn more about how evil people can be is beyond me.
What did you see today?
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