Page 30
E S S A Y S
By the Numbers
e78
Reality is a State of Mind
credit: inmatesofwillard.com
What separates the sane from insane, the rational from irrational?
I'm not a psychologist in real life. I only play one on WDC-TV. The preceding is a play on an old quote that I use here to illustrate the fact that I have no real creds -- other than life experience -- in support of the comments, accusations, and judgments made with respect to others' states-of-mind. This is my only disclaimer as regards the following monologue.
Albert Einstein was quoted as defining insanity as the act of doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. By comparison, a justice of the Supreme Court once stated, and I paraphrase, that while he couldn't define obscenity, he knew it when he saw it.
In this and similar veins, I'm at an age where I don't claim an ability to define irrationality, let alone insanity, as the terms pertain to specific individuals. Definitions are, by their very nature, intended to be used by all others as a form of universal interpretation. I am not so arrogant, or irrational, that I should instruct others as to the meaning of such words as sane or rational -- or the antonyms of same.
That said, however, I possess a certain confidence about the things I read, the images I see, and the people I meet. I feel that my ability to discern mediocrity from excellence, for instance, enjoys a high degree of refinement. Moreover, an ability to distinguish -- to discriminate, if you will -- between rational and irrational thinking, is also a personal attribute with which I take great pride.
Just to be clear, here are the dictionary definitions of the terms in question:
Sane:
Mentally healthy; free from mental disorder.
Marked by sound judgment.
Insane:
Afflicted with or characteristic of mental derangement.
Extreme foolishness.
Rational:
Consistent with or based on the use of reason.
Having its source in, or being guided by, the intellect (as distinguished from experience or emotion).
Irrational:
Not consistent with the use of reason.
I would humbly emphasize as part of the preceding, with regard to sanity and rationality, the ability to detect in others, levels or degrees of insanity and irrationality. Such assessments rightfully exist on a sliding scale that ranges from mild to severe. Or from barely perceptible to disturbingly obvious -- even frightening or potentially dangerous.
In like fashion, I doubt that any of us are, by definition, free from one or more mental disorders, in one form or another -- to one degree or another. Allow me to be the first to confess that, in my specific case, I suffer from a list of neurotic tics and twitches, the number of which, I'd prefer not to disclose. What I will submit, however, is that I have yet to meet someone -- and get to know them to some extent -- who did not, at some point, exhibit what I would consider to be irrational thoughts, ideas, and/or beliefs.
Far fewer in number, but still among my personal acquaintances, are those whom I would judge as being clinically or medically insane. Not necessarily a danger to themselves or others, but folks who have crossed a blurry line and gone from being acutely neurotic, to frenetically psychotic. All of them, including myself, positioned on a wide spectrum of varying shades of gray.
For the purposes of this essay, however, I am largely concerned with those individuals who appear to live on the fringes -- who clearly live in black or white worlds much different from those with which most of us are familiar. It is to these wandering, witless souls, that this treatise is respectfully dedicated.
There's an old saying that you might hear still being used from time to time. To wit "The pot calling the kettle black." It's a nice way of calling someone a hypocrite when we tell them, "That's a lot like the pot calling a kettle black." What is referenced, of course, is the idea that pots and kettles are much the same, and both are blackened from usage. So when we accuse someone accordingly, we're saying, in essence, that the person shares the same degree of blame or guilt as the one they themselves are criticizing.
For example, if I said that I thought someone possessed a neurotic fear of snakes, yet it was known that I feared spiders, a polite way of saying I was a big fat hypocrite would be, "Aren't you a lot like the pot calling the kettle black?"
Thus when I say that, in the eight short months I've been a member of WdC, I've come across a relative handful (maybe a dozen or so) individuals whom I consider to be certifiably, pathologically, and undeniably out of their ever-lovin' minds, it is understood that this may well be a case of the pot calling the kettle black. I understand.
That said, such people have got me to wondering what distinguishes great poetry from gibberish, fine literature from the unintelligible ramblings of a maniac. I've found that sometimes the differences are subtle and not always obvious. Sometimes a person's neurosis -- or pathological insanity -- remains hidden until provoked by a specific set of circumstances. At other times, no attempt is made to overtly disguise what is either a genuine disease at work, or some form of brain damage that manifests itself as wild irrationality. Often in the additional guise of superficial comprehensibility.
While I'm on the subject, it's seems apropos that I briefly mention a separate category of odd individuals. These are people, the nicest of folks in most instances, who are utterly rational and, under other circumstances, no doubt would exist whatsoever as to their firm grasp on "normal" reality.
But because they choose to write, for whatever reason, the slight dysfunctions of their brains become apparent and often obvious to everyone -- except to them. Such persons are completely oblivious to their utter inability to write intelligibly, yet they are somehow compelled to do just that. They write poems, short stories, even novels, and for all intents and purposes, appear incapable of rising above a certain level of incompetence.
Moreover it is highly likely that friends, relatives, and acquaintances rarely speak the truth when critically appraising the work of such persons. The consistent lack of honesty on the part of others, few of whom wish to hurt the feelings of their friends, further supports and encourages such people to forge ever onward. The same is probably true in the fields of art, music, and other disciplines. More of an interesting human phenomenon than a mental infirmity, the condition has always struck me as a peculiar blind spot that afflicts otherwise healthy, successful people.
All of us at WdC who read the works of others on a regular basis, will, at one time or another, happen upon the people to whom I refer. Those of us who consider ourselves reasonably sane and rational, more often than not, probably dismiss such persons as poor writers and simply move on to the next member's item of interest.
Before going further, allow me to state unequivocally that I would never mention the identities of the people to whom I specifically direct my comments and observations -- for any number of reasons, all of them proper and appropriate. Rather, my focus is on the phenomenon itself. How a site like WdC, by its very nature, embraces folks from all walks, of all mentalities. Including the sane and in some cases, the seriously insane.
While I don't consider any of these people dangerous, either to themselves or to others (like how would we really know, and who am I to know?) their writings, if we can call them that, are so nonsensical and peppered with irrational ramblings, as to leave no doubt in terms of what we're dealing with. Or not dealing with.
Here's the real kicker, as they say. Many of these same folks have been awarded large numbers of community recognitions. Only on WdC can a person who, under most circumstances, is unable to put more than three words together, enjoy dozens, even hundreds of awards, merit badges, and other icons of praise and recognition. This is largely a testimony, I believe, to the good-natured friendliness and spirit of helpfulness that permeates the WdC experience.
Because the lunatics in the group, albeit friendly and cheerful lunatics, tend to be more outspoken than many others, they are prone to dominate community affairs from time to time. Their uninhibited, unreserved, overly familiar forthrightness can be, and ought to be, viewed as a red flag of warning. Not always, but the wise person proceeds with caution. Once engaged, it can be difficult to avoid hurting or discouraging these individuals. Instead, we proceed to praise them and 'round and 'round the cycle goes.
So what's my particular problem with these people? And why is this matter even worth mentioning and singling out? These are good questions and deserve honest responses.
Part of the answer lies in the fact that quasi-irrational peeps tend to be both emotional and intellectual vampires. They drain us of our creative energies and give nothing back. Relationships with these people are largely parasitic and, in most cases, our time and efforts are completely wasted on such persons. Similar to sociopaths, neurotic psychopaths often come across as warm, charming, and caring individuals. But don't be fooled. Such vamps possess any number of hidden agendas or other schemes known only to them. Even worse, understood only by them.
The second half of the equation is in realizing that WdC unavoidably contains its fair share of the kinds of people to whom I make mention. They can be found everywhere, in every genre, and as members of every group. Sometimes leading their own group. Nor am I saying that these are bad people and that they have no place at WdC. On the contrary, they have as much right to membership as anyone else. And I would never advocate anything which might want to change that situation. Ostracization based on a determination of one's sanity is, as it should be, entirely out of the question. I would be among the first to oppose such an absurd proposition.
I suppose the main point worth emphasizing is to note the fact that we typically don't like to categorize our fellow writers in regard to how rational or insane they might be. At least not from a judgmental, let alone an unearned medical perspective. Who among us hasn't doubted their own sanity at one time or another?
No, my specific warning is aimed at maintaining a personal awareness, one that equips us with the ability to distinguish between the playfully eccentric, and the real crazies in our midst. I strongly recommend that we shun those who we determine have crossed beyond a certain boundary that is not easily defined. The most we can do is make our best guess, take a chance here and there, but always keep a watchful eye out for that particular fringe element.
I again refer to those for whom every day is Halloween. Whose tricks are likely harmless, possess no ill intent, and whose treats are composed of indecipherable gibberish. Unless you're working to become a professional therapist, my recommendation is to give these people as wide a berth as possible.
The very fact that I bothered to write this exposé of sorts, may well place me among the very folks who I suggest we avoid. If so, so be it. I'm a big boy and can handle it. Friends have always had to be earned, and I see no reason to quit doing so now.
Albert Einstein was quoted as defining insanity as the act of doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. By comparison, a justice of the Supreme Court once stated, and I paraphrase, that while he couldn't define obscenity, he knew it when he saw it.
In this and similar veins, I'm at an age where I don't claim an ability to define irrationality, let alone insanity, as the terms pertain to specific individuals. Definitions are, by their very nature, intended to be used by all others as a form of universal interpretation. I am not so arrogant, or irrational, that I should instruct others as to the meaning of such words as sane or rational -- or the antonyms of same.
That said, however, I possess a certain confidence about the things I read, the images I see, and the people I meet. I feel that my ability to discern mediocrity from excellence, for instance, enjoys a high degree of refinement. Moreover, an ability to distinguish -- to discriminate, if you will -- between rational and irrational thinking, is also a personal attribute with which I take great pride.
Just to be clear, here are the dictionary definitions of the terms in question:
Sane:
Mentally healthy; free from mental disorder.
Marked by sound judgment.
Insane:
Afflicted with or characteristic of mental derangement.
Extreme foolishness.
Rational:
Consistent with or based on the use of reason.
Having its source in, or being guided by, the intellect (as distinguished from experience or emotion).
Irrational:
Not consistent with the use of reason.
I would humbly emphasize as part of the preceding, with regard to sanity and rationality, the ability to detect in others, levels or degrees of insanity and irrationality. Such assessments rightfully exist on a sliding scale that ranges from mild to severe. Or from barely perceptible to disturbingly obvious -- even frightening or potentially dangerous.
In like fashion, I doubt that any of us are, by definition, free from one or more mental disorders, in one form or another -- to one degree or another. Allow me to be the first to confess that, in my specific case, I suffer from a list of neurotic tics and twitches, the number of which, I'd prefer not to disclose. What I will submit, however, is that I have yet to meet someone -- and get to know them to some extent -- who did not, at some point, exhibit what I would consider to be irrational thoughts, ideas, and/or beliefs.
Far fewer in number, but still among my personal acquaintances, are those whom I would judge as being clinically or medically insane. Not necessarily a danger to themselves or others, but folks who have crossed a blurry line and gone from being acutely neurotic, to frenetically psychotic. All of them, including myself, positioned on a wide spectrum of varying shades of gray.
For the purposes of this essay, however, I am largely concerned with those individuals who appear to live on the fringes -- who clearly live in black or white worlds much different from those with which most of us are familiar. It is to these wandering, witless souls, that this treatise is respectfully dedicated.
There's an old saying that you might hear still being used from time to time. To wit "The pot calling the kettle black." It's a nice way of calling someone a hypocrite when we tell them, "That's a lot like the pot calling a kettle black." What is referenced, of course, is the idea that pots and kettles are much the same, and both are blackened from usage. So when we accuse someone accordingly, we're saying, in essence, that the person shares the same degree of blame or guilt as the one they themselves are criticizing.
For example, if I said that I thought someone possessed a neurotic fear of snakes, yet it was known that I feared spiders, a polite way of saying I was a big fat hypocrite would be, "Aren't you a lot like the pot calling the kettle black?"
Thus when I say that, in the eight short months I've been a member of WdC, I've come across a relative handful (maybe a dozen or so) individuals whom I consider to be certifiably, pathologically, and undeniably out of their ever-lovin' minds, it is understood that this may well be a case of the pot calling the kettle black. I understand.
That said, such people have got me to wondering what distinguishes great poetry from gibberish, fine literature from the unintelligible ramblings of a maniac. I've found that sometimes the differences are subtle and not always obvious. Sometimes a person's neurosis -- or pathological insanity -- remains hidden until provoked by a specific set of circumstances. At other times, no attempt is made to overtly disguise what is either a genuine disease at work, or some form of brain damage that manifests itself as wild irrationality. Often in the additional guise of superficial comprehensibility.
While I'm on the subject, it's seems apropos that I briefly mention a separate category of odd individuals. These are people, the nicest of folks in most instances, who are utterly rational and, under other circumstances, no doubt would exist whatsoever as to their firm grasp on "normal" reality.
But because they choose to write, for whatever reason, the slight dysfunctions of their brains become apparent and often obvious to everyone -- except to them. Such persons are completely oblivious to their utter inability to write intelligibly, yet they are somehow compelled to do just that. They write poems, short stories, even novels, and for all intents and purposes, appear incapable of rising above a certain level of incompetence.
Moreover it is highly likely that friends, relatives, and acquaintances rarely speak the truth when critically appraising the work of such persons. The consistent lack of honesty on the part of others, few of whom wish to hurt the feelings of their friends, further supports and encourages such people to forge ever onward. The same is probably true in the fields of art, music, and other disciplines. More of an interesting human phenomenon than a mental infirmity, the condition has always struck me as a peculiar blind spot that afflicts otherwise healthy, successful people.
All of us at WdC who read the works of others on a regular basis, will, at one time or another, happen upon the people to whom I refer. Those of us who consider ourselves reasonably sane and rational, more often than not, probably dismiss such persons as poor writers and simply move on to the next member's item of interest.
Before going further, allow me to state unequivocally that I would never mention the identities of the people to whom I specifically direct my comments and observations -- for any number of reasons, all of them proper and appropriate. Rather, my focus is on the phenomenon itself. How a site like WdC, by its very nature, embraces folks from all walks, of all mentalities. Including the sane and in some cases, the seriously insane.
While I don't consider any of these people dangerous, either to themselves or to others (like how would we really know, and who am I to know?) their writings, if we can call them that, are so nonsensical and peppered with irrational ramblings, as to leave no doubt in terms of what we're dealing with. Or not dealing with.
Here's the real kicker, as they say. Many of these same folks have been awarded large numbers of community recognitions. Only on WdC can a person who, under most circumstances, is unable to put more than three words together, enjoy dozens, even hundreds of awards, merit badges, and other icons of praise and recognition. This is largely a testimony, I believe, to the good-natured friendliness and spirit of helpfulness that permeates the WdC experience.
Because the lunatics in the group, albeit friendly and cheerful lunatics, tend to be more outspoken than many others, they are prone to dominate community affairs from time to time. Their uninhibited, unreserved, overly familiar forthrightness can be, and ought to be, viewed as a red flag of warning. Not always, but the wise person proceeds with caution. Once engaged, it can be difficult to avoid hurting or discouraging these individuals. Instead, we proceed to praise them and 'round and 'round the cycle goes.
So what's my particular problem with these people? And why is this matter even worth mentioning and singling out? These are good questions and deserve honest responses.
Part of the answer lies in the fact that quasi-irrational peeps tend to be both emotional and intellectual vampires. They drain us of our creative energies and give nothing back. Relationships with these people are largely parasitic and, in most cases, our time and efforts are completely wasted on such persons. Similar to sociopaths, neurotic psychopaths often come across as warm, charming, and caring individuals. But don't be fooled. Such vamps possess any number of hidden agendas or other schemes known only to them. Even worse, understood only by them.
The second half of the equation is in realizing that WdC unavoidably contains its fair share of the kinds of people to whom I make mention. They can be found everywhere, in every genre, and as members of every group. Sometimes leading their own group. Nor am I saying that these are bad people and that they have no place at WdC. On the contrary, they have as much right to membership as anyone else. And I would never advocate anything which might want to change that situation. Ostracization based on a determination of one's sanity is, as it should be, entirely out of the question. I would be among the first to oppose such an absurd proposition.
I suppose the main point worth emphasizing is to note the fact that we typically don't like to categorize our fellow writers in regard to how rational or insane they might be. At least not from a judgmental, let alone an unearned medical perspective. Who among us hasn't doubted their own sanity at one time or another?
No, my specific warning is aimed at maintaining a personal awareness, one that equips us with the ability to distinguish between the playfully eccentric, and the real crazies in our midst. I strongly recommend that we shun those who we determine have crossed beyond a certain boundary that is not easily defined. The most we can do is make our best guess, take a chance here and there, but always keep a watchful eye out for that particular fringe element.
I again refer to those for whom every day is Halloween. Whose tricks are likely harmless, possess no ill intent, and whose treats are composed of indecipherable gibberish. Unless you're working to become a professional therapist, my recommendation is to give these people as wide a berth as possible.
The very fact that I bothered to write this exposé of sorts, may well place me among the very folks who I suggest we avoid. If so, so be it. I'm a big boy and can handle it. Friends have always had to be earned, and I see no reason to quit doing so now.
e79
A S Y L U M
A bit more fiction I threw in just because
Fig. 2. Credit: scaryvisions.com
Fifteen-year-old Adelia had finally escaped from the youth asylum, but fleeing into the early morning Amazon rainforest posed as much of a threat to the terrified girl as did the ruthless guards who drew closer by the heartbeat. Gasping to catch her breath in the thick, humid air, she could hear the men shouting and dogs barking in the distance. Barefoot, desperate, wearing only a thin, soiled gown, she feared a separate presence even more than she did the guards or the Brazilian jungle. Something else was chasing her, hunting her. Pursuers that would have already caught and killed her if she hadn’t stabbed the attendant molesting her. And then jumped from a second-floor window.
The ground was wet and soggy from the near constant rain; everywhere the leaves of plants dripped with steady streams of water. Whenever Adelia stopped to rest, ants, spiders, and other insects scurried up her bare legs, biting, stinging, sucking, as if her presence was little more than a next meal for whatever was hungry. She could feel other things crawling inside her uncombed hair, lengthy locks that hung past the small of her back and tangled on branches and bushes as she ran.
Like overhead searchlights, columns of sporadic sunlight penetrated the forest canopy, threatening to spotlight her fragile figure among the backdrop of primeval terrors that surrounded her. None the least of which were the humans who followed her clumsy trail. Who, when they caught her, would no doubt shoot her with the flint-lock rifles they carried. Unless she reached the river in time. And even they, with their guns and knives, were less of a threat than the real monsters who hunted her--creatures who sniffed the air with scaly, narrow snouts and drooled saliva from jaws filled with long, dagger-like teeth.
As Adelia burst from the protection of some giant ferns and stumbled deeper into the jungle, she jerked to a stop and listened. Though still far away, the raspy hissing sounds were unmistakable. It was them. She then heard the crack-snap of rifle and pistol shots, screams, and finally high-pitched yelps. The lusus naturae moved fast, like snakes swimming, and had apparently reached the guards, even slaughtering their dogs. A moment later, the forest had resumed its more normal cacophony of non-human voices. Only the calls of birds, macaw parrots, and the howling of monkeys echoed amid the towering Kapok trees. The noises from all of them again ceased completely as the others approached. Others who were ideally suited to survive--and kill--in a jungle.
They had detected her scent and it was simply a matter of time before Adelia herself was trapped and murdered. Not as food for hungry predators, but because only she knew her assailants’ true identity. Who and what they were and more importantly, where they came from. If found before she got to the river, the flesh would be chewed from her bones--if she was lucky.
Os dragoes violentos. Adelia feared their throated fire more than anything else. She had seen people torn to shreds by scythe-like talons and spear-point fangs, and death had come quickly for them. Other, less fortunate victims had been engulfed in the creatures’ flames and struggled for long, agonizing minutes while they were horrifyingly burned alive.
But her persecutors had come too late. She smirked at the realization of how the cruel sanitarium guards themselves, had delayed the others' attack and given her the extra time she needed. Time to reached the sanctuary of the rushing water that awaited her. She had arrived there in time, but with little to spare. Standing on the precipice of a high cliff that overlooked the river, a place she had sought since her confinement years ago, the girl realized her frantic flight to freedom--her long-sought escape--lay only steps away.
Exhausted and struggling to find her breath, loud, uninhibited exclamations of laughter replaced the adrenalin-charged panic that had freed the inmate from her unjust imprisonment. No more would she suffer the nightly visits from the guards, and especially gone would be the terrible visions that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. Nightmarish images of lizard-like monsters who could think, even talk like people. And kill like them as well.
Closing fast from behind, she heard the oncoming, rapid steps of long, reptilian toes and talons as they crushed the understory of the forest floor. The hideous snarls and hisses grew louder, deafening, and either teeth or flames would find her at any moment.
An instant later, Adelia had leapt from the rocky promontory and plummeted to the water and jagged rocks far below.
The ground was wet and soggy from the near constant rain; everywhere the leaves of plants dripped with steady streams of water. Whenever Adelia stopped to rest, ants, spiders, and other insects scurried up her bare legs, biting, stinging, sucking, as if her presence was little more than a next meal for whatever was hungry. She could feel other things crawling inside her uncombed hair, lengthy locks that hung past the small of her back and tangled on branches and bushes as she ran.
Like overhead searchlights, columns of sporadic sunlight penetrated the forest canopy, threatening to spotlight her fragile figure among the backdrop of primeval terrors that surrounded her. None the least of which were the humans who followed her clumsy trail. Who, when they caught her, would no doubt shoot her with the flint-lock rifles they carried. Unless she reached the river in time. And even they, with their guns and knives, were less of a threat than the real monsters who hunted her--creatures who sniffed the air with scaly, narrow snouts and drooled saliva from jaws filled with long, dagger-like teeth.
As Adelia burst from the protection of some giant ferns and stumbled deeper into the jungle, she jerked to a stop and listened. Though still far away, the raspy hissing sounds were unmistakable. It was them. She then heard the crack-snap of rifle and pistol shots, screams, and finally high-pitched yelps. The lusus naturae moved fast, like snakes swimming, and had apparently reached the guards, even slaughtering their dogs. A moment later, the forest had resumed its more normal cacophony of non-human voices. Only the calls of birds, macaw parrots, and the howling of monkeys echoed amid the towering Kapok trees. The noises from all of them again ceased completely as the others approached. Others who were ideally suited to survive--and kill--in a jungle.
They had detected her scent and it was simply a matter of time before Adelia herself was trapped and murdered. Not as food for hungry predators, but because only she knew her assailants’ true identity. Who and what they were and more importantly, where they came from. If found before she got to the river, the flesh would be chewed from her bones--if she was lucky.
Os dragoes violentos. Adelia feared their throated fire more than anything else. She had seen people torn to shreds by scythe-like talons and spear-point fangs, and death had come quickly for them. Other, less fortunate victims had been engulfed in the creatures’ flames and struggled for long, agonizing minutes while they were horrifyingly burned alive.
But her persecutors had come too late. She smirked at the realization of how the cruel sanitarium guards themselves, had delayed the others' attack and given her the extra time she needed. Time to reached the sanctuary of the rushing water that awaited her. She had arrived there in time, but with little to spare. Standing on the precipice of a high cliff that overlooked the river, a place she had sought since her confinement years ago, the girl realized her frantic flight to freedom--her long-sought escape--lay only steps away.
Exhausted and struggling to find her breath, loud, uninhibited exclamations of laughter replaced the adrenalin-charged panic that had freed the inmate from her unjust imprisonment. No more would she suffer the nightly visits from the guards, and especially gone would be the terrible visions that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. Nightmarish images of lizard-like monsters who could think, even talk like people. And kill like them as well.
Closing fast from behind, she heard the oncoming, rapid steps of long, reptilian toes and talons as they crushed the understory of the forest floor. The hideous snarls and hisses grew louder, deafening, and either teeth or flames would find her at any moment.
An instant later, Adelia had leapt from the rocky promontory and plummeted to the water and jagged rocks far below.
e80
On Meeting People for the First Time. Or the Last.
Nowadays? Politics is everything.
Political correctness and one's attachment or detachment to it, or from it, has become an invaluable tool for assessing who's friendly, who's your friend, and who isn't. Introduce me to anyone and in a matter of moments or minutes, I'll know whether they're a liberal, a conservative, or generally just don't give a damn.
My entire response to that person, or further acknowledgement of them, will then be based almost entirely on a preconceived perception of how they view the world and what role, if any, politics plays in their life. How sad that it has come to this. Maybe it's always been that way and I was the one who just didn't give a damn. Now I do and it may be too late, for the image that now appears before me is a nation on the brink of a new civil war.
I, for one, want to know the color of another person's uniform, whether blue, grey, or permissibly oblivious.
Political correctness and one's attachment or detachment to it, or from it, has become an invaluable tool for assessing who's friendly, who's your friend, and who isn't. Introduce me to anyone and in a matter of moments or minutes, I'll know whether they're a liberal, a conservative, or generally just don't give a damn.
My entire response to that person, or further acknowledgement of them, will then be based almost entirely on a preconceived perception of how they view the world and what role, if any, politics plays in their life. How sad that it has come to this. Maybe it's always been that way and I was the one who just didn't give a damn. Now I do and it may be too late, for the image that now appears before me is a nation on the brink of a new civil war.
I, for one, want to know the color of another person's uniform, whether blue, grey, or permissibly oblivious.
e81
M O M E N T U M
In physics:
The property or tendency of a moving object to continue moving. For an object in linear motion along a line, the momentum is the mass of the object multiplied by its velocity, which is further defined as linear momentum. Thus a slowly moving, very massive body, and a more rapidly moving, lighter body, can both possess the same momentum.
Merriam Webster defines the meaning of momentum as:
1. The strength or force that something exerts while in motion. 2. The strength or force that allows something to continue moving. 3. The tendency of an object's motion to grow stronger or faster as time passes.
In philosophy:
A timeless point wherein decision is freely made without apprehension, unreflectively, and directly integrated. No longer subject or object, nor observer and observed. A phenomenon, an awareness without parts, without summation.
The property or tendency of a moving object to continue moving. For an object in linear motion along a line, the momentum is the mass of the object multiplied by its velocity, which is further defined as linear momentum. Thus a slowly moving, very massive body, and a more rapidly moving, lighter body, can both possess the same momentum.
Merriam Webster defines the meaning of momentum as:
1. The strength or force that something exerts while in motion. 2. The strength or force that allows something to continue moving. 3. The tendency of an object's motion to grow stronger or faster as time passes.
In philosophy:
A timeless point wherein decision is freely made without apprehension, unreflectively, and directly integrated. No longer subject or object, nor observer and observed. A phenomenon, an awareness without parts, without summation.
e82
The Reasons Why I Call Myself a Deist
What does it mean to be a deist? What does the word itself even mean? In a world where religion plays a big role in people's lives, whether publicly or privately, some questions are so beyond our understanding or any kind of satisfactory explanation, that the faithful are forced to rely on faith alone. Deists trod the same ground as do the truest of believers, but do so along a very different path.
Deism:
1. The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason alone, and without reference to revelation.
Deist: noun
1. A person who believes that God created the universe, but then abandoned it.
2. The belief that God does not intervene in human affairs, does not answer prayers, and that morals and ethics evolve solely from noetic cognition.
So what does all this fancy, intellectual talk really refer to?
Each of us, at one time or another, who are of "sound mind", have asked ourselves why bad things happen to good people. Or why good things happen for bad, horrible people. Maybe we've asked our local priest, pastor, or Rabbi the same question. Books have been written about this very subject. Speaking for myself, I've never received an adequate answer. Certainly nothing that satisfied the query to any extent worth mentioning. Unless one were addressing a child and, like a child, found solace in the most simplistic answers possible.
Religions of all faiths are very good at solving some of life's most vexing issues. Sometimes it's the case that no religion of any faith, can resolve a particular riddle. One of the most perplexing and contradictory ideas found in mainstream religions is the proposition that God is parental in nature, and exhibits the same kind of love and concern for His "children", as we might expect from the best mother or the most caring of fathers. Really? Indeed. One might argue that such caring and concern is too broad, too all encompassing for it would seem to include not only the most virtuous, but the most vile as well. And more often than not, it is the worst of humanity who enjoys the most comfort and luxury, while the righteous are left to wallow in squalor and deprivation.
What kind of parent behaves this way? There have always been three possible answers:
1) We are not privy to the "big picture" which includes a plan beyond our current understanding.
2) The greatest rewards will be heaped upon those who suffered the most. Likewise the worst punishments will be imposed on those who caused the greatest misery and unhappiness.
3) God chooses to allow humanity to determine its own destiny. For better or for worse. It is up to us.
Atheists will, of course, argue that a fourth option belongs with the other three. As a deist, however, I reject the idea of a Godless universe and, if anything, question the existence of atheism itself. As anything other than a mental disorder, the chief symptom of which is the erroneous conclusion that the cosmos is known to exclude a Creator.
Often inseparable from both religion and politics, conservative philosophical thought holds that human concepts of morality and ethics are derived only from God. The idea is that God is the sole arbiter between Good and Evil, and that people are otherwise amoral by nature. Thus in terms of choosing between one way of life, versus another, righteousness is considered a matter of obedience to God's will. While wickedness is a refutation of same. Secular humanism, the belief that goodness and propriety are completely separate from Godliness, is therefore rejected by most religious orthodoxy.
While this essay does not concern itself with scientific debates concerning evolution, or theories as to the origins of the universe, it does seek to address moral and ethical questions. In this context, deism takes a strong and firm position with regard to both. Every bit the equal to that held by my more conservative brethren. This is to say that deists believe in the God-given power of reason and the rational mind. That piousness is not the exclusive domain of the faithful. Faith, in this instance, referring to the power of answered prayers, and that miracles have transpired during humanity's presence on Earth.
Good and faithful deists will generally have none of it. "We" contend that a newborn child comes into the world with an equal propensity for doing good. as it does for bad. And that a combination of nature and nurturing ultimately dictates the life of that person as an adult. Further that, as an adult, we possess the reason and faculties which allow us to make positive, constructive choices in life. That it is our responsibility to determine which of those decisions make for a better world, improve the lives of others where and when possible, and help us to realize our personal potential as productive members of society.
We do not rely upon God, or depend on Him to define for us our understanding or appreciation of what it is to be honest, possess integrity, and treat our fellow human beings with dignity and respect. Such things reside entirely within the human spirit. Within our souls, if you will. And we do these things, as JFK once said about reaching for the moon, "...not because they are easy, but because they are hard."
Wherever God is, and whatever it is that occupies the Almighty at the moment, there's a good chance that He's relying on us as much as many believe we need to do the same, on Him. My personal concern is that He's rather disappointed, and expecting much better results from His latest endeavor.
Deism:
1. The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason alone, and without reference to revelation.
Deist: noun
1. A person who believes that God created the universe, but then abandoned it.
2. The belief that God does not intervene in human affairs, does not answer prayers, and that morals and ethics evolve solely from noetic cognition.
So what does all this fancy, intellectual talk really refer to?
Each of us, at one time or another, who are of "sound mind", have asked ourselves why bad things happen to good people. Or why good things happen for bad, horrible people. Maybe we've asked our local priest, pastor, or Rabbi the same question. Books have been written about this very subject. Speaking for myself, I've never received an adequate answer. Certainly nothing that satisfied the query to any extent worth mentioning. Unless one were addressing a child and, like a child, found solace in the most simplistic answers possible.
Religions of all faiths are very good at solving some of life's most vexing issues. Sometimes it's the case that no religion of any faith, can resolve a particular riddle. One of the most perplexing and contradictory ideas found in mainstream religions is the proposition that God is parental in nature, and exhibits the same kind of love and concern for His "children", as we might expect from the best mother or the most caring of fathers. Really? Indeed. One might argue that such caring and concern is too broad, too all encompassing for it would seem to include not only the most virtuous, but the most vile as well. And more often than not, it is the worst of humanity who enjoys the most comfort and luxury, while the righteous are left to wallow in squalor and deprivation.
What kind of parent behaves this way? There have always been three possible answers:
1) We are not privy to the "big picture" which includes a plan beyond our current understanding.
2) The greatest rewards will be heaped upon those who suffered the most. Likewise the worst punishments will be imposed on those who caused the greatest misery and unhappiness.
3) God chooses to allow humanity to determine its own destiny. For better or for worse. It is up to us.
Atheists will, of course, argue that a fourth option belongs with the other three. As a deist, however, I reject the idea of a Godless universe and, if anything, question the existence of atheism itself. As anything other than a mental disorder, the chief symptom of which is the erroneous conclusion that the cosmos is known to exclude a Creator.
Often inseparable from both religion and politics, conservative philosophical thought holds that human concepts of morality and ethics are derived only from God. The idea is that God is the sole arbiter between Good and Evil, and that people are otherwise amoral by nature. Thus in terms of choosing between one way of life, versus another, righteousness is considered a matter of obedience to God's will. While wickedness is a refutation of same. Secular humanism, the belief that goodness and propriety are completely separate from Godliness, is therefore rejected by most religious orthodoxy.
While this essay does not concern itself with scientific debates concerning evolution, or theories as to the origins of the universe, it does seek to address moral and ethical questions. In this context, deism takes a strong and firm position with regard to both. Every bit the equal to that held by my more conservative brethren. This is to say that deists believe in the God-given power of reason and the rational mind. That piousness is not the exclusive domain of the faithful. Faith, in this instance, referring to the power of answered prayers, and that miracles have transpired during humanity's presence on Earth.
Good and faithful deists will generally have none of it. "We" contend that a newborn child comes into the world with an equal propensity for doing good. as it does for bad. And that a combination of nature and nurturing ultimately dictates the life of that person as an adult. Further that, as an adult, we possess the reason and faculties which allow us to make positive, constructive choices in life. That it is our responsibility to determine which of those decisions make for a better world, improve the lives of others where and when possible, and help us to realize our personal potential as productive members of society.
We do not rely upon God, or depend on Him to define for us our understanding or appreciation of what it is to be honest, possess integrity, and treat our fellow human beings with dignity and respect. Such things reside entirely within the human spirit. Within our souls, if you will. And we do these things, as JFK once said about reaching for the moon, "...not because they are easy, but because they are hard."
Wherever God is, and whatever it is that occupies the Almighty at the moment, there's a good chance that He's relying on us as much as many believe we need to do the same, on Him. My personal concern is that He's rather disappointed, and expecting much better results from His latest endeavor.
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