Do Not Hide Your Fear

C. S. Lewis wrote on Faith, as one of the Christian virtues, in his book Mere Christianity, and said this:

Now Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.

So Faith is not something you have when you are quite sure a thing is- when the thing is dancing naked in front of you and you can't help but know it's there. Faith is, apparently, employed especially when you aren't witnessing the thing. It reminds me of how babies have to learn object permanence; that apparently when a parent goes out of the room, they don't know the parent exists anymore (and start crying). So perhaps as babies we learn a simple form of Faith. We all know that we have to trust what we once saw, as it would be silly if we had to sit and stare at something to keep knowing it exists.

I have been thinking of Faith in relation to prayer. One must have Faith in God to believe requesting things in prayer is worthwhile. I do not, for some reason, believe that it is worthwhile right now. I desire things that I think are not possible, specifically getting reasonably beyond my anxiety and its causes.

L'Abri Fellowship came to my mind today, and I remembered that it would probably be good for me to dive into some L'Abri lectures again, instead of philosophical-psychological-political whatnot on YouTube (of which my conscience seems to think I have my fill). So I listened to a little that is called An Introduction to L'Abri, but the beginning has so far been Dr. Francis Schaeffer (a founder of L'Abri) talking about what a miracle that conference was, as it almost fell right through, and telling the conference-goers that that conference was either as miraculous as the beginning of L'Abri itself, or even more so, and that he believes the word 'miracle' to be a very, very sober word.

L'Abri Fellowship was sustained, one might say, on trusting God to provide what they needed. Reading the story in Edith Schaeffer's L'Abri is quite inspiring, if you're open to what can sometimes sound too good to be true (at-times-cynical person here).

As I listened to Dr. Schaeffer, I realised that I do think that God did that then, for them, but He wouldn't do great things for me, now. As if miracles only happen in the past, and for other people. I can't possibly ask God for that; that would be expecting, and being ungrateful for what I have now! It would not be trusting Him to ask for things. And I am supposed to look back on L'Abri and other examples of God's faithfulness and have those examples sustain my faith now, even though I feel dry, and as if all is a lie. God is testing me: I must believe now in this present desert, or else I'm not really a Christian.

The fear in that, that God does not really care for me enough to want me to ask Him for things, controls me now. I've known it for years and years. And what do I do with it? I try to make myself not afraid. I imagine that being afraid is wrong, somehow, and that God won't give me what I want if I'm afraid He won't give it! But then I lie to Him. And while I pray, I try to conjure the answer in myself... I pray not to be anxious, and I try to be not anxious. I try to somehow contain it. But what happens is I stop breathing, and get stomach aches and constipation, I can't relax my shoulders and I find myself clenching my jaws. I can't pray; I don't want to pray. I can't ask God for things if I have to fulfill it myself: what's the point? I do not want a world where I have to be God. But I have this horrible perverted notion that I ought to do these things or else God will not want to answer my prayers.

Bravery cannot exist when there is no fear. Psalm 27 says at the end: 'Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say on the LORD.' Why would there be a call to courage, if we did not fear? There is no courage except from fear. So I must not be afraid that I am afraid. God does not ask me to leave my fear behind before I come to Him. I believe He wants us to be like little children, entirely and completely ourselves, full of fears and worries, and only if we come to Him like that will He be able to soothe us out of our fears.

In bringing our follies and sins to light in prayer to God, they will be exposed to the light, and then they can be changed. But as long as we hide them in the dark, either trying to cure them before we come to God or deceiving ourselves that they are not bad, God cannot change our hearts. We must not keep anything from Him: even our doubt. God does not expect us to be perfectly sure of Him, and sense seems to indicate that we never can be perfectly sure of anything, anyway. He only asks that we be a child before Him, admitting just how we are, and He loves us that way. Just if we come to Him. After all, Jesus became our sin and went to Hell in our place so that God could look on us without judgement (for He cannot be unjust and ignore sin), but see us only as the lovely creations He intended us to be in the Beginning.

My Problems in Prayer

When I pray to believe that God will do the right thing by me, I try to fulfill that prayer. I try to work myself into believing it; to do the work I am asking God to do. I am never really asking. I am afraid that unless I don't do the work, I won't get the prize. Whatever this is, it is built into me: I always feel I must fulfill whatever I ask for. Which probably means I never ask for something that I do not at least take a part in doing myself. I hate to ask for help, for some reason. I hate to ask for anything at all.

I also feel that I should ask for things I know I'll get. Always pray what you believe God actually wants you to have; never pray for what you want. But I believe the Bible is clear that God wants us to tell Him the desires of our hearts. Of course He already knows them, but (as some say) He takes pleasure in us talking to Him and desiring Him to be with us, like that is part of what He made us for; to want Him to love us.

So by that logic, if we want Him, He will be with us, because He is perfect and does exactly what He wants like a perfect promise kept. We usually only want Him on our terms, though, and thus we push Him away. He does not come on our terms. If I really, truly desired Him to help me, He would do it. I don't even think I've ever completely wanted Him, but there have been times I have been closer to it, where I was simple and child-like enough, somehow, and I believe He did help me. But because I am constantly in doubt, I imagine I'm imagining it's so.

In relationship, I have many fears: that people do not really want to be around me, they do not want me to be needy, that they don't want my emotions causing a ruckus, and don't want to know what I desire. If at all possible, I must keep to myself and carry my own burdens alone, as that is what I think others expect of me. And I certainly view God this way. God couldn't possibly want to know my whinings and spontaneous thoughts. I imagine I am as annoying and insignificant as a grovelling beggar to Him. My wants and desires are childish to Him and He couldn't possibly have time to be interested in me. So I try, as I pray, to fulfill the prayers myself; to carry my own weight (or whatever the saying is). If I am going to be a burden, I should only be a burden to myself. So I end up trying to be everything that I need in other people. Everything I need. I try to make sure I've done everything I possibly can before I go to other people about even what I am thinking: to try to perfect it and simplify it and say as little as I can, and ask as little of them, and require as little of their time.

I don't believe God could want me to muss up His time. I forget that the Bible says all sorts of things starkly in contrast to what I feel God wants. 'Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' When I was a child, I likely felt that His judgement of the Israelites was that they asked too often for things, but since then people corrected me: they did not trust that He would provide. They grumbled and did not, as children, believe He was their good Father, and that He would always, always sustain them. We grumble when we think that someone is not with us, not for us (I know it in my family ;) ); when we doubt that they love us and desire what is good for us. If the Israelites had simply asked for things as if God were their truly loving Father, if what I say is true, He would have been delighted. But that is for the Bible scholars and theologians to tease out (though I wish I could do it).

Thoughts on Faith

I need to have faith that God will work things out for good. I try to take hold of the things in my life and make them work, and I try to make myself fixed, so that I have fulfilled my prayer to God that I be made right. While I am praying, I am trying to work myself into the state I am praying for. And that causes anxiety and makes me forget to breathe and all sorts of unhelpful things. It actually appears that it completely undermines my prayer to be trying to fulfill it, as a natural cause.

Perhaps I'm conflating faith and hope, which are not necessarily the same thing. But perhaps all, or most, of the heavenly virtues are tied together, and must work in concert (a question for another day).

I mean faith as specifically trusting God with my different cares; believing He really exists and has a purpose in all things. Hope comes out of that, it seems, as if you really have faith, odds are you'll hope that things will, of course, turn out as they ought to, as distinct from 'as you want them to'.

Intellectually, I believe that God's purpose absolutely and completely is what is best. It's based on all sorts of different... evidences, let us call them. There's the reason part of it, and there's the emotional justification I have from my experiences, and there's the actual evidence in my own life. But: I don't believe it all the time and probably have never believed it with my whole being. Believing it so much so that I believe that all things will work for my good (and for the good of all the rest of the children of God). To believe that every single thing that happens is exactly what ought to happen for the greatest good, even if it feels painful in the moment. We are told that God will chasten us sore (I think one Psalm says it that way in the King James Version).

Sometimes I actually feel that way; that all happens as it ought to... I probably wouldn't be writing this if I weren't feeling it just a bit right now. The idea of God chastening me sore sounds sometimes like the most wonderful, beautiful, lovely thing. Of course, when He actually does it, it doesn't feel that way. It wouldn't be chastening sore if we liked it in the moment. But sometimes I just know that, since it is what I need, I will be very, very glad it happened later on.

(I am running off in tangents... this isn't even what I meant to be talking about.)

The difficulty is that as I fall deeper into what may be anxiety, depression, and definitely also acedia (do look it up), I lose a hold on what I intellectually believe to be true, and what I have sometimes felt was true. (As usual) C. S. Lewis said something about this in Mere Christianity, because he would do that:

Faith ... is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.

 Which (but my brain is very muddled, so pardon me) may be a different use of the word 'faith' than what I am talking about. Or else it is the same, because faith in God is believing in Him even when your emotions are not feeling it one stinking bit. Believing that what you once knew is still true, even though you don't feel it now. If we believed things according to our whims (our thoughts at any particular time), we'd be the most fickle creatures. Thank God that we do still believe facts even when we don't feel like it. Perhaps it's especially evident in the case of emotional truths, but I think it may apply to 'rational' ones, too.

My friend Lady W. once reminded me of this, and I have since forgotten it, of course. In our doubt, we are not less Christians than when we feel-believe. Faith is not a feeling; it is a choice. It is choosing to believe what we once knew to be true (granted we're not always right).

Now I shall run off and write about courage as it ties into this, which is what I meant to write about.

Codependency in Abba's Child

It's funny when almost every book at one time (excluding The Victory of Reason, as is the case now) relates to what you're working through personally. I thought a few of the books I was being recommended would be peripheral at the very least, but they all relate to the very core of what I've been struggling with all my life, and therefore right now (as I want to be free of those problems, as much as one can expect to in this life).

In Abba's Child (Brennan Manning), Manning happened to be talking about just exactly what I have been thinking through lately. Of course, in his words, with quotes from many people he's read, which is helpful as I think it best to read a topic from a lot of sources. It's possible that I should actually just go through all that I read so far and make a list of the things that stuck out to me, but it would probably be so long that I'm a bit scared to do it. I also keep thinking, in my self-doubting way, 'What's the point? Nobody will care. It'll just be me and my thoughts, alone, forever, though what I'm thinking seems to be God's Truth, nobody else will agree. They never do. I am not someone to agree with.'

And that last piece to some extent illustrates how my life is right now: I shape it around what I think others will or won't want. I capitulate constantly. I let go of myself for others. I don't even know who I am, though I have been for years desperately trying to grab at some shred of who I am. Trying to find yourself, from what I see, is not the way to find yourself. Any time we try to find or create ourselves, we inadvertently begin building up a mask and image of what we think our Self should be. It's when we stop minding our Self and accept what is obvious in front of us (how we behave, how we feel, etc.) that we'll have ourselves, but not in looking at ourselves, but in looking, in a sense, simply at Reality (which complicatedly does include ourselves, but also God and others and the physical world, and of course it's ourselves not in a lying, deceitful way).

(I'm scared at this point that what I said wasn't coherently written. I wish it were, somehow.)

In light of all this, more quotes!

The false self was born when as children we were not loved well or were rejected or abandoned. John Bradshaw defines codependency as a disease "characterized by a loss of identity. To be codependent is to be out of touch with one's feelings, needs and desires." The impostor is the classic codependent. To gain acceptance and approval, the false self suppresses or camouflages feelings, making emotional honesty impossible. Living out of the false self creates a compulsive desire to present a perfect image to the public so that everybody will admire us and nobody will know us. The impostor's life becomes a perpetual roller coaster ride of elation and depression.

This image here is what I sense in my own life. The perfect self I create is different from what he describes himself creating, but that's to be expected. I don't care quite so much as he does about particularly modern success- I have my own idea of success; my own perfect, somewhat shaped by my family life, but also by my own wants and desires. I want to be knowledgeable, wise, accomplished (at what I want to be accomplished at); I do not want to be seen as foolish or not being able to understand things. I dread that. I hate the shame associated with it, so I hide as much as I can that I am ignorant. There are many ways I do this... some last-resort methods when there's a strong possibility someone will ask a direct question of whether I know something. I have learned some arts of manipulation to keep out of myself being Revealed. But if my ignorance is revealed, what shame I feel. This is partly because my family made ignorance such a big deal, and refused to acknowledge that not knowing something is not so bad. My sinful heart says, especially if it's easy to understand the thing once it's explained properly- I always want to validate that I am smart after all and I just didn't know some of the facts. This may be true, but I don't need to justify my ignorance. It's a stupid slippery slope that needs to die.

Abba's Child

My brother lent me one of his books, Abba's Child by Brennan Manning. I have started to nibble through it recently, as a rodent will, having finally finished The Four Loves.

So that is on my plate for now. I am also nibbling through other books when the mood hits me to read those topics, but have put one on hold until I feel like getting back to it. Sort of following my instincts, here; don't you criticise me.

The book kind of talks about God's loving of us; our being His children.

Brennan quotes some nice people saying nice things. He says some good things, too. I had heard of Julian of Norwich from Medieval Wisdom for Modern Christians, I believe, as she had influence on C.S. Lewis and possibly others of the Inklings.

She said at some point or other...

Our courteous Lord does not want his servants to despair because they fall often and grievously; for our falling does not hinder Him from loving us.

 Brennan Manning later in the same chapter said:

To feel safe is to stop living in my head and sink down into my heart and feel liked and accepted . . . not having to hide anymore and distract myself with books, television, movies, ice cream, shallow conversation . . . staying in the present moment and not escaping into the past or projecting into the future, alert and attentive to the now . . . feeling relaxed and not nervous or jittery . . . no need to impress or dazzle others or draw attention to myself. . . . un-self-conscious, a new way of being with myself, a new way of being in the world . . . calm, unafraid, no anxiety about what's going to happen next . . . loved and valued . . . just being together as an end in itself.

The context of the second is 1. feeling again one's own feelings, and 2. taking down the facade or mask we put on to be accepted in the world (ultimately it's to be accepted by ourselves). That we hate ourselves inherently and our hatred of ourselves means we refuse to face who we are, and to come to God out of that bareness. To be nothing, as we are without God... so that ultimately with God, we will be filled with Something, as we're meant to be: filled with our good purpose as God's creatures.

Traipsing off, now.

Codependency as My Mother Puts It

Please consider, if you read my blog, reading this post, Enacted Codependency, by my mother. It was started (or written) some years ago, so the events alluded to are in the past.

Both my mother and I are working on our codependency issues. For whatever reason, we're very similar, and no- 'like mother, like daughter' is not logical here; my sister is not the same, and I may have had less proximity to my mother than my sister did. I, being like I am, tried to learn from my mother's example, both in emulating, and not emulating, certain things. I felt bound to her fate, in a sense, and wanted to avoid that, though I felt it was inevitable (found out over the years that it's not, and I'm plenty different, too).

The codependency for many years seemed normal to me; thinking and behaving like that, so concerned with how I relate to others and worrying about it, was something I thought that everyone must go through. Of course, it was also evident from a distance that they don't. Some things other people do fly right in the face of codependency: what they do excludes the possibility of codependency. So I also tried to learn from them, to discover their secrets.

But it may be that my deepest problem is not codependency, but rather something that makes it far easier to be codependent. I already have the inclination towards enabling people with the mantra of 'love thy neighbour as thyself', and my deeper problems with relating to others make it so much easier to fall into codependency as a way to connect with people. But trust me: it is no connection. There is only alienation and distance in codependency, and it can never, ever even look like true friendship. It's a perfectly clever way for Satan to twist our goodness and godliness, and to create distance between us and others while all the time whispering to us that we are loving others, and will be loved in return. It is a false hope that consumes you; it has just enough truth that you don't realise it's all a sham (that's an interesting topic for another day, if I can ever write it well!) until you're so fully trapped in habits and ways of thinking that you can't see the light anymore.

The Spoiling of Good Things

[Edmund] had eaten his share of the dinner, but he hadn't really enjoyed it because he was thinking all the time about Turkish Delight--and there's nothing that spoils the taste of good ordinary food half so much as the memory of bad magic food.

 from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

Joyful Stillness

And Lucy felt running through her that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still.

from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

Is Reading Fiction Educational?

C.S. Lewis, Tolkien and others like them would have addressed this question before, I'm sure. I haven't yet read Tolkien's On Fairy-Stories, which should cause everyone to shake their heads in disappointment. But someday I'll get to that and other things, we hope.

I'm wondering how much I learned from my mother reading us a lot of stories, versus how much I formally learnt. I remember thinking (subconsciously) a great deal about what was read to me, but I don't know how much of what I thought about was merely from the stories, or was from other things told to me in the actual homeschooling we did. Since talking to my mother about the way I thought as a child, she's told me she actually taught us the principles I was applying to the things I (for lack of a better term) experienced.

But it does seem that a lot of what was written in the earliest stories I can remember having read to me had a big impact on me. I sifted through what was truly unrealistic and what was realistic. I seem to have tried to see what I could use and apply. I obsessively wanted to make sure I didn't miss things... though I wasn't ever very methodical about thinking. It's just that I never wanted to be found to have not picked something up that I could have. I did not want to be out of the loop (because I sometimes was and hated how it felt).

I am convinced, though, even though I don't know how much I learned being told and how much I figured out myself, that the stories we read have provided the foundation of my thinking today. We did precious little actual formal study of critical thinking or logic. I wish we had, because it would have allowed me to articulate all that I'm thinking now. I have really only scratched the surface of being able to articulate what I'm thinking. But because I'm so much older now, and feel I have so little time to do all the things I want to, I would like to know just what books I ought to read to start getting to being able to articulate Logic more clearly. I know, though, without someone to recommend good books, I'll have to just read some and figure it out for myself, but obviously, that takes time.

So we'll see. If I'd had more of a rigorous classical education, I would probably be a lot farther along now. But it's wonderful the lessons I learned which instilled themselves in my subconscious and help me today. I wish I could clearly see how much was due to the fiction we read, and how much was due to other things. It seems useful knowledge.

(Knowing this may be a little confusing or just stream-of-consciousness.)

Gimli: The Reluctant Christian

This is taken from another blog of mine, date of September 3, 2016, and edited somewhat.


A raw thought from watching Lord of the Rings just now-

Gimli reminds me of a person who is reluctant, due to misconceptions, to come to God, but in the end, becomes enamoured with Him.

He dislikes the Elves, and is very distrusting of them, and he believes Galadriel is basically a witch. Then he meets Galadriel and is transformed: he respects her, and sees her as the most beautiful and good (not requiring romantic affection, O Modern People). It is very like how we close-minded humans are skeptical of God- superstitiously suspicious of God’s goodness, looking at the good things of God as unrealistic (unlikely); even treacherous.

But then you know Him, and you see that, though in some ways you may have been right, He is good; the things you suspected really were true and good are His things, and He is Beauty Incarnate.

It is amusing how stubbornly Gimli defends Galadriel’s honour against Eomer in the Two Towers. An unlikely outcome, yet more realistic, because things are not always as they seem.

Against Our Ancient Foe

I have gone through a strange thing this weekend... all tied up in a packaging of conversation, Hurricane Florence, delicious food, and letting myself fall asleep without finishing a routine.

So much strangeness. But it is all perfect, the perfectest strangeness.

I won't go into what exactly happened. Maybe I will later.

Because of what has happened, I've been brought back to something that I've thought on intermittently in the past: the spiritual fight, against Satan, that C.S. Lewis delves into a bit in The Screwtape Letters. I have a great deal of anger, and I realised more concretely that my anger should be directed at Satan... that it is fitting to direct it at him. He is the one who has done that which I am angry at.

So throughout these past two or three days, I thought of the last part of the first verse of A Mighty Fortress Is Our God. Then, now, I looked it up, and I want to post it here, because all of it is rather pertinent to what I'm going through recently. It seems that one does not always realise what a hymn is saying until somehow things in one's life relate to the hymn.

A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing:
Our helper He, amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe
Doth seek to work his woe;
His craft and power are great,
And armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide,
Our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side,
The Man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is he;
Lord Sabbaoth is his name,
From age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled,
Should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed
His truth to triumph through us.
The Prince of Darkness grim,—
We tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure,
For lo! His doom is sure,—
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers—
No thanks to them—abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours
Through him who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go,
This mortal life also:
The body they may kill:
God's truth abideth still,
His kingdom is for ever.

So right now, I have been thinking particularly about Satan's 'craft and power', how he keeps me from doing things, by keeping me from caring about anything. And when I was steeling myself to do what I intended to do this weekend, all the doubts and half-truths came creeping in, telling me why I should not do the thing, why it won't work, and revealing that (indeed) I had no idea how I was going to do it, and I couldn't even focus well enough to figure out how: my brain is a fog.

And so, I fought. Satan will not have me... I will try to fight the influence, to let God fill me with the intention to do what is right. I have not let God do that. I have not followed my conscience, and done what I knew I ought to do. May God's glory flow in, in richness.

'In your hearts enthrone him, there let him subdue 

all that is not holy, all that is not true'

(from the hymn At the Name of Jesus Every Knee Shall Bow)

From Niceness to Humility

(This may somewhat reiterate what has been said in a previous post. Bear with me if it does.)


It seems a bit of an obsession these days to equate being nice with moral goodness. What is seen as a good way to treat someone is whatever least encumbers or inconveniences someone, with the constant refrain of 'if it doesn't hurt anyone, it's fine.' What it ends up being, I think, is serving our wants and pleasures in the present with no true consideration of the bigger picture. The bigger picture to people is a matter of how someone feels. The premise for this, I think, might be the recent idea that it is most important to build up and maintain a healthy self-esteem. It could potentially destroy a student's self-esteem to tell them that they can't have an A for a paper they wrote very poorly. Especially when it is not a matter of an achievement not achieved, people still seem to find it more difficult to tell someone plainly that they need to put in more work; they did poorly.

We've been gradually losing the ability to tell the difference between what is right and what is wrong in the murky waters of being 'nice'. The constant refrain is to be tolerant to others, and true tolerance has been lost in the notion that if you disagree publicly with what someone else thinks or is doing, you are intolerant. You cannot disagree politely; you cannot disagree at all. Conflict of any sort, even healthy conflict with the possibility of problem-solving, is seen as wrong.

Firm parenting is also falling by the wayside. Even those of us who do believe in moral absolutes fall prey to this philosophy; it is creeping into many conservative circles, even. There is no defense against it, because most of us who still have a sense of truth have not learned why we should believe in truth.

A lot of people in the West have been turned into at least minor versions of codependents. Maybe it's going too far, and I certainly may focus a bit too much on the negative, but I think that our society is being transformed into a codependent society, out of the ashes of a society that believed in personal responsibility and true virtue and charity.

To some extent I think that the gravitation towards this 'being nice' is because it is much easier than standing against the flow for some conviction. There is social pressure to be 'tolerant', and most people have no energy nor time to consciously avoid that pressure (or at least one would not do it unless one thought it was worth it).

It's also a really convenient way to see things, as it allows one to validate one's selfish idea that one is the centre of the universe: that one deserves validation and boosting of self esteem.

It seems to me it's a vicious cycle of various ways in which our society and we ourselves reinforce this idea that viewing oneself positively is the way to go; it'll be psychologically better for us in the long run, because thinking positively about yourself is obviously what alleviates worry... or so we tell ourselves.

Wait a moment. Do we really need to boost ourselves up to be healthy? Does boosting ourselves really result in happiness?

Having to concern oneself with oneself is, I think, a result of our worry and need for control. Keeping up the façade of a perfect self by trying to have positive things to think about oneself is exhausting. It is keeping up the façade to ourselves that is most exhausting, and perhaps it is impossible not to do that if you are trying to keep a perfect exterior. Besides that secretly, we want to think well of ourselves, even those of us who self-deprecate as if our lives depended on it. But the solution is not for people to think any differently about themselves, for in ourselves we do not know ourselves better. We know ourselves by looking upward (to God), and thus also outward, engaging the world. If we stop concerning ourselves with ourselves, we will learn to see ourselves through our plain eyes, not through rose-coloured or mud-spattered glasses.

Here is C.S. Lewis, from Mere Christianity, painting a picture of humility-

'Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call "humble" nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody. Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him. If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.
      If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step. The first step is to realise that one is proud. And a biggish step, too. At least, nothing whatever can be done before it. If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed.'

We should not boost each other up into any lies and vices of our human hearts (like the notion that we're sparkly, rainbow-maned unicorns). We must not feed each other the lie that what matters about a person is how normal or special they are. It is completely unnecessary. It's futile to mind your value in relation to others. Truth is much more important, and in the long term, more fruitful.

Man or Rabbit?

The essay Man or Rabbit? by C. S. Lewis struck me when I read it, though the ideas in it were already familiar. I met it reading through God in the Dock, a book full of essays by Lewis which I am still ploughing through gradually.

The essay responds to the question, 'Can't you lead a good life without believing in Christianity?' Though I am not of the mind of those to whom he is responding, I still naturally struggle with giving myself wholly to God (and I always will, till death, doubtless), and this brings some truths relating to that right down to earth for me.

Without further ado, if you wish to read it, here Man or Rabbit? is.

(If the link stops working, and you drop a comment, I will fix it.)

When in Doubt, Praise

In around the last fifty years, give or take, a fad relating to the idea of 'self-esteem' has been growing. This seems to be in some way (whether loosely or closely) related to notions of tolerance, kindness (which to me is more 'niceness'), and in general the middle class's working theory of how mental health works. However, I don't know how much of this has come from psychology and how much of it is the invention of the wishful thinking of common man.

So our newish idea of how to be kind and good to any other person is to do that which builds up self-esteem. You should not do that which would make a person lose their confidence or zest for accomplishment. What you do matters directly in relation to the other person's quantity of self-esteem. You are responsible for how much you damage the other person's sense of self.

It seems to have resulted in very wishy-washy parenting in which we try to show love enough that the child could not possibly have low self-esteem. Tell them they did a good job, even if the A they drew looks like unstable architecture. Shower them with praise when they do basic everyday stuff. (I understand there is an argument for the first time someone accomplishes something that for the rest of us is normal, but I don't think that children want or need to be showered with praise for that; only told, 'Yes, that's how you do it!')

I understand that to some extent hearing this may rebel against people's moral compasses, thinking how could it hurt to tell someone they're doing a good job, whatever the circumstance? Nowadays, I think we err towards the do-not-criticise side of things, instead of having a sense of pride in how well we can accomplish things; a sense of excellence. Critique needn't be unkind. Good, constructive critique seems far more loving than holding back for the sake of someone's feelings.

I suspect children can sniff that a lot of praise is not genuine nowadays, and I think it may be damaging them. I was very sensitive to whether or not people were serious. I hated to be complimented for something that I knew was mediocre (which may be my pride). Children really like it when adults notice their true accomplishments, and they want to show that they can compete with the best of 'em (even when they can't). 

Somewhere deep down, I think we all really care about this. I could be wrong; maybe it's just me and a few others, but I don't think we actually like to let ourselves slip and do something badly, and to know that we are really no good at anything. Generally speaking, humans seem to like to really accomplish something, not just to be told they accomplished something when that thing is actually meaningless.

From where I stand, the propensity to compliment people for meaningless actions damages our drive to achieve and try new things. It's better to occasionally genuinely compliment something you (the complimenter) actually care about than it is to try to manufacture praise-feelings in yourself and compliment from there.

(First time writing about this, and may have missed some elements. To the future!)

The Good Law

I wanted to go on about the goodness of God's law in the last post, but I knew that that was likely going to be a bit off-topic in talking about law and reason specifically (though goodness comes into reason, in my opinion). So here is a shiny new post to talk about that (queue Firefly theme, for little reason).

It's worth saying that at the same time I realised that the definition of a (good) law includes reason, it was clear that for God to be good, He must be logical, rational, and perfectly right. His law would be the perfectest of laws, the one that fits real reality (velveteen rabbit reality... ahem, sort of a joke). It would be the most beautiful law, because it really does fit, like a perfect glove, and like a joke that is so spot-on. It would be the thing that ties together all the myriad elements of existence into a perfect whole (only because it is the law by which they were created). I could nearly write poetry on this, so I must stop before I run off the end of the page.

One is reminded of Psalm 19, which I have come to love, even though I likely don't fully comprehend it. All of the praise and joy in the law of the Lord was not clear to me until these ideas above really sank in. Then it all opens up; it's not tedious, it's not boring. Instead it's vibrant and rich and deep and intense. Yes: these passages basically were boring and tedious to me at one point. I was very self-conscious of that as I knew it wasn't right to find them so.

(It might be wrong to do so, but I'm going to dissect out the pieces that particularly pertain. I've included in parentheses some phrase alternatives from the notes of my KJV Bible.)

PSALM 19
1. The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork.
2. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.
3. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.
4.a Their line (rule or direction) is gone out through all the earth, their words to the end of the world.
...
7. The law (doctrine) of the LORD is perfect, converting (restoring) the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple.
8. The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes.
9. The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the LORD are true (truth) and righteous altogether.
10. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.
11. Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.
...


And then there's the connection between the Law of God and the idea of the Logos, of Jesus Christ... on and on into the rabbit trails we go, but I'll leave that to percolate for awhile.

Reason

I feel totally insufficient to address any of the topics I want to write about. I must accept that I am insufficient, and I might make a fool of myself, and here goes, anyway!

--

I know other people who probably have more book-learning on this topic. My relationship with reason is that I can't imagine doing without it, and it seems to have been a natural companion of mine from a young age. In recent years, I've seen how much I thought about how things worked together to find out what was right and true. As a child I didn't picture myself as looking at how things worked; I was constantly berating myself for not knowing things.

(This doesn't mean I'm a 'thinker', as some say, though when I was younger, I really wanted to be a reasonable and rational person; I suppose I thought you could make it so. Eventually I poured the cold water on my head, and the cat is out of the bag.)

Reason is essential to all of life. Is it not the makeup of reality, of all that is corporeal and incorporeal? This fits with the kind of Biblical perspective I have, which proposes that God created the world according to His character, part of which is His Lawfulness.

When I was a child, I knew there is a tendency to view law as an arbitrary list of things you ought and ought not to do. So I sort of thought that way, but I also rebelled against that view of it (perhaps on an emotional level), because it doesn't make sense. But throughout my early teenage years, it all began to solidify that law ought to make sense; it ought to fit the circumstances, and that the only law that really, really matters (God's Law) must be truly right (morally and practically), or else one should not subscribe to it.

Ultimate law (in the sense of that which pertains to God and objectivity) is by its nature a reasonable thing. It is a thing of God's form and nature, this ultimate-law-ness, and the world, being created out of God's desire for it (and thus whatever is in His nature), is a reasonable world, functioning according to laws and ordinances that He gave it, according to His perfect nature. And humans, being made in God's image, have in ourselves a share of this thing that is of God more directly than His creation, to willfully use it to come up with ideas from which we can create and do things.

Perhaps it might seem far-fetched to some people to connect the moral law with reason.


And on that blunt note I'll meander off into obscurity. Thoughts to be developed further in future, most likely. Please bear with the possibly unstructured and random nature of this obviously-not-essay.

So It Begins

So here I am, again, trying a go at a blog. This time, it is not a 'life blog', but an attempt to get ideas out of my head, and to allow others to know what's on my mind- what I'm working through.

Along with the obvious reasons for doing this, the blog is an exercise in learning to be wrong; to say things that might be proven wrong later, to say things that include mistakes, to learn not to take what I say so seriously. I have a need to be perfect, correct, and I have said so little of what I think because of that. I qualify statements a lot, and this is why. It's enough of a reason to get therapy.

With God's help, I mean to stand for objective truth, for objective standards, against all the ocean-like pressure to cave to the feelings and mores of the specific age I live in.

Please leave comments, if you feel like it. Please say what you really think- politely, of course. Ask questions, add thoughts that spring to mind.

(If you're looking for 100% accuracy in what I post here, perhaps you should search Google or read Wikipedia instead, for obvious reasons related to their infallibility.)