Questions: Mutiny on the Cereal Aisle

"First there is a time when we believe everything, then for a little while we believe with discrimination, then we believe nothing whatever, and then we believe everything again - and, moreover, give reasons why we believe."

- Georg Christoph Lichtenberg,
German scientist, aphorist, and satirist
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I recently received a card from a dear friend of mine named Benjamin Schnell.
Ben and I are modern-day pen pals which means we mail handwritten letters to each other about twice a year. In my case, it’s likely to be a postcard.

Toward the end of our college days together, Ben, then a graduating theology major, wrote a final term paper on a particularly sensitive point of SDA theology--the Investigative Judgment. I read it. We discussed it. And over the two years since that final semester, we've continued discussing religion--mine, his, and others'.

In Ben's most recent letter, he describes an old idea about the interplay of emotion and reason in establishing and deposing belief.

"...we manipulate evidence to come to the conclusion we want to come to. The more we know about the issues, and the higher the stakes, the more likely our emotions are going to alter our understanding of basic facts,...It's very interesting. I find myself and others putting questions on the shelf until we can come to a satisfactory "Adventist" or "Christian" answer. Until we find an answer that jives with what we want to believe, we'll keep manipulating the evidence or looking from different angles. Unless the stakes aren't high. In that case, we'll let the evidence say whatever it seems to be saying on the surface..."

I think we can't help but enter a place of doubt as we age and see more of the world because eventually (if not frequently) we encounter some "thing" that we cannot explain. When this happens we are faced with questions. Two of the most basic are 1) Can this be explained by my belief system? and 2)If not, what do I do not only with this troublesome "thing", but with my seemingly inadequate beliefs?

"Anyway that's where my brain has been recently...," writes Ben.

I am reminded of Elliot, a man who recovered from the removal of a brain tumor only to discover that he could no longer exercise the power of choice. His power of analysis remained intact, but not the power of choice. Sitting at his desk staring at a document to be signed, he could provide every possible pro and con for selecting a red pen to do the job; yet, just as easily, he could list advantages and disadvantages for using the black pen resting beside it. The incessant analysis paralyzed him for hours. He was, perhaps, the most rational man alive, and he was a cripple because of it. If an afternoon with black and red pens spelled frustration, a visit to the cereal aisle at the supermarket summoned his doom. Nothing left the shelves.
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For more on Elliot, listen to this RadioLab Short:
http://www.radiolab.org/2008/nov/17/overcome-by-emotion/
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Neurologists found that an important part of Elliot's brain had sustained damage post surgery, the part responsible for his emotions. It seems man cannot live by reason alone. An emotional impulse of some kind appears necessary to accomplish even the simplest choice. Black or red? Chex or Cap'n Crunch?

When it comes to matters of existential importance, what's the proper potion? Two parts reason, one part emotion, seasoned with Adventist education?
Is "I don't know" an acceptable answer?

It's high time I wrote Ben a biannual letter. As I compose it in my head, a voice with a British accent says:

"Oh, look, Miss Modern, the Post- is just arrived again. It seems one needn't leave a forwarding address for them to find you...What luck!"

Tah-dee-dum.

Playing Grown Up and Just Plain Grown Up

At 6PM today all I wanted to do was drive my truck to the park, set up my slack line, and repeatedly fall off of it until sunset. After that, I would roll down the nearest grassy hill and sprawl on my back to watch the sky change clothes.

It was glorious to know what I want, but I didn't do it.

Instead I turned my back on my office window as the light outside turned to liquid gold and dripped over the horizon. I refilled my mug at the cooler and slogged through spreadsheets, compiling lists, comparing report qualifications, responding to e-mails.

Partly in an attempt to chip away at that behemoth of a deadline looming on the calendar two weeks from tomorrow. Partly in hope of feeling less new. (I'm so sick of that.) And mostly because I really care.

Is this the mark of life or death? Maturity or senility?

"They never told me I would only have two weeks of vacation a year, evenings, and weekends to grow as a person and do life the way I want," said a newly graduated friend of mine over the phone last week. "No one ever described my future like that to me. Now, here I am exhausted, working for a cause I believe in, but in a job I just...don't like."

For whatever reason, the reality of adult toil and (lack of) vacation time hit me my first senior year in college...distressing me greatly. Ok, I freaked. I considered emigrating to France where the 35-hour work week has been holding strong for a generation or more (not sure exactly). I had always wanted to learn French anyway. Perfect!

I decided to go to career counseling and figure out a backup plan in case the entire country of France let me down. After taking every personality and professional interest test known to man, I discovered that I should definitely NOT join the military, but steer clear of anything pertaining to handmade handicrafts. Otherwise, the rest was fair game. What frustrating flattery is the curse of possibility.

Well, the birth canal between college graduation and adult contribution is messy.

When I first suited up to join the workforce, I remember running away at the end of the day, stripping off the business attire, kicking off the heels, swapping them for t-shirts, jeans and chacos before jumping into my pickup and making for the nearest climbing gym. I wanted to climb a mountain and put my hands in the dirt, laugh so hard I couldn't breathe, bring home stacks of library books from every genre, run as fast as I could because I could. I was determined to be the most un-stereotypical person possible.

A year and a half later, I still do all of these things. Except now, I do them without the desperation to save myself. Because I am myself and becoming more so all the time. This is what I believe even as I struggle to breathe and contribute in this new role and environment.

One conundrum of adult life is how to seek wisdom without forgetting how to play like a kid.
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Note to the reader:
I'll have you know that I played like a kid on Saturday. Friends, a football, a slackline, and sprawling in the grass were all involved. Mmm-Glorious!

This is some of my wisdom.