The cover story in this week's Time features the question, "What if there's no hell?" Seems that minister Rob Bell, a rising star in parts of the Christian world, is proposing that there really may not be such a place--that is, a place where God, presumably, punishes those who do not believeth in Him. And to his credit, Pastor Bell has enough intellectual integrity to say what frankly anyone should believe: "When we get to what happens when we die, we don't have any video footage. So let's at least be honest that we are speculating, because we are."
That said, Bell's speculation is that a loving God would not and could not condone a place like Hell. And to that, I say, hell yes. The proposed existence of hell is untenable--if one believes that God is a loving being. Indeed, if God is perfectly comfortable with hell, then I'd go so far as to say that He's more nasty and vicious than Hitler, Stalin, and Pol Pot combined--and by a long shot. Why? Let me count the ways.
First, there's the massive scale involved. Even Hitler, at his "best," could only exterminate 6 million people. If God sends all non-believers to hell, that number would be easily in the BILLIONS. Entire nations--Japan, for example, or China, or more than half of Europe, certainly--would be decimated.
Second, there's the fact that the punishment involves suffering, not death or the termination of existence. At least Stalin only killed people and in the process, we hope, put them out of their misery. But the God which some worship gets his kicks out of making people continue to suffer, literally in lord-knows-what ways. You just don't "die again."
Third and finally--and probably most important--the jail term in hell appears to be ETERNITY. Do you have any idea of how long eternity is? It's now 2011--think BEYOND the year 200,556,994,228,001,669, because that's only the START of eternity. Anyone who would punish anybody for eternity is so patently un-loving that I hardly know how to discuss this matter with a "fire and brimstone" person.
Bottom line: no God is an "awesome" God who would willingly make billions of people suffer for eternity. I simply cannot and will not entertain that thoroughly ridiculous notion. And anyone who does (sorry, I can't resist this closing) can go to hell!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Call me an idiot
I suppose I should be thankful, although I think someone should paint the word "IDIOT" on my forehead in large red letters.
On Sunday morning I was doing my best to eliminate any possible "ice dam" problems on our roof at home. I leaned an extension ladder from the flat roof of the garage against the edge of the roof on our sunroom--another 9 or 10 feet above the garage roof. I noticed that the garage roof, covered with a rubber membrane, was a little wet and slippery, but that didn't stop THE IDIOT from climbing up the ladder. Near the top--again, 9 or 10 feet up in the air--the extension ladder quickly slid downward from its perch on the edge of the sunroom; the little feet of the ladder simply would not hold on that wet, slippery garage roof. I went down with the ladder and rammed my right side into the metal rungs when it hit bottom.
The wind was knocked out of me, and my right side already hurt. I saw a teeny bit of blood on my clothes. I rolled around in agony for a bit, gasping and groaning, and feeling a little in shock. But I eventually got up, leaned the extension ladder against the gutter of the garage, and climbed down to the ground.
Initially I was just sore and a little panicked. So I took a hot bath. And then, in the next hour or so, my right thigh started to swell up, big time. I applied ice, but it still looked about twice as thick as my left thigh. A blood clot? A broken leg? It was time to head to urgent care.
Thankfully, x-rays revealed that I didn't have a broken femur, or a broken anything. But I have sore ribs and a black and blue area on my right leg that's the size of Cleveland. And I'm hobbling around with continuous doses of ibuprofin.
We only get so many chances. Many years ago, our neighbor Bruce took one dive into a body of water that was too shallow, and he's been in a wheelchair ever since. As sore as I am, I need to count my blessings. But the contententious introvert gave new meaning this past weekend to the term idiot--I'd kick myself even more, but it's too hard to bend my leg!
On Sunday morning I was doing my best to eliminate any possible "ice dam" problems on our roof at home. I leaned an extension ladder from the flat roof of the garage against the edge of the roof on our sunroom--another 9 or 10 feet above the garage roof. I noticed that the garage roof, covered with a rubber membrane, was a little wet and slippery, but that didn't stop THE IDIOT from climbing up the ladder. Near the top--again, 9 or 10 feet up in the air--the extension ladder quickly slid downward from its perch on the edge of the sunroom; the little feet of the ladder simply would not hold on that wet, slippery garage roof. I went down with the ladder and rammed my right side into the metal rungs when it hit bottom.
The wind was knocked out of me, and my right side already hurt. I saw a teeny bit of blood on my clothes. I rolled around in agony for a bit, gasping and groaning, and feeling a little in shock. But I eventually got up, leaned the extension ladder against the gutter of the garage, and climbed down to the ground.
Initially I was just sore and a little panicked. So I took a hot bath. And then, in the next hour or so, my right thigh started to swell up, big time. I applied ice, but it still looked about twice as thick as my left thigh. A blood clot? A broken leg? It was time to head to urgent care.
Thankfully, x-rays revealed that I didn't have a broken femur, or a broken anything. But I have sore ribs and a black and blue area on my right leg that's the size of Cleveland. And I'm hobbling around with continuous doses of ibuprofin.
We only get so many chances. Many years ago, our neighbor Bruce took one dive into a body of water that was too shallow, and he's been in a wheelchair ever since. As sore as I am, I need to count my blessings. But the contententious introvert gave new meaning this past weekend to the term idiot--I'd kick myself even more, but it's too hard to bend my leg!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Sins of commission and omission
Leave it to a heathen like me to think about "sinning."
I certainly don't accept the traditional Christian view that people are by nature wicked and sinful, or that there is such a thing as "original sin." Having said that, I also know that people are certainly capable of doing things which are not nice--that would be my preferred down-to-earth post-modern reading of the gospel.
When it comes to sinning, there are sins of commission--something that you did do--and sins of omission--something that you didn't. Like anyone else, I have my sins of commission--something I overtly did that I look back on with regret. You know, the mean-spirited remark, the ill-chosen word, the hostile action. The best I can say is that I have a limited number of those types of unpleasant memories. In 21st century terms, I could put most of my life on youTube and be OK with it.
That's the good news. The bad news is that I am haunted by all of those times when I had an opportunity to do or say the right thing but did not. I deal with a vast array of sins of omission--moments when I had the chance to do something good but reacted with indifference. In those situations--way too numerous to mention--I have let others down, and let myself down as well. Sometimes it is just too tempting to retreat into one's own reality and ignore everything and everyone else. To some extent, such retreating is a way to preserve one's sanity, but it also reminds you of what could have or should have been done. Yes, my sins have been more sins of omission, but that doesn't really wash away the feeling of regret.
Some people set the bar pretty low--as long as they haven't killed anyone or robbed a liquor store, they regard themselves as virtuous. But once sins of omission are introduced, the bar gets a whole lot higher--and, sadly, virtually impossible to reach.
I certainly don't accept the traditional Christian view that people are by nature wicked and sinful, or that there is such a thing as "original sin." Having said that, I also know that people are certainly capable of doing things which are not nice--that would be my preferred down-to-earth post-modern reading of the gospel.
When it comes to sinning, there are sins of commission--something that you did do--and sins of omission--something that you didn't. Like anyone else, I have my sins of commission--something I overtly did that I look back on with regret. You know, the mean-spirited remark, the ill-chosen word, the hostile action. The best I can say is that I have a limited number of those types of unpleasant memories. In 21st century terms, I could put most of my life on youTube and be OK with it.
That's the good news. The bad news is that I am haunted by all of those times when I had an opportunity to do or say the right thing but did not. I deal with a vast array of sins of omission--moments when I had the chance to do something good but reacted with indifference. In those situations--way too numerous to mention--I have let others down, and let myself down as well. Sometimes it is just too tempting to retreat into one's own reality and ignore everything and everyone else. To some extent, such retreating is a way to preserve one's sanity, but it also reminds you of what could have or should have been done. Yes, my sins have been more sins of omission, but that doesn't really wash away the feeling of regret.
Some people set the bar pretty low--as long as they haven't killed anyone or robbed a liquor store, they regard themselves as virtuous. But once sins of omission are introduced, the bar gets a whole lot higher--and, sadly, virtually impossible to reach.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Tucson as a symptom of our sickness
With the recent bloodbath in Tucson, we are left to consider once again how coarse and offensive much of our political rhetoric has become. We must consider the climate that has been created by people in this culture--some of them, unfortunately, political office holders themselves.
In recent years, I've become much more cynical about the role (or lack thereof) of reasoned discourse in our society. It's all about looking good and giving people a certain feeling. Since Obama was elected, those feelings have certainly included irrational anger, directed toward our Muslim, Nazi, Socialist President. The whole effort has been disgusting, and, in my view, more toxic than anything we've heard in the last few decades. Although there is not a direct causal link between this toxic discourse and the Tucson shootings, all of us have a responsibility to do what we can to create a climate in which people do not succumb to demagoguery and act out their perverse beliefs. (Shootings at abortion clinics are another sad example.)
Mario Cuomo's most famous statement is "You campaign in poetry. You govern in prose." Mr. Obama seems to have taken that idea to heart, perhaps to a fault. Now more than ever, we need a poet who can govern--someone who can, with his or her passionate and inspiring rhetoric--take us to a new place, with a new understanding of what public service is all about, what it means to be fully human, and what our highest ideals should be. Barack Obama has a unique opportunity to be that person, and I hope that he can summon his considerable rhetorical skills to make this a nation of which we can all be proud. Unfortunately, however, this week is going to be a national week of mourning. Tucson is a symptom of our collective sickness.
In recent years, I've become much more cynical about the role (or lack thereof) of reasoned discourse in our society. It's all about looking good and giving people a certain feeling. Since Obama was elected, those feelings have certainly included irrational anger, directed toward our Muslim, Nazi, Socialist President. The whole effort has been disgusting, and, in my view, more toxic than anything we've heard in the last few decades. Although there is not a direct causal link between this toxic discourse and the Tucson shootings, all of us have a responsibility to do what we can to create a climate in which people do not succumb to demagoguery and act out their perverse beliefs. (Shootings at abortion clinics are another sad example.)
Mario Cuomo's most famous statement is "You campaign in poetry. You govern in prose." Mr. Obama seems to have taken that idea to heart, perhaps to a fault. Now more than ever, we need a poet who can govern--someone who can, with his or her passionate and inspiring rhetoric--take us to a new place, with a new understanding of what public service is all about, what it means to be fully human, and what our highest ideals should be. Barack Obama has a unique opportunity to be that person, and I hope that he can summon his considerable rhetorical skills to make this a nation of which we can all be proud. Unfortunately, however, this week is going to be a national week of mourning. Tucson is a symptom of our collective sickness.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Narcissism and social media
I continue to think about an essay in Time magazine regarding Facebook--Mark Zuckerberg was Time's "Person of the Year" for 2010. In this essay, Richard Stengel argues that "All social media involve a mixture of narcissism and voyeurism."
The statement may be true, but it's also a little depressing. It suggests that if we have any interest in social media, it's either because we are obsessed with ourselves, or obsessed with snooping into other people's lives. Either way, it doesn't sound real healthy.
As this relates to those silly people who keep blogs (ContentiousIntrovert comes to mind), the "narcissism" part is haunting. Are blogs just a way for people to stroke their own ego and pretend that what they are thinking is somehow important and worth noting?
On the one hand, like lots of other people, I simply want to know that at some level, I'm heard, and I'm recognized. On the other hand, I am keenly aware that it's presumptuous to think that I have something to say that's worth hearing in the first place. This tension is also evident in my world with respect to "marketing"--I recognize the need to promote who you are and what you do, but I am, in the end, uncomfortable telling the world about it. So, I have a blog that I seldom mention; I've written a textbook that I seldom promote; and I accomplish things, often modest, that give me a little glow inside but stay largely internalized. It's as if I want the world to see me, but at the same time I hate asking to be seen. Go figure. It's a conundrum that has lurked in the back of my mind for basically my entire life--which, now that it's 2011, seems like a pretty long time.
The statement may be true, but it's also a little depressing. It suggests that if we have any interest in social media, it's either because we are obsessed with ourselves, or obsessed with snooping into other people's lives. Either way, it doesn't sound real healthy.
As this relates to those silly people who keep blogs (ContentiousIntrovert comes to mind), the "narcissism" part is haunting. Are blogs just a way for people to stroke their own ego and pretend that what they are thinking is somehow important and worth noting?
On the one hand, like lots of other people, I simply want to know that at some level, I'm heard, and I'm recognized. On the other hand, I am keenly aware that it's presumptuous to think that I have something to say that's worth hearing in the first place. This tension is also evident in my world with respect to "marketing"--I recognize the need to promote who you are and what you do, but I am, in the end, uncomfortable telling the world about it. So, I have a blog that I seldom mention; I've written a textbook that I seldom promote; and I accomplish things, often modest, that give me a little glow inside but stay largely internalized. It's as if I want the world to see me, but at the same time I hate asking to be seen. Go figure. It's a conundrum that has lurked in the back of my mind for basically my entire life--which, now that it's 2011, seems like a pretty long time.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Crunch time at the shop
It's the end of November, which, in the academic world, means it's crunch time. Time to feel the burn, and the stress. Time to look in the mirror and see if you can do it. Time to suck it up and get things done. The crunch applies to faculty and students alike, but the problem is particularly acute for those twenty-somethings who have been thrust into higher education, often with limits to their motivation and their skill set. And sometimes, it's not a pretty sight.
Now that I've been an educator for nearly four decades, I've seen amazingly bright and competent students and amazingly dull and overwhelmed ones. As I occasionally tell my students, Western Civilization is not a piece of cake: one must learn to manage an incredible array of demands, skills, and tasks, with a heavy emphasis on being productive. And as I also tell them, there are indeed other options, including a simple life of hunting and gathering on some remote island in the south seas, where things like algebra, philosophy, and research methods are largely irrelevant. But, since the south seas option is not on their mental radar, they try to plug along and survive in the modern and fairly neurotic world of 2010.
As in a war, some soldiers go through the campaign with flying colors, to a heroes' welcome. But others are wounded in battle, and they limp and stumble to the end. Still others go AWOL, perhaps thinking that if no one sees them, they won't have to deal with things. And some die a quiet academic death, casualties of a system that simply grinds them down and removes their will to survive.
About this time of year, I say a quiet prayer for all of these people. I don't want them to be maimed or shamed or bruised, but I do have to stretch them and challenge them. Unfortunately, some of them can only be stretched a little bit, and despite my desire to see them succeed, I can only do my duty and submit a grade that is appropriate to what they have achieved--which, more often that we like to admit, isn't much. Almost all of them are fine people, but at crunch time, we on the other side of the desk don't always see them at their best.
On that cheery note, a happy holiday season to you all!
Now that I've been an educator for nearly four decades, I've seen amazingly bright and competent students and amazingly dull and overwhelmed ones. As I occasionally tell my students, Western Civilization is not a piece of cake: one must learn to manage an incredible array of demands, skills, and tasks, with a heavy emphasis on being productive. And as I also tell them, there are indeed other options, including a simple life of hunting and gathering on some remote island in the south seas, where things like algebra, philosophy, and research methods are largely irrelevant. But, since the south seas option is not on their mental radar, they try to plug along and survive in the modern and fairly neurotic world of 2010.
As in a war, some soldiers go through the campaign with flying colors, to a heroes' welcome. But others are wounded in battle, and they limp and stumble to the end. Still others go AWOL, perhaps thinking that if no one sees them, they won't have to deal with things. And some die a quiet academic death, casualties of a system that simply grinds them down and removes their will to survive.
About this time of year, I say a quiet prayer for all of these people. I don't want them to be maimed or shamed or bruised, but I do have to stretch them and challenge them. Unfortunately, some of them can only be stretched a little bit, and despite my desire to see them succeed, I can only do my duty and submit a grade that is appropriate to what they have achieved--which, more often that we like to admit, isn't much. Almost all of them are fine people, but at crunch time, we on the other side of the desk don't always see them at their best.
On that cheery note, a happy holiday season to you all!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Technologically-challenged, indeed
I need to spend a solid year just trying to keep up and catch up to technology.
Although the 21st century has not totally passed me by--witness this very blog, written on one of them computer thingies--I constantly feel as if I'm behind the curve. And I'm not keeping up, plain and simple.
• I want to be able to send text messages on our cell phone with ease, and to be able to take photos off the phone and then upload (or download?) them somewhere. And I'd like to be able to send photos on the cell to someone else.
• I want to know how to make my iPod Shuffle work as well as it's supposed to. Although I have 163 songs loaded on it, only the same 30 or 40 seem to play when I go running.
• I'd like to know how to sell stuff on-line, on either eBay or Craig's List. I've got some old baseball cards that I think could fetch a pretty penny.
• I need to be able to take my new video camera--a digital job given to me by my son for my last birthday--and convert those images to DVDs, or put them on our PC, or whatever the hell you do with them.
• I have a digital camera--also a present from son Tony--that mostly sits around. I don't have a clue about how to transport those images to other places.
• I should try to find out what this "4G" phones are all about. I've never used a Blackberry or an iPhone, and I have no idea how.
• I'd like to master the many fine points of Moodle, the platform used at the school where I work, for use in classes. I just stick to the basics.
• I've never tried to edit someone else's writing electronically, with those little windows that pop out when you want to make responses or comments.
• I've never Skyped anyone. I've never used an iPad. And I've never Kindled.
• When all is said and done, I'm Twitter-challenged and have no idea how I would or could use it.
Damn--when you start making this into a list, it really looks pretty pathetic. But I will, slowly but surely (or, "slowly but Shirley," as one of my students once wrote) try to make it into the year 2010. Right now, charitably, it's about 2001 for me, and these days, missing nine years of technology feels like I'm missing a century.
Although the 21st century has not totally passed me by--witness this very blog, written on one of them computer thingies--I constantly feel as if I'm behind the curve. And I'm not keeping up, plain and simple.
• I want to be able to send text messages on our cell phone with ease, and to be able to take photos off the phone and then upload (or download?) them somewhere. And I'd like to be able to send photos on the cell to someone else.
• I want to know how to make my iPod Shuffle work as well as it's supposed to. Although I have 163 songs loaded on it, only the same 30 or 40 seem to play when I go running.
• I'd like to know how to sell stuff on-line, on either eBay or Craig's List. I've got some old baseball cards that I think could fetch a pretty penny.
• I need to be able to take my new video camera--a digital job given to me by my son for my last birthday--and convert those images to DVDs, or put them on our PC, or whatever the hell you do with them.
• I have a digital camera--also a present from son Tony--that mostly sits around. I don't have a clue about how to transport those images to other places.
• I should try to find out what this "4G" phones are all about. I've never used a Blackberry or an iPhone, and I have no idea how.
• I'd like to master the many fine points of Moodle, the platform used at the school where I work, for use in classes. I just stick to the basics.
• I've never tried to edit someone else's writing electronically, with those little windows that pop out when you want to make responses or comments.
• I've never Skyped anyone. I've never used an iPad. And I've never Kindled.
• When all is said and done, I'm Twitter-challenged and have no idea how I would or could use it.
Damn--when you start making this into a list, it really looks pretty pathetic. But I will, slowly but surely (or, "slowly but Shirley," as one of my students once wrote) try to make it into the year 2010. Right now, charitably, it's about 2001 for me, and these days, missing nine years of technology feels like I'm missing a century.
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