Why me?

I’ve been thinking about this one for a long time now, and finally decided that today is the day to write it down.

I’ve seen it said, in various places, that people only ask “Why me?” when bad things happen.  I stand as living proof that that is not true*.  

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To be(gin) or not to be(gin), or, Chewing on the problem of evil

The problem of evil—how could an omnipotent-omniscient-omnipresent-all-good god create or allow to exist a universe containing evil and arbitrary suffering—has always been a, if not the, major barrier for me to believing in any approximation of God. The following represents a way of tackling the question in non-didactic terms. The question at the end is not merely rhetorical—I’d really like to know what people think.
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A few reasons I’m not a Christian

I’ve been poking around on BlogHer recently, and ran across this post, which got me musing about Christianity. Most of these ponderings occurred to me many years ago, back in the day when I hadn’t yet rejected Christianity for myself. I was raised Methodist, in a small town, and around this time of year often get nostalgic for when the religious side of Christmas meant more to me. But–well, whatever. On to the ponderings. Which I decided to post here instead of in a comment on SandyHov’s blog because they will seem blasphemous, and possibly offensive, to many Christians, and I have no desire to offend her.

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Why I’m not a philosopher

I’ve been following, sort of, a conversation here that started out to be about meaning, delved into questions having to do with “is there anything more/other than the physical universe?”, and recently turned to the basis of morality and our sense of morality. This led me to this post, which discusses the matter of consciousness and feelings (qualia of consciousness).

I’ve posted a few comments in these other conversations, but decided to save my snippier comments for my own blog, so here goes:

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Agnosticism as a form of faith?

I wrote the folowing in a comment I made on another blog, and I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since:

We often hear that it’s the journey that’s the point, and maybe that’s true. I know my own persistent underlying agnosticism is oddly comforting to me at times. It’s as though I’m searching for something, I know not what, but something in me is sure it’s there and that I’ll recognize it if/when I find it. Which, if you think about it, is faith of a kind.

The reason is stuck in my head is because of the combination of facts that

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On being different

I am not like other people. Oh, not completely, of course; in fact, I have the firm belief that given any two people in the world, they’ll have something in common, though they may have to dig to find it. But all my life, I’ve perceived myself to be outside the mainstream, regardless of the nature of the mainstream I happen to be amidst at any given time.

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A good cuppa

there are those who like
to get up and do things
coffee in the morning
beer after work

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Rambling and piggybacking on others

Somehow, I was wiped out after a mere two days of contemplating materials submitted by teachers for evaluation of their readiness for a credential. California has recently mandated that every new teacher in the state must (wait for it)–pass a test. Or I should say, pass another test.

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Interlude

I’m off for a few days of professional development. Still lacking in both time and functioning brain cells, I thought I might leave you with one of my favorite Celtic blessings.

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For those interested in questions of mind, consciousness, soul, etc.

I haven’t gotten into it very far yet–I’m on page xii of the Preface–but for anyone interested in grappling with questions such as, What is consciousness? What is mind? What is/am “I”? How are these related to the brain? What about “soul”? or esoterica of language, the book

I Am Strange Loop

by Douglas Hofstadter*

will be of interest.

I know, I’m only on page xii. So if you don’t believe me–here’s a review. Or click on the title link and dip into it on Amazon.
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* For those who might remember it, he wrote “Godel, Escher, Bach” back in 1979

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Belief and certainty

Belief can be shared, but certainty is private.

What do I mean by that? And why do I think it’s worth saying?

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Teaching is an act of faith

This is something that I often say to my students (prospective teachers). As a teacher, we never really know our own impact and influence on our students, for good or ill. We just do the best we can, based on the best information and theory of teaching/learning we can muster, and hope for the best.

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“Speaking of Faith”; the book

I just finished reading Speaking of Faith, by Krista Tippett, the host of the public radio program of the same title. A really excellent book–I would encourage everyone to get it and read it. I kept running across snippets of wisdom on which I thought I might compose a post for the blog, but was pulled to keep on reading instead.

A few quotes from it to whet your appetite:

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My metaphysics 1: What about love?

This post is an effort to move toward a metaphysics that works for me, as I discussed here. I haven’t made a lot of progress, though I have generated a number of questions, and clarified for myself a few more things I don’t believe, that don’t satisfy me. Or maybe that’s progress of a kind. Anyway, here I start with a few things I do believe and take for granted–and end with some questions.

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Objective basis for morality??

I’ve been reading threads lately on whether or not there is or can be an objective basis for morality. [Here and here if you’d like to see them for yourself–they make interesting reading, but the second in particular is quite long (and more academic in flavor)–I had to read it in multiple sittings.] I decided to post my own take on the question here.

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Shadows

“You see but your shadow when you turn your back to the sun.”

1. Kahlil Gibran

The obvious (to me) meaning in this has to do with turning away from the source of life/understanding/love etc. and how that leaves one seeing and feeling only the painful, dark, negative things in oneself and in life. But shadows, at least our own shadows, offer us other very interesting metaphors.

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Requiem for a sacred grove

Sacred to me, anyway.

The trees around here are not large and magnificent. They’re scrub oak, and I’ve heard people speak about them very disparagingly. But there’s something magical about an oak grove, even scrub oaks. In fact, I have come to love the scrub oaks; all you have to do to appreciate them is scale down your expectations from the larger oaks found elsewhere.

The scrub oak are highly variable. Many of them grow up, and then send their branches sweeping back down to the ground, creating a sheltered space. Others send low branches out almost parallel to the ground. And some reach for the sky–at their own scale. They have their own kind of beauty and magnificence, but you have to be looking for it to notice it. Over years of walking among them, I’ve learned to look.

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An unintentional walk

Yesterday it had been almost two full weeks since I’d taken the dogs for a walk, and my Shiba boy was seeming a bit sad and desperate. He paced a lot, and stood and stared at me until it about made me nuts. So I decided to take the dogs for a walk around the block, just to get them out for a bit. Ten minutes, that was all, so I wouldn’t overstress and prolong my cold.

But once I got outside, it was so beautiful, and it felt so good to be ourdoors, and the dogs were so delighted, that I just kept going. I always think of the walks as an obligation to the dogs, but often realize, once I’m out there, that they’re really for me as much as for them.

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A religion of something?

Most religious and spiritual traditions seem to talk in terms of absolutes and of “all or nothing”. Christian and Islamic fundamentalists are particularly inclined to this, but so are mystics of all stripes, and Zen Buddhism is also inclined in that direction when discussing satori, or enlightenment. Me, however–I seek a religion of “something”.

I think all-or-nothing thinking gets a lot of people in a lot of trouble.

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Something about stories

Some posts on Diane’s blog reminded me of the book Kitchen Table Wisdom by Rachel Naomi Remen. I love her books; this one helped me a lot several years ago when I was feeling a bit beat up by life and somewhat useless. So I thought I’d come back here and share some of it, and encourage people to get it and read it.

This is from the introduction to the book.

All real stories are true. Sometimes when a patient tells me their story, someone in their family will protest. “But it didn’t happen quite that way, it happened more like this.” Over the years I have come to know that the stories both these people tell me are equally true, equally genuine, and that neither of them may be “correct,” an exact description of the event much as a video camera might have recorded it. Stories are someone’s experience of the events of their life, they are not the events themselves. Most of us experience the same event very differently. We have seen it in our own unique way and the story we tell has more than a bit of ourselves in it. Truth is highly subjective.

All stories are full of bias and uniqueness; they mix fact with meaning. This is the root of their power. Stories allow us to see something familiar through new eyes. We become in that moment a guest in someone else’s life, and together with them sit at the feet of their teacher. The meaning we draw from someone’s story may be different from the meaning they themselves have drawn. No matter. Facts bring us knowledge, but stories lead to wisdom.

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