Friday, August 28, 2009

Walking: Travel at the speed of life...

With the lack of rain and surplus of sunshine of late, I have been able to take full advantage of the opportunity to walk most places I need to go (at least in the Cloverdale area). Walking often seems a strange thing in our day and age. Especially here in the Lower Mainland where the ways of travel are almost entirely designed with the automobile in mind. Yes, there are sidewalks and such things to be found, but anyone who has traveled them knows that they are most certainly abligatory additions to the real important space: the road.

Let me be clear, I enjoy walking. So, perhaps I am somewhat bias in my thinking about the activity (or is it a mode of transportation?). When my co-workers find out that I walk twenty-five to thirty minutes to work each day they are surprised to say the least. The reaction is usually something along the lines of: ‘why don’t you drive?’ or ‘oh, that’s rough’. A couple days ago I walked up to some visit some friends for dinner at their place. It took me roughly an hour or so (5.6km/3.5miles). It was a glorious day and I brought a book along for the trip. Everyone seemed quite surprised (a bit of an understatement) to find this out.

Walking seems to be the most connected, embodied form of transportation. I am able to move from one place to another using my legs and my heart (two feet and a heartbeat) to power me: vegetable (i.e. solar) powered travel. Even more striking to me is the experience of the journey. If I had driven to the dinner, I would not have been able to enjoy the incredible sky, the cool breeze, the air in my lungs and the blood coursing through my body. It’s a very human, very present experience. The passage of time was not measured in minutes on the dash or pop songs on the radio; it was measured by steps to the top of the hill, birds passing in the air, smells drifting over from nearby bushes/flowers, thoughts on my mind, etc. Life seems a little bit more real when it goes by at the speed of Tyler, rather than sixty kilometers per hour.

It seems a shame that our lives are not often condusive to walking as a viable means of travel. Many are not physically able to enjoy the simple pleasure of walking; others of us work or school too far from home for walking to be a reasonable option. Such may be the case for me one day; but until then I will enjoy being as embodied in my travels as possible. I think there is such thing as a human pace to life. Whether we find this pace through walking or by other means, it is great to slow down and be present in this experience we call life.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Laughter & Friendship...

Yesterday a friend of mine came into my place of business (as she is wont to do from time to time). I was having a slightly off day: nothing really wrong, maybe a little tired, who knows? Anyway, we had a brief but laughter filled conversation. After she left, my day went a little smoother. Even later that evening as I was retelling the events of our meeting & conversation to my wife, I found myself overcome with laughter in just remembering it. Friendship (or just relationships in general?) are funny things (pardon the pun). Simple little conversations or interactions can have a profound, and often unknown, effect. My day was brightened by my friend. I think we all have days where we could use some brightening. I hope to be that friend who unknowingly brightens someone's day.

Oh, how I laughed....

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Discourse on Moral Choices: Why do we choose what is wrong?

If you're human, I'll bet you've made some wrong choices. If you've been around for any length of time, then you've probably made some pretty bad ones. Why is it that we make poor moral decisions? In the language of the Judeo-Christian tradition from which our society sprang we tend to use the term, 'sin'. Whatever one calls it, the end result of such choices is often disappointment, pain, hardship, or suffering. Knowing that such is the nature of these wrong choices, and the outcomes are less than desirable, why then do I choose what is harmful. Why do I choose sin?

Some might, and have, suggested that the reason why we sin is due to external sources. At the risk of presenting caricature, I tend to think of this answer as 'the devil made me do it' view. That is, there are dark/evil forces at work in the universe which exert influence upon me such that I choose wrong even though I may know to choose right. It simply cannot be helped. Philosophically, this understanding doesn't make sense to me as an explanation since it effectively negates free-will. Nor does this jive with what I know experientially either. If this view is correct, then the free-choice that I seem to exercise is an illusion. I simply do not find any convincing evidence, or coherent philosophic argument, for this answer (let me know if you feel differently).

Another proposed understanding, and one that I find has more potential, is the concept of consuetudo and its effects on us humans. This Latin term, which has a broad semantic range (habit/custom/usage/way; normal/general/customary practice, tradition/convention; experience; etc.), provides a platform for how some thinkers have sought to understand why we choose what is wrong/destructive/sinful. From this view, habit (consuetudo) creates a compulsion which influences moral decision making. This takes place on both a societal and an individual scale, and is self-perpetuating/re-enforcing. What this means is that we are born into a society/world where moral infractions (i.e. choosing what is wrong / sinning), are ubiquitous; and it is this context which predisposes us to sin. This is not to say that we can't choose, but instead to suggest that the proverbial cards are stacked against us. From the moment we are born, we already have a history, a coercive context, and an inherited 'habit'. We are beings 'thrown into time' (to borrow from Heidegger, "Dasein ist geworfen Entwurf" - excuse my deficient German). People can argue whether or not we are born as clean slates (i.e. tabula rasa), but we most certainly are not born into clean slates.

The second way in which we might see consuetudo/habit influencing our moral decisions is at the level of the individual person. Here it is suggested that a person's previous wrong choices 'combine and collude' to compromise his/her exercise of freedom in the present; this compromise of freedom results in inner-conflict and ethical paralysis. I want to do what is good but find that I choose otherwise, or I do not want to do something wrong but find that I do it anyway.

The reverse of this state of restricted freedom is the intentional, conscious exercise of, ie. a redemption or re-appropriation of, one's free-will such that it transforms the consuetudo (on either a personal or perhaps even a societal scale) to that of a positive disposition towards what is good, rather than what is not (as discussed above).

So, why is it that I can make poor moral/ethical choices, ones that I am fully aware are destructive/harmful, when I know to choose better? Why do I know to do right, but fail to do it?

Hmmm...

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Bread-making machines and the Meaning of Life?...

I think the first time I saw a bread-maker up close was after I was married (just about a year ago). I know the first time I loaded and ran a dishwasher was my first year of University (five years ago). No, I'm not a Luddite; no, I was not raised Amish. We simply did not have such things in my house growing up (yup, no microwave either). So, if you grew up with these space-age marvels, you might think it strange that they can inspire such contemplation on life as follows. But they do.

When I was a young lad and the world was a place filled with marvel and magic, I used to greatly enjoy the various talents that my (stay-at-home) mother would put to use in her care of me and my siblings. Oh, the smell of freshly baked bread would fill the house. I remember urging my mother with all the influence I thought I might be able to wield over her to forget about having it cool and slice me off a huge chunk of bread to butter and eat. It's funny that I never thought about how those few ingredients, which were never of much interest to me, could possibly turn into this warm taste of heaven we called bread. It just did. She would put the ingredients together, knead it, let it rise for an hour, knead it some more, let it rise some more, set it in the oven and... pull out that marvelous bread.

When I became older and began to conceive of the idea that maybe I too could make this bread, I found that I had no need to be taught how, for I already knew. All I needed was the hankering for fresh bread and a few spare hours. Much later I made a discovery that shattered my world, tore apart the very fabric of how I understood life... automatic bread-makers!?! So let me see if I have this correct: I take the ingredients, dump them in this magic box, walk away, and when I return there will be bread? You've got to be kidding me.

I've never used a bread-maker. My wife has one and she uses it from time to time to make bread that we both enjoy. The option is always there for me; but I always make it the same way my mother did: by hand.

Every time I see that bread machine sitting there in our kitchen, I'm struck by the purpose for which it was invented: convenience. Somebody was thinking about how much is involved in making bread: the effort, the knowledge and ability required, and the time needed. Yes, these machines are about convenience. For me these machines are the epitome of our society's desire for convenience (I'm sure others could come up with better examples, but this is the one that strikes me).

I bet you George Jetson had a bread-maker at his home up in the clouds. Except with his there was no need for ingredients, just a little pill and... poof, you have fresh 'baked' bread. I've often wondered if 'The Jetsons' was meant as a dystopian cartoon, a frightening nightmare intended to shock our culture into realizing the road we travel. Okay, that's a little harsh I admit. But seriously, I may want to meet George Jetson, and maybe even his boy Elroy, but I sure would not want to live in their world. He barely works at all and when he does it involves pushing a button. If it were not for all the crazy capers that happened every episode, that man would be so incredibly bored with his vapid life. Is leisure and convenience our goal in life? Is this what the good life looks like? Maybe the world of The Jetsons is not realistic, but there are countless people in our world striving for just such an existence.

More than just bread-making or dish-washing, or any other hyphenated verb I can suggest, there are countless tasks, jobs, and chores out there that people are constantly trying to avoid. If we could have robots to do these normal everyday tasks, most of us probably would. Aren't such menial tasks best avoided so as to provide more time for meaningful activities?

I think the problem with this perspective stems from our understanding of these 'normal everyday tasks'. Let me be clear: there is no such thing as a 'normal everyday task' (at least not from the Christian perspective - more on that another time). Most of what we do in a day likely falls into the task/job/chore category. If work is drudgery, then life is drudgery. And let me tell you my friends... life is not meant to be drudgery.

If you asked most people point-blank whether they thought the purpose in life is to seek out and find convenience/ease, I would imagine (and certainly hope) that most would respond in the negative. If this is so, then why do most of us live our lives as if it were the purpose? Why do I often live in such a way?

This is what I ponder when I see that bread-making machine...

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

On Perspective: Oh the riches I possess...

Could I be the richest man to ever have lived? I just may be. King Solomon, Augustus Caesar, Jerry Seinfeld... oh they had wealth, but richer than I... No, I don't think so. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, 'what a truly ridiculous thing to say'; and you may be right. But that need not detract from the truth of the statement. I found myself musing about this very thing today as I leisurely strolled to the grocery store to pick up a couple items.

Sure I don't have many toys, I ride the bus or walk most of the year, and a large majority of the clothes in my closet are almost old enough to vote, but I think that I'm a rich man nonetheless. I have a healthy body and a (vibrantly) healthy mind, I have food on my table every night, I'm young and excited about life, I have the unmerited love of a good woman, I have wonderful family and friends, I have the glory of creation all around me (and today the radiant sun hanging above in the the picturesque, Monet-like vanilla sky), and I have leisure time to read great literature and contemplate life. Today I feel like a rich man indeed.

True, tomorrow I may feel the weight of poverty upon my soul, but I'll still be just as rich then as I am today; I just won't be graced with the recognition of it. There are moments in life (and they seem to come more often than I deserve) when the clouds part (both the physical and metaphorical ones) and the infinite depth and beauty of life shine unhindered into the soul. It is in these moments that divine perspective is granted. In this ephemeral brush with the divine, this fleeting glimpse of transcendent reality, I am lifted up to see myself and the world in a whole new way.

The best way I can come to explain this perspective is 'gratitude'. It is a recognition of all that I have and a thankful elation for these things. My youth may fade, my health decline, I may even have less on the table each night, who knows? I don't imagine that such changes could affect this perspective, this gratitude, as my wealth is not based on material goods. What is it then that I am truly grateful for, what is it that I see and recognize as my immeasurable wealth? I think it's love. This may be the very substance of my riches. The interesting thing is that while I feel gratitude for the love that has been extended to me, this gratitude also fosters love in turn.

For all my musings, and all my words, I still think that best expression I can give to this gratuitous perspective is a smile; the kind of smile which begins deep in my soul and finishes as a broad grin upon my face. For all the though and contemplation, sometimes the best response is also the simplest.

So, if you ever see me strolling along with a contented smile on my face... know that I am a rich man indeed.