On Harvard and Home

(Cross-posted here).

Ever since I graduated in May, I have received all sorts of congratulations on my achievement. These congratulations have all been sincere, much appreciated, entirely understandable, and yet (I have felt) out of place – out of place, for the simple reason that graduation has affected me more like an eviction notice than like a major accomplishment. Indeed, graduation has seemed quite literally out of place in my life: an out-of-place displacement of me from my place at Harvard, an unnecessary rupture in the pattern of my life for the past four years.

For the past four years, after all, Harvard was my home. It was not just the place where I went to school; it was where I slept, ate, and prayed; it was where I thought I belonged. Despite all its many sins, absurdities, and hypocrisies, it was a place that I loved, and continue to love.

Now, however, my time at Harvard is up. Without any say in the matter, I have been asked to leave, have said goodbye, and have left – not my school, but my home. Where, then, is home? I have thought about that question a lot in the past several weeks. Clearly, home is no longer Harvard; graduation took care of that. But it is also true, though perhaps less clear, that home never really could be Harvard anyway. Harvard was never intended to last forever – never intended to be anything more than a stepping-stone. Life at Harvard was designed with an endpoint, even if that endpoint seemed impossibly far-off to my freshman eyes. Harvard, then, was never my home; I was just a-passin’ through.

It took some time for me to accept that fact. Once I did, however, I realized that the same could be said of anything in this life – for life on Earth, like life at Harvard, was never intended to last forever. Life itself was designed with an endpoint, even if that endpoint seems impossibly far-off to youthful eyes; and so home – true Home – cannot be found here. This world, like Harvard, is not our home; we’re just a-passin’ through. We graduate from college, but we graduate from life, too.

It is said of the biblical men and women of faith that they admitted to being strangers on the earth. This fact – that they were strangers on the earth – is, no doubt, a theological fact. But it is also a straightforwardly biological fact; it is a fact grounded in the well-worn axioms that everybody dies and that nothing lasts forever. The truth is that the faithful departed were not strangers on the earth because they were faithful, but because they were mortal; and so we mortals, too, faithful or not, are all strangers on the earth.

Where, then, is home? Where is Home for us strangers on the earth? The answer comes in the form of a question from the same old song, "This World Is Not My Home," to which I have referred: "If Heaven’s not my home, then, Lord, what will I do?" Heaven must be home – because Earth cannot be. Heaven must be home – because only in Heaven will we not be strangers, pilgrims, outgoing graduates, long-term guests at a hotel. Heaven must be home – because only in Heaven are we not just a-passin’ through.

Earth is not our home; it was not made to be our home; it is not eternal enough to be our home; it is not good enough to be our home. Those are facts. The difficult thing is to admit to those facts. Doing so is what distinguished the faithful men and women of old: not merely being strangers on the earth, but admitting to being as much. In the end, their act of faith was simply to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth that they had not yet reached Home.

Harvard came and went in the blink of an eye. Returning there (as I have repeatedly since graduation) produces in me the sobering sensation of being a stranger in one's own home, a unique brand of homesickness which is at its core a longing for eternity – a longing for an as yet unreached Home. Returning, consequently, makes me miss Harvard, but it makes me miss Heaven more.

I am, and each of us is, a stranger on the earth; I have not yet reached Home. These are difficult facts to admit. But they are also beautiful facts to admit, for they speak of a beautiful Home: the Home which we have desired (knowingly or not) our whole lives, the Home made for us and the Home for which we were made. Harvard is slowly receding from memory and sight, as will any and all of my earthly homes. But that is all right, if Heaven is my home. And if Heaven’s not my home – then, Lord, what will I do? "The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door, and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore."

Article on Disciples Today

Roger Lamb graciously asked me to write a brief article for Disciples Today. Here it is.

(I love how easy I am to spot in the second picture because of my purple hat. Go Tigers!)

Of Prayer and Pride

Recently, a friend and I made a prayer pact: We decided to pray for a certain length of time each day and to hold each other accountable to the pact. I faithfully honored the pact every day - until yesterday, when I forgot to pray for the required length of time. When I first realized that I had forgotten, I became somewhat frustrated with myself. Then I began to think about why I was frustrated with myself.

The reason my friend and I had decided to make our prayer pact was obvioust enough: Having faith in the power of prayer, we wished to be consistent in daily prayer in spite of our cluttered schedules. My objective (and my friend's) was a stronger prayer life - nothing more. And yet it quickly became clear to me that I was not frustrated with myself because I had failed to meet this objective. After all, my prayer life had become more consistent as a result of my pact; my one day of "insufficient" prayer, though unfortunate, did not seriously hinder my walk with God. On the contrary, I was frustrated with myself because I had not met the terms of the pact, because I would no longer be able to tell myself that I had fulfilled the pact - because, in my quest for righteousness, I had left no room for grace.

The problem was not that I was striving to pray more consistently, or even that I had made a specific, potentially "legalistic" pact with my friend. The problem was that I cared about being righteous for the sake of thinking of myself as righteous, rather than caring about righteousness for righteousness' (or, better yet, Jesus') sake. The problem was that I was more worried about demonstrating to myself that I was a man of prayer than I was worried about actually being a man of prayer.

My mistake reminded of this quotation from J.B. Phillips' When God was Man:

"The 'good' man, the man whose god is righteousness, has as his life’s ambition the keeping of rules and commandments and the keeping of himself uncontaminated by the world. This sounds admirable; but, as the truth of Christ showed, the whole of such living, the whole drive and ambition, the whole edifice, is self-centered. That entire process of effort must be abandoned if a man is to give himself in love to God and his fellows. He must lose his life if he is ever going to find it."

For me, an admirable enough pursuit - prayer, of all things! - became a self-centered means of proving myself to myself, of earning my salvation. I had been pursuing righteousness so that I could avoid my need for grace, so that my faith could rest in my own good deeds and not in Christ's redeeming sacrifice. Of course, when I made the prayer pact, I was not consciously attempting to pray my way out of a need for grace; but that is what happened nonetheless.

The culprit, unsurprisingly, was the great sin, pride. And there is an important lesson here, I think, for all of us. In my experience, there are two kinds of people in this world: those who do not think they need forgiveness and those who do not think they can be forgiven. We can identify the former as the "self-righteous souls" - the souls out of touch with their own sins - and the latter as the "self-pitying souls" - the souls out of touch with God's amazing grace.

Interestingly, the self-righteous soul and the self-pitying soul are not that different, for self-righteousness and self-pity are both manifestations of pride. It is pride that reassures us that we have no need of grace, that our sins are minor or justifiable, that we are actually quite good people (and certainly better than him or her); and when we do (inevitably) stumble and fall, when the truth of our sinfulness becomes inescapable, when we can no longer pretend that we have it all together, it is pride that tells us that it is too late, that nothing can be done, that we are eternally stained and unforgivable.

Notice how these two superficially different attitudes are both fundamentally egocentric in nature. The self-righteous soul cares not at all (or very little) that his good deeds please God or benefit his fellow men; he cares only that his reputation with others - and with himself - be preserved. The guilty soul cares not at all (or very little) that his sins have injured God; he cares only that he can no longer think of himself as good, that he has toppled himself from his own imaginary pedestal. The self-centeredness evident in both cases is the hallmark and calling card of pride.

Pride convinces the self-righteous soul that grace is beneath him and the self-pitying soul that grace is above him. Both are wretched lies, but they are not lies that are easy to spot; the devil is too cunning for that. No, these lies can only be discovered if we are on the lookout for them - rather like the moonwalking bear.

If we are willing to catch our pride in the act, we will, of course, succeed. ("Seek, and ye shall find" goes for sin, too.) After all, pride is plenty common, and it can be found virtually anywhere - as I recently learned, even in prayer. Unfortunately, the first step with pride, as with alcoholism, is admitting we have a problem - and this we are not always willing to do. If we are courageous enough, however, to resist our pride - to pray for humility, to seek advice and correction, to submit to others, to confess our sins, to search out our hearts, and to cast off our façades - then the Scriptures are clear: "Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up" (James 4.10).

Communion: October 17, 2010

"Hi, everyone. My name is Joseph Porter, and I am a junior at Harvard College. I would like to share some thoughts about the cross.

There is one thing that most people think about when they think about the cross: forgiveness. And forgiveness is a beautiful thing. Jesus has washed our sins away, our consciences have been cleared, we've been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb! Forgiveness is awesome. But it's just the beginning.

Turn with me to 1 Peter 2.24.

'He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed.'

'He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree.' There's the forgiveness. Jesus nailed our sins to the cross. And that's great, but it's not the end of the story. That's not all Jesus did. The forgiveness comes with a purpose: Jesus nailed our sins to the cross so that we could 'die to sins and live for righteousness.'

Think about that. Jesus didn't just die so that we could be forgiven; Jesus died so that we could be transformed. Jesus didn't just die for our sins; Jesus died to destroy our sins. Jesus didn't just die to set us free from Hell; he died to set us free from sin and temptation and anything that entangles or separates us from God. Jesus was crucified so that our sins could be crucified - so that our lives could be changed forever.

You know, the world does not think that our lives can change. The world says that we are the way we are and that's the end of the story. 'He was born that way.' 'That’s just how she was raised.' 'He’s a sex addict, he'll never be pure.' 'She'll always be short-tempered.' 'You can't teach an old dog new tricks.' 'He'll never change.'

And maybe that's what you think about yourself. Maybe you think that you'll never overcome that one sin. Maybe you think that it will enslave you for the rest of your life. Maybe you think that you can't do it, that you're not good enough to be a Christian, but God says, 'No! It doesn't have to be that way! You can do it! You can change! You know why? Because I have crucified your sin!'

Guys, God has crucified our sin. Colossians 2.11 says, 'In [Jesus] you were also circumcised, in the putting off of the sinful nature, not with a circumcision done by the hands of men but with the circumcision done by Christ.' Jesus cut off our sinful natures! Romans 6.18 says, 'You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.' That's not a typo. We have been set free from sin!

Do we live as though we have been set free from sin? Do we allow God to work in our hearts so that we can 'die to sin and live for righteousness'? Or do we listen to the world's lies and think we can't change? Do we treat our sin as something that happens to us inevitably? Or do we see it for what it is - something that we can overcome?

It's true that we'll never be sinless or temptation-less. Being a disciple of Christ is not easy. But guys, the sky is the limit. Jesus is the limit of how righteous we can be. We are free to serve God in every way, because Jesus has set us free from sin.

The cross sends the most powerful message of forgiveness and love that I can imagine. But that's not the only message the cross sends. The cross also reminds us that God doesn't just sit back and hope that we repent. God sends his son to the cross and says, 'Do you see My Son up there? That is what I'm going to do to your sin. I am going to crucify your sin.'

Guys, Jesus has paved the way of righteousness for us. All we have to do is to follow in his steps. As we take the bread and the wine today, let us remember Jesus' sacrifice and give thanks that we have died to sin so that we can live for righteousness."

My Translation of Romans 11

[UPDATE: I hope to amend and improve this translation as time goes by. The original is preserved in my archives.]

For my final project in my Greek class, I had to translate Romans 11. Here is the final result:

I ask, then: Has God driven His people away? Absolutely not! For I myself am an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham, from the tribe of Benjamin. God has not driven His people away, whom He foreknew.

Or do you not know what the Scripture says about Elijah? As he appealed to God against Israel, 'Lord, they have killed Your prophets, destroyed Your altars, and I alone have been left behind – and they seek my life as well!' But what is God's response to him? "I have left behind to Myself seven thousand men, whose knees have not bowed to Baal."

In this way, then, there has come to be at this very time a remnant according to the choice of grace: and if by means of grace, then no longer from works, or else grace would no longer be grace.

What then? That which Israel sought, it did not obtain, but the chosen did. The rest were hardened, just as it is written, 'God gave them a spirit of stupor, eyes that cannot see, and ears that cannot hear, up until this very day.' And David says, 'Let their table be a snare and a trap and a stumbling block and a retribution to them; let their eyes be darkened so that they cannot see, and let the south wind bend them forever.'

I ask, then: Did they stumble in order that they might fall? Absolutely not! But what is a lapse to them is salvation to the Gentiles, in order to provoke jealousy in Israel. And if their lapse is riches to the world and their loss riches to the Gentiles, how much greater will their fullness be!

Now I am speaking to you Gentiles. Inasmuch, then, as I myself am an apostle to the Gentiles, I extol my ministry, if I may in that manner provoke some of my kin to jealousy and save some of them. For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what is their acceptance if not life from the dead?

If the firstfruits of the dough are holy, so also is the entire batch; if the root is holy, so also are the branches. If some of the branches were cut off, you of the wild olive tree who were grafted into them and became partners of the nourishing roots of the olive tree, do not boast over the branches. But if you boast, remember that you do not support the root, but the root supports you.

You will say, then: 'The branches were cut off in order that I could be grafted in.' Very well! They were cut off because of their faithlessness, but you have stood because of your faith. Do not, however, think yourselves exalted, but be afraid – for if God did not spare the natural branches, neither will He spare you.

Behold, then, the kindness and strictness of God: strictness to the fallen, but God's kindness to you, if you remain in kindness. Otherwise you too will fall. And even they, if they do not remain in faithlessness, will be grafted in – for God is able to graft them in again. For if you were cut off from olive tree that is wild by nature and grafted into the cultivated olive tree contrary to nature, how much more will these natural branches be grafted into their own tree!

For I do not want you to be ignorant of this mystery, brothers, so that you will not be wise in your own eyes: A hardening in part has happened to Israel until the fullness of the Gentiles comes in. And so all Israel will be saved, just as it is written: 'Out of Zion will come a deliverer; he will remove ungodliness from Jacob. And this will be My covenant with them, when I take away their sins.'

According to the gospel, they are enemies for your sake; according to the choice, however, they are beloved for the sake of the fathers, for God's gifts and call are irrevocable. For just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy due to their disobedience, so too they now have disobeyed in order that by the mercy given to you they too may now receive mercy. For God shut up all men in disobedience so that he might have mercy on them all.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable His judgments and inscrutable His ways! For who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has become His counselor? Or who has given to Him first, and been repaid by Him? For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things; to Him be glory into the ages! Amen."

A Technical Note

I've started posting to the blog from a different profile that looks exactly like the old profile. There shouldn't be any real difference, however.

Sicut Cervus

Palestrina's Sicut cervus, as (spontaneously) performed by the Harvard Glee Club in Limerick, Ireland:

Harvard Glee Club - Sicut Cervus from Umang S on Vimeo.

Gratitude

I always find it disconcerting when people ask me what my cafeteria is like. If you've ever seen Annenberg, you'll understand why the term cafeteria doesn't quite do it justice. The only sad thing about having such an incredible eating facility is that after eating there three meals a day, seven days a week, you begin to take it for granted. You forget how beautiful the building is, how much time went into producing the stained glass, how much effort was expended on its construction.

I feel that my developed indifference to the beauty of Annenberg and the skill of those who created it is similar to our acquired apathy to to the beauty of the world and the incredible nature of the God who created it.

Imagine what the world must appear like to a newborn: a strange set of colors, movements, and objects appearing randomly and without reason. It is only as the years begin to wear on us that we begin to treat the world as though it could not be any other way. As we begin to see the same beauty year after year, we begin to take sunrises and sunsets for granted. After a couple decades, we forget our love for first winter snowfalls and sunny summer days, crisp spring air and autumn's vibrant hues. We lose our sense of wonder at the world. We seek visible miracles while overlooking the fact that our very existence is a miracle in and of itself.

I love the random moments when I look at my dining hall and realize what I have been taking for granted because they remind me to thank God not only for the material things He gives us: food, shelter, and money, but for the fact that anything material even exists.

As Oscar Wilde said, "The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."

Valedictory Address

This is the speech I gave at my high school graduation.

Before I begin, I'd like to thank Dr. Laurie, Mr. Laurie, Ms. Butts, Mrs. Shienvold, Mrs. Cvammen, Mr. Gulotta, the administration, deans, faculty, guidance, my peers and my family. Also, thank you to all the friends and family of the graduates for joining us.

It is now my honor to give a final valedictory address before we all blindly plunge into adulthood, following Life's ever-winding road. I have only a few words of advice to give, and though they might seem trite or corny now, I think they are very important.

Life can at once seem extremely beautiful, profound, and terrifying; our understanding of it is only imperfect and flawed. But among all doubts and uncertainties, among all the travails and absurdities of existence, I have always been sure of one thing: love. In my mind, there's nothing else really worth talking about.

Love is, unfortunately, a tired word, one reiterated unceasingly in our songs, farewells, and text messages. We "heart" nearly anything, from new bands to New York, from McDonald's to McSteamy. We constantly tell people we love them, and almost exclusively devote our literature, music, and cinema to the subject of love.

And yet, despite all our professions of love, despite all our emphasis, we still live in a desperate, crying world, a world that is beautiful but fragile, in which "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." We live in a world that all too often is lonely, cruel, and empty – a world, in short, that lacks love.

I have often wondered why a world that so obviously desires love would be so lacking in it, why a world that so idolizes love so desperately needs it. Although no one can be sure, I think our error often lies in not understanding love.

Love is not just a passion or a feeling, not just an attraction or an emotion. Love is nothing more or less than a willingness to sacrifice oneself for others, to value the well-being of others above our own.

Virtually since birth, we have been deluged with messages of individuality and self-discovery. We have placed a primacy on what we want to do, on what we want to be, and I fear we have forgotten that a life lived for oneself is no life at all.

I was asked to speak about the future, about the paths we all will pursue, about where the Road will lead us. I could have spoken about careers, crossroads, or choices, but I believe now and always that where we go and what we do will mean nothing if we do not love the people around us. Health, knowledge, and comfort are all stale and meaningless without this sincere love. "One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love."

Every day, we are blessed with the irreplaceable opportunity to brighten the lives of those around us, to make this world beautiful with our kindness and concern for others. We can love with our actions, love with our thoughts, and love with our words. We can't all be rich or famous or pretty or smart – but we can all love, even when it is difficult.

About two years ago, five Amish schoolchildren were murdered in a small Pennsylvania town. The response of the Amish community to such a tragedy was beautiful and powerful: love. The Amish, whom we often mock, loved and forgave in a way we rarely would, inviting the murderer's family to the funeral. As one grandfather watched his granddaughter's burial, he told the young Amish boys, "We must not think evil of this man."

I have been given the opportunity to speak today because of my academic performance. But the honest truth is that grades aren't what really matter. What matters is the people around us. Today, I am truly honored to share this moment with people who aren't just classmates, but friends. Many of you have sacrificed time, energy, and sanity for me and for each other, and that sacrifice is beautiful. I am proud beyond words that my three co-speakers and I never competed for accolades, but supported each other every step of the way, and I know all of us had friends like that during these past few years. Class of 2008, you are beautiful, intelligent, and talented people, but I respect you most for your kindness and compassion.

I can't tell you which college you should have chosen, which field you should major in, or which career you should enter. But I can make you one promise: if you love, if you are truly willing to dedicate yourself to friends, to family, to acquaintances, and even to strangers, it'll all be worth it. It won't be easy, it won't be safe or cautious – but it will be beautiful. "Love is strong as Death..." As we embark anew upon the Road, I hope we all can remember what the Beatles said: “All You Need Is Love.” Congratulations, Class of 2008.

A Letter About God

This is a slightly abridged version of a letter I sent to a friend of mine in response to a letter she sent me about her atheism. I think it addresses a lot of my central thoughts about the existence of God. Redacted portions are marked by brackets.

"[]

I should begin this letter with a sincere apology for my overly delayed response. I envisioned a proper reply to your letter as a monumental task, and, as such, I was wary to undertake it – not out of unwillingness, but out of fear, lest any response of mine were inadequate. I felt that your seeming eagerness to understand Christianity left me no excuse for failure, should I not convince you of its truths. This fear of mine is unfounded – it is not I, but God, Who can save you – but it exists nonetheless.

My fear is a symptom of doubt – primarily of myself, but also of God. I cannot and should not pretend that I do not doubt []. In a very real epistemological sense, I cannot be anything but an agnostic. I cannot, as you said, 'profess to have all the answers.' I do not know that God exists; for that matter, I do not even know that you – or I – exist. Man's knowledge and reason are so very, very frail. 'Le silence éternel de ces espaces infinis m’effraie.' Every which way I turn, I am faced with the unavoidable conclusion that the Truth, whatever it may be, is incomprehensible and absurd. 'Adhuc lates, Domine, animam meam in luce et beatitudine tua, et idcirco versatur illa adhuc in tenebris et miseria sua.'

And yet – despite all lingering doubts – I am still convinced that God exists. Even your objections to His existence strengthen my conviction. You may believe that we are blind because the Truth lies shrouded in darkness; but I, I say that the Truth's light is not too feeble, but too overpowering – that I am blind, not because of its absence, but because of its brilliance. 'The light shineth in darkness; and the darkness hath comprehended it not' (John i. 5).

When I consider this world of sunsets and suicides, of loves and wars, of minds and madness – when I consider the atom or the photon – I cannot escape my impression that beyond our stunted perceptions lies something Transcendent. This world alone is not enough – it cannot be enough – for it cannot explain anything, even itself. And thus, to me, nothing will ever be more unbelievable than the assertion that time, substance, and space arose from non-being and chaos – that there truly is nothing else. (This is what I believe Chesterton means when he says that atheism entails belief in a 'universal negative.') Perhaps we do not understand the Transcendent, but it must exist, it cannot not exist. Reality without it is dead and senseless. There must be something beyond time to explain time, something beyond space to explain space, something beyond causation to explain causation, something beyond order to explain order, something beyond the mind to explain the mind. There must be something which lies beyond our grasp, beyond our sight, beyond our reach, something which itself needs no further explanation or justification – something Transcendent. That is my fundamental conviction. And this Transcendence I call God.

(With this definition of transcendence, I remember the words of M. Whitehead, a mathematician who once taught here at Harvard: 'Religion is the vision of something which stands beyond, behind and within the passing flux of immediate things; something which is real, and yet waiting to be realized; something which is a remote possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts; something that gives meaning to all that passes, and yet eludes apprehension; something whose possession is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach; something which is the ultimate ideal, and the hopeless quest.')

The skeptic may reply (rightly) that what I have said is all well and good – but that I cannot know much, if anything, about this Transcendence. Who are we, we mortal men, to dare to know the source, not only of men, but of reality itself? And the Christian, in a sense, would have to agree. The Christian God is one Whose ways are higher than our ways and Whose thoughts are higher than our thoughts (Isaiah lv. 8-9). As Barth said, 'God is inconceivable.'

Fortunately, we know one terribly important thing about God; we know that He has created us. He has created the universe such that it could support life, and He has breathed into that life His spirit. The importance of these two truths cannot be underestimated. Because I am not a scientist, I will not belabor the details of the first point (which, incidentally, presupposes that abiogenesis itself can be accounted for scientifically), but will leave it to you to imagine all the possible universes that never would support life - universes with different 'laws of nature,' and chaotic universes, with no laws at all. (It is challenging enough for a universe to support stable heavy atoms, let alone advanced life-forms.) Do not forget [] that one of reality's most miraculous features is its orderliness: 'Das Unverständlichste am Universum ist im Grunde, dass wir es verstehen können.' This orderliness and ability to support life, in and of themselves, do not prove anything, but to me, they are very indicative. At the very least, a situation in which a Transcendent being created a universe which just so happened to support intelligent life would be extremely bizarre.

The second point – that man is more than matter – is more interesting, and ultimately much more crucial. And, before I explain its relevance in full, I must first discuss your invocation of emergentism as an explanation of consciousness. Though I intend to address each of your arguments individually later on, I cannot proceed any further without pausing to consider it.

If we know anything, we know that we exist mentally. Cogitamus, ergo sumus. Consciousness is an undeniable fact (though some atheists have, of course, denied it); the question, then, is whether or not it is a so-called 'scientific fact.'

I propose first and foremost that free will cannot be explained scientifically, even if consciousness itself can. Belief in free will is belief in personal causality – belief that physical events can be caused or affected by mental entities, or persons. But science, properly understood, is the study of impersonal causality – the study of how objective, physical states of affairs change according to certain underlying principles. To assert that the mind can have power over matter is to assert something quite remarkable indeed; it defies scientific explanation. It is not at all a solution to say that free will 'emerges' from chemical reactions in the brain. How would personal causality 'emerge' from impersonal causality? How can matter generate minds? I simply do not see satisfying non-religious answers to these questions. (Remember, if free will did in fact emerge from matter and impersonal causality, it would itself become nothing more than an effect of impersonal causality, not a personal cause. In other words, it would no longer be free will. To explain the will is to abrogate it.)

Of course, I do not see how emergentism can explain any aspect of consciousness, let alone free will. The mind-body problem is similar to the is-ought problem; the mind may be completely dependent upon the body (just as 'ought' statements are largely contingent upon 'is' statements), but knowledge of the body alone cannot give an adequate account of the mind. (To borrow an example from M. Nagel, we know a lot about bats, but we know absolutely nothing about what it is like to be a bat. Science cannot give us true knowledge about the subjective mental states of other beings.) Put another way, though the brain may be necessary to explain the mind, it is not sufficient to explain the mind; something more is required. Mental entities are as fundamentally different from physical entities as normative facts are from positive facts. Thus, the fact that mental entities exist is extremely radical for the atheist, who must believe that, after thirteen billion years of matter and energy, the mind abruptly came into being.

But is this fact truly so radical? To answer that question, I first will ask you to consider computers – machines that can process incredible amounts of information and perform tasks far beyond man's capacity, but do not have minds. Their 'artificial' intelligence is in fact non-existent. They are not self-aware; they do not perceive; they are not conscious. Everything about their existence is objective and available to empirical study. There is nothing categorically different about computers with respect to the rest of the world.

There is, however, something categorically different about humans. We are self-aware; we do perceive; we are conscious. Some things about our existence are objective and available to empirical study; but some are not. I cannot see or measure your perceptions, [] only the neural activity which corresponds to them. For all I know (and for all the best scientist knows), you could be a biological 'computer' programmed to act as if you were conscious. That you can perceive the external world and ponder your own existence reveals that you (and all mankind) are categorically different from everything else that has ever existed before. (It is irrelevant to my argument whether or not other putatively sentient creatures, such as gorillas, actually have minds – the difference in category remains – but I will henceforth assume that they do not, for the sake of simplicity.) A few million years ago, a chemical process whose reactants consisted of matter and energy led to products that consisted of matter, energy – and mind. This fact can be nothing less than astounding.

If the honest naturalistic scientist were to hypothesize how 'intelligent' life could have developed, I imagine he would conjecture something akin to biological computers, M. Minsky's 'machines made of meat.' He would probably propose organisms whose brains were so advanced that impressions from the external world – light waves, sound waves, &c. – could trigger neurobiological reactions, which would then trigger behaviors. But he would hardly venture to guess that these agglomerations of matter would somehow become aware of their own existence – that the mind would sprout randomly from mindlessness. A world without minds would be much more concordant with the naturalistic worldview and account of reality – were it not for the fact that minds exist.

But minds, alas, do exist. How are we to explain them? You might answer that, in the future, science will discover some new physical fact which will quickly and simply explain the existence of minds. After all, has not modern neuroscience gone a very long ways toward explaining the mind? My answer would be an emphatic No: It has not moved one inch closer toward explaining the mind. It has, of course, done very well with explaining why the mind behaves as it does, and how the mind relates to the body. But it has not provided one scintilla of evidence to explain why the mind exists at all, nor do I see how it ever could. Our perceptions themselves, after all, are subjective, and thus not measurable. How, then, is the scientist who glories in the objective and orderly behavior of the universe to contend with subjective and inexplicable minds and wills?

The explanation for the mind must come from the Transcendent – from God. And the knowledge that the fountainhead of all existence somehow imbued us with minds should be very unsettling for the deist (whose deity merely sets things into motion). It leads inevitably to a question that has dogged man's steps since the psalmist posed it to God three millennia ago: 'What is man that Thou art mindful of him?' (Psalm viii. 4)

We must keep in mind three central facts when answering this question: first, that men, because we have minds, are categorically different from all other creation; second, that the first fact cannot (as far as we know) be explained by science; third, that God, in some way, must have taken special interest in the affairs of men. The third fact, which follows from the first two, is the most essential. And in light of these three facts, our picture of God becomes much more theistic and much less deistic – in a word, much more Christian. The deist's account of God becomes sorely wanting. As someone Who has taken an interest in people, how could God Himself not be personal (or 'super-personal')? If we know from our own existence that the mind itself is an active agent, how can we then reduce the Transcendent to some inert, slumbering 'force' less self-aware than a child? It is not enough to say, as the deist does, that God caused the world to exist and then retreated to His chambers – for that does not explain men as persons, only as biological automata.

If the deistic God cannot explain men as persons, how much less can He explain them as moral beings! You yourself have admitted how insufficient non-theistic accounts of morality are. Your morality, if it does not come from God, is nothing more than an evolutionary instinct. As powerful as your moral and æsthetic convictions may be – and I know that they are powerful – they cannot be anything more than chemical accidents unless an active, personal, and moral God has imbued us with them. Could God have created men who seek the good and the beautiful if He Himself were not in some way good and beautiful?

We live in an orderly world, a personal world, and a moral world. And I simply do not see how the neo-Platonist's or deist's δημιουργός can properly account for a world such as ours. There is too much light in this world – even in us, whose hearts and minds are dark – for me to believe in anything less than Light, pure Light – not some half-conscious nightmare or impersonal agent (How can an agent be impersonal or inactive?), but in Light itself, not lesser than I, but infinitely greater. 'Deus lux est et tenebrae in Eo non sunt ullaeq' (1 John i. 5).

Ah, but you may say, 'What is Light?' What do I mean when I say that? And truly, my words are but a shadow of the reality. 'Die Worte tun dem geheimen Sinn nicht gut, es wird immer alles gleich ein wenig anders, wenn man es ausspricht, ein wenig verfälscht, ein wenig närrisch.' Even ignoring linguistic limitations, the conceptual difficulties that arise when attempting to describe that which is, by definition, beyond conception are considerable. It is unrealistic to except a full understanding of God; God cannot and should not be limited to our fallible thoughts.

And so we proceed by intuition; the line between thinking and feeling is blurred; and we become swayed, not by arguments themselves, but by impressions – subtle, emotional, or subconscious reactions to complex, contentious, and charged issues (such as religion and politics). These impressions affect us profoundly, especially with regards to what standards of proof we demand. I cannot ascertain the substance of your past and present impressions concerning religion, but I hope that you will consciously evaluate your religious impressions, as I have sought to evaluate mine. In particular, I hope that you will not misunderstand the philosophical God I have hitherto defended – a God who, though similar to the Christian God, is not necessarily identical to Him.

You will notice that my belief in God is significantly grounded in my impressions about Christianity (and, to a lesser extent, my negative impressions about deism and atheism). To a certain extent, this is inescapable, because it is difficult for us to separate the person of God from the idea of God. (Indeed, I believe it is impossible to extricate impressions from our mental processes, nor do I see that it would be productive to do so.) For a long time, I believed in the idea of the Christian God without acknowledging Him as a person. Mlle. L'Engle said, 'Those who believe they believe in God but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God Himself.' At some point, my belief that God existed became a conviction that God was beautiful – and even Beauty. It will be a useful enterprise for you to ponder the person and idea of God separately.

Unfortunately, you will notice that I cannot prove the idea of God. In this letter, I have sought to demonstrate that the idea of a Christian God is plausible – much more plausible, in fact, than any alternative. Such a demonstration does not technically constitute a proof. But my endeavor here was not to prove to you the existence of the Christian God, but to enumerate both my rational arguments and my more nuanced impressions concerning Him. Every which way I consider the matter, the Christian God (or theistic God) becomes more and more unavoidable. During those times in my life when I would have desired to leave Christianity, I could not bring myself to believe in its falsity. I could not do away with God, and the thought of doing so terrified me; like M. Geisler, I did not have enough faith to be an atheist. I cannot say that my arguments for the existence of God are 'sufficient,' because I do not see how we can determine what are sufficient grounds for believing something. All I can say is that I have considered the matter quite carefully and remain convinced of God's existence.

Nonetheless, you apparently are not convinced – and you have raised some compelling objections to the existence of God (or at least to the necessity of God's existence) which now demand my attention.

In your letter to me, you mentioned a question asked by many men before you, a question which drove M. Russell away from theism: Who created the Creator? If God explains the universe, whence God? Furthermore, you stated that my position could not explain the universe any more than yours could.

My first response is that is not logically possible for a perfect explanation to exist, because justification cannot be a closed system. I have mentioned the Münchhausen-Trilemma to you before, and I will quickly restate its ideas here. For us to know any truth with certainty, we must have justification for believing it – but to know the justification with certainty requires further justification. It is easy to see how perfect justification then becomes impossible. (I always think of Todd Anderson's words in Dead Poets Society: the truth is rather like a blanket which cannot cover everything up. If you try to cover up one thing, you uncover something else.) Chesterton put it more eloquently: 'Reason is itself a matter of faith. It is an act of faith to assert that our thoughts have any relation to reality at all.'

With regards to your initial question about who created the Creator, I would only note that God, as a being Who exists beyond time, would not require a cause or a creator in the same sense that spatiotemporal entities themselves would. (This entire line of thought was broached tangentially when I discussed the Transcendent.) Everyone is forced to believe in something uncaused; the real question, then, is, What sort of thing could be uncaused? I can only conceive of an uncaused entity if that entity exists beyond time. And thus God is a much better candidate for the uncaused than anything else, especially that singularity of matter and energy with which the world began.

Another issue you brought forward was whether or not agnosticism was cowardly. I mostly agree with your Socratic formulation of wisdom: 'The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.' (Of course, I prefer Solomon's version in the ninth proverb: 'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.') I hope you see that I have attempted not to exceed my philosophical reach; as M. Whitehead said, 'The chief error in philosophy is overstatement.'

I should begin by clarifying my own position on the matter. First, it is important not to conflate statements of belief with statements of knowledge. Agnosticism is a position about knowledge, not about belief; thus, as I have mentioned before, agnostic Christianity is not an incoherent or inconsistent view. Second, describing agnosticism as cowardly or brave is not entirely reasonable; agnosticism as such can exist for a multitude of emotional and intellectual reasons.

However, I still believe that many (if not most) agnostics are simply unwilling to acknowledge what their true beliefs are in the matter. Almost all the self-proclaimed agnostics I have met are atheists, whose beliefs have never struck me as brave or humble. In contrast, I have found that true Christians are very humble – much more so than agnostics and atheists, for the humility of the genuinely devout stems from lifelong submission to God. (So you know, I would not number myself among these devout yet.) Concerning this humility, I can only echo M. Muggeridge's words: 'Animistic savages prostrating themselves before a painted stone have always seemed to me to be nearer the truth than any Einstein or Bertrand Russell.' If I were to name the primary impetus behind atheism today, it would be pride. In my opinion, emotional (and spiritual) factors such as pride are a main influence upon someone's willingness to believe in God. (In your letter, you wrote that your political beliefs were in your 'character.' Religious – or irreligious – beliefs are hardly different.) But this entire argument about agnosticism's bravery implies that we have direct control over our beliefs, which you know from your own experience to be untrue.

Is my appeal to God an 'appeal to the unknown,' as you suggest? I know of no argument that can preclude or falsify unknown alternatives, and so, in a sense, I am defenseless against this claim. I can only say that science, in my view, could never explain itself in the same sense in which God can. Science is not some mystical force that marches irrevocably toward the Truth; it is a collection of our interpretations of data about how reality changes in time. And our interpretations, though often meticulously refined, are inevitably human and limited to a specific set of statements about reality. For example, science cannot answer Leibniz' question, 'Why is there something rather than nothing?' (I could name several other questions which science cannot, and almost certainly can never, answer.) You contend that my God is a 'God of the gaps' used to explain phænomena that science cannot yet explain. I would counter that my God is not merely an explanation for scientific phænomena, but also one for science itself. For all these reasons, I do not believe that your faith in science (which Lewis called 'mellontolatry,' or worship of the future) is entirely warranted.

You assert that you have more 'evidence that science will prove capable of finding solutions than that the Christian God exists.' I will reply with the words of M. Jastrow: 'There is a kind of religion in science, it is the religion of a person who believes there is order and harmony in the universe, and every effect must have its cause, there is no first cause.... This religious faith of the scientist is violated by the discovery that the world had a beginning under conditions in which the known laws of physics are not valid, and as a product of forces or circumstances we cannot discover. When that happens, the scientist has lost control.... Consider the enormity of the problem. Science has proven that the universe exploded into being at a certain moment. It asks, what cause produced the effect? Who or what put the matter and energy in the universe? Was the universe created out of nothing, or was it gathered together out of pre-existing materials? And science cannot answer these questions.'

Your 'evidence' for science's ability to find solutions to these problems can be nothing more than inductive reasoning applied to the wrong category of question. And, ironically, science itself has removed what was the linchpin of atheistic arguments until not even a century ago – for science has demonstrated that the world had a beginning. I return to M. Jastrow: 'For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountain of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.'

For millennia, atheists founded their unbelief in the knowledge that theists could not prove that the world had a beginning. This past century, science essentially proved that the world had a beginning – and yet atheism did not retreat, but has continued to advance (and even prosper) thenceforth. I ask you to ponder why that is, and to remember that the Pharisees who crucified Jesus were the very same men who witnessed his miracles. M. James spoke of the Will to Believe; the Will to Disbelieve is just as real.

You mention the paradox of the stone (or of the burrito), a quite interesting problem. As far as I can tell, this is the only argument you have advanced which concerns solely the Christian God and not the deistic God; all the others apply as much to the latter as to the former. (The reason for this is that only the Christian God is allegedly omnipotent.) Thus, in my view, the paradox of the stone is the only argument you have advanced that favors deism over theism. If the paradox of the stone can be dismantled, it seems to me that Christian theism is much more philosophically rigorous than deism (whether or not it ultimately is true).

I fear that my initial tripartite response to this paradox was flawed, and I hope that I can correct my errors here. The simplest way to answer the paradox is to consider what God's 'omnipotence,' as described in scripture, actually entails; a quandary for the Christian arises only if scripture attributes to God that which is incoherent. But there is no reason to believe that the idea of omnipotence as espoused in scripture connotes the ability to violate logic; thus, the paradox of the stone is irrelevant. To illustrate this point, consider that scripture says that God cannot lie (Titus i.2); as you can see, the Bible itself asserts that God is technically 'bound' by some 'law.' God's omnipotence, then, signifies only complete dominion over nature and all active powers, not over 'logic' or 'morality.' Obviously, this sort of omnipotence is perfectly compatible with logic. Because neither 'logic' nor 'morality' is active in any sense – in fact, it is questionable whether they exist as anything more than descriptors of other entities and actions – God's being 'bound' by them is not troublesome at all. Essentially, the paradox of the stone depends upon an anachronistic understanding of omnipotence.

You observe next some potential flaws in my argument based on what you called the 'statistical unlikelihood of human life evolving,' referring also to multiverse theories related to this issue. Note that I was not employing the argument from 'statistical unlikelihood' as an argument for the existence of God (though I believe that it could function as such when conjoined with other arguments); rather, I was invoking it to answer the separate question, What is the nature of the Transcendent? I believe the fact that the Transcendent brought into existence a world which could support sentient life is extremely telling. ('Who knows what other life forms could have developed if gravity were GM1M2/S3?' From what I have read, scientists are able to simulate alternate universes with an impressive degree of precision. Of all the possibly universes that could exist, very few can support stable atoms, let alone stable multicellular organisms.)

Apparently, you are under the impression that I said multiverses could resolve the flaws in my argument. On the contrary, few things could be more damaging to this aspect of my argument than the existence of parallel universes. (This is one reason scientists have postulated the existence of parallel universes; in a way, they provide a much more comforting and "scientific explanation than deism or theism.) Of course, I see no reason to believe that parallel universes exist or could exist, nor do I see how we could ever directly observe universes which never intersected ours.

Finally, you propose some of Ayn Rand's idea of man as an alternative to Christianity. Though this does not directly pertain to the main purpose of your letter or my response, I feel it necessary to comment on Mlle. Rand's views. You write, 'Her characters have been described as "flat," but I view them more as super-humans, the ideal you strive to achieve. You don't need to see or know anything besides the ideal, because that is your only goal.' Then, you quote Rand herself: 'Do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads. Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all.'

Perhaps her characters are ideal; but even if they are, they represent an ideal which we cannot achieve. Perhaps man's natural estate is an upright posture; but even if it is, man has fallen and cannot bring himself to rise again. Perhaps our minds should be intransigent; but even if they should be, they most certainly are not. You say that Rand's characters are super-human. I say that they are not human at all; they are machines. Humans are weak and stunted and far too often evil – our hearts are hearts of darkness. Humans are those whom Mlle. Rand regards with contempt.

I propose, as an alternative to Howard Roark and Dagny Taggart and Hank Rearden, the twisted and rent body of Jesus Christ. Should man remain upright? Perhaps – yet Christ hung low and limp upon the cross. Should we remain unflinching and uncompromising and 'intransigent'? Yet Christ became obedient to Death, even death on a cross (Philippians ii. 8); 'and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth' (Isaiah liii. 7). Let Rand proudly boast all the more, yet Christ's words upon the cross were broken: 'My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?' (Matthew xxvii. 46) Let her conquer the world with her strength; Christ shall conquer the world with his love.

God help us [] if we are called to save ourselves; I know that I cannot. The truth is that the ideal is far, far greater than anything Rand ever devised: the ideal is perfection itself, Love itself, Jesus himself. And the miracle is that we can draw closer to this ideal, not merely when we rise, but even when we stumble. For my God has promised this to me: 'My grace is sufficient for thee, for My power is made perfect in weakness' (2 Corinthians xii. 9). Mlle. Rand may keep her philosophers, kings, and giants. Christ will call the weak, the poor, and the downtrodden – the human.

Everything fades []. People die or move away; old friendships sputter out; our aging memories cheat us of our pasts. Things change. There is so much death in the world – physical death and spiritual death. Every lie, every burst of anger, every selfish act: with every sin, something – trust, innocence, beauty – dies. Something dies, and it cannot quickly be restored. Something dies, and you and I are powerless to do anything about it.

But God is not. And because of God, I know that Death itself shall die; <'for Love is strong as Death' (Song of Solomon viii. 6). All the earthly deaths that encumber and surround us will one day be utterly forgotten. Jesus' sacrifice will triumph over all of them; he will swallow up Death forever (Isaiah xxv. 8). <'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away' (Revelation xxi. 4). 'Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us' (Romans viii. 18). And thus, we can boast: 'Where, O Death, is thy victory? Where, O Death, is thy sting?' (1 Corinthians xv. 55) For 'the last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death' (1 Corinthians xv. 26).

Aquinas is reported to have told another monk that all his works seemed like 'straw' compared to what he had seen. And as I conclude this letter, I know, like Aquinas, that my words cannot do justice to that beautiful Truth which has consumed me; I can only pray that the thoughts expressed herein will draw you closer to it. [] I ask you to look beyond my words; seek the hidden meaning. Do not be swayed by the Beauty without first being swayed by the Truth – but do not forsake either lightly.

'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known' (1 Corinthians xiii. 12).

[]"

Let My Love a Martyr Be

It kind of switches between trochaic and iambic meter...

Let My Love a Martyr Be


Let my Love a martyr be.
Tho' She must die, yet let Her suffer
Swiftly Her ignominy.
If Love must then be snatched from me,

Thrash Her 'pon the stagger'd rocks,
Her doom, to shatter instantly,
Not to drown in placid waters
Chok'd by the deceptive sleep.

Oh! I may smile and be content
If ends be quick and quickly rent,
Or ardent, bright, and brilliant-wrought –
That Love be lost, but not forgot.

But Love, I fear Thy last demise
Shall softly swoop in grim attire,
In noiseless dark and secrecy.
Thou'll never boast of starréd skies

To hail Thee at Thy final hour!
Nay, Love, when come the dying days,
Thy bearers shall unlearn Thy art
And dooméd men forsake Thy ways.

Whence this awful, ghastly price?
Was Death too bleak to bravely win
Or Life too sweet to sacrifice
For Love, snow-white and free from sin?

Yet ours is not to die for Thee,
Dear Love, but is to watch instead
As Thou are slowly crucified –
To gaze upon Thy sacred head.

So I pray to God and Fate:
Grant not Love a silent Death!
Leave Her desp'rate, bold and proud!
Meet Her at the final breath!

For Death and Time are twain and sure
And silence is their last domain.
But Love, thy Death-cry, sweet and pure,
May pierce and vanquish e'en their reign...

Some Sonnets

A couple more sonnets. The first is the one I did for the Literary Fair. I had to write it in forty minutes, so it's overly grandiloquent on purpose. The second one here is kind of random; I wrote it, as a joke, for the door of my host at Boston College. My other sonnets are here.

10. This World Alone


This world alone doth not suffice.
My silent, everlasting grief
Cannot be quelled by mortal vice,
By joys too rare, too mild, too brief!
Oh! Were I ancient as the Earth,
My life is still a passing mist,
For it shall end. And what's Life worth
That's past, forgotten, gone, Death-kiss'd?
Would I could conquer Time's offense
And glance upon the evermore!
All else is but a vain pretense.
I seek a new celestial shore!
But Life is naught; my Death is sure.
And I must ask, "Doth aught endure?"

11. Poema Nicolai


Dear Stranger, Heed my caveat
Before the threshold Thou wouldst cross!
Lo! those who do departeth not.
They know 'twould be but to their loss.
For chancing 'pon our fam'd estate,
Escapest Thou Thine Earthly plane
And soarest past the pearly gate.
We live within the heav'nly fane!
Here, worlds are rent at our command,
The Sun is swallowed by the shade
And muses, form'd of shifting sand,
Perform th'eternal serenade
While gods assembled roll and rock.
But prithee, Ere Thou ent'rest, knock!

Introspection

So I didn't get this scholarship to BC I really wanted.

Fortunately or unfortunately, this has provided me an excellent opportunity for introspection, analyzing my reaction to the news. This rambles, by the way...

First of all, I'm not as depressed as I could have been, which is good. I guess I've just "focused on the positive" (as corny as it sounds) and tried to be happy for my friends who did get it (which I am). It hasn't worked completely, but it has helped. We all have so much to be grateful for in this country, it's a wonder we ever get depressed about anything.

Intellectually, I understood that my chances of getting the scholarship were approximately one in three (18-20 out of 57). But I don't think I really ever believed that. I considered the idea of rejection and mentally acknowledged its possibility, but I never really felt it. There are a few reasons for this, but the main one is what I'll call the Lottery Mentality.

Even when we understand the odds, we (tend to) ignore them or actually believe they do not apply to us. If you buy a lottery ticket, you spend a whole lot of time thinking about what will happen when you win, even though the chances of your winning are abysmal. In my mind, I knew the scholarship wasn't a given, but my heart/soul/psyche never accepted that fact. Even after my mom told me over the phone that I hadn't received it, I honestly considered that she might have been lying to me to surprise me. (She actually admitted that she might have done that if I had gotten it.) Like the famous line in A Few Good Men, I couldn't handle the truth.

The other reason is simple pride (I'm speaking in the Christian sense of the word), my natural (and completely despicable) tendency to perceive myself as better or more entitled than others. (I'm not saying that I consciously considered myself better than anyone else. I'm just saying it would be in my nature to do so.) Though I understand that everything I have can be blamed on good luck, good genes, and a good God (in other words, not anything of my own doing), I tend to feel that I deserve things which I really don't. And so I was disappointed in a way I shouldn't have been.

The other thing I noticed was that BC became much more appealing and my other options much less so as soon as I was rejected. "The grass is always greener on the other side." (This, in my mind, is mankind's great tragedy.) All of a sudden, amazing schools that most people could never dream of (most people, after all, will never receive a post-secondary education) became musty, colorless, and boring to me. BC, in contrast, was almost apotheosized (if a college can be deified) in my mind.

Whenever something like this happens to me, I suffer from what I'll call anterograde nostalgia - an intense and poignant combination of longing and regret, not for what was, but for what might have been. I really would have loved to spend four years in such a close-knit community, to go to France, to live in a house for six weeks over the summer, etc. It would have been awesome. But it's not going to happen, and life somehow goes on.

It's kind of crazy if you think about it, though. Who I will become and who my best friends will be is being largely determined by strangers and admissions people. I always get depressed when I think about all the friendships that could have been...

It's important that we put everything, good and bad, in perspective. It would be stupid to invest any more of my happiness in college and earthly things; if I do, I'm playing Russian roulette with my happiness, because nothing is certain. In the end, I believe my happiness and self-satisfaction have to stem from love for God and for other people, because everything else simply fades...

How should I have thought about this scholarship? I shouldn't have even thought, "I hope I get it." I really should have thought, "I hope it is given to the people who need or deserve it the most." And then I should have reminded myself constantly that I neither needed nor deserved it as much as some of the other people.

So there you have it.

Minotaur

There's just something about minotaurs...

"Hallelujah" Lyrics

I rewrote the words to the song "Hallelujah," made famous in the movie Shrek. I want to get this onto YouTube or something sooner or later.

Hallelujah


Oh, in the dark Gethsemane,
His soul the traitor's fatal fee;
For thirty silver coins, he led them to You.
Then sinner's kiss on Savior's cheek
"This man is He, the one you seek!"
Oh, Why'd we ever leave the Hallelujah?

I left you in the dark to pray;
I fell asleep, I fell away.
They asked me and I said I never knew you.
But when it comes, the dawn sublime,
I see the light, and every time
The rooster crows, it's singing, "Hallelujah!"

Beside the king, a broken thief,
But on the cross his last relief;
The only one who ever understood You.
"I tell you, ere the sun arise,
I'll be with you in paradise
And we will all together Hallelujah!"

They hanged You on that bitter tree,
My King on cross on Calvary;
With spears and nails and thorns, they overthrew You.
"My God, my God," your broken plea,
"Oh, Why have You forsaken me?
I need You and I need Your Hallelujah!"

But soon to come that hallow-day
When earth and sky shall pass away
And all the saints, enraptured, will come to You.
When every tongue will swear the vow
And every knee, in awe, will bow
To You and to Your glory, Hallelujah!

Sonnets

1. This Maiden I Hath Never Met


Her shadows flicker, flit across
My gaze, and I, by Love's chains bound,
Am summon'd and my soul is toss'd
Into the Hunt. And as the hound
May whimper at the distant sighs
Of Death, who's hid yet 'neath His veil,
I augur ill her looming eyes
Which linger, reason to assail.
Embark I thence to vain pursue
This dread-wench, daughter of my mind.
Fair Cupid ne'er his arrow drew
So sure as this, which struck me blind
That I, love-curséd, shan't forget
This maiden I hath never met.

2. The Rose's Sheen


A wizened stranger, gray and mad
Pursued me on the narrow way.
Bare-scalp'd, his hoary frame unclad,
He sought my tragic heart to sway.
"Hast Beauty thou espied?" quoth he,
"It's naught but phantom tricks and spells
That crazéd men in cages see.
'Tis heaven dream'd in mortal hells."
Yet clement stream the Sun’s swift rays
Tho’ I by bleakest night subsist.
I cherish, through Time’s ebon haze,
All crimson lips I never kiss’d.
There’s beauty in the rose’s sheen
Though undertrod, by eyes unseen.

3. For Thee Alone


Ere dawn'd the Sun or wax'd the Moon,
When Death no man had ever touch'd,
Before the firmaments were strewn
With stars and spheres in orbits clutch'd,
I loved thee then. And tho' my mind
Rememb'reth not past mother's womb
Nor scrieth futures undivin'd
Nor seeth aught but present doom,
Yet swear I still, by all who dar'd
To know where knowledge can't be prov'd,
Ere e'en I breath'd, my heart was bar'd
For thee alone; by thee it's sooth'd.
This love I hazard to believe
Years ne'er can quell nor Time conceive.

4. A Thousand Gentle Words


A thousand gentle words I spake
To her. And to her I profess'd
A steadfast ardor naught could break.
My passion's truth I oft confess'd.
Yet crooked corners of my soul
In surety could not confide.
And tho' I sought her to extol,
Doubt's shadow with me e'er would glide.
This dubious nether-shade is kin
To hanging fruit and ebbing drink
Which Tantalus could never win.
Thus is my curse. That it would shrink
Away from me! My life I'd give
An* I'd avert Doubt's somber sieve.*

Used as an archaic form of "If."

5. The Master Self-Proclaim'd


This man, whose name I hath forgot,
The master self-proclaim'd o'er Fate.
And She to him denieth not
His fantasies, but now will wait
For lies to snare him. Blinded by
Her patient schemes, he's soon away
To vanquish all beneath the sky.
A king of kings! All mortals stray
To him, and awestruck gods avow
His might. Yet Fate shall judgment mete.
He'll fall, and doth it matter how
Her doom upon him be complete?
Whe'er plague or sword or noose his bane,
'Tis by his slave the master's slain.

6. What's Love?


What's Love? A thousand quills could scribe
A thousand scrolls and ne'er impart
Her truer meaning, nor describe
Her mien. Eludeth She their art
And countless lies of Her are said.
In Life's immortal drama, She
By Passion's often play'd instead.
Love's shy, and mortals seldom see
Her unconceal'd. Yet I'll aspire
To meet Her whilst She may be found
Before I to the grave retire.
Against all hope, my hopes abound.
For paths to Her whom I await
Are clear, unwinding, ever-straight...

7. The Sharpest Thorn


And thou'rt the scarlet rose I've grasp'd,
Thy thorns and petals intertwin'd.
Thou, maiden whom my heart hath clasp'd,
Mayst carelessly, with half a mind,
Disarm me with thine angel-eyes
Or slay me with a languid stare.
Thy laughter, 'tis my paradise!
Yet scowl, and thou art my despair.
My fragile spirit can't contend
With thee. Thy beauty's far too fair,
Thy charms too sweet. Can man defend
Against thee? Let him now beware!
The sharpest, vilest, meanest thorn
Thee, brightest rose, will e'er adorn.

8. A Hand Well Play'd


There is a lass in ev'ry dale
Whose beauty all the lads would swear
Is peerless. They shall never fail
To praise her form, her grace, her hair
And all her fairest features. Each
Will call her when she passeth by.
Before she's met they'll beg and preach
Their love to her, who's young and spry
And nameless, for they know her not.
As seasons bloom and briskly fade,
So is she swiftly, soon forgot.
For them, she's but a hand well play'd.
Their Love to other maids they'll lend
But never give nor comprehend.

9. The Heart's Deceit


The heart's deceit's above all things.
What else on earth could imitate
Its Siren-calls, which draw all kings
And men? I'd suffer Hell's black gate
To cross ere suffer Love to lose.
Or so I say, for She's a sly
And tricky beast. A wily muse
Is Love, Whose truth is oft a lie.
Oh! Rarer than a summer frost
And sweeter than a fragrant kiss
Is Love that's true. It hath no cost
Too great to meet. What woe to miss
This Love so lovely to behold!
Unfading, timeless, clear and bold...