On anger.

One day, I was talking to a politically outspoken friend of mine (whose name I shall keep wisely private) on the subject of Korean evangelism.  He seemed his usual fiery self, slashing his verbal furies at the Korean missionaries who were captured and detained by the Taliban in 2007.  When I opined that the missionaries didn’t deserve their plight (and that no one does, in fact, deserve that kind of plight), my friend asserted to the contrary: “The government tried to stop them; they didn’t relent.  They obviously did deserve it.”

This unforgiving attitude had me thinking, not really about evangelism–for I knew that evangelism was a stupid enterprise anyway–but about anger.  Do we really have the right to be angry at people?  Can we condemn people to our wrath for their wrongdoings?  Can we be forgiving and be angry at the same time?  What is the correct type of anger, should one exist?

Anger, for me, is a rather crude expression of discontent.  The angry person usually fails to get their way: all they do is shout at their adversaries, slighting them with brute force, wiping their insides clean of any positive energy.  There are slicker, more destructive methods of venting their fury; but anger doesn’t address them.  Anger is blunt and rushed–it doesn’t care about anything except getting its point across.

And this is exactly why anger is acceptable.  Anger means no bad intention: in fact, anger usually means good intention.  Anger usually aims to iron out a situation, to settle disputes and to redesign relationships.  Of course, anger shouldn’t be a surefire consequence of discontent: if my friend were to lose something of my possession, more than a momentary fit of frustration could exacerbate our situation.  But if, say, my friend were to step out of line that gravely concerned me, anger would become the key to recovering a relationship beginning to break at the seams.

Anger’s crudeness is what saves it from degeneracy.  If it were to descend as far as its more elaborate cousins–deception, cruelty, discrimination, pride, jealousy–it’d be far more tempting to condemn a wrathful person.  But believe me–every wrathful person, or at least the most of them, deserves a bit of our thanks.

On the Haitian earthquake, a curse, and a wretch.

Destruction let itself loose on the Haitian people in the afternoon of the 12th of January, 2010.  In almost one instant, a whole nation found itself in utter chaos–disaster of proportions unimaginable to those blessed with safe, prosperous lives (like us).  Houses fell like dominoes.  Piles of mangled bodies pervaded the streets.  Hospitals became virtual war-zones.  These people have suffered.

And in the midst of all the mourning, there emerged one wretched man for whom I’ll spare no pretense.  This man is either disillusioned or cruelly deceptive, and it’s this man who puts any believer in God (and God Himself, no doubt) to absolute shame.  This man is Pat Robertson, a televangelist of great prominence in the United States and–arguably–the face of conservative Christianity in the world today.

Robertson is undoubtedly a very spiritual guy.  That is something not worth our energy reserved for discussion and thought.  But what exactly does this designation mean?  Does Robertson know God?  Does Robertson practice the right faith?

Any believer can be “a very spiritual person”–he merely needs to be stubbornly assured about his faith.  He merely needs to think that he practices the right faith, that he knows God.  Whether he actually does is a question that requires a more committed inquiry to answer.  Robertson is a very spiritual person, but his spiritual sentiments are abominable.  He is a wretch of a human being–and this is my merciless, well-calculated judgment.  His beliefs make him an advocate of the wrongheaded faith, and he’s been serving an imaginary God for decades.

And I’m sure of all this.  How?  Well, I came across a little video of his evangelism that introduced the man to me in the first place.  Here it is:

This video all but confirms that this man is senile.  A pact with the Devil?  A curse?  Okay.  Let me explain.

Let’s try re-illustrating this situation.  So the Haitians are a colony of the French, slaving away under their subjugation.  They yearn for freedom–which, in our sense of morality today, is an inalienable right to any person on the planet.  Now, knowing this rather noble desire, the Devil somehow confronts the Haitians (can you visualize this?) in some presumed reenactment of Adam’s original sin (which I think to be not worth our attention either, but that’s reserved for another post).  The Devil curses their existence in exchange for their freedom.  Hopelessly myopic, the people give in and the pact is sealed.  Disaster ensues in the nation for years and years on end, which culminated with an earthquake that takes the lives of thousands.  Now, what are the problems with that?  Here’s a list of them:

• Why would the Devil appear to the Haitians–and only the Haitians?
• Why is this the only time in recorded history in which the Devil appeared?
• Why didn’t we know about this “curse” earlier–and possibly minimize its effects?
• What would the exchange have looked like?
• What does the Devil look like?
• If the people approached the Devil first, how would they have contacted him?
• Why would God have allowed this to occur–especially if He knew that it would occur anyway?
• How could Pat Robertson have known this?
• How can we take earthly indicators such as a destitute economy and a catastrophic earthquake to mean a curse?
• If the Haitians are cursed, then are the Africans cursed too?
• Is there a Devil at all (I mean, if there’s a God, then the chances of the Devil’s existence are rather slim)?
• Is freedom from slavery a base enough desire to merit a curse in exchange?  Isn’t personal liberty an obvious human prerogative?

And the list goes on.  These iron-clad declarations are signs of a faith based on falsehoods and lies–because a) it just doesn’t make any sense; and b) it leads us into judging other people as inferior to ourselves.  This pattern rings true for Pat Robertson especially, a man who has denounced Islam as “Satanic” and Hinduism as “demonic;” a man who has claimed to have personally contacted God and offered a list of hilariously erroneous predictions that were “divinely inspired;” a man who calls for people to initiate heartfelt vengeance against sin in this world; a man who fiercely condemns homosexuals and feminists; and a man who’s committed a string of more and more controversies so many in number and so tragicomedic in nature that they deserve their own Wikipedia article.

This is the faith that divides the world.  This is the faith that destroys buildings in sectarian anger; that drives people to kill others in utter blindness; that refuses to be defied in the human consciousness, even when its flaws are hopelessly blatant.  God was never meant to be at the center of our own cycle of mass misanthropy.  This is where the great change needs to be.

P.S. I’m not a great fan of prayer, mostly because I don’t think it works (a topic that certainly merits further discussion in another post).  But I solemnly pray that the Haitians will stand strong against this disaster and reemerge as a greater people.  My great condolences to the families of the injured and the departed.  I’m sorry that this happened, but the hopes for a brighter day remain strong.

P.P.S. And to all those who can read this blog right now–all those who are rich enough to afford computers and Internet access–let’s spare our sympathies for the dying.  I’m no philanthropist, but I call that we help these people out.  They’re dying, ladies and gentlemen.  They’re suffering.

On temperance.

To me, temperance operates on two contexts: one with only alcohol and the other with any sort of indulgent desire.  I’ll address both here.

Temperance from alcohol – also known as sobriety and teetotalism, among others – seems a largely immaterial moral.  In all honesty, I have no problem with drinkers.  I have more than a few friends in New Zealand who (seemingly, at least) get drunk every week.  Drinking at college (and at high school too) has evolved from unnecessary pastime to rite of passage.  Indeed, it’s grown so bloated, so ingrained into the adolescent culture in the West that there’s a certain pride, an insufferable sense of self-righteousness that runs through those bad boys (and girls too).

But alcoholism becomes a vice – and temperance a virtue – when:

• You drink too much. This is quite logical.  An excess of anything is detrimental to anyone’s health–that’s the connotation behind “excess”–and this applies well with alcohol.
• You convince others to drink with you. Keep your drinking to yourself.  There’s no need to exert your pro-booze sway to others who don’t quite appreciate your ethos as much as you do.
• You look down on people who don’t drink. This is, in short, quite ridiculous.  It’s beyond comprehension, and it’s the misconception that haunts every teen who believes drinking is the most hip thing to do.
• You drink for the sake of drinking. This is the most atrocious repercussion of drunk pride–of the conceit that courses through cliques who patronize their sober counterparts.  You begin to drink because it permeates your identity.  Of course, this is an exhibition of complete idiocy.  You ought to drink because you like its pleasure.

Quite simple, isn’t it?  But temperance in general is a more complicated issue.  Believers–Christians especially–think that indulging in any desire is frankly wrong, and that one should always be proper and collected, calm and composed in the face of any hankering want.  Temperance, for these people, means to curb something built into the human instinct.  It’s natural that this seems irrational.  But is it really?

Consider the desires of the average human being.  There’s our desire for nourishment, our desire for sex, and our desire for everyday pleasure.  Isn’t there the slightest chance that these desires conflict with our everyday aspirations?  If our most primitive desires get in the way of our lifelong ambitions–even if these desires are part of the human instinctual condition–they deserve to be tempered.  They deserve to be curbed.

Picture: http://www.britsattheirbest.com/images/l_whisky_glass_fire_400w.jpg

On faith.

Faith can easily turn many people off by its outer shell, its countenance.  The reasons for this are straightforward:

• It can amount to intellectual dishonesty
• It can lead to a lot of emotional stress
• It can’t only be maintained by empty words–it requires real-time commitment
• And probably most of all, it’s been largely misunderstood to comprise of tedious tasks that lack intrinsic value.

I’ve heard many a sermon that preach for consistency in the usual Christian lifestyle.  This lifestyle is mainly composed of church attendance, prayer, Bible reading, persistent contributions to offertory, among many other things that seem really pointless on their own, especially to the outsider.  These outsiders-to-faith have found this lifestyle as a definition for faith, as something they don’t really understand.  They don’t want anything to do with it, really.

But of course, you can almost predict at this point that this isn’t really the case.

Those sermons I’ve heard countless times that propagate the values of the Christian lifestyle aren’t totally misguided.  For sure, the act of actually going to church isn’t necessary for faith.  It can help immensely (really, it can), but it’s not essential.  But there are values being cultivated through attending church every week:

• Patience–listening to sermons attentively for an hour (at the least) can be very taxing and nearly impossible
• Willingness to change–a willingness for introspection can be very important for anyone to grow as a person, and attending church regularly can expose you to that opportunity
• Understanding–understanding is the first (and sometimes only) important step to spiritual growth
• Persistence for regularity–in the instant-gratification pell-mell world of today, it’s hard to find someone who can actually impose a strict schedule for themselves.  This is admittedly something that anyone can benefit from, and going to church can bring you closer to daily regularity.

… among many important others.  This is the importance of a Christian lifestyle–it doesn’t necessarily translate to faith on its own, but it assumes its own responsibility in crafting a greater, more faithful person.

This then brings us to questions more enigmatic, more difficult to answer–what is faith? Is faith necessary to be good?  Why should one be faithful?

These are the questions for you to ponder (and for me to come back to very, very soon).

On lying.

I’ll come clean.  Today, I lied.  Yesterday, I lied too.  Day by day, I find myself lying again and again.  And I know all of you–yes, all of you–find yourself in the exact same circumstance.

Countless individuals have panned lying for centuries, more or less for the selfsame reason throughout: lying is grounded on unethical, immoral behavior.  Saint Augustine proclaimed it; Thomas Aquinas agreed; Immanuel Kant also believed so.  Lying, according to these gentlemen, involves abusing one’s right to speech, misdirecting a potentially great number of people into potentially detrimental repercussions, compromising the point of trusting someone else, and promoting cynicism and even blatant animosity towards others.

And yet we all lie incessantly.  Why?

Well, the psychology to lying is simple: we think lying will bring a more gratifying circumstance than telling the truth.  I’ve lied countless times over the past year, and the common thread amongst every single lie was simple–I thought that these lies will reduce my habitual distress and craft an easier life.  I’ve rarely told a lie in avarice, wanting more than my share; my conscience wouldn’t have left me alone if I had.  But I’ve told lies, for example, to keep my secrets.  I’ve told lies to cut an explanation short.  I’ve told lies to repair broken relationships.  I tell lies to simplify things, to make my life easier.

Lying, however, carries a heavy price.  Massive misfortune can befall any liar–a select few of which are laid out below.

1. It’s always burdened by a risk–the risk of, of course, someone finding out the truth.  And I assure you: one lie uncovered can be a serious blow to your trustworthiness.
2. This risk can cause some serious inner distress, especially for the more insecure at heart.  Worrying over how someone else might find out is synonymous to expending needless human energy.
3. Lies don’t remain as they are.  When something you’ve said isn’t anchored on reality, it’s subject to change and distortion.
4. Some people reach a new level of senselessness by lying to some people and telling the truth to others.  You can guess what that always leads to.
5. Lying leads to more lies.  More lies leads to a heavier weight on your conscience.  More weight on your conscience leads to greater pain within.
6. Lying inherently requires much energy to maintain.  It’ll probably be a better use of your time just telling the truth.
7. Lies can be easily detected by many people.  Enough said.
8. And finally, lying–most of the time–is just wrong.  This might just be the only reason that really matters.

On forgiveness.

This probably best represents your thoughts at this moment.

There’s no better time to start anew than the first of January, when calendars are thrown out and a whole new year of your life is demarcated for your pleasure.

But with starting fresh comes a responsibility of your own–a responsibility that far outsizes everything else in significance.  Science of this day tells us that it’s our perception of the world that matters more than anything, and it’s paramount in importance that we set our mentality straight for 2010.

And nothing–absolutely nothing–is better suited for that purpose than forgiveness.

³⁸“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ ³⁹But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. ⁴⁰And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. ⁴¹If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. ⁴²Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

⁴³“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. ⁴⁶If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? ⁴⁷And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? ⁴⁸Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:38-48)

This is probably the hardest of all virtues, and it’s probably the most easily ignored–and for good reason, too.  Many criticize “soft” people who forgive too easily: they say it’s all too senseless. It makes no sense, they opine swiftly, to forgive, to forget, to lose your competitive touch, to forget your dignity and human pride.

But that’s not it.

Anyone who thinks that forgiveness is a matter of losing one’s dignity has got it all wrong.  They don’t understand the point of forgiveness.  It’s about renewing trust in a person who’s done you wrong.  It’s about reconnecting, repairing a broken relationship.  There’s no dignity to be lost where you’re the one who’s forgiving.  What’s inherently practical about a relationship manacled by animosity?  How can talking behind others’ backs and channeling unadulterated negativity into your consciousness help you?

Forgiveness opens the way to a new kind of love–the kind of love that doesn’t bother to be selective.  It’s called agape–it’s the love that, according to eminent scientist Francis Collins, “seeks no recompense … is an affront to materialism and naturalism … is the sweetest joy that one can experience.”  It’s the love that’s truly unconditional, that can’t stand to be curbed, that reaches out to everyone in pure earnest.  It’s the love that inspires Doctors Without Borders to assume their work in the heady heartlands of Africa.  It’s the love that allows you to, even grudgingly, lend some lunch money to someone else–AND not bother them about paying you back.

It’s true that mathematically, in the workings of game theory, this forgiveness could very well drive us to our deaths.  It’s not evolutionarily stable–you and I need a nice, forgiving community to thrive as nice, forgiving people.  But when a nasty person comes in and fails to reciprocate your niceness, you’re subject to manipulation.  Perennial forgiveness can become, indeed, a threat to your health and welfare–and yes, it doesn’t make much practical sense.

But since when was love grounded on practicality?  To all you gentlemen out there, when you buy a necklace for your girlfriend, do you follow your economical head and not your foolish heart?  Love is grounded on foolishness–the foolishness of trust and faith and patience.  And where else can you find such wonderful sorts of foolishness?  You may dig everywhere in your vicinity, travel the depths of the world to find them–only to realize that they sit right in your burning heart.

Some New Years’ Resolutions for the Believer

1. I will put God first in all areas of my life. … I will not allow money, family, fame, or any material object to become more important to me than the God I serve.

2. I will not worship idols. … I will not treat any statue as if it were God. Neither will I worship a picture of Jesus, but rather Jesus himself.

3. I will not use the Lord’s name unless it brings him glory and honor. … I will not say “Jesus Christ” when I am angry or “Oh My God” when I am in shock.

4. I will set Sundays apart as a special day. … Just as God rested on the seventh day so will I.

5. I will treat my Father and Mother with respect. … I will obey my parents and give them honor.

6. I will not commit murder. … I will never take the life of another human being, remembering that God is the only one who gives life and has the right to take it away.

7. I will not cheat on my spouse by having an affair. … I will view my marriage as a ministry and remain true to the one God has joined me together with in Holy Matrimony.

8. I will not take anything that belongs to someone else. … I will treat other people’s property with respect and always ask first if I want to borrow something.

9. I will keep my tongue bridled and tell no lies. … I will never spread false gossip about someone else or say anything that I don’t know for a fact is true.

10. I will not harbor desire for the things other people have. … I may like what other people have, but I will not let it consume me to the point that I feel I must have it.

These were the ten New Year’s Resolutions that, according to a certain website, were essential for any Christian believer.  Anyone reasonably well-versed in Scripture will notice that these Resolutions assume the form of the Ten Commandments from the Book of Exodus.

But these Commandments aren’t exhaustive, nor are they revolutionary.  They don’t speak of every moral vice to fear, every deed to fulfill.  They don’t tell us to love, nor do they tell us to give to the poor.  They don’t tell us to share our food, and they don’t tell us to forgive.  And it’s not as if we couldn’t recognize any of these Commandments–it’s not as if they captivate us with newfound understanding.  We know them internally.

In the end, there’s only one New Year’s Resolution to really pay attention to: to listen. It’s not so descriptive, nor is it very helpful; but if you listen to your conscience, if you listen to God, if you only listen to the goodness within, your year may become all the more spectacular.

Merry Christmas!

Happy birthday, Jesus.

May the world You created celebrate and be merry today.

Merry Christmas to you all, and hopefully you get to spend this special day in your own special ways.

Merry Christmas!

And here’s your little Christmas gift, with a little Christmas message that I’m sure all of you will know deep inside:

In the Christmas spirit.

These baubles just ooze Christmas spirit, don't they...

Christmas is now only a few hours away, so it’d be fitting to immerse ourselves in that familiar Christmas spirit–and we shall do just that by talking about that one human emotion, most loved and most hated, most noble and most hopelessly foolish: LOVE.

Love is such a rare thing–and because it’s so rare, so valuable, it’s so often misunderstood.  Many have gone out of their way to elucidate its workings, to delineate how it operates from within, and yet our ignorance remains.

We’ve, for example, tried to carve out love’s biological workings–to some success.  We’ve tried to concoct a formula that identifies to the signs of love.  We’ve tried to demarcate who we love, who we don’t love, and how and why we love who we do love.

There are even different types of love–a famous Christian apologist by the name of C. S. Lewis identified four such categories.  There’s simple affection (storge), the love of friendship (philia), the love of “being in love” (eros), and charitable, unconditional love (agape)–all of which sport different methods to their madness, different colors to their effects.

Well, this is all very well and sound, but I think God meant love to be, for the most part, a bit flexible.  It simply wouldn’t make sense–it wouldn’t be very fitting–to cubbyhole love into mathematical formulas, even if we could.

But there are a few things we’re better off cleaning up for our reference.  Let’s see–whenever you love another person, I think it’s safe to say:

1. You want the best for the person. No duh.
   
2. You want to protect the person from harm. You sometimes wind up failing terribly, and crying a bunch, but you want minimal pain possible to wreak havoc on the person’s consciousness.
   
3. You want to care for the person, no matter the cost. This is the most beautiful kind of foolishness out there–where you don’t care how much pocket money you’ve saved up over the last year, you don’t care what would happen if you went out at two o’clock in the morning, and you don’t care about much else either.
   
4. You want to always be with the person. This doesn’t apply to every sort of love, but usually this is the case.
   
5. Y0u want to sacrifice yourself for the person. You think her happiness is an able substitute for your own–in the spirit of the Jesus’ timeless commandment: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
   

Now, for the negatives–beware of these:

1. You want as much of the person as possible for yourself. And if you don’t get (what you perceive to be) your share, you veritably get pissed, angry and jealous.
2. You want to impress the person as much as possible. You don’t care if you get a few cold stares from the bystanding crowd nearby.
3. You want your deficiencies to simply melt away–even if it compromises your being.  Of course, it’s a bad thing for yourself, and soon you’ll realize that this can actually hurt your relationship.

That’s all I could think of.  Maybe you can think of a few more?

Until then, hope your holidays are truly merry. :]

Needle and Haystack Life.

Who would've known?

Finding a needle in a haystack is indeed a near-impossible task – impossible enough to merit its own metaphorical reference.

But what if you were told that you yourself – that everyone on this planet, that every living being that breathes and moves and anything else that living things do – were your own needle-in-a-haystack?

Yes, life constitutes one tiny needle in one astronomical haystack – life is that bizarre, that peculiar, that extraordinary.  One minor genetic twist, one insignificant chemical rearrangement, and we would never have walked this planet.  Everything had to be just right – yes, we were one needle in a great sea of meaningless hay.

The one thing to consider at this stage is: was it all an accident? Did we come to be in one incredible fluke, in one near-inconceivable stroke of luck?  Or must we have had some purpose to our emergence?  Must there have been a being who created us, not necessarily right there and right then, but a someone who planned for us to come out of the shadow of non-existence?

We’ll never know, will we?  It’s impossible to find out right now, and it’ll presumably stay that way for a long time – which leads me to tell you, in all earnest: you only need a leap of faith to scale the difference. The only difference between a true believer and a true atheist is that one little leap of faith.  You don’t need to be an intellectually dishonest dogmatist who knowingly lies every time you’re asked about how the world came to be, or whether the Virgin Mary was really a virgin, or whether God really destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah and pitted everyone who lived there to Hell.  You just need a little bit of trust, a little bit of faith.  Do you believe in meaning, or would you rather believe in chance, in probability?  Do you believe in God the Creator, or do you believe in self-catalyzed chemical reactions?  This question is all that matters, all that differs.

In the end, we’re all needles in a haystack, after all.