Oh Why, Oh Why?

In the 2012 Summer, I decided to take an Argumentative Writing coure. My assignment was to compose a Rogerian style essay about a controversial topic while incorporating elements from Shakespeare's Othello. It was perhaps the most difficult essay I had ever attempted. And I really do mean attempted because I didn't finish it. At two in the morning, I finished what I was willing to turn in: a pleading for a better grade than a zero. I never wrote the rogerian essay. Instead, I wrote a little essay about my life and what went wrong entitle Oh Why, Oh Why? I hope you enjoy the first part.

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     Long ago, but not too long ago, if you happened to be walking down an old quiet street near a catholic hospital, you might have spied a child being born. It wasn't unusual for children to be born at a hospital, for most children are hardly born anywhere else, neither was it unusual for hospitals to have fraternity wards where babies are placed in incubators. But what would have been unusual was if you were were walking down an old quite street near a catholic hospital on this particular night. It was a Wednesday night, a work night, with no time to spare for late night excursions to local hopstitals. Instead, you might have been with friends or family members celebrating the fall of another great empire. With glasses filled high, you should have been celebrating as all Americans do. This was the year 1991, the fall of the Soviet Union, the great clamour after the wintry wars, the year a child was born in a catholic hospital.

     For whatever happened to that child, from there to now, will not be told in every detail and in every way - heaven knows it would take almost twenty-two years. But what will be told is how unusual his life was, and how it became tangled, and perplexed, and every other sort of unpleasantness you could muster to the front of your imagination. For it began early one morning during his 5th grade year.

     "Logan!... No reply... "Logan!" ... No reply... "Logan!" ... still no reply. His mother came in slamming open the door and ripping the binds nearly off their hinges. For an obscure reason, as we may all know the nasty habit of an unwilling spirit near a fragile device, the clock at the bed-side had malfunctioned during the night. The alarm didn't sound and he was late for school.
     In shorter time than it takes an angry mother to count to three, Logan was sitting at the breakfast table looking like a tornado through the prairie land. But he was eathing without another worry. Surely the storm was at it's eye. Was there no bus-stop to which he would, shortly, be frantically running? Was there not a bus drive who brought doughnuts every Wednesday or a teacher at the other end of the transit system by which little people were kept to tight schedules and packed classrooms? Nay, the only transit system was his sppon and his bowl of cereal. And if you ask me, they were quite efficient.

     By breakfast's end, Logan should have been sitting with is classmates preparing to share his dreams of becoming something when he became an adult. His previous classmates wanted to be lawyers and doctors and teachers and firefighters and policement and everything to do with great services for the common good. But not Logan. Logan wasn't at school today, nor any other day that year, because in his fifth grade year his mother began teaching at home.

     In the 6th grade year, opening his father's chemistry book, he didn't want to be a lawyer or a doctor or a teacher or a firefighter or a policeman or anytihgn to do with great services for the commond good. Logan wanted to be a physicist or a chemist. And what naturally attraced his attention wasn't the beginning of his book, where the safe metals and metloids could be found, it was the back where chapters started with Nuclear. The more complex they were, the more he wanted to learn. The more dangerous they were, the more he wanted to master. Perahps, it was best he wasn't at a school with packed classrooms and tight schedules. Perhaps, a slip of a wrist or a push of a schedule would send more than enough wind to rattle a paper's edge - and all the doughnuts would be burnt as well. For whatever purpose he was not at school, he was learning at home in a most unusual way.

     But promise is a promise and, when I promise not to tell every detail, I mean to keep it. There was a long span between his 6th grade year and his college summer class where he expanded his mind and learned how the world didn't work. He learned commerce and how to have business talks with representatives of multi-million dollar companies - of course, between highschool exams. He traveled the United States and learned about the Civil War by the sites he walked. But the comings and goings of adventure between his elementary and college education is succumbed with too much detail. It was unusual, yes, but his college summer class is where his life ceased to be unusual and became tangled, and perplexed, and ever other sort of unpleasantness you could muster to the front of your imagination. His summer college class was fraught with essays.

     He was not longer awaken with spontaneous explosions from his door and his eye's seared by he sudden burst of light. No one was yelling his name or counting to three - no one was awake. Instead, a small device near his bed-side miraculously began to work. For, miraculously, was the only way to describe the working of that clock. The sound was that static screech between channels. It was broken without hope. But every morning at 5:30am, between Monday and Thursday, Logan slumped out of bed and crawled to the shower. Not even tornadoes dance at this time.

     The shower brought no comfort. Slouching the corner, face to the wall, he would fancy catching the lasts bits of sleep or preparing for the upcoming class. On his desk, in his room, he knew the essay wasn't complete. He knew any mad attempt to finish the last lines would end in failure, he knew his time was up. His life had ceased being unusual and became tangled, and perplexed, and every other srot of unpleasantness you could muster to the front of your imagination at 6:30am. But this is the story of a child born in an old catholic hopsital, on a Wednesday night, the year a great empire fell.

     As a student, I know what's it's like when you see another essay deadline. You don't see completion, you don't see victory. You see something dark, and cold, and long nights, and early mornings, and an endless spiral to insanity. In short, it is universally agreed by the student body that essays are the bane to good health. But this insignificant body of "soon-to-be's" aren't the only ones. They are not alone against college professors. There are legions of psychologists and neuroscientists who agree that sleep deprivation, the leading side-effect to essays, alter emotional balances, increase a human's probability of being violent (emtionally and, potentially, physically), reduce cognitive reflexes, and reduces overall retention.



(To be continued...)

Simple Sadness ~ Why Readers Appreciate a Simply Sad Tale

      I've always wanted to write a story about a young woman who had a late night dinner with Christ. A simple tale about child love and adult regret. But time has impaired me, so I intend to give it away as an example to a greater truth. Who knows, one day another may finish it for me.

       The tale goes like this. A long time ago when America was younger, a time as C.S. Lewis described as having the most mouth watering candy around. A time where everything was a bit more beautiful because everything was a bit more central. A time Prayer was still in school and the farm-houses were still found in the rolling grasslands, but still a time not entirely worth describing because it would leave the reader too depressed to finish the story.

       In this most common setting we find an even more common situation - a most unpleasant woman. She wore dresses that were too small and shoes that were too big. Her skin was too pale, even for distress, and her eyes wore a teary shroud. But everyone knew her for her golden hair. This was perhaps the only bright and most decent thing about her.

      She would spend her days having tea with her self and spend nights cutting the memories from her arms. She loved her parents, and her love was killing her.

       The night came where she slipped a note beneath her aunt's and uncle's door, swept down the stairs, out across the lawn, to sit at a table and wish the moon and the stars farewell. Smiling to herself, she knew she would seem them again. The table was prepped, the knife glinted in her hand. But death has a way to give a last word.

      She was startled by the sound of crunching leaves. And before I describe anything more, I must say the conversation that passed between them is the only privacy allowed to my story. However, there is something I would like to share. Just before I drew the curtains on this shadowy tale, something was said. Something simple.

      He saw here wrists. Each furrow strummed to the harmony of sorrow and pain. Each rivet burrowed to the cries of the heart.

       "I just want it to stop." her eyes beginning to swell, " just for it to stop."

       And the man reached forward, laying out both of his arms, "So do I." She saw the holes and began to cry."

      Writing is a delicate matter. If you stress sadness, you only stress the readers. The truth is sad enough, there's no reason to tell anyone why it's sad.

Time, and again...

 "The greatest teacher of economics is Time."


     There are two are two images that come to mind when I think of time. First, a place. There is always a place in time. And too often people try to take it with them. Perhaps it was a moment with a child at a playground or a coversation with a friend over the phone. But when they take it, to relive again, they forget what made it beautiful is that it happend then and not now. What made it unforgettable was that it wasn't always there. And perhaps the greatest beauty is found in pain because it shows one cared. And the Second, a saturation. Time will cease to exist, but our memories will continue. Life is a gift of God, a constant revelation of His beauty and His creation. And when we remember these two things, I believe we begin to understand the Apostle Paul when he said, "To live is Christ, and to die is gain."

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end. I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life. And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.

                                                                                    ~ King Solomon, Ecclesiastæs

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
 

                            ~ Emily Dickinson, Because I could not stop for Death

Prince Charming ~ A Fairy Tale

A man once proclaimed Prince Charming doesn't exist. In the act of tearing down the exotic hedonist temple, he tried to do what no man has ever done - not even Prince Charming - to salvage the man without the soul. For it never once occured that there was such a thing as Prince Charming not because he failed to exist, but that he existed so often and so wonderfully it was inevitable. What I mean to say is this: the greatest attack on human virtue has come by the abolishment of Prince Charming and the desolation of Sleeping Beauty.

At the root of a problem there is always a conundrum of storytelling too quickly disimissed. In the story of Prince Charming we find a man facing a dragon that at every twist and turn is ready to consume his flesh and strip his bones. We find a man who cannot take, but must over-come. And in the darkest hour his triumph comes from an otherworldly commitment, a sprinkle of magic we're still puzzling our puzzler to understand. Prince Charming isn't charming because he's perfect, he's perfect because he is a prince and is still charming.

However, in the destruction of our consumate temple we have lost our prize, the pinnicle of our resolution: an unfeigned woman. Our humble beginnings brings us to humble endings. In the morning twilight we find a woman. Her beauty is unbudded, her virtue is unfelt, but her life is yet complete. As the prince sits by her side, stretching out to awaken her for the first time, he can only understand that while she is yet asleep her soul is the most wonderful creature he has ever known, and when she awakes her spirit will be forevermore.

But at the heart of every fairy tale is the paradox that ruined us all - That while we were yet sinners, Christ died. A commitment was fullfilled by otherworldly powers, sprinkled by magic that has puzzled our puzzler. And as the bride of Christ we wait, unfeigned, before the sacrifice of Christ. But perhaps the greatest tale we have ever told was Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty. While we wait, we hope. And while we hope, we remember that everything worth keeping was never some thing but always virtue.

A Late Night Journal Post ~ Aug. 26th 1:34am

Several nights ago, I was sitting at my desk wondering what my life would become. It was quiet sad because life's greatest questions shouldn't come after ever other possible endeavor: I had watched all my favourite YouTube clips (which I must admit are few), my books didn't quiet hit the spot (which is rare), and nobody was on facebook (By now, I knew something was wrong). My brother was asleep and, as for all I know, the only sounds were him sawing logs and a weird cat screaming outside my bedroom window. It was a lonely night as I fiddled my hands and stared at the ceiling.
 

But then, this crazy idea stepped down into my room. So crazy, there's no way I'm writing it down. I jumped out of my chair and began piecing bits together. It was so true, but so unspeakable. So real, but so bizarre. All at once it explained, but all at once it shrouded. That night, I fell asleep wondering if my life could become something new.
 

A few weeks later, a friend skyped me late at night. We had our typical introductory remarks – jokes and what not. But suddenly, the conversation became serious. He said he had a business plan for me. And as I leaned back into my chair, my friend said, “I have this crazy idea.”

It's weird how God works.

St. Aquinas ~ Cosmological Arguement in a Nutshell

The Cosomological Argument for the Existence of GodBy St. Aquinas, The Summa Theologica Pt.1, Q.2, Art. 2-3

Trailing behind the Teleological Argument, the Cosmological Argument by St. Aquinas, the second of the Quinquae Viae, has been the most popular defense for the existence of God. By asserting the principles of natural theology, this 13^th century argument has retained its popularity because of its simple, but empirically assisted, proofs. In this essay I would like to analyze the three parts of St. Aquinas' argument – the axiom of causes, order of causes, and the finiteness of the universe – declaring their merits and then following the analysis with an argument of St. Aquinas' shortcoming provided by Dr. Plantinga. However, though this argument has bore the scrutiny of almost seven centuries, including Dr. Plantinga's, I believe that St. Aquinas' Cosmological Argument is sufficient in proving the necessary existence of God.

Aquinas begins by demonstrating a system of efficient causes with several definitions that would eventually exclude the idea of an infinite causal loop. The first definition is an axiom of observation: the nature of causation follow a specified order labeled as causes, efficient causes, effects, and ultimate effects. The Second definition, that is inferential from the first, is that if this order stands then causes cannot be the efficient cause of themselves because, as Aquinas argues, “then the cause would have to be prior to itself... this being impossible.” To demonstrate this, we could say that by pressing the gas peddle your car will begin to move – demonstrating the relationship between efficient causes and effects – but it would be preposterous to continue the argument and say that the gas peddle is also being pushed because the car is moving. Not only does the latter create a circular, or self-substantiating argument, it supposes that the car is moving prior to the gas peddle being push AND moving because the gas peddle is being push. This definition, of course, contradicts the idea of a causal loop simply because, as already demonstrated, a Causal loop fails to have a first, or originate, cause. Aquinas has another cut at this argument, but in a different way, that I will address next. But this is his definition of the order of causes, efficient causes, and effects.

The second part that Aquinas addresses, he responds to the idea of a infinite line of causation by providing a causal chain imperative. Similar to the previous argument, he brings up empirical evidence of interlocking causes, efficient causes, effects, and ultimate effects. But since this point is in addition to his previous argument, Aquinas makes his point a bit more complex. First he identifies with the mathematical challenge of actualizing “actual infinity”, as would be later falsified by Mathematical Set Theory, by stating that an actually infinite line has no beginning and no end. Thus, in simple translation, in a stream of infinite causation you must drop the idea of a first cause and an ultimate effect (the beginning and the end). As St. Aquinas explains, “But if in efficient causes it is possible to go on to infinity, there will be no fist efficient cause, neither will there be an ultimate effect...” What Aquinas is arguing is if you take away the first cause you must also take away the last effect, and if you take away both the first cause and ultimate effect then what evidence can you provide of having an intermediate cause? Are there any justifiable reasons to argue that the entire universe is held by only intermediate causes? I would agree with Aquinas when he says, “It's impossible.”

But this is where Aquinas ends his cosmological inquiry. He identifies an empirical order of efficient causes in the universe, he discredits an infinite causal loop, argues directly against any “actual” infinity arguments, and ends not with a solution but a defined void that necessitates God – something that must have been causeless, infinite, and the necessary first cause of the universe. Or, as St. Aquinas would say, “Therefore it is necessary to admit a first efficient cause, to which everyone gives the name of God.”

Though Aquinas has been merited by the physical sciences, and his use of natural theology, is it still subjected to several severe shortcomings. These shortcomings were detailed by Dr. Alvin Plantinga in his book God and Other Minds. He dedicates the first part not only to demonstrate weaknesses of the cosmological argument, but, even though outside the scope of this essay, to weaknesses of Natural Theology as a whole. His arguments contend that the Cosmological Argument fails to determine where the termination of causes resides and that the Cosmological Argument fails to attributed “God” to a specific form of Theism.

Dr. Plantinga's proposal against St. Aquinas' first part of his argument, as details in paragraph two, entails questioning where the termination of causes resides. Now for a moment, one would expect a complex array of philosophical, meta-analogical, or theological truths that have been buried in multi-translated books. However, this isn't even remotely close to the truth. Dr. Plantinga simple points out that St. Aquinas makes too large of a jump from point one to point two. Just because objects end doesn't conclude at what point they end. And so his argument is that the universe could have had an infinite past and will ultimately end some time in the future.

His second argument against St. Aquinas' involves particularity of Deity. If given all the arguments of St. Aquinas, the order of causation, the fixed point of causal termination, and the finiteness of the universe, Dr. Plantinga argues that St. Aquinas made another “leap” from point to point. How is it that an infinite, causeless, or necessary first cause entail an animate, personal, or in any form, a rational God? The case being made by Dr. Plantinga against St. Aquinas is that there are two jumps being made that ultimately cannot be made, and that since St. Aquinas' argument stands or falls upon those two points, it remains that St. Aquinas' argument must fall.

In presenting St. Aquinas' Cosmological argument, I set out to briefly attend to the analysis of the three parts of his argument, to show why perhaps I would agree with such arguments, and to do so while providing the reader with an adequate view of short comings. Though it is unfair to contain St. Aquinas and Dr. Plantinga to a few short paragraphs, I would hope that there would be instilled a schemata for further investigation, a view that nothing is entirely sealed from further human inquiry – even if has survived for eight centuries.

Classes and Glasses

It's that time again. I have survived six weeks of philosophy and government classes, turned-in and received my first wave of assignments, and now I am left in my bedroom correcting them. Though the grades were exciting, somehow this doesn't feel like the life I sign-up for.

My Ethics professor is one of a kind, and I don't mean a corny poker-line, he is one of a kind. I have never seen a person continually go out of his way to embarrass a student and protract the tenant til the end of class. I am not saying the student was innocent, but such dedication must be duly noted. I remember him speaking on a principle of Aristotle and a student began to talk. After respectfully hearing him through, the professor asked, "I am sorry, but what did that have to do with what I'm saying?" the student replied, "nothing." There is hope for the community college, at least the student understood the sporadicity of his comment. But as time continues I have been given opportunities I would not have had. On several occasions I was the only one, or one of only a few, that stood against popular opinion; Arguing in defense that Sex Requires Commitment, that Morality requires Religion, and that Social Moral Relativity is untenable. In a way, I have seen how it often takes one voice to say, "no," for a whole society to say, "what?" and then give their full attention.

My Introduction to Philosophy Professor gives Philosophy it's mystique. If a fifty year old man can walk into class with pink jeans, equally pink shirt, gray hair that billows about his shoulders with every step and nod, and has reverted to pegging his students with candy for every question ask, one could only question his sanity. Has decades of teaching community college cracked his mind? As I often wonder at this, he flippantly throws practical remarks that only confuses and cracks the minds of his students. Though he is a philosopher of the people showing disgust concerning modern socio-trends, it's entertaining to see how every philosophical concept can be reduced to either sex, drugs, or alcohol - I guess it reflects the common currency of modern society.

Then there is my Introduction to American Government Professor, and she is no exception. I believe it is worth attending her class just to see what she will wear. Today her wardrobe featured high-heeled, open toe boots, blue jeans, a red and white square-print shirt (or skirt. It's one of those "too short to be a skirt and too long to be a shirt"), a black over sweatshirt, and, to top off the menagerie, a brown broad-brimmed hat that featured a feather from one side - and yes she wore it inside class. But somehow when she teaches it's enjoyable. Maybe it's the way she talks, like old friends sitting for a conversation. She enjoys every bit of it as a pass-time and often forgets that there are students listening.

Now the sun is setting and I am still at my computer correcting. Through the blinds I see the last rays of sunshine and see that rain is on its way. Life is exciting and wonderful and unpredictable, it isn't the life I signed up for - But for that I am thankful.