second-hand

On a regular basis, the subject of whether or not I’m still smoking comes up among practically all of my friends (because they’re the kind of friends that care). I’ve legitimately quit twice since I started nearly three years ago, and made dozens of half-hearted attempts here and there (usually at the behest of a lady). I feel like it’s time I discussed how I even started, what’s kept the habit going, and how I perceive it as an individual and at a societal level.

I could try and say that it began because of the setting, and that might hold merit. I was in England, surrounded by people far beyond my age and wisdom who were introducing me to ways of thinking and living that I’d never before considered legitimate. I was an immensely curious teenager, impressionable and overwhelmed with new experiences, thoughts, ideas, and alcohol. Nights out to the pub were inevitably peppered with smoke breaks, and my curiosity demanded to know. But that wasn’t where the habit started.

Continue reading second-hand

sandy

This is a post that I started (but never finished) last August, shortly before I departed from my job at Optimal Purchase. It struck a rather potent chord with me, now that I can reflect on what that choice eventually led to.

“Zefrank had a rather delightful little question recently:

‘You partake in a medical experiment. In the experiment you are given one of two pills. You don’t know which one until after you take it. One shortens your life by 10 years, and the other lengthens your life by 10 years. You have just found out which pill you took. The question is: which pill do you think will increase the quality of your life the most? Would one make you change the way you live your life more than the other?’

The answer is rather slippery. The obvious “trick” to the question is that most people would be pressed to make more of the time they have if they discovered they had less of it available to them; thus, the life-shortening pill would be more beneficial. This assumes, however, that the person is not already making the most of their time. What is “making the most”, then? Certainly, there is no limit to how well one can spend any given amount of time, so we can’t say that such a person wouldn’t be further enhanced by the life-shortening pill. Yet it’s a difference of twenty years that’s at stake, and a great many things can be accomplished and experienced in that time. I feel strongly that I am making excellent use of my time, currently – but will I look back in a decade and say the same?

Continue reading sandy

ears

Without fail, at some point every few years I think to myself “Man, I would be totally down with being sick right now”. It’s usually been a long time since I was last sick (in this case, I haven’t been sick for 16 months), and I’ve forgotten precisely how miserable being sick is. Yet, for whatever reason, the thought of making sweaty love to my trash can and a box of kleenex doesn’t seem so bad when I start thinking about how much I’d love to sit on my ass for a few days. My body is usually quite quick to make this wish come true, although I’ve begun to wonder if that’s just the little microbes playing mind control games to get my guard down. Clever bastards.

Still, being sick does leave me with renewed appreciation for being healthy, which is something I’ve come to ignore as I keep smoking. It’s hard to weigh consequences that are so distant against a pleasure so imminent, particularly when most of my smoking peers don’t think much about it. And that, for me, is where most of the enjoyment of smoking comes. There’s much to be said for the communal enjoyment of drink and smoke, which is how I started, in England.

The image of smoking in my mind plays a role, as well. I like defying the standard cliches. For many non-smokers, there’s a very strong lack of understanding – they only know the nasty second-hand vapors that linger around the exits of every building, or the thoughtless smattering of crushed butts on cement. Careless addiction is certainly a feature of the demographic, but I like being able to understand that, and I don’t really mind the association.

Call me crazy, but I’ve always wondered what the experience of real addiction would be like. A friend at L’Abri shared some powerful stories about his addiction and subsequent time in rehab. That’s a reality I’ll never experience – and while I’m grateful, I also wish I could truly understand what he was describing. His descriptions were impossibly dark and grotesque, and try as I might, I couldn’t empathize. I had absolutely nothing to offer him beyond goofy antics and a pre-packaged idea of what God could do for him, even as I struggled to figure out what exactly God was doing for me. His experiences far overwhelmed my arrogance, however, and I was ultimately left speechless in the face of a reality that Christianity could not resolve.

Smoking’s certainly a weak attempt to gain access to that understanding, but I can’t say it’s been an experience I’ve regretted. Now that I’ve learned something, I should probably kick the habit.

Guh.

hrm

Edith,

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend for the fall term, due to financial problems. I hope to get back to L’Abri sooner or later, but this fall will not be possible. I should have my debt repaid soon, however.

Thanks for everything.
Tim

For whatever reason, it was very hard to send this email.

God, I miss it.

supermodels

In my first week at L’Abri, I became consumed with developing a model for human interaction with supernature. This was a result of being introduced to the transcendentals (truth, beauty, goodness), and my fascination has since not waned.

The model, as I last touched it, was as follows:

RATIONAL: Father – Truth – Faith – Mind
EMOTIONAL: Son – Goodness – Hope – Heart
SPIRITUAL: Spirit – Beauty – Love – Soul

supernaturenature

1) Truth: that which is worthy of faith.
2) Goodness: that which is worthy of hope.
3) Beauty: that which is worthy of love.

4) Faith: our mind’s attempt to interact with truth.
5) Hope: our heart’s attempt to interact with goodness.
6) Love: our soul’s attempt to interact with beauty.

7) Mind: our best tool for understanding truth.
8) Heart: our best tool for understanding goodness.
9) Soul: our best tool for understanding beauty.

To test the accuracy of this model, I also attempted to switch out the transcendentals and their corresponding verbs with their opposites.

Truth :: Falseness
Goodness :: Evil
Beauty :: Corruption

Faith :: Distrust
Hope :: Despair
Love :: Hate

Falseness – Distrust
Evil – Despair
Corruption – Hate

There are a few more dimensions to this model that I can’t do with text, so if I have any luck at resurrecting my skills of an artist, I’ll finish my explanation with that.

meta

Tis time for some explanations, I do think.

I have struggled, since my return, with the reality I experienced in Europe. It was a reality like none I’ve ever known before, and it has crushed my soul to think that I cannot experience that reality here, at home. It was the nearest to perfection that I’ve witnessed, the closest to joy, the kind of life that I have longed for since I ever began longing. It is an immense feeling to know that there are answers for my desires, but the weight of that feeling is matched only by the distance of that answer in my own reality.

L’Abri (French for ‘shelter’) was a place of origins which I did not (and do not) find desirable. Founded during the heights of modernism by a Christian presuppositionalist apologetic about fifty years ago, it started as a place for people to come and challenge the intellectual and moral integrity of Christianity. While elements of that remain, it is now more the response to postmodernism, a community which lives as the response to modern pluralism, moral relativism, neo-fundamentalism, and the many isms that permeate the world’s breadth and depth of idealogies and creeds.

L’Abri is first, and foremost, a community. Run by a set of workers living in an ancient manor house, students come from around the world (Brazil, South Korea, Germany, Denmark, Switzerland, and more) to live within this community. The workers, too, were quite diverse – England, Canada, South Africa, Sweden, and Hungary were represented. Likewise, every aspect of the political spectrum was present, as well as in the theological and dogmatic spheres. The only real commonality lay in everyone’s desire to find answers to the hardest questions they could think up.

Six days of the week, lunch was held with one of the workers, either in their own homes or somewhere about the manor. At these lunches, one discussion was maintained, sparked by a question of one person’s desire. Questions such as:

How could a good God allow any evil into his creation?
How could a good God create a place like hell, and threaten to send so much of his creation there?
How is it possible to believe in an invisible, untouchable entity, let alone have a relationship with him?
What is Beauty?
What is the difference between Truth and fact?
What does love have to do with sex?
Why are stories of demons so much more common in (modern) Eastern culture, but so devoid in the West?

The discussions that ensued were almost universally impassioned, and it was up to the workers to ensure that the arguments actually went somewhere. It didn’t stop at lunch, though; discussion would start while a few people were in the library, and students that had arrived to L’Abri but five minutes earlier would jump right in without anyone blinking an eye. At tea breaks, the discussions kept going. They went all the way to the pub, and back. It was a place of intense intellectual and moral challenge.

The social aspect was equally incredible. I can’t describe how valued I felt, even as the youngest person there. The relationships I made there were shockingly raw. People would enter in and bare their souls as if it were as natural as a handshake. Love, dare I say, reigned supreme. Yet, that did not prevent honesty or criticism – few thoughts went unchallenged. That complete security and intense challenge went hand in hand, almost.

Having left, I am lost as to what to do in a reality that does not match this.

This is, I think, why one worker implored me to come back. He knew I needed more time.

Which is why I’m going back!