It has been one of the greatest pleasures I've had for a long time to enjoy a number of conversations over the past two weeks that have clarified and enriched my thinking and my soul. I'm indebted to each of you who continue to spend time, prayers, and thought on my behalf, even in the most unexpected places.
In my last post, I made it clear that the structure that had once given texture, purpose, and cosmic order to my existence had crumbled. What comes after that?
As they so often do, video games give a good overview of the situation.
When you lose your last life, the game ends. You then have three options.
In my last post, I made it clear that the structure that had once given texture, purpose, and cosmic order to my existence had crumbled. What comes after that?
As they so often do, video games give a good overview of the situation.
When you lose your last life, the game ends. You then have three options.
- Select "Start New Game" from the home screen (that appears only after you've been tormented by the Game Over screen long enough to wonder if you're seeing Mario either throw up his hands or perhaps transform into a mustachioed guinea pig).
- Eject the game cartridge and insert a new one (for my younger readers, a game cartridge was a magical block that, with the right mix of aspiration and timing would allow your Nintendo to project something useful onto the screen).
- Walk away from the Nintendo. Play outside or some nonsense like that.
In a situation of limited time, I always went with option #1. First, I was usually angry and dissatisfied that I hadn't dodged a particular blow from Bowser with enough dexterity. I wanted payback and mastery. There was even some peer pressure that drove me to be able to say, "Oh yeah, I beat that game, too."
If the anger occasioned by my defeat was irrationally blinding enough that I needed a break from the a certain crocodile pit (Pitfall had no save points!) or megaboss showdown, I might throw in something different (with a blow into the cartridge for good measure; you know, to...yeah, I don't know what that was for either. Is there a social science study of that phenomenon? Do you think B.F. Skinner started it as a final prank on all children of the 80s and 90s?). The problem was that, especially with limited time, I was unlikely to master the new game before school/work/bedtime/the end of my turn. There was a high risk of dissatisfaction.
In the very rare occasion that my anger rose to the point that I was a danger to myself, the console, or those around me, I might take a walk. Usually this option was proffered by a mother who was likely questioning the wisdom of investing good money in a gaming system that made her sons behave like rabid fools. I will say that my more passionate siblings reached this level of meltdown far more often than their cool and collected older brother. That's how I remember it anyway.
There you have it, the parable of the Game Over. Wait, you want an explanation? How very apostolic of you :) If you have ears to hear...
Whether or not you believe in a probationary mortal state or see life boxed in by ends of nothingness, the time is short. On that, we can agree.
With that constraint, there are a few options left to you when you realize you haven't won. In other words, when you realize that your triumphant theology has significant holes and that you're not quite as assured of eventual celestial victory as you once thought.
Option #1: Stick with the faith. Start again, even with the most mundane ideas, and rebuild your understanding and belief. Though the anger at being lied to is real, you try to walk a difficult path between using that anger to fuel a passionate search for new meaning and doing your best to not allow anger to color the things you currently see. The hope here is that, with a little more spiritual elbow grease and effort, you can make it past the sticking point that knocked you back to the "Start New Game" screen.
Option #2: Try something else. Replace your faith. See if it's worth investing the additional time and energy to really begin from scratch. Investigate other belief systems. Profess allegiance to Islam, Judaism, born-again Christianity, Buddhism, secular humanism, etc.You're still willing to play the belief game, but would rather spend the last minutes of your turn on Earth investing in something different.
Option #3: Walk away. Renounce the possibility of spiritual knowledge, truth, and beauty. Focus on the tangible, the here and now, the circumstances under your direct control.
I don't think any of these options are right or wrong in the traditional sense. I think it depends on your level of anger, how far your patience has been tried, how many times you have been misused. I also don't think any of these options is final. You can start with Option #3 to clear your head and then go about finding or restarting your faith further down the road. It happens every day.
But the choice I have to make is not what option I eventually wish to choose. It's about which option I choose right now. To complicate things, I've realized this isn't a 1-player game. If I don't continue to play, other players are affected. My presence changes the dynamics of the game (hopefully) for the better.
I've decided that my anger doesn't burn hot enough to sustain Option #3. I also find it daunting to completely walk away from belief. I am too reliant on a community and too hopeful that there really is something larger to life beyond evolutionary competition. For those who have chosen Option #3, I wish you the best of luck. I may even join you in the future. But I have a few more rounds in me before I go and play outside.
So, for now, that leaves Options #1 and #2.
I look over to my fellow players. They're really keen on this game. They're rallying around me to start again. So I think I'll put in the effort to start rebuilding. While they're taking their turns, I'll probably get some Option #2 in, see what other games are out there, see if there's something to those other games that appeals to me. I think I'll have capacity for both.
At the same time, this most recent Game Over has given me more experience and more skepticism. I'm not the same player that I used to be. And I won't be using any cheats.
When I was younger, one of my favorite games on the computer was Chip's Challenge.
There was a certain level towards the latter end of the game that seemed impossible my first go-round. At a certain point, I had failed the level so many times that I got a prompt: "You seem to having trouble with this level. Would you like to move on?"
In a moment of desperate weakness, I clicked yes. The regret began slowly. It built and built until I arrived at the conclusion of the game. My victory was hollow and meaningless. I knew there was one level in my past that was a sham. It took me far more effort than I'd care to mention here, but I eventually beat that level. Only then was I a real Chip's Challenge champion.
The same caveat holds for my faith. No more shortcuts. No more papering over problems. No more deferring to the wisdom to good men and women (or persuasive men and women) that tells me I should focus on one thing and not the other, just until I can squeak by to the next level. No cheats. That's how I'm going to play.
What's the result of such a stoic (or masochistic) approach to belief?
First, it means that I have to question not only what I have known as spiritual sources of knowledge, but also secular sources of knowledge. The study of ideology (as I'll discuss in my next post) is a useful tool in questioning and ultimately divorcing the words "common sense" from each other.
Second, it means that I'm not going to be very trusting of anyone, myself included. This doesn't mean I don't believe your testimony or your new truth. It just means that I'm still getting my sea legs. So be patient when I turn into a 3-year-old with my constant "Why?"s.
Finally, it means that this is going to take a long time. I will beg, borrow, and steal enough lives to keep the game going for as long as it takes to rebuild or find recourse in another system of beliefs.
So, fair warning. When I click "Start New Game" we're going to be playing for a while. If you want to play along, get your snacks. Take your bathroom breaks.
Call and tell your mother you're going to be late for dinner.
With that constraint, there are a few options left to you when you realize you haven't won. In other words, when you realize that your triumphant theology has significant holes and that you're not quite as assured of eventual celestial victory as you once thought.
Option #1: Stick with the faith. Start again, even with the most mundane ideas, and rebuild your understanding and belief. Though the anger at being lied to is real, you try to walk a difficult path between using that anger to fuel a passionate search for new meaning and doing your best to not allow anger to color the things you currently see. The hope here is that, with a little more spiritual elbow grease and effort, you can make it past the sticking point that knocked you back to the "Start New Game" screen.
Option #2: Try something else. Replace your faith. See if it's worth investing the additional time and energy to really begin from scratch. Investigate other belief systems. Profess allegiance to Islam, Judaism, born-again Christianity, Buddhism, secular humanism, etc.You're still willing to play the belief game, but would rather spend the last minutes of your turn on Earth investing in something different.
Option #3: Walk away. Renounce the possibility of spiritual knowledge, truth, and beauty. Focus on the tangible, the here and now, the circumstances under your direct control.
I don't think any of these options are right or wrong in the traditional sense. I think it depends on your level of anger, how far your patience has been tried, how many times you have been misused. I also don't think any of these options is final. You can start with Option #3 to clear your head and then go about finding or restarting your faith further down the road. It happens every day.
But the choice I have to make is not what option I eventually wish to choose. It's about which option I choose right now. To complicate things, I've realized this isn't a 1-player game. If I don't continue to play, other players are affected. My presence changes the dynamics of the game (hopefully) for the better.
I've decided that my anger doesn't burn hot enough to sustain Option #3. I also find it daunting to completely walk away from belief. I am too reliant on a community and too hopeful that there really is something larger to life beyond evolutionary competition. For those who have chosen Option #3, I wish you the best of luck. I may even join you in the future. But I have a few more rounds in me before I go and play outside.
So, for now, that leaves Options #1 and #2.
I look over to my fellow players. They're really keen on this game. They're rallying around me to start again. So I think I'll put in the effort to start rebuilding. While they're taking their turns, I'll probably get some Option #2 in, see what other games are out there, see if there's something to those other games that appeals to me. I think I'll have capacity for both.
At the same time, this most recent Game Over has given me more experience and more skepticism. I'm not the same player that I used to be. And I won't be using any cheats.
When I was younger, one of my favorite games on the computer was Chip's Challenge.
There was a certain level towards the latter end of the game that seemed impossible my first go-round. At a certain point, I had failed the level so many times that I got a prompt: "You seem to having trouble with this level. Would you like to move on?"
In a moment of desperate weakness, I clicked yes. The regret began slowly. It built and built until I arrived at the conclusion of the game. My victory was hollow and meaningless. I knew there was one level in my past that was a sham. It took me far more effort than I'd care to mention here, but I eventually beat that level. Only then was I a real Chip's Challenge champion.
The same caveat holds for my faith. No more shortcuts. No more papering over problems. No more deferring to the wisdom to good men and women (or persuasive men and women) that tells me I should focus on one thing and not the other, just until I can squeak by to the next level. No cheats. That's how I'm going to play.
What's the result of such a stoic (or masochistic) approach to belief?
First, it means that I have to question not only what I have known as spiritual sources of knowledge, but also secular sources of knowledge. The study of ideology (as I'll discuss in my next post) is a useful tool in questioning and ultimately divorcing the words "common sense" from each other.
Second, it means that I'm not going to be very trusting of anyone, myself included. This doesn't mean I don't believe your testimony or your new truth. It just means that I'm still getting my sea legs. So be patient when I turn into a 3-year-old with my constant "Why?"s.
Finally, it means that this is going to take a long time. I will beg, borrow, and steal enough lives to keep the game going for as long as it takes to rebuild or find recourse in another system of beliefs.
So, fair warning. When I click "Start New Game" we're going to be playing for a while. If you want to play along, get your snacks. Take your bathroom breaks.
Call and tell your mother you're going to be late for dinner.
