Tagged: hope
Agent K vs The Protagonist, A Joint Review of Men in Black and Tenet
I’m kinda loving my life right now. I recently rewatched Men in Black and just now finished Tenet. What do these two Science Fiction thrillers have in common, you ask? And is it true, Pete?
They both repeatedly make the point that the general mass of humanity doesn’t want to know how close the total mass of humanity is to annihilation at any given moment.
Who tells us this? And on whose authority?
Agent K and The Protagonist. Because they are the engines of hope.
Finally, are they right? Is it true? Is the world on the brink of annihilation and do people, generally, not want to know it?
Yes, with the caveat that “the brink of annihilation” can be taken to mean the whole enterprise OR simply one person’s death.
In other words, from the perspective set forth by Jesus’ Good Samaritan story, which includes the claim: “I am neighbor”, it doesn’t matter what happens to the world’s occupants once I am dead. What matters is that my ability to contribute to the world died. Here I mean to enlarge the defense of the concept of “not wanting to know” to include “because people, generally, also are not wanting to neighbor”.
Full-circle: Agent K and The Protagonist are certainly engines of hope for life, just as is the Good Samaritan. The key behavior among all three is proper action despite desperate circumstances.
The new question is, “Is there any reason to believe life extends beyond death?” And, if so, should we act according to that belief?
In Idea Form, Even As an Ideal, Communism is Not Good
This post is in response to “reality.” The sober reality being communism and Islam just won’t go away. On some level, by my thinking, either (a) people do not want them to go away or (b) people’s actions and efforts aren’t aligned with their desires. Put another way (b) could be stated as people who desire communism and Islam to go away aren’t actually fighting communism and Islam. It’s like there is some kind of terrific straw man that is terribly bruised, bloodied and down for the count after all the attacks, but, whatever is lying there lifeless, it ain’t communism and it ain’t Islam.
With Islam, the faithful reader knows my idea. To recap, Christian apologetics or Christians who desire to prove “there is a god” are, in fact, feeding Islam—because this “god exists” is Mooohamed’s coranic argument. In their well-intentioned act, they are not helping spread Christianity. So I say, “Good Christian Men, Stop! Stop defending ‘god’ and instead stick to the Gospel. Hone your speaking skills to mirror the NT writers as much as possible. Or be quiet. But either way, stop arguing for Mooohamed!”
My new realization or tactic regarding communism, the fatal flaw I see that leads to (b) above, is when we say, “Sure, it’s good in idea-” Stop! Stop right there! The mistake has appeared. It is early. No need to continue to “but it doesn’t work in practice.”
By giving the “idea” of communism the appellation “good”, all things considered, I think we are actually and unwittingly feeding the beast, as it were. If communism (or any idea) is really a good idea, then, by all means, let’s make it a reality, right? But communism is not a good idea. I mean this as literally as it can be meant. Communism is not a good idea.
Practice saying it with me.
“Communism is not a good idea.”
Good.
Now spend a moment to develop whatever you’re comfortable with using to defend our declaration, which need be our response to the subsequent, “You don’t think feeding the hungry and clothing the naked is a good idea?”
My own response will be, “Now we’re talking! See, I always imagined communists like yourself couldn’t make their ideas concrete. Like, I thought you guys were robots with great deficiencies, including the inability to get specific. As odd as it sounds, you just made my day. I am very happy to learn I was wrong. So communists are interested in feeding the hungry and clothing the naked? I don’t see why we can’t do it together right now. Let’s go! How much food, clothes, and money do we have between us?”
This illustrates the communist lacks integrity (is not good), because they don’t want to actually feed and clothe. (And if, on some off chance they are willing to pound the pavement, there literally are no negatives apart from daily risks which accompany life on earth.)
I concede that it is entirely possible that you or I will run into a more academically-minded communist. Upon hearing us declare or correct, “Communism is not a good idea,” they might not go concrete and instead they might stay idealogical and say, “You think planning is wrong?”
To them my response is, “By no means, sir! And what’s more, I am very glad to learn you and I agree that planning is a core, if not the core, tenant of communism. What a day this has turned out to be. There is no time to waste. Let’s get down to business. I say first up is, it should be small and reasonable, where to go for lunch. Oh, I should have asked, have you eaten? I am starving. What’ll it be. My favorite is Little Caesar’s. Of course they don’t have seating, but we can find some other place to sit.”
This illustrates the communist is selfish (is not good), because they will not agree to Little Caesar’s. (And if, on the off chance, they do agree to go, you just keep planning everything. How to get there. Who drives. Which side of the street to walk on. Who goes in first. Who orders. Who pays. How to split the bill. And on and on and on. The key is reading the room. You’re not trying to be an arse-hole. You’re trying to reveal that you and him/her are not the same person.)
Have fun with it, and feel free to comment below with your own post-“Communism is not a good idea”-declaration scenarios.
In any case, seriously, in the old sense, I beseech you, please stop saying “Communism is a good idea”. It isn’t.
Two, No, Three Claims I See As Inconsistent in This Moment
Firstly, the Left’s incessant claim than the Right are Nazi’s. On one (completely unrealistic) level, I can see the similarities. But even on that (totally irredeemable) level, what exactly is there to fear? We beat the Nazi’s. The Nazi’s lost. To my thinking it would be like claiming the Right were slaves-as-slaves, or the Indians, or Communists, or polygamists, or any other of the innumerable losers of history. But let’s run with it. Say, for argument, they are Nazi’s. What is there to fear? What has changed? Why will they “win” this time?
Secondly, everyone keeps saying that Charlie believed “that when the conversation stops, violence starts”. (Or similar.) But I haven’t heard anyone mention that this is, unfortunately, demonstrably untrue. I’m not asserting anything about Charlie’s overall character or positions, but I am saying that I won’t be repeating that claim as if it is founded upon reality.
Thirdly, for my entire life people have loved to talk about civil war. But no war is some unforecast meteorological event. By definition, the actual government will begin overtly planning an actual war. Until this overt government action begins (with real, illegal actions—not just “he’s not allowed to do that!” bad interpretations by paid hypster-pundits), I think it is more than safe to say, “Calm down, folks. It’s just life. It is probably time to take a break from screens for a week or so to cool down.” I, for one, am tired of this atmosphere of people star-gazing to find the next civil war. America is fine. The future is fine.
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (2)
Counterpoint: Yes.
Recall that by work we mean “rule of law” is retained. And by fail we mean “might makes right” resumes.
In response to the naysayers who think that the cultures are just too different, that it’s a bridge too far, I say, “But I am part of the welcoming committee.”
The reason this fact (my participation) gives me hope is that my number one American quality (important as America is leader of the West) is laughing while calling out BS, no matter the consequences.
And the only way forward is within the realm of the “Truth”. And one key element of “truth” (I’m teaching here—pay attention Africans) is you gotta be able to laugh at your own mistakes.
At least all you Pente have heard that love does not brag?
Was that meant only for the White Devil?
No, the answer is, “No, it was not.”
So it’s time to get over yourselves.
Are you unsure how to admit weakness and save face at the same time?
The West knows the fix. Laugh about it. Then hit the books.
The Total of the Beast
This one’s going to put me on the map! Time to finally go viral! It’s been a long enough wait, I can assure you.
As a time capsule, then, I want to finally make written record of my interpretation of the book of Revelation’s most infamous passage. I’ll be bypassing, for the reader’s sake, all discussion of the nature of prophecy and all survey of historical interpretations. In the place of these things I will attempt to simply and eloquently write my own thoughts. Let the reader be my judge.
The passage in question:
“Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for the number is that of a man; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six.”
Revelation 13:18 NASB1995
My interpretation hinges on the fact that there is no indication whatsoever, anywhere, that the inspired authors of Scripture, while inspired, could do math. Accordingly, the use of the word “number” in the passage calls to mind the wrong idea. Instead, the word should be “total”. With this change, the passage reads:
“Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the total of the beast, for the total is that of a man; and his total is six hundred and sixty-six.”
What’s the difference between “number” and “total”? Ready? Here it is. Number is six. (Period.) Total is six cows. Or again, number is 70 million. (Full stop.) Total is 70 million people. With me? Okay, one more, then I’m moving on. Number is nine. (That’s all she wrote.) Total is nine ball players.
In my experience, some humans cannot see the distinction. For my own mind, I have not concluded yet whether I find this ability to see the distinction to be the result of nature or nurture. All I know is some people can’t see it. If this is you, if you can’t see the distinction between number and total, then this post, no matter how appealing, is not for you. Bye bye.
If, on the other hand, you see the distinction, then here’s the theological point. Contextually, the passage is clearly a warning. Lucky for us (lucky for Christians, that is), Jesus wins. So accurate interpretation of the warning is not consequential. (But we knew this already because John wrote that only some folks have understanding. I just want to record my own interpretation, because I’ve never read it anywhere and because I think the other interpretations of this passage are so moronic and childlike that they ought be cast into the lake of fire with all the other hell-born.)
The passage is a warning. And it warns of a method. How does it warn of a method? The only way possible—giving the result. This is a sticky assertion, I know. Hold on tight. And remember, it’s for fun. The interpretation does not matter.
Theologians and scholars agree that early written math in all cultures began by associating numbers to the letters of the alphabet, which otherwise recorded sounds. Roman Numerals are a slightly evolved remnant of this. To be clear, in English we might designate that the letter “A” equals a value of one, “B” , a value of two, and so on. This made for very difficult written calculations. But they were still much more efficient than having to laboriously write, “one plus one equals two.” (Easier version: A + A = B)
Our four-eyed ancestors saw something more though. They saw that a code could be developed, here, too.
Words could contain a meaning hidden to all but the intended, the “read in”, recipient. Love letters, and other private communiques could be communicated in broad daylight.
One such phrase, in Koine Greek (though not in the Bible) is, “the great beast”. Guess what its letters add up to? A value of six hundred sixty-six. But don’t miss the point. Plenty of words and phrases do, too. Quite literally, innumerable words and phrase add up to six hundred sixty-six.
But that phrase does, too. “The great beast.”
The passage’s warning is not of some creature, but of some creation—some total. What total? The total of a man. Which man? Which human? Could be me, could be you.
In other words, I believe that John told us that the beast meritorious of warning is when we mortals leave what is known as “concrete” reality (which does include the spiritual) and move to “abstract” reality (which does include “lies, damned lies, and statistics”, as Twain put it)—assuming we then base our actions on the abstract reality, to the detriment of the concrete reality.
This, of course, has never been done.
There it is. Now you know. Discuss amongst yourselves.
I Feel Like Writing
Two columnists I came across this last week (6/26) on the same news aggregate site ended their pieces with the exact same George Orwell quote. Additionally, a few weeks ago my very best friend had texted me the same quote. Apparently, I need to get out more.
Here’s Orwell:
Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.
What on God’s green earth am I supposed to do with this thing? Life is not some exercise in matching up novels with reality. George Orwell’s position in history, his position in literature is in no way affected by this repetition or attempt at application. Again, what, precisely, am I supposed to do with this thing?
Is BLM the “Party”? Has ANTIFA destroyed every record and rewritten every book? I hardly think so.
And these three fellas are some of the folks I generally trust. But the uncertain times have not only affected them. All those who would pick up a pen are affected. I haven’t come across anyone, not one doggone writer, who has anything to say.
Laboriously, then, I–your Captain–will pick up the slack and write. And in so doing I hope to encourage similar thinking and behavior.
There are many, many places to start, but the one that’s on my mind is the claim, “White Silence is Violence.”
The response to this claim comes from George Washington.
Now, you don’t have to announce that you’re quoting him to use his advice. But I wanted you to know, because it is true and it does matter.
Anyhow, I recently came across the following at the end of the brief entry on his life found in Vol. 13 of the obscure, but incredible, Library of Southern Literature under the heading, “Selected Maxims of Washington”, then sub-heading, “The Best Answer to Calumny.”
The approved response to, “White Silence is Violence,” from Washington (again, you are in no way obligated to announce that detail, perhaps trivial, if you feel like it would stop up your listener’s ears) is:
To persevere in one’s duty and be silent is the best answer to calumny.
(Dictionary.com has ‘calumny’ as “a false and malicious statement designed to injure the reputation of someone or something.”)
Why I Do Stupid $h!t
Control.
It’s not complicated.
I do stupid things, from continuing a first date after hearing, “I smoke weed every day,” to marrying a drug addicted whore, to impregnating said whore, to divorcing said whore, to paying thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars to said whore, because I refuse to live a life without control.
“It’s just a first date.”
“I’m not breaking up with you because of deploying, and I’m not leaving a listless whore behind so she can get lonely and cheat.”
“We’re married. Why not do the kid thing?”
“I am NEVER going to allow circumstances to develop which may lead to this feeling again.”
“No judge. No court. No third person is ever going to tell me that I owe a whore money. I don’t care if that costs me more money than otherwise. I would not be able to live with myself if it was within a universe where someone can tell me to give her money. She has to ask. Like the whore she is. That universe, dark as it is, makes sense to me. Now you know, so leave me alone.”
As I write this I cannot deny that the word “depression” is all over it. It’s embalmed in the stupid decisions, it’s buried in the stupid reasons. It’s born by the stupid title.
(It feels good to add that confession. Smart.)
I’m not depressed. I’m not. I love life. I’m a freakin’ professional pilot. I get to fly with the eagles for pay. In fact, just the other day I breezed past two bald eagles on different occasions while up at about 1000ft. Can you imagine being an eagle and just climbing up and up and up? I can. And I can imagine it more accurately than you because I know what the eagles never think about. For all its apparent freedom, the sky is a pretty restricted, rule-ridden realm of the planet–if you’re human. But if you’re the eagle? He just soars. And I got to see him do it, looking right and looking down.
They were each surreal moments and are now treasured memories.
I’m not depressed. But I am angry. I am angry at the LORD. I am angry that, in all his infinite wisdom, he has put this woman in my life. For what? Or, KJV style, wherefore? Why?
To be determined, I guess.
I have never met anyone else like her. I’ve met blacks. I’ve met Mexicans. I’ve worked alongside ex-cons. Studied alongside killers. Worshiped with immigrants. Pimped prostitutes. Laughed with liars. But I’ve never met anyone else like her.
I guess I should be happy she’s only one entity. It could have been worse.
Still, I wish I had never met her. She is a black hole of malicious nothingness wrapped in a wrecking ball. I cannot even begin to imagine what her parents think of her. And to hear our daughter speak of her brings sadness every time. Sadness, because she lies to our daughter.
She lies to our daughter. She lies to our daughter. Oh yes, she lies to our daughter.
The reckoning is coming. I cannot wait.
She lies to our daughter. Oh boy, she lies to our daughter.
Does she not know I taught our daughter to read? Not just to sound out the words, but to actually read.
No, I’m not depressed. I’m excited.
She lies to our daughter. The reckoning is on its way.
I have faced the reckoning. Probably five of them by now. Hers is on its way.
Who lies to a child? Maybe before literacy among the three of us doubled, it would’ve worked. But our daughter knows how to read. I made sure of that.
Control.
Right or wrong, I do stupid things to stay in control. But teaching her to read was not stupid.
Let’s Play Ball Instead of Panicking
More in the “diary” vein of blogging.
We don’t have a tv. Consequently, my step-son doesn’t watch movies or tv on the regular. Every once in a while I show him something on the laptop. Last night was Sandlot. He noticed this one as I searched for Goonies the last time, and so I figured it’s a good wholesome film and it might even set him up with the desire to attempt some baseball in the coming season. It’s also uncannily about a boy moving in with a step-dad (who won’t let him touch his stuff) and being new to the neighborhood–all true-to-life circumstances for A-.
Let’s play baseball again. This post serves as my call for MLB to return to the field. Despite not being the most fanatic fan, I still cannot imagine an American summer without America’s past-time. Sooooo, instead of canceling summer, let’s cancel panic and play ball. I’ll be there the minute the gates open.
Second, and I hid this point on purpose, we need to talk about what panicking is. Actually I can’t. I shouldn’t. I want to, but I won’t.
Suffice it to say, I’ve instructed my family to not buy a toilet paper pack bigger than 18 rolls the next time we find any. 18 is the size we’re currently on, having purchased it back in February sometime before any of the hysteria. So that’s why. But from now on, if the choice is 18+ pack vs. 4-pack, then we get the 4-pack. Someone has to set the example.
What are we going to do without toilet paper? After a quick internet search, I’ve come to resolution. Cloth rags and a diaper genie. And probably a lot less fast food.
You all are going to have to live with the fact that you panicked. I’m going to have some extra laundry.
But maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to claim that I encouraged others to end the hysteria.
Seeker Friendly vs. Denominations–A False Dichotomy
This is more for so-called Church leaders than lay-folk, but feel free to engage it in either case.
At the seminary, I learned about high-brow, denominational Christianity’s generally negative view of “seeker friendly” churches. (For the uninitiated, this “seeker friendly” designation means “churches folks enjoy going to”.)
There was a feeling of, “‘seeker friendly’ is fine, and it has a place. But after conversion, the new believer will find themselves desiring something more than easy-to-repeat and easy-to-digest platitudes, encouragements, and affirmations.” Then, the thinking continues, at that moment, the mainstream denominations (the “churches folks attend begrudgingly Sunday after Sunday, Wednesday after Wednesday, painfully bad sermon after painfully bad sermon, while always stubbornly ignoring all signs that something is amiss if everyone keeps leaving”) will step in and save the day.
Subsequently, curiosity grew and I began going to “seeker friendly” churches, too. I have been back and forth between the two ever since.
Here’s an observation that I didn’t expect. Week after week, the “seeker friendly” churches say something like, “I grew up, like you, at a (insert mainstream denomination) church.” The leader will then add some personal anecdote about how “…only later did I realize the full freedom allowed by the Holy Spirit to break from tradition, conservatism, etc.” And in so doing, the “seeker friendly” leader, will have made his or her appeal to those who are seeking to go “deeper” or seeking greater “meaning.”
In other words, no different than the stoic, wise, and time-tested denominations, the “seeker friendly” churches were hocking that they are the place to find real, deep meaning. “The denomination gets you started, but ultimately fails to satisfy,” they say.
For this reason, because you’re both suggesting you’re the place to “go deep,” I confidently say, “You’re both wrong.”
I’ll add this. Two thousand years ago Paul wrote, in a letter to one particular church of his day, “I gave you milk to drink, not solid food; for you were not yet able to receive it. Indeed, even now you are not yet able, for you are still fleshly.”
Here, we have some options.
We can say, A: “Paul was talking only to that particular body of believers alive some two thousand years ago which was manifesting itself as ‘fleshly’ as opposed to ‘spiritual’ and his words have nothing to do with me.”
Or we can say, B: “Paul was talking only to believers who manifest themselves as ‘fleshly’ as opposed to ‘spiritual’, no matter what era they live in, including contemporary believers,”
Or we can say, C: “Paul’s admonishment, unbeknownst to him, was to all believers. (Period).”
(There might be other options too.)
I choose C.
I choose C for the following reasons.
1. It’s not A, because I wouldn’t have heard of the Gospel, Paul’s letter, or the Bible if Paul was only talking to his immediate audience. (There should be no surprise here. This is kinda inherent to a Bible-believing Christian’s view of Scripture.)
2. It’s not B, because there exists in all of us a shameful little thing called “pride”. The moment I believe that “I made it” (in this case, ‘I’m spiritual’), I, again, lost the battle.
3. It’s far more exciting and interesting to live a life which never summits. And, it’s a nearly impossible mental gymnastic to defend spiritual maturity, and simultaneously maintain that the Christian’s satisfaction and fulfillment is only found in actual (neoconcrete?) life with Jesus–after whichever happens first, the Second Coming or death.
In short, if you’re a Christian leader, please return the “I’ve got a secret” tactic to the get-rich-quick, make-friends-easily, persuade-people-now motivational guru’s you stole it from and pass the milk.
Vixens, Protectors, Iran, Bell Curves, and More–All Mixed Up by One Airborne Provocateur
I’ve mentioned before that I’m reading this delightful fantasy novel Kushiel’s Dart, by Jacqueline Carey. Oddly enough, Sunday has recently established itself as my day of reading fantasy, that is, my day of reading rest–given the amount of Bible reading I accomplish the other six days.
This afternoon, I couldn’t stop smiling as I read from this angelic gem. One particularly pause-causing line was the lead female’s (an adept/spy-who-specializes-in-serving-Naamah-by-satisfying-wealthy-and-powerful-patrons’-S&M-bedroom-proclivities) announcing, “By this time, I was suffering a tedium so deadly I would have gladly scrubbed the Marquise Belfours’ chamber pot, for the distraction of a scathing punishment at the end of it.” (Move over, Christian and Anastasia…)
At this juncture in the tale, the vixen is being protected by a smooth, sapient equivalent of the water held back by what we call the Hoover dam. His enemies pray the levee doesn’t break. And, if that doesn’t do it for ya, ladies, let’s just say that he knows his place.
And at that moment, the thought hit me: This is the perfect fantasy. In this fable, we have a woman being free to be completely enslaved to her wiles, as she is being protected by a man who is bound to exercise no restraint in the defense of the weak.
But today’s post is not merely marketing material. Today I want to begin to capture my thoughts on the blossoming peace in the Middle East. Today I want to finally write down how I am so happy that I will be able to tell my children what it was like to wake up after a night of waiting for a war that never began.
I had such mixed feelings that night. Iran–not elusively-defined terrorists but a real country–had attacked America. Every bone in my body was opposing itself as I read the news. Half of me wanted nothing but peace. “President Trump: Please just do whatever you need to make peace.” The other half wanted nothing but the end of the uncertainty inherent to this clash of civilizations that began long ago, but has been officially boiling over since 9/11. “President Trump: Put. Them. In. The. Ground. Sheol. The grave. Deep. Permanent. End it. Win. Please!”
Then the airliner was shot down. Huh? Could this be it? No way was that us. Plenty of chance it was Iranian incompetence.
Finally, sleep.
Then morning came and with it a group of men declaring for the children-grown-older-in-power-positions-in-Iran that Iran, led by these incompetent imbeciles, was standing down.
What must that have felt like for the Iranians? And, unlike Canada’s inclusion of a turban-wearing man in their optic a few days later, we went with the truth. It was old, white men, though white-hat-less men, who, not just announced the fight was over, but, in the manner of the announcement itself, clarified that one backwards civilization in specific needs to just, “Stop before you hurt yourself!”
Who could have imagined it? In response to the pinpoint–and I mean precision on a level that is hard to imagine ever being produced with anything other than a scalpel held by a hand that was trained in its use for a decade–in response to the pinpoint killing of a small handful of men bent on orchestrating evil, in response to the pinpoint killing of a small handful of men by remote control aircraft half-way across the accurately mapped globe, in response to this, an Iranian version of a tween on the ground was so afraid (afraid of what? afraid of his own government’s response to him if he’s doesn’t shoot? afraid of America?) that he shoots a fire-and-forget 11 foot missile, itself built by another civilization, at an airliner! What?!
Peace. That’s what.
And manifested by who? The noisy and wily Squad? No. By the unapologetically fair-skinned President of the United States of America. Cowboy as all hell, but hat’s off.
Captain’s Log 