Momentous Mania

I recently discovered that some people had fallen prey to a monster. Those people are friends whom I have known and respected for several years; the monster is an attitude that has existed since, oh, before you were born. It has been called many names, but rarely has it been mocked in alliterative irony, so here goes—I hereby dub it the Mania of the Moment.

Maniacs of the Moment are usually referred to as “experts.” I’m sure you’ve heard of them before (if, in fact, there is a “you” out there reading this to whom I may refer). In addition to answering phone calls from desperate journalists who need a molehill to make a mountain out of, experts also teach classes at universities. Generally their goal in teaching lies not in imparting bales of information, but in teaching a mindset to their students. That mindset is: “Check your preconceived notions at the door, young people. You were raised with certain assumptions and prejudices, but in college we will nurture in you an open mind; and to accomplish this we will tell you the way we think the world is, and teach you not to question our assumptions and prejudices.” And thus, the world is remade in the image of the experts. Or as I like to call them, the Maniacs of the Moment.

The victims of the Maniacs who I referred to above was describing to me an almost absurdly unreasonable modern theory that tried to explain the phenomenon of “transgendered” individuals on a genetic basis:

Pared down to the essentials, it says that a boy as young as nine months old will display an affinity for women’s accessories, be they her shoes, her coat, her perfume…despite parental objections, these children may sometimes grow up to identify as the opposite gender. The cause of this is likely a blend of genetic predisposition and prenatal hormones.

Yes. I wish I had made that up, but no—that happens to be material apparently taught in a Psychology class at a world-class university in the Midwest. I call it absurdly unreasonable because it contends that a nine month old boy, who is just getting used to walking and talking, somehow recognizes the cultural and sociological significance of physical objects like shoes and purses. Cultural and sociological information is not innate; it is taught. Any fool, scientific or not, can comprehend and state this simple fact (one just did).
But the saddest fact was not that they considered this doctrine credible. No, the saddest fact was that they proved themselves unwilling to “take what they teach you with a grain of salt,” as I suggested (and I’d say that a grain of salt is not much to ask against the previous poppycock I just described)!

Is critical thinking really out of vogue? The answer is a resounding YES, and it has always been out of vogue. Centuries ago, the leading experts of the day propounded that the entire universe revolved around our planet earth…our flat planet earth. Now I know that my history is a bit fuzzy, the Greeks knew the earth was round for centuries, and yada-yada-yada. That’s not important. And I’m being completely serious here. It’s not important, because the principle is true, namely that most people cannot see past their own generation’s myopic line of sight.

That’s a sad thing, and it hurt to see my friends falling for this cheap and passing parlor trick based on spin and false authority. They are intelligent people, good-hearted, far more intelligent than I, in terms of scientific and mathematic smarts. But there is more to intelligence than being able to comprehend abstract concepts or being able to store data.

The key to true intelligence, I say, is common sense and critical thinking. Anyone who wants to be smart needs only these tools, along with a workable and willing intellect, in order to excel. I honestly believe that. Albert Einstein himself said that “imagination is more important than knowledge.” Being able to fairly evaluate the concepts one is taught—rather than just accepting them as unassailable fact—and proposing creative solutions to the problems that indubitably arise, is a prerequisite for any truly intelligent person, not least any scientist.

I desperately hope that critical thinking makes a comeback, because until it does little boys will retain their genetic affinity for women’s high-heels, just as the earth remained flat for so many long and ignorant centuries.

To close: Why, you may query perturbedly, have I concluded with this picture? Because it's hilarious. Enjoy.

Stay strong (I mean it),

Joezilla

Free Will and Confidence

I can't speak for you, dear reader, (assuming there is a reader to describe as dear), but I know that the happiest moments of my life have been characterized by more than just happiness; they are always accompanied by a deep-seated sense of confidence, akin to rushing water. Happiness doesn't seem to last, but why should confidence ever leave us? Happiness is an emotion, but confidence is a choice. Happiness is fickle like the weather, but confidence is as freely chosen as the coat we put on in the morning.

Unfortunately, confidence is not an easy choice. Confidence demands effort, and occasionally means butting heads with genuine opponents or facing up to over-inflated masks of ego. Either way, it means we have to step out of the comfort zone.

Human instinct tends toward safety and comfort. It's just what we prefer. This is not a curse, but it does force us to put some effort into how we live our lives.

Confidence is a choice, but a choice that our nature pushes us away from. And here is where the trump card comes in, that wonderful aspect of humanity that always comes in to save us when we've worked ourselves into a self-reflective quandary about our nature. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, FREE WILL. Yes, we are endowed with free will, which implies that, at least in theory, we are capable of complete self-control.

Although we do not take advantage of this fact nearly as much as we could/should, the fact remains that in every moment, we are presented with a choice—the choice of what kind of person we want to be. We can be heroes or heels, champions or chick-a-dees, mavericks or mice. Who do you choose to be? Every moment demands a response to this question. If we ever feel a lack of confidence (and as was said, our nature tends toward that), all we need to do is visualize the person we want to be, and realize that a conscious choice on our part will transform us into that person.

One final word of warning: confidence does not come from within ourselves. The choice to change, the free will that gives us the chance to change ourselves, is a gift from above. And once we do choose the road less travelled, the strength to walk it does not come from our own metaphorical muscles. Confidence comes from God alone! The Spirit is the rushing water that fills our hearts and minds, leading us to our destination. Without a firm foundation in the One Who laid the earth's foundations, our towers will topple pretty fast. It all starts with a firm trust and wonder at the power and love of our unfailing, superactive Father in Heaven. I'd say more, but I'd prefer to share the words of Jesus. No, not the Christ, not this time. (Not that guy who works at Toys R Us, either.) I'm talking about Jesus, son of Eleazar, son of Sirach--a.k.a. author of the Book of Sirach:

"Lively is the courage of those who fear the LORD, for they put their hope in their savior; He who fears the LORD is never alarmed, never afraid; for the LORD is his hope...."

And here's where the happiness comes in:

"He buoys up the spirits, brings a sparkle to the eyes, gives health and life and blessing. "

--Sirach 34:14-15, 17--

Stay strong!

Confidently,
Joezilla

HoBoy!

Do you have any weaknesses? Something that makes you uncomfortable or uncertain, that freezes your better self in its tracks and calls you with a siren’s song to a disappointing mediocrity? Of course you do. So do I. We all have them. It’s just a matter of figuring out what it is. Take Superman, for example. He can fly around downtown (if I may borrow Matchbox 20’s verbiage), leap over buildings in a single bound, and yada yada yada--but put him in front of a green Kryptonite stone and he’s about as strong as Sammy Sosa without his steroids. That poor sap, Superman--he has a glaring weakness, and he can’t get rid of it. Luckily for us, we are nothing like Superman. We can fix our weaknesses.

Up until very recently, hobos were one of my weaknesses. It’s true. Speaking in front of a crowd, I could handle. Complaining at a restaurant, not a problem--and sometimes even a pleasure. But dealing with a hobo? Yikes! If a hobo on the street asked me for money, my mind would freeze and I would go into deer-in-the-headlights mode (okay, perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit, but “deer-in-the-headlights mode” is a wonderful phrase, and I had to include it). In all seriousness, though, such a situation, common as it is in urban areas, was one of uncertainty and discomfort. On one hand, we have the societal (and in some ways religious) push toward simple acts of charity, which is often represented as giving money to the poor folks in the streets. Although this is a shallow characterization (more on that later), it is nonetheless the message we often see in movies and hear in sermons. People like to think of giving monetary handouts as a righteous act.

On the other hand, there is the common sense view which many (or perhaps most) of us were raised with--people begging for handouts on the street need money for booze and/or drugs; or, at the very least, they are lazy fools who could just as easily take orders at McDonald’s as they take handouts at State and Madison (to paraphrase Michael Jordan’s provocative anecdote).

Sometimes this common sense view is confirmed in comically obvious ways--such as the case of the young man (in the prime of his life, no kidding) who trudges through traffic daily at the same intersection, year-round, with a sign that says “Please help me, God bless you.” It would seem obvious to everyone except the man himself that his daily activity is both strenuous and risky--and the honest occupation of coalminer would not only fulfill both of these criteria, but it would also yield a steady paycheck and a peaceful intersection. Yet there he is, and there he remains to this day.

But some hobos are convincing (and, no doubt, some are completely kosher). But that’s just the problem--the stakes in this game are higher than they seem. As wonderful as it is to help a man in honest need, that’s how horrible an act it is to give money to an addict. In such a case, we are actively assisting a destructive habit-- bringing the poor soul one step closer to oblivion! If that’s charity, then I missed something in Sunday school.

The point is, we cannot just give money to people. We might be doing them a huge disservice, far greater than ignoring or refusing them, in doing so. The risk of someone’s life is too great to play around with. Heartless as it sounds, there is no other way.

So here’s the question: why is it so hard to refuse? A recent situation forced me to face the issue once and for all. I was walking to the car after eating a wonderful lunch with my Mom, when a man in a heavy coat (in retrospect I should’ve known, but I didn’t take a good look at it at first) asked me if I could spare a few dollars for gas (in retrospect I should’ve known how many holes there were in that kind of story, but remember? by this time I was already in idiot mode). Hmm. I had about 4 seconds to respond…what to say? I wasn’t actually going to give him any money--most of the money in my wallet was borrowed from my Mom and was not mine to give--and regardless of that, I didn’t want to risk a theft. No question there. I wouldn't give him any money. But how to say no? I hummed and hawed for a moment, then rattled off some lame excuse about my Mom having all the money. Feeling slightly shameful (which I’m now ashamed to admit), I parted by saying “I hope you find some, though.” Then I realized that I was in the presence of an angel.
No, it wasn’t the panhandler. That’s how it usually gets shown in movies, I grant you (and Hebrews 13:2 should by no means be taken lightly), but in real life it was the exact reverse for me--the angel took the form of a blond-haired female passerby of about 35, who brazenly addressed him after my comment by saying “And I also hope you find somewhere to work, because you come here to beg every day!” I got into the car and processed what I’d just seen. First, I couldn’t believe that woman’s guts--I didn’t know they made people that confident anymore. I admired that. It was also at that moment when I realized the thinness of the hobo’s request, and the absurdity of the shame I’d felt. To have the man’s chicanery exposed with such blunt words of witness was like a blow to the head--except it felt great. My illusions were gone!

I say that that woman was an angel, because she lifted the wool of ignorance and deceit from my eyes so that I could see the truth within this one isolated situation. In seeing the truth, I realized that my shame was totally unwarranted--the man was proven to be a con-artist! Even if he had been on the level, shame would not have been a good response. I had my reasons not to give, and that should be enough for anyone--especially myself! I knew then and there that a confident response of “no” would have sufficed, and would have been the proper way to retain my dignity (which, the way I see it, I flushed down the toilet in this situation).
Most important of all, it should be realized that the only proper attitude of a panhandler ought to be one of the sincerest and humblest entreaty. Money, after all, is not easily earned in this world, and to receive it as a free gift from a stranger is not only a rare, but almost a miraculous occurrence. Shaking a cup, or halfheartedly muttering “God bless you” just doesn’t cut it for me. A panhandler ought to realize the flabbergasting fortune of his situation, notwithstanding his dire straits--he is alive, and (in most cases) possesses the opportunity to interact with the wider world (an opportunity widely sought-after in lonely nursing home rooms and hospital beds across the world). Seriously. They have no place asking someone else for a handout, so they ought to be amazed and overjoyed at the mere fact that anyone even responds to them. At presstime, such behavior has not yet been observed in any hobo. And as for me: Shame? Are you kidding me? Well, I know one thing: I wasn’t kidding when I acted like a fool in that parking lot.

I realized that day, thanks to the intervention of the “angel” (who actually happened to be a salon stylist who worked in the same complex where I’d been dining, and so was privy to the hobo’s daily occupation in the parking lot), that my weakness happened to be hobos. And unlike Superman, my weakness was dissolved with a simple and conscious act of the will (along with some more in-depth reflection…evidenced by this blog post). From now on, if I am accosted by a panhandler, I will not give them money, and will be proud of it. If I respond to them, it will be to say, quite simply, “No.” I simply will not. If I am ill-judged at the end of time for adopting this stance, I will hang my head in remorse before my Lord--and without a doubt, my shame will be justified. But I’m betting against that ending. I think a weakness has been obliterated--and that’s good enough for me!