I am a middle class, white, male American. This makes me one of the most privileged people in the world. I did not have any say in this. I was simply born.
In a world more and more marked by the knowledge of inequality and injustice, my comfort could almost be considered a crime. Perhaps it should be considered a crime. The only thing is that it is people of my status doing most of the complaining.
I have had some difficulty respecting the complaints of the "Occupy" movement in America. Certainly there is tremendous inequality of wealth in America. It is unjust. It is wrong. But I feel like American's don't have any right to complain. Certainly, the economy is awful and people can't find jobs. But people in America, except for very rare cases, don't starve. There are places where people can find shelter from the elements if they are willing to look for it. But for billions of people in the world, that is not the case. America has an inordinate proportion of the worlds wealth It seems selfish and narrow-minded to ask the extremely wealthy to lower their standard of living when the moderately wealthy are unwilling to lower their own.
Of course it is more than just inequality of wealth that the "Occupy" movement is protesting. It is protesting hundreds, perhaps thousands of things. That is the key to both its power and its inefficiency. Many people are protesting a system of exploitation: the same system exploiting the average American as is exploiting the citizens of less prosperous and industrialised nations. Soon, if things do not change, people will start trying to smash the system. The problem is that no one has proposed any solutions. That is perhaps the biggest reason why it should be taken seriously.
In some ways, I think I may be too much of a moralist to be a social activist. The way I look at human nature, I am not confident in the ability of any system to solve our problems. Some are probably better than others, less likely to promote certain wrongs, but humans have this brilliant way of finding new ways to do evil. I think that I, like George Orwell said of Charles Dickens, believe that if everyone just behaved decently, we would have a decent society. And it usually takes more than a protest to change people's hearts. Of course, people like Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi were pretty effective in their times.
This is my way of saying that we live in a terribly broken world. That brokenness pains me. I feel the guilt of centuries of sin. And it pains me that I have no idea how this world can be fixed other than the extreme difficulty of one person at a time. I am more and more convinced that there can be no positive social change without negative personal change. But I long to see that change.
Today, however, whether fair or unfair, I am comfortable. I am blessed. I am happy. I am loved.
I am thankful.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
On Humanity
I grow more and more convinced that there can be no positive social change without negative individual change.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
On Nature's Fury
A little over a week ago, it began snowing here in New Jersey. Coming from northern Indiana, I was not too freaked out about snow in October. It seemed a little early, but I also didn't expect that it would hang around too long. And it hasn't. After a week, nearly all of the snow had nearly all disappeared. But it was what the snow did while it was around that was eventful.
Around 4:45 last Saturday, my building lost power. This was something of a surprise, but since I had been hearing branches cracking under the weight of the snow outside, I figured that a power line was down, and that later that day, things would be sorted out.
At 11:00 that night, I was still reading by flashlight, and the next day, twenty-four hours after the power had gone out, my roommate and I left our apartment to crash at the home of a commuter and fellow grad student. Apparently, either because of the heaviness of the wet snow or because of trees already weakened by the aggression of hurricane Irene, there was significant damage done throughout the Northeast. Far more branches came down in this snowstorm than were amputated by the hurricane (though admittedly, fewer trees were uprooted). It was bewildering to be outside afterword. A few still-green trees of summer were coated in snow, others had been torn apart, branches stood topsy-turvy where they had fallen like upside down trees, young maples had their leaves completely stripped off and stood like rows of spears in the snow, and scattered everywhere in the sky and on the snowy ground were the brightly colored leaves of Autumn. It was like walking around in an expressionist painting. There was no way to make order out of the chaos you saw. No doubt, the clean up crews had a similar problem. In the process of attempting to restore power and clean up debris, Drew was completely shut down for four straight days.
The four of us who took refuge together in a Jersey suburb for two days, took advantage of the opportunity for an impromptu fall break, watching lots of movies, going bowling, and carving pumpkins. The unexpected break was definitely a relief from the academic demands on my brain. And even with those two days of relaxation and minimal productivity, since I didn't have any classes and only one day of work, I managed to get an entire week ahead on homework--definitely a blessing.
However, the question that everyone keeps asking is what natural disaster will strike next. In a little over two months since moving to New Jersey, I have already experienced an earthquake, a hurricane, and a snowstorm hailed to be a sort of freak of nature. Perhaps an ice storm, or a late tornado. Some people are convinced that a volcano will spontaneously form in the region. Only time will tell...
Around 4:45 last Saturday, my building lost power. This was something of a surprise, but since I had been hearing branches cracking under the weight of the snow outside, I figured that a power line was down, and that later that day, things would be sorted out.
At 11:00 that night, I was still reading by flashlight, and the next day, twenty-four hours after the power had gone out, my roommate and I left our apartment to crash at the home of a commuter and fellow grad student. Apparently, either because of the heaviness of the wet snow or because of trees already weakened by the aggression of hurricane Irene, there was significant damage done throughout the Northeast. Far more branches came down in this snowstorm than were amputated by the hurricane (though admittedly, fewer trees were uprooted). It was bewildering to be outside afterword. A few still-green trees of summer were coated in snow, others had been torn apart, branches stood topsy-turvy where they had fallen like upside down trees, young maples had their leaves completely stripped off and stood like rows of spears in the snow, and scattered everywhere in the sky and on the snowy ground were the brightly colored leaves of Autumn. It was like walking around in an expressionist painting. There was no way to make order out of the chaos you saw. No doubt, the clean up crews had a similar problem. In the process of attempting to restore power and clean up debris, Drew was completely shut down for four straight days.
The four of us who took refuge together in a Jersey suburb for two days, took advantage of the opportunity for an impromptu fall break, watching lots of movies, going bowling, and carving pumpkins. The unexpected break was definitely a relief from the academic demands on my brain. And even with those two days of relaxation and minimal productivity, since I didn't have any classes and only one day of work, I managed to get an entire week ahead on homework--definitely a blessing.
However, the question that everyone keeps asking is what natural disaster will strike next. In a little over two months since moving to New Jersey, I have already experienced an earthquake, a hurricane, and a snowstorm hailed to be a sort of freak of nature. Perhaps an ice storm, or a late tornado. Some people are convinced that a volcano will spontaneously form in the region. Only time will tell...
Sunday, October 2, 2011
On Greensburg
A week ago, I got to be in Greensburg, PA and finally spend some quality time with my girlfriend, Allison. She moved out to Greensburg toward the beginning of August, and although when I moved out to Madison, we picked her up and she helped me move in, We were really only together for around twelve hours, so it was the first time in over six weeks since we had seen each other. And I know that there are people in long distance relationships or in the military who go for months or longer without being together, but when we had been used to seeing each other about once a week over the summer and pretty much daily during our last semester of college, the transition was tough, and we were both very glad to spend some time together.
Allison showed me around Greensburg, we went to an art museum, we cooked together, watched Notre Dame beat Pittsburgh (instead of just texting each other about the game, like we usually do), and we rescued my phone, which I had left on board a megabus in downtown Pittsburgh. These were all wonderful things to share, but some of the best parts of the trip were the little "normal" things. I had some homework to finish up for classes, so I worked on that, while she sat beside me and read. We scanned the channels looking for Saturday morning cartoons. While watching a movie, I could put my arm around her. The little things of just being together were what made the trip so worthwhile.
Allison showed me around Greensburg, we went to an art museum, we cooked together, watched Notre Dame beat Pittsburgh (instead of just texting each other about the game, like we usually do), and we rescued my phone, which I had left on board a megabus in downtown Pittsburgh. These were all wonderful things to share, but some of the best parts of the trip were the little "normal" things. I had some homework to finish up for classes, so I worked on that, while she sat beside me and read. We scanned the channels looking for Saturday morning cartoons. While watching a movie, I could put my arm around her. The little things of just being together were what made the trip so worthwhile.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
On Books
For the three classes I am taking this semester, I bought twenty-four total books.
Three weeks into the semester, I already have nine books checked out from the library.
Grad school is a whole new ball game.
To make life more exciting is the fact that I begin working at two different jobs this week, and my first essay is due a week from today. This is where the fun begins.
Three weeks into the semester, I already have nine books checked out from the library.
Grad school is a whole new ball game.
To make life more exciting is the fact that I begin working at two different jobs this week, and my first essay is due a week from today. This is where the fun begins.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
On Hope
Today is my sister's birthday. She turns twenty this year, and it is the first time in two decades that I won't be around to celebrate with her. That is one of the weird things about living in New Jersey. Much like when I spent a semester at Oxford, you don't realize how many little things you miss. I hope my sister knows how much I love her, and that I wish I could be there with her today.
They say as you get older, birthdays get less significant, mostly because you have had so many and they all bleed together. Eventually only the big milestones get attention. I know that, at only the young age of twenty-two, I have already forgotten a lot of my birthdays from when I was younger. I remember one year where I had a party with friends from both school and from church. My worlds were colliding, but everyone got along fine. We went put-putting, and there was this enormous cake that my mom had made to look like a Chicago Cubs hat, and the frosting turned everyone's mouths blue. I remember the year in highschool when I got to go to Cedar Point with NHS and the trip just happened to fall on my birthday. I remember last year,when I turned twenty-one; it was the day District Bible Quiz Finals for my sister and also the day of her prom. So, on that day, I got up early, watched quizzing all day, then went home where my sister got ready and got picked up by her date, and they went to a friend's house where my mom helped cook Prom dinner for them. My dad had to work that night, so on my birthday, I stayed home alone and watched movies. Fortunately, I had gotten to celebrate with some friends the night before.
I don't remember many of my sister's birthdays at all. For most of them, I just remember that we went out to dinner somewhere or other. I remember one year when she turned eight or nine, she had a birthday party at this incredible place called Discovery Zone. It was like Chuck E. Cheese's on steroids with the most colossal indoor play-place that I have ever seen. For someone who loves climbing on things as much as I did (...as much as I do) Discovery Zone was a mystical wonderland. One year, I would have a birthday there as well, but I'm pretty sure my sister beat me to it. That party was particularly well-photographed, which is probably part of why I remember it so well. My sister had a gap-toothed smile, and I was wearing the only tank top I have ever owned.
A decade ago, on my sister's birthday, our family went out to eat at TGIFridays. I remember we had a booth next to a window where we could look across the street at the cars waiting to get into the Citgo station. They were waiting in a line that stretched all the way down the block for gasoline that had jumped from under two dollars to over four for the first time ever. We tried to be happy for my sister. After all, it was the first year that she would use all ten fingers to show how old she was, but none of us could take our eyes off of the TVs mounted on the wall of the restaurant. The news was on, and was showing endless clips of planes flying into buildings, of smoke filling the air, and of buildings falling. It was a very quiet dinner.
Everyone talks about how September 11, 2001 started out as such an ordinary day. I was in seventh grade at the time at the small private Christian school where I spent nine years. I was taking pre-Algebra that year with a mix of junior high students. One of them was absent at the start of class, but that was not out of the ordinary. What was strange was when he showed up twenty minutes late. The whole class was working on an assignment, probably trying to find that elusive x or something like that, but I sat near the teacher's desk and could hear some of the whispered words that this student told the teacher. There was something about a plane and New York and a second one, an attack. The teacher looked shocked and concerned, but none of the words I had heard made sense to me, so I kept working. Not much later there was a phone call to the teacher. He was speaking in a low, quiet voice, and after he hung up, he stood and told the class that the whole junior high and high school (there were only 10-16 students per class) were going to the auditorium for a special chapel. He told us that something had happened.
The principal at this school was a big man of Russian descent with small, close-set eyes. He looked somewhat like he might be in the mob, which could make him very intimidating when he talked to you one-on-one, whether you were in trouble or not. That day, however, he seemed different. Instead of his usual, imposing presence, he seemed almost frightened as he explained to us that there had been a terrorist attack on America, that planes had been hijacked and flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and another into the Pentagon. One of the teachers wheeled a large TV into the auditorium and for a half hour, we watched the news in silence. They were showing live footage from New York City. I remember thinking, Why is there so much smoke? Why are they only showing one tower? Is the other tower hidden in the smoke? It was only in a later class, when a teacher announced to us that the second tower had fallen, that I understood what had happened. Later that day, at TGIFridays, I would get to see those towers fall over and over and over again.
Words like terrorist, hijack, Al-Qaeda, and Muslim are common now, but before that, they were not used often. I didn't know what terrorism was. Before that day, the only hijacking I knew was from an episode of Seinfeld. I don't think I had any idea what Islam was before that. The world had changed, and from that day on, I was taught a new vocabulary that could describe that world. It was a vocabulary of fear and aggression, but also of confusion and questions.
I remember playing in my back yard a few days after 9/11, when a plane flew over. It was the first time since before the attack that I had heard a jet engine. I stopped what I was doing and stared into the sky. It would be over a year later that, while looking for something in the deep, dark recesses of the laundry room in our basement I would see a picture pinned to the wall that I had never noticed before. This part of our basement was filled with old toys and boxes of baby clothes, my father's golf clubs that he never used, along with various other miscellaneous things that accumulate in a house when people live there, and as such, we didn't venture back there very often. To this day, I am not sure where the picture came from or how long it had been there, but I will never forget glancing over and seeing a large panoramic print of the New York skyline at sunset, with two pristine towers gleaming at the center of the picture. Once again, I could only stop and stare.
I have grown up knowing that towers fall down, that reason can turn folly into madness and evil, that guilt cannot always be punished, that security is a lie, and that acts of hate and violence will perpetuate hate and violence. I have grown up in a world of chaos. And most of the time, I forget why it is that when I look at the world, that chaos is all that I see. Once a year, I remember.
These reflections could make for a very bleak worldview, and in some ways, perhaps they have. But as it is I have hope. Not the sort of hope that you hear about on television (because I have also grown up knowing that Presidents make mistakes), but a hope in something that transcends the instability and chaos of this world. I know a God who is eternally constant, whose name is love, whose title is peace, whose ways are just, and whose promise is life. Fear and death have power over me, because they are not forever, but God is.
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." --Romans 5:1-5
They say as you get older, birthdays get less significant, mostly because you have had so many and they all bleed together. Eventually only the big milestones get attention. I know that, at only the young age of twenty-two, I have already forgotten a lot of my birthdays from when I was younger. I remember one year where I had a party with friends from both school and from church. My worlds were colliding, but everyone got along fine. We went put-putting, and there was this enormous cake that my mom had made to look like a Chicago Cubs hat, and the frosting turned everyone's mouths blue. I remember the year in highschool when I got to go to Cedar Point with NHS and the trip just happened to fall on my birthday. I remember last year,when I turned twenty-one; it was the day District Bible Quiz Finals for my sister and also the day of her prom. So, on that day, I got up early, watched quizzing all day, then went home where my sister got ready and got picked up by her date, and they went to a friend's house where my mom helped cook Prom dinner for them. My dad had to work that night, so on my birthday, I stayed home alone and watched movies. Fortunately, I had gotten to celebrate with some friends the night before.
I don't remember many of my sister's birthdays at all. For most of them, I just remember that we went out to dinner somewhere or other. I remember one year when she turned eight or nine, she had a birthday party at this incredible place called Discovery Zone. It was like Chuck E. Cheese's on steroids with the most colossal indoor play-place that I have ever seen. For someone who loves climbing on things as much as I did (...as much as I do) Discovery Zone was a mystical wonderland. One year, I would have a birthday there as well, but I'm pretty sure my sister beat me to it. That party was particularly well-photographed, which is probably part of why I remember it so well. My sister had a gap-toothed smile, and I was wearing the only tank top I have ever owned.
A decade ago, on my sister's birthday, our family went out to eat at TGIFridays. I remember we had a booth next to a window where we could look across the street at the cars waiting to get into the Citgo station. They were waiting in a line that stretched all the way down the block for gasoline that had jumped from under two dollars to over four for the first time ever. We tried to be happy for my sister. After all, it was the first year that she would use all ten fingers to show how old she was, but none of us could take our eyes off of the TVs mounted on the wall of the restaurant. The news was on, and was showing endless clips of planes flying into buildings, of smoke filling the air, and of buildings falling. It was a very quiet dinner.
Everyone talks about how September 11, 2001 started out as such an ordinary day. I was in seventh grade at the time at the small private Christian school where I spent nine years. I was taking pre-Algebra that year with a mix of junior high students. One of them was absent at the start of class, but that was not out of the ordinary. What was strange was when he showed up twenty minutes late. The whole class was working on an assignment, probably trying to find that elusive x or something like that, but I sat near the teacher's desk and could hear some of the whispered words that this student told the teacher. There was something about a plane and New York and a second one, an attack. The teacher looked shocked and concerned, but none of the words I had heard made sense to me, so I kept working. Not much later there was a phone call to the teacher. He was speaking in a low, quiet voice, and after he hung up, he stood and told the class that the whole junior high and high school (there were only 10-16 students per class) were going to the auditorium for a special chapel. He told us that something had happened.
The principal at this school was a big man of Russian descent with small, close-set eyes. He looked somewhat like he might be in the mob, which could make him very intimidating when he talked to you one-on-one, whether you were in trouble or not. That day, however, he seemed different. Instead of his usual, imposing presence, he seemed almost frightened as he explained to us that there had been a terrorist attack on America, that planes had been hijacked and flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and another into the Pentagon. One of the teachers wheeled a large TV into the auditorium and for a half hour, we watched the news in silence. They were showing live footage from New York City. I remember thinking, Why is there so much smoke? Why are they only showing one tower? Is the other tower hidden in the smoke? It was only in a later class, when a teacher announced to us that the second tower had fallen, that I understood what had happened. Later that day, at TGIFridays, I would get to see those towers fall over and over and over again.
Words like terrorist, hijack, Al-Qaeda, and Muslim are common now, but before that, they were not used often. I didn't know what terrorism was. Before that day, the only hijacking I knew was from an episode of Seinfeld. I don't think I had any idea what Islam was before that. The world had changed, and from that day on, I was taught a new vocabulary that could describe that world. It was a vocabulary of fear and aggression, but also of confusion and questions.
I remember playing in my back yard a few days after 9/11, when a plane flew over. It was the first time since before the attack that I had heard a jet engine. I stopped what I was doing and stared into the sky. It would be over a year later that, while looking for something in the deep, dark recesses of the laundry room in our basement I would see a picture pinned to the wall that I had never noticed before. This part of our basement was filled with old toys and boxes of baby clothes, my father's golf clubs that he never used, along with various other miscellaneous things that accumulate in a house when people live there, and as such, we didn't venture back there very often. To this day, I am not sure where the picture came from or how long it had been there, but I will never forget glancing over and seeing a large panoramic print of the New York skyline at sunset, with two pristine towers gleaming at the center of the picture. Once again, I could only stop and stare.
I have grown up knowing that towers fall down, that reason can turn folly into madness and evil, that guilt cannot always be punished, that security is a lie, and that acts of hate and violence will perpetuate hate and violence. I have grown up in a world of chaos. And most of the time, I forget why it is that when I look at the world, that chaos is all that I see. Once a year, I remember.
These reflections could make for a very bleak worldview, and in some ways, perhaps they have. But as it is I have hope. Not the sort of hope that you hear about on television (because I have also grown up knowing that Presidents make mistakes), but a hope in something that transcends the instability and chaos of this world. I know a God who is eternally constant, whose name is love, whose title is peace, whose ways are just, and whose promise is life. Fear and death have power over me, because they are not forever, but God is.
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." --Romans 5:1-5
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
On the Economy of Luck
Today, as I was on my way to class, I passed two undergrads, one of whom was opening his umbrella inside. As we were in an echo-filled stairwell, I ended up hearing their subsequent conversation.
Friend: That's so much bad luck.
Umbrella kid: There can't be any such thing as luck.
Friend: Why not?
Umbrella kid (passionately): Think about it. If luck was real, once you got bad luck, you would just keep getting more and more of it. Because if you were unlucky, you'd keep running into more bad luck. It would keep increasing itself.
Friend: What?
Umbrella kid: That's why there can't be luck. Like if I found a four leaf clover, then I would have good luck, and I would find more four leaf clovers, and I would keep finding them and end up getting more and more good luck. So if luck was real, then some people would keep getting good luck and other people would only get bad luck...
I found myself rather amused by this exchange, mostly because of how intensely this fellow felt about the logical end results of "the luck system" and how much thought he had clearly devoted to it. But I found myself wondering if he had ever heard of economics before.
Friend: That's so much bad luck.
Umbrella kid: There can't be any such thing as luck.
Friend: Why not?
Umbrella kid (passionately): Think about it. If luck was real, once you got bad luck, you would just keep getting more and more of it. Because if you were unlucky, you'd keep running into more bad luck. It would keep increasing itself.
Friend: What?
Umbrella kid: That's why there can't be luck. Like if I found a four leaf clover, then I would have good luck, and I would find more four leaf clovers, and I would keep finding them and end up getting more and more good luck. So if luck was real, then some people would keep getting good luck and other people would only get bad luck...
I found myself rather amused by this exchange, mostly because of how intensely this fellow felt about the logical end results of "the luck system" and how much thought he had clearly devoted to it. But I found myself wondering if he had ever heard of economics before.
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