Too much meaning

Søren Kirkegaard was a 19th century philosopher. He thought about death a lot, then he died abruptly at the age of 42. He believed humans need a sense of meaning to live a happy life. But he also knew that having too much meaning was crippling.

Fr. McNally once told me that if I want to make an impact, I shouldn’t try to make an impact.

Life is a duality and life is a balance. You and I both want our lives to be meaningful. We want to have lived for something, and we don’t want to be forgotten.

But if our lives mean too much, if we’re too important, then that sucks the fun out of it. Being serious helpful at times but mostly a trap. Living is for love, laughter, and happiness, not existential angst over whether or not we’re doing enough to bear the burdens of humanity.

If you want to live a meaningful life, don’t get caught up in meaning. If you want to make an impact, don’t try to make an impact. Live and learn and love and grow. And don’t forget to laugh.

Do you believe in the supernatural?

I took a course called Christianity and Evidence this semester. We studied the resurrection of Christ and the evidence surrounding it. We explored whether or not we can accept the bodily resurrection of Jesus as a sound philosophical argument.

Abduction, or Inference to the Best Explanation (IBE) ,was our guiding principle. IBE is a two step process: (1) review all available evidence for a given claim, and (2) choose the simplest hypothesis to explain the evidence.

So let’s talk about Jesus. We talked about many pieces of evidence regarding the empty tomb, that people saw Jesus walk around after he died, and the beliefs of early Christians. To spare summarizing the entire semester in one post, we came to the conclusion that the best hypothesis that fits the IBE is that Jesus rose from the dead bodily.

That sounds silly without giving any context, but I’m summarizing. Anyways, here’s the point. The reality of the resurrection basically comes down to one thing: whether or not you believe supernatural events can occur on earth.

If you believe in the supernatural, then the resurrection really isn’t too far fetched. If you think nothing supernatural could happen, then you would favor even the most complicated hypothesis over resurrection.

It’s a lot to chew on for the end of the semester. But think about it. Do you believe in the supernatural? Or would you rather be comfortable only with what can be explained by natural law and science?

What makes you so certain?

While talking with my philosophy professor today, we began discussing the nature of belief. I mentioned how sometimes, for believers, it can be reassuring to study somebody like Thomas Aquinas—one of the most brilliant minds to ever live who also believes in God. We then got into a discussion about the new atheists. The leaders of this modern-day atheist movement are often scientists at the top of their fields, true experts of their specific disciplines. These individuals, like Richard Dawkins, often dismiss the reality of God based on weak arguments. Then people listen and believe them. They’re experts, after all.

But what qualifies an expert on evolutionary biology to dispute, with utmost certainty, nearly all philosophic discussion of God? How can he claim to know more than a modern philosopher who studies, thinks, and meditated deeply on these issues?

Herein lies the difference between the philosopher and the scientist: a scientist knows; a philosopher knows there is always more to know. I would venture to say that good scientists ought to be more like philosophers and admit that they don’t really know, they they can’t really be certain about much.

Uncertainty may seem uncomfortable at first. To me, it seems like a far happier place to live.

God’s Goodness

Excerpt from an analysis essay of Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Contra Gentiles Chapter 38…

​In section 4 of Chapter 38, Aquinas begins by discussing how any good thing, call it A, that exists must be good by participation in some other thing, call it B.  In this scenario B must be of a higher order than A because B is the source of A’s goodness; said in another way, any cause must be greater than its effect.  Though possible to trace a thing’s goodness back to its participation in another good thing, Aquinas argues that this pattern cannot extend to infinity because infinity is opposed to the end, and good has the nature of an end.  Stating “good has the nature of an end” indicates that each good can be traced back to the participation in another, higher good.  For this to comply, there must be a first good that doesn’t participate in any other good because there is nothing greater than it.  Its source of goodness is its own essence, not participation in any higher good.  As it previously argued, God is the only possible entity whose being is the same as its essence.  Thus we have come to Aquinas’ conclusion: because good things have the nature of an end, God must be goodness because God’s being is God’s essence.

God doesn’t change

I’m in a course titled “Philosophy of God in Aquinas.” We are working through the Summa Contra Gentiles, supposedly written to be a handbook for Catholic missionaries. Slowly but surely, we’re dissecting Aquinas’ claims about the existence of God and, now, the qualities of God. The past few classes, we’ve been talking about the eternality of God.

Eternality is a difficult concept. It doesn’t mean everlasting, which is to have no beginning and no end. And it doesn’t mean atemporal—to exist outside of time. Rather, to be eternal means to have life and experience the fullness of reality at every moment, or something like that. Because each moment is a full expression of existence, there would be no such notion of past or present. Only now. And if there is only now in existence, there can be no change in that being, for change requires time. Therefore, God does not change.

If you didn’t understand that, don’t sweat it. Neither do I.

But let’s pretend for a second we understand that God exists, is eternal, and doesn’t change. If God doesn’t change, then why the hell do we ask God for stuff? Petitionary prayer is old as dirt, and sometimes miracles happen seemingly as a result of specific prayers. But if God won’t change God’s mind, what do the prayers really do? Do they do anything?

Aquinas argues yes, they do matter. They matter because God has always known what you’re going to pray for. God always aligned reality in such a way that your choice to freely pray and petition may change your earthly future. God has, therefore, already designed different worlds—or is currently designing different worlds?—where you get what you ask for and you don’t get what you ask for. Your asking may just make the difference.

I don’t know what I just typed. It doesn’t make much sense yet, but one day it might. I know that I shouldn’t stop praying anytime soon.