I’m not one to belittle anyone’s spiritual beliefs, so please, if you want to believe in the metaphysical effects of emotion on water, I will support you 100%. Just don’t claim science as the basis for this. Science is usually a bad basis for matters of faith, just as faith is usually a bad basis for matters of science.

The reason I bring this up now is that there is now a Facebook event to try to use this phenomenon to help the victims of Japanese tsunami.

Again, if you choose to believe in the metaphysical effects of emotions (and there’s no hard scientific evidence against this), more power to you, and thank you for taking a sincere interest in the well-being of the Japanese people. Japan can probably use as much prayer and positive thought as it can get right now. But be very careful that slacktivism does not free your mind from bearing the burden of the Japanese people right now. Even if the metaphysical (prayer or positive energy) is your reaction to the pleas of Japan, one water ceremony isn’t going to cut it.

If you want to help Japan, be relentless. Pray every night for them. Give money to charities that are helping them. If you have skills in influencing others or organizing things, try to get together some sort of organized effort to raise or send money to help them. But above all, don’t forget about them. The pain will probably go on a lot longer than the sympathy will.

I realize that there are probably some for whom this water ceremony is a natural extension of a lot of other caring acts, including some very tangible ones, and I really want to commend those people for coming at this from multiple angles; but I also know the popularity of slacktivism on Facebook, because it’s fun to think that we can take a stand without getting out of our seats. Participate, or don’t—just don’t fall into that second camp.

It is so on the stage, as you know well enough, that someone sits and prompts by whispers; [he is hidden;] he is the inconspicuous one; he is and wishes to be overlooked. But then there is another, he strides out prominently, he draws every eye to himself. For that reason he has been given his name, that is: actor. He impersonates a distinct individual. In the skillful sense of this illusory art, each word becomes true when embodied in him, true through him—and yet he is told what he shall say by the hidden one that sits and whispers. No one is so foolish as to regard the prompter as more important than the actor.

Now forget this light talk of arts. Alas, in regard to things spiritual, the foolishness of many is this, that they in the secular sense look upon the speaker as an actor, and the listeners as theatergoers who are to pass judgment on the artist. But the speaker is not the actor—not in the remotest sense. No, the speaker is the prompter. There are no mere theatergoers present, for each listener will be looking into his own heart. The stage is eternity, and the listener, if he is the true listener (and if he is not, he is at fault) stands before God during the talk. The prompter whispers to the actor what he is to say, but the actor’s repetition of it is the main concern—is the solemn charm of the art. The speaker whispers the word to the listeners. But the main concern is earnestness: that the listeners by themselves, with themselves, and to themselves, in the silence before God, may speak with the help of this address.

The address is not given for the speaker’s sake, in order that men may praise or blame him. The listener’s repetition of it is what is aimed at. If the speaker has the responsibility for what he whispers, then the listener has an equally great responsibility not to fall short in his task. In the theater, the play is staged before an audience who are called theatergoers; but at the devotional address, God himself is present. In the most earnest sense, God is the critical theatergoer, who looks on to see how the lines are spoken and how they are listened to; hence here the customary audience is wanting. The speaker is then the prompter, and the listener stands openly before God. The listener, if I may say so, is the actor, who in all truth acts before God.

- Soren Kierkegaard, Purity of Heart

This is spoken so simply that I don’t actually have much to add except a little context.

Remember that in Kierkegaard’s time and country, Christianity was the state religion, so everyone was a Christian. It was pretty preposterous to think of other people as the theatergoers, since they were all supposed to be actors, playing off of the pastors’ script, so to speak. Today, things are a little different in that not everyone is an actor in this sense of the word, and those who are neither actors nor prompters become theatergoers, observing and passing judgment on the actors whether they realize they are performing or not.

I could go on a little rant about how church and pop-Christianity are turning into entertainment, but that’s aside from the point. The point is that we, as church leaders, need to place the responsibility of this “performance” (although the stage is eternity, so there’s no breaking character—these are not alter-egos, but our regular everyday selves) on church congregants. I’ve talked before of church leaders measuring success not by the merit of their own efforts but by those of their congregants. This is just another reminder that our ultimate success, whether as worship leaders, pastors, small group leaders, or anything else, is to be measured in how much our listeners reflect God and change the world.

If you’re not a church leader but you are a Christian, remember that you are always on stage, whether for God or others; if you are not a Christian, I welcome any dialogue you have on the matter, as I’m sure there are a lot of experiences to be shared, both good and bad.

After a few solid years for this, I realized that I really had trouble relating to people who hadn’t had some sort of anguish (either external or internal) or Existential crisis. (I’m not quite that pretentious anymore. But if you knew me or read my journal while I was in college, you probably know what I’m talking about.) It seemed to me that people without that kind of life experience had a propensity for identifying and solving all the wrong problems (of problems dealing with anguish or personal crisis, anyway). I had enough trouble identifying those problems by myself, so I pretty much avoided anyone who “just wanted to cheer me up.”

You know that old saying, adversity breeds character? The opposite is also true. All of that really seemed to come together when I read this quote from Nicholas Berdyaev:

Not the worst but the best of mankind suffer the most. The intensity with which suffering is felt may be considered an index of a man’s depth. The more the intellect is developed and the soul refined … the more sensitive does one become to pain, not only the pains of the soul but physical pains as well. … But for pain and suffering, the animal in man would be victorious.

So it wasn’t just that suffering sharpened intellect—intellect also sharpened suffering. And it makes sense. More acute senses equate to more acute sensations, so why wouldn’t greater insight into the nature of life equate to a more acute awareness of the pains of living? Also, the smarter you are, the more dumb people grate on you, but that’s aside from the point.

But this isn’t just a matter of intellect. As it adds above, “and the soul refined,” so there is an emotional component to this too. This is also self-aggregating. As you grow to understand suffering, you grow to have compassion for those who experience it, and as you grow in compassion, you enter into the crushing realization that even intense caring from one man or woman cannot hope to put a dent in the suffering of the world. Once you decide to give a damn, you suddenly feel yourself pulled in about eighty different directions. Speaking from my own Christian experience, those who had never really experienced suffering did not really know how to solve the right problems regarding suffering.

Again, from my Christian experience, Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly” (John 10:10). Most Christians tend to focus on the positive aspects of that. But he doesn’t just say, “I have come that they may have happiness”—he came to give more life. All of it. The good and the bad. (I don’t know the actual Greek word here, so if any of my more scholarly friends have any additional insight into this passage, feel free to enlighten me.) A journey of faith is a continual growing of both emotion and intellect, so this makes sense.

Now, please note, I am not speaking of suffering solely as the effect of bad events. Looking back at my life objectively, it wasn’t really all that bad (aside from having a mental disorder). Suffering is a funny human experience in that it doesn’t have to be a tangible experience at all. Consider this quote from Sartre:

It is in suffering alone that he can feel himself to be free, because it is the only feeling which can come from within himself. Unless one is a god, one cannot become happy without the cooperation of the universe; but to be unhappy, one needs only oneself.

One quick aside: unhappiness can be a natural reaction to suffering and is perfectly natural in most people, but for some, it is a chronic condition. For some, it’s not a matter of circumstance or even brain chemicals—they continually choose to be unhappy. Now you know why: they’re exercising a degree of control because they likely feel a loss of control in other areas. I know, there are other reasons to choose perpetual unhappiness, but this is one of the more interesting reasons.

Anyway, all that to say, you’re not necessarily lacking in character if you haven’t had a rough life. There’s plenty of suffering to be had right in your own head.

The moral of the story is, I’m not opposed to suffering. I’m opposed to people not having a choice as to whether they have to suffer, but, again with the saying, adversity breeds character. Have I been depressed, overwhelmed, or even defeated in my life? Yes, a great many times. But would I trade that for any amount of happiness? Absolutely not.

And if you’ve read this whole post and it doesn’t make any sense to you, do not attempt to “cheer me up.” You have been warned.

Long-time readers and friends probably know about my disdain for Idealist philosophy. That same conviction is actually the binding force of Existentialism—rather than a comprehensive system, it is a reaction against another system of irresponsible optimism.

Idealism gave birth to the concept of Utopianism. Those who knew me in college know how much I was into books like 1984, Brave New World, and Fahrenheit 451—books that were literary reactions against Utopianism. That was actually a precursor to my Existential tendencies. I just didn’t see utopia as the answer to man’s problems. I didn’t see it as a very realistic or even desirable goal.

This quote, taken from Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground, sums up pretty neatly why I fall into this camp:

You see, you gentlemen have, to the best of my knowledge, taken your whole register of human advantages from the average statistical figures and politico-economical formulas. Your advantages are prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace—and so on, and so on. So that the man that should, for instance, go openly and knowingly in opposition to all that list would … be an obscurantist or an absolute madman. … But, you know, that is what is surprising; why does it so happen that all these statisticians, sages and lovers of humanity, when they reckon up human advantages invariably leave one out?

…

The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest advantages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most advantageous advantage (the very one omitted of which we spoke just now) which is more important and more advantageous than all other advantages. … This advantage is remarkable from the very fact that it breaks down all our classifications and continually shatters every system constructed by lovers of mankind for the benefit of mankind.

…

One’s own free unfettered choice, one’s own caprice, however wild it may be, one’s own fancy worked up at times to a frenzy—is that very “most advantageous advantage” which we have overlooked, which comes under no classification and against which all systems and theories are continually being shattered to atoms. … What man wants is simply independent choice, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead. And choice, of course, the devil only knows what choice.

The power and sheer unpredictability of human choice and free will is what will always prevent utopia. Not because I don’t trust mankind to make the right and noble decisions, but because I think that, deprived of our choice, we will be much worse off than we are now.

This is also what I consider to be the main reason why the Christian God allows things like war and genocide. Without complete freedom of choice, even the choice to make abhorrent decisions, the love and devotion of mankind means nothing to an omnipotent God. (For those who don’t know, Existentialism was originally a Christian philosophy. Read up on Soren Kierkegaard for more information on that side of it.)

I guess I’m a cynic in that I believe that pain and suffering are going to be an ever-present reality while we’re all alive. Would I want to take that away, given a fair chance? Absolutely. Do I think we can do it without sacrificing the greatest parts of ourselves? Not really. Here’s another quote, by Unanamo:

“Which would you find more appalling: to feel such a pain as would deprive you of your faculties on being pierced through with a white-hot iron, or to see yourself thus pierced through without feeling anything?”

This does nothing to my desire to help people, on both a macro and a micro level, and I would hope that it does not detract from any inclinations you may have to do so. But, as even Jesus said, the poor will always be with us.

Hey guys,

I’m trying to get a feel for the structure of each team’s regular team meetings.

What do the meetings consist of?
Examples: continuing education for your team, cross training with another team, updates on client projects, etc.

If you could send me any feedback on the frequency and structure of these meetings so that I can get a gauge of this, that would be great.

Thanks,
Joe

Here is my reply:

Hey Joe –

Good questions. My team meetings are held on dates one less than multiples of three if said date is on a work day and not on a Friday. To formalize the tone of the meetings, all speech is in Latin, excepting readings from the ancient web design texts, which are in the original Greek. On odd-numbered dates, we discuss web design topics (we discuss front-end design on prime-numbered dates and development on all other dates), and on even-numbered dates, we talk about why we are here, with a focus on Existential freedom (mainly Sartre, but we delve into some Kierkegaard from time to time). All discussion of Hegel is disallowed, and discussion of any of the other Idealist philosophers is frowned upon.

We’ve also held special meetings lately to talk about the ontological impact of the Postmodern shift on the career college industry, with specific regards to Kierkegaard and gunsmithing. No official conclusions have been drawn, as we encourage each employee to exercise his or her individual freedom and choose an outcome for himself or herself.

I hope this helps.

- Brandon Gregory

Here’s the gist of it: Containers of water had words taped onto them. The words portrayed emotions, such as love, gratitude, anger, and hatred. The containers were left alone with the words taped to them for a period of time, then the containers were frozen and the water crystals photographed. The “positive” emotions formed beautiful, soft-looking crystal shapes, while the “negative” emotions formed jagged, harsh-looking crystal shapes.

The philosophical significance of this is that the adult human body is roughly 60% water. If emotions can have a physical effect on water, they can have a physical effect on the human body as well.

The experiment was done by a Japanese scientist named Masaru Emoto—a man who, I’ve heard, has hinted that he is not a “real scientist.” The experiment was done only once, and documented inadequately. It has never been reproduced, by him or anyone else.

In this article on Emoto’s work, the interviewer asks whether multiple photographs were taken and how the “winners” were chosen. Emoto replies with the following:

I choose [the photographs] for their goodness and their beauty. There is a phrase in Japanese, shin zen be. Shin means truth. Zen means goodness. Be means beautiful. I select photographs of crystals with all three elements combined.

Nice and philosophical, but hardly scientific.

James Randi has publicly offered one million dollars to anyone who could reproduce Emoto’s results in a controlled, double-blind (read: scientific) lab test. To date, there are no takers.

The fact that these findings are as well-known as they are is testament to the persistent human fascination with metaphysical studies. (We’ll define religion as a metaphysical study for this article.) Religion was, for a long period of time, considered the ultimate truth. With the advent of science, people began to doubt the authority of religion, but people weren’t willing to give up on the metaphysical. So now, we have scientific (or pseudoscientific) research into the validity of metaphysics.

Modern people seem to be obsessed with exhibiting some degree of control over the world around them. No one wants to believe that they are mere products of the environs around them—but we have an unfortunate tendency to overcorrect and yearn for control over mere choice. I’m no expert, but I believe this is the basis of Scientology. Now, I’m not one to belittle anyone’s beliefs. I just think that faith works best as faith, just as science works best as science.

Anyway, just some late-night ramblings from your cynical amateur philosopher friend. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter.

One big example of this is in our propensity to join clubs and organizations (yes, religion included), or, more simply put, our strong desire to belong. This in itself is not bad—but when we start letting these clubs or organizations make our choices for us, we give up our freedom, and we get to relax a bit because someone else can take the responsibility if something goes wrong.

But I don’t think everyone would couple the two together. In fact, by many standards, freedom and responsibility very nearly mean the opposite thing. And I don’t mean responsibility in the traditional sense: getting a job, paying the bills, and taking care of loved ones. I’m talking about being held accountable for your actions. In this line of thought, freedom means less responsibility, which, by Existential standards, means less freedom. In this line of thought, the greatest freedom is to have no freedom.

(Now, I’m not proposing that this is a universal belief, nor am I proposing that it is the most prevalent belief. But admit it: you know people like this.)

Maybe it’s the INTP in me, but that just does not make sense to me. I really despise a person who does not accept responsibility for his or her own choices, either socially or intellectually. Bear in mind that I was an Existentialist long before I knew what Existentialism really was. This has just always made sense to me. Yes, there are times when I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t like myself when I don’t.

I believe that everyone longs for freedom—but their own personal definition of freedom. I think this is why I really don’t get along with these people: we’re constantly moving in opposite directions, philosophically speaking. And this isn’t just the complete bastard who never wants to care what other people think of him—this is also the politically-active individual that lets her political party formulate her opinions for her. This is the Christian who has not worked out his own salvation with fear and trembling. This is the teenager who buys a pre-packaged identity at Hot Topic and takes her social cues from music television.

And I think this is why I’m so into psychology as well. I need to know what conscious and unconscious influences are weighing on me so that I can think independently of them.

And yes, I realize that I still have a lot of work in this regard, but it is something I want to learn and am making strides to learn.

Anyway, there’s not much a point to this post, other than a minor epiphany and some late-night ranting. Feel free to reply with any thoughts you have on freedom, Existential or otherwise.

In most cases, social proof is a bigger motivator than intellectual integrity. And I’m no exception—I’ve jumped on bandwagons before, picked up opinions without really thinking them through just because other like-minded individuals had picked them up. This just further evidences the tendency we have to be primarily social creatures.

And, from a psychological standpoint, it’s no surprise. On Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, social acceptance is a much more basic human need than intellectual advancement (self-actualization).

So, let me be clear: one of my greatest desires is to help other people think themselves up to intellectual advancement and self-actualization. But that’s not a one-step process. And it’s not something everyone will get around to in their dealings with me. The much more basic needs are social and are, fortunately, easier to meet with a little caring. The important thing is to balance the two. I have a tendency to focus on one at the expense of the other, forgetting to either challenge or care for other individuals, depending on my relationship with them.

Anyway, this is one of my few posts that isn’t really meant for anyone. I just had to write this out to formulate it all in my head, and decided to keep it. Thanks for reading, though!

When a man turns his back upon someone and walks away, it is so easy to see that he walks away, but when a man hits upon a method of turning his face towards the one he is walking away from, hits upon a method of walking backwards while with appearance and glance and salutations he greets the person, giving assurances again and again that he is coming immediately, or incessantly saying, “Here I am”—although he gets farther and farther away by walking backwards—then it is not so easy to become aware. And so it is with the one who, rich in good intentions and quick to promise, retreats backwards farther and farther from the good. With the help of intentions and promises he maintains an orientation towards the good, he is turned towards the good, and with this orientation towards the good he moves backwards farther and farther away from it. With ever renewed intention and promise it seems as if he takes a step forward, and yet he not only remains standing still but really takes a step backward. The intention taken in vain, the unfulfilled promise leaves a residue of despondency, dejection, which perhaps soon again leave behind only greater languor. As a drunkard constantly requires stronger and stronger stimulation—in order to become intoxicated, likewise the one who has fallen into intentions and promises constantly requires more and more stimulation—in order to walk backward.

- Soren Kierkegaard, Works of Love

So what does this have to do with worship leadership? Let’s take a look back at an unorthodox, although very Biblical, definition of worship.

“Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Isaiah 58:3-7

So, by this definition, the point of worship is not an internal choice, but an external life in line with God’s ideals—and, again, an external life measured by its impact on others rather than its own perceived morality. Worship is measured in love and love is measured in sacrifice.

I think, as a worship leader, that I sometimes struggle with trying to bring people to outward signs of an internal choice, but I have no real desire to make sure that internal choice (and its eventual external expressions) are actually being made real. For instance, I feel I’ve succeeded most when I see a congregant raising her hands or singing with feeling—those are our fasting and sackcloth and ashes—but I have no idea how many of the congregants at my worship service are participating in service activities.

To make matters worse, I feel I reward those initial expressions rather than meaningful, impactful change by measuring success based on that criteria and altering my approach to elicit more of those responses that may or may not spring into something more.

Such an approach can turn into a backwards march when we fail to connect the cause with the effect, turning the mean into the end in our minds and theirs. Don’t get me wrong—worshiping God through intellectual, emotional, and philosophical self-sacrifice are important—but the goal is to lead them into a deeper level of love through a deeper level of sacrifice on all levels. Let’s say a congregant goes to the worship service on Sunday, and then has to choose between another worship experience or a service opportunity. As a worship leader, I feel like I would measure my own success by counting attendance at the former when I should be counting attendance at the latter. So really, we’re not worship leaders so much as worship instigators.

Please don’t read that I think true worship is limited to service opportunities. I just think one should not be at the expense of the other.

Anyway, those are my thoughts, and my confession, as a sometimes-misguided worship leader. Any other thoughts? Any other ways we lead a backwards march?

I’ve been fascinated as of late with the Greek word Logos, which literally means “word,” or, with some interpretation, logic or reasoning. It’s where we get the -ology suffix in the English language (words like biology, idiology, and theology). Even though it means “word,” though, it doesn’t refer to the grammatical object—there’s another word for that. Logos had a deeper meaning.

You have to remember that Greek culture and thought revolved around logic—they brought about the first organized school of philosophy, and several thereafter. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus described Logos as an underlying logic and order to the universe. He called it “the account which governs the universe.” To understand Logos would be to have an intimite knowledge of the universe and why things work the way they do. In Heraclitus’s eyes, Logos was what governed the world and held it together.

The Stoics, over 200 years later, believed there were two basic types of substance: passive, meaning matter and the physical realm, and active, meaning universal logic—also called Logos. Passive substance was subject to active substance since the universe is bound by its own rules. (This is similar to Platonism, but I’m not well-versed enough to articulate the differences.) The human soul and spirit were considered active substance, but were bound by passive substance. It was only in transcending our base human desires and inclinations that we were able to understand Logos.

So, with the Stoics, Logos took on a much more spiritual aspect. One of the main goals of Stoicism was to improve not only a person’s reasoning mind, but his or her actions and morals as well. It was a philosophy gauged not only on pure thought, but on tangible application of that thought (albeit for intangible goals).

Stoicism also spent a great deal of time thinking about god, or, more specifically, the entire universe as a god. Marcus Aurelius had this to say on the matter:

Constantly regard the universe as one living being, having one substance and one soul; and observe how all things have reference to one perception, the perception of this one living being; and how all things act with one movement; and how all things are the cooperating causes of all things which exist; observe too the continuous spinning of the thread and the structure of the web.
- Meditations iv.40

The “one substance and one soul” he talks about is Logos.

Now bear in mind that Stoicism began in the early third century BCE. This means that it was in full swing by the time Jesus arrived and started teaching. Israel had been a part of the Roman Empire long enough to be exposed to and influenced by their teachings, and it was probably common knowledge among the Greeks at the time. So now, the opening passage from the gospel of John, written to the Greeks, probably makes a lot more sense:

In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God. It was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through it, and without it not one thing came into being. What has come into being in it was life, and the life was the light of all people.

…

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. It was in the world, and the world came into being through it; yet the world did not know it. It came to what was its own, and its own people did not accept it. But to all who received it, who believed in its name, it gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

(I replaced the word “Word” with “Logos” and the pronouns he, his, and him with it, its and it. All Greek nouns have a gender, just like most of the Romance languages, so the pronoun wasn’t necessarily gender-specific.)

So John was actually a philosophy buff. (To give credit where credit is due, he wasn’t the first one to attribute Logos to God. That credit belongs to the Jewish philosopher Philo, who was a contemporary of John.) So John was taking a concept that his readers were very familiar with and likening it to Jewish beliefs. But here’s where he throws the wrench into the works:

And the Logos became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen its glory…

This was as huge a concept for the Greeks as God becoming flesh was for the Jews. But it also says a lot about John’s belief. In his eyes, Jesus wasn’t just God, but also reason personified.

Now, I know Stoicism differs from Christian theology in a number of ways, many of which are discussed by Paul in other books—but you have to admit, there are also some significant similarities.

Anyway, these are just some thoughts I had. Feel free to discuss.