Sathfilms » meaning…

short story: F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “A New Leaf”

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 13:06:00 +0000

The psychology of the protagonist is expressed beautifully. We are made to understand a textured concoction of personal thought whilst asked to engage in the emotional melee between flaws, weakness, trust, hope and love.

download the pdf or have a read below:

A New Leaf

Saturday Evening Post (4 July 1931)

I

It was the first day warm enough to eat outdoors in the Bois de Boulogne, while chestnut blossoms slanted down across the tables and dropped impudently into the butter and the wine. Julia Ross ate a few with her bread and listened to the big goldfish rippling in the pool and the sparrows whirring about an abandoned table. You could see everybody again — the waiters with their professional faces, the watchful Frenchwomen all heels and eyes, Phil Hoffman opposite her with his heart balanced on his fork, and the extraordinarily handsome man just coming out on the terrace.

— the purple noon’s transparent might.

The breath of the moist air is light

Around each unexpanded bud —

Julia trembled discreetly; she controlled herself; she didn’t spring up and call, “Yi-yi-yi-yi! Isn’t this grand?” and push the maître d’hôtel into the lily pond. She sat there, a well-behaved woman of twenty-one, and discreetly trembled.

Phil was rising, napkin in hand. “Hi there, Dick!”

“Hi, Phil!”

It was the handsome man; Phil took a few steps forward and they talked apart from the table.

“ — seen Carter and Kitty in Spain — ”

“ — poured on to the Bremen — ”

“ — so I was going to — ”

The man went on, following the head waiter, and Phil sat down.

“Who is that?” she demanded.

“A friend of mine — Dick Ragland.”

“He’s without doubt the handsomest man I ever saw in my life.”

“Yes, he’s handsome,” he agreed without enthusiasm.

“Handsome! He’s an archangel, he’s a mountain lion, he’s something to eat. Just why didn’t you introduce him?”

“Because he’s got the worst reputation of any American in Paris.”

“Nonsense; he must be maligned. It’s all a dirty frame-up — a lot of jealous husbands whose wives got one look at him. Why, that man’s never done anything in his life except lead cavalry charges and save children from drowning.”

“The fact remains he’s not received anywhere — not for one reason but for a thousand.”

“What reasons?”

“Everything. Drink, women, jails, scandals, killed somebody with an automobile, lazy, worthless — ”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Julia firmly. “I bet he’s tremendously attractive. And you spoke to him as if you thought so too.”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly, “like so many alcholics, he has a certain charm. If he’d only make his messes off by himself somewhere — except right in people’s laps. Just when somebody’s taken him up and is making a big fuss over him, he pours the soup down his hostess’ back, kisses the serving maid and passes out in the dog kennel. But he’s done it too often. He’s run through about everybody, until there’s no one left.”

“There’s me,” said Julia.

There was Julia, who was a little too good for anybody and sometimes regretted that she had been quite so well endowed. Anything added to beauty has to be paid for — that is to say, the qualities that pass as substitutes can be liabilities when added to beauty itself. Julia’s brilliant hazel glance was enough, without the questioning light of intelligence that flickered in it; her irrepressible sense of the ridiculous detracted from the gentle relief of her mouth, and the loveliness of her figure might have been more obvious if she had slouched and postured rather than sat and stood very straight, after the discipline of a strict father.

Equally perfect young men had several times appeared bearing gifts, but generally with the air of being already complete, of having no space for development. On the other hand, she found that men of larger scale had sharp corners and edges in youth, and she was a little too young herself to like that. There was, for instance, this scornful young egotist, Phil Hoffman, opposite her, who was obviously going to be a brilliant lawyer and who had practically followed her to Paris. She liked him as well as anyone she knew, but he had at present all the overbearance of the son of a chief of police.

“Tonight I’m going to London, and Wednesday I sail,” he said. “And you’ll be in Europe all summer, with somebody new chewing on your ear every few weeks.”

“When you’ve been called for a lot of remarks like that you’ll begin to edge into the picture,” Julia remarked. “Just to square yourself, I want you to introduce that man Ragland.”

“My last few hours!” he complained.

“But I’ve given you three whole days on the chance you’d work out a better approach. Be a little civilized and ask him to have some coffee.”

As Mr. Dick Ragland joined them, Julia drew a little breath of pleasure. He was a fine figure of a man, in coloring both tan and blond, with a peculiar luminosity to his face. His voice was quietly intense; it seemed always to tremble a little with a sort of gay despair; the way he looked at Julia made her feel attractive. For half an hour, as their sentences floated pleasantly among the scent of violets and snowdrops, forget-me-nots and pansies, her interest in him grew. She was even glad when Phil said:

“I’ve just thought about my English visa. I’ll have to leave you two incipient love birds together against my better judgment. Will you meet me at the Gare St. Lazare at five and see me off?”

He looked at Julia hoping she’d say, “I’ll go along with you now.” She knew very well she had no business being alone with this man, but he made her laugh, and she hadn’t laughed much lately, so she said: “I’ll stay a few minutes; it’s so nice and springy here.”

When Phil was gone, Dick Ragland suggested a fine champagne.

“I hear you have a terrible reputation?” she said impulsively.

“Awful. I’m not even invited out any more. Do you want me to slip on my false mustache?”

“It’s so odd,” she pursued. “Don’t you cut yourself off from all nourishment? Do you know that Phil felt he had to warn me about you before he introduced you? And I might very well have told him not to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I thought you seemed so attractive and it was such a pity.”

His face grew bland; Julia saw that the remark had been made so often that it no longer reached him.

“It’s none of my business,” she said quickly. She did not realize that his being a sort of outcast added to his attraction for her — not the dissipation itself, for never having seen it, it was merely an abstraction — but its result in making him so alone. Something atavistic in her went out to the stranger to the tribe, a being from a world with different habits from hers, who promised the unexpected — promised adventure.

“I’ll tell you something else,” he said suddenly. “I’m going permanently on the wagon on June fifth, my twenty-eighth birthday. I don’t have fun drinking any more. Evidently I’m not one of the few people who can use liquor.”

“You sure you can go on the wagon?”

“I always do what I say I’ll do. Also I’m going back to New York and go to work.”

“I’m really surprised how glad I am.” This was rash, but she let it stand.

“Have another fine ?” Dick suggested. “Then you’ll be gladder still.”

“Will you go on this way right up to your birthday?”

“Probably. On my birthday I’ll be on the Olympic in mid-ocean.”

“I’ll be on that boat too!” she exclaimed.

“You can watch the quick change; I’ll do it for the ship’s concert.”

The tables were being cleared off. Julia knew she should go now, but she couldn’t bear to leave him sitting with that unhappy look under his smile. She felt, maternally, that she ought to say something to help him keep his resolution.

“Tell me why you drink so much. Probably some obscure reason you don’t know yourself.”

“Oh, I know pretty well how it began.”

He told her as another hour waned. He had gone to the war at seventeen and, when he came back, life as a Princeton freshman with a little black cap was somewhat tame. So he went up to Boston Tech and then abroad to the Beaux Arts; it was there that something happened to him.

“About the time I came into some money I found that with a few drinks I got expansive and somehow had the ability to please people, and the idea turned my head. Then I began to take a whole lot of drinks to keep going and have everybody think I was wonderful. Well, I got plastered a lot and quarreled with most of my friends, and then I met a wild bunch and for a while I was expansive with them. But I was inclined to get superior and suddenly think ‘What am I doing with this bunch?’ They didn’t like that much. And when a taxi that I was in killed a man, I was sued. It was just a graft, but it got in the papers, and after I was released the impression remained that I’d killed him. So all I’ve got to show for the last five years is a reputation that makes mothers rush their daughters away if I’m at the same hotel.”

An impatient waiter was hovering near and she looked at her watch.

“Gosh, we’re to see Phil off at five. We’ve been here all the afternoon.”

As they hurried to the Gare St. Lazare, he asked: “Will you let me see you again; or do you think you’d better not?”

She returned his long look. There was no sign of dissipation in his face, in his warm cheeks, in his erect carriage.

“I’m always fine at lunch,” he added, like an invalid.

“I’m not worried,” she laughed. “Take me to lunch day after tomorrow.”

They hurried up the steps of the Gare St. Lazare, only to see the last carriage of the Golden Arrow disappearing toward the Channel. Julia was remorseful, because Phil had come so far.

As a sort of atonement, she went to the apartment where she lived with her aunt and tried to write a letter to him, but Dick Ragland intruded himself into her thoughts. By morning the effect of his good looks had faded a little; she was inclined to write him a note that she couldn’t see him. Still, he had made her a simple appeal and she had brought it all on herself. She waited for him at half-past twelve on the appointed day.

Julia had said nothing to her aunt, who had company for luncheon and might mention his name — strange to go out with a man whose name you couldn’t mention. He was late and she waited in the hall, listening to the echolalia of chatter from the luncheon party in the dining room. At one she answered the bell.

There in the outer hall stood a man whom she thought she had never seen before. His face was dead white and erratically shaven, his soft hat was crushed bunlike on his head, his shirt collar was dirty, and all except the band of his tie was out of sight. But at the moment when she recognized the figure as Dick Ragland she perceived a change which dwarfed the others into nothing; it was in his expression. His whole face was one prolonged sneer — the lids held with difficulty from covering the fixed eyes, the drooping mouth drawn up over the upper teeth, the chin wabbling like a made-over chin in which the paraffin had run — it was a face that both expressed and inspired disgust.

“H’lo,” he muttered.

For a minute she drew back from him; then, at a sudden silence from the dining room that gave on the hall, inspired by the silence in the hall itself, she half pushed him over the threshold, stepped out herself and closed the door behind them.

“Oh-h-h!” she said in a single, shocked breath.

“Haven’t been home since yest’day. Got involve’ on a party at — ”

With repugnance, she turned him around by his arm and stumbled with him down the apartment stairs, passing the concierge’s wife, who peered out at them curiously from her glass room. Then they came out into the bright sunshine of the Rue Guynemer.

Against the spring freshness of the Luxembourg Gardens opposite, he was even more grotesque. He frightened her; she looked desperately up and down the street for a taxi, but one turning the corner of the Rue de Vaugirard disregarded her signal.

“Where’ll we go lunch?” he asked.

“You’re in no shape to go to lunch. Don’t you realize? You’ve got to go home and sleep.”

“I’m all right. I get a drink I’ll be fine.”

A passing cab slowed up at her gesture.

“You go home and go to sleep. You’re not fit to go anywhere.”

As he focused his eyes on her, realizing her suddenly as something fresh, something new and lovely, something alien to the smoky and turbulent world where he had spent his recent hours, a faint current of reason flowed through him. She saw his mouth twist with vague awe, saw him make a vague attempt to stand up straight. The taxi yawned.

“Maybe you’re right. Very sorry.”

“What’s your address?”

He gave it and then tumbled into a corner, his face still struggling toward reality. Julia closed the door.

When the cab had driven off, she hurried across the street and into the Luxembourg Gardens as if someone were after her.

II

Quite by accident, she answered when he telephoned at seven that night. His voice was strained and shaking:

“I suppose there’s not much use apologizing for this morning. I didn’t know what I was doing, but that’s no excuse. But if you could let me see you for a while somewhere tomorrow — just for a minute — I’d like the chance of telling you in person how terribly sorry — ”

“I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Well, Friday then, or any day.”

“I’m sorry, I’m very busy this week.”

“You mean you don’t ever want to see me again?”

“Mr. Ragland, I hardly see the use of going any further with this. Really, that thing this morning was a little too much. I’m very sorry. I hope you feel better. Good-by.”

She put him entirely out of her mind. She had not even associated his reputation with such a spectacle — a heavy drinker was someone who sat up late and drank champagne and maybe in the small hours rode home singing. This spectacle at high noon was something else again. Julia was through.

Meanwhile there were other men with whom she lunched at Ciro’s and danced in the Bois. There was a reproachful letter from Phil Hoffman in America. She liked Phil better for having been so right about this. A fortnight passed and she would have forgotten Dick Ragland, had she not heard his name mentioned with scorn in several conversations. Evidently he had done such things before.

Then, a week before she was due to sail, she ran into him in the booking department of the White Star Line. He was as handsome — she could hardly believe her eyes. He leaned with an elbow on the desk, his fine figure erect, his yellow gloves as stainless as his clear, shining eyes. His strong, gay personality had affected the clerk who served him with fascinated deference; the stenographers behind looked up for a minute and exchanged a glance. Then he saw Julia; she nodded, and with a quick, wincing change of expression he raised his hat.

They were together by the desk a long time and the silence was oppressive.

“Isn’t this a nuisance?” she said.

“Yes,” he said jerkily, and then: “You going by the Olympic?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I thought you might have changed.”

“Of course not,” she said coldly.

“I thought of changing; in fact, I was here to ask about it.”

“That’s absurd.”

“You don’t hate the sight of me? So it’ll make you seasick when we pass each other on the deck?”

She smiled. He seized his advantage:

“I’ve improved somewhat since we last met.”

“Don’t talk about that.”

“Well then, you have improved. You’ve got the loveliest costume on I ever saw.”

This was presumptuous, but she felt herself shimmering a little at the compliment.

“You wouldn’t consider a cup of coffee with me at the café next door, just to recover from this ordeal?”

How weak of her to talk to him like this, to let him make advances. It was like being under the fascination of a snake.

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Something terribly timid and vulnerable came into his face, twisting a little sinew in her heart. “Well, all right,” she shocked herself by saying.

Sitting at the sidewalk table in the sunlight, there was nothing to remind her of that awful day two weeks ago. Jekyll and Hyde. He was courteous, he was charming, he was amusing. He made her feel, oh, so attractive! He presumed on nothing.

“Have you stopped drinking?” she asked.

“Not till the fifth.”

“Oh!”

“Not until I said I’d stop. Then I’ll stop.”

When Julia rose to go, she shook her head at his suggestion of a further meeting.

“I’ll see you on the boat. After your twenty-eighth birthday.”

“All right; one more thing: It fits in with the high price of crime that I did something inexcusable to the one girl I’ve ever been in love with in my life.”

She saw him the first day on board, and then her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.

He was popular on the boat; she heard that he was giving a party on the night of his twenty-eighth birthday. Julia was not invited; when they met they spoke pleasantly, nothing more.

It was the day after the fifth that she found him stretched in his deck chair looking wan and white. There were wrinkles on his fine brow and around his eyes, and his hand, as he reached out for a cup of bouillon, was trembling. He was still there in the late afternoon, visibly suffering, visibly miserable. After three times around, Julia was irresistibly impelled to speak to him:

“Has the new era begun?”

He made a feeble effort to rise, but she motioned him not to and sat on the next chair.

“You look tired.”

“I’m just a little nervous. This is the first day in five years that I haven’t had a drink.”

“It’ll be better soon.”

“I know,” he said grimly.

“Don’t weaken.”

“I won’t.”

“Can’t I help you in any way? Would you like a bromide?”

“I can’t stand bromides,” he said almost crossly. “No, thanks, I mean.”

Julia stood up: “I know you feel better alone. Things will be brighter tomorrow.”

“Don’t go, if you can stand me.”

Julia sat down again.

“Sing me a song — can you sing?”

“What kind of a song?”

“Something sad — some sort of blues.”

She sang him Libby Holman’s “This is how the story ends,” in a low, soft voice.

“That’s good. Now sing another. Or sing that again.”

“All right. If you like, I’ll sing to you all afternoon.”

III

The second day in New York he called her on the phone. “I’ve missed you so,” he said. “Have you missed me?”

“I’m afraid I have,” she said reluctantly.

“Much?”

“I’ve missed you a lot. Are you better?”

“I’m all right now. I’m still just a little nervous, but I’m starting work tomorrow. When can I see you?”

“When you want.”

“This evening then. And look — say that again.”

“What?”

“That you’re afraid you have missed me.”

“I’m afraid that I have,” Julia said obediently.

“Missed me,” he added.

“I’m afraid I have missed you.”

“All right. It sounds like a song when you say it.”

“Good-by, Dick.”

“Good-by, Julia dear.”

She stayed in New York two months instead of the fortnight she had intended, because he would not let her go. Work took the place of drink in the daytime, but afterward he must see Julia.

Sometimes she was jealous of his work when he telephoned that he was too tired to go out after the theater. Lacking drink, night life was less than nothing to him — something quite spoiled and well lost. For Julia, who never drank, it was a stimulus in itself — the music and the parade of dresses and the handsome couple they made dancing together. At first they saw Phil Hoffman once in a while; Julia considered that he took the matter rather badly; then they didn’t see him any more.

A few unpleasant incidents occurred. An old schoolmate, Esther Cary, came to her to ask if she knew of Dick Ragland’s reputation. Instead of growing angry, Julia invited her to meet Dick and was delighted with the ease with which Esther’s convictions were changed. There were other, small, annoying episodes, but Dick’s misdemeanors had, fortunately, been confined to Paris and assumed here a far-away unreality. They loved each other deeply now — the memory of that morning slowly being effaced from Julia’s imagination — but she wanted to be sure.

“After six months, if everything goes along like this, we’ll announce our engagement. After another six months we’ll be married.”

“Such a long time,” he mourned.

“But there were five years before that,” Julia answered. “I trust you with my heart and with my mind, but something else says wait. Remember, I’m also deciding for my children.”

Those five years — oh, so lost and gone.

In August, Julia went to California for two months to see her family. She wanted to know how Dick would get along alone. They wrote every day; his letters were by turns cheerful, depressed, weary and hopeful. His work was going better. As things came back to him, his uncle had begun really to believe in him, but all the time he missed his Julia so. It was when an occasional note of despair began to appear that she cut her visit short by a week and came East to New York.

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” he cried as they linked arms and walked out of the Grand Central station. “It’s been so hard. Half a dozen times lately I’ve wanted to go on a bust and I had to think of you, and you were so far away.”

“Darling — darling, you’re so tired and pale. You’re working too hard.”

“No, only that life is so bleak alone. When I go to bed my mind churns on and on. Can’t we get married sooner?”

“I don’t know; we’ll see. You’ve got your Julia near you now, and nothing matters.”

After a week, Dick’s depression lifted. When he was sad, Julia made him her baby, holding his handsome head against her breast, but she liked it best when he was confident and could cheer her up, making her laugh and feel taken care of and secure. She had rented an apartment with another girl and she took courses in biology and domestic science in Columbia. When deep fall came, they went to football games and the new shows together, and walked through the first snow in Central Park, and several times a week spent long evenings together in front of her fire. But time was going by and they were both impatient. Just before Christmas, an unfamiliar visitor — Phil Hoffman — presented himself at her door. It was the first time in many months. New York, with its quality of many independent ladders set side by side, is unkind to even the meetings of close friends; so, in the case of strained relations, meetings are easy to avoid.

And they were strange to each other. Since his expressed skepticism of Dick, he was automatically her enemy; on another count, she saw that he had improved, some of the hard angles were worn off; he was now an assistant district attorney, moving around with increasing confidence through his profession.

“So you’re going to marry Dick?” he said. “When?”

“Soon now. When mother comes East.”

He shook his head emphatically. “Julia, don’t marry Dick. This isn’t jealousy — I know when I am licked — but it seems awful for a lovely girl like you to take a blind dive into a lake full of rocks. What makes you think that people change their courses? Sometimes they dry up or even flow into a parallel channel, but I’ve never known anybody to change.”

“Dick’s changed.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t that an enormous ‘maybe’? If he was unattractive and you liked him, I’d say go ahead with it. Maybe I’m all wrong, but it’s so darn obvious that what fascinates you is that handsome pan of his and those attractive manners.”

“You don’t know him,” Julia answered loyally. “He’s different with me. You don’t know how gentle he is, and responsive. Aren’t you being rather small and mean?”

“Hm.” Phil thought for a moment. “I want to see you again in a few days. Or perhaps I’ll speak to Dick.”

“You let Dick alone,” she cried. “He has enough to worry him without your nagging him. If you were his friend you’d try to help him instead of coming to me behind his back.”

“I’m your friend first.”

“Dick and I are one person now.”

But three days later Dick came to see her at an hour when he would usually have been at the office.

“I’m here under compulsion,” he said lightly, “under threat of exposure by Phil Hoffman.”

Her heart dropping like a plummet. “Has he given up?” she thought. “Is he drinking again?”

“It’s about a girl. You introduced me to her last summer and told me to be very nice to her — Esther Cary.”

Now her heart was beating slowly.

“After you went to California I was lonesome and I ran into her. She’d liked me that day, and for a while we saw quite a bit of each other. Then you came back and I broke it off. It was a little difficult; I hadn’t realized that she was so interested.”

“I see.” Her voice was starved and aghast.

“Try and understand. Those terribly lonely evenings. I think if it hadn’t been for Esther, I’d have fallen off the wagon. I never loved her — I never loved anybody but you — but I had to see somebody who liked me.”

He put his arm around her, but she felt cold all over and he drew away.

“Then any woman would have done,” Julia said slowly. “It didn’t matter who.”

“No!” he cried.

“I stayed away so long to let you stand on your own feet and get back your self-respect by yourself.”

“I only love you, Julia.”

“But any woman can help you. So you don’t really need me, do you?”

His face wore that vulnerable look that Julia had seen several times before; she sat on the arm of his chair and ran her hand over his cheek.

“Then what do you bring me?” she demanded. “I thought that there’d be the accumulated strength of having beaten your weakness. What do you bring me now?”

“Everything I have.”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just your good looks — and the head waiter at dinner last night had that.”

They talked for two days and decided nothing. Sometimes she would pull him close and reach up to his lips that she loved so well, but her arms seemed to close around straw.

“I’ll go away and give you a chance to think it over,” he said despairingly. “I can’t see any way of living without you, but I suppose you can’t marry a man you don’t trust or believe in. My uncle wanted me to go to London on some business — ”

The night he left, it was sad on the dim pier. All that kept her from breaking was that it was not an image of strength that was leaving her; she would be just as strong without him. Yet as the murky lights fell on the fine structure of his brow and chin, as she saw the faces turn toward him, the eyes that followed him, an awful emptiness seized her and she wanted to say: “Never mind, dear; we’ll try it together.”

But try what? It was human to risk the toss between failure and success, but to risk the desperate gamble between adequacy and disaster —

“Oh, Dick, be good and be strong and come back to me. Change, change, Dick — change!”

“Good-by, Julia — good-by.”

She last saw him on the deck, his profile cut sharp as a cameo against a match as he lit a cigarette.

IV

It was Phil Hoffman who was to be with her at the beginning and the end. It was he who broke the news as gently as it could be broken. He reached her apartment at half-past eight and carefully threw away the morning paper outside. Dick Ragland had disappeared at sea.

After her first wild burst of grief, he became purposely a little cruel.

“He knew himself. His will had given out; he didn’t want life any more. And, Julia, just to show you how little you can possibly blame yourself, I’ll tell you this: He’d hardly gone to his office for four months — since you went to California. He wasn’t fired because of his uncle; the business he went to London on was of no importance at all. After his first enthusiasm was gone he’d given up.”

She looked at him sharply. “He didn’t drink, did he? He wasn’t drinking?”

For a fraction of a second Phil hesitated. “No, he didn’t drink; he kept his promise — he held on to that.”

“That was it,” she said. “He kept his promise and he killed himself doing it.”

Phil waited uncomfortably.

“He did what he said he would and broke his heart doing it,” she went on chokingly. “Oh, isn’t life cruel sometimes — so cruel, never to let anybody off. He was so brave — he died doing what he said he’d do.”

Phil was glad he had thrown away the newspaper that hinted of Dick’s gay evening in the bar — one of many gay evenings that Phil had known of in the past few months. He was relieved that was over, because Dick’s weakness had threatened the happiness of the girl he loved; but he was terribly sorry for him — even understanding how it was necessary for him to turn his maladjustment to life toward one mischief or another — but he was wise enough to leave Julia with the dream that she had saved out of wreckage.

There was a bad moment a year later, just before their marriage, when she said:

“You’ll understand the feeling I have and always will have about Dick, won’t you, Phil? It wasn’t just his good looks. I believed in him — and I was right in a way. He broke rather than bent; he was a ruined man, but not a bad man. In my heart I knew when I first looked at him.”

Phil winced, but he said nothing. Perhaps there was more behind it than they knew. Better let it all alone in the depths of her heart and the depths of the sea.

God is dead?

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Tue, 27 May 2008 21:20:59 +0000

my father showed me this:

I’d love to know why

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Mon, 26 May 2008 21:00:40 +0000

Somewhere down below in bold is a comment that I really liked on the post “Oedipal Atheists” found on the Religious Write blog. The post looked at a new study:

Oxford University researchers will carry out a £2 million ($4.3 million) study into why people believe in God. The three-year study by anthropologists, theologians, philosophers and other academics will consider whether belief in a divine being is an inherent part of human nature.

Project director Roger Trigg, acting head of the Ian Ramsey Centre for Science and Religion, says anthropological and philosophical research suggests that faith in God is a universal human impulse found in most cultures around the world. “One implication that comes from this is that religion is the default position, and atheism is perhaps more in need of explanation.”

The news of this study was seemingly associated with another observation:

Recently I also came across New York University emeritus professor of psychology Paul Vitz’s arguments that – contra Freud – it may not be religious belief that is a neurosis but atheism.

Barney goes on to write…

Vitz says there is good reason to give only limited acceptance to Freud’s Oedipal theory. Instead, he works out a psychology of atheism based on the malign influence of the defective father.

Anyway, the post managed to spark yet another large collision of rants from atheists and the religious alike trying to talk “sense” into each other. I’m surprised Barney actually took time to reply to many of the 1000+ comments on his post, but I guess that’s his job.

Here’s the one that I accidentally stumbled upon by a Vicky K, it was after a whole bunch of other comments:

I am compelled to respond to some of your questions Barney as this is a topic that interests me greatly, mostly because of how much people attach their own ego to the question of whether or not God exists.

There is nothing that fascinates me more than the arrogance that convinces people of the omniscience of their own perspective.

I think I am equally as appalled by the atheist who clings to his/ her concept of “reality” and incorruptible and infallible reason, as I am by the fundamentalist religious right who cling to their “faith” and accept no argument.

Both tend to display a, shall we call it almost adolescent, need to be “right”. And both will quite often paint people of different persuasions in unflattering lights by creating straw men for themselves to knock down.

How much easy it is to knock down an immature, irrational person clinging desperately to an oedipal desire for a god-being, than one in which spirituality has evolved in a complex and carefully considered way. Or a person in whom spirituality and reason reside comfortably side-by-side.

And so we get these false discourses of irrationality versus rationality; of immaturity versus maturity and discussions of neuroses and wish-fullfilments.

Its all nonsense of course. The human psyche is far more complicated than that and it shows a remarkable lack of scientific curiosity to want to paint things so black and white.

I predict that the Oxford study might reveal that people, whether atheist or spiritual, may experience the world in different ways, but use much the same mechanical workings when it comes to how the brain works and the ins and outs of the human mind. I think this idea of one group of people having ownership over maturity of thought and another being simply the sum of their neuroses is a ridiculous fallacy, created only to serve those whom it flatters.

Having not read Vitz’s entire position, I cannot speak to it directly, but I will say that I have often noted with amusement the emotional foundation of the arguments of my most self-professed “rational” friends. The fact that they do not see this in themselves, or somehow believe that like the Vulcans of Star Trek, they have risen above their own natures, always strikes me as surprising. Is it a lack of introspection? Something else?

I choose to move through the world in an experiential rather than rational way. The difference between my position and that of the atheist is simply the lense through which I view the world. You will never hear me say, however, that an alternative lense is invalid. Nor do I waste my time trying to figure out what failure of their natures would send them on such a path. It seems to me as simple as saying we are different people, and the things that connect us far overwhelm these silly barriers we create between ourselves. I’m not arrogant enough to believe that my truth needs to be true for anyone but myself.

Sorry for the rambling post.

Here’s to that.

For me, I don’t particularly have time for Vitz’s comments. Perhaps I’m stating the obvious but I always thought that neurotic psychological barriers are a factor in everyone’s lives including their belief system and their behavior in and interpretation of the boundaries that they set for themselves, religious or not. Who cares what the mind “needs” and why does it matter if someone somewhere claims that the default position is being a turkey or a dolphin? Isn’t psychological neurosis present in everyone in some form? I’m sure this theory would somehow apply to some, maybe many people; but I don’t think it will help people become transparent to themselves in an attempt to find answers.

Barney says:

I am disposed to like Vitz’s theory to the extent that I have always felt there are subconscious and not strictly rational reasons (alongside rational ones) why people do or don’t believe. There’s some merit to the argument that if we confine ourselves to purely rational considerations, eliminating all others, the only acceptable position is agnosticism. But it’s a very human phenomenon to rationalise what we want to believe, one way or another.

I don’t disagree with Barney. At the same time I don’t feel that Vitz and/or suggestions regarding this study talk about anything truly new, apart from creating another (perhaps new) unhealthy polarized generalization about a default position in human nature and beliefs. I don’t see much usefulness in this intersection of psychology and religion or atheism. Honest introspection is something that’s been talked about so much over the years that it’s become very cliched – a sort of psychoanalysis of oneself – and it’s something that many people strive for but fail. It would be amazing and fascinating to be able to know why someone really believes in God and why another doesn’t, but I’m not even sure if it’s possible to understand why someone believes anything beyond a superficial level entrenched in many assumptions. I’d be interested to see how they find people to participate in their 2 million pound study.

The mind wanders (i.e. I feel like crapping on about something)

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 14:27:29 +0000

If I have any conclusion at all after this trip – which is not something I claim to have – perhaps it is that all these places, whilst being vastly different on the surface, to me, are incredibly similar underneath. How different can these places within the realm of humanity truly be in the search for what truly matters, whether it’s India, China, Germany, England, America, Australia and so on? What kind of emancipation exists in seeing the world, apart from getting an increasingly acute feeling that satisfaction is somewhere between the lines. There is an odd sensation in seeing the same happiness, sadness, problems, denial, uncertainty and glimpses of beauty, framed in countless diverse ways around the globe, even in states that border each other and even between and within communities that are smaller and physically closer yet.

At ground level, as I traveled around in different kinds of groups – with different friend, with family, with strangers, by myself – seeing a variety of places, I saw numerous ways in which nations and communities have been shaped by their long histories. Ideas have been emphasised differently between societies as occurrences in the past have dictated it. It is quite fascinating to experience how differently people view even simple things because of the way they were brought up and because of the place in which they have grown up.

Firstly, as mentioned, there is contrast in what I’ve seen between places, whilst there remains an intense underlying sameness. Just as the differences keep everyone divided and distracted, the sameness shows promise for peace in the distant future despite the challenges that obviously exist. Secondly but definitely not independent of the first point, there is a type unity in the pervasive dissatisfaction existing in the world today. Identity is getting obscured as people strive to claw uncertainly for an identity, or at least something, anything, to matter enough. Perhaps I’m talking only about myself but I do not think that I am. And perhaps this only exists outside the dogmatic religious frame. In any case, the first phenomenon impedes the second; the first phenomenon distracts us from the difficulty of merely addressing the second let alone overcoming it. Living in that distraction might be necessary, but beneath that distraction is one thing that can cause unity… but does that matter?

Protected: Another script

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 04:45:33 +0000

This post is password protected. You must visit the website and enter the password to continue reading.

We don’t have all the answers

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Wed, 30 May 2007 21:00:56 +0000

A Coherent Worldview « Minds 2 Mentes

The author of this blog, Krista posted the above link to her blog in a comment here regarding my reference to Zacharias and the four basic questions of life. On her post, this explains the gist of the four basic questions of life:

“Ravi Zacharias spoke about the requirements of a coherent worldview. He said there are 4 questions a worldview must answer: the questions of origins, meanings, morality and destiny. The question of origins deals with how life came about. The question of meanings deals with the question of why life came about. The question of morality deals with questions of what is right and wrong and how we know the difference. The question of destiny deals with the question of the ultimate destinations of life.”

Four very valid questions. It’s quite obvious that many people think about these four questions and not get any answers, and subsequently try and find the answers. Krista continues, and says:

“Everyone has a worldview. The question is, is your worldview coherent? Does it answer the above questions? If you chose to believe in a certain system, be it religious or non-religious, it must answer these questions in order to be relevant, and it must be relevant in order to be correct. You may have an answer to the question of destiny, but if you do not have an answer to the question of morality then your worldview has a hole in it; there is then something about the way you look at the world that doesn’t make sense, because you have not provided an answer for one of the basic questions of life.

“What is your worldview? Is it coherent? And does it satisfactorily answer these questions in a way that makes sense and reflects reality? If not, it may be time to look for a new way to look at the world that is logical and realistic.”

Yes, everyone has a way they see life, however does their “worldview” need to be coherent? Life is confusing. Why does a worldview need to answer those four questions? Perhaps we are here to get a better understanding of those questions, and the answers aren’t merely found in a scripture. Your faith tells you the answers you have are correct. Why MUST a worldview answer those questions? I am asking anyone, not just the author of the particular blog. How does having an answer, which may be correct for all four of those questions make the answers defintely correct? Why must a view answer those immensely difficult questions to have relevance? Relevance to what? A worldview with logical, or relevant answer to those questions does not mean it is correct.

I could say we came into existence because an alien race far, far away (really far away), created the life on our planet including the human race; then we exist because it was an experiment to see how various species especially those with two legs, who can be conditioned, with an ability to think somewhat logically, but with no idea of their origin, will progress; we know what is right and wrong because we have been given the ability to use our brains, conscience and the analysis of experience (ours and others’) if we can merely break away from some of our conditioned ideas in our minds; and we will ultimately die when our heart stops and our brains stops functioning, and then, there will be nothing but silence. Now, I must admit, it’s not from an old scripture, and it’s flawed, but I’m sure, given the time, I could twist it enough so that it makes enough logical sense to oppose other answers to the four questions. To use your terms, it reflects reality as much as the heaven and hell idea where our actions and good lives really mean nothing if we don’t accept THE single doctrine. And it’s as coherent as the idea that some almighty entity – God – created us. Nonetheless, I don’t think it’s correct.

I can’t see how answering those questions validate a worldview any more than a worldview that is searching for those answers, or even a worldview that disregards those questions. Having answers that may or may not be correct does not validate anything. It’s your faith that allows it to be relevant and correct for you, and then your faith that suggests to you that the answers you have are absolutely correct for everyone. These ideas are definitely interesting to explore.

Absolutes are Irrelevant

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Tue, 29 May 2007 18:30:00 +0000

In response to the comment left on my post, here, and the post on Minds 2Mentes titled, “The Exclusiveness of Christ - Part 1.” I’ll be sure to read Krista’s next few blog posts, because the discussion does interest me even though I don’t find it useful to me personally. Religion, why and how people have such strong absolute beliefs (or faith), and the impact of religion does fascinate me; however I (and I’m sure many others) find the argument regarding absolute and relative truth to be irrelevant and impossible to support. For some people the discussion might appear to be necessary, however in no way do I accept any of the religions to be perfect (I think Gandhi said it much better than I ever could, so please read that quote from here) which therefore means that, to me, none of the religions portray an absolute truth, but instead, perhaps just an essence of truth. I’m not sure of what this absolute truth is or what happens after life, but I do not have a faith in any religion to portray it accurately where I can say it is inerrant – so the argument of absolutes is useless to me. This is the line of thinking which lead me to the idea of “spherical truth.”

Now, I don’t want to argue about your Zacharias quote, “Jesus Christ didn’t come into this world to make bad people good, he came into this world to make dead people live,” but please note I wasn’t referring to the intention of a religion but just the possible impact or consequence of it, which could be leading a good life and so on. Nonetheless, I just want to make it as clear as possible, why this argument about relative truth is quite irrelevant to me and others who share a similar line of thinking. To suggest another idea of truth, this is a little but great quote I found on the Tamilnation website within the immensity of the “From Matter to Life to Mind… an Unfolding Consciousness” section, which is a substantial compilation of unwavering wisdom:

“…I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. That is my point of view, and I adhere to that absolutely and unconditionally. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organised… The moment you follow someone you cease to follow Truth…No man from outside can make you free… No one holds the Key to the Kingdom of Happiness. No one has the authority to hold that key. That key is your own self, and in the development and the purification and in the incorruptibility of that self alone is the Kingdom of Eternity…” Jiddu Krishnamurthy

So, considering that my view on attaining an understanding of truth (my understanding is relatively undefined) is quite different to Krista’s and that I do not believe any religions are perfect, let me try and make it as clear as I can why the argument regarding absolute and relative truth is something I think is irrelevant, and something I do not care much about. In the Mind 2 Mentes post about relative and absolute truth, Krista had said and quoted this:

I was listening to a Josh McDowell message on the radio talking about the way this generation views truth. He told about how when he speaks to crowds of people about the subject, he picks somebody out to ask them a couple questions. He would hold up a Bible and the conversation would go something like:

“Do you believe this is the Word of God?”
“Yes”
“Do you believe it is inerrant?”
“Yes”
“Do you believe it’s completely reliable?”
“Yes”
“Why?”

And then there was usually silence. And if the person did have an answer, the conversation would continue like:

“Because I have faith and believe it to be true”
“So if the person across the aisle from you believes the Qur’an to be true, does that make it true to them, just because they believe in it?”
“Yes”

And this is where the debate begins. So, straight away, in my line of thinking, and apparently Gandhi’s as well, I would simply say “no” to the second question, “Do you believe it is inerrant?” and thus the line of questioning will stop, or it will change and perhaps I would be asked “why?” and I could once again quote Gandhi because he sums up my view extremely well, and so on. When I referred to meaning in the For the sake of Meaning? post, I was not referring to relative truth but rather, differing beliefs, motivation, because I feel that finding truth, whatever that may be, is the journey of the individual.

I really cringe when I hear things like:

“Living a good life will not save you. Jesus Christ alone provides salvation for the soul so that we can be with God forever.”

And i really to start think - how are certain people so sure about such things? For Christians, or anyone, who believe that their way is the only right way, this discussion about absolute truth would be interesting and probably necessary to “properly” affirm their faith – a discussion which ends up referring to the bible, quote after quote of theology and quotes referring to passages in the bible. Nonetheless, it is useless to me, since I cannot say that the bible is inerrant or the only word of God. Therefore, I find the discussion tiring also because it is formed on a foundation of assumptions that a certain scripture is 100% correct.

What’s with the certainty?

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Tue, 29 May 2007 14:50:05 +0000

Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard: Pentecost, Cicadas, Atheists, and Logical Death Traps…..SUSPENSE!!!

Intense (and rather lengthy) read. People are entitled to their views, yet, so many people seem so certain about everything. How and why is this the case? People are so certain that there is a God. Others are so certain there isn’t a God. I guess, this division isn’t all that unbelievable, but it’s when people have beliefs that are oh so specific that my mind starts to shut down. Alright, so there’s a God? Let’s assume that. Now there are rules and a single path? How are people so absolutely sure of “God’s Will” and the means of reaching salvation? After reading so many blog posts, and books about this, so many people have their opinions, and so many people are so certain that they are in fact correct, and the other poor fellow reading another dusty old book is incorrect - this observation leaves me amazed and terrified.

The writer of the linked blog-post attacks atheists, but my question is, what’s so bad about only believing in this life, “carpe diem” and so on? Who’s to say that’s wrong. I wouldn’t live my life that way, but that’s me and the meaning I have found for myself at present. Furthermore, the relationship between atheism and Epicureanism is a massive generalisation. I’ve read blogs of atheists who seem to care overtly for themselves, the people they hold close; they have an urge to awakenthe “foolish,” and they care a whole lot for pleasure and materialism. Traditionally that may be thought of as bad, selfish, arrogant and inconsiderate. However, at the same time I have atheist friends who don’t have to believe in a God to do good things - they don’t really care about material items and pleasure (and a balance to maintain pleasure) as suggested by Epicurus. I’m not convinced, but Christians say, being a good person isn’t what it’s all about; and doing good things isn’t what it’s all about – It’s about dead people becoming alive? How is anyone so sure of such things? What about other religions? People try their best to understand and follow the will of “God” yet they are still condemned to Hell because they chose wrong? Clearly if someone chose wrong, it was on purpose. Understanding of these “certain” things are derived from a text that is perfect and inerrant? How in the world can anyone be certain about matters that talk about things we can’t see and close their mind to everything else? The writer can say that one only can see the effects of the wind but not the wind itself, and similarly one can see the effects of the Holy Spirit but not the holy spirit itself; am I stating the obvious when I say that the effects of wind can be recorded and studied accurately; whilst the effects of the Holy Spirit you speak of are far more personal? What suddenly gave the Holy Spirit such definite characteristics and the basic questions regarding life such certainty? What makes you right and me or some other person wrong? Is it just the fact that if you’re right it has to mean that I’m wrong? It has to be that black and white, does it?

I’m glad that so many people are so sure what life is about. And more perplexing: I’m amazed that people are so sure what eternity is about.

What’s with all my questions?

Absolutely Useless and Relatively Tiring

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Mon, 28 May 2007 21:00:23 +0000

Absolutely Relative: The Paradox of the Declaration of Relative Truth « Minds 2 Mentes

Thank you for giving me the link to your blog, and the post above which was in response to this post which talked about religion for the sake of meaning, as opposed to escapedmentalpatient’s thought where religion is belief for belief’s sake.

I’ve only briefly glanced over some of the posts on your blog but I did read the post that I have linked above, about relative truth, but I’ll be sure to have a more closer read of other posts when time allows it.

Regarding relative truth, I’ve previously had some conversations about the very same idea, with a Christian friend of mine. She couldn’t understand how I could believe that more than one path can lead to God (or a higher power) and still think Christianity can be one of these paths, because, in the Bible, Jesus said that the only way to God is through him. I also read the Case For Faith, and the chapter with the Ravi Zacharias interview, where he talked about relative truth and how Christianity is the only true way, and thus there could be no other. The section of that chapter regarding Mahatma Gandhi and whether or not he’d go to Heaven was also quite interesting, but unfortunately I am not really that impressed by any arguments made by Zacharias, although I’m sure he must be an expert on these matters. Furthermore, his representation of a kind of pop-culture-Buddhism was offensive even if it was just discussing the popularity of the “Buddhist” way of life in the United States today. His views are very absolute, and that’s where my issues start.

I’m sure Ravi Zacharias has had some amazing experiences in his younger years, however I can never appreciate absoluteness in any argument with regards to the four questions that he said need answering: that of origin, meaning, morality and destiny. It must be wonderful that he has it all worked out and that he has the faith to believe that the bible is inerrant and the absolute word of God. To me, this argument about relative truth and absolute truth is useless. You are correct in saying that if one believes that the bible is the absolutely 100% correct and that it all is the word of God, they cannot also believe that another way to God or salvation can be possible or correct. I do not believe any religion is perfect, and I also believe it is down to the individual to determine a path based on their learning, questioning and their understanding of why they exist. I would be referring to a relative truth or truths, only if I say that each religion is devoid of error or inaccuracies, or if I said that a belief in the religion makes it true merely because it is a true belief of that person. Yet, I do feel however that most, if not all, the aims of various religions are similar in nature; and obviously that can be criticised as a very superficial comparison. As I’ve written, I only respect religion because people can find themselves meaning, a reason to live and help others, through it and the direction and guidelines it can give - and in my opinion, and absoluteness is harmful. There is no way that I believe a Christian, Hindu, Islam or any view, to be true - perhaps an essence of truth, but not “truth” in it’s absoluteness. I do not believe that every way is wholly correct, and I do not say any way is wholly wrong. I have no right, or credentials to say as such. I cannot talk in absolutes because I don’t know what these absolutes are; and let me quote Gandhi, who according to Zacharias, might be in Hell right now. From The Essential Gandhi: An Anthology of His Writing on His Life, Work, and Ideas, edited by Louis Fischer:

“[Gandhi liked the sweet Christian hymns and many of the Christians he met. But he could not regard Christianity as the perfect religion or the greatest religion.] …It was impossible for me to believe that I could go to heaven or attain salvation only by becoming a Christian… I could accept Jesus as a martyr, and embodiment of sacrifice and a divine teacher, but not as the most perfect man ever born… The pious lives of Christians did not give me anything that the lives of men of other faiths had failed to give. I had seen in other lives the same reformation that I had heard among Christians. Philosophically there was nothing extraordinary in Christian principles… Thus, if I could not accept Christianity either as a perfect or the greatest religion, neither was I then convinced of Hinduism’s being such. Hindu defects were pressingly visible to me. If untouchability could be part of Hinduism, it could be but a rotten part or an excrescence. I could not understand the [reason for] a multitude of sects and castes. What was the meaning of saying that the Vedas [Hindu scripture] were the inspired Word of God? If they were inspired, why not also the Bible and the Koran?”

So, when a Christian says to me, that he or she believes that Christianity is the only way to God, I understand that that person has that belief, but in no way do I believe that it is wholly truth. I am not saying Christianity is true because that person believes it, just as I am not saying that Hinduism is true because another person completely beleives that. I find the argument of relative and absolute truths a waste of my time.

How about a spherical truth? Why not! Perhaps all religions aim to reach the centre of the sphere where truth may reside - they represent a hopeful interpretation of what this truth might actually be. Maybe religion is a misunderstanding of a truth that is amazingly difficult to define without an absolute understanding which needs to be achieved in a way that also is difficult or impossible to define without experiencing it. Who knows, but the spherical truth, or that a sphere existing around the truth is how I see religions and their instructions on how to live life.

Nonetheless, It’s a very interesting post regarding relative truth and absolute truth and the paradox therein. I can also understand Zacharias’ distaste for the statement “truth is relative,” however, with as many flaws as each religion has, I don’t think anyone can talk in absolutes especially when they are referring to a religion. So, as long as religion is one of the reasons some people have for a meaning to live, to help, and so on, I’m happy for them, because it gives those people and the people who’s lives they effect, more time to find truth whilst facilitating the truth, until we reach it in the end.

Are progressive religions seeking acceptance?

Chelvendra Sathieaanandha — Fri, 25 May 2007 15:43:58 +0000

Perhaps “progressive” is too loaded? « Sathfilms

Again, this is a response to another comment that became a post.

“I think terming one’s religion ‘progressive’ is more an act of seeking acceptance than anything else. Today’s society loves anything that is ‘progressive’ or ‘open minded’…but what about when these values dilute the truth because it is just easier to handle it that way?”

As much as progressive religions get accepted by people like me, I feel there would be more dismay (and anger) from the “pure” religions they were derived from. This could be a Christian fundamentalist calling another Christian not a “true Christian.” Half the Christians that come up with rubbish like “true Christian” and associated terms, are Protestant Christians and the Protestant Church exists because of a reformation; and at that time, I’m sure it would have been thought of as what people know consider “progressive.” So, instead of wine and bread being Jesus’ blood and flesh, they became a symbol for his blood and flesh. Like Shannon said, in that context, it was progressive and frowned upon by those outside of the movement, but not by those within it.

Why would people who are pushing for progressive religions actually try and do it because they are merely seeking acceptance? Wouldn’t they just pack up and have their own beliefs at home and tell their friends about it? Maybe some are looking for acceptance, but I think more are looking for harmony.

And using words like “truth” as one would use toilet paper, just makes me feel like throwing up. If someone actually believed it was truth, they wouldn’t attempt to dilute it. They must possess some doubt, otherwise they would not challenge it and they would not change it. If we are talking about absolutes, how can something you believe to be truth be easier to handle if it is “diluted” since it becomes something that is no longer the truth?

When talking about religion, relative truth only becomes false when one talks in absolutes. I really applaud those people who give anything such significant certainty about “truth” because they must have had some damn amazing experiences.

Regarding the second paragraph of James’ comment:

“This seems to tie in with an idea raised in another post of yours – loving God. “Fundamentalist’s Christians” have an idea of what is pleasing to God, and as an act of love, they want to fulfill that. They don’t think that they are earning God’s love, but are just showing him their returning love. It seems like that idea is wrong and close minded, but isn’t this just a reflection of the way love is played out in the physical world?”

Perhaps I was implying that people are earning God’s love but didn’t say it, and it was intentional. Let’s use your reference to “fundamentalist Christians” to start. I was trying to say that when a person chooses to accept God through Jesus Christ, they thus love God and Jesus Christ and thus they believe that they receive the unconditional love from God. I also said that, it would be a fantastic feeling to have. I also said that such people follow scripture since they have the faith to believe the scripture is 100% accurate, and if they did not follow it as best as they could, they would indeed be contradicting the love they have for God. I was also implying that because you love God, he loves you back. Perhaps, in this line of Christian thinking, he loves you back anyway. That’d be great. Yet regardless of that love, if you don’t accept God and thus the Bible and Jesus Christ, he condemns you to a place where he does not reside – a place called Hell.

As much as you say that is how love is played out in real life, for some reason I think you’re wrong. Yes you try and do what you can to please someone you love and who loves you back. However even if I hate someone, I do not punish them so harshly and send them to a place like Hell which is apparently devoid of God but rather, full of evil. If I was watching someone who I loved, and they were trying their best to do what they thought was right, I would eventually help them – I would not send them to Hell. I wouldn’t turn my back on someone who doesn’t please me in the ways that I wanted but tries their best in whatever capacity they can - I would still be pleased. If I loved someone I wouldn’t turn my back on them when that person tries to do their best when my will is unclear in the midst of so many instructions on how to live life. Even if I hated a person, if I was indeed their creator, I wouldn’t be so harsh. So, these non-progressive but “pure” ideas can’t be compared to how love is played out in real life. I’m not cheating on God by thinking there is another way.

To stand up for Shannon a third time, I’d like to understand what James’ last comment actually means. Yes Shannon stated the obvious, but in a very concise way – he talks about the Protestant reformation without having to mention it. How can anyone really determine the desires of God, when they are being interpreted from a scripture? You can only answer that question after making a whole lot of assumptions which then makes your answer useless outside of that frame you began in.