Why bother, if...

When I think of philosophers, I generally imagine a group of white-bearded (not to be confused with "white-bread", though the latter would certainly be as true as the former) men in tunics who sit around all day talking with people about esoteric theories of metaphysical existence. So when I was forced to take Philosophy 101 in college, some of my friends who were in that class with me may still remember the day when my professor said to me: "Guy, I get the impression from your attitude that you think philosophers don't ever do anything, and that philosophy in general is a bunch of pointless talk that never actually affects real life situations." To which I responded: "Yeah that pretty much sums it up." I'll never know what my professor thought in that moment when I responded like that, but by the look on my friend's face sitting beside me I think it was interpreted as being tantamount to telling my professor he was a waste of space. Naturally, he has had the last laugh, as I now spend a great deal of time reading the great philosophers in a desperate attempt to understand life and my role in the universe. Philosophers in general tend to have the last laugh.

It is perhaps an under-appreciated fact that many of the ancient Greek philosophers were convinced that just learning things about life without actually implementing them in our behavior was completely foolish. In Book I of the Discourses of Epictetus there is a chapter entitled "Concerning Progress." In it, he asks the question, what does it really mean to make progress in life? Some, he says, suggest that learning as much as possible is progress. Many people walk around having read a lot of books, having done a lot of studying, having taken a great many classes, but Epictetus wonders: What do they have to show for it? If all they do is learn this information from great teachers and philosophers, but then never actually act upon it, never actually practically incorporate it into their lives, then what was the point? Epictetus comes down very strongly on those who learn philosophical treatises and principles as if that is an end in itself. The point of philosophy, he argues, is life-change. Progress is made not when you learn that worrying about things that are out of your control is detrimental and futile, but when you actually stop worrying about things that are outside of your control.

The letter of James in the New Testament makes a very similar argument as it pertains to theological truths. In 1:22-27 he tells his audience that it is pointless to merely be hearers of God's message--rather, they should also be doers of that message. That is, they should put in practice what they learn! What is hardly ever revealed during a sermon on this text is that James is reflecting a very deep philosophical tradition that includes Epictetus and others. His audience, remember, would live in a world in which "ancient Greek philosophy" was not ancient at all, but contemporary and well-known. Luke Timothy Johnson, in his commentary on the letter of James,* sums it up well:

James here agrees with the most widespread ancient conviction concerning the philosophical life and picks up one of the main themes of protreptic literature. Theoretical correctness counts for little if one's life does not conform to the truth one espouses. The notion that some sort of profession/confession of belief or conviction could be significant if it were not demonstrated by a consistent pattern of behavior is not, in James' world, to be taken seriously.

Essentially, the idea that simply "believing the right things" about God or Jesus or the Bible is the point of Christianity, is the goal that God had in mind for his people, would be nothing short of laughable to the authors of the Bible. Not only did they personally object to such nonsense in their writings, but their entire worldview and context of experience would have rejected such a silly notion. Knowing or believing the right things was merely a first step to the ultimate purpose, which was, of course, practically living life in accordance with those beliefs and convictions.

This is not unique to James and the Greek philosophers of his day. Jesus says the same thing in the conclusion of his so-called Sermon on the Mount. In Matthew 7:24-27, the author reports that Jesus said:

Therefore, everyone who listens to these words I have spoken and practices them will be like a sensible man who built his house upon rock; when the rain came down so that the flooded rivers came, the winds blew, and it all fell upon that house, it did not fall, for its foundation was upon the rock. But everyone who listens to these words I have spoken and does not practice them is like a foolish man who built his house upon sand; when the rain came down so that the flooded rivers came, the winds blew, and it all fell upon that house, it fell--and it was a tremendous fall!

Which brings me to my conclusion: Ultimately, the goal of the Good Life is not learning how to live the Good Life--it is living the Good Life. So as we press on together, let's put into action the things we have already learned! Otherwise, we might as well not waste our time learning them in the fist place...

*Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James (AB 37A; New Haven: Yale, 2005), 213.

Anxiety at first blush

It seems to me that anxiety is one of my biggest obstacles to experiencing and living the Good Life. There is a lot to be said on this topic, as just about every major world religion or philosophy identifies it as a hazard and attempts to instruct people on the best way to deal with or avoid it. Jesus deals with the topic head-on in his Sermon on the Mount, and I plan to deal with that passage specifically sometime in the near future. But first, I have recently been reminded of a Taoist tale I stumbled upon while in high school. It has truly left an indelible mark on my memory, as I still think about it often about ten years after first reading it. Here is the story, as recorded by Benjamin Hoff (see below for full citation) in his marvelous volume, The Te of Piglet*:

An old man and his son lived in an abandoned fortress on the side of a hill. Their only possession of value was a horse. One day, the horse ran away. The neighbors came by to offer sympathy. "That's really bad!" they said. "How do you know?" asked the old man. The next day, the horse returned, bringing with it several wild horses. The old man and his son shut them all inside the gate. The neighbors hurried over. "That's really good!" they said. "How do you know?" asked the old man. The following day, the son tried riding one of the wild horses, fell off, and broke his leg. The neighbors came around as soon as they heard the news. "That's really bad!" they said. "How do you know?" asked the old man. The day after that, the army came through, forcing the local young men into service to fight a faraway battle against the northern barbarians. Many of them would never return. But the son couldn't go, because he'd broken his leg.

This story is brilliant in both its insight and simplicity, isn't it? How many of us react immediately to events with pessimism and anxiety? I am the kind of person who hears good news and immediately attempts to imagine every possible way that it could all go badly and burst into flames. Yet the simple fact of the matter is that we do not know the future. Only God does. So when events unfold for us, we do not know how they will ultimately conclude or what implications they will have for our lives. But as Christians we believe that Yahweh is altogether good, just, and fair. So we have the confidence that, as Paul states in Romans 8, "God works all things for good for those who love him." This certainly has become a bit of a cliche in the Christian subculture and can be applied in a hackneyed way, but it is nevertheless true--as we see in the life of Joseph (Genesis 37-50). This doesn't mean that God makes sure everything will be easy for us or that we will get whatever we want--many times this is not the case, as the story of Joseph shows us so clearly. But it does mean that God's good purposes will prevail in our lives, regardless of the seeming obstacles that lie in the way.

A part of the Good Life is relinquishing our anxiety. When bad things happen to us, we must remember that we do not know how things will ultimately turn out, but we do know that God is good and is in complete control of the final outcome. Those things that at first seem like devastating setbacks may in fact be the necessary steps we take to real success.



*Benjamin Hoff. The Te of Piglet (New York: Penguin Books, 1993), 171-72. Hoff states that his version of the story is adapted from the original by Liu An (Huai-nan-tse).

**Hoff's prequel to The Te of Piglet, is, in my opinion, even more phenomenal. Hoff, Benjamin. The Tao of Pooh. New York: Dutton, 1982.

Your best...even though you aren't the best...

Epictetus spent time discussing the importance of maintaining one's honor and dignity despite what it may cost. Some people, he says, would give up all honor and dignity just to avoid discomfort. A lot of people would do the same just to avoid death. These people are essentially selling themselves short, and thus we are always impressed when we hear about a Socrates or some other character who will face the consequences no matter what they are to maintain his or her dignity, honor, or character. In citing Socrates as a role model, he points out that he [Epictetus] will probably never be as good a philosopher as Socrates, but that doesn't mean he won't do everything he can to be the best philosopher he can be. This, I think, is a very important sentiment.

How many times have you thought: Well why should I even bother sticking with this [hobby/sport/career/etc.] if I am never going to be the best at it? I should just do something else that only I can do, something I can do better than anyone else. I've had that thought many times. As a teenager, I gave up many things because it became blatantly clear to me that I would never be the best or even as good as most other people. And I think I know why we do that--at least in America today.

I once read an interview with a very popular talk show host. In it, the interviewer asked the host what people say to him on the street when they see him. The host said that the most common thing he hears from strangers on the street is that one day they will be on his show. But when the host asks them why they will be on the show--what skill/talent/accomplishment will be the reason that they are invited--the host said that just about every time, they have no idea what to say. They don't know. This is because in America the most admirable, most sought after quality is not accomplishment, it's not talent or skill, it is fame. Those strangers want to be on the talk show because it means they would be famous. They don't care what they would be famous for, and they certainly don't have any particular idea of how they would actually become famous, but that's their life goal. Some friends and I have been known to refer to this phenomenon as the Paris Hilton Effect. Paris Hilton, when she first graced the world with her presence in the land of entertainment, was famous for simply being famous. She had no special achievements, qualities, or skills that set her apart from anyone else--at least, if she did, that was not what had made her famous. She was famous for being famous.

Because we want so badly to be famous, we quickly abandon projects, jobs, or life goals that don't seem to contribute to our true objective of acquiring fame. Which is a sure indicator that we aren't actually doing what we want to be doing. We choose to adopt a hobby or a career based upon what it will acquire for us, rather than because we actually enjoy the activity itself.

This situation has certainly affected the Christian subculture in America as well (the mere fact that there is such a thing as a Christian subculture in America betrays the influence of this phenomenon). How many pastors want to be the next Rob Bell, John Piper, or Tim Keller? Probably a lot of seminary students out there think they will be. I've met some of them, in fact. And, to be honest, it is technically possible that such a thing just might happen for them. But my question is: Who cares? Since when did being famous become a goal of ours, instead of the mere by-product of a combination of doing what we love and circumstances completely outside of our control?

I don't know how this started in the Church specifically, but I have a hunch. I think it's partly due to all the talk that we received from loving parents who told us that there is something we must be really good at, something that I and only I could do well. That God had prepared some special activity or thing for me in which I will excel beyond everyone else. Now, the Bible clearly argues that God created each individual, and we know that each individual has his or her own set of skills and talents and predispositions. But the suggestion that each one of us has some special gift that will allow us to surpass all of our peers is probably a bit of a stretch. In fact, I can't even think of how someone could defend such a clearly unreasonable proposition. The downside to such well-intentioned parental assurances is that they focus our attention on how we compare to other people. C.S. Lewis once wrote that pride only exists when other people are considered. We don't want to have more money. We want to have more money than other people! The same is true with our talents. We don't want to be good at something, we want to be better than everyone else at something!

I play floor hockey with friends. I didn't do this much as a kid or a teenager, although I played it occasionally. But I have only recently, in the past two years or so, discovered how much I love to play the game. For that reason, and for many other reasons completely outside of my control, I will never be considered the best, or even anywhere near the best, amateur floor hockey player in the world. It would be a stretch to even suggest that I am consistently "good." As a kid, this would have totally defeated me. I would've dropped it fast, because why bother if you're not going to be the best or one of the best? Why bother if you don't get recognition and acknowledgment and respect? Now I realize I just enjoy playing. I don't need to get anything out of it. And when I play, I give it everything I have. Not because I think that if I try hard enough I'm going to be better than anyone else on the floor--probably not, in fact, regardless of how much time or effort I put into it; I will probably not even be as good as most of the other players. But I agree with Epictetus here wholeheartedly. Just because I won't ever be the best, doesn't mean I shouldn't give my best. I play because I have fun, and I play as hard as I can because it makes no sense to play at all if you're not going to give it everything you have.

How many of us do things because we think those things will secure for us attention, respect, love, or praise from other people? How many of us work hard, not to be the best we can be at something, but to be better than someone else? God has most certainly given each one of us certain talents and gifts. And he has also given us things that fill us with joy. More often than not, these two things overlap considerably. It seems to me that a part of living the Good Life is to do those things that fill us with joy, those things that God has blessed us with an opportunity to do, and to do those things to the best of our abilities with absolutely zero regard for how the best of our abilities measures up with the best of anyone else.