Conscience II

Most of what we do in our daily life is not controlled by law. We eat, sleep, shower, go shopping, and go to work, all with little need to be aware of any laws. When, however, we get in our motor vehicle and drive onto public roads, we are immediately subject to traffic laws. These laws regulate traffic in order to make the roads as safe as possible and to facilitate the flow of traffic. Once we get out of the vehicle, we live apart from traffic laws. Most of what we think and do in our daily lives is not controlled or regulated by our conscience. For the most part, conscience ignores the way we comb our hair, what we eat for breakfast, or how many hours we sleep at night. When we are thinking about how to pay our bills, which college to attend, what message to leave on our answering machine, or whether to play scrabble or watch a video, our conscience stays in neutral. It is only when we think about moral/ethical matters that the flashing red and blue light of our conscience lights up and the alarm goes off. Like the sight of the highway patrolman parked beside the road, the flashing conscience warns us that our thinking and its potential practice is regulated by a set of shoulds or should nots. If we are thinking logically about whether our actions would be right or wrong, our conscience is an auxiliary premise that must always be reckoned with. We can go against our conscience just as we can ignore the traffic laws, but thinking about or doing either is always risky. If we ignore the law, we risk an automobile accident or a costly traffic ticket. If we override the conscience, we will be haunted by guilt, depressed by the violation of our own self-image, and possibly be subjected to the disapproval of our closest associates. The conscience--like the traffic laws, or the rules of a game--can be set aside, but this cannot be done painlessly. And once we violate our conscience–or any other regulatory agency–it is easier to do it the second time. The conscience is malleable and can be given new shape. With time enough, it can even be erased. Of course, the person with no conscience at all–the sociopath, the person with an antisocial personality–can never be a trustworthy, socially responsible, or wise thinker. If we are to be the best thinkers, we must guard our consciences.

Conscience I

Our conscience sets some of the boundaries of our thinking and actions. It tells us when we are in danger of going out of bounds, or shouts out when we are out of bounds. Our conscience is that thing inside of us that makes us hurt when we violate our accepted–personally accepted--inner standard of thought or conduct. It threatens to hurt us if we near the margins of our standard. John Stuart Mill called it a feeling in our mind, a pain more or less severe, that arises when we violate what we believe to be our duty. A well-developed conscience is such a strong deterrent as to make almost impossible to violate it. It seems to me that the conscience is similar to, if not the same as, the “Adult” of Transactional Analysis and the “Super Ego” of Freudian thought, the voice that sets certain limits for us and threatens us with pain if we ignore those limits. For a lot of us, society–family, community, or society at large–functions as our conscience. We have learned that if we go off limits from the accepted standards of society, we suffer. Society has many kinds of sanctions to keep us within bounds, so we accept those standards because life is much more comfortable if we do. Most people seem to believe that we are all born with a conscience that tells us right from wrong. Some think the conscience is innate just as sight and haring are inborn standard equipment that humans are issued by nature. Others believe that God has placed the conscience within us. While it may be true that we are born with the awareness that there is such a thing as the distinction between right and wrong, we cannot depend on conscience to tell us what to do in particular situations and circumstances. It is not wise to advise everyone to “Let your conscience be your guide.” It depends on whom we are talking to. It is unwise because a little observation of humans in action demonstrates that the conscience is not inborn. Rather, it is acquired. Ordinarily it is acquired by the process of socialization. We take on and accept the standards that society imposes on us. We are unaware of most of this imposition. As with all socialization, it just seems perfectly natural to unquestioningly accept these standards, whatever they might be. The capacity to develop a conscience may be innate just as the capacity to speak is innate, but language does not come naturally. We acquire the language of our native community, and do the same with the conscience. However, we can learn other languages. In situations where we move and make our lifetime home within the culture of another language group, it is possible that a second language will displace our native language. Even within a given language, we can change our grammar, vocabulary, dialect or accent. The point is that the conscience is plastic; it is malleable; it can be molded, formed, reshaped.

Bible a Witness to God

I don’t believe in the Bible; I do believe in the God the Bible testifies to. The Bible is a witness, and a witness is never to be identified with that to which it testifies. The Bible is not to be worshiped. I witnessed the early morning flames that engulfed and carried skyward all of the Old Main building, except the stones themselves, at Howard Payne University in 1984. I was there. I saw it. I had taught classes in this sandstone structure that had been built in 1890. I was a witness, obviously was not the building, but I am an authority on the event. Matthew and John were witnesses of key events in the life of Jesus. There were there, saw, heard, touched, and traveled with Jesus. They wrote their testimony. They were authorities on Jesus. They were not the ones to be followed. That one, they gave witness to. So it is that Bible is not to be worshiped; it is not God. It is an authoritative witness, but it has no inherent power of its own. If we are the judge or jury in a courtroom, we are to listen carefully to all the witnesses and then are required to arrive at a judgment of what we believe to be the truth. But we find that even witnesses who have sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth do not always give coherent testimony. Even as the attorneys attempt to clarify and untangle the vague language of stories and ambiguous wording that come out before the court, eye-witnesses often contradict each other or even other parts of their own testimony. The judge and/or the jury are called on to sort out all the testimony and arrive at what, in their judgment, is the truth. The Bible–the Christian Holy Scriptures–is, in my judgment, the best, in fact the authoritative, testimony to what God is about in this world, and to what the character of God seems to be. It is not, however, a consistent witness. Much of it is unclear. Much of it is contrary to other parts of the entire witness. Each one who reads it must sort, interpret, and arrive at their own judgment of its validity, value, truth, and meaning. And how do we do this? We do it by following our habitual ways of thinking, evaluating, judging, and deciding. Others do it by following their own, differing, patterns of decision-making. We do this, ordinarily, in accord with the consensus of those whose word and character we trust. Habit and consensus rule our understanding of, and thus, our relationship with God. It always is possible that we have developed bad habits, and are in consensus with the wrong crowd. We may have lived in a small and restricted life-world. Gretel Ehrlich, in her book, The Solace of Open Spaces, tells of a Wyoming rancher’s wife who did not get off her large and self-sufficient ranch for eleven years. Ehrlich writes that, after her husband died, she bought a car and began traveling this large country of ours to see what she had been missing. This anecdote is all that is told of the story, but we may be assured that after traveling beyond the wild emptiness of Wyoming, this ranch wife had acquired a much larger frame of reference and thus the likelihood of a different personal perspective on life. None of us should make dogmatic judgments about the biblical testimony until we have been exposed to a world at least a little larger than our own home pasture.

Characteristics of an Artist

The word, artist, has had its meaning and value worn off by excessive use–misuse, abuse–especially in the world of popular music–“recording artist.” An artist is someone with extraordinary sensibility, uncommon sensitivity. He senses that which the most of us miss. He sees what Picasso said, “the eye of habit misses.” The artist hears the wind, the creek, the Carolina wren, the tone of voice differently than we do. She sees shapes, colors, textures, contrasts, balance, and repeated patterns that ordinary people fail to notice. The artist detects emotional states that we who are insensitive are unaware of. This kind of sensitivity is necessary before one can be an artist, but it alone is not sufficient. Many non-artists sense the same things. Psychiatric counselors, mothers and other lovers, naturalists, and just plain folks may have the same sensibility that painters, poets, sculptors, dancers, or architects have, yet lack the rest of what it takes to become an artist. An artist is a person who has the kind of mind that can give definite form to what they sense. As he walks across the barnyard listening to the simultaneous sounds of clucking chickens, the wind suddenly gusting through the cottonwoods, and the resonant baritone of the friendly farmer, it all comes together in his head as the unified melody, harmony, rhythm and timbre of a concerto for string quartet. She listens to her sobbing friend’s story of moral failure and the consequent loss of family, and involuntarily finds herself composing a stage play: the setting, characters, number of acts and scenes fall rapidly into place, along with costumes and dialogue. The drama would somewhat parallel the anguish of her friend’s story, but would not at all be a literal re-presentation of what she has heard. A poet might hear the same story and work it into a sestina-form poem. It is not that the artist has a more intelligent mind than others, rather, the artist has a mind that works in a different way, just as an accountant has a mind that works in a unique way. Again, although this kind of mind is a necessary element in the makeup of an artist, it alone is not enough. The artist is a person who has developed skill in the manipulation of some medium of communication: the fingering of the violin, piano, flute, or banjo; the handling of a paintbrush and an eye for mixing and applying pigments; the construction of sentences, the language of rhetoric, the ear for linguistic rhythm and harmony. These are only a few of the possible useful skills, but without them, a person can be sensitive to all sorts of subtleties, and be able to form in their mind a genuine work of art, yet if they cannot translate the mental image into a tangible form, they will never become an artist. On the other hand, they may have, as many popular singers, writers, and painters do, excellent skills in manipulating their chosen medium, and thus become a virtuoso. And perhaps therefore, become known as an “artist.” These three characteristics that I have named as necessary elements in the makeup of an artist are not original with me. I read these ideas somewhere almost forty years ago, and have never been able to give proper credit to the source. Meanwhile, I have bought into it. Almost completely. My memory is that the original source claimed that the possession of these three characteristics constituted a person as an artist. I take issue with this conclusion. I do concur that all three–unique sensibility, unique kind of intelligence, and skill with a medium of communication–are necessary elements in the makeup of an artist, they are not sufficient. One additional element is necessary: the person must actually produce a work of art. They must take it from the heart and mind and actually use their skill to produce. I suspect we would be surprised at how much and how great would be the art that might have been produced by those who had these three essential elements, but never gave them actual form. With some, they intended to do it, but procrastination or laziness kept it from ever being realized. Others were so overwhelmed with responsibility for their family or others that there was neither time nor energy left to pursue art. Some sensed a divine calling and made good use of these characteristics in a spiritual ministry to others. Many an artist has forsaken all sorts of responsibilities, sacrificed all sorts of values so they could devote themselves to their art. I don’t know how to judge their decision. Facing conflicting values and commitments, some chose art, others chose to ignore art. Thus, some artists, some great artists, lived with a broken soul. Some, people of character, highly respected and responsible, lived with a frustration that no one ever knew. No one can have it all.

Musical Rests

I’ve finally figured out, I think, what musical rests are about. Whether it be a brief eighth rest or a whole note or whatever, the rest serves two fundamental purposes. For years I thought the function was so the performers had a chance to breathe. But the rests do not come with adequate frequency for that. The rest provides an opportunity for the listener to assimilate what has just been played and then to anticipate what is to come. I suspect most of this takes place unconsciously. It might seem that a rest of a mere eighth note would not be long enough for both assimilation and anticipation, but the unconscious mind can work with marvelous speed. In the first place, the rest allows the listener to take in and partially digest the music produced since the last rest. It gives a brief respite from listening and allows the music to begin to be absorbed. The longer, unmeasured rest (maybe five to fifteen seconds) that occurs between the movements of concert hall music furnishes opportunity to get a feel for the entire previous movement. On the other hand, with the melodic line with its harmony and tempo broken by the rest. The listener’s ear leans forward in expectation and building anticipation of what will come next. The rest supplies dynamic accent to the music, adding a distinctive liveliness. Is this what all healthy rest is about? I think so. Whether it is the rest that comes at bedtime, or the ten minute break at work, or God’s Sabbath, the rest gives us time to assimilate what we have been doing. After only relatively brief time, we begin to feel ready for what is to come, we begin to think and plan for what we will do next. Rests are essential to the movement of human life. Without the rest, we don’t comprehend the meaning of what goes on in our lives, nor do we adequately prepare ourselves for what is to come. Enough writing. I need to rest awhile.

What Is Water?

What is water? HO, that’s all, an oxide of hydrogen, a ubiquitous chemical molecule. That’s water. Or is it? Upon analysis, is that all there is to it? No, at least not for me. What is water? When I take a long soaker in a hot tub, I’m enjoying something more than a mere chemical. When I have a tall glass of cool water on a hot August day, I experience something beyond a formula. So, with a gentle shower on a June afternoon, or the sounds and sights beside a shady babbling brook. HO may be an accurate objective definition, but the full truth of water is known only in subjective experience. Life cannot be explained away by objective analysis, however valuable that may be. Life is known and felt to be real only subjectively. Both are needed. What is water? I’m going to stop writing and get a drink.