If the mind were a house...
The human mind is a complex network of basic beliefs, perceptions, misperceptions, emotions, true wants, perceived wants, fears, needs, and desires. It cannot be mapped on to any one network of neurons, nor can it be understood or interpreted correctly simply by the network doctrine (the belief that networks of neural activity are critical for the understanding and interpretation of human thought and its relationship with the brain). From what we can understand, we collect information from our environment and compile it into perceptions. It's like building a house. We take from our daily experiences, sift through the ones we believe are true and reliable, and put them up as studs, layer them on as sheet rock, use them to decorate our homes and create comforting patterns that we turn into our beliefs, prejudices, ideals, and so on.
What do I mean by all of this? When we shut out the thoughts and ideas of our friends, neighbors, televisions, websites, music CD's, pastors, ministers, priests, books, even our own ill-formed ideas, the "house" that is our belief system, formed and assembled by our minds in a sequence of cognitive processes including but not limited to top-down processing, stereotype formation, and executive functions, we are left with one basic binary question that we all must answer before we can move on with our lives: Is any of this true?
When we ask that question, whether or not we realize it, we are really looking around our "house" and seeing all the places where the roof is unfinished, where the furniture is only half-formed, where there are massive holes missing from the walls, and where all the decor does not match. We know that with a simple thought, we can knock it all down. Some of us are afraid to, because, quite simply, we don't want to be without a house. And others among us happily knock it down and set about rebuilding it in a way that will make more sense and will provide better shelter - a better understanding of the world around us.
Nietzsche completely knocked down his house, leaving him with nothing: He saw the ruin and walked away. Descartes was left standing in the ruin alone, realized that he was standing there seeing the ruin, and decided that because he was seeing the ruin, he must exist and could therefore set about building a better house. Aristotle carefully dismantled the house piece by piece, wrote extensively about each piece, and laid them each out on the lawn while drawing out a diagram of how they all fit together. He never set about rebuilding the house. Plato just looked at the house and thought about how this particular house differed from what he thought the ideal Form of a house ought to be. Leibniz though the house was made of monads, Kant pondered whether or not it could be made into a law for all rational beings to build a house in such a manner, Russell and Wittgenstein broke the house down to a collection of facts about a house and stated that the house itself more or less did not exist, and the eastern philosophers as a collective whole shrugged their shoulders and either said, "It's a house, so what?" or they said, "What house?" Or they said both at the same time.
But it is Hume who, perhaps, produced the most surprising answer: When we have torn the house of our mind apart and are left with nothing but a single screaming neuron, it is there that we can begin to have faith. (Surprising, seeing as Hume was more or less an atheist.) Augustine more or less illustrated this as he underwent a systematic dissection and restructuring of his house, even to the point of tearing up his old foundation and laying down a better one.
For Hume and Augustine, the house was not really so much the important part of the equation. It is what they saw when they were standing in the wreckage of the house that mattered. For Hume, it was something mysterious and wonderful that he never quite attached to God. For Augustine, he lifted his eyes from the ruin and saw the Lord standing before him. The same was true for C.S. Lewis, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, John Calvin, Francis Schaeffer, J. M. Boice, King David, St. Paul, St. John, and St. Peter.
Especially Peter.
The destruction of his house was particularly sharp. Three times the rooster crowed. On the third, the Lord looked through the ruins and stared straight at him. It ruined him (wonderfully so) forever.
We change our minds frequently. Sometimes about small things. Sometimes about very large things. For some of us, it is very difficult to trust our own craftsmanship, especially after an extensive remodeling. We know how lousy we are with a hammer and nail, so to speak, and have learned the hard way that our shoddy work cannot always be trusted. This leaves we skeptics with a great predicament.
And in that predicament, the advice of Hume becomes a Godsend, as he points us (unintentionally) back to the truth of Proverbs 3:5. "Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not on your own understanding...."
"Skepticism is the foundation of true religious belief." In doubt, faith takes root. In weakness, true strength is born. In defeat, we find victory. In death, we find life. "My Grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness."
Today, as I survey the wreckage of my own house, I am grateful for the Holy Spirit who guides us in to all truth.
What do I mean by all of this? When we shut out the thoughts and ideas of our friends, neighbors, televisions, websites, music CD's, pastors, ministers, priests, books, even our own ill-formed ideas, the "house" that is our belief system, formed and assembled by our minds in a sequence of cognitive processes including but not limited to top-down processing, stereotype formation, and executive functions, we are left with one basic binary question that we all must answer before we can move on with our lives: Is any of this true?
When we ask that question, whether or not we realize it, we are really looking around our "house" and seeing all the places where the roof is unfinished, where the furniture is only half-formed, where there are massive holes missing from the walls, and where all the decor does not match. We know that with a simple thought, we can knock it all down. Some of us are afraid to, because, quite simply, we don't want to be without a house. And others among us happily knock it down and set about rebuilding it in a way that will make more sense and will provide better shelter - a better understanding of the world around us.
Nietzsche completely knocked down his house, leaving him with nothing: He saw the ruin and walked away. Descartes was left standing in the ruin alone, realized that he was standing there seeing the ruin, and decided that because he was seeing the ruin, he must exist and could therefore set about building a better house. Aristotle carefully dismantled the house piece by piece, wrote extensively about each piece, and laid them each out on the lawn while drawing out a diagram of how they all fit together. He never set about rebuilding the house. Plato just looked at the house and thought about how this particular house differed from what he thought the ideal Form of a house ought to be. Leibniz though the house was made of monads, Kant pondered whether or not it could be made into a law for all rational beings to build a house in such a manner, Russell and Wittgenstein broke the house down to a collection of facts about a house and stated that the house itself more or less did not exist, and the eastern philosophers as a collective whole shrugged their shoulders and either said, "It's a house, so what?" or they said, "What house?" Or they said both at the same time.
But it is Hume who, perhaps, produced the most surprising answer: When we have torn the house of our mind apart and are left with nothing but a single screaming neuron, it is there that we can begin to have faith. (Surprising, seeing as Hume was more or less an atheist.) Augustine more or less illustrated this as he underwent a systematic dissection and restructuring of his house, even to the point of tearing up his old foundation and laying down a better one.
For Hume and Augustine, the house was not really so much the important part of the equation. It is what they saw when they were standing in the wreckage of the house that mattered. For Hume, it was something mysterious and wonderful that he never quite attached to God. For Augustine, he lifted his eyes from the ruin and saw the Lord standing before him. The same was true for C.S. Lewis, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, John Calvin, Francis Schaeffer, J. M. Boice, King David, St. Paul, St. John, and St. Peter.
Especially Peter.
The destruction of his house was particularly sharp. Three times the rooster crowed. On the third, the Lord looked through the ruins and stared straight at him. It ruined him (wonderfully so) forever.
We change our minds frequently. Sometimes about small things. Sometimes about very large things. For some of us, it is very difficult to trust our own craftsmanship, especially after an extensive remodeling. We know how lousy we are with a hammer and nail, so to speak, and have learned the hard way that our shoddy work cannot always be trusted. This leaves we skeptics with a great predicament.
And in that predicament, the advice of Hume becomes a Godsend, as he points us (unintentionally) back to the truth of Proverbs 3:5. "Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not on your own understanding...."
"Skepticism is the foundation of true religious belief." In doubt, faith takes root. In weakness, true strength is born. In defeat, we find victory. In death, we find life. "My Grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness."
Today, as I survey the wreckage of my own house, I am grateful for the Holy Spirit who guides us in to all truth.
posted by Raoul The Destroyer at 12:04 AM
2 Comments:
Then there's the homeless ...
And to think...Your mother & I were mildly worried that you had left
inquiry into the void behind. D
Post a Comment
<< Home