A good break
Thanksgiving has come and gone. The pervasive stench (a delectable one, mind you) of turkey still seems to linger here and there, particularly at the parents' houses. We had an enjoyable time of it, what with the family from many sides here, in large part because of Grandpa's recent passing. The funeral was on the 22nd, and a great many people stuck around for Thursday. It was really swell to see aunts, uncles, and cousins, though I admit that I am still slightly weirded-out by some of my relatives. But, hey, that's what family is for!
The results of my recent ruminations run along several lines—as is often the case—insomuch that I am paralyzed by what I'm trying to express. The odds that this particular blog (still hate that word...so uncouth) will be brief are high.
Apostasy and the darkness beyond
That's a dreary subheading, isn't it? Well, it's typed. That makes it permanent, I suppose. And even if it doesn't, how am I supposed to fix it?
Of late I have been warring with a number of things that I've been exposed to, the majority of which come from my students and my sister. Of the former, the things related are less alarming: I care for my students, but if they choose a bizarre philosophical path, that's there business.
Yet the latter source of discomfiture is familial, and therefore more important to me. The fact that my sister is divorcing herself from the Church is alarming, saddening, and confusing all at the same time. Of course, if she fully embraces apostasy (she's well on her way), that is her choice. I will mourn that choice, as all caring people mourn poorly executed decisions, but it won't change my love for her. She knows that, I think, and is grateful for it.
But it still pulls on me, this barnacle of disbelief. Not disbelief of mine, but that of hers. Part of the malady of her mental mix-up stems from following fallacies. Incidentally, a number of fallacies are instrumental in leading to maladies, so I guess that's a natural progression. I shouldn't be surprised.
See, this is my problem with what's going on: We have a situation in which relativism and all its irritating effacements drive away any sort of definition. Mormonism says that Truth is eternal, absolute, inescapable, and, most importantly, knowable, provided one abides by the precepts dictated by such Truth. In sum: there are absolutely some absolutes, and regardless of one's opinions about them, they remain. (Gravity, for example, resides fully within the purview of Mormonism)
By contrast, relativism (moral, ethical, religious, or mental) insists that truth is mercurial, subjective, transient, and, in a way, the very vicissitude of humankind. In sum: there are absolutely no absolutes, and full regard to one's opinions about them will change what those absolutes are.
I draw this distinct lines, knowing full well that there are gradations between the two, blurring of lines, and even direct contradictions. (Examples abound: Relativism would be hard pressed to argue that murdering of innocents is a good thing. Necessary, perhaps, but not good—though I can think of situations in which that, too, might be tested. Mormonism can't argue with the fact that others view things differently, and some beliefs are relative to the subject. These counterexamples don't erode the arguments—they simply show that I am aware that perfectly up or down definitions of these modes of thought don't always fit.)
The result of this rumination is frustration at two things: That I, despite a self-imposed title of wordsmith, could not express the absurdity of fully embracing a subjective experience; and that my sister had to suffer through a pedantic sermon. I felt as though I said all of the wrong things, rather than anything helpful, uplifting, or utile.
So here I sit, moping into my keyboard, trying to organize my thoughts in such a way as to allow honest reflection and full expression of my sentiments.
It isn't working.
I don't know. Part of the reason I keep my mouth shut on this blog is because I don't know where my thoughts will lead me, and I'm partially afraid that they will meander away from what I'm honestly trying to say. More than that, however, I worry for my sister. Subjective philosophies have great merit, but I'm leery of putting too much reliance on something that is built upon sand. Isn't that what relativism is, in the end? Beliefs built upon the mercurial, weak, constantly churning opinions of others?
I seem to recall a sagacious teacher once warning against building one's house upon sand, though I've never understood that parable until now. I may have heard that interpretation before, but it didn't matter until now.
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