johnmaconline

One could easily think that all the smart people are atheists and only dumb (or simple) people could believe in a God. Certainly, elite academic institutions, academics, and pseudo-academics on social media give this impression. 

They might be right. 

But it would be wrong to assume that all smart people are atheists and that only dumb people believe in God. In fact, some very smart people have set forth some interesting arguments for God:

1. The kalam cosmological argument — based on the beginning of the universe
2. The moral argument — based on the existence of objective moral values.
3. The teleological argument — based on the design of the universe
4. The ontological argument — based on the formal logic of possibility to existence.

For me, however, the most powerful argument has always been a form of the cosmological argument from contingency. When I ask myself, “Why is there anything at all?” God seems like the best answer. 

The point is that the conversation is still valid both philosophically and scientifically. It’s not dead in academia or the culture, regardless of what the smart people shout. 

The lesson here is that just because someone has a microphone, marketing skills, and a tribe doesn’t mean they are right. That’s true with God and everything else. 

Something struck me today. 

Strawmanning — Attacking a superficially similar argument so as to pull attention away from the real argument.

“We should restrict gun access.”
“Oh, you want the government to imprison us and take away all of our freedom and rights?”

“We shouldn’t wear masks in most situations.”
“Oh, you hate people? You don’t care if you kill others?”

The strawman has two problems, one formal and one human:

1. The formal problem is that the refutation does not address the original argument.
2. The human problem is that you either don’t understand your opponent’s position or can’t see any value or reasoning behind that position. Your argument is the very definition of “jumping to a conclusion.”

The strawman is a popular and effective public argument strategy because it fits into 280 characters. Moreover, the people that agree with you instantly jump to the same conclusion — “Yes! You’re right and they’re wrong!” It’s a toggle-switch answer. 

The cure for the disconnected, disjointed, and divided culture we find ourselves in is empathy. The path to empathy starts with recognizing that your opponent is a person with a history. They are smart, feeling, and caring individuals just like you. 

They just happen to have come to a different conclusion than you have. 

To have a unified and healthy culture, we don’t all need to believe the same things, but we all have to value each other. 

We have a disease, and we’ve got it bad.

This disease is endemic and spreading to nearly everybody, but I don’t mean cancer or long COVID. 

It impacts our happiness, workplaces, family discussions, politics, art, and our culture at large.

The disease?

Overseriousness.

The bad news is that letting it continue will ruin us. Its symptoms of fear, sadness, egocentricity, and anger will suck the life right out of each one of us.

The great news is that we have and know the cure, and it’s a very simple cure — let’s stop taking ourselves so darn seriously.

Crack a joke. Take a joke. Laugh at what’s funny. 

Get out and run around. Fall down, and get back up. Laugh at yourself.

Be thankful for where you are today and the history that has created it.

Yes, all of it. Some of it has sucked. Some of it has been great. All of it has made you who you are today. 

And who you are today is 100% amazing.

Whether it’s vaccines, the system, salesmen, gas prices, climate change, websites, mobile hotspots, noble lies, taxes, or hidden fees — “That’s how they get you!” 

The trouble is when you think this way, you’ve made yourself a victim of the nameless and faceless “they.” You’ve manifested the very thing against which you are guarding. 

They haven’t got you. You’ve got you.

You might think that this outlook is the smart one; protecting you and keeping you safe, or at least keeping you from exploitation. 

What if, however, you thought differently? What if instead of looking for exploitation, you look for mutual benefits? What if you lead with empathy? What if you assume the other person is not trying to extract something from you?

What if the thing you are worried about really is better for you and others? 

It doesn’t have to be either-or. It can be both-and. 

You always have a choice about the way you think. 

Joseph Nicephore Niepce took the first photo in 1826. 

In 2022, we’ll take approximately 4.7 billion per day and 1.72 trillion per year. The devices we call smartphones today could plausibly, and maybe more accurately, be called smartcameras because they account for 92.5% of those photos.

Your camera rolls contain your story. You are the subject or the direct observer for each of the thousands of photos on your device. As you scroll through, they tickle your emotions with fondness, humor, or sadness. 

But how many are iconic?

Some photos are iconic because they don’t require us as the subject or direct observer. They have the power to mesmerize us as if we were. They provide photo-realistic glimpses into a moment we didn’t personally witness. We respond viscerally as if it was on our own cameral roll. 

This is the way it looked. The image caught in time.

Paradoxically, iconic photos are actually abstract representations, even though they are the very definition of a realistic representation.

The problem is context. 

A photo that strikes our emotions does so because of what we bring to it. We superimpose personal baggage or tribal baggage over the image to interpret the meaning or the action. We create backstory, story for the moment, and then a story for the aftermath. The story gives it meaning.

But it’s our story, not the story of the subjects or the observer in the photo. 

Sometimes we get it right, and sometimes we get it wrong.