The Lecture - A Short Story

Incense burned at the foot of the small altar. The musky air accumulated within the confined space, saturated with haze. I could feel the Lord's presence as I sat in prayer to the One who saved me from my trials and discomforts. Certain thoughts used to flood my mind - ones of suicide: the bastardized martyrdom - for instance. All of my human pains and sufferings lifted high! God, I worship thee.

Or so I once thought.

I soon returned back to the concrete, realizing that a mere fifteen minutes stood between my ten-thirty class and me. I loved waking up in the morning to God's presence. I knew that my weaknesses would consume me throughout the day; it was good insurance for me to think that He would work through me, serving as prophet. So clearly defined is the task of the infatuated man.

I quietly cursed internally, remembering the time. I hastily threw on my jacket and dark-striped bow tie and headed to the garage. A smile broke across my face as I strolled the distance from the back door to my Chevrolet. It was a modest car, one that the humble drive. Even a miniature crucifix hung from the rear-view mirror!

Excitement overtook me as I contemplated today's lesson. The painting of de Champaigne's Augustine lucidly arose, bringing along with it a sense of wisdom and direction. There seemed a lack of traffic; people had to take up their roles in the world: consumers began desperately haggling with the car dealers; doctors took up their instruments of salvation; alcoholics lounged soporifically, already past their third round of drinks.

The parking lot of the institution was another matter. Hordes of students rushed from their vehicles, frantically trying to avoid lateness. For me, tardiness was never an issue, for there was always a reason for everything: lateness was just another detour of God’s omnipotent schedule. Every time this thought arose, I would suppress the plaguing retrospection of my father's untimely death; his death was a counterexample of God's flawless punctuality.

Miss Reginauld, the secretary, peered at me upon my arrival through the main entrance of the Emmanuel Building of Arts and Sciences. I nodded encouragingly as I passed her desk, noticing the great mesas of papers stacked on the coffee table. The elevator arose to the second floor and I stepped off, quickly reviewing the main points of the lecture. An anticipation emerged: my students would soon discover an argument so genius and reasonable that only the most amateur of thinkers deny. Lines of Pensées repeated themselves monotonously within.

I made the third right down the hall as I overheard Miss Reginauld answer the phone. She was such a lustrous woman, her blonde hair beautifully coupled with those brown eyes. Oh, but I rarely occupied my mind with such sinful reflections. Right then, a memory quickly exposed itself: once, in high school, I recalled a time when my pastor reassured me that sexual immorality is the climax of humanity's fallen nature. "Sexual sin," he added, "is the cause of most of the world's chaos." This was a motif of countless sermons.

It was five minutes until the start of class. Most of the students were settled in their seats. Marcus sat in the second row of chairs, listening to his headphones. The sound of heavy bass was audible to all points of the room. A few seats from him, Jessica, the sophomore, slouched in her chair. She sat there silently, her auburn dreadlocks falling on both sides of her face, anxiously waiting for any potential opportunity to learn more about the mindfulness of Buddhism. David, the theology major, strolled into the room seconds before I gave my initial greeting, sporting a t-shirt that said Jesus Saves. There were several other students there that morning.

"Good morning everyone," I said cordially, still excited about the lesson. "Throughout the course, you all know, we have been discussing many theories about religious belief. Some experts say that belief is due to neurological predispositions while others take another route by claiming that it is due to family upbringing." I noticed a smile break out on David's visage as he removed his Bible from his satchel. "But today," I continued, "I want to explore another dimension of the theological arena - one that has been ignored throughout this semester: secularism."

By the look on the students' faces, I could tell that we were treading on a feeble and unfamiliar ground. At this point, I distinctly recalled a certain requirement of the institution that all students should behave in a certain godly manner. The college was a religious school, and the classes were taught with a pious tinge. So much for this kind of education...

Just then, as I turned to write a brief outline of the class on the chalkboard, Emily walked in the room. Her demeanor was one of intensity; her eyes seemed to droop as a result of the rigorous college life. She accepted her current circumstances and tried not to bring much attention to herself as she took a seat in the back. Marcus turned to her, finding any distraction possible to save him from his compelling disinterest; he was a business major.

The teacher turned to his disciples. "So, when you hear the world secularism, what comes to mind?" This was always a great initial question; the responses would allow me to judge their hearts from a perspective far removed from them. I quickly locked eyes with Emily, who nervously started scratching notes on her pad.

Just then, Jessica said, "I think of loneliness when I hear the word." I nodded in acknowledgement. She continued: "When I meditate or use mindfulness training, my perspective becomes one with the universe. If that experience were to disappear, my life would seem rather empty." So close, I thought to myself, yet so far.

"Anyone else?" I asked after a brief pause from Jessica's comment.

A group of math majors started mumbling amongst themselves. David saw the challenge and tried, gallantly, to rise to the occasion. "Emptiness is a great way to describe the secular stance," he exclaimed, nodding to Jessica. "But I would go even further and say that the secular life is void of meaning." A kind of luminescence emanated from David as he prayed, inconspicuously, for Jessica's soul. Emily frowned at his comment, looking up from her pad in discontent. "Interesting, very interesting," I said.

The quest of the faithful must continue. I quickly glanced back to the board and observed the word benefits; the word served as a mental segue to explain Pascal's divine reasoning.

"So," I began, "I think we can all concede that the secular person is missing an aspect of life that is found within the life of a religious person." Emily flicked an annoying string of hair away from her eyes. Enthusiasm ravaged within me. "What kind of benefits do religions bestow?"

Marcus remained quiet, totally oblivious to the dialogue. There is a certain solace that results from indifference. This was the fortress that he preferred; where others concerned themselves with finding the logical answer, he delighted himself with ruthless apathy.

Peaceful images of Chinese monks arose within Jessica's mind. Last semester, she decided to take a semester abroad for an anthropology course. Perhaps the most significant experience was the lesson with a Buddhist guru. In an instant, Jessica reminded herself of all the positive benefits - both mentally emotionally - of mindfulness meditation. "My experience with Buddhism is that it provides many cathartic remedies for mental unrest and emotional anguish. I think there is even scientific studies that show the benefits."

David seemed to experience a struggle at the mention of science. He opened up his Bible with what looked like a reflex action.

In response to Jessica, I conceded. "You are right. There is scientific evidence for mindful meditation. Does anyone wish to add anything else?"

A hasty glance to David: he avoided my gaze as he prayed, once more, for Jessica.

The main point of the lecture continued. "We can concede that there are some benefits to religiosity." I hesitated for a brief instant, and in order to remain honest to my pupils, exclaimed, "However, secularists would rather focus on the negativity of it. This is an interesting position. What kinds of things is religiosity responsible for, if any?" To this question, Marcus immediately put his head down on the desk.

I remembered the chemistry major - the tyro representative of the hard sciences. "Carl, what do you think about all this?"

Carl, once he heard his name, placed his hands on the surface of the desk nervously. On he went with his commentary: "I do believe there is positive and negative aspects of religion. Religion has presumably solved many emotional issues, but it has created many revenues for tyranny," he said, as he momentarily analyzed the properties of the fatal chemicals used in the Jonestown juice.

Carl’s reply filtered through my scrutiny and approval resulted. I must admit, I pondered to myself, I must be honest – religious feelings cause both good and bad. My father crept into my mind at that instant: an example of the bad. Of course, this did not seem like the sort of bad that Carl spoke of. He seemed to imply the treachery of some religious people – the self-proclaimed human mediums of God's grace. Yes, I thought, he meant this! Deep down, something flowed inside me; my heart was heavy. I needed an interruption to ease this tension: it was time for the pièce de résistance.

 I nodded to Carl and turned around to the chalkboard. My hand rose with elegant dexterity (I must admit that it was Christ working through me!) as I wrote the letters of the marvelous name: P-A-S-C-A-L. Little bits of chalk crumbled discreetly as it connected with the board. There was a serenity that gave the sound of the scribbling a slight mystique. From the audience's visual perspective, one could see the evidence of the Holy Spirit. It was I. God's grand scheme is emanating in the form of a theologian. Oh, the benefits of faith! The euphoria!  It was vaguely similar to the buzz of a cigarette, but much more purposeful.

My divine inspiration continued: "Blaise Pascal's famous wager was that a person is better off believing in the God of the Bible because that decision rests upon infinite gain or loss: if God does exist, the person is saved, whereas if he denies God and God does in fact reign supreme, he will be banished to an eternity in hell." Once again, I thought about my old pastor: Sexual sin... chaos.... Just think of how many students will be saved from hell and admitted into heaven! This is my duty, as God's chosen, to preach the name to all nations. 

"So," I said, after the brief spiritual experience, "can anyone in here find a reason why this argument is unsound?" Emily stirred in her chair. I realized, before I outlined this lecture, that none of my students would be able to combat Pascal's wager. Sure, there were those skeptics that claimed that a life totally based on a falsehood is one that God is foolish to ignore. An all-knowing God would, they say, see right through the naïve lie of shallow belief. Although, my God would reward the agent for his attempted faithfulness. What is faithfulness? The ability to make that leap of absurdity. God surely saves those who take this leap. Here, the skeptical arguments parish. 

Emily politely raised her hand. This came as a surprise due to the candid nature of the class. I pointed in her direction, expecting an answer already disproved by the calculus of faithfulness. "I have heard Pascal's wager before," Emily started. "It is a really interesting concept. Professor, do you think this life is worth living?"

Not expecting this question in return, I glanced over at Jessica before answering. "I do think that life is meant to be experienced to the fullest while we are here on earth, yes." Just then, I remembered the great commission. "There are always people in this world who are in need of spiritual assistance. And as long as there are people to help, life is always necessary."

Emily's face grew worrisome. A demeanor of empathy appeared. It looked as if she did not know if she should proceed. Her hands came together and nervously intertwined. 

"Well, sir," she said with the utmost respect, "What would you do if you did not have the ability to live eternally? If your experience of existing ended at death, don't you think that you wasted a lot of time trying to live according to God's will?" 

I sat down in the chair beside the chalkboard. Great angst moved over me as I reviewed, over and over, Emily's response. How long have I practiced Christian doctrines? How long have I sat in church, listening to the Sunday sermons? How much time have I devoted to studying a single book? How much time have I spent feeling guilty for myself? All of these questions trespassed my consciousness. Reason would come to my rescue, I thought, and rescue me from this seemingly horrible reflection. No, time has not gone to waste! The notion of praying for God's guidance was trivial in my stupor; with it, the realization that I might have wasted away my life to a delusional cause overcame me. I closed my eyes, and frantically sought shelter from my own interrogation.

---

Class ended a little early that day. I had much thinking to do. The Chevrolet glided through the spring air, eventually arriving at my humble home. You see: I give ten percent of my income to the church. Christ’s people needed such a mundane thing like money so humans can do his work.

I became even more critical than before. Over and again, I pondered Emily’s questions. They bothered me. The thought that I could have wasted away the majority of my life to some falsity was simply unacceptable: unacceptable because I always thought that He was real.

The sound of the car door shutting echoed off of the trees in the forest beyond. Treading uncertainly, I walked the concrete pathway to the front entrance. Coins jingled as I scrambled in my side pockets for the house keys – scrambling, and contemplating whether I would ever rest assured again.

My steps were heavy and determined. Gripping the lighter, I lit a cigarette, which would soon serve as the sacred incense of my prayer. Abandoning every other care, I kneeled in search for guided answers: waited for God to respond.

No answer came.

Then, I felt a strange urge. While my thoughts were completely under my own control, I noticed that I had the power – that very instant – to blatantly think that my own thoughts that arose were misinterpreted as God’s voice. Peculiar; bizarre things happened since Emily’s questions.

---

David strolled along College Avenue, right behind the campus chapel. There was a certain pep to his step, as he promenaded to his dormitory. Earlier, he felt an obscure sense of anger – a holy anger – inflamed by Emily’s question in the theology lecture. However, that feeling deteriorated; the afternoon worship session left David feeling cathartic.

Pascal’s wager remained on his mind for some time after that day. He knew, most certainly, that it was better to err on the side of Christ than to live life in hedonistic vanity. When David remained attached to this line of reasoning, he neglected Emily’s objection to Pascal’s genius. He was always the sort of person who lived contently within the vast sea of emotion; David, the surfer of the tides.    

That One Night

I do recall, on one particular night, a profound experience. The clock read 1:00am, and the shadow on the wall exhibited a silhouette of an ambiguous outline. If someone looked at it, they might imagine that it was a cake upon a platter, with its slender base with the plate on top for the sweet creation; or maybe it was some sort of architecture from a science fiction idea. But in reality, it was the outline of my arm grasping my book. The lamp created this shadow. I sat in bed, reading.

            The late night is always conducive to reading. Hours of the day are so busy, so exhausting. Only when the sheets are drawn and the body rests can the mind concentrate. Of course, anyone can concentrate in mundane tasks: but what good is this subject of thought? In a way, I guess this death brings the antidote to cure insecurity to those who claim any sense of certainty. 

            The title of my book did not matter: titles are misleading. But know, reader, that my book was a splendid work of fiction - the kind of fiction that leaves you feeling the repercussions and aftereffects of its implications. I read the pages with immediacy. I yearned to get inside of the mind of the author. What stunning and penetrating things are they going to say in the next sentence? With this question, I glanced at the pages, as if a Buddhist sage was in the room saying, “Be mindful of the words.” 

            I know you want to know this profound passage that I speak of; it would seem helpful. But, I tell you, the content is not as important as the way it moved me. We all know people close to us who have passed on into the state of nothingness and decay. Yes, the content of such a life is valuable, but the true achievement of the transitioned life is the self-examination they have instilled in others. Such accomplishments could take the form of a pointed finger, a sculpture, a lecture, or even a single sentence. These things that promote self-examination are not physical movement; they are purely mental. Oftentimes, they come to us in the form of questions: Why do I believe that? What are other ways of accounting for this? What does this say about the world we live in?

These are the sorts of questions that arose in my reading. As I sat, contemplating the implications of that profound passage, my mind moved from a sense of complacency to one of uncertainty. This is what the book did for me, that one night. I must admit that this position of uncertainty is the citadel of humanity. Wars are never fought because people do not know anything; they are instigated by those who are certain.

The fan whizzed, causing my curtains to billow in the artificial breeze. My blankets sat folded at the foot of the bed, expired from their chilling duties. My arm felt not a bit of fatigue; it firmly held the book as I sat and read. My eyes met that bold, daring sentence. The questions ensued…

Religious VS. Secular Morality

When I ask people what they believe and why, the "why" is the important part. The "what" is far less important. If you are not willing to address the "why," then you are not being intellectually honest with yourself... -Matt Dillahunty, The Atheist Experience Ep. 813

-

When I discuss deep philosophical issues with people, I always start by saying that I am a skeptic first, a philosopher second, and an atheist third. I stand convicted that some that openly converse with me believe that I am a radical talking head or maybe even the Devil himself. But, I must say, my intentions are noble: the truth is what I seek. 

My skepticism arose as a priceless faculty. At my former college, things were taught on the basis of tradition and oftentimes included an emotional tinge. Although, once I started to get serious about objectivity, once I actually cared about my beliefs, I noticed that my preconceptions were unjustified. Skepticism molded me into the thinker I am today. It is a skill that requires patience - which it seems, humorously, that I retain only in the realm of ideas. From this skeptical standpoint, I will discuss the differences between religious and secular morals. 

Religious morals are conceived and extrapolated from texts that are supposedly divine. The texts usually give a (supposedly) divine commandment with the explicit claim that the commandment is from God himself. (It is interesting to note the justification for why the religious believe this: the commandments are correct and moral because God said them. Why did God say them? Because he is God. How do you know he is God? Because it says so in the Bible/Quran/Upanishads/etc...). But this point brings up many conflicts. The first is famously recorded in Plato's Euthyphro dilemma. The second rests upon the authorship problem: How do we know if A) God truly commanded the moral commands or B) if it is solely the human medium's opinions? And the third issue is a general problem with religious claims: How do you know that the command is correct/absolute? Of course, this question inevitably ends with something along the lines of "You must have faith." No, I must not have faith. Faith is weakness and a scapegoat. 

On the other side of the morality debate lies secularism. Secular morals are, first and foremost, obtained through practical reason. I concede that an accurate goal of human morality is to maintain a standard of well-being. (It could be argued that morals do not rest upon such goals, but I do not wish to address this here). When one thinks of well-being, one could say that such a state includes human flourishing or the absence of pain/harm. This is why many secular thinkers rely so heavily upon John Stuart Mill's harm principle. Also, the claim that morality should be linked to a sense of well-being is supported by scientific evidence. There are many studies that show the negative effects of all sorts of different harms (psychological, sexual, physical, emotional, etc.). This seems to be apparent knowledge. By using practical reason, erroneous claims about morality are eliminated. Moral relativism, for instance, holds no ground where practical reason is utilized. Just because some cultures practice female genital mutilation does not make that action morally correct. In secular morals, moral guidelines are determined insofar as it is supported by the use of practical reason. 

In light of this delineation between the two modes of morals, I must admit that morals obtained through religious means are deleterious and causes the corruption of human thinking. This is the type of thing that "justifies" a Muslim extremist to follow the Quran's commands to commit the murders of the infidels. It is also the type of thing that causes a Christian to bomb abortion clinics or fight against marriage equality because it is condemned in the book of Leviticus and others. I am personally convinced that mindful Christians are fighting moral conviction when they openly condemn gay marriage; there is no way they can reasonably justify these claims. 

Such is the poison of morals derived from holy texts.  

Day

How long have I lived,
how long have I looked
upon the walls of pure myst'ry
that displays the small, vague outlines?

A faint glow ruined
darkness around us.
All I see are cloudy figures
displayed by the conflagration.

My thoughts were blameless -
unaffected, pure -
... What one would expect from
a man of confined solitude.

One morn I awoke;
I found myself free.
My torso relaxed, eased from strain;
I stood up, turning to the flames:

Fear overtook me.
The light from the fire
met my unaccustomed vision,
causing an overload within.

But this did not last,
for there was a drive
awakened by my liberty
that felt like a noble voyage.

The drive aptly 'rose
from the other light;
it was extraordinary;
it beckoned for my attention.

So, I climbed the rock
that restricted me.
I walked the gloomy exit path
that led to this strange radiance.

As I left the cave,
I looked around me.
Strange things grew from the damp surface.
Perhaps they, too, sought to see the light.

My gaze went skyward,
recalling my quest.
Large blotches of white objects
floated with the yellow circle.

This moment, the time
I walked from the cave,
allowed me to experience
the realization of day.

My quest didn't end.
My curious mind
was not immersed in enough things.
There was a kind of wonder in it.
 

The Necessity of Philosophy in Scientific Progress

I recently stumbled upon an interview between Ross Anderson of The Atlantic physicist Lawrence Krauss. The interview was entitled Has Physics Made Philosophy and Religion Obsolete. I was very much taken aback about Krauss' inaccurate claims against philosophy.

Here is a section of the dialogue:

-

I want to start with a general question about the relationship between philosophy and physics. There has been a fair amount of sniping between these two disciplines over the past few years. Why the sudden, public antagonism between philosophy and physics? 

Krauss: That's a good question. I expect it's because physics has encroached on philosophy. Philosophy used to be a field that had content, but then "natural philosophy" became physics, and physics has only continued to make inroads. Every time there's a leap in physics, it encroaches on these areas that philosophers have carefully sequestered away to themselves, and so then you have this natural resentment on the part of philosophers. This sense that somehow physicists, because they can't spell the word "philosophy," aren't justified in talking about these things, or haven't thought deeply about them---

Is that really a claim that you see often?

Krauss: It is. Philosophy is a field that, unfortunately, reminds me of that old Woody Allen joke, "those that can't do, teach, and those that can't teach, teach gym." And the worst part of philosophy is the philosophy of science; the only people, as far as I can tell, that read work by philosophers of science are other philosophers of science. It has no impact on physics what so ever, and I doubt that other philosophers read it because it's fairly technical. And so it's really hard to understand what justifies it. And so I'd say that this tension occurs because people in philosophy feel threatened, and they have every right to feel threatened, because science progresses and philosophy doesn't.

On that note, you were recently quoted as saying that philosophy "hasn't progressed in two thousand years." But computer science, particularly research into artificial intelligence was to a large degree built on foundational work done by philosophers in logic and other formal languages. And certainly philosophers like John Rawls have been immensely influential in fields like political science and public policy. Do you view those as legitimate achievements?

Krauss: Well, yeah, I mean, look I was being provocative, as I tend to do every now and then in order to get people's attention. There are areas of philosophy that are important, but I think of them as being subsumed by other fields. In the case of descriptive philosophy you have literature or logic, which in my view is really mathematics. Formal logic is mathematics, and there are philosophers like Wittgenstein that are very mathematical, but what they're really doing is mathematics---it's not talking about things that have affected computer science, it's mathematical logic. And again, I think of the interesting work in philosophy as being subsumed by other disciplines like history, literature, and to some extent political science insofar as ethics can be said to fall under that heading. To me what philosophy does best is reflect on knowledge that's generated in other areas.

-

I am amazed at his ignorance of this portion of the interview. I am especially amazed about his assertion that descriptive philosophy is simply mathematics (and he erroneously inserts literature in this category.) I will put aside his childish claims about philosophy for now and take a moment to address the larger issue. 

Here are some question that Krauss avoids: If we were given a purely descriptive model of how the world works, would our understanding still lack in what we ought to do? What sort of meaning is derived from this sort of model? What implications does such a model have on our lives? Why does such a model exist? In fact, science does not seem to care about these questions. Where the scientist is concerned with descriptions, the philosopher deals with the implications of such descriptions. 

The before-mentioned questions are ironically just as pragmatic as the scientist's search for objectivity in modernity (although, they are of two completely different pursuits). Philosophy, being the older discipline of the two, is the fundamental reason why we undertake scientific endeavors. As humans, we are drawn to the epistemological underpinnings within our interaction of reality.  

Where science is a process that is the most useful mechanism for solving our world's problems, there will always exist an inner struggle to make sense of the discoveries of science. When we view science as an outside experimenter, we do so as philosophers. The system used to critique science is completely different from the science itself; if it was the same mechanism, it would be logically irresponsible to use the same process in matters of scrutiny. This is why science is oftentimes used to criticize religion, just as science (generally) is kept valid through philosophic logic and mathematics.

If one conducted pure science, without the balm of philosophy, the world would exist as an unimportant object, devoid of meaning. Philosophy is the main reason we do science: we wish to know more about the universe and thus increase the benefits within our lives. Yes, science has much to say about the mechanisms of stem cell technologies. But science does not tell us why such technologies are needed. For this, philosophy is the necessary ingredient. 

Science, on the other hand, provides a crucial task in systematizing occurrences in the world. It provides information about how matter works within the confines of scientific developments. This is, by no means, a small accomplishment. But this alone - this process of bitter cause and effect - tells us nothing about how to act within the world. The best possible way to achieve this conclusion is to combine science and philosophy in order to discover the possible normative dimension. 

The Failure of Communist Dictators

If there is any seemingly fatal attack on the theory of communism, it is the failure of the communist dictators. When Lenin took control of the U.S.S.R., he instilled a seed of pugnacious idiocy and a superiority complex. Here is where the ensuing greed began: the family tree of communism arising from self-worship.

After Lenin's reign, the criminal Stalin took control of the territory. His megalomania led him to believe that all people of the world wished to share in his own triumph. So, in the end, he sought to convert other nations - decrying cultures of Asia. So, he killed millions. As if he had no beneficent character - a trait that is required for such communist systems to flourish. The price of the installment of a universal proletariat was the freedom of all who labored with good intentions: making their way in a world of differences. But the divide between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie was still great nonetheless. Stalin was a fool. We can all be the bourgeoisie.

The Korean communist party soon followed, and then the Chinese in 1921. Of course, Korea split into two factions, and thus arose North Korea. The leaders of North Korea, through that nefarious kin, are the epitome of failure; failure of striving for altruistic equality, failure of providing freedom, failure of developing adequate work forces, failure in advancing morally, failure of stabilizing the gap between the economic classes; failure of humanity.

It is wrong, we all know, to judge a book by its cover. That saying is tortuously cliche but it is sound. Some of the most interesting novels have the most hideous cover art. How, then, can we judge a strategy by its leaders? 

    

Burdens Between Two Friends

"While we're here and while we sit," said I,
"Let me start, my friend, by speaking candidly:
Do you feel this... - encumbrance, that's the word -
of all this luxury we call our own?
All the bills and all the hours of long work
have caused me burdensome anxiety.
My wife wants to leave me - bitter and hopeless;
She says I love work more than commitment."

He turned to me, my friend, the listener.
His eyes expressed a wave of empathy
rippling through space by means of reality.
This friend, my friend, was a wise one indeed.

"People work and are yearning to consume.
Most people - they seem to act on instinct,
Implored, by others, to reap their harvest
of every item of status and vogue."

His eyes met mine, abound with attention.
I hoped he could provide masterly council
I hoped he could prescribe life's medicine -
for the fate of my life rests in his hands.
I thought of my safe, my keeper of stuff,
and the pistol within that tempted me.

But he went on, my friend, applying the salve:

"Life is hard and life is ever fleeting;
It does not make sense to live it in vain.
Freedom is the vict'ry we seek to gain.
All our burdens that we experience
Are faults of no one but ourselves... it's true."

I felt the sting of his frank reaction,
even though his judgement seemed tenable.

Outside, the daylight dissipated slowly,
occluded by the excess of moisture.
The world seemed to progress - unaffected -
whether I questioned my own bleak demise
or sat in ease - satisfied with existence.

Even so, I praise my tolerant friend.
I recalled Epicurus - that fine soul
who saw the positivity of friends.

Good thing he, my friend, stood by - awaited.
Without him, the trigger could boldly tempt
and draw me close to the fatal embrace.