I wasn't worried about wasps when I started gathering wood for the backyard barbecue. After all, it was only the beginning of April, and we'd had a snowstorm just a week ago. Wasps weren't on my worry radar, and certainly neither were bad haircuts. All I had on my mind were hot dogs, toasted pineapple, and relaxing hours around a campfire.
First there was one wasp. I spied him on a branch next to the branch I was gathering and, after swallowing a yelp, carefully avoided that branch and checked all the other ones for intruders. But seeing no more, I gathered all the branches in our back yard to celebrate the fine weather and two months of successfully keeping a tiny human alive.
Before long, I had kindled a merry, crackling fire, tended it into a beautiful bed of embers, and even brought Baby out to admire my handiwork while Brian took over fire management. Baby was, however, unimpressed with the smoke, the wind, and the gathering dusk and was, therefore, soon taken inside to rest comfortably. Our continual passage through the kitchen in and out of the back yard disturbed her not a whit, and the evening looked promisingly calm and pleasant.
Then there were two wasps. They were both crawling on one of the logs I had used near the base of the fire, and I noted that the log came from the pile where I had espied the first offensive creeping insect. This worried me, but I chose not to engage them and crossed cautiously to the opposite side of the fire, keeping a wary eye on them the entire time. But then one of them flew away and the other crawled first towards the flames and then rapidly away, disappearing on the underside of the log and out of my mind.
We had a marvelous little roast with peppers, onions, and pineapple (a personal favorite), and I had no reason to concern myself with wasps for a full hour. One of us needing to attend the fire at all times, however, I was alone in the kitchen when I felt movement in my hair above my left brow. My hand went instinctively to brush at the hair and was not arrested in time by the terrible sound of buzzing. I half-swatted the wasp away from my head knowing full well that I was certainly about to be stung. By remarkable good fortune I was not stung, but now I was in a horrendous and terrifying situation.
The wasp hung clinging to a few strands of hair directly in front of my left eye. I couldn't scream; it's just not my go-to response, and besides, I wasn't breathing at this point. I dared not swat at him again. I had miraculously escaped being stung and knew better than to test my luck. Furthermore, two feet to my right, my child slept peacefully unaware of the dreadful danger. Even if I should manage to dislodge the wasp without getting stung, what were the chances it would fly off and land on my beautiful little girl? I fought rising hysteria as I moved toward the back door. I had every intention of making it outside and requesting help from Brian, but the wasp was in front of my eyeball. I saw its every move. I watched its six legs wriggle and cling to strands of my hair while it worked its wings once or twice. Its bulging lower half swung wildly back and forth with each step I took while its antennae twitched a few times every second.
I made it two steps toward the door when I saw the scissors. I don't know whose scissors they are. Certainly they're not any pair I ever remember owning, silly purple-handled, kid-sized, blunt-tipped things. I snatched them up instantly and cut the hair a good three inches above the wasp. Down he tumbled along with a decent clump of my hair a good six inches or more in length, and there on my kitchen floor between the counter and the back door he died an ignominious death. His carcass tumbled into the vent, and a gust from the door puffed the shorn locks of my hair across the floor.
I was several minutes recovering from this, but, my breathing and heart rate returning to normal, I stepped outside to tell Brian about my near-death experience. I wasn't expecting much of a response, maybe a chuckle or an inquiry into whether or not I got stung or perhaps a curious wondering about wasps this early in the season. But instead he frowned and knitted his brow.
"I think that was a bit of an overreaction," were his first words. This response ruffled me a bit, especially since he knows I despise insects and particularly hate wasps and that therefore having one in my hair was pretty much the most terrifying thing to happen to me since I was nearly pushed off a cliff in China in 2004. I couldn't think how to reply and retired to poking the fire and mulling over what to say. The firelight cast dramatic shadows on Brian's concerned face, deepening the furrow in his brow. A few minutes passed before he broke the silence with a tentative query that made me smile.
"How much hair did you cut off?"
That's your concern, sweetheart? That perhaps I've gone and made a terrible gash in my hair like some lack-of-motor-control two-year-old? Well, I guess I can't fault you too much. You should see the scissors I used.
Monday, April 23, 2018
Monday, April 9, 2018
Faith
The incident that started all of this happened well over eighteen months ago, if not more, but I've thought about it so very many times. It has half haunted me because, as many people do, I wish I had said something different at the time. I wish the right words had sprung readily to mind. Just because I'm a philologist doesn't mean I always have the right words at hand. I wish I could, silly as that may seem.
But what I really wish─what I really want─is for people to think more about the words they use. Words are the tools of thought. Relying on another person to understand one's intended meaning without ensuring one is adequately conveying that meaning is the intellectual equivalent of relying on another driver to make sure I don't die in a fiery car crash on the way home. It's ridiculous and puts all the power in the wrong hands. Yet how many times every day, every hour, does one casually, flippantly, carelessly allow a reader, a listener to understand one's meaning.
I don't intend to insist that every person at all times be meticulously aware of every possible misunderstanding that can be drawn from everyday conversation. But I do want people to just think more about what they say.
Some months ago a woman, just to make conversation, asked me about my work as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Being a contemplative sort, I waited a moment to ensure I didn't go rushing into an explanation that would be too in-depth for someone unfamiliar with the law enforcement world. But my hesitation left the smallest gap in the conversation that she felt the need to fill with the statement, "Surely your work must restore your faith in humanity all the time!"
Surely? . . . Really? Surely? Why so surely? Why must it? And why my faith in humanity? Is my faith in humanity in need of regular restoration? What has caused this supposed deterioration of my supposed faith in humanity? What is the status of your own faith in humanity? What do you even mean by humanity? What do you mean by faith? For heaven's sake, woman, think about the words coming out of your mouth!!!
But, of course, I didn't say that. At the time all I mustered was a very inadequate, "No. No it does not." I should have liked to explain all of this to her, but I also feel that a lengthy, linguistic, theoretical explanation would have been lost on her anyway. After all, at the time she didn't even continue the conversation, choosing instead to move on to something she may have considered more accessible. Shoes, I think it was.
After I left the gathering at which she had made such an odd assertion, I wanted very much to return and clarify that I do indeed have faith in humanity. It simply differs from the line most would take at that statement.
The absolute first point to establish is that when one mentions the word "faith," one frequently thinks of religion first. The concept of having faith in God. But even in this sense the term is incomplete. What one truly means by saying one has faith in God, generally, is that one believes deliberately and intensely that a superior being not only exists, but has influence over one's life, an intent to do good, or has one's best interest at heart, and actively involves Himself in bringing about the best results for one's existence.
However, that's too long to say all in one go. So one simply says, "I have faith in God."
This is not the sense I am discussing here. Faith in every dictionary I checked (and believe me, I check more dictionaries than you do) had multiple meanings, about half of them specifically designated for religious use and the other half used in a secular sense to talk about basic trust or belief.
The lack of precise definition given in the phrase "have faith in X" works quite well in the religious arena where one's particular beliefs about God and His level of involvement or care in one's life varies, sometimes drastically, from one person to another and can furthermore be a source of intense debate or conflict if one were to try to affirmatively define what having faith meant for another person. But this is not the sense that I am discussing, not the sense I feel the speaker misused, and not the sense upon which I am about to embark on a linguistic thought.
Where the use of the word becomes more problematic is when it is applied to firmer subjects. Science. Justice. Humanity.
One might say, "Well, I mean, I don't have faith in science like that." What, then, is it like? Does one never rely on "scientific" data to influence one's judgment? One's decision to purchase "organic" vegetables over those treated with pesticides? What of one's emphatic stance on global warming, whether for or against? On what is one basing one's belief that the world is round? Or that it is flat? That the Earth circumnavigates the sun? Or that gravity is the force that draws objects having mass towards the center of the Earth? Even supposing one disbelieves the traditional stances on every one of these points, that still constitutes having a level of faith in science.
Because here we arrive at the fundamental inadequacy of the over-simplistic statement at hand. One can have faith in science and concurrently disbelieve its teachings. This is linguistically sound for the mere reason that one has failed to define what one has faith that science can accomplish. This notion is generally more simply expressed in the negative, as in, "So-and-so doesn't have faith in science." But this is a disservice to the linguistic function of the word.
For example, a devout scientist would be better served to say he has faith in science to define parameters of the known universe and to explain much of its workings as well as faith in using science as a tool to further discover hitherto unknown facts about the workings of said universe. By contrast, a doubter of scientific capability would easiest describe his stance by simply negating the affirmative statement given by the scientist. But were the doubter more eloquent, he might choose to use affirmative language of his own and express his own belief by saying he has faith that science is inadequate to ever come to correct conclusions regarding physical phenomena of any sort, and he believes that any effort put forth in that field lacks the understanding and the ability to truly know.
Faith, after all, merely means "firm trust or belief in or reliance upon something" or "belief based on evidence, testimony, or authority." Trusting that an authority is right uses the same verb, the same action, as trusting that an authority is wrong. This is not necessarily the same as distrusting a thing or an authority. If I trust that a drunkard is drunk and is going to tell me he isn't drunk, when experience, evidence, and a third-party witness affirm that he is, then I am trusting in a specific course of action and relying on its results in an affirmative manner. This is different from distrusting that the drunkard will tell me he is drunk. There is more ambiguity in the negative. But I digress and begin to nitpick.
The simple truth is, we don't choose precise wording. We merely say that the scientist has faith in his craft while the other person is, at best, a doubter or an idiot, depending on how foolish the doubter chooses to sound and how firmly we have faith in the correctness of scientific data.
As for humanity, defaulting to the generally understood meaning of the word as "human faculties, attributes, or characteristics collectively," I have faith. I absolutely have faith. I have faith that most humans generally desire to do what is commonly called "good" in a moral sense. I have faith that many humans fail in the execution of their good intentions but that they have good intentions nonetheless. I have a great deal of faith that humanity has declined in moral standing over the course of history, regardless of the debated length of history. I have an extraordinary amount of faith that the common human lacks a great amount of sense. I have even more faith that a given individual who is already behaving criminally and stupidly will not cease his actions of his own voluntary accord. I have faith in the involuntary responses of the human body and their ability to override the logical thought process of almost any given human. I have faith that most people experience fear and few people handle that experience with a calm demeanor or general well-being.
I have faith in human selfishness and its effect on the thought process of many humans. I have faith that human selfishness will often help a person to survive an otherwise overwhelmingly challenging situation. I have faith that the human ego will more often than not lead an individual to trust his own decision-making process over the instructions given by a stranger. I have faith that many people possess enormous quantities of willful steadfastness and that they will rely on this quality above that of reason or persuasion. I have faith that most mothers love their children and will sacrifice a great deal to benefit their children's well-being. I have faith that most humans choose to rely on their own experience and interpretation of events over those who reliably may have better information or more thorough experience.
Some may call my faith cynical or pessimistic and many—many—may disagree with me, which I affirm they are more than welcome to do, these being, after all, my beliefs. But really faith alone is neither up nor down. Faith is firm trust or belief. I have faith that I will die one day. That does not mean I do not love living. It merely means that I have faith.
But what I really wish─what I really want─is for people to think more about the words they use. Words are the tools of thought. Relying on another person to understand one's intended meaning without ensuring one is adequately conveying that meaning is the intellectual equivalent of relying on another driver to make sure I don't die in a fiery car crash on the way home. It's ridiculous and puts all the power in the wrong hands. Yet how many times every day, every hour, does one casually, flippantly, carelessly allow a reader, a listener to understand one's meaning.
I don't intend to insist that every person at all times be meticulously aware of every possible misunderstanding that can be drawn from everyday conversation. But I do want people to just think more about what they say.
Some months ago a woman, just to make conversation, asked me about my work as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Being a contemplative sort, I waited a moment to ensure I didn't go rushing into an explanation that would be too in-depth for someone unfamiliar with the law enforcement world. But my hesitation left the smallest gap in the conversation that she felt the need to fill with the statement, "Surely your work must restore your faith in humanity all the time!"
Surely? . . . Really? Surely? Why so surely? Why must it? And why my faith in humanity? Is my faith in humanity in need of regular restoration? What has caused this supposed deterioration of my supposed faith in humanity? What is the status of your own faith in humanity? What do you even mean by humanity? What do you mean by faith? For heaven's sake, woman, think about the words coming out of your mouth!!!
But, of course, I didn't say that. At the time all I mustered was a very inadequate, "No. No it does not." I should have liked to explain all of this to her, but I also feel that a lengthy, linguistic, theoretical explanation would have been lost on her anyway. After all, at the time she didn't even continue the conversation, choosing instead to move on to something she may have considered more accessible. Shoes, I think it was.
After I left the gathering at which she had made such an odd assertion, I wanted very much to return and clarify that I do indeed have faith in humanity. It simply differs from the line most would take at that statement.
The absolute first point to establish is that when one mentions the word "faith," one frequently thinks of religion first. The concept of having faith in God. But even in this sense the term is incomplete. What one truly means by saying one has faith in God, generally, is that one believes deliberately and intensely that a superior being not only exists, but has influence over one's life, an intent to do good, or has one's best interest at heart, and actively involves Himself in bringing about the best results for one's existence.
However, that's too long to say all in one go. So one simply says, "I have faith in God."
This is not the sense I am discussing here. Faith in every dictionary I checked (and believe me, I check more dictionaries than you do) had multiple meanings, about half of them specifically designated for religious use and the other half used in a secular sense to talk about basic trust or belief.
The lack of precise definition given in the phrase "have faith in X" works quite well in the religious arena where one's particular beliefs about God and His level of involvement or care in one's life varies, sometimes drastically, from one person to another and can furthermore be a source of intense debate or conflict if one were to try to affirmatively define what having faith meant for another person. But this is not the sense that I am discussing, not the sense I feel the speaker misused, and not the sense upon which I am about to embark on a linguistic thought.
Where the use of the word becomes more problematic is when it is applied to firmer subjects. Science. Justice. Humanity.
One might say, "Well, I mean, I don't have faith in science like that." What, then, is it like? Does one never rely on "scientific" data to influence one's judgment? One's decision to purchase "organic" vegetables over those treated with pesticides? What of one's emphatic stance on global warming, whether for or against? On what is one basing one's belief that the world is round? Or that it is flat? That the Earth circumnavigates the sun? Or that gravity is the force that draws objects having mass towards the center of the Earth? Even supposing one disbelieves the traditional stances on every one of these points, that still constitutes having a level of faith in science.
Because here we arrive at the fundamental inadequacy of the over-simplistic statement at hand. One can have faith in science and concurrently disbelieve its teachings. This is linguistically sound for the mere reason that one has failed to define what one has faith that science can accomplish. This notion is generally more simply expressed in the negative, as in, "So-and-so doesn't have faith in science." But this is a disservice to the linguistic function of the word.
For example, a devout scientist would be better served to say he has faith in science to define parameters of the known universe and to explain much of its workings as well as faith in using science as a tool to further discover hitherto unknown facts about the workings of said universe. By contrast, a doubter of scientific capability would easiest describe his stance by simply negating the affirmative statement given by the scientist. But were the doubter more eloquent, he might choose to use affirmative language of his own and express his own belief by saying he has faith that science is inadequate to ever come to correct conclusions regarding physical phenomena of any sort, and he believes that any effort put forth in that field lacks the understanding and the ability to truly know.
Faith, after all, merely means "firm trust or belief in or reliance upon something" or "belief based on evidence, testimony, or authority." Trusting that an authority is right uses the same verb, the same action, as trusting that an authority is wrong. This is not necessarily the same as distrusting a thing or an authority. If I trust that a drunkard is drunk and is going to tell me he isn't drunk, when experience, evidence, and a third-party witness affirm that he is, then I am trusting in a specific course of action and relying on its results in an affirmative manner. This is different from distrusting that the drunkard will tell me he is drunk. There is more ambiguity in the negative. But I digress and begin to nitpick.
The simple truth is, we don't choose precise wording. We merely say that the scientist has faith in his craft while the other person is, at best, a doubter or an idiot, depending on how foolish the doubter chooses to sound and how firmly we have faith in the correctness of scientific data.
As for humanity, defaulting to the generally understood meaning of the word as "human faculties, attributes, or characteristics collectively," I have faith. I absolutely have faith. I have faith that most humans generally desire to do what is commonly called "good" in a moral sense. I have faith that many humans fail in the execution of their good intentions but that they have good intentions nonetheless. I have a great deal of faith that humanity has declined in moral standing over the course of history, regardless of the debated length of history. I have an extraordinary amount of faith that the common human lacks a great amount of sense. I have even more faith that a given individual who is already behaving criminally and stupidly will not cease his actions of his own voluntary accord. I have faith in the involuntary responses of the human body and their ability to override the logical thought process of almost any given human. I have faith that most people experience fear and few people handle that experience with a calm demeanor or general well-being.
I have faith in human selfishness and its effect on the thought process of many humans. I have faith that human selfishness will often help a person to survive an otherwise overwhelmingly challenging situation. I have faith that the human ego will more often than not lead an individual to trust his own decision-making process over the instructions given by a stranger. I have faith that many people possess enormous quantities of willful steadfastness and that they will rely on this quality above that of reason or persuasion. I have faith that most mothers love their children and will sacrifice a great deal to benefit their children's well-being. I have faith that most humans choose to rely on their own experience and interpretation of events over those who reliably may have better information or more thorough experience.
Some may call my faith cynical or pessimistic and many—many—may disagree with me, which I affirm they are more than welcome to do, these being, after all, my beliefs. But really faith alone is neither up nor down. Faith is firm trust or belief. I have faith that I will die one day. That does not mean I do not love living. It merely means that I have faith.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)