Get Rid Of Slimy guidelineS: Faulty justification and sexual ethics

I grew up doing lots of reading.  One particular thing I read over and over was Bill Watterson's Calvin & Hobbes, which I still consider to be one of the most masterful uses of the comic art form (right up there with Larson's The Far Side and Opus by Berkeley Breathed).  Spaceman Spiff, deranged mutant killer snowmen, and Calvinball were just a few of my favorite elements of the strip, but one recurring gag that also stands out to me is Calvin's ill-fated G.R.O.S.S. club -- that, of course, is an acronym for "Get Rid Of Slimy girlS."  The club's singular mission: to irritate Susie Derkins, Calvin's neighbor and sometimes playmate.  More often than not, however, Calvin's planned methods of pranking or harassing woefully backfire, largely due to Hobbes' partiality to Susie and his reluctance to be an accomplice to the dubious schemes.

We'll return to that idea.

On Monday, I was reading an online scientific journal (not something I make a practice of doing), but the striking excerpt grabbed my attention:

"Approximately 40 percent of men have experienced inexplicable feelings of tearfulness, sadness, or irritability after mutually consensual sex and 3-4 percent experience it regularly, according to a survey published in peer-reviewed journal."

When I saw the post, I turned to my wife, read it aloud to her, and said, "Hmm, maybe all those Judeo-Christian ethics were on to something after all."

The paper, in its entirety, can be accessed here, and is pretty technical.  In short, the study utilized social media and online polling to research a psychological phenomenon called Postcoital Dysphoria (PCD), which psychologists attribute to any inexplicable, overwhelmingly negative emotional responses after sexual activity that, by all normal considerations, was consensual and fulfilling.  Previously documented in women, PCD is being newly observed in men, and is suspected to perhaps be even more prevalent among members of that gender.  The reason for this is not uniform, but the journal suggests strong connections between the dysphoria and a). childhood abuse, and b). cultural expectations surrounding the sexual activity of Western males -- that is, inflated and often self-imposed pressures to desire, be desired, and perform.  If the latter component is true, then the "condition" is at least partly connected to simple disappointment.

However, the real cause seems to be much deeper than that.  In their own words, men involved in the study described their experience of PCD as "a strong sense of self-loathing about myself," "a lot of shame," "negative feelings which are difficult to describe," and "hold[ing] in the sadness for hours until she leaves as we do not live together."  "Weird," says culture.  Because, under normal circumstances, 2 + 2 should -- from a logical perspective -- always = 4.  Therefore, we must decipher why consensual sexual activity between healthy adults would ever result in anything other than euphoria.  The unspoken presupposition is that dysphoria should only be connected with sexual coercion, abuse, trauma, or any variety of other factors, and is out of place anywhere else.

Calvin repeatedly enlisted Hobbes in an ill-fated and juvenile attempt to rid his immediate context of undesirables -- girls in general, but namely Susie Derkins.  He created a structure for his unwavering presupposition (that girls are gross and intolerable), situated the base of operations in the tree fort (to represent its lofty, enlightened ideals), and operated with overtly aggressive parameters (e.g. water balloons, stuffed animal kidnapping, mud slinging, etc).  Our culture has its own G.R.O.S.S. club in regard to this issue, one not targeting "slimy girls," but rather any form of morals, values, norms, or reasonings that embrace a worldview of personal accountability.  In a society where pedophilia is gaining traction as a sexual preference (as opposed to a criminally punishable psychological disorder), is it really any surprise that we would eventually resort to a DSM classification of "Postcoital Dysphoria" to rename guilt and shame associated with sexuality?  In an evolutionary cosmology, experiences of guilt and shame connected to coitus can only be artifacts of repressive religion or an unfortunate psychological dysfunction -- certainly not the result of "sin."

The point of this post is not to question the legitimacy of this study or the diagnosis, or even to accuse our society of being overly diagnosis-happy (which we are), but rather to point out the subtle/not-so-subtle ways our modern, "enlightened," pseudo-scientific minds are so ingrained with presuppositions that we will blindly create justifications for every type of sinful behavior under the sun.  In other words, because we assume sexuality is natural, animalistic, instinctive, preferential, and any number of other dismissive modifiers, then obviously any negative side-effects experienced must be the result of psychological conditions, or the vestigial artifacts of archaic religious worldviews, or some other inexplicable phenomena -- because obviously God is not real and there are no ethical implications for sex, other than what we ourselves legally ascribe to the acknowledged (but modifiable) list of deviant behaviors.

To be fair, Postcoital Dysphoria is something that even married individuals reported experiencing.  By God's Biblical standards, the legitimacy of their relationship is not in question, so marriage itself is not the only issue -- some other psychosomatic or biological factor can cause PCD.  And the reality is that sin truly does affect the psyche (Jer 17.9; Mark 7.20; Eph 4.17; Rom 12.2).  For that reason, I'm sure there are absolutely legitimate cases of Postcoital Dysphoria where committed, sacrificial, otherwise happily married couples still experience some form it -- because sin has damaged everything.  In fact, even if sexual activity in a marriage is not coerced, degrading, or harmful, other crucial elements of the marital relationship could be crying out against false normalcy: unconfessed sinfulness in other areas, unresolved conflict, distrust or disunity, and any number of other contributing factors could result in every symptom listed that characterize PCD in the study.

For that matter, PCD in cases where adults were abused as children seems to be a completely legitimate psychological challenge.  However, when it comes to unmarried couples -- even the happiest, most committed partnerships -- the legitimacy of PCD as a psychological condition becomes obscured by the fact that sin is at the root of those feelings of guilt and shame.  Why?  Because their lifestyle flies in the face of God's intended design for the most intimate human relationship.  Even the most exciting and mutually gratifying consensual sex is STILL SIN if it is done outside the confines of God's designated parameters.  For that reason, a PCD diagnosis rapidly becomes a quagmire of faulty justification for a culture that wants sex with no strings attached.  "Why do I feel bad after sex?  Well, it's just my condition -- certainly not because I'm doing something wrong.  That possibility doesn't fit my worldview."

While Calvin's plots were usually predictable -- and Susie proved again and again that girls are much smarter than boys -- the major downfall of the G.R.O.S.S. campaigns was Hobbes' non-commitment to the cause.  Unfortunately, the cult of post-truth thinking in our society is comprised of many more dedicated members than simply one hyperactive boy and one stuffed tiger.  Dismantling popular thinking is therefore a daunting task, but it is the mandate for Christians, given them by Jesus Himself:

[Jesus] said to them, “...you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” (Acts 1.7-8)

Being Christ's witnesses requires a unified identity that sets us apart from the world -- not only bearing a different message of hope, but also living differently.  In other words, if we as Christians aren't practicing holiness in our relationships, how are we possibly being Christ's witnesses?  It's not very effective to proclaim hope, peace, and holiness if we ourselves are harboring guilt and shame from sexual sin ourselves.  

Christian, have you engaged in sinful sexual activity and found some way to justify it?  Have you made sinful relationship choices, realized they were wrong, but gone on without any repentance or change?  We can't expect gospel truth to really make a difference in people's lives if we ourselves have not been completely, radically changed by it.  So let us carefully evaluate our own hearts in these matters so that we may more effectively step out in faith to accomplish God's gospel incentives.

Faith, Confidence, and Sanity: The Christian Worldview

One of the more significant changes shaping my immediate future is the fact that my band will be headed down to Nashville in just a few short weeks to record our debut album with Jerry Guidroz of Radiant Records (the producer behind Neal Morse and Transatlantic).  Without going into too much detail, the album we're working on is very much concerned with the legitimacy of faith (specifically the Christian faith) as a worldview.  It's essentially a microcosm of the world's pursuit of knowledge: the quest for true enlightenment which explores all avenues of thought, but that can only be found  -- as we believe -- in the person of Jesus Christ.  Geoff (keys and vocals) is the frontman and primary writer of The Twenty Committee's material, but as we got into the heart of the project, he and I began partnering on the lyrics -- especially those depicting the grungy independence of man and his scorn for all things intangible, things that even include faith, love, and hope.

As I stared at the blinking cursor on my computer screen, pondering the instability of faithless existence, I found myself reminded of a simple statement made by Dr. David Powlison during the 2011 CCEF conference.  A very simple statement -- three words, unrefined, no pretense.

"Prayer is sanity."

So concise, and in its directness, so poignant.  In the grandiose Louisville ballroom in which my wife (then, not yet my fiancé) and I were sitting, surrounded by thousands of counselors-in-training, the simple phrase passed over us like a wave -- not a whitecap which crashes over a swimmer and leaves him stunned, but a warm swell which buoys him gently above the sandy ocean floor.  As I remember that moment now, and realize the echoed sentiment in the rough lyrics of our nearly completed concept album, it strikes me that arguments for faith severely underemphasize one of the most important and most beautiful elements of the Christian belief.

Faith, even as an objective principle, is one of the most misunderstood concepts of our modern age.  Portrayed as mysticism at its worst and irrational confidence at its best, faith pertaining to any religion has become antithetical to educated thinking.  To the modern scientific community -- a generation raised during the era of Wikipedia, genetic cloning, and subsequent failed Harold Camping prophecies -- faith-based living is as quaint and outdated a practice as bloodletting.  To the post-Christian society in which we live, archaic religious thinking may at best hold some worthwhile grains of truth, but ultimately remains the equivalent of retaining belief in Santa Claus as an adult.

Understandably, popular misconceptions arise from the fact that faith as a principle always incorporates some form of not-knowing.  In other words, faith necessarily requires some element of trust which supersedes understanding.  Calvin's decision to go back inside and watch TV in the unsettling face of the unknown is a perfect example: man wants concrete proof that he is not alone in the universe and cannot accept the possibility that his own eyes might not be able to observe a supernatural reality.  Furthermore, when the overlooked plights of our world are taken into consideration -- our indomitable pride, our idol of independence and our obsession with control -- it isn't surprising that the world would rather place its belief in something concrete like science which defines the universe by expressly non-theistic standards.  It's terrifying to place confidence in something external to ourselves when what we value is our own knowledge and ability.  To sacrifice that for something which is intangible, something that you know in your heart but cannot prove beyond a shadow of a doubt to anyone (not even yourself) is tantamount to declaring mental instability.  In that regard, the popular debate between faith and science -- above all else -- is an argument over control.  It is a war between man's sense of pride and his dependence upon something greater than himself.

But the fact of the matter is that faith is not simply taking a step out into nothingness.  Biblical hope retains no element of uncertainty - it is a hope that knows and trusts, and ultimately experiences true peace.  That is the truth which forms the bedrock upon which the Christian stands.  Faith is not hoping God can, it's knowing that He will, which is certainly a pithy saying worthy of a wall plaque, but it is also the truth which allows us to see the rain as a blessing and the storm as an instruction manual.  Hebrews 11 defines faith as the "assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."  In other words, while faith acknowledges that there are things we do not understand, there is so much more that we do.  In the same way that you know you have money in the bank (or don't), in the same manner that those numerals on that paycheck represent a quantifiable amount and you know you earned, despite the fact that your boss didn't hand you raw chunks of gold to carry home on the subway, faith also incorporates a trust that supersedes what we see and experience.  Invariably, this is the kind of discussion which arouses the arguments for evolution, for intelligent design, for the notion (or lack thereof) that we can't possibly know for certain what this life is about.

The issue around which all of these schools of thought circle is the problem of evidence.  Contemporary science denies the possibility of the supernatural because equations cannot calculate deity.  Intelligent design counters evolutionary claims due to the absence of transitional forms in the fossil record.  So-called agnostics simply shrug and insist that there's not enough to go by to choose one side of the court or the other.  The consistent back-and-forth banter of "Prove it's true" and "Prove it's not" is unending, because no one has the trump card which invalidates the other arguments.  Embracing a side, therefore, is inevitably a matter of faith, because regardless of what camp you find yourself in, the evidence does not conclusively add up.  Evolution ultimately boils down to the same faith-based mechanics as any other devised religion.  It has no testable hypotheses to make it a recognizable science (no, you cannot watch evolution happen), and it lacks insubstantial evidence to verify its claims.  The Christian likewise cannot point to any evidence which the scientist would not deem circumstantial or hearsay.  It is by faith that we acknowledge the universe as God's handiwork, attributing to Him authority over nature and ascribing to Him authorship of the scientific laws which govern the universe.

But frankly, I'm tired of all the talk.  I'm tired of Christian apologetics who hint at the possibility of proving God's existence through their archeological approach and their intentional use of big scientific words.  I'm tired of evolutionists who raise their noses to the notion that someone embraces a worldview which subjects science to deity, because they themselves are unable to wrap their brains around the notion that an all-powerful god (which is, by objective definition, a supernatural and supreme being) would not be limited by the clockwork regularity of the universe He created.  And I'm really tired of people misusing the "agnostic" label simply because they don't know what they believe and don't want to be labeled as an atheist, which would be too extreme.  We stand in a room crowded with stubborn debaters, all shouting to be heard, and no one is convincing anyone of anything.

This post is not an argument for equality of thought or a demand for coexistence.  It is, however, a request for greater understanding of and a respect for what the other guy thinks.  It's a call to listen more and speak less (and I'll be the first one to admit failure in that department).  We need to stop adding to the argumentative noise.  What I also want to communicate is that faith (intelligent design, Creationism, or whatever other label you'd prefer) is not an unrealistic perspective of the world.  It is not a denial of scientific research, nor is it divorced from logic, reason, or education.  It is simply a different perspective and a different order of priorities.  Faith is a legitimate worldview because it is based upon confidence in the reality and veracity of the Bible.  Yes, it certainly takes faith to believe in a God who cannot be seen or defined with scientific instruments, a God who created man and gave him a mind of his own, and then chose out of His lovingkindness to redeem that man rather than destroy him for his ungrateful independence.  However, it also takes tremendous faith to look past the gaping holes in the evolutionary theory, just like it takes faith to answer the question "If God does not exist, then what is this all for?" with some apathetic defense of nature's prerogative.

The bottom line is that, if evolution is an educated and respected school of thought, despite its uncertainties, then intelligent design must also be held in the same regard.

In all of this, in my frustration with internet forums and the conversations which take place in so-called collegiate-level classrooms, I find myself coming back to Dr. Powlison's statement, an idea which is so fundamental and so grade-school in its simplicity, and yet we constantly overlook it.  Prayer is not the spiritual equivalent of groping blindly in the dark: it is leaning into the one dependable lifeline we have in a universe which spins out of our control, out of our finite comprehension.  Prayer is sanity because of the reality, the omnipotence, of the One upon whom we depend.

To me, the most beautiful aspect of the Christian faith is the fact that despite our wickedness, we may boldly approach the throne of grace -- boldly, not with trepidation, not with uncertainty, but with absolute confidence.  I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that my Savior will one day welcome me into His open arms, and that all mysteries of life, the universe, and everything will one day finally be answered -- but not until I come into His presence.  In the meantime, I intend to live a life which celebrates that confidence, knowing that man's pursuit of knowledge and understanding begins and culminates with Christ Himself.

~*~

Psalm 18.1-3: "I love you, O LORD, my strength.  The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.  I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised."

~*~

A Tribute to a Friend I've Known Since Birth

Just today, I happened to find myself thinking about you.  Maybe it has something to do with getting another year older, or maybe it was just a random bit of nostalgia that brought you to mind.  Or maybe it's the fact that you're sitting in my living room chair at this moment, just as reliable and patient and omnipresent as always.

The things I remember most about you growing up are your quiet nature, your calming spirit.  I remember the pensive quality of your gaze, so consistent despite my oscillating temperament.  You were always agreeable too, and loyal, but not to the point of being a sheep.  Maybe you didn't stand up to me as much as you should have, but I could always sense the disapproval you kept to yourself when I was up to no good.  In that way, you were a leader, even as you were a follower.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you got just as dirty as I did when we were young - if not more so.  We took our leaps together, and - consequently - our falls.  My successes were yours, and my failures likewise.  You had your stitches, and I had mine.  Boyhood was rough on the both of us, the way it should be.  It taught us the taste of grass and fused the sensation of sweat running down our backs with the sense of accomplishment gleaned from hard work.

I think maybe we were so close because you were a reflection of the things I couldn't yet be - characteristics and qualities I wanted, but things for which I had to mature first in order to grasp.  Maybe you were a template, one that wasn't much like me, but a mouthpiece for all my quirks and the recipient all my ideas, all my imaginings, which no one else could possibly understand or handle the way you could.  In that sense, you were my muse, my confidant.  You embodied the songs I couldn't yet write, the stories I couldn't yet transcribe.  You were my first audience and my first critic, but you were gentle and we learned together how to dream big.

It's amusing in retrospect.  As a kid, you don't think about these kinds of things.  You just accept things as they are, at face value.  Things are black and white, hard and easy, bad and good.  The world only becomes complex when you shed that type of binary thinking in favor of adult ideas - gray areas, revelation, and common sense.  As a kid, you were simply my friend, a playmate, company in times of loneliness and celebration.  You were simply there, and I loved you for it.  Time and again, you let me drag you behind me through the muck of life (sometimes literally) and still got up on the other side with a smile on your face - a smile which said, very plainly, "Let's do that again."

I want my children to have a friend like you while things are still simple.  In fact, I want them to have you.  I want their experiences with you to be just as memorable, just as enlightening.  And when they get older, wiser, and more knowledgeable of the world, I hope they look back on their friendship with you and remember the romance of childhood.  My warm, golden summers of the 1990's on the East Coast would have been merely sticky transitions without you beside me to enjoy them; for my kids, I want the same.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll make them read Calvin & Hobbes as much as I did too.