What It Means To Be Alive

I had an interesting conversation with a few of my coworkers the other day. We were talking about the prospect that, given the right advances in technology, we might be able to sustain human life indefinitely. A couple of interesting ideas came up in the course of this conversation, which I'll toss out for y'all to consider.

First, one of the guys suggested that people can only find meaning in our lives if we understand that life is finite. Meaning comes from reaching certain benchmarks or accomplishments, which makes sense if we only have a certain amount of time in which to acheive those goals. But if we are no longer bounded by time - that is, if we can live perpetually - those acheivements are infinitely diminished in importance because there is no urgency associated with reaching them. For example: He suggested that home run records in baseball would quickly lose all meaning if there was never an end to the season. What do y'all think of that idea?

Second, the same guy argued that people were basically little more than supremely sophisticated machines and that if we could devise machines of similar sophistication and figure out a way to transfer the contents of our minds from our organic machines to machines of our own creation, this would be essentially the same thing as creating eternal life. From there we got into a discussion about whether we, as individuals, are more than simply the aggregation of our thoughts and memories. Beyond that, we discussed whether a machine could be said to have a soul if it had, for all intents and purposes, become us through the perfect replication of every thought, memory, emotion, and personality quirk that makes us who we are.

I assume that most of you reading this will say that there's no way such a machine could be said to have a soul. My challenge to you is to explain why not. And I'll start you off with a question: Do you really believe that when Genesis said that humans were made "in the image of God," it was talking about our physical bodies?

I can't wait to see responses on these questions. As always, I'll share my thoughts after a few people have weighted in.

Closure

I was standing on Campus Court, a street at the southeastern edge of Abilene Christian University's campus, watching the Centennial Homecoming parade, when suddenly my heart froze. Standing on the other side of the street, beyond the ridiculous Gamma Sigma Phi float, was a woman that I once thought I was going to marry.

Wendy had been my best friend during my sophomore year of college. I adored her, even as I was dating other people. Then, the summer that I was up here in DC interning at the Fairfax Church of Christ, I realized that I was completely in love. The realization came as I was gushing about her one day and (knowing that I'd been dating someone for about three months) one of the ministers said, "Is Wendy your girlfriend?" "Nahhh..." I replied, "Wendy's the girl I'm gonna marry."

Well that kind of said it all. I had never before said that I was going to marry someone while really meaning it. Still, life is a funny thing. I never did tell her how I felt, and she soon started dating someone else - someone who decided that she shouldn't hang out with me anymore. They got married some time later, and I hadn't seen or spoken to Wendy since I graduated from college. To be honest, I was bitter about how that all played out. I was angry that Wendy could set aside our friendship as easily as it seemed that she had. I felt betrayed and abandoned.

I held on to all those feelings for the last five years. They were there, lingering in the back of my mind whenever I'd think of her - which was frequently, for a long time, although those memories were less and less prevalent as time passed. And then, last Saturday, they were all dredged up again in dramatic fashion.

At first I didn't know what I was going to do. I could ignore her, of course - just pretend that I hadn't seen her and move on. But something inside wouldn't let me do that. I knew that I needed to face down my feelings and talk to her. I can't tell you how nervous I was as I walked toward her, because I had no idea if she would recognize me or if she'd have any desire to talk to me at all.

I shouldn't have worried. When she saw me approaching, her eyes came to life and she ran over to give me a hug. Then she introduced me to her two kids.

It was unbelievable. She caught me up on how her life has been over the past five years while I tossed a balloon with her two-year-old son. I got to hold her three-month-old daughter as we chatted about how our lives were both similar and dramatically different from what we had imagined when we were back in school. And as we spoke, as I soaked in the personality that had won me over so long ago, I realized that I couldn't hold on to the hard feelings I had been harboring. Wendy was living the life that she was supposed to live, loving Chris and mothering two spectacularly beautiful children. I'm living the life to which I'm called, working up here. For the first time, I really, concretely accepted that however much I'd loved her, we were never meant to be together. And that was ok. So I guess that's what psychologists call "closure."

Just Because I Need To Pour Out Thoughts

As expected, today was tough. McTaggart's memorial service was at 10:00 am in State College, Pennsylvania - which also just happened to be the focus of the college football world this weekend because of the Penn State-Ohio State game. I got up at 2:30 am, shaved, dressed, and loaded my black suit into the truck. I've always loved misty autumn nights and driving, and I got five hours' worth of both on the way up. All the time I needed for quiet reflection, which was a plus.

One of my friends, Ben, was the only one awake to greet me when I arrived at the house. We hadn't seen each other for about a month, so we chatted a bit about what each of us has been up to. And naturally we talked about Andrew and Jessie, the signs that perhaps we should've seen, and what we can do to help Jessie deal with her feelings of guilt. Then I excused myself to grab a short nap.

The service was poorly organized, yet poignant. About thirty people showed for the memorial service, only six of us from DC. Without any true family members present, Jessie was the only natural person to distract the rest of us from our own grief. There was an open casket. However unproductive it would've been, I wanted to chew out the people at the funeral home for the shoddy job they'd done preparing Andrew for viewing - the makeup they used made his skin look the color of over-roasted, unsalted peanuts and he had as much of a five o' clock shadow as his babyface could muster. In a nice touch, the Australian embassy had donated a ceremonial flag in honor of his military service. Some guy with a German accent - I still have no idea who he was - seemed to be in charge of the proceedings, but he himself apparently had no clear idea of what he was doing. I did sing "Just As I Am". I think it was the right choice. After the service, we milled about, wrote messages for Andrew's family, and finally filtered out for the trip home.

When I got back to the house, I didn't feel like talking to anyone or going anywhere. I didn't even really feel like watching football. Instead, I ended up binging on iTunes. Spent much more money than I should've, but I'm happy with my selections and I'm feeling rebellious enough at present that I don't care if I'm busting my entertainment budget. For the record, if you have any appreciation for bluegrass I demand that you immediately purchase This Side, Nickel Creek's album from 2002. It's music that really sounds like home to me.

This upcoming weekend, I'll be flying out to Texas for my five-year college reunion. I'm really looking forward to the trip, and I'm hopeful that it will provide a counter-balance to the frustration of recent weeks.

Andrew McTaggart, 1982-2005

What crimes have you committed, demanding such a penance?

That couldn't wait for five more minutes and a cry for help?

'Cause this room is so peaceful and this room is so quiet.

And I hate the silence...

And I can't walk the center aisle.

-- "Center Aisle," by Caedmon's Call

I met Andrew McTaggart last winter, when I began playing in a weekly poker game out in Falls Church. He quickly became on of my favorites among the regular crew. The 23-year-old kid was enthusiastic and funny, perpetually in a good mood. He told wonderful stories about growing up in Australia, and he'd brag about how the U.S. Navy Seals had nothing on he and his friends in the Aussie Special Forces. McTaggart taught me a lot about poker and he constantly encouraged me as I was preparing for last June's 10K run and my abortive summer backpacking trip. Around early August, Andrew quit coming to our poker games. He'd been dating a pretty co-ed from Penn State and decided to leave his job with the Australian embassy so that he could live close to her in State College, Pennsylvania.

That was the last I'd heard from McTaggart until today, when one of the guys emailed the news of his death. Apparently, he and Jessie had recently fallen on difficult times. Their relationship had pushed to the breaking point, and she was ready to end it. A few evenings ago, they were having an impassioned exchange via text messages, when Andrew suddenly stopped all communication. Jessie called his phone, but he didn't pick up. Concerned, she drove to his house, where she found that he had taken his own life. She tried to revive him, but it was no use. He was gone.

I've been asked to sing at the memorial service on Saturday. I've sung at many a funeral before. I even sang at a suicide funeral once - I didn't even know the teen, and it was still one of the most difficult events of my entire life. But nothing... nothing... compares to the challenge of singing for a friend who has killed himself. How do I choose a song? How can I try to minister to these people, all of whom feel the same failure that I feel because Andrew didn't know to call us for help? What comfort can I provide that God's grace might be sufficient to cover the sin of willful self-destruction? I don't know. I just don't know.

If you have any useful thoughts, whether they deal with song ideas (I'm tossing around "Just As I Am"), or words that I'll be able to share with his other friends, I'd really appreciate your input.

[UPDATE 10/18/2005: It has been brought to my attention that McTaggart's family has not been discussing the circumstances around Andrew's death. Had I known about their sensitivity and the likelihood that Andrew's Australian friends and family might stumble upon my blog, I would have been more circumspect in telling this story. I want to respect their feelings in this difficult time. I have made the decision not to elaborate on or withdraw anything that I have already written in these two posts. If you are one of Andrew's friends from Australia, please accept my sympathies in your grief, but please direct any questions about his death to his family. Thanks.]

The Get Lucky Hat

Some of the Unusual Suspects have already heard this story, but since Sweetbaby James mentioned the Get Lucky Hat in a comment on the previous post, I thought that it might be a good opportunity to show a picture.

I spent the evening of St. Patrick's Day 1998 at a bar in Austin, Texas. While there I came the closest to correctly guessing what the bartender had for breakfast, which entitled me to claim as my own a large green foam Killian's top hat. The words "Get Lucky" were written in green letters a big yellow shamrock on the side of the hat. It immediately became one of my prize possessions. At Apartment TenTwentyFive, you'd get to wear the Get Lucky Hat if you got lip after a date. Now that I am the sole remaining bachelor among the Quad, I am the final steward of the Get Lucky Hat. If and when I ever get hitched, the roommates and I plan to retire the hat with the highest honors, burning it and then burying its ashes.

As If I Didn't Already Have Enough Problems With "W"...

Harriet Miers?

You can't be serious. Please. Tell me you're not serious.

The United States Supreme Court is the most prestigious institution in the country, and arguably the most influential one at that. The people who sit on that Court should be the best minds that our nation has to offer. Usually, Supreme Court justices demonstrate their acuity by attending and excelling at that most prestigious law schools in the country, then by clerking either at the Supreme Court itself or under a judge at one of the federal Circuit courts. Usually, Supreme Court Justices spend several years as judges, either somewhere within the federal court system or on their state's Supreme Court. Even if a Supreme Court Justice never served as a judge - and there are a number who were appointed without ever having been a judge - they were extremely distinguished attorneys who had argued multiple cases before the United States Supreme Court.

Harriet Miers, to the best of my knowledge, has done none of the above. She attended Southern Methodist University's law school, which isn't even the close to being the most prestigious school in Texas, much less in the nation. I have no idea how she did there, but if she finished at the top of her class it seems to have escaped mention. She clerked for a federal district judge, which is not shabby, per se, but it is a far, far cry from clerking for one of the higher courts. She apparently had a fine career working for a law firm in Dallas, but that experience isn't even remotely comparable to working for one of the larger firms in New York, Washington, or even Houston, for that matter. Although it's possible that something has escaped my notice, I don't think she's argued even one case before the Supreme Court.

So what the heck makes this person qualified for a lifetime appointment to one of the most important positions in the country? Well, she has been mightly loyal to the President. She's held all sorts of nice-sounding (though not terribly important) positions in Texas, and she's been W's personal attorney for quite some time. And she's a woman, which Bush thought was important this time around. But that's it.

If that passes for qualification these days, this country is in a heap of trouble. While I reserve the right to admit a too-hasty judgment at some point in the future, from where I sit right now this pick looks like an absolute debacle.