Chaos in the world today almost defies description. In trying to understand it, I began thinking about some of the cycles of life and society that contribute to it. The following ones come to mind--along with awareness that numberless other cycles could be added to this list, including some relating to economics and epigenetics. In considering these cycles, it is also amazing and important to recognize the simple and complex ways that they interrelate with each other. The cycle of war, for example, has profound implications on the ability of caregivers to raise kids in ways that communicate nurture and safety. 

Awareness of cycles can make a difference, as it illuminates those windows of opportunity (sometimes only milliseconds in duration) where we have a chance to act in ways that can influence future events. The number of cycles in which we live, and the ways they interact with each other, defies simple formulation. The cycles all have elements, though, that admit for some degree of intervention, provided we have some awareness of how we live in them--and how they live in us. Otherwise, they are merely self-perpetuating. 

The cycle of the quality of care during our upbringing:

Those of us raised by caregivers who had difficulty forming fulfilling, nurturing relationships, or in environments we experienced as fundamentally unsafe, are often predisposed to approach relationships with caution, and to perceive the world as uncertain and hostile. While this can contribute to admirable skills for coping and survival, it can also lead us to perceive others as primarily threatening, and make it hard for us to see them as those with whom we might comfortably share existence. Fear, along with withdrawal or aggression, become basic to our way of being. 

The cycle of our immersion in media:

Today's tragedy becomes the news in which we are immersed, which becomes tomorrow's perception of how the world is: untrustworthy and dangerous. This becomes part our rationale for our behaviors and responses. Whether these responses perpetuate or challenge this view of the world depends, to some extent, on whether we have internalized examples of human behavior that represent overcoming of challenges while honoring the personhood of others. If we have such examples and models, we might draw upon them to guide us in what do next. If not, we might hurt others, to protect ourselves (or those who represent a part of our selves), in the same way that we ourselves fear being hurt. 

The cycle of war:

One side's collateral damage (resulting from just and necessary retribution--however just and necessary it may be), is the other side's unjustly killed, innocent victim, for whom retribution now becomes necessary and just.

If we don't know 

what we don't know,

it is possible to be 

under the illusion 

that we are quite smart.

One who reads a book like "Gödel, Escher, Bach" sees articulated the discovery that all systems of formal thought, including mathematics and logic itself, reach points of self reference, in which their own rules cannot be applied. In other words, mathematics cannot be legitimized through mathematic principles, and logic cannot be substantiated through logical principles. All enterprises which depend on formalized, consistent principles of thought face a moment when they have to say, in effect: "I don't know how this works--but it somehow does, so I'm gonna go with it."

Human thought has recognized these pockets of irrationality we carry around in ourselves in a variety of ways. Mythology and religion have their own, diverse ways of naming and interacting with what appears to be, not only unknown, but unknowable. Physics grapples with ways to describe the paradoxes it is encountering in the interface between what is observed and observation itself. Artistic expression has expressed and celebrated the irrational through means including painting, music, dance.

It appears the most dangerous thing we can do, with regard to the irrational, is to pretend it does not exist. When we do so, it emerges unexpectedly and unpredictably, as a confrontation with our own unacknowledged shadow. We need to establish a relationship with the irrational. To do so, however, requires more than reliance on the formal systems of thought which themselves reach an impasse in the face of the irrational. We need to rely on our capacities for symbolic expression, metaphor, imagination, and feeling. In short, we need to use our whole brain—and not depend only on the disciplines emphasized within the STEM curriculum, except to the extent these disciplines themselves develop language capable of naming and acknowledging paradox and mystery.

a small tree
planted in the earth 
need not cower 
before larger trees 
that are planted  
in pots

I was recently challenged by a friend to account for my statement that it was possible for someone to be a "moderate" Muslim--or, for that matter, to be a moderate Christian. He further implies that one's adherence to a scientific perspective is not subject to the same modifiers--"moderate" and "extreme"--which seems to him to emphasize the uniquely negative capacity of religion, as opposed to the venture of science. I guess I care about the question, and its possible answers, enough to post this as a status rather than merely as a comment. 

As I am using the term "moderate," it refers mostly to the public manifestations of a person's beliefs or worldview. It only indirectly refers to qualities of their private religious experience. 

Picture this: a Muslim woman who drops her fourth-grader off at school each morning, before she drives to the university where she is on the faculty of the chemistry department. After work, she finds time to attend the monthly PTA meeting. She is horrified by what she sees in the news about what is happening in Iraq, both because of the destruction of human life it represents, and because it associates her, as a Muslim, with practices she would never condone. 

Such people exist. What does it matter to me that she and her family bow their heads in prayer in the privacy of their own home or in the mosque, how many times a day they do so, or what direction they face while doing so? What do I care what text she considers central, provided it produces fruit that is conducive to her positive involvement with society? I would call such a person a moderate Muslim. While she clearly has her own convictions, she can tolerate the fact that others have different views from her own; she neither sets out to destroy or make miserable the lives of those with views different from her own.

The kind of person I am describing as "moderate," in this case, is someone b enough to honor the sanctuary of others' minds, and to honor the right of others to worship or not worship as they see fit, provided their way of doing so does not jeopardize public good or the wellbeing of others. "Moderation," as I am using it, includes flexibility in thought, the ability to interpret language symbolically and not only concretely, and a faith that society is possible (and even enhanced) when it includes a plurality of perspectives. It is eager to guard conditions in public life that make it possible for this ongoing, dynamic dialogue to occur. 

An "extreme" person, of whatever persuasion, is not capable of tempering their conviction in the way described above. They can scarcely rest if they suspect someone might have a view of reality fundamentally different from their own. Their concern extends beyond concern for the public actions and behaviors of others, and intrudes into the realm of their private thoughts. If a neighbor is caring and responsible in every observable way, it will still concern an "extremist" that the neighbor has wrong views about God, politics, or science. The world will be better, the extremist is convinced, when the thought processes of others match his or her own. 

In addition to the imperialistic quality of extremist thought, it also imagines itself to know precisely how particular variables play out in the consciousness and behavior of other people. The reasoning is as follows:

If, in my experience, the concept of God came to involve me in thought processes that were irrational or caused me to neglect important aspects of life, then the same must be true for all others. I will join a social campaign to eradicate the notion of God. If, on the other hand, my own life acquired coherence only when I encountered a particular experience that entailed "God," I will consider anyone a liar (at least a liar to themselves) if they claim to have discovered happiness outside of any religious perspective. If someone has an experience other than my own, it must be because they are deficient in some way; either they lack necessary faith, or they are being irrational or unempirical. It does not occur to me that we may both be equally empirical (and equally venturesome, hypothetically), but that they may have had different experiences than I have, and so have a different base from which to draw evidence; or, that they may have a way of connecting points of data that differs from my own, but which nonetheless does an equally adequate job of accounting for uniformities and anomalies in experience. 

Yes, we might refer to an "extreme" science believer, in a case where someone, for the sake of a particular science-inspired vision, puts aside other things that are of critical value to us as individuals or a society. There is an entire literary genre of scientific dystopia that explores such possibilities.  Some nazis, with their eugenic zeal, could be described as being of that ilk. Stalin, in the name of an ideal he believed to be thoroughly scientific, killed over 20 million people--focusing especially on those who dared to think differently. Pol Pot had a vision he thought was based on science, too, which resulted in the death of one-quarter of Cambodia's population perishing from overwork, hunger, or execution. 

I could name other examples, such as John Watson, in the field of psychology, who, out of a thoroughly scientific impulse reduced human behavior to only what could be observed--to the degree that thoughts and feelings were said not to have empirical validity. The entire history of psychology--from Ancient Greek and Thomistic-medieval, to observations from psychoanalysis--was considered to be of no value.

If I sound frustrated, it's because I am: frustrated with the language we use to talk about things like faith, religion, belief, reason, rationality, and science, because much of the time the language does not do justice to the complexity of describing actual people in the real world. Even more, though, I am frustrated with our readiness to assume that frameworks other than our own necessarily indicate deficiencies in those who hold them. Such a tendency does not foster conversation that leads to change, even in cases in which change is warranted. It is something I associate, for better or worse, with extremism. 

My personal response to the alleged caliph of ISIS/ISIL and his followers:

I have read your Qur’an. In ways similar to the Christian Bible, it can yield a variety of meanings depending on what one chooses to emphasize or deemphasize; what one chooses to see as historically conditioned or timelessly normative; and what one chooses to interpret as literal or symbolic. It is possible, if one has the necessary heart perspective, to read the Qur’an as an incitement towards love and personal improvement, that does not impede the freedom of others to seek their Creator with their own powers of reason and conscience.

If you read the Qur’an and understand the history and traditions of Islam as authorizing hate and bloodshed, it is because you read and understand them from the perspective of hate and bloodshed residing in your hearts. This book does not make you adopt a vengeful perspective or do violent things; at the judgment seat of the Almighty, you will be held accountable for your interpretation of it that results in violence, and originates from evil in your hearts.

None of us, including Christians or atheists, are exempt from responsibility for our own actions. I believe that on the day of judgment--whether that be conceived of as a literal future day, the day of our death, or the here-and-now judgment before our own deepest conscience--we will be held accountable not only for the tradition or worldview we hold, or whether we have lived up to the teachings of that specific tradition, but also for the particular interpretation of those teachings that we tolerate and endorse. I do not believe, for example, that I will be exonerated for actions that my own religious tradition may permit or require, but that cause or allow me to violate or stop short of what I know--in my deepest, most honest moment--to be true of love.

In this world, there are indeed sometimes wrongs inflicted, and historical grievances that seem to call for vengeance. Without denying the injury and moral outrage those wrongs present, we--Muslim and Christian alike--are nonetheless accountable if we choose to redress them through violence, rather than through that more difficult way of internal effort (which is one possible way of interpreting the word "jihad") towards reconciliation and forgiveness, that strives to put an end to the cycle of violence and bring about conditions of peace on earth.

I am impelled to write this because the world appears to be on the brink of a fresh cycle of violence, involving bloodshed of gruesome proportions--in forms that stagger imagination. I call on Muslims, wherever you live, to awaken and remember your accountability before conscience and the ultimate tribunal, and to openly name interpretations of Islam that condone violence as unworthy of the One you claim to worship. Those interpretations, to the extent they confuse the will of the Highest with human bloodlust, are idolatrous. You are no more exempt from naming this error in the interpretation of your own tradition than I am from naming ways in which my own Christian tradition hides behind interpretations that absolve it from the never-ceasing imperative to love.

It may be asked how I have authority to say such things. At such time as now, with the circumstances that dominate our news and those that threaten to follow, I dare to believe that truth should by no means be neglected--even when it arises through the imperfect medium of my own voice.

Nature argues
so much better
than I can,
anyway,
for everything
that really
matters.

Resistance of polarized view of the world

There is a subtle and profound movement underway, globally. ISIS wants to resurrect a mindset and mythology in which the world is divided into two camps: Muslim and Christian. Perhaps they want to do so, because the last time they knew who they were and the world made sense to them was within a configuration that looked like that. They are inviting the whole world to return to that simplistic and primitive ordering of reality. Ironically, there are those in our own society that mirror this desire, almost perfectly – and would be quite content to revert to that way of thinking as well.

ISIS can be compared to someone who brings the negative end of a magnet into proximity with a pile of metal shavings in order to consolidate them into a positively charged charged group in opposition to itself. 

I, myself, am a Christian (in the interest of full disclosure), yet am wholly intent on resisting having my world shaped by the definitions of these who want to assemble my mindset and world in this polarized way. If I were living during the Middle Ages, I might have a different response. As tempting as it is, though, to raise the flag of Christendom, and to assemble our armies under that banner, I believe that to do so, at this point in history, would be in defiance of the Spirit. Instead, it would be merely another version of giving into "the flesh" – of giving into that which is convenient and makes sense from the level of baser instincts. It would not be an unambiguous exhibition of virtue or strength. Rather, strength requires nonconformity when presented with this tempting pattern. I resist a Christian banner, not out of opposition to Christ but out of a desire to be open to him.

Those who are eager to respond as a mirror image to Islamic extremism may want to ask themselves how it is that they are letting their own cultural and theological agenda be determined by those with whom they claim to differ so radically.

One way of seeing ISIS is to think of them as a bully who enters a weight room, benches 300 pounds, and dares anyone to equal it. One version of defying this bully is to believe we must top that 300 pounds. Another version is to refuse the challenge, saying, "I refuse to accept that task as the measure of what is meaningful." I propose that this latter approach is more disturbing and unsettling to the bully than the former – and more affirming of what constitutes our true greatness and potential. It forces us to rely on our higher instincts; but it's time, in our humanity, that we insist on relying on those, anyway. We are smart enough, in our better moments, to figure out ways of thwarting ISIS – including halting beheadings – without becoming barbarians, ourselves. Let's have patience to find those ways. 

One important expression of courage

One important expression of courage in today's world might include: being able to endure, not only the terror of situations in which there are no clear answers, but, also, those in which answers themselves are not the answer. (Such situations are more and more.)

When the illusion is shattered

Pay careful attention to the metaphors that shape your thinking and perception. They reside in the background of consciousness, and function like templates for our experience of reality. Only occasionally do they come to awareness and become objects of thought or conversation. They have a way of being determinative.

It's okay, even vital, to have a fairy tale view of love, so long as it is not mistaken for reality.

It's okay, even vital, to have a fairy tale view of good versus evil, so long as it is not considered identical with what actually is.

The cost of confusing fairy tale and reality is that both get lost. You need one to navigate the other.

When the illusion is shattered: that's when things become interesting.

If we are going to avoid war

If we are going to avoid war,
we are going to have to learn
some other way
to tolerate and handle
the feelings and situations
that come up
when we don't go to war.

Sacrifice of civility

Time and time again, we seem willing to sacrifice the delicate flower of civility--as though it were worth little or could easily be replaced--for the sake of things we claim are more important. This is perilously close to treating people as means to an end. The valuing of decency and respect for one another is derided as originating from some kind of liberal, humanistic agenda.
Instead, we have come to glorify "thug-culture," in which things like prison time, capacity for violence, deftness with profanity, readiness to use weapons, and hyper-masculine expressions of toughness and emotional callousness are idealized.
This civility, which we consider such a expendable thing, is in fact an apex of societal development extending back over at least 2,000 years. If we sacrifice it for the sake of other alleged goods, we cannot casually get it back, because the ability to negotiate for a better common future depends on (you guessed it) that very civility.
If we cannot consider it ultimately important that we are able to look another human being in the eye, and see something of importance and value in them that transcends the question of whether they share our ideology, political perspective or religion, we demonstrate our willingness to sacrifice not only civility, but humanity itself.

On simplistic distinctions between science and faith

On simplistic distinctions between science and faith

[I originally posted this on Facebook on May 10, 1014.]

As a human being who tries to remain aware and sensitive, as a student of psychology and a counselor, and as someone who in some contexts could aptly be termed a "religious" person, I observe that conceptually dividing the world into two categories, the religious and the irreligious, or people of faith versus people of science, and then proceeding to label one as the cause of progress and good, and the other as the source of the world's evils, is inadequate to the complexity of the universe we inhabit.

First of all, the terms themselves are oversimplifications. Those who claim to be strict materialists or strictly scientific nonetheless have aspects of their vision of reality that are driven by trust in things or ideas they have not (at least yet) been able to prove. And religious people are not devoid of reliance on evidence and their senses. The balance of reality for everybody I know includes things that are treated as truth because evidence is there to support them, things treated as truth because it is anticipated that evidence will be forthcoming, and things treated as truth because they seem fundamental to who and what we are—which is taken as being evidence enough, even if it is not sufficient to convince someone else who claims to have a fundamentally different experience of reality. In other words, in every person I have met, reliance on evidence and reliance on faith exists in a complex interrelationship and on a spectrum, rather than as a pure binary alternative.

Whether we describe ourselves as people of faith or adherents to science, the bulk of what we know we know without knowing how we know it. This is confirmed by neuroscience’s observations regarding the implicit, tacit nature of most of our knowledge, and also confirmed by philosophical and ancient religious statements about the relationship of belief and evidence in the act of knowledge. Science is a specific mode of thought that seeks, in a disciplined and consistent way, to test and articulate explanations that pertain to particular swaths of this knowledge, sometimes leading to radical revisions of our former picture of reality. None of us, though, refrain from living until all elements of our reality have been proven. Many things we feel certain of could indeed be revised in light of further testing—from the chair that looks stable (yet breaks when I sit on it), to the black holes that seem to obliterate everything (yet actually retain, in scrambled form, the information they devour)—but we are often content to let life itself be the means by which we determine these things, willing to risk a potentially failed experiment for the sake of the freedom of the relatively spontaneous life that this makes possible for us.

Secondly, though, to the extent one may nonetheless succeed in cleanly categorizing people into two clear groups, religious and non-religious, it is an oversimplification and incorrect to attribute goodness and progress to one side and evils to the other. The scientific impulse has been steered in directions that have resulted in good things, but also been employed towards things that are morally problematic or reprehensible. The same can be said of the religious impulse. Each impulse, in its own unique way, has contributed to progress at times and retrogression at others. For example, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, and Martin Luther King, Jr. demonstrate qualities, generally lauded for facilitating progress, which can be said to grow from their perspectives of faith, and Newton, Copernicus, Madame Curie, and Jonas Salk relied on materialist hypotheses to learn things that help us navigate natural phenomena in beneficial ways. On the other hand, the Inquisition and a variety of fundamentalist campaigns represent negative expressions of the religious impulse, while Joseph Stalin represents the evil potential of one who claims to represent a purely rational and materialistic approach. At the same time, it would be an oversimplification to say that Stalin's atheism caused his moral destructiveness, just as it would be an oversimplification to say that everyone who believes in a God demonstrates moral superiority. There are plenty who identify themselves as atheists who are exemplary in character and behavior, and plenty who identify as believers who are reprehensible.

Along with pointing towards how goodness and evil defy simple allocation to religious or scientific perspectives, the above examples also further illustrate how hard it is to find unmixed instances of these impulses in real people: I cannot say that Gandhi never relied on evidence any more than I can say that Stalin was not driven by a passion that seems to evince a kind of faith. Indeed, not everyone who claims faith declares war on science, anyway—and vice versa. Placing the two in absolute opposition to each other seems to be only the project of zealots on both sides. In addition, the variety of ways in which people define terms such as "God" and talk about things that are of "ultimate concern" to them, and the variety of ways in which people understand what it means to believe or not believe, adds exponentially to the complexity I have already described.

My point in this is that the simple (to the point of simplistic) way of dividing people and reality fails to account for the complexity of our actual experience. Moreover, it does not give us a compelling platform to discuss what drives us forward as people and as a species and what sets us back. To be flexible enough to do justice to this task requires us to be able to speak of healthy and unhealthy expressions of the faith/religious impulse, and healthy and unhealthy expressions of the scientific impulse—and then, further, to insist on the right to continue the debate about what constitutes health and non-health. Only then can I deal adequately with the fact that each side has unique potentials and unique shadows. Increasingly, anything less than this kind of flexibility results in statements that fall flat on listeners' ears, because they simply don’t ring true, and because they are perceived (correctly, I believe) as hiding unconscious assumptions. In other words, the simple version of reality seems out of touch with the most significant findings of both faith and science alike.

Extended thoughts in response to recent shootings

Extended thoughts in response to recent shootings

Debates about gun violence, as with many other public debates, present causes, factors and influences in the form of false dichotomies: "Either it's this, or it's this." In reality, it is "both – and." Actually, it's even more like "both – and – and – and..". Not only is this inclusive approach more in line with reality; it also allows us to look at multiple points of possible intervention, which is the only thing that can lend us a sense of hope, anyway.

For example, a few days ago, a young man walked into my alma mater, Seattle Pacific University, killed a student with a gun and injured others. A way to think about this is by asking the question: "What are all of the factors, individually and cumulatively, that contributed to the tipping of scales in the direction of this man desiring, choosing, and being able to carry out this act?" The factors we might consider can include literally everything, from family conditions into which he was born, to major events during development of his identity and the formation of the deep emotional templates that shape his capacity for attachment and relationship, to interactions with teachers and peers, to what coping strategies were available to him during stress, and which direction his fantasies took when he wanted to escape. 

We can look at events closer to the incident itself, such as how the plan was born in his thinking, what transpired on the day it was carried out, and, yes, at what point and how he came into possession of the gun. We can then imagine--realistically--that even one variation (but likely more) in this mix of ingredients might have shifted his reality just enough in another direction, so that he either 1) would not have come up with this idea, 2) would not have thought it desirable, 3) would not have chosen to act on it, 4) would not have been able to carry it out--or, more likely, 5) some combination of the preceding would have altered his internal or situational landscape in such a way that he would end up amongst the 99.999 percent of people who never do such a thing. 

From here, we can wonder what form some of these meaningful variations might have assumed. If, for example, he had been taken under the wing of a caring mentor when he was in fourth grade, had been involved in particular community youth activities, had had clear access to counseling at critical moments, had two or three friends who were intimate enough to ask him slightly awkward questions about what he was thinking or feeling, or had been smiled at by a stranger as he waited at a stoplight on that morning (or a combination of the above, or of countless other possible variations), might it have been just enough to shift the balance in a critical way? It is not inconceivable.

If you could co-author details of his developmental history, what elements would you tweak to make it more likely that things would cascade towards a positive outlook and outcome for this young man? What programs would you want to see funded and available to him? What laws would you want to implement, in order to shape a cultural landscape more capable of nurturing his development towards being empathetic, reflective, and able to tolerate feelings of discomfort without acting out aggressively? What safeguards and restrictions would you want in place if, despite these efforts, he was still intent on inflicting harm? There could be a million points of possible intervention to consider. These considerations could then guide us towards understanding the significance of the private and public attitudes, actions, messages, and policies we are communicating and living out at each moment--through which we slowly shape a culture that, in turn, is slowly and decisively shaping us. 

This is the kind of cultural conversation we need to have. It is not altogether likely we will have it, though, because to do so requires we become aware and acknowledge that potentially any and all things we do--down to the details of what seem to us to be trivial interactions--matter.

Some thoughts about moral struggle

Some thoughts about moral struggle

I find myself believing that our most important human skill, at this moment in history, is our ability to wrestle, through language, with questions of meaning and direction. This gives us the greatest likelihood of arriving at consensus. And, even if disagreements remain, and it is necessary to solve them by means of a vote, our decisions can be based on information that comes from putting our best words and thoughts to the test. 

Some of my heroes in this endeavor are the champions of civil rights, in the 60s, who demonstrated the power of moral strength to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. One of their virtues, it seems to me, was their ability to distinguish between merely physical and moral struggles, and to insist on the possibility of pursuing their goals through moral persuasion, rather than merely physical strength.

To sharpen my awareness of what this might mean in our present society, with its various heated debates, I have put together the following observations about what differentiates a moral struggle from a merely physical one. I have decided to look at this by asking the question, "What constitutes failure in a merely physical struggle, and what are some things that constitute failure in a moral one?"

How to fail in a merely physical struggle:

1) Succumb to the strength of your opponent, as a result of your own lack of strength, willingness, or ability to continue the fight.

How to fail in a moral struggle. (This is a situation in which you believe you have a right perspective that is being resisted or not acknowledged by an opponent. Any one of the following can constitute defeat, to one degree or another.):

1) Treating your opponent with less respect than you would expect for yourself.

2) Relying on fallacious reasoning or erroneous facts, and not being open to correction of these when they are made apparent.

3) Being unwilling to commend your opponent or their position where it is, in fact, commendable.

4) Treating your opponent as though they are incapable of reasonable conversation or of learning.

5) Attacking your opponent with an aim other than that of advancing the discussion.

6) Pretending to care about the original argument while actually caring about guarding the appearance of one's own strength. Caring more about "being right" than in getting closer to what is true and helpful.

7) Not leaving ways in which your opponent might "save face," when it is possible to do so without forsaking the aims of the argument.

8) Distracting your opponent by charging them with things they have no possibility of changing.

9) Failing to acknowledge difficulties that may be involved in the changes you are asking your opponent to make; not scrutinizing one's self to appreciate how, if you were in your opponent's shoes, you might also be reluctant to change.

10) Failing to realize that change, for your opponent, might be more difficult than just "changing one's mind," in light of "proof." Whatever their beliefs, they are part of a network of ideas that make sense out of the universe in which they live. However inadequate one's beliefs may ultimately prove to be, they may nonetheless be the glue of their personal, family and cultural identity (or, just as significant, an expression of a heroic attempt to break free of those ties). Beliefs can not just be abandoned or changed without assurance that something equally stabilizing will be there to replace them, or that one can tolerate the discomfort introduced by new uncertainty. Beliefs are rarely just a response to "facts"; they are elements of deeper meaning and orientation. To not recognize this is to treat your opponent more like a machine than a human being.

11) Mistaking a moral struggle for a merely physical one: "Might makes right."

12) (Perhaps the most important...) losing courage and confidence in the possibility of attaining one's end through moral struggle, and so reverting to the rules for a merely physical one. While this may at times be inevitable, it remains lamentable from the standpoint of a moral struggle.