Wednesday, December 03, 2008

A Little Hopeful Arm-Chair Theology

"Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it." I think about this Proverb often as I watch my childhood friends, one by one, drift from the Faith. Is that axiom really true, or is this one of those "generally speaking" proverbs that happens "most of the time." Will my friends really come back; can I count on it? How old is old? How long do we have to wait to see results? What to do in the meantime?

Then again, the author doesn't say anything about turning away in youth and then coming back in old age. No, he just says, "Hey, at least she won't turn from the path when she's old." What about those that lose their way in youth? My gut says there's hope for them, too. But I don't think that gut feeling is founded on that proverb. Rather, I think it's founded on a kind of Platonic notion that a soul really cannot unlearn what he already knows. I'm almost certain that once God gets under one's skin, he's impossible to shake, but I don't know how to argue that theologically. So maybe this isn't arm-chair theology. Maybe it's philosophy. Or wishful thinking.

Can one really unlearn the truth? I mean sure, go to school, learn a completely different epistemology with no room for true religion, but you'll always be trying to prove your old knowledge in terms of the new, I'd like to tell 'em. As if that proves something. Still, I know that friends A, B, C, and D will come back around, someday. Maybe I only feel that way because sometimes I suspect I'm following them down that road, but at a more cautious, reasonable speed. I had this conversation with a buddy on Thanksgiving, and we parted with hope, but never nailed down exactly why we hoped.

A few days later, I came across something Flannery O'Connor once said: "Faith is what someone knows to be true, whether they believe it or not." I think maybe she's saying the same as the author of that proverb, but she says it in a way that puts the question outside of the worrisome dimension of time. I'm pretty sure she's right. I hope she is.

4 comments:

Jason said...

I would bet dollars to doughnuts that you had this conversation with Brownie. We had a similar conversation last weekend.

Leslie said...

I like this post a lot. I've been thinking about it for the past 24 hours. It gets to the bottom of much of my life. When I had to give my life story once, I described my childhood as feeling the weight of responsibility for the knowledge I had of the truth at an earlier age than most. What should have felt like a blessing instead felt like a yoke around my neck. I always knew God was true and there was nothing I could do about it. Because I knew, I could not feign ignorance.

I enjoy adulthood much more than childhood.

And now that I have children of my own, this proverb takes on a whole new meaning. I had a pastor once who would say that proverbs aren't promises; they're just guidelines for wise living. I am not comfortable explaining anything away that easily.

Which brings me back to this: I like this post.

Erik said...

I can appreciate that quote from Flannery. I think that hoping in God's power could be paired with faith that God answers prayer rather nicely. I share your sentiment in wishing for people I know to stop drifting aimlessly. I pray for that and I pray it with an expectation and fundamental confidence that God answers prayer. My hope remains and Ii thank you for that conversation that inspired hope.

The Raging Paradoxidation said...

i have heard mostly that this particular proverb isn't so much about how a person will act in their old age as much as it is about training a child in a trade or means of supporting themself.

the term "and when he is old" refers to the age at which he is growing a beard. so, in other words: "train up a child in the profession they should go, and when they are of age then it will not depart from them."

it is hard to get any difinitive context from this chapter though because it is really mixed between spritual and monetary metaphors.