Sensible Messages Quotes

The chief deficiency I see in the skeptical movement is its polarization: Us vs. Them — the sense that we have a monopoly on the truth; that those other people who believe in all these stupid doctrines are morons; that if you're sensible, you'll listen to us; and if not, to hell with you. This is nonconstructive. It does not get our message across. It condemns us to permanent minority status.

Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them.

Truth is not only a matter of offense, in that it makes certain assertions. It is also a matter of defense in that it must be able to make a cogent and sensible response to the counterpoints that are raised.

People who are normal (i.e., sane, sensible) don’t try to open lines of communication with total strangers by writing them a series of disjointed, weird, cryptic messages.

Halt?" he said diffidently. He heard a deep sigh from the short, slightly built man riding beside him. Mentally he kicked himself. I thought you must be coming down with some illness for a moment there," Halt said straight faced. "It must be two or three minutes since you've asked a question." Commited now, Horace continued. One of those girls," he began, and immediately felt the Ranger's eyes on him. "She was wearing a very short skirt." There was the slightest pause. Yes?" Halt prompted, not sure where this conversation was leading. Horace shrugged uncomfortably. The memory of the girl, and her shapely legs, was causing his cheeks to burn with embarrassment again. Well," he said uncertainly, "I just wondered if that was normal over, that's all." Halt considered the serious young face beside him. He cleared his throat several times. I believe that sometimes Gallican girls take jobs as couriers. he said. Couriers. They carry messages from one person to another. Or from one buisness to another, in towns and cities." Halt checked to see if Horace seemed to believe him so far. There seemed no reason to think otherwise, so he added: "Urgent messages." Urgent messages," Horace replied, still not seeing the connection. But he seemed inclined to believe what Halt was saying, so the older man continued. And I suppose for a really urgent message, one would have to run." Now he saw a glimmer of understanding in the boy's eyes. Horace nodded several times as he made the connection. So, the short skirts...they'd be to help them run more easily?" he suggested. Halt nodded in his turn. It would be more sensible for of dress than long skirts, if you wanted to do a lot of runnig." He shot a quick look at Horace to see if his gentle teasing was not being turned back on himself-to see if, in fact, the boy realized Halt was talking nosense and was simply leading him on. Horace's face, however, was open and believing. I suppose so," Horace replied finally, then added in a softer voice, "They certainly look a lot better that way too.

That a work of the imagination has to be “really” about some problem is, again, an heir of Socialist Realism. To write a story for the sake of storytelling is frivolous, not to say reactionary. The demand that stories must be “about” something is from Communist thinking and, further back, from religious thinking, with its desire for self-improvement books as simple-minded as the messages on samplers. The phrase “political correctness” was born as Communism was collapsing. I do not think this was chance. I am not suggesting that the torch of Communism has been handed on to the political correctors. I am suggesting that habits of mind have been absorbed, often without knowing it. There is obviously something very attractive about telling other people what to do: I am putting it in this nursery way rather than in more intellectual language because I see it as nursery behavior. Art — the arts generally — are always unpredictable, maverick, and tend to be, at their best, uncomfortable. Literature, in particular, has always inspired the House committees, the Zhdanovs, the fits of moralizing, but, at worst, persecution. It troubles me that political correctness does not seem to know what its exemplars and predecessors are; it troubles me more that it may know and does not care. Does political correctness have a good side? Yes, it does, for it makes us re-examine attitudes, and that is always useful. The trouble is that, with all popular movements, the lunatic fringe so quickly ceases to be a fringe; the tail begins to wag the dog. For every woman or man who is quietly and sensibly using the idea to examine our assumptions, there are 20 rabble-rousers whose real motive is desire for power over others, no less rabble-rousers because they see themselves as anti-racists or feminists or whatever.

I’ve seen workaholics who’ve destroyed people. They become obsessed. They send out terrible messages. They make people feel guilty if they don’t show up on Saturday. What a stupid message. People should be giving that time to their families.

I say, ‘We believe in a Christ’. If that being existed physically or not, it’s still important, because the message was so basic and sensible and powerful, that we should live by those truths. Love, compassion, generosity. God doesn’t punish anyone. Churches aren’t needed. Money in connection to belief is an abomination. They say, ‘Oh…’. Then they quote the Old Testament.

It is six months before the election, and the Republicans have already done their focus groups. How do I know? I can hear it in their “message,” which they repeat over and over again like a mantra: “Bernie Sanders is ineffective. Bernie Sanders is out of touch. Bernie Sanders is a left-wing extremist. Bernie Sanders rants and raves on the House floor and still no one listens to him. Susan Sweetser, on the other hand, is a sensible moderate who can work with everyone.” They think that’s how they can beat me. Maybe.

We must recognize that we have not been honest until we have explained to seekers that receiving Christ is the most sensible yet dangerous thing they could ever do. After all, like C. S. Lewis’s Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, He is not a tame lion, and He certainly is not safe. He has the right to ask anything of those who confess His lordship. The same Jesus who beckons the weary to Himself may also ask everything of them, even sending them forth to lose their lives for His sake in this dark and fallen world.

My concern with democracy is highly specific. It begins in observing the remarkable fact that, while democracy means a government accountable to the electorate, our rulers now make us accountable to them. Most Western governments hate me smoking, or eating the wrong kind of food, or hunting foxes, or drinking too much, and these are merely the surface disapprovals, the ones that provoke legislation or public campaigns. We also borrow too much money for our personal pleasures, and many of us are very bad parents. Ministers of state have been known to instruct us in elementary matters, such as the importance of reading stories to our children. Again, many of us have unsound views about people of other races, cultures, or religions, and the distribution of our friends does not always correspond, as governments think that it ought, to the cultural diversity of our society. We must face up to the grim fact that the rulers we elect are losing patience with us. No philosopher can contemplate this interesting situation without beginning to reflect on what it can mean. The gap between political realities and their public face is so great that the term “paradox” tends to crop up from sentence to sentence. Our rulers are theoretically “our” representatives, but they are busy turning us into the instruments of the projects they keep dreaming up. The business of governments, one might think, is to supply the framework of law within which we may pursue happiness on our own account. Instead, we are constantly being summoned to reform ourselves. Debt, intemperance, and incompetence in rearing our children are no doubt regrettable, but they are vices, and left alone, they will soon lead to the pain that corrects. Life is a better teacher of virtue than politicians, and most sensible governments in the past left moral faults to the churches. But democratic citizenship in the twenty-first century means receiving a stream of improving “messages” from politicians. Some may forgive these intrusions because they are so well intentioned. Who would defend prejudice, debt, or excessive drinking? The point, however, is that our rulers have no business telling us how to live. They are tiresome enough in their exercise of authority—they are intolerable when they mount the pulpit. Nor should we be in any doubt that nationalizing the moral life is the first step towards totalitarianism. We might perhaps be more tolerant of rulers turning preachers if they were moral giants. But what citizen looks at the government today thinking how wise and virtuous it is? Public respect for politicians has long been declining, even as the population at large has been seduced into demanding political solutions to social problems. To demand help from officials we rather despise argues for a notable lack of logic in the demos. The statesmen of eras past have been replaced by a set of barely competent social workers eager to take over the risks of our everyday life. The electorates of earlier times would have responded to politicians seeking to bribe us with such promises with derision. Today, the demos votes for them.

And yet, the chief deficiency I see in the sceptical movement is in its polarization: Us v. Them - the sense that we have a monopoly on the truth; that those other people who believe in all these stupid doctrines are morons; that if you're sensible, you'll listen to us; an if not, you're beyond redemption. This is unconstructive. It does not get the message across. It condemns the sceptics to permanent minority status; whereas, a compassionate approach that from the beginning acknowledges the human roots of pseudoscience and superstition might be much more widely accepted.

And yet, the chief deficiency I see in the sceptical movement is in its polarization: Us v. Them - the sense that we have a monopoly on the truth; that those other people who believe in all these stupid doctrines are morons; that if you’re sensible, you’ll listen to us; and if not, you’re beyond redemption. This is unconstructive. It does not get the message across. It condemns the sceptics to permanent minority status; whereas, a compassionate approach that from the beginning acknowledges the human roots of pseudoscience and superstition might be much more widely accepted.

Popular books promise that we can and should learn how to feel good, manage our anxiety, or get rid of our depression—but not so much information about how to learn from our own experiences. Our medications are anti-depressants, or anti-anxiety, or anti-psychotics, as if the only sensible goal is to subtract them. Our disorders are called “mood disorders” or “thought disorders” or “anxiety disorders”—once again feeding a cultural view that is often outright hostile to anything painful. We’ve got to put aside this unhelpful messaging to create some space to try truly new things.

But perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by it’s graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest state of affection and influence.

all the clamorous Xeroxes whose subtext conveyed the message that the wholesome, patriotic values of her parents’ generation were now on the ash heap of history, replaced by a nihilistic, post-punk sensibility that Madeleine herself didn’t understand but was perfectly happy to scandalize her parents by pretending that she did—before the elevator stopped in the lobby and she slid open the gate and stepped out to meet them.

Those who live in retirement, whose lives have fallen amid the seclusion of schools or of other walled-in and guarded dwellings, are liable to be suddenly and for a long while dropped out of the memory of their friends, the denizens of a freer world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon some space of unusually frequent intercourse—some congeries of rather exciting little circumstances, whose natural sequel would rather seem to be the quickening than the suspension of communication—there falls a stilly pause, a wordless silence, a long blank of oblivion. Unbroken always is this blank; alike entire and unexplained. The letter, the message once frequent, are cut off; the visit, formerly periodical, ceases to occur; the book, paper, or other token that indicated remembrance, comes no more. Always there are excellent reasons for these lapses, if the hermit but knew them. Though he is stagnant in his cell, his connections without are whirling in the very vortex of life. That void interval which passes for him so slowly that the very clocks seem at a stand, and the wingless hours plod by in the likeness of tired tramps prone to rest at milestones—that same interval, perhaps, teems with events, and pants with hurry for his friends. The hermit—if he be a sensible hermit—will swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own emotions during these weeks of inward winter. He will know that Destiny designed him to imitate, on occasion, the dormouse, and he will be conformable: make a tidy ball of himself, creep into a hole of life's wall, and submit decently to the drift which blows in and soon blocks him up, preserving him in ice for the season. Let him say, "It is quite right: it ought to be so, since so it is." And, perhaps, one day his snow-sepulchre will open, spring's softness will return, the sun and south-wind will reach him; the budding of hedges, and carolling of birds and singing of liberated streams will call him to kindly resurrection. Perhaps this may be the case, perhaps not: the frost may get into his heart and never thaw more; when spring comes, a crow or a pie may pick out of the wall only his dormouse-bones. Well, even in that case, all will be right: it is to be supposed he knew from the first he was mortal, and must one day go the way of all flesh, As well soon as syne.

Alex is taking notes in a policy lecture when he gets the first text. This bloke looks like you. There's a picture attached, an image of a laptop screen paused on Chief Chirpa from Return of the Jedi: tiny, commanding, adorable, pissed off. This is Henry, by the way. He rolls his eyes, but adds the new contact to his phone: HRH Prince Dickhead. Poop emoji. He's honestly not planning to respond, but a week later he sees a headline on the cover of People - PRINCE HENRY FLIES SOUTH FOR WINTER - complete with a photo of Henry artistically posed on an Australian beach in a pair of sensible yet miniscule navy swim trunks, and he can't stop himself. you have a lot of moles, he texts, along with a snap of the spread. is that a result of the inbreeding? Henry's retort comes two days later by way of a screenshot of a Daily Mail tweet that reads, Is Alex Claremont-Diaz going to be a father? The attached message says, But we were ever so careful, dear, which surprises a big enough laugh out of Alex that Zahra ejects him from her weekly debriefing with him and June.

In this impossibility of reapprehending the world through images and of moving from information to a collective action and will, in this absence of sensibility and mobilization, it isn't apathy or general indifference that's at issue; it is quite simply that the umbilical cord of representation is severed. The screen reflects nothing. It is as though you are behind a two-way mirror: you see the world, but it doesn't see you, it doesn't look at you. Now, you only see things if they are looking at you. The screen screens out any dual relation (any possibility of 'response'). It is this failure of representation which, together with a failure of action, underlies the impossibility of developing an ethics of information, an ethics of images, an ethics of the Virtual and the networks. All attempts in that direction inevitably fail. All that remains is the mental diaspora of images and the extravagant performance of the medium. Susan Sontag tells a good story about this pre-eminence of the medium and of images: as she is sitting in front of the television watching the moon landing, the people she is watching with tell her they don't believe it at all. 'But what are you watching, then?' she asks. 'Oh, we're watching television!' Fantastic: they do not see the moon; they see only the screen showing the moon. They do not see the message; they see only the image. Ultimately, contrary to what Susan Sontag thinks, only intellectuals believe in the ascendancy of meaning; 'people' believe only in the ascendancy of signs. They long ago said goodbye to reality. They have gone over, body and soul, to the spectacular.

Those who live in retirement, whose lives have fallen amid the seclusion of schools or of other walled-in and guarded dwellings, are liable to be suddenly and for a long while dropped out of the memory of their friends, the denizens of a freer world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon some space of unusually frequent intercourse—some congeries of rather exciting little circumstances, whose natural sequel would rather seem to be the quickening than the suspension of communication—there falls a stilly pause, a wordless silence, a long blank of oblivion. Unbroken always is this blank; alike entire and unexplained. The letter, the message once frequent, are cut off; the visit, formerly periodical, ceases to occur; the book, paper, or other token that indicated remembrance, comes no more. Always there are excellent reasons for these lapses, if the hermit but knew them. Though he is stagnant in his cell, his connections without are whirling in the very vortex of life. That void interval which passes for him so slowly that the very clocks seem at a stand, and the wingless hours plod by in the likeness of tired tramps prone to rest at milestones—that same interval, perhaps, teems with events, and pants with hurry for his friends. The hermit—if he be a sensible hermit—will swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own emotions during these weeks of inward winter. He will know that Destiny designed him to imitate, on occasion, the dormouse, and he will be conformable: make a tidy ball of himself, creep into a hole of life’s wall, and submit decently to the drift which blows in and soon blocks him up, preserving him in ice for the season. Let him say, “It is quite right: it ought to be so, since so it is.” And, perhaps, one day his snow-sepulchre will open, spring’s softness will return, the sun and south-wind will reach him; the budding of hedges, and carolling of birds, and singing of liberated streams, will call him to kindly resurrection.

He was but three-and-twenty, and had only just learned what it is to love—­to love with that adoration which a young man gives to a woman whom he feels to be greater and better than himself. Love of this sort is hardly distinguishable from religious feeling. What deep and worthy love is so, whether of woman or child, or art or music. Our caresses, our tender words, our still rapture under the influence of autumn sunsets, or pillared vistas, or calm majestic statues, or Beethoven symphonies all bring with them the consciousness that they are mere waves and ripples in an unfathomable ocean of love and beauty; our emotion in its keenest moment passes from expression into silence, our love at its highest flood rushes beyond its object and loses itself in the sense of divine mystery. And this blessed gift of venerating love has been given to too many humble craftsmen since the world began for us to feel any surprise that it should have existed in the soul of a Methodist carpenter half a century ago, while there was yet a lingering after-glow from the time when Wesley and his fellow-labourer fed on the hips and haws of the Cornwall hedges, after exhausting limbs and lungs in carrying a divine message to the poor. That afterglow has long faded away; and the picture we are apt to make of Methodism in our imagination is not an amphitheatre of green hills, or the deep shade of broad-leaved sycamores, where a crowd of rough men and weary-hearted women drank in a faith which was a rudimentary culture, which linked their thoughts with the past, lifted their imagination above the sordid details of their own narrow lives, and suffused their souls with the sense of a pitying, loving, infinite Presence, sweet as summer to the houseless needy. It is too possible that to some of my readers Methodism may mean nothing more than low-pitched gables up dingy streets, sleek grocers, sponging preachers, and hypocritical jargon—­elements which are regarded as an exhaustive analysis of Methodism in many fashionable quarters. That would be a pity; for I cannot pretend that Seth and Dinah were anything else than Methodists—­not indeed of that modern type which reads quarterly reviews and attends in chapels with pillared porticoes, but of a very old-fashioned kind. They believed in present miracles, in instantaneous conversions, in revelations by dreams and visions; they drew lots, and sought for Divine guidance by opening the Bible at hazard; having a literal way of interpreting the Scriptures, which is not at all sanctioned by approved commentators; and it is impossible for me to represent their diction as correct, or their instruction as liberal. Still—­if I have read religious history aright—­faith, hope, and charity have not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the three concords, and it is possible—­thank Heaven!—­to have very erroneous theories and very sublime feelings. The raw bacon which clumsy Molly spares from her own scanty store that she may carry it to her neighbour’s child to “stop the fits,” may be a piteously inefficacious remedy; but the generous stirring of neighbourly kindness that prompted the deed has a beneficent radiation that is not lost. Considering these things, we can hardly think Dinah and Seth beneath our sympathy, accustomed as we may be to weep over the loftier sorrows of heroines in satin boots and crinoline, and of heroes riding fiery horses, themselves ridden by still more fiery passions.

Think of it this way: if you wandered into a cave and saw scratched into the wall some markings which on closer inspection read "Gary woz ere", how would you think that they got there? Would you guess that a river had run through and eroded the wall into a shape? Would you think that perhaps a bear had been sharpening his claws on the rough surface? Or would you be sensible and immediately recognise that someone called Gary, who was probably a bit of a yob, had been through and wanted to leave a message for the world?

In our efforts to communicate the gospel creatively with the cultural tools available to us, it seems sensible to use tools that can convey the gospel message with as much power and fullness as possible.

Accustomed, as it is, to think of man as a dualism of mind and body, and to regard the former as "sensible" and the latter as a "dumb" animal, our cultture is an affront to the wisdom of nature and a ruinous exploitation of the human organism as a whole.

Referring to my desire to appropriate Italian, he [Domenico Starnone] wrote, 'A new language is almost a new life, grammar and syntax recast you, you slip into another logic and another sensibility.' How much those words reassured me... They contained all my yearning, all my disorientation. Reading this message, I understood better the impulse to express myself in a new language. To subject myself, as a writer, to a metamorphosis.

Present, Don’t Persuade One of the most common mistakes we make in a disagreement is to convince ourselves that we must persuade the other person to see our point of view. But all we really need to do is lay out the facts or circumstances. Though people are first and foremost emotional creatures, their emotions are guided by rationality and reason—for the most part. When you lay out the facts of a situation—in a calm and collected manner—you appeal to people’s sense of reason. And you demonstrate that you respect their ability to assess the situation with good judgment. Persuading people, on the other hand, can come off as manipulative. It can send the message that they’re not sensible enough to assess the facts, or that they’re not capable of making a good decision and have to be given passionate direction. To avoid sending this message, change your tactic. Simply lay out the circumstances or facts of why you have come to your position on a matter, and then give people space—and time—to consider them. You will be pleasantly surprised by the results. You may not get agreement on every point, but it’s more than likely the person will at least meet you halfway. Many times that is all you can ask.

The beauty, quality, and deeply personal nature of Chapman’s music, which had clearly resonated with so many early listeners in Boston, did so in exactly the same way with a large national audience. While she didn’t fit into any clear category, the fact that she was different and had manifested a deeply personal message resonated powerfully with the world. Chapman was recently asked what advice she might have given herself when she was starting out, and she responded, “It really is okay to be yourself.... If you are living a life that feels right to you, if you’re willing to take creative chances or a creative path that feels like it’s mostly in keeping with your sensibilities, you know, aesthetic and artistic, then that’s what matters.

But are you really going to just swan off without getting permission from the Triple S?” “What, send off a message and wait for a response? That could take weeks.” Or months. And chances were excellent permission would be denied. “It’s the proper thing to do.” “Aye, but is it the sensible thing to do?” He rolled his eyes. “Must you have an answer to everything?” “I’d hardly be the all-knowing omnipotent being that I am if I didn’t.” I didn’t know the act of holding onto one’s patience could be a visual spectacle. It was kind of interesting to watch.

Of course, 8, "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" fits the classic Logical Positivist (and Linguistic Analyst) category of truly "meaningless" statements. That is because nobody can imagine a way of observing a colorless green idea, even in the far future, or of learning its sleeping habits. However, even here, a little pedantry is at least as amusing as it is annoying. "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" is meaningless as a philosophical or scientific proposition, but I did not pick it at random. It is quite meaningful in another sense. Prof. Noam Chomsky uses it to illustrate a technical point in linguistics, namely that we can recognize a correct grammatical structure even when we can't recognize any sensible message in the grammar.

the messages seemingly received thus far have indicated many planets, without consistency or any proof of any kind. About the only sensible message given was the one back in 1897, by the occupants of an airship-shaped UFO: “We’re from ANYWHERE, but we shall be in Cuba tomorrow!

We all share wise messages, quotes and sayings on SN sites and messages, talk good and show how good and sensible we are as a person BUT do we all realize that (most of the times) we do exactly opposite of what we share, read and potray.

If your response to an idea is immediate, unless you have built up years of expertise on the broader topic, it's most likely going to be shallow and uninteresting. Whether people immediately agree with you is no marker of whether what you are saying is true or right - you have to think for yourself. Reality can only be understood sensibly by adopting the opposite messages to Twitter. The world is complex and requires steady focus to be understood; it needs to be thought about and comprehended slowly; and most important truths will be unpopular when they are first articulated.

My Atlas pinged behind me. And again. And again. “You’re popular this morning,” Darcy commented, eyeing it with interest. I grunted in response. “Caleb’s just trying to get into my pants again.” She snorted a laugh. “How hard are you going to make him work for it?” “He took part in the whole throwing us in a pit business. So I’m thinking I’m done with him,” I said dismissively. “Yeah, you totally should be,” she agreed. “But that look in your eye says you’re not.” “That’s just the part of my brain which is blinded by his hotness. I refuse to listen to her because she’s a slut. The sensible part of my brain says hell no and I’ll be keeping company with her and her chastity belt from now on.” “Okay,” Darcy said in a way which told me she wasn’t totally convinced but there wasn’t much I could do about that. My track record spoke for itself. The Atlas pinged again. And again. “At least let’s see how hard he’s grovelling,” she said with a wicked smile. I laughed and moved to grab my Atlas from the bed. Caleb: That’s so cold, Tory. I know you felt things too... the noises you were making in response to them are kinda hard to deny ;) Caleb: Do you want me to beg? Do you like the idea of getting me on my knees for you? Caleb: Are you ignoring me now? Can’t we just agree to disagree about the whole throne issue and take out our frustrations over the situation on each other? I promise, I’m super frustrated over it and it will take a lot of work to make me feel any better about it... Caleb: You wanna see how frustrated I am...? I really need help working through this... The last message contained a photograph which Caleb had taken of himself in a mirror after getting out of the shower. His blonde curls were damp and looked darker than usual and every inch of his exposed, muscular body glistened with fat drops of moisture. The picture cut off at his waist and his navy eyes blazed with an intensity which made me swallow a lump in my throat. Caleb: Want to come over and see the rest? Darcy released a breath of laughter. “Well he certainly knows what he wants.” My gaze raked over the picture of his tight abs glistening with water and I groaned. “Why does he have to be such an asshole?” I complained. “Well if he wasn’t, you probably wouldn’t like him at all,” she reasoned and I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “That is a tragically accurate assessment,” I agreed. I decided to leave Caleb hanging and closed down the private messages with a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. (tory)

The shameful conduct of Mian Saqib Nisar, the Chief Justice of Pakistan, displayed a lack of morality and respect for subordinates, which is also demonstrated in Indian ridiculous warrior films. A sensible and a sober person unable to define the status that Chief Justice holds upon which law, he victimized and humiliated a part of its judicial system, what manners and message; he tried to execute towards the Pakistani nation and the entire world; is it not a way of an insulting and misuse of his authority?

Secret 145 Your learning predicaments here are the same as they are everywhere. You must be sensible in this matter, for you see, your world will be visited in very visible ways by races in the Greater Community, and you will be all excited because you may think it is the arrival of enlightened ones who possess great technological advancements that will free your people. Do not be foolish.

As a church culture we don’t tend to stumble obviously. This is what we chastise and shake our heads at. No, we only sin in public when it is acceptable to those who stare at us. We sin when it seems, well, sensible. When our greed to have the biggest church building in town overtakes any thought of the poverty-stricken in our community. When our yearning for bigger book sales causes us to skew more seeker-friendly than the message we know we are called to share. When our gifts shine and our ear is ever so slightly turned toward those who urge to us that we “have earned more” and “deserve better.” When our anecdotes from the pulpit cease to be interesting enough—so we invent better ones.

What does it mean to have faith? (11:1) In the Bible, faith is always tied to an active trust in God and his Word. For the believer, there is no such thing as “blind faith.” Faith is the sensible response to the revealed will of God and the privileges he has promised his people. Biblical faith does not mean that people can believe in any unlikely thing and God, in response, must bring it to pass. In other words, faith that is not directly attached to God’s Word is merely positive thinking. At its core, faith—trusting God—is how people access the salvation God has provided in Christ Jesus. Abraham, the father of all who have saving faith (Ro 4:16), believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness (Jas 2:23). Faith is not righteousness, but it is how we access Jesus’ saving righteousness—something we could never access on our own (Eph 2:8). Faith, God’s gift to his followers (Eph 2:8), is fortified by paying careful attention to the Bible and practicing the spiritual disciplines. Romans 10:17 says, Faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word about Christ. Throughout the Christian life, faith continues to be how believers receive the privileges and necessities for serving Christ. We trust God to give what he has promised—whether it is gifts and abilities to do the work of Jesus in the world and in our own hearts (Jn 14:12–13) or whether it is carrying us through our spiritual journey and into our eternal home in heaven.

En ce qui concerne les impasses de la théologie — auxquelles les incroyants ont le droit d'être sensibles — nous devons avoir recours à la métaphysique afin d'élucider le fond du problème. Les apparentes "absurdités" qu'impliquent certaines formulations s'expliquent avant tout par la tendance volontariste et simplificatrice inhérente à la piété monothéiste, d'où a priori la réduction des mystères suprêmes — relevant du Principe divin suprapersonnel — au Principe divin personnel. C'est la distinction entre le Sur-Être et l'Être, ou entre la « Divinité » et « Dieu » (Gottheit et Cott) en termes eckhartiens ; ou encore, en termes védantins : entre le Brahma « suprême » (Para-Brahtm) et le Brahnia « non-suprême » (Apara-Brahma). Or en théologie sémitique monothéiste, le Dieu personnel n'est pas conçu comme la projection du pur Absolu ; au contraire, le pur Absolu est considéré — dans la mesure où on le pressent — comme l'Essence de cet Absolu déjà relatif qu'est le Dieu personnel ; c'est toujours celui-ci qui est mis en relief et qui est au centre et au sommet. Il en résulte des difficultés graves au point de vue de la logique des choses, mais « inaperçues » au point de vue de la crainte et de l'amour de Dieu : ainsi, la Toute-Possibilité et la Toute-Puissance appartiennent en réalité au Sur-Être ; elles n'appartiennent à l'Être que par participation et d'une façon relative et unilatérale, ce qui décharge le Principe-Être d'une certaine « responsabilité » cosmologique. En parlant, plus haut, d'apparentes « absurdités », nous avions en vue surtout l'idée d'un Dieu à la fois infiniment puissant et infiniment bon qui crée un monde rempli d'imperfections et de calamités, y compris un Enfer éternel ; seule la métaphysique peut résoudre ces énigmes que la foi impose au croyant, et qu'il accepte parce qu'il accepte Dieu ; non par naïveté, mais grâce à un certain instinct de l'essentiel et du surnaturel. C'est précisément la perte de cet instinct qui a permis au rationalisme d'éclore et de se répandre ; la piété s'affaiblissant, l'impiété pouvait s'affirmer. Et si d'une part le monde de la foi comporte incontestablement de la naïveté, d'autre part le monde de la raison manque totalement d'intuition intellectuelle et spirituelle, ce qui est autrement grave ; c'est la perte du sacré et la mort de l'esprit. Au lieu de discuter vainement sur ce que Dieu « veut » ou ne « veut pas », les théologiens répondent volontiers, et avec raison, par une fin de non-recevoir : qui es-tu, homme, pour vouloir sonder les motivations de ton Créateur ? Dieu est incompréhensible, et incompréhensibles sont ses volontés ; ce qui, au point de vue de la mâyâ terrestre, est la stricte vérité, et la seule vérité que l'humanité à laquelle le Message religieux s'adresse, soit capable d'assimiler avec fruit. Assimilation plus morale qu'intellectuelle ; on ne prêche pas le platonisme aux pécheurs en danger de perdition, pour lesquels la réalité, c'est le monde « tel qu'il est ».

said, “Make a cake for yourself and your son, and then make some for me.” That would have been considered more sensible and unselfish. But, no, she was required to make this for him first—and then she and her son could have some. Added to his request was Elijah’s odd claim that this came from the “God of Israel” (1 Kings 17:14). This made the challenge even harder for this Gentile widow. Have you any idea how much the ancient Gentiles in that part of the world hated Israel? They did then and they do now. Elijah, thus, added to the obstacle he had put in her way. Granted, the widow had nothing to lose. It was the best offer she had. So, too, with receiving the Gospel message. You are going to die anyway. This is decreed for us all, for it is appointed unto all men and women “to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Hebrews 9:27). It is the best offer you are going to get in this world.

Si Galilée avait été sensible à l’intention foncière du message christique, il aurait bien pris acte du fait que la terre tourne, - à supposer qu’il l’eût alors découvert, - mais il n’aurait jamais eu l’idée d’exiger de l’Église quelle insère ce fait dans la théologie, d’un jour à l’autre et avant que cette idée n’ait pu s’imposer au monde savant de son temps, ni à plus forte raison au peuple. Au demeurant, il ne faut ni vouloir infliger à la théologie le mouvement des molécules, ni prétendre « laisser Dieu à la porte du laboratoire » ; il faut éviter que les molécules deviennent une religion et que la science soit laissée à la porte de Dieu.

Our ability to appropriately process messages becomes overloaded. When we try to process too much too fast, our sensibilities become dulled and we lose our way. Decisions we make become erratic and often meaningless. We overthink insignificant things and underanalyze very serious issues.

You were created without any natural protection from the elements and weathers of the earthly environments, precisely to remind you that your spiritual star seeds were implanted on this home-planet. You were conceived to be vulnerable, depending on the protection of your Star Elders and Brothers. This was to make you a sensitive species, with a greater empathy, compassion and sensibility for life.

If I read something and immediately scoff at it, then I know it’s probably an important message. I have too many negative emotions running through me. I figure the more antithetical a message is to my sensibility, the more I probably need that message.

this generation, many of whom were raised in small families by hyper-protective parents, on soft-surface playgrounds, and then taught in universities with “safe spaces” where they don’t have to hear things they don’t want to—schooled to be risk-averse—has among it, now, millions who feel stultified by this underestimation of their potential resilience and who have embraced Jordan’s message that each individual has ultimate responsibility to bear; that if one wants to live a full life, one first sets one’s own house in order; and only then can one sensibly aim to take on bigger responsibilities. The extent of this reaction has often moved both of us to the brink of tears.

St. John would say that the natural working of the faculties is not adequate to attain to union with God, and the beginner is drawn to spiritual exercises as much by the satisfaction as by any purely spiritual motives. For the psychologist, even while he is refraining from making any judgment about the religious object, is often painfully aware that if interior experiences are viewed as if they had nothing to do with the overall dynamics of the psyche, then their recipient runs the risk of damaging his psychic balance. If temptations must be seen only as the direct working of the devil and inspirations and revelations the direct working of the Holy Spirit, then the totality of the psyche and the flow of its energy will be misunderstood. The biggest danger to the beginner experiencing sensible fervor, or any other tangible phenomenon, is that they will equate their experience purely and simply with union with God. The very combination of genuine spiritual gifts and how these graces work through the psyche creates a sense of conviction that this, indeed, is the work of God, but this conviction is often extended to deny the human dimension as if any participation by the psyche is a denial of divine origin. The beginner, then, can become impervious to psychological and spiritual advice. The sense of consolation, the feeling of completion, the visions seen, or the voices heard, the tongue spoken, or the healings witnessed, are all identified with the exclusive direct action of God as if there were no psyche that received and conditioned these inspirations. This same attitude is then carried over into daily life and how God's action is viewed in this world. If God is so immediately present, miracles must be taking place daily. God must be intervening day-by-day, even in the minor mundane affairs of the recipients of His Spirit. This does not mean that genuine miracles do not take place, nor that genuine inspirations do not play a role in daily life, but rather, if we believe that they are conceptually distinguishable from the ordinary working of consciousness, we run the risk of identifying God's action with our own perceptions, feelings and emotions. The initial conversion state, precisely because of the degree of emotional energy it is charged with, is often clung to as if the intensity of this energy is a guarantee of its spiritual character. As beginners under the vital force of these tangible experiences we take up an attitude of inner expectancy. We look to a realm beyond the arena of the ego and assume that what transpires there is supernatural. We reach and grasp for interior messages. Thus arises a real danger of misinterpreting what we perceive. What Jung says about the inability to discern between God and the unconscious at the level of empirical experience is verified here. We run the risk of confusing the spiritual with the psychic, our own perceptions with God Himself. An even greater danger is that we will erect this kind of knowledge into a whole theology of the spiritual life, and thus judge our progress by the presence of these phenomena. “The same problem can arise in a completely different context, which could be called a pseudo-Jungian Christianity. In it the realities of the psyche which Jung described are identified with the Christian faith. Thus, at one stroke a vivid sense of experience, even mysticism, if you will, arises. The numinous experience of the unconscious becomes equivalent to the workings of the Holy Spirit. Dreams and the psychological events that take place during the process of individuation are taken for the stages of the life of prayer and the ascent of the soul to God by faith. But this mysticism is no more to be identified with St. John's than the previous one of visions and revelations.

and in the recesses of her mind, far from the conscious place where it should have been, and forever from where it might ever be again, she heard once again the sweet trumpet, the lovely cornet, that beautiful longing, the message that everlasting love, forever impressed, forever stamped, forever noted, the one great piece of sensibility stamped into the life of those lucky enough to receive it, remained.