Stance Best Quotes

Ok," he says. "First lesson." Noah broadens his stance, taking his place firmly on the embassy side of the threshold. "in the United States," he says. Then, with both feet, he leaps on to the sidewalk. "Out of the United States." Quickly, he jumps back toward me. "In the United States." Another jump across the threshold. "Out of the United States. In. Out. In --" "Is this the part where I hit you?

You're not just fighting me," he said, his breathing even. "You're fighting the warriors who defeated the Amazons. Achilles, who bested Penthesilea. Telamon, who brought low Melanippe. Hercules, who defeated Hippolytus." She hated hearing her sisters' names, her mother's name, on his lips. Diana raised a brow. "A wise warrior learns from her mistakes." She adjusted her stance. "And you're forgetting who taught me to fight.

Far be it from me to slow down two badass supermodels on a mission, but we have a problem," a male voice said wryly. I could see Christian out of the corner of my eye as we turned, his stance and movements almost synchronized to my own. We shared a look, our expressions almost identically similar, wit arched brows and half-smiles. "What's the problem?" I called out, scanning the faces to see who had spoken. "You're a badass supermodel," Christian muttered under his breath at the same time, taking the mature approach, as usual.

Sometimes life feels a certain way that we call “absurd”: nothing matters, all efforts are for naught, everything seems random and perverse, positive intention is perpetually thwarted. This stance communicates darkness and edginess, which can feel like wisdom. But we don’t live as if life is absurd; we live as if it has meaning and makes sense. We live (or try to) by kindness, loyalty, friendship, aspiration to improvement, believing the best of other people. We assume causality and continuity of logic. And we find, through living, that our actions do matter, very much. We can be a good parent or a bad parent, we can drive safely or like a maniac. Our minds can feel clean and positive and clear or polluted and negative. To have an ambition and pursue it feels healthy. A life without earnest striving is a nightmare. (When desire vanishes from a normal life, that is called depression.)

When we presume to lie for the benefit of others, we have decided that we are the best judges of how much they should understand about their own lives—about how they appear, their reputations, or their prospects in the world. This is an extraordinary stance to adopt toward other human beings, and it requires justification. Unless someone is suicidal or otherwise on the brink, deciding how much he should know about himself seems the quintessence of arrogance. What attitude could be more disrespectful of those we care about?

Wisdom is balance, and a three-legged stance (old man), like a three-legged stool, offers the best balance. When one has become older, one knows that doing is valid only when it enhances being and that thinking makes sense only if it stems from feeling.

The very phrase "inference to the best explanation" should wave a red flag to us. What is good, better, best? What values are slipped in here, under a common name, and where do they come from? The appeal to explanation brings out into the open the glaring fact that we have a risk taking pursuit of truth. Science is brave and dares to enter dangerous waters. Empirical science goes for bold conjectures and audacious hypotheses, it offers them as basis for prediction and action while the iron is still hot and conclusive evidence still infinitely beyond reach.

That reminds me, why were you letting Braga beat you?” “What do you mean?” “I saw you fighting when we first came up. Your stance was defensive, your strokes all parries and blocks. You never once attacked.” “I was frightened,” Hadrian lied. “Braga has won so many awards and tournament competitions, and I haven’t won any.” Pickering looked puzzled. “But not being noble born, you aren’t allowed to enter a tournament.” Hadrian pursed his lips and nodded. “Now that you mention it, I suppose you’re right. You’d best see to your wounds, Your Lordship. You’re bleeding on your nice tunic.

Far be it from me to slow down two badass supermodels on a mission, but we have a problem," a male voice said wryly. I could see Christian out of the corner of my eye as we turned, his stance and movements almost synchronized to my own. We shared a look, our expressions almost identically similar, with arched brows and half-smiles. "What's the problem?" I called out, scanning the faces to see who had spoken. "You're a badass supermodel," Christian muttered under his breath at the same time, taking the mature approach, as usual.

The idea that he’d be entering this world involuntarily—the enhancers’ realm, the political imbroglio—disturbed him. That he’d have to claim a stance, take a side, defend the technological advances by virtue of their medical purpose. Be grouped with the believers by default. He

Despite these criticisms of his criticisms, my stance has a major problem, one that causes Morse to conclude that the contributions of neuroscience to the legal system “are modest at best and neuroscience poses no genuine, radical challenges to concepts of personhood, responsibility, and competence.”25 The problem can be summarized in a hypothetical exchange: Prosecutor: So, professor, you’ve told us about the extensive damage that the defendant sustained to his frontal cortex when he was a child. Has every person who has sustained such damage become a multiple murderer, like the defendant? Neuroscientist testifying for the defense: No. Prosecutor: Has every such person at least engaged in some sort of serious criminal behavior? Neuroscientist: No. Prosecutor: Can brain science explain why the same amount of damage produced murderous behavior in the defendant? Neuroscientist: No. The problem is that, even amid all these biological insights that allow us to be snitty about those silly homunculi, we still can’t predict much about behavior. Perhaps at the statistical level of groups, but not when it comes to individuals.

I think a marvelous stunt would be to have your best friend (or the most critical acquaintance) take some candid color snapshots of you from all angles, dressed just as you usually appear at, say, six in the evening. The same hairdo, the same makeup, and if possible the same expression on your face. Be honest! Be sure to have her take the rear views, too. There ought to be some other shots of you wearing your best going-out-to-dinner dress, or your favorite bridge-with-the-girls costume — hat, gloves, bag, and costume jewelry. Everything. Then have that roll of film developed and BLOWN UP. You can’t see much in a tiny snapshot. An eight-by-ten will show you the works — and you probably won’t be very happy with it. Sit down and take a long look at that strange woman. Is she today’s with-it person — elegant, poised, groomed, glowing with health? Or is she a plump copy of Miss 1950? Is she sleek, or bumpy in the wrong places? How is her posture? Does she look better from the front than from the back? Does she stand gracefully? […] Feet together or one slightly in front of the other, is the most graceful stance. […] I always pin my bad notices on my mirror. How about keeping those eight-by-ten candid shots around your dressing room for a while as you dress?

Nonetheless, Augustine and Pusey are surely clear examples of fighting one’s battle on the wrong ground. They assume that if unbelievers mock and question God’s ability to do the marvelous, then the appropriate response must be to affirm God’s ability to do the marvelous and encourage a stance of reverence. Both elements of the response are indeed appropriate to believers—but this is surely not the place to invoke them. To put it in other terms, one must first consider the genre of Jonah and the literary conventions that it utilizes, and then consider how best to promote a right appreciation and understanding of the book,7 rather than meet flatfooted mockery with equally flatfooted piety.

Moreover, seeing ourselves as a majority led at times to both a theological downgrade and a counter-productive public stance. The application of the promises to Israel to the United States of America, for example, caused many to miss, as we will see in the next chapter, the meaning of the kingdom of God, and thus to bypass Jesus Christ himself. The idea of America as a Christian nation is able to get “Amens” in the churches only as long as the churches believe America is, at least in some ways, with us and not against us. But what happens when the cultural climate starts to shift in obvious ways? If the church believes the United States is a sort of new Israel, then we become frantic when we see ourselves “losing America.” We then start to speak in gloomy terms of America as, at best, Babylon, a place of hopeless exile, or, at worst, Gomorrah, slouching toward the judgment of God.

Sindari sprang close and roared at the the kobold, The kobold, eyes widening even further, stopped screaming… and wet himself. I groaned and held him out at arm’s length. “Gross, Sindari.” My apologies. I didn’t anticipate that result. “What usually happens when you roar at people?” Stupefied acquiescence. “This probably qualifies. He got my hip. ” Perhaps you can roll in the fertilizer on the way out. I don’t see how that would help. It would mask the odor. So I’d smell like blood and fish instead? Yes. Those are far more appealing scents. If you say so. What’s the plan? Sindari asked as the kobold scurried away. We’re going to optimistically hope for the best. I marched resolutely through the grass. Sindari glided past me to take the lead. An interesting stance from someone with pee on her hip. I’m not sure I believe that you didn’t anticipate that result. His look back was not convincingly innocent.

I turned and there he stood, wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants. A modest shapechanger, how refreshing. You wouldn’t even know that he had changed, save for the glistening sheen of dampness on his skin. He looked me over slowly, judging, taking my measure. I could blush demurely or I could do the same to him. I chose not to blush. A couple of inches taller than me, the Beast Lord gave an impression of coiled power. Easy, balanced stance. Blond hair, cut too short to grab. At first glance he looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, but his build betrayed him. His shoulders strained his T-shirt. His back was broad and corded with muscle, showing the power and strength a man developed in his early thirties. “What kind of a woman greets the Beast Lord with ‘here, kitty, kitty’?” he asked. “One of a kind.” I murmured the obvious reply. Eventually I had to look him in the eye. Better sooner than later. The Beast Lord had a strong square jaw. His nose was narrow with a misshapen bridge, as though it had been broken more than once and hadn’t healed right. Considering the regenerative powers of the shapechangers, someone must’ve pounded his face with a sledgehammer. Our stares met. Little golden sparks danced in his gray eyes. His gaze made me want to bow my head and look away. He regarded me as if I was an interesting new snack. “I’m the lord of the Free Beasts,” he said. “I figured.” Perhaps he expected me to curtsy. He leaned forward a little, puzzling over me as if I were an odd-looking insect. “Why would a knight-protector hire a no-name merc to investigate the death of his diviner?” I gave him my best cryptic smile.

In retrospect, however, her mother's irreverence might have been one of her greatest gifts as a parent. Such as the day when Merritt had run crying to her because a group of boys hadn't wanted her to play rounders with them. Lillian had hugged and comforted her, and said, "I'll go tell them to give you a turn." "No, Mama," Merritt had sobbed. "They don't want me to play because I'm not good at it. I mostly can't hit the ball, and when I do, it doesn't go anywhere. They said I have baby arms." The indignity of that had been intolerable. But Mama, who'd always understood the fragility of a child's pride, had curved her fingers around Merritt's upper arm and said, "Make a muscle for me." After feeling Merritt's biceps, her mother had lowered to her haunches until their faces were level. "You have very strong arms, Merritt," she'd said decisively. "You're as strong as any of those boys. You and I are going to practice until you're able to hit that blasted ball over all their heads." For many an afternoon after that, Mama had helped her to learn the right stance, and how to transfer her weight to the front foot during the swing, and how to follow through. They had developed her eye-hand coordination and had practiced until the batting skills felt natural. And the next time Merritt played rounders, she'd scored more points than anyone else in the game. Of the thousands of embraces Mama had given her throughout childhood, few stood out in Merritt's mind as much as the feel of her arms guiding her in a batting stance. I want you to attack the ball, Merritt. Be fierce." Not everyone would understand, but "Be fierce" was one of the best things her mother had ever told her.

propose that we consider our farmers on a spectrum, let’s say, of agrarianism. On one end of the spectrum we have farmers like James, interested in producing the finest foodstuffs that they can, given the soil, the climate, the water, the budget, and their talent. They observe how efficacious or not their efforts are proving, and they adapt accordingly. Variety is one of the keys to this technique, eschewing the corporate monocultures for a revolving set of plants and animals, again, to mimic what was already happening on the land before we showed up with our earth-shaving machinery. It’s tough as hell, and in many cases impossible, to farm this way and earn enough profit to keep your bills paid and your family fed, but these farmers do exist. On the other end of the spectrum is full-speed-ahead robo-farming, in which the farmer is following the instructions of the corporation to produce not food but commodities in such a way that the corporation sits poised to make the maximum financial profit. Now, this is the part that has always fascinated me about us as a population: This kind of farmer is doing all they can to make their factory quota for the company, of grain, or meat, or what have you, despite their soil, climate, water, budget, or talent. It only stands to reason that this methodology is the very definition of unsustainable. Clearly, this is an oversimplification of an issue that requires as much of my refrain (nuance!) as any other human endeavor, but the broad strokes are hard to refute. The first farmer is doing their best to work with nature. The second farmer is doing their best despite nature. In order for the second farmer to prosper, they must defeat nature. A great example of this is the factory farming of beef/pork/chicken/eggs/turkey/salmon/etc. The manufacturers of these products have done everything they can to take the process out of nature entirely and hide it in a shed, where every step of the production has been engineered to make a profit; to excel at quantity. I know you’re a little bit ahead of me here, but I’ll go ahead and ask the obvious question: What of quality? If you’re willing to degrade these many lives with impunity—the lives of the animals themselves, the workers “growing” them, the neighbors having to suffer the voluminous poisons being pumped into the ecosystem/watershed, and the humans consuming your products—then what are you about? Can that even be considered farming? Again, I’m asking this of us. Of you and me, because what I have just described is the way a lot of our food is produced right now, in the system that we all support with our dollars. How did we get here, in both the US and the UK? How can we change our national stance toward agriculture to accommodate more middle-size farmers and less factory farms? How would Aldo Leopold feel about it?

Integrity and honesty are man's best traits. His stances reflect his character. The woman and womanly-man change their stances according to how their environment makes them feel and depends on approval.

Another component it has, see, is the chocolate. The chocolate is this unbelievable deliciousness that everyone wants and is lucky to come into contact with. It's sweet, it's light, it's of the highest quality and best flavor. Just so much sugary goodness there." Benny turns over the piece of the Reese's Cup he's holding between his thumb and forefinger. I've given up trying not to cry. "But here it's complemented by peanut butter. Peanut butter, it's got protein, right? So it has a lot of strength. A little saltiness, a little punch---this peanut butter won't take your shit sitting down, y'know? Because peanut butter has been through a lot to get here in its current form. A long process, a whole lot of grinding and pressure and struggle, to come out as smooth and complex and amazing as it is." I see that Raj, Nia, and Lily have wandered into PK 2 and are standing with Seb and the others, watching with expressions ranging from confusion to astonishment to pure enjoyment as Benny gets more and more spirited. About cake. About clearly much more than cake. "Now, even with all it took, even with all that these ingredients had to go through, all the heat it's taken to make the cake what it is, people might not be fans of this cake. While it's objectively incredible, perhaps the greatest cake that has ever existed, it's still gonna have haters. There are those who might watch this video and feel the need to comment on this cake, and tell it that it's not as special as it is, or point out what they think are flaws. People will disagree with chocolate and peanut butter being delicious, a stance that is plainly wrong. Others might suggest that Friends of Flavor would somehow be better off without this cake, or that my limited experience making decent Italian food somehow make my presence here more valuable than this cake's. "Well, I'd like to make it clear that those people don't know a single fucking thing." Gasps echo through the room, including my own. Did he just say that? Live? "They don't know about this cake, they don't know how wonderful it is. They've never seen something so purely good, so unobjectionably awesome. They feel intimidated and inferior, because they are inferior and always will be. They don't have anything on this cake and they know it, so they sit behind their computer screens or stand behind their oversize egos and tear it down to try to prop themselves up. But they'll be lucky if they ever cross paths with a cake like this and it dares to spit in their direction.

That a man is a king only due to the circum­stances of birth should be considered just as terrible as when a man is untouchable only due to the accident of his birth.

Perhaps we are lacking the recognition that our response to the whole [world] should not most deeply be that of doing, nor even that of terror and anguish, but that of wondering or marvelling at what is, or perhaps best, in a discarded English usage, admiring it; and that such a stance... is the only source from which purposes may be manifest to us for our necessary calculating.

Upon assuming this role, Sunstein learned a valuable lesson in group leadership: if he began a meeting by stating his own views, he discovered, the ensuing discussion was far less expansive and open than if he started out by saying, “What do you all think? This is a tough one.” As soon as a leader makes his preferences known, says Sunstein, many who work for him will choose to engage in “self-silencing” rather than rock the boat with a dissenting view. And, he notes, “some people are more likely to silence themselves than others”; these may include women and members of minority groups, as well as individuals with less status, less experience, or less education. Yet it’s just this range of voices that must be heard if the group mind is to exert its unique power. One solution, says Sunstein, is for leaders to silence themselves; the manager or administrator who adopts an “inquisitive and self-silencing” stance, he maintains, has the best chance of hearing more than his own views reflected back to him.

Many say that it is ethnocentric to claim that our religion is superior to others. Yet isn’t that very statement ethnocentric? Most non-Western cultures have no problem saying that their culture and religion is best. The idea that it is wrong to do so is deeply rooted in Western traditions of self-criticism and individualism. To charge others with the ‘sin’ of ethnocentrism is really a way of saying, ‘Our culture’s approach to other cultures is superior to yours.’ We are then doing the very thing we forbid others to do.13 The historian C. John Sommerville has pointed out that ‘a religion can be judged only on the basis of another religion’. You can’t evaluate a religion except on the basis of some ethical criteria that in the end amounts to your own religious stance.14

Dick delves in subsequent letters into the possible Jungian meaning of all this, the significance of ancient Rome in his mystical experiences, and the sibyl as representing his “anima,” the inner source of his own prophetic capacity. Recall here Morgan Robertson’s belief that his own muse was likewise a feminine spirit of some sort. We can observe Dick here beginning to weave these dream images into his evolving self-mythology and what became a major metaphysical strand in his Exegesis, as well as the novel VALIS that was based on his experiences. In his search for a meaning behind all these coincidences—an answer to the question “why me?”—Dick understandably gropes in many different directions for an explanation and attaches great, mostly Jungian significance to the symbols. Yet he does not go down the path of thinking he is simply accessing archetypes in the collective unconscious. Rather, he is drawn to the conclusion that somehow the ancient world is still present, only camouflaged—or indeed, that we are still in it. It all seems to confirm a dream remembered from his youth that was much like the “B___ Grove” dreams, in which he had searched for a story in Astounding Stories called “The Empire Never Ended.” That story, he had felt certain, contained all the mysteries of existence. As a result of some of his visions and experiences in 1974, Dick came to believe he was possibly a reincarnated Christian from ancient Rome.38 We are rewarded best by bracketing the various interpretations, the Exegesis per se, and looking at Dick’s project as a making of something, a creation of meaningful narratives to be read by other people, a reaching out. The term “cry for help” may sound a bit extreme, but it is not. It was during this black period of his life, most specifically in February 1976, when Tessa left him and took their son, that he attempted suicide via drug overdose, slitting his wrists, and carbon monoxide poisoning in his garage, all at the same time. Fortunately, all three plans failed. Setting aside the metaphysics and cosmology, what was Dick trying to say in his writing during this period—to Claudia, to Tessa, to his readers, and to posterity? And what whispered message was he straining to hear from his own precognitive unconscious? Arguably, he wanted to hear the same thing Morgan Robertson managed to hear, loud and clear, when news of the Titanic’s fatal collision with an iceberg splashed across the front page of The New York Times on April 15, 1912. Both in his Exegesis and in his private correspondence with friends like Claudia, Dick flickered between two basic stances on his experience: the secret persistence of the ancient world underneath the veneer of mid-1970s Orange County, and the idea that he was haunting himself from his own future. These are not incompatible ideas in the sense that they both point to our old friend Mister Block Universe, where the past still exists and the future already exists—and by implication, nothing is subject to alteration.

When I think back on the histories of the Republican and Democratic parties and their stances on the black community, I find myself questioning how so many of my fellow black men and women still believe that the Democratic Party has their best interests at heart when history proves they were never on our side. I wonder if they remember that it was the Republican Party that ended slavery. I wonder if they remember that it was the Republican Party that finally recognized us as citizens of our great country. I wonder if they remember that it was the Republican Party that fought for us to finally become members of the American self, while Democrats wanted us to still be classified as the other.

Stance, grip, shoulder, anchor, peep, pull, and finish, Reece thought, reviewing the basics. As with anything in life, the best do the basics exceptionally well.

The very best antidote for the New Age teachings is for Christians to enter into and live fully in the supernatural. This is certainly no time to draw back from supernatural living and retreat into a mere defense of orthodoxy. Because we have adopted this stance for the last half-century, we have opened the door for the New Age to fill the vacuum. There is a longing in the human heart for communication and a relationship with the Divine. Since the dawn of history, when God’s people do not preach, proclaim, and model the genuine article, men and women will wander into whatever appears to offer the fulfillment of their spiritual quest. We need to cast aside our hesitation and proceed strongly forward, the Word and the Spirit as our unfailing guide.

As a transmuted energy, anger is mirror-wisdom – undistracted, undistorted clarity. But in order for us to find this clarity, to polish this mirror, we need to cut through the insidious process of justification. Justification is the authority we invoke to license our anger. Because of this it is important not to allow space for the distorted indulgence of justification. This can be very difficult because the process of justification is a strong part of our education and a salient feature of the world’s cultural heritage. The nuclear balance of terror was part of that process. Totalitarian political movements (either extreme left or extreme right) are a manifestation of that process; and, unfortunately, it has also become part of the very ideologies that have arisen to benefit humanity. How often have we heard people saying: “Of course I’m angry! Wouldn’t anyone be angry?” And, of course, this is a purely rhetorical question. The concept that we have every right to feel anything that we feel needs to be called seriously into question. At best we can say that we simply feel what we feel. It is a delicate balance: to acknowledge emotional needs, on the one hand, and to have a sense of these needs being conceptually generated on the other. This balancing act requires the experience of emptiness, because without it, we either indulge ourselves or brutalise ourselves. The experience of emptiness, in this sense, helps us to view our emotions with a degree of humour – with more sanity and true perspective. With this sense of space we can find ourselves adopting a very powerful stance – the stance of a practitioner. Then it is no longer possible to say: “You have made me angry!” All we can say is: “I have made myself angry in reaction to what I have perceived you to have done to me”. In this way we make ourselves completely responsible for what we feel. That is really wonderful, because from this perspective we stop laying this responsibility on other people. Taking responsibility for whatever we may happen to be feeling is what enables us to kill justification. Dechen, Khandro; Chogyam, Ngakpa (2014-01-14). Spectrum of Ecstasy: Embracing the Five Wisdom Emotions of Vajrayana Buddhism (p. 143). Shambhala Publications. Kindle Edition.

alleviate the inferno raging on her behind, which was slowly driving her mad. Surely he was some evil wizard disguised in adorable man/boy packaging. “That almost sounds like a challenge,” she snapped. “Baby, if issuing me a challenge makes you happy, I’ll do my best to rise to it. You don’t need to get so worked up. You’re getting all flushed.” He was confident to the point of sounding condescending; self-assured to the point of being smug. She resumed the crossed-arm battle stance in her seat, fighting back tears of frustration at the whole exchange and his ability to roast her derriere without laying a hand on her. And then she caught sight of it, in the far right corner on the digital display in the center of the dashboard. A tiny icon of a car seat appearing, then disappearing, intermittently flashing, and underneath it read, 86 . . . then 87 . . . and then 88. As soon as it fully registered, Amanda dug her feet into the floor mat, heels and all, and arched her body off the seat as best she could. “What’s the big idea!” she shrieked. “Just a little reminder, angel.” He chuckled, depressing

(1) Karl Barth was not an evangelical. He was a European Protestant wrestling with how to salvage Protestant Christianity in the wake of World War I, which exposed the debacle of liberal theology. Barth was not an inerrantist or a revivalist, and he was wrestling with a different array of issues than the “battle for the Bible.” (2) Karl Barth is on the side of the good guys when it comes to the major ecumenical doctrines about the Trinity and the atonement. Barth is decidedly orthodox and Reformed in his basic stance, though he sees the councils and confessions mainly as guidelines rather than holy writ. (3) Karl Barth arguably gives evangelicals some good tips about how to do theology over and against liberalism. Keep in mind that Karl Barth’s main sparring partner was not Billy Graham or the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy, but the European liberal tradition from Friedrich Schleiermacher to Albert Ritschl. For a case in point, whereas Schleiermacher made the Trinity an appendix to his book on Christian Faith because it was irrelevant to religious experience, Barth made the Trinity first and foremost in his Church Dogmatics, which was Barth’s way of saying, “Suck on that one, Schleiermacher!” (4) Evangelicals and the neoorthodox tend to be rather hostile toward each other. Many evangelicals regard the neoorthodox as nothing more than liberalism reloaded, while many neoorthodox theologians regard evangelicals as a more culturally savvy version of fundamentalism. Not true on either score. Evangelicalism and neoorthodoxy are both theological renewal movements trying to find a biblical and orthodox center in the post-Enlightenment era. The evangelicals left fundamentalism and edged left toward a workable orthodox center. The neoorthodox left liberalism and edged right toward a workable orthodox center. Thus, evangelicalism and neoorthodoxy are more like sibling rivals striving to be the heirs of the Reformers in the post-Enlightenment age. There is much in Karl Barth that evangelicals can benefit from. His theology is arguably the most christocentric ever devised. He has a strong emphasis on God’s transcendence, freedom, love, and “otherness.” Barth stresses the singular power and authority of the Word of God in its threefold form of “Incarnation, Preaching, and Scripture.” Barth strove with others like Karl Rahner to restore the Trinity to its place of importance in modern Christian thought. He was a leader in the Confessing Church until he was expelled from Germany by the Nazi regime. He preached weekly in the Basel prison. His collection of prayers contain moving accounts of his own piety and devotion to God. There is, of course, much to be critical of as well. Barth’s doctrine of election implied a universalism that he could never exegetically reconcile. Barth never could regard Scripture as God’s Word per se as much as it was an instrument for becoming God’s Word. He never took evangelicalism all that seriously, as evidenced by his famous retort to Carl Henry that Christianity Today was Christianity Yesterday. Barth’s theology, pro and con, is something that we must engage if we are to understand the state of modern theology. The best place to start to get your head around Barth is his Evangelical Theology, but note that for Barth, “evangelical” (evangelische) means basically “not Catholic” rather than something like American evangelicalism. Going beyond that, his Göttingen Dogmatics or Dogmatics in Outline is a step up where Barth begins to assemble a system of theology based on his understanding of the Word of God. Then one might like to launch into his multivolume Church Dogmatics with the kind assistance of Geoffrey Bromiley’s Introduction to the Theology of Karl Barth, which conveniently summarizes each section of Church Dogmatics.

The generation brought up during the Great Depression and the Second World War, still in measure steeped in the much-maligned Protestant work ethic, resolved to work hard and provide a more secure heritage for their children. And, in measure, they did. But the children, for whom the Depression and the War belonged to the relics of history, had nothing to live for but more “progress.” There was no grand vision, no taste of genuine want, and not much of the Protestant work ethic either.83 Soon the war in Vietnam became one of the central “causes” of that generation, but scarcely one that incited hard work, integrity in relationships, frugality, self-denial, and preparation for the next generation. That ’60s generation, the baby boomers, have now gone mainstream—but with a selfishness and consumerism that outstrips anything their parents displayed. There is no larger vision. Contrast a genuine Christian vision that lives life with integrity now because this life is never seen as more than the portal to the life to come, including perfect judgment from our Maker. At its best, such a stance, far from breeding withdrawal from the world, fosters industry, honest work for honest pay, frugality, generosity, provision for one’s children, honesty in personal relationships and in business relationships, the rule of law, a despising of greed. A “Protestant work ethic” of such a character I am happy to live with. Of course, a couple of generations later, when such a Christian vision has eroded, people may equate prosperity with God’s blessing, and with despicable religious cant protest that they are preparing for eternity when in their heart of hearts they are merely preparing for retirement. But a generation or two after that their children will expose their empty fatuousness. In any case, what has been lost is a genuinely Christian vision. This is not to say that such a vision will ensure prosperity. When it is a minority vision it may ensure nothing more than persecution. In any case, other unifying visions may bring about prosperity as well, as we have seen. From the perspective of the Bible, prosperity is never the ultimate goal, so that is scarcely troubling. What is troubling is a measuring stick in which the only scale is measured in terms of financial units.

Dear John’ Monologue   On the day I terminated our relationship, Anak and Taer were their usual spirited selves, doing their best to tempt me into a three-way liaison. They thought I was playing a dominance-and-submission game until I put a stop to their seduction with an authoritative stance. At that point, they turned sheepish, and I made them hear me out.               It was difficult delivering my ‘Dear John’ spiel, but I knew I had to do it. It was for the greater good after all. It was gruelling not to feel guilty when they looked so mousey and lost.               I said, “The two of you are sweet and accommodating, but you must realize our liaison must come to an end. I’ll be returning to Quebec, and you guys will have to make a life for yourselves here.”               “We go you to Quebec for you,” Taer replied in broken English.               “Yes, we go you Quebec,” Anak professed.               “I’m afraid that is not possible. I can’t look after you,” I expressed.               “Why no? We help in house,” chirped the older boy.               “Yes, we help in house,” seconded the younger one.               Those two made every conceivable excuse to hang onto me, envisioning me as their ticket out of the Philippines. I did everything in my power to end the affair sensibly, but my reasoning seemed to fly over their heads. I was left with no choice but to toss them out of my lodging. It was not a pretty sight when we finally parted ways. Before they left, they swore revenge and that I would not see the end of them.               The situation turned ugly.

With that, I follow my little chem partner out of the room and down the hall. “Stop following me,” she snaps, looking over her shoulder to check how many people are watching us walk down the hall together. As if I’m el diablo himself. “Wear long sleeves on Saturday night,” I tell her, knowing full well she’s reaching the end of her sanity rope. I usually don’t try to get under the skin of white chicks, but this one is fun to rattle. This one, the most popular and coveted one of all, actually cares. “It gets pretty cold on the back of my motorcycle.” “Listen, Alex,” she says, whipping herself around and tossing that sun-kissed hair over her shoulder. She faces me with clear eyes made of ice. “I don’t date guys in gangs, and I don’t use drugs.” “I don’t date guys in gangs, either,” I say, stepping closer to her. “And I’m no user.” “Yeah, right. I’m surprised you’re not in rehab or juvie boot camp.” “You think you know me?” “I know enough.” She folds her arms across her chest, but then looks down as if she realizes her stance makes her chichis stand out, and drops her hands to her sides. I’m doing my best not to focus on those chichis as I take a step forward. “Did you report me to Aguirre?” She takes a step back. “What if I did?” “Mujer, you’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question. I just want to hear from her own lips what her reason is. “Most people at this school are scared that if they look at you wrong, you’ll gun them down.” “Then my gun should be smokin’ by now, shouldn’t it? Why aren’t you runnin’ away from the badass Mexicano, huh?” “Give me half a chance, I will.” I’ve had enough of dancing around this little bitch. It’s time to fluff up those feathers to make sure I end up with the upper hand. I close the distance between us and whisper in her ear, “Face the facts. Your life is too perfect. You probably lie awake at night, fantasizing about spicin’ up all that lily whiteness you live in.” But damn it, I get a whiff of vanilla from her perfume or lotion. It reminds me of cookies. I love cookies, so this is not good at all. “Gettin’ near the fire, chica, doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get burned.

After parking in the west lot, far from a certain gang member with a reputation that could scare off even the toughest Fairfield football players, Sierra and I walk up the front steps of Fairfield High. Unfortunately, Alex Fuentes and the rest of his gang friends are hanging by the front doors. “Walk right past them,” Sierra mutters. “Whatever you do, don’t look in their eyes.” It’s pretty hard not to when Alex Fuentes steps right in front of me and blocks my path. What’s that prayer you’re supposed to say right before you know you’re going to die? “You’re a lousy driver,” Alex says with his slight Latino accent and full-blown-I-AM-THE-MAN stance. The guy might look like an Abercrombie mode with his ripped bod and flawless face, but his picture is more likely to be taken for a mug shot. The kids from the north side don’t really mix with kids from the south side. It’s not that we think we’re better than them, we’re just different. We’ve grown up in the same town, but on totally opposite sides. We live in big houses on Lake Michigan and they live next to the train tracks. We look, talk, act, and dress different. I’m not saying it’s good or bad; it’s just the way it is in Fairfield. And, to be honest, most of the south side girls treat me like Carmen Sanchez does…they hate me because of who I am. Or, rather, who they think I am. Alex’s gaze slowly moves down my body, traveling the length of me before moving back up. It’s not the first time a guy has checked me out, it’s just that I never had a guy like Alex do it so blatantly…and so up-close. I can feel my face getting hot. “Next time, watch where you’re goin’,” he says, his voice cool and controlled. He’s trying to bully me. He’s a pro at this. I won’t let him get to me and win his little game of intimidation, even if my stomach feels like I’m doing one hundred cartwheels in a row. I square my shoulders and sneer at him, the same sneer I use to push people away. “Thanks for the tip.” “If you ever need a real man to teach you how to drive, I can give you lessons.” Catcalls and whistles from his buddies set my blood boiling. “If you were a real man, you’d open the door for me instead of blocking my way,” I say, admiring my own comeback even as my knees threaten to buckle. Alex steps back, pulls the door open, and bows like he’s my butler. He’s totally mocking me, he knows it and I know it. Everyone knows it. I catch a glimpse of Sierra, still desperately searching for nothing in her purse. She’s clueless. “Get a life,” I tell him. “Like yours? Cabróna, let me tell you somethin’,” Alex says harshly. “Your life isn’t reality, it’s fake. Just like you.” “It’s better than living my life as a loser,” I lash out, hoping my words sting as much as his words did. “Just like you.” Grabbing Sierra’s arm, I pull her toward the open door. Catcalls and comments follow us as we walk into the school. I finally let out the breath I must have been holding, then turn to Sierra. My best friend is staring at me, all bug-eyed. “Holy shit, Brit! You got a death wish or something?” “What gives Alex Fuentes the right to bully everyone in his path?” “Uh, maybe the gun he has hidden in his pants or the gang colors he wears,” Sierra says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “He’s not stupid enough to carry a gun to school,” I reason. “And I refuse to be bullied, by him or anyone else.

1974 Bangkok   On my way from London to Kuala Lumpur that summer, I stopped in Bangkok for a few days, since I had never been to Krung Thep Maha Nakhon (Bangkok in Thai). I thought it an excellent idea to visit this vibrant city, known to some as the ‘Sin City of the East’ due to its liberal stance in sexual issues.               As soon as I’d stepped out of the airport to flag a taxi to the legendary Oriental Bangkok Hotel, I was confronted by hordes of haggling Thai men jostling for my business, bargaining with me in broken English to deliver me to my luxury lodging for the best price. But just then, a suave-looking foreigner in his thirties stepped in to dissipate their heated transactions. He wasted no time to disperse all the drivers except one. The gentleman had bargained in Thai for the best price on my behalf. He spoke in German-accented English, “I’m Max. The cab driver will take us to our hotel?”               “Oh, you are also staying at the Oriental?” I chirped.               “Hop into the cab so we can get out of this madding crowd,” he expressed vehemently, opening the car door to let me in.               As soon as we were comfortably situated at the back seat, he asked, “What brings you to Thonburi, Mr.…?” He trailed off.               “I’m Young. Thank you for your assistance! It’s my first time to Bangkok. I wasn’t expecting such a rowdy welcome. If it weren’t for you, I may have landed in a Thai hospital,” I joked. “Where’s Thonburi?”               He sniggered mischievously. “Thonburi, the city of treasures gracing the ocean, is Bangkok’s official name, although some refer to it more appropriately as Meụ̄xng k̄hxng khwām s̄uk̄h kām, the city of erotic pleasures,” he quipped.               Overhearing the words Meụ̄xng k̄hxng khwām s̄uk̄h kām, the cab driver commented, “You want boy, girl or boy-girl or girl-boy? I take you to happy place!”               Max burst out in laughter. He proceeded to have a conversation in Thai with the driver. I sat, silent, since I had no idea what was being said, until my acquaintance asked, “What brings you to Bangkok?”               “I’m on vacation. What brings you to Thonburi?” I queried.               “I’m here on business, and usually stay a while for leisure,” was his response. “Since we are staying in the same hotel, we’ll see more of each other. I’m happy to show you the city,” he added.               “That’ll be wonderful. I’ll take up your offer,” I said appreciatively, glad I’d met someone to show me around.               By the time our cab pulled up at the Oriental’s entrance, we had agreed to meet for dinner the following evening.

Oh my God, Carter!” I sprang to my feet, already in a run. I crashed into Carter, hugging him tightly, “What are you doing here?!” “Damn Blaze. Where’s my Harper and what have you done with her?” I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest, “Uh, yeah. I guess I look a little different.” He ran a finger near the piercing on my lip, “A little.” He smiled and hugged me to him again. “I missed you Blaze.” “I missed you too.” I said into his chest, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming. I would have been at the airport to get you.” “Well that wouldn’t have been half as fun as your reaction just now.” I leaned back to smile at him. He was tall too, not like Chase or Brandon, but close to six feet. His black hair was in the traditional fade the Marine’s had and his brown eyes were bright. “How long do you get to be here for?” He smiled wide and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off. “Harper?” Turning, I saw Brandon staring at Carter, he didn’t look happy. And I could only imagine how after what happened last night with Amanda, me taking off and almost tackling a random guy while in a bikini would be a little alarming. Especially since Carter still had his arms wrapped around my waist. Stepping back toward Brandon, I grabbed his hand and squeezed, “Brandon this is my best friend from Camp Lejeune, Jason Carter, Carter, this is my boyfriend Brandon Taylor.” They firmly shook hands but didn’t say anything. Awkward. “Um, why don’t we head back over there? I can introduce you to everyone else.” I pulled Brandon back towards our friends while I was introduced to the three guys Carter had been with. He was right, I didn’t know them, but Carter had never been to California so I didn’t know how he knew them either. I introduced Carter and the three guys to everyone, and while all the housemates and Konrad were polite, Chase wouldn’t speak to, or shake Carter’s hand. Just crossed his arms over his bare chest and openly glared at him. What threw me off even more, was Brandon standing right next to him, in the exact same stance. It didn’t surprise me that Carter took a step back, those guys could look scary if they wanted to. Rugged looks, tall tattooed and muscled bodies. Yep. Definitely scary to someone who didn’t know them.

I understand. I’ll call my brother and he’ll come get me.” Gracie’s hand flew up and her eyes went wide. “Wait, what?” “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” After thirteen years, she was used to giving up her desires to do the right thing; she only wished it wasn’t so hard. “You’re right, it’s best if I go home.” “No!” Gracie shouted. She straightened and stepped closer to Maddie. “No! That’s not what I meant. I was only trying to say, ‘be careful.’” The men chose that moment to burst in the door like a bunch of rambunctious puppies, filling the room with chaos and testosterone. Gracie placed her hand over her forehead. “Oh, shit, he’s going to kill me.” Mitch stopped on a dime, his attention going first to Maddie and then to Gracie. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What did you do?” All three men turned to Gracie. They advanced on her, gleaming with sweat. Alarm stirred. Maddie didn’t need to see their faces. The aggression was clear in their stance. The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest, and the muscles in his back rippled with the movement. Like Mitch, he also had a tribal-looking tattoo, although it was on his left shoulder instead of wrapping around his bicep. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” Gracie seemed to regain some of her composure, and her chin tilted. “I was only . . .” She cleared her throat. “Being friendly. And helpful.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?” “Yes, but . . .” Gracie glanced at Maddie. “I was worried, and—” Mitch sliced a hand through the air. “What happened?” The men reminded Maddie so much of her brothers and their tactics lit her temper. “That’s enough!” They all swung around. The men’s eyes were sharp, hard with leftover adrenaline. It gave her a moment of pause, before she brushed their daunting presence aside and vaulted off her position by the sink. They tracked her as she stomped around them to stand in front of Gracie. “Stop intimidating her.” Charlie laughed, a wry, amused sound. “Honey, we couldn’t intimidate her if we tried.” His gaze slid over Gracie in a familiar, intimate way. “Although I do think she’s angling for a spanking.” “Ha! You wish.” Gracie placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Thanks for trying to rescue me. You’re a doll.” She sniffed. “It’s nice to have another female here. I never have anyone on my side.” Sam shook his head. “What did I tell you?” Maddie planted her hands on her hips. “She didn’t do anything, so stop it.” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say, Maddie?” “I was just—” Gracie said. “Nothing.” Maddie cut her off as a sudden loyalty toward the woman behind her swelled in her chest. “It has nothing to do with any of you. Now back off.” Charlie’s lips curled into a smile. “Aren’t you a feisty little thing?” “I might be little,” Maddie said, in a righteous tone. “But I’m used to dealing with my brothers, who are all bigger and scarier than you.” Charlie laughed and elbowed Mitch in the ribs. “That sounds like a challenge.” Maddie risked a glance at Mitch to find his expression still hard, not amused at all. He crossed his arms. “I want to talk to Maddie. Alone.” Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Let’s go.” Gracie squeezed Maddie’s shoulders. “Thanks for sticking up for me. And remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.” “She won’t,” Mitch said, his tone matching the dark expression he wore. Strangely,

Have you met people who are so set on exerting their position that they are oblivious to the feelings of others? That their being right is more important than being kind? We all must consider which stance is the most beneficial. Might I suggest . . . kindness?

The storms in our lives can best be handled through a sound thinking, a calm stance and a high spirits!

The Iranian reaction after 9/11 shows in high relief the apparent paradox in Iranian attitudes to the West, in general, and to the United States, in particular. As we have seen, Iranians have real historical grounds for resentment that are unique to Iran and that go beyond the usual postures of nationalism and anti-Americanism. But among many ordinary Iranians there is also a liking and respect for Europeans and Americans that goes well beyond what one finds elsewhere in the Middle East. To some extent this is again a function of the Iranians’ sense of their special status among other Middle Eastern nations. Plainly, different Iranians combine these attitudes in different ways, but the best way to explain this paradox is perhaps to say that many Iranians (irrespective of their attitude to their own government, which they may also partly blame for the situation) feel snubbed, abused, misunderstood, and let down by the Westerners they think should have been their friends. This emerges in different ways—including in the rhetoric of politics, as is illustrated by a passage from a televised speech by Supreme Leader Khamenei on June 30, 2007: Why, you may ask, should we adopt an offensive stance? Are we at war with the world? No, this is not the meaning. We believe that the world owes us something. Over the issue of the colonial policies of the colonial world, we are owed something. As far as our discussions with the rest of the world about the status of women are concerned, the world is indebted to us. Over the issue of provoking internal conflicts in Iran and arming with various types of weapons, the world is answerable to us. Over the issue of proliferation of nuclear weapons, chemical weapons and biological weapons, the world owes us something.

Long before love is a corporate virtue that improves team performance, it is a personal leadership stance. The love-driven leader possesses the vision to see and engage others as they are, not through the cultural filters, prejudices, or narrow-mindedness that diminishes them.

You can accomplish anything, anything at all, if you set your mind to it. One must adopt a can-do-anything attitude. You were a professional. You didn't say no, not ever. You didn't complain. You didn't get tired. And you showed up, no matter what. You got there. Nothing but nothing kept you from reaching that kitchen. Also, you accepted the implicit obligation of excellence. Every effort would be your absolute best. Otherwise it was simply not worth doing. At the same time, you accepted that your best was never your best and never could be because you could always work faster, cleaner, more efficiently. Many of the changes a formal culinary education wrought were in one's attitude, a kind of tougher-than-thou stance. I'm tougher than you, faster than you, better than you. I'm a chef. I work in inhuman conditions, and I like it that way. I don't have to sleep every day if there's work to be done now, you get the work done. Only got a couple hours' sleep last night, and you've got eighteen more hours of work ahead of you. Good. You like that. You're a chef. You can sleep later.

The moral of all of this is what the social psychologist Mark Lepper calls the minimal sufficiency principle. If the goal is to get kids to internalize desired attitudes and values, then parents should use threats and rewards that are minimally sufficient to get kids to do the desired behaviors, but not so strong that the kids view the threats or rewards as the reason they are acting that way. Minimally sufficient threats and rewards are an effective story-editing technique, convincing kids that they are doing the right thing because they believe in doing the right thing. Although this is great in theory, I have to say that in practice it isn’t always easy to pull off. The problem is that we don’t always know in advance what a minimally sufficient threat or reward will be. How much of a reward is enough to get a preschooler to practice the piano? How much of a threat is sufficient to get a teenager to avoid smoking? Further, there is a danger to erring on the low side. If the threats or rewards are too weak, our kids won’t do what we want them to do. This can backfire, because the kids might become even more enamored of the undesirable behavior. If teens decide to smoke even though their parents would be annoyed, for example, they are likely to infer that smoking must be a really attractive thing. Similarly, if they decide not to practice the piano, even though they could have gotten some candy for doing so, they are likely to infer that piano playing must be really boring. The best approach is to start with threats or rewards that are strong enough to get kids to do the desired behavior, but then, on future occasions, dial them back a bit, making it harder for kids to attribute their actions to the threat or reward. Another possible objection to the minimal sufficiency principle is that it might seem devious or controlling. Is it right to “trick” our kids into thinking they are doing something because they want to? Parents will have to decide this one for themselves, though in my view it is our job to get our kids to internalize desired attitudes and values. The irony is that this can be done more effectively with mild threats and small rewards than with severe threats and large rewards. Isn’t it more controlling to take an overly authoritarian stance, one that will ultimately lead to less internalization of desired attitudes and values?

A mutual cancellation: in an article Firestone approvingly cites Kathie Amatniek’s Progression on the stages of women, from traditional womanhood (“beautiful but powerless”), to uppity women, through sisterhood (“Powerful!”), to the final goal, “HUMANHOOD THE ULTIMATE!” The terminal priority of the female sex is not the end point of this revolution and nor is an information revolution, if this implies the subordination of human relations to machine logics. This kind of stance may come as some surprise to those who remember Firestone for her artificial wombs and presume her feminism aligns directly with those later versions of technophile feminism that were resolutely anti-human and explicitly set out to fuse with information technology rather than pass through it. It is tempting to suggest that the kinds of technological fixes for which Firestone is best known are essentially located not in the final phase of this model, but rather pre-figure forms of existence that might be expected to develop in the middle (transitional) stage.

Would you have bedded him if you’d been whole?” demanded Luther. “If you remembered me?” Charm breathed. Men did not respect anger in a woman. They labeled it weakness. “You ask a question designed to ferret out or create guilt, because you’re convinced your best dramatic stance is to be hurt because I’ve ‘spurned’ you. Have I got that right? You want me to feel as hurt as you do? Well, I don’t, and I’m not going to. I won’t mourn my surviving. No one has the right to ask me for that. Certainly not you so that you can feel nobly blameless. You seduced a child, and got a child on my body. And you abandoned us both. My child and my body and my ghosts had to pay the price for it. You didn’t even have the decency to come see me until after your father was dead.

Would you have bedded him if you’d been whole?” demanded Luther. “If you remembered me?” Charm breathed. Men did not respect anger in a woman. They labeled it weakness. “You ask a question designed to ferret out or create guilt, because you’re convinced your best dramatic stance is to be hurt because I’ve ‘spurned’ you. Have I got that right? You want me to feel as hurt as you do? Well, I don’t, and I’m not going to. I won’t mourn my surviving. No one has the right to ask me for that. Certainly not you so that you can feel nobly blameless.

Empirical science left repercussions in its wake: the sudden advancement of technology upset the natural order. But the recent interest in ecology, the study of man's relationship to his environment, by 1970, have come too late. Certainly it is too late for conservationism, the attempt to redress natural balances. What is called for is a revolutionary ecological program that would attempt to establish a humane artificial (man-made) balance in place of the natural one, thus also realizing the original goal of empirical science: human mastery of matter. The best new currents in ecology and social planning agree with feminist aims. The way that these two social phenomena, feminism and revolutionary ecology, have emerged with such seeming coincidence illustrates a historical truth: new theories and new movements do not develop in a vacuum, they arise to spearhead the necessary social solutions to new problems resulting from contradictions in the environment. In this case, both movements have arisen in response to the same contradiction: animal life within a technology. In the case of feminism the problem is a moral one: the biological family unit has always oppressed women and children, but now, for the first time in history, technology has created real preconditions for overthrowing these oppressive “natural” conditions, along with their cultural reinforcements. In the case of the new ecology, we find that independent of any moral stance, for pragmatic — survival — reasons alone, it has become necessary to free humanity from the tyranny of its biology. Humanity can no longer afford to remain in the transitional stage between simple animal existence and full control of nature. And we are much closer to a major evolutionary jump, indeed, to direction of our own evolution, than we are to a return to the animal kingdom from which we came.

Maturity is difficult to define, though we instinctively recognize it when we encounter it embodied in another. It is best understood as a constellation of many traits, behaviors, actions, and mindsets which move an individual from the inward-focused egocentricity of childhood to the outward-directed stance of adulthood — from dependence to independence, incompetence to efficacy, bewilderment to wisdom.

An important way to nurture this receptivity to the self ’s emerging forms of aliveness is to develop a compassionate attitude toward our own suffering, particularly when it is caused by events and circumstances outside our control. As much as I have stressed the transformative potential of suffering, there may well be times when the best we can do is to allow ourselves to dwell within, and acknowledge the weight of, our affliction. By this I do not mean that we should not endeavor to ease our anguish, but merely that a compassionate stance toward our suffering entails knowing that there are incidents in our lives that have no deep purpose, that do not contribute to any future aim or aspiration, and that do not yield any profound insight no matter how vehement our attempts to interpret them—that do not, in short, in any way enhance our art of living. This is to say that as much as we should remain open to the idea that pain can guide us to something of value, we need to concede that sometimes certain experiences come about—or refuse to do so—without this in itself meaning anything at all. In this context, the fact that our lives are composed of fleeting moments can even work in our favor in the sense that we can learn to live through episodes of pain and suffering without letting them scar us irrevocably. We can learn to effectively reach for happiness in a world of fragile things.

The mental health field also maintains authority through selectivity of its members and suppressed dissent. There is a pretense of certainty propagated by leaders in mental health, with oft repeated promises of supporting evidence to be discovered soon; it is taken for granted that their authoritative stance is merited. Despite this political posturing, several areas of concern actually leave much to question, for instance: it is rare for findings to be replicated (Open Science Collaboration, 2015), with only about 3% of journals even being willing to accept articles attempting to repeat previous studies to see if their findings were more than just a fluke (Martin & Clarke, 2017); the peer -review process of journals is biased toward recognizable names and against newcomers or detractors (Bravo, Farjam, Grimaldo Moreno, Birukou, & Squazzoni, 2018), setting up a sort of “good ol’ boys’ club” dynamic; the rates of authors retracting their studies due to problems or false findings are rapidly rising (Steen, Casadevall, & Fang, 2013); the subjects used in studies are consistently biased (Nielsen, Haun, Kartner, & Legare, 2017) and based on samples that are among the least representative of humans, in general (e.g., Arnett, 2008); spurious and meaningless correlations are frequently reported as exciting new discoveries (see Richardson, 2017); gold-standard “evidence-based treatments” are, on average and at best, only helpful for about 25% of people (Shedler, 2015); selective reporting, guild interests, and researcher allegiance heavily bias psychiatric research (Leichsenring et al., 2017; Whitaker & Cosgrove, 2015); and, perhaps most important, with all the purported advances in treatment, the prevalence and long-term outcomes of diagnosable mental disorders has not decreased in the last century (Jorm, Patten, Brugha, & Mojtabai, 2017; Margraf & Schneider, 2016), while disability rates continue to rise exponentially (see Whitaker, 2010 for an analysis on this trend).

Beauty and stone In the huge town square, A statue carved from stone witnessed every passer by, And wondered how it could similar movements acquire, So that it too could walk if not fly, Its eyes constantly looked at the strange faces, Its posture was always the same, It stood at just one place and it could never visit other places, For it had sacrificed everything in the static beauty’s name, That is still, motionless, feelingless and always the same, It even perceives different things with single perception of mind, Cursed to play over and over again the same game, Because for the statue-like beauty everything is predefined, The posture, the view, the stance, and I guess even its every thought, At least that is how I feel when I look at the statue placed in the main town square, It seems to seek what it since eternity has sought, Because it may bear a fixed expression, but that has nothing to do with its desire, Because it expresses what its sculptor felt, And in this crowded town square it looks the same every night, everyday and every time, Of its own sweet will it has never with anything dealt, It has witnessed many lovers’ kisses, and it has been witness to many a crime, But it is its irony to be a statue and nothing else, Beautiful to look at and admire, But it has a missing pulse, That of real, warm, sensitive and sensate beauty in its prime, So, I sometimes look at it and just pretend it noticed me, As I leave the spot, I see it unmoved and feelingless, To it nothing matters, who you are or who you wish to be, Because it is just beauty carved from stone, completely lifeless, And then my love I think of you, and I miss you, So I leave the statue and its stone carved beauty behind, Because the statue is beautiful, but it cannot be you, Therefore, instead in my memories and in my heart beats you I discover and always manage to find!

In the presence of ego, we forget who we are. We lean into emotions that distract us by far. What do you achieve by outshining another? Dominance? Ignorance? A stance like no other? I’ve tripped over pride and fallen in shame. I’ve towered on top… of those others in pain. The best way to fix this is deflecting such arrogance. Replacing it now, with more kindness and eloquence.

In his recent critique of fashionable ecological philosophies, Andreas Malm pointedly remarks: 'When Latour writes that, in a warming world, 'humans are no longer submitted to the diktats of objective nature, since what comes to them is also an intensively subjective form of action,' he gets it all wrong: there is nothing intensively subjective but a lot of objectivity in ice melting. Or, as one placard at a demonstration held by scientists at the American Geophysical Union in December 2016: 'Ice has no agenda - it just melts.'' The reverse claim is that human interventions have only had such a menacing and even fatal consequences for our living conditions within the Earth system because human agency has not yet sufficiently freed itself from its dependence on natural history. This seems to be the conviction behind the 'Ecomodernist Manifesto,' for instance, which claims that 'knowledge and technology, applied with wisdom, might allow for a good, even great, Anthropocene,' and that a good Anthropocene 'demands that humans use their growing social, economic, and technological powers to make life better for people, stabilize the climate, and protect the natural world.' In this confrontation, an age-old dualism has assumed a new guise: the attempt to establish a complicity with the forces of destiny - if necessary at the price of surrendering human subjectivity or perhaps involving other forms of self-sacrifice - is juxtaposed with the attempt to achieve human autonomy by subordinating the planet under the superior power of human ingenuity. These two positions, a modernist stance and a position critical of it, are usually considered to represent mutually exclusive alternatives. Actually, however, the two positions have more in common than first meets the eye. At the beginning of chapter 3, I referred to Greek philosophers who suggested that the best way to protect oneself against the vicissitudes of fate was to learn how to submit oneself to it willingly, sacrificing one's drives and ambitions while expecting, at the same time, that this complicity with destiny would empower one to master worldly challenges. What unites the seemingly opposite positions, more generally speaking, is a shared move away from engagement with the concrete and individual human agency (i.e., with empirical human subjects and with the unequal power distribution in human societies) toward some powerful form of abstraction, be it 'to distribute agency' or to use the 'growing social, economic, and technological powers' of humanity for a better Anthropocene. I suggest that we take a more systemic look at the role of humanity in the Earth system, taking into account both its material interventions and the knowledge that enabled them.

Worth Statement: My value comes from who I am, NOT from what I do. Growth Mindset: Anything that happens to me today is in my best interest and it is an opportunity for me to learn and grow. What Went Well: (Write out 15 specific things you did well today. Feel free to use examples of areas you got better in even if they weren’t the very best you are capable of.) 1. I kept my stance solid for every shot 2. I caught myself wondering if I would be able to finish the practice. Started to talk to myself instead of listening to myself 3. I was intentional about treating the other apprentices very well even when I felt like they didn’t deserve it 4. I chose to take deep breaths before I approached the firing line 5. I held my core stable and kept clean lines in my shooting form 6. I cleared my mind before each release and remembered to focus on controllables 7. I saw Katsuo shoot three tight groupings, but I chose not to compare and focused on my own shots 8. I chose to see myself being very strong even when I felt my shoulder shake on my last set of draws 9. When I got frustrated and wanted to give up, I reminded myself that I am building my own house 10. I started and finished my practice today without anyone forcing me 11. I kept my breathing slow and focused on the firing line 12. I remembered to keep visualizing each arrow hitting where I aimed it, even when my shots were off 13. I remembered to pause and settle my mind and breathe before each release 14. I encouraged the other apprentices by reminding them of what they were doing well 15. I did a better job today of letting the negative thoughts fly on by and not give them power 16. I kept my releases easy and unconscious Areas For Growth: (Formerly called “Weaknesses” but we are looking at them as growth opportunities now) • Keeping my mind clear and focusing on my process even when I am distracted • Staying present after a mistake and focusing on what I need to do NOW What I Learned: (This can be something that you already know but learned the importance of again) • I shoot tighter groupings when I remember to release my goals and focus on my controllables instead • By focusing on what my fellow apprentices do well, it creates a much better energy and environment for growth and optimum performance.

Is she here?” Sawyer asked, scanning the empty bar. He’d thought she would come to me too. “No.” “Where is she?” “I don’t know.” Sawyer stalked toward me. God, I didn’t want to hit him. I just wanted Ash. The real Ash. The one he didn’t know. The one he’d never be able to love. “How could you do this, Beau? You’re like my brother.” The pain in his eyes felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It wasn’t enough to make me regret anything, but it hurt like hell. “You don’t know her. You never did.” “I don’t know her? I don’t know her? Who in the hell do you think you are, Beau? She’s been mine for three years. Three years. The two of you hardly acknowledged each other for those three years. Then I leave for the summer and you two make up? Become friends? What exactly happened? Because the bullcrap she tried to feed me outside the church isn’t gonna fly.” Do I tell him the truth? He deserved the truth, but I couldn’t tell him everything without Ash’s consent. It was her story too. “We got close. We spent time together. We remembered why we were so close when we were younger.” I stopped and stared at him. There was one truth he needed to know, one truth that was mine to tell. But admitting it would probably kill any chance of us ever getting over this. It all boiled down to who was more important. My cousin, the one guy I’d always known would stand by me no matter what, my best friend. Then there was Ash, the one person I couldn’t live without, not anymore. “I love her.” Sawyer’s jaw dropped, then clenched within a second. He was gearing up to take a swing at me. I could see it in his stance. “You. Love. Her,” he repeated in angry disbelief. “Are you aware that I intend to marry her one day? What about you, Beau, huh? You planning on marrying her? Moving her into your mama’s trailer? Maybe she could get a job working here with Aunt Honey once her parents completely cut her off.” My fist slammed into his face before I knew what was happening.

The very phrase "inference to the best explanation" should wave a red flag to us. What is good, better, best? What values are slipped in here, under a common name, and where do they come from? The appeal to explanation brings out into the open the glaring fact that we have a risk taking pursuit of truth. Science is brave and dares to enter dangerous waters. Empirical science goes for bold conjectures and audacious hypotheses, it offers them as basis for prediction and action while the iron is still hot and conclusive evidence still infinitely beyond reach.

The very phrase "inference to the best explanation" should wave a red flag to us. What is good, better, best? What values are slipped in here, under a common name, and where do they come from? The appeal to explanation brings out into the open the glaring fact that we have a risk taking pursuit of truth. Science is brave and dares to enter dangerous waters. Empirical science goes for bold conjectures and audacious hypotheses, it offers them as basis for prediction and action while the iron is still hot and conclusive evidence still infinitely beyond reach.

To illustrate his point, Jung offered the following example: “When you dream of a savage bull, or a lion, or a wolf . . . this means: it wants to come to you. You would like to split it off, you experience it as something alien—but it just becomes all the more dangerous. The urge of what had been split off to unite with you becomes all the stronger. The best stance would be: ‘Please, come and devour me.

EMPOWERING Confrontation also brings empowerment, the ability to make choices and changes in your relationship. God created all of us to be change agents for each other. We have a responsibility to influence the people in our lives to be the best possible people they can be: “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thess. 5:11). When we encounter a long-lasting difficulty in a relationship, especially if we don’t have the skills to confront, we feel helpless about seeing any change. We see the problem, we don’t like what it’s doing to the connection, but we don’t know how to broach the issue or do anything about it. This sense of helplessness often translates into resignation and passivity. We give up inside and accept that things will never change. You often see people who have been in a bad marriage for a long time take this stance: He [or she] will never change, so I’ll just have to live with it. While most would agree that we can’t make someone change, it is also true that we can do much to promote change. When we learn to confront lovingly, directly, and effectively, we are often pleased in the change not only in our relationship but also in ourselves. We feel a sense of power that we can make changes and we have choices. We were designed to both connect and act. Confrontation puts the “act” into the connection.

Hilde Bruch (1904–1984) is probably the most influential and important figure in the field of eating disorders (Skårderud 2013). Immensely productive, she was a prolific author, both for scientific and popular audiences (Lidz 1994; Bruch 1996). She wrote extensively on various topics in psychiatry and psychotherapy, on obesity and eating disorders in general, but is probably best known for her work on anorexia nervosa. She developed new vistas in the understanding and conceptualization of this particular psychopathology. Hilde Bruch was also a pioneer in developing the psychotherapeutic approach towards such disorders, with emphasis on curiosity and a not-knowing stance (Bruch 1970). Her ways of proposing psychotherapeutic enterprises and stances for eating disorders are highly coincident with a mentalizing stance. Her concepts of “naïve stance” and “constructive use of ignorance” are synonymous to the not-knowing position so central in mentalization-based treatments. And,

Innovations are happening in conventional schooling. Some people will read the chapters to come and respond that their own children’s schools are incorporating evidence-based changes, making them more like Montessori schools—eliminating grades, combining ages, using a lot of group work, and so on. One could take the view that over the years, conventional schooling has gradually been discovering and incorporating many of the principles that Dr. Montessori discovered in the first half of the 20th century. However, although schooling is changing, those changes are often relatively superficial. A professor of education might develop a new reading or math program that is then adopted with great fanfare by a few school systems, but the curricular change is minute relative to the entire curriculum, and the Lockean model of the child and the factory structure of the school environment still underlie most of the child’s school day and year. “Adding new ‘techniques’ to the classroom does not lead to the developmental of a coherent philosophy. For example, adding the technique of having children work in ‘co-operative learning’ teams is quite different than a system in which collaboration is inherent in the structure” (Rogoff, Turkanis, & Bartlett, 2001, p. 13). Although small changes are made reflecting newer research on how children learn, particularly in good neighborhood elementary schools, most of the time, in most U.S. schools, conventional structures predominate (Hiebert, 1999; McCaslin et al., 2006; NICHD, 2005; Stigler, Gallimore, & Hiebert, 2000), and observers rate most classes to be low in quality (Weiss, Pasley, Smith, Banilower, & Heck, 2003). Superficial insertions of research-supported methods do not penetrate the underlying models on which are schools are based. Deeper change, implementing more realistic models of the child and the school, is necessary to improve schooling. How can we know what those new models should be? As in medicine, where there have been increasing calls for using research results to inform patient treatments, education reform must more thoroughly and deeply implement what the evidence indicates will work best. This has been advocated repeatedly over the years, even by Thorndike. Certainly more and more researchers, educators, and policy makers are heeding the call to take an evidence-based stance on education. Yet the changes made thus far in response to these calls have not managed to address to the fundamental problems of the poor models. The time has come for rethinking education, making it evidence based from the ground up, beginning with the child and the conditions under which children thrive. Considered en masse, the evidence from psychological research suggests truly radical change is needed to provide children with a form of schooling that will optimize their social and cognitive development. A better form of schooling will change the Lockean model of the child and the factory structure on which our schools are built into something radically different and much better suited to how children actually learn.

Step 2: Check Your Purposes and Decide Whether to Raise the Issue • Purposes: What do you hope to accomplish by having this conversation? Shift your stance to support learning, sharing, and problem-solving. • Deciding: Is this the best way to address the issue and achieve your purposes? Is the issue really embedded in your Identity Conversation? Can you affect the problem by changing your contributions? If you don’t raise it, what can you do to help yourself let go?

There are now a number of demands being made on teachers which challenge both your courage to be flexible and your courage to remain faithful to ideals which are good. I will try to deal with just two of these demands. The first one demands flexibility. It asks you to recognize that Negro children in this society—and white children also—are being taught biased, edited, and ultimately racist versions of American history and culture. It is not enough to pay lip service to the idea of racial harmony and equality. We must refuse any longer to accept the distorted view of our roots and our past in this country. As taught in our textbooks, this history reinforces in white children the notion that they are superior and the only creators of this country, and it reinforces in black children the notion that they are inferior and made no contributions. It may be true that most blacks came here as slaves, but the first of them were here as free men, and gave their lives in the struggle to win independence for this nation. They fought as well as any one else during the civil war; they played their part in the opening of the American West; they helped plan and lay out some of our major American cities; they developed the only indigenous form of American music; they made notable contributions to scientific research; they are to be found in the growth and development of the American musical and dramatic stage; and the best of their writing ranks with the best that has been done in America. This is by no means all, but then I am by no means an historian. In any case, the question is not whether they should have done more. The miracle is that in the circumstances of their history here they could have done so much. It is because of racism, it is because the dominant value judgments in this society are white, and it is because a consistently poor estimate has been placed on the quality and extent of Negro effort—it is for all these reasons that the true story of the Negro in America is not told in our history books. And it is for all these reasons that historians continue to tell lies, continue to avert their eyes, and continue to retard the progress of civility, decency, and human dignity in our society. It is time, then, to give up that old rigid stance. For, however comforting it may be to some, it is a delusion, and it is a violation of the right of all young minds to know the truth and to be free. Organized teachers can play a major role in the effort to liberate American history books. They can join those who are making an effort to bring truth into the schools through a total revision of the textbooks. Where good texts are not in existence, teachers must bring in supplementary material to the classes. And they themselves can make studies of Negro history and culture.