Science in the face of the smallness of humanity

To be read with ambient cosmic horror music playing in the background. I recommend this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlDivIaiuMU

"I think, in the grand scale of things, humanity thinks too much of its own understanding. It only takes a little honesty and humility to admit that we are nothing in the face of the cosmos, which indefinitely stretches out into a strange nothingness. The more difficult admission is that there is no salvation in attempting to expand our knowledge of the universe, because dust mites, however clever, are nothing when faced with the alien corpse of a sperm whale in the darkness of the ocean depths. The vastness of existence is beyond our ability to comprehend. That having been said, science ought not to proceed with the assumption that everything can be known, because there will always be an unknown horizon for us to explore. Just when science thinks it has adequately described the universe, new phenomenon will throw our certainty into panicked disarray.

It's worth noting that science has a place in human life and a perfectly legitimate employment. People like the great Carl Sagan, who are humble in their exploration of the wondrous universe, are a credit to their disciplines. The benefits of science are obvious, and there is no reason to avoid learning more about the amazing world we occupy, though complete mastery may elude us.

But science is not infallible. A common mistake, I have experienced, is to place faith in the ability of science to make all matters clear. The mistake lies in the fact that science is equipped to be descriptive of the world, but not prescriptive. It has power to tell unravel the intimate workings of the natural world, but it has no power to make value judgements or inform one how one's life ought to be lived. Science is often misappropriated as a basis for philosophies or world views, many of which history looks back on with disgust. For example, it was once declared in the name of science that the white man was superior to all humanity, and that the sterilization of society's "undesirables" might benefit humanity's general situation. These prescriptive misappropriations of science contributed, as many know, to the evils of the Holocaust, which the Nazis considered the fulfillment of everything American scientists had described in their detailed writings on eugenics.

Additionally, science has a tendency to change. What is fact one year is made obsolete the next. Today's fact is yesterday's disproved theory. The most that science can consistently afford us is knowledge of what can be safely predicted in the occurrences of the natural world. But even then, it is mere prediction, not certainty. Nothing is set in stone. The very earth beneath our feet, and how we permit ourselves to think of it, is under constant revision. There is no solid footing left, no still moments, no rest. Humanity becomes tossed about on a sea of change. But despite the uncertainty of its position, humanity becomes somehow determined to think of its rocky boat as a firm foundation, as a describer of the world and as a prescriber of values.

I think it worth noting that the prerogative to make prescriptive claims on human life has more firmly rested with religion and faith. Theology and spirituality, while not exempt from the chaotic change of the other sciences, profess as their foundations a more or less stable axiom, that there is more to life than can be empirically shown. These disciplines, more preoccupied with the truths of poetry and literature, are no less valuable than the natural sciences. They may not have the descriptive power of science, but they engender in us the honesty and humility to know that human beings are finite and in desperate need of something more. In a sense, theology and spirituality are open to the strangeness of the world, its infinite incomprehensibility and impossible strangeness.

Of course, these traditionally religious areas of human life are, like science, not without grievous faults. All too often, scripture is shown to have petty human interests at heart. Wars convenient to those who stand to benefit are often started in the name of religion. Spiritual awareness can lead to zealotry and evil in the name of good. Wrongly construed, the "word of God" can be taken to be an endorsement of ethically reprehensible practices. Faith, while a reaction to something more than human, is all too often warped into something small, petty and human.
Ultimately, it isn't what humans do or write that is interesting to me. The failures of humanity, whether in matters of faith or science, are not difficult to affirm. I witness them every day, both in my actions and in the actions of others. No, whatever human beings derive on the basis of their own inspiration and capabilities, it does not matter; it holds no interest for me. What does hold interest for me is the intrusion of the alien and divine into human life, and the human reaction to that intrusion. Such a dynamic defies all the rules of our little existence. Could such a thing could ever happen? The sheer size of the world and what lies beyond it is so immense that the human mind simply cannot take it all in. The world is completely beyond us.

And for that reason, I call scientism an overrated fad. Faith in human epistemic and rational capabilities is far less compelling to me than faith in what is transcendent of those same human capabilities. That alien and unknowable otherness, which has made itself known in whispers and brutal death, intangibly calls every human mind to contemplation. It implants symbols into the mind. The cross is both a taunt and acknowledgement of death, a call to the madness of an eternal existence. I use the word "madness" quite deliberately, for love is mad, and God is love. And by the narrow definition of rationality and reason that we insignificant specs put forth as incontestable, God is utterly insane, for his love knows no rational limit, and he will love in ways that confound our tiny sense of ethicality or logic. What he sees and does goes utterly beyond what we can see and do, and so he appears from the human perspective as irredeemably insane. There is no single logos tying his behaviors down in ways that we humans can grasp. He is wholly other. We think ourselves sane, and he mad. But perhaps it is he who is sane and we who are mad. And who is to say what constitutes saneness or madness in an objective sense? Surely not we humans, whose eyes are so imperfectly dim. And yet God has shown himself willing to stretch out his hands and reveal the eldritch truth to those open to seeing.

Logic (and any paradigm of science that glorifies logic) is ultimately a tiny god to worship; I will never understand the people who appeal to it over the  overwhelming insanity and otherness of God.

Maybe Lovecraft had more insight into faith than he could have ever guessed."

This is the Idiot, signing out.

What I think about in the shower

A lot has been going on in the world lately, particularly regarding the relationship between violence and what we commonly call "religion." Some have interpreted their faiths in terms of commands from God, specifically, commands to violence, which is opposed to peaceful communion. This got me thinking.

One night, after a particularly painful massage and a relaxing shower, I had an epiphany. All genuine traditions of piety and belief (which most today problematically refer to as "religions") historically began not in the ethical mode, but in the relational. One calls out to the Divine (by whatever name), just like a child calling out to a parent. The Divine responds, and a relationship develops, one which boils over into the lives of others, so that the relationship grows into a communal act as well as a personal one. Genuine traditions of piety and belief have always been this way.

The ethical concerns itself with what an individual ought to do in order to live well, so what does an ethic of faith look like? What have the faithful been commanded to do? Given that true traditions of piety and belief sprang from the relational mode, an ethic of faith is less concerned with prescribing the minutia of day to day living as it is with opening individuals to an active awareness of the fundamental nature of the relational mode. It is not "Thou shalt" and "Thou shalt not" so much as it is "Thou shalt be with me and with thine fellow creatures and with thine world, and what shall define that be-ing will be love." We were relational beings before we were ethical ones. An ethic of faith is a call to communion, a call to a deepening awareness of one's relation to the Divine, one's relation to one's neighbor, and one's relation to one's world. When faith finds itself reduced to petty legalism, or when it becomes defined strictly in terms of orthodoxy to the point of neglecting orthopraxy and communion, then whatever ethic faith lays claim to loses its legitimacy.

It really is just like they always said to me growing up; faith is about relationship, and that is something this world consistently demonstrates it is incapable of realizing. When the mountains of mankind at last make themselves humble before God, their submission will coincide with the realization that the sole command God issued them was at the heart of their greatest yearning, which is to call out and to be responded to, to be with, and to be with in love. God's command for each life is this: "Thou shalt love in communion."

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Matthew 22:36-40

Old Notes from Continental Philosophy class

I was going through some old notes from my Continental Philosophy class (which was almost exclusively Heidegger studies). Found this towards the end, in the retrospective section. Some of it was edited to make a concise point, some of it was my own addition. But I think I am being true to what my professor intended me to understand.

"What does a Christian metaphysical ontic look like? Well, the following is just one version, one positive possibility on the horizon of the Continental tradition, one which is a radical picture of Christian facticity. It asks, what is at the root of the Christian faith? The answer is the Gospel, good news, hope. It's about unconditional love, which is treating a person as the person that you cannot yet see: this requires believing in what you cannot yet see, which is difficult because we cannot see finished products as finite beings. It all comes out of the future toward the past, and it requires that we believe, to some extent, in what is yet invisible to us, so that we can be better stewards of the visible. In short, a Christian metaphysical ontic is a call to vigilantly conform to the life of Christ, despite our finitude and inability to see beyond what is given to us in being.

Why is this call to conform "Good News?" Because it is intentional authenticity. Jesus is a dismantler of unjust systems. His life shows that deconstruction is a positive movement, one that works toward transformation. The Great Commission is about showing others how to live, and it requires intimacy (washing of feet, the shared purse, etc).

Furthermore, his life shows that nothing in your present can outstrip who you are becoming. For when you are full, there is the illusion that you are complete, but you need to be empty to see what truly fulfills you. Could it be that you must lose your life in order to gain it, just as he said? The wealthy and the Pharisees were not hated by Christ: his rejection of their "fullness" was a gift, an opportunity to see what truly fulfills them as finite beings. It's hard to see transcendence when you are full, when you believe that you have walked the road to completion. Christ's life isn't about the position of being full, of thinking that you have reached the end of a journey; it is about the path of always living towards what has been promised but cannot yet be grasped. It's a path to be eternally walked. And the best part is that God himself has joined us on this path, an eternal companion on an eternal road of being."

Kierkegaard vs Hegel - Objectivity, Subjectivity, and Faith

The following is a paper I submitted during my undergrad studies at Calvin College. I hope you find it beneficial and that it clarifies some of the nuances existing between thinkers like Kierkegaard and Hegel.

I'd like to note, however, that if you wish to make use of my work, remember to cite your sources, including this webpage. The general rule of thumb is this: whenever you use anything, even an idea or concept, that you did not come up with yourself, use proper citation. The integrity of your project is too important to risk through acts of plagiarism.

So cite any and all sources you end up using. Yes, even if it's a paper posted by some schmuck on an online blog somewhere.

Cheers.

Philosophy 333

James Sellers

10/11/13

Writing Assignment #02

Kierkegaard often disagrees with Hegelian ideas. In this case, he disagrees with Hegel's definition of what constitutes truth with regard to the question of Christianity as truth. Hegel would say that truth is an absolute and objective certainty; this certainty is possible through having complete knowledge in its final form. Kierkegaard pseudonymously disputes this idea through Climacus when he asserts that truth as objective certainty has no power to transform the subject as an individual, and neither is it conducive to the passion and inwardness that are important conditions for truth relevant to the subject as an existing individual. For these reasons, Climacus states that truth is subjective and that how the subject relates herself to truth has greater significance than what she relates herself to. This comes to expression in the passage in Concluding Unscientific Postscript that compares the virtuous pagan praying to an idol and the nominal Christian who prays to the true God. In this paper, I will explore what truth means both objectively and subjectively and what these different interpretations mean for the definition and location of truth that Climacus wishes to espouse.

Climacus understands objective truth as a mutual agreement between thinking and being (189). Essentially, one's thinking must correspond with reality, or what is, and vice-versa; the subject must approach truth without biases of any kind, and the subject's beliefs must correspond to what factually is the case. For Climacus, however, this two-way agreement falls short. It turns Christian truth into mere approximation, whereby Christianity, were it to ever be proven as objective truth, would become a mere obligation instead of the object of passion, an abstraction instead of a personal reality. Additionally, this agreement between thinking and being does not take into account the problem of flux that is inherent to human existence:

“If, in the two definitions given, being is understood as empirical being, then truth itself is transformed into a desideratum [something wanted] and everything is placed in the process of becoming, because the empirical object is not finished, and the existing knowing spirit is itself in the process of becoming. Thus truth is an approximating whose beginning cannot be established absolutely, because there is no conclusion that has retroactive power” (189).

By this account, truth has only partial reality as approximating abstraction and not as a timeless reality. If truth as a two-way correspondence between thinking and being is the ideal, then it will always be in a process of approximation.

These problems with the objective account lead Climacus to reject it in favor of a subjective account. Climacus suggest that people think of truth not as an abstract approximation external to the subject to which she must comport herself dispassionately, but rather something that the subject reflects upon inwardly in order to exist in subjectivity. In other words, the question is not necessarily what human beings believe, but rather how they relate themselves to what they believe; the issue is how human beings can live in truth in a subjectively authentic manner. The divergence of the objective and the subjective comes to a head when Climacus writes:

“When the question about truth is asked objectively, truth is reflected upon objectively as an object to which the knower relates himself. What is reflected upon is not the relation but that what he relates himself to is the truth, the true. If only that to which he relates himself is the truth, the true, then the subject is in the truth. When the question about truth is asked subjectively, the individual's relation is reflected upon subjectively. If only the how of this relation is in truth, the individual is in truth, even if he in this way were to relate himself to untruth” (199).

Climacus does not necessarily deny the existence of objective truth as something to which the subject must relate herself. However, he goes one step beyond this, stating that the manner of subjective relation to objective truth is more important than the content of the subject's beliefs. If the question is whether or not one can have knowledge of God, the objective relation to truth encounters the problem of approximation, whereby objective knowledge of God deliberates dispassionately in the hopes of somehow proving God objectively. This is problematic, however, because “God is a subject and hence only for subjectivity in inwardness” (200).

The subjective relation, on the other hand, has personal and urgent reality for the subject. Climacus endorses this mode of relation. An objective seeker of God can only approximate the truth of God as an idea, but a subjective seeker of God is infinitely concerned with how she relates to truth. The person who knows the truth objectively but relates to the truth impersonally prohibits truth's genuine, transformative effect in her life. But the person who, while objectively in untruth, relates to it in truth allows herself to experience truth nevertheless on account of her intensely personal and authentic passion and need. If the question is where more truth can be found, in the objective relation or in the subjective relation, Climacus feels that the answer reveals itself in the comparison of the nominal Christian with the virtuous pagan:

“If someone who lives in the midst of Christianity enters, with knowledge of the true idea of God, the house of the true God, and prays, but prays in untruth, and if someone lives in an idolatrous land but prays with all the passion of infinity, although his eyes are resting upon the image of an idol—where, then, is there more truth? The one prays in truth to God although he is worshipping an idol; the other prays in untruth to the true God and is therefore in truth worshipping an idol” (201).

Put simply, actions speak louder than words. The pagan who prays with life-transforming intensity feels the effects of genuine faith, which inwardly spurs him to action, whereas the Christian who goes to church out of a sense of obligation and prays dispassionately feels no such effects of genuine faith and is not inwardly prompted to action. The pagan likewise struggles with uncertainty and takes hold of faith, while the Christian settles for a mere approximation of God. Acknowledging the truth intellectually is by itself an insufficient belief, because belief must be practiced to have effectual value. What one believes must be reflected in one's actions. As an example, Climacus considers the figure of Socrates, who was willing to die for belief in immortality. “He stakes his whole life on this “if”; he dares to die, and with the passion of the infinite he has so ordered his life that it might be acceptable—if there is an immortality” (201). So with regard to the prayers of the virtuous pagan and the nominal Christian, the transforming power of their beliefs decides whether a subject is in truth or not. As such, the truth ultimately lies in the subjective. Climacus supports this conclusion further when he states that the objective emphasis is on what is said and the subjective with how it is said (202). “At its maximum,” he writes. “this 'how' is the passion of the infinite, and the passion of the infinite is the very truth. But the passion of the infinite is precisely subjectivity, and thus subjectivity is truth” (203). In this way, it is preferable (according to Climacus) to pray to a false god in truth rather than praying to the true God in untruth.

With truth being located in subjectivity, Climacus provides a definition of this truth: “An objective uncertainty, held fast through appropriation with the most passionate inwardness, is the truth, the highest truth there is for an existing person” (203). This means that past a certain point, objective knowledge becomes suspended for the subject, and the infinite passion of inwardness grows stronger in this objective uncertainty. The subject thus chooses objective uncertainty, fueled by infinite passion. Climacus observes that this definition also expresses what it means to have faith. Without a sense of objective uncertainty and risk, one does not need something like faith. “If I am able to apprehend God subjectively, I do not have faith; but because I cannot do this, I must have faith” (204). Only in the absence of objective certainty can something as hopeful as faith occur. Praying in truth thus means to let faith guide one through inward passion in how one relates to one's beliefs.

In short, Climacus concerns himself primarily with the authenticity of the subject's relation to objective truth. The orientation of the subject and the power of a belief to transform the subject in a real and life changing way ultimately makes the most important difference. Truth is thus found in subjectivity, in the heart of the believer as her beliefs drive her to action. The Hegelian idea of absolute knowledge becomes unattainable to the subject, but this very suspension of objectivity brings faith's value to light. In this sense, Climacus implies that Christianity as truth does not lend itself easily to the modern understanding, but is rather something best understood through the genuine and earnest practice of faith.

Works Cited:

Kierkegaard, Søren. Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Hong ed. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1846. 189-204. Print.

Human Belief in Knowledge, Certainty, and Assassin's Creed

Foreword: The following is not exactly polished. As far as philosophy goes, it's pretty basic stuff. It's a discussion about Cartesian scientific certainty, which is all the rage these days. It's also about the role that faith (or belief, if you like) plays in human experience. All of this was inspired by a particular scene in Assassin's Creed 1 (minor spoilers). I wrote it without a whole lot of editing, but regardless, my convictions as to the importance of faith in human experience are firm. I hope you will see why upon reading this.

"People today tend to talk in terms of knowledge and ignorance. In true Socratic fashion, human existence has largely become a dichotomy where knowledge and ignorance represent bookends for an all-applicable standard. Certainty and grounded-ness are perceived as the ultimate goals. The highest good of discussion and discourse is to stick closely to the facts and adhere to a decidedly scientific rigor. But personally, I think it's more complicated (and yet also much simpler) than that. More than facts and certainty, I believe that the dichotomy which applies more deeply, more authentically to the breadth of human existence, is faith and doubt.

I played Assassin's Creed yesterday. It's a fun little game to play, set in the under-explored historical setting of the Third Crusade. I liked it quite a bit when I was younger, partly because it was one of the few games willing to touch on things like philosophy and religion. But things are never quite as good as you remember, and this game is not as ideologically grand as I remember it being. Essentially, it's science fiction set in the middle ages, with the player attempting to wrest control of advanced alien technology from the evil Templar Order. There is a part of the game later on in which you have to assassinate a Teutonic crusader named Sibrand, who has terrorized the people of the city of Acre with his paranoid fear that assassin's are out to get him (which is actually true, in his case). To make the player feel justified in killing Sibrand, there is a scene in which he accuses an innocent and defenseless priest of being an assassin, and then kills him. The player naturally feels enraged (and maybe a little guilty) over this.

The player makes the successful stab while Sibrand is alone, and lays the dying crusader down. "Rest now, and go to the arms of your God," says the assassin. "Have you learned nothing?" rasps Sibrand. "I know what awaits for me, for all of us." "If not your God, then what?" "Nothing," utters Sibrand, his voice hushed in fear. "Nothing awaits. And that is what I fear." "You don't believe?" the assassin asks incredulously. "How could I? Given what I know, what I have seen? This life is all we have." The talk lingers a little while, with Sibrand explaining that armed with his scientific knowledge (gleaned from the alien tech we mentioned above), he intended to free the holy land by dispelling the illusion of religion. "I followed my orders, believing in my cause," he says, whispering his final words. "Same as you."

The irony of this, to me, was that Sibrand talks about the dialectic between knowledge and ignorance as a criterion while speaking about belief in the same breath. He, a middle ages crusader, saw scientific wonders that made religion look like ignorance by comparison. In this light, holding knowledge over belief became a moral obligation; to be true to himself, he felt he needed to dismiss all belief as ignorance in favor of the standard of knowledge. But upon his death, he confesses that he acted from the standpoint of belief.

When knowledge is reduced down to its most basic axioms, when we arrive at the deepest foundations of what we think is certain, we have nothing but belief. Short of studying EVERYTHING that there is to know about ANYTHING, to the extreme point of achieving certainty in all aspects of your knowledge, there is no way to know for certain that what you know is actually the case. You have to take it on faith that your eyes are not deceiving you. How do you know the traffic light is green? How are you absolutely, beyond all doubt, objectively certain that it is green? Might it be red? You don't know; all you can do is trust your senses and take it on faith that what they are telling you corresponds to reality. Descartes, for all his faults, shines here; there is no way for you to be certain that everything you learned in school is objectively true. And even if they were true facts when you learned them, the nature of science is that it is in a state of near constant self-contradiction. What is true today in science may not be true tomorrow. The implication of this model of knowledge is that absolute certainty is a pipe dream. Nothing can be known for certain. If you are honest with yourself, I think you will find that this is true of everything you think you have ever known. Faith or doubt, not certainty, is at the base of human understanding. Everything we think we know is an assumption without ultimate proof, a leap of faith. There is no primordially verifiable evidence for human experience.

This is one reason why I am skeptical when people tell me that the dialectic between knowledge and ignorance is the only way to understand the world. I find that it is never that simple. The best that science can do is explore the world and present us with more knowledge, which then serves to update/negate what we thought was absolutely true. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, as knowledge is valuable, and without it, we would arguably remain incomplete and unfulfilled. Learning is a natural and fundamental part of what it means to be human. But the end point is that the more knowledge you have, the more things you have to be uncertain about and the more things you must take on faith.

Sibrand automatically assumed that because he had obtained knowledge, everything beyond the scope of tangible knowledge and certainty had to be discounted. He assumed scientific, factual ignorance was the great evil to avoid, but this very assumption was an act of faith. There was no hard evidence to ground his assumption that knowledge was the highest criterion; he chose where he would place value, where to put his belief. Ironically, his unbelief was wholly constituted by belief, by faith, a faith tainted with despair, a faith determined to sink deeper into doubt.

All this sermonizing is just to say this: you have far more faith and doubt than you do knowledge or certainty, and this tension between faith and doubt is at work in every moment of your life. Do with that what you will.

I only know that I want to believe in something more than knowledge, which is contingent on the ever changing interpretations of what constitutes ignorance. I want to believe in something more than Sibrand's despair. I have to believe in something, by virtue of human finitude, and I cannot do otherwise. So I will choose to believe in something good, something noble, something higher than myself, something constant and absolute. And when I look out into the world of possible beliefs that I could work toward realizing, Christianity and the hope of new life stand out to me in a profound way that I cannot, for all my powers of reason, adequately justify. I am compelled by my very existence to believe, so I will believe in hope. And in that hope, may my ordinary faith be lifted up to new heights, there to find new life."

Until next time, this is the Idiot, signing out.

Faith and Reason in Halloween Town Part 3

Alright.  Time to finish it. Partly in the interest of time and partly because I'm tired and don't want to have to write a whole lot, I'll just work off of the assumption that the majority of my readers have been following my Halloween blogs and do not require too much exposition as to the details of my thoughts.  I will, however, give you a paragraph's worth to see where the major players stand.

The stage has been set for the three viewpoints of Jack, Sally and Oogie-Boogie to clash.  Jack, with the help of the Halloween Townsfolk (Forms of Reason) and the kidnapping of Santa Claus, stands ready to take over Christmas (Faith).  Sally tries her best to make Jack see reason (pun intended) and to stop his attempt to improve Faith by means of Reason, and Oogie-Boogie holds Santa in the clutches of his bug ridden, baggy hands.

So with that in mind, let's continue.

Just before Jack can take off on his mission, Sally attempts to obfuscate his path by pouring fog juice into the town well.  When Jack despairs that he'll never be able to take off, the town despairs with him.  It's actually a little touching to see the disappointment evident on everyone's faces.  A little zombie child sheds a tear and cries dejectedly "There goes Christmas..."  It's as if the hopes and dreams of Reason itself have been crushed, and it makes me think that Reason, on some level, longs for a lasting union with Faith.  In a charming nod to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Jack penetrates the fog by having his ghostly dog companion, Zero, light his path with his glowing nose.

Jack, like a scientist going door to door with his newfound Faith, embarks on his quest.  He flies on a coffin sled pulled by skeletal reindeer, delivering ghastly toys to frightened girls and boys.  Needless to say, he does not understand Christmas, nor does he understand Faith.  Regardless of his good intentions, people around the globe are disturbed by his behavior.  So disturbed, in fact, that they mobilize the military to stop him.  This is similar to what happens if you run about, willy nilly, trying to externally influence other people with your faith.  The nature of Faith is that it is not something that can be forced on someone.  It's something that only you can experience for yourself.  As explained earlier in the Town Meeting scene, Faith is essentially incommunicable.  To top it all off, if you force Faith on someone, it's only going to sour that person's view of Faith.

As Jack joyously (and unwittingly) ransacks Faith, Sally voices her concerns in one of the very best songs of the film.

6. Sally sings about the internal rift inside Reason, lamenting that she (Moderate Thomastic) and Jack (Radical Empiricist) do not have a more defined relationship with regards to Faith.

The subtle love story between Jack and Sally is central to our philosophical concerns.  It illustrates both the relationship between Faith and Reason as well as the differing viewpoints within Reason itself.  Of the two, Sally is the more in touch with the reality of Faith.  She sings "I sense there's something in the wind that feels like tragedy's at hand."  Through unprovable, incommunicable knowledge provided by Faith, she knows that Jack's plan is flawed.  "And though I'd like to stand by him, can't shake this feeling that I have," she continues.  She clearly understands the good intent behind Jack's idea, and she feels that Faith and Reason need not oppose nor dominate one another.  "And does he notice my feelings for him? And will he see how much he means to me?  I think it's not to be."  Sally's tone is darkened with realism that could be confused for pessimism.  Jack is oblivious, just as Reason is oblivious to the concept of knowledge gained by un-Reasonable means, and Sally realizes that as much as she may long for the proper union of the two, Faith and Reason are separate.  Though they should both attempt to understand each other, they can never be one.

Sally also points out that Jack's plan does the most harm to Faith itself.  "Where will his actions lead us then?" she ponders.  If he exposes the world to a flawed and disingenuous version of Faith, the world will inevitably reject it.  Much the same as people of Faith attempt to live godly and worthwhile lives to lead by example, Sally believes that Faith should be tempered with Reason in a way that takes the real elusive nature of Faith into account, not one in which Faith is made to be something it is not.

Meanwhile, Jack is carrying out his plan with fiendish efficiency.  Nothing lasts forever, though, and the aforementioned military is galvanized to shoot him out of the sky.  At first, Jack is (again) oblivious, thinking that the search lights and explosions burning up the atmosphere are the people of the world celebrating, thanking him for doing such a good job at handling Faith.  His illusion is cut short when the sled is pierced by a freaking howitzer shell, and he, Zero, undead reindeer and all go plummeting to the earth.  Those in Halloween Town see this from afar and assume the worst.  Jack is declared dead, his plan failed.  Despair grips the land of Reason, and Oogie Boogie still has Santa, the only one who can fix this, captive.  Sally takes it upon herself to rescue the avatar of Faith, but her mission fails, and she too falls prey to the Boogie Man.

It's around this time that we see Jack at his absolute lowest.  His moroseness doesn't last for long, though, because it isn't in Jack's nature to be moderate.  He is an extreme, obsessive, and ultimately optimistic factor.  Once he gets a good idea into his head, he won't be down for long, as the below video will make clear.

7. Jack laments the failure of his plan when he realizes how negatively people have reacted to having Faith forced on them.  But, ever the symbol of Reason, when he examines his methods in retrospect, he excitedly begins thinking of how he could do better next time.

This scene is among the most powerful and rich in the entire film.  It contains not only the turning point of Jack's thoughts on Christmas, but also an instance of thesis-antithesis-synthesis.  This is when two differing, usually extreme viewpoints clash, hence the thesis and the anti-thesis.  The synthesis occurs when something or someone happens to reconcile the two points in a compromise that ultimately turns out to be the correct viewpoint.  When people on two different sides believe something very, very strongly, there is usually some amount of truth in what they believe.  Why then, if they both have a measure of truth, should they conflict with one another?  According to the Islamic philosopher Averroes, truth cannot conflict with truth.  This is called the Double Truth Theory.  If Jack was correct in wanting to understand Faith better, and, as his recent misfortune has made clear, Sally was correct in warning him to not subject Faith to Reason, then the correctness of both Jack and Sally needn't be in conflict but rather working towards the same goal.

To put it another way, let's examine the scene itself.  The imagery alone is poetic enough to convey a deep regret and sorrow on Jack's part.  He has fallen from the sky to land in the arms of an angel, a representative of Faith itself.  Like a believing scientist who begs God in prayer to make clear the answers, so he comes to this angel.  Also, observe what is left of his cloths, the tattered remnants of his Santa Claus suit.  He is now in a state of flux, a crisis of identity.  Is he Jack, the Pumpkin King of Reason?  Or is he Jack, the Santa Claus, avatar of Faith?  "What have I done?  What have I done? ...Why all I ever wanted was to bring them something great!  Why does nothing ever turn out like it should?" he moans as he surveys the destruction his plans have wrought.  His intentions were good; he wanted to touch something ideal, something more than this mere world of the senses, and he wanted to share the goodness he found.  There was nothing wrong with this, but clearly his methods ended with a most undesirable result.  His thesis was partly correct, but so was the anti-thesis.

So what of the synthesis? The mood changes when Jack begins to examine his plan more closely through retrospect.  "I never intended all this madness, and no one really understood. Well, how could they?"  He realizes that in dealing solely through means of Reason (the Townspeople Forms of Reason), he was doomed from the start.  He was working completely out of his element.  In fact, it was amazing he even got as far as he did.  Suddenly, he comprehends the synthesis.  By discovering the limits of Reason, he has a better understanding of what Reason can do.  In learning what NOT to do, he has come one step closer to learning what he SHOULD do.  This wasn't a failure, but a learning experience!  He joyously casts aside the torn visage of Faith to embrace his true identity, Jack, the King of Reason.  It isn't that he dismisses Faith completely, but rather that he knows now to play to his strengths.  "For the first time since I don't remember when, I felt just like my old boney self again!"  Jack has found a sort of Greek fulfillment in finding his virtue and sticking to it.  "And I just can't wait until next Halloween, 'cause I've got some new ideas that'll really make them scream!"  Jack knows now that in this teleological universe, his place is to work towards truth via Reason, and that doesn't mean he can't have a great appreciation for Faith too.  Both Faith and Reason are doors towards truth, and both should be embraced, in their due respective time, by each individual.  His road to truth has been set beneath his feet, and he resolves to walk it to the end.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear.  He has made a mess of things, but the act of making the mess has given him clarity of thought.  Now that the grand experiment is over, he must restore the status quo.  This can be done by returning Santa Claus to his rightful place, but where is he now?  The ones to kidnap Santa Claus were the minions of Oogie-Boogie, so surely Santa is there at the Boogie Man's lair.  With determination in his eye sockets, Jack storms back to Halloween Town to set things right.

At this point, I would show you a clip of the final confrontation between Jack and Oogie Boogie, but my searches bore little fruit, so I'll quickly describe.

Jack shows up, returning from the grave as far as the Halloween citizens are concerned, demanding that Oogie-Boogie relinquish Santa.  Oogie seems afraid, but we quickly learn it is a ruse.  Oogie-Boogie flips a switch, and suddenly his entire lair comes alive with mechanical precision to stop Jack from saving Christmas.  Finally, Jack exposes Oogie for what he is, nothing but a fraud of an idea, a parody of a living thing, a sack full of bugs.  "How dare you treat my friends so shamefully!" Jack shouts in anger. Whether Jack is referring to Sally and Santa or the countless enslaved bugs is unclear, but either way, it is a philosophical statement (which I will leave for you to work out =P).

8.  All's well that ends well.  Jack is now secure in his identity as a man of Reason, but with a greater comprehension of the legitimate relationship between Faith and Reason.  Snow, an alien symbol of Christmas (and therefore, Faith), begins to fall in Halloween Town.  Faith and Reason, in discovering their boundaries, are brought closer together than ever before.

Oogie Boogie is vanquished, Santa is freed to save Christmas, and Jack returns with Sally to the now overjoyed Townsfolk.  As Santa flies overhead, he shouts "Happy Halloween!" as a courtesy, to which Jack replies "Merry Christmas!"  It's almost a statement that says the two understand each other now.  Snow begins to fall in Halloween Town, much to the wonderment of the Townsfolk.  Just as Jack experienced Faith, so too do the Townsfolk each discover the value of Faith. The picture is almost one of the individual on a grand scale.  Because Jack, the King of Reason, has found harmony with Faith, so too is Reason itself affected.

And so it is that we end on one of the most uplifting scenes of the film, Jack's realization that he loves Sally, just as she has loved him this whole time.  The love between them always seemed a bit forced to me, almost unbelievable, but when viewed in a philosophical light, it makes much more sense.  The two differing viewpoints inside reason, the thesis and the anti-thesis, have found synthesis at long last.  And just as our gaze lifts up towards the stars in the final shot, so too does that blessed synthesis, that vehicle for truth, lift us up and away from the limited world of the senses to see something greater, something that only could have found through both Faith and Reason.

I love this movie, if you couldn't tell. =D

I hope I've given you all something new to think about.  Whether you are of Reason and don't yet understand what it is to have Faith, or a person of Faith who feels satisfied without Reason, Christmas is a time to come together.  This Christmas, let yourself believe in something, or allow yourself to ask those really big questions.  Searching for truth, whether through means of Faith or Reason, is never a wasted effort.

Merry Christmas and Happy Halloween to you all!

Maybe I'll do the Grinch next year...

Faith and Reason in Halloween Town Part 2

If you haven't read my previous post regarding this topic, the following post might not make much sense.  But, just like a lost student in the wrong classroom on the first day of school, you should stick around.  You just might learn something you'd have never thought about otherwise.

When we last left Jack, he was brooding over the mysteries of Christmas (which we had previously examined as being symbolically representative of the ambiguities of knowledge via Faith), and Sally received a premonition of sorts, leading to her to believe that Jack's Christmas won't be as jolly as he thinks.  After paying a visit to Halloween Town's resident scientist, Dr. Finkelstein, Jack procures the necessary tools for examining the specimens he brought back from Christmas Town.  When testing the conductivity of candy canes and the dissecting of teddy bears fails to shed any light on the matter, Jack paces in his tower, pondering the mystery of the physical representations of Christmas/Faith.  The following video is one of the most important to this discussion because it doesn't take very much effort to imagine any philosopher or scientist agonizing in much the same way Jack is.

4. In the song "Jack's Obsession", we witness firsthand Jack's (what else?) obsession.  His research into the empirical aspects of Faith prove fruitless until Jack reaches an extreme interpretation of Faith being made manifest in the actions of the individual.

The texts Jack has studied regarding Faith all lead him in circles.  As an empirical scientist may be when reading the Bible, Jack is unable to understand the ultimate meaning behind the words because the words are all he sees, and thusly, they are all he is able to believe.  This scene is rich with philosophical symbolism.  The house of cards Jack is attempting to build is an excellent analogy of philosophy itself.  The individual cards represent the basic principles, or axioms, that we ironically have to accept on Faith in order to build up our understanding of the world.  Without first assuming a few axioms, all human activity becomes paralyzed.  For example, the computer you're using is a complex system.  If you're reading this, the computer in question can access the internet.  It can pluck dancing lines of code from the digital ethernet and interpret it as legible text.  This computer is a useful tool, but in using this, you are operation on the assumption that this computer exists at all.  This implies that one of your axioms is belief in the existence of computers.  Now, if you went to the other side of the spectrum and suddenly became a skeptic about the existence of all computers, you would have good reasons to do so, but again, you are operating on an axiom, this time a belief of the non-existence of computers.  Whether or not you believe computers exist, you are still assuming an axiom.  Jack has built up a complex house of cards, a complicated series of fundamental axioms, but since his paradigm is that of the radical empiricist, his house of cards cannot support the weight of an axiom of Faith.

Up until this point, Jack has been scrutinizing things external of himself, but it suddenly occurs to him that it isn't these physical objects that are important.  Faith has no bearing on material matter; it is only of any significance to sentient beings capable of doubt and belief.  If Faith is to manifest itself physically, it can only do so in the actions of the individual, and this is what most profoundly strikes Jack.  Faith is like a seed that grows into a tree, but only if the potential inside the seed is actualized.  Ecstatic at this epiphany, Jack leaps to the conclusion that if Christmas/Faith is to be made real as he believes it must be, he has to make it a reality in himself and others.  His empiricist outlook evolves somewhat when we take a closer look at the words he sings: "It's simply really, very clear, like music drifting in the air, invisible, but everywhere.  Just because I cannot see it doesn't mean I can't believe it!" He has made a huge step towards a more rational, moderate outlook by admitting that something can exist without having physical form.  Jack still believes that for Faith to be really real, it should be made manifest in the actions of people, but he has firmly grasped the concept of an intangible, rational force that can legitimately exist outside the scope of his senses.

Unfortunately, Jack doesn't stop there.  At first his thoughts are that everyone should experience some degree of Faith, as he has.  But Jack, extremist that he is, takes it too far.  He assumes that if Faith can become physical in any sense, it can be improved by means of Reason.  If Faith, by its very nature is such that it doesn't build upon itself as Reason does, then Jack believes it should be made to build.  Feeling in his heart that he is doing the right thing, he proclaims to the citizens of Halloween Town that Christmas will be theirs this year, and that Faith will be embraced and perfected by Reason.  His argument is logical by Reason's standards, so the townsfolk eagerly agree to help him in his scheme.

This is where things might get a wee bit complicated.

If the nature of Faith is such that it will build upon itself without external influence, than Faith must be subdued by Reason.  This is shown in the symbolic kidnapping of Santa Claus, the task of which forces  Jack to call upon the services of Hallween's finest trick-or-treaters, Lock, Shock and Barrel, all of whom are associated with the darker figure in Halloween Town, Oogie-Boogie the Boogie Man.  Jack trusts the three devils with the task of capturing St. Nick, but they have their own plans, all revolving around the ambition of their master.  Santa is abducted from Christmas Town, and Lock and company take him to Oogie-Boogie's lair.

5.  Santa Claus falls into the clutches of Oogie-Boogie, the collective incarnation of Reason that refuses to acknowledge Faith.

Oogie-Boogie is a gambling Boogie Man.  He represents a side of Reason that puts more stock in chance than anything else.  It is completely Faithless, selfish, immoral and unwilling to even open itself to the idea of something greater than itself.  In other words, his view of the universe is completely the opposite of a teleological one, a universe of chaos and disorder. We later learn that Oogie-Boogie is actually a collective of insects given shape and form by the sack he wears as skin.  Without these insects, he is helpless and without form.  This weakness represents the fact that a chaotic view of the universe is made strong only by the sheer number of people it attracts and/or by the evils of the world that point to a less ordered universe.  Many brilliant thinkers throughout history have not thought existence was merely the product of chance.  Plato's Demiurge and Aristotle's Unmoved Mover are examples of a counter to Boogie's position.  Though the existence of a creator figure cannot be proven (hence the necessity of Faith), it is still more logically probable than an incredibly complex reality coming about purely by chance.  Oogie-Boogie also mocks Santa/Faith repeatedly, implying that he believes Faith is not a necessity nor a reality.  He is radically empirical, as Jack is, but he is different in that he internally resolves to never accept any force greater than himself or chance.

Notice also a lyrical similarity between Jack and Ooogie-Boogie in the mention of "music in the air."  Earlier, Jack described Faith as being "-like music drifting in the air, invisible but everywhere."  Oogie-Boogie says that to him, "-the sound of rolling dice is music in the air."  Where Jack sees Faith as being an intangible yet omnipresent force, Oogie-Boogie differs in offering that if there is any room for Faith in his worldview, it is only enough for Faith in the sound of rolling dice, Faith in the forces of chance.

While Oogie-Boogie schemes against Jack and plays host to the captive Santa Claus, the Halloween townsfolk are hard at work.  The townsfolk labor hard to make Faith a physical reality, but as good as their intentions are, they are also misguided.  As they work, they chant "Making Christmas, Making Christmas".  They think that Faith is something than can be manufactured by their labor, not something that they need to embrace and actualize.  Jack notices this, but knowing that the townsfolk cannot truly understand Faith as he does (remember that the townsfolk represent the Forms of Reason itself), he does not berate them.

As the work proceeds and Christmas draws nearer, Sally grows more concerned about Jack's plan.  When Jack begins giving out work assignments, he asks Sally to make him a Santa Claus suit so that he may embody Faith through his physical appearance as well as his actions.  Again, the intention is good, but the action is a misguided one.  When Sally makes that point to Jack, he remains oblivious, still obsessed with his idea of making Faith a reality and showing it to everyone.  Sally, though increasingly desperate to convince Jack of his folly, concedes and makes him the suit.

We should ask ourselves "why is Sally so desperate to stop Jack?"  Isn't Jack's raw intention good?  All he wants is to share the wonderful feeling of experiencing Faith.  To make the point more clear, suppose that an idea suddenly occurred to you.  It is not originally yours, but this idea is so incredible and revolutionary that you believe everyone needs to at least hear it.  Suppose also that you believed you could make improvements to the original idea.  Wouldn't you want to share it?  It's exactly the same with Jack.  He's stumbled upon something he believes is very important and he wants to share it with everyone.  Sally is not in conflict with him on this.  Since her premonition was also an experience of Faith (the vision gave her knowledge that she knows without knowing), she knows what he is talking about.  Where she has issue with him is his belief that he can improve Faith by means of Reason.

But wait.  If both Jack and Sally had experiences of Faith, why are they in conflict?  How can two people see truth and not agree on it?  The answer is that they are not truly in conflict because of Faith.  If Faith imparts truth and Reason discerns truth through logic, are they not both true?  Truth cannot conflict with truth because all truth comes from the same source.  The real conflict, then, comes from differing interpretations of the truth.  Jack has seen truth and believes he can improve the means by which this truth is acquired (via Faith).  Sally has also seen truth and realizes that Faith, since it is independent of Reason, cannot be improved.  It simply is.

So far, we have three viewpoints regarding Faith:  Jack says that Faith is to be pursued wholeheartedly and subject to Reason.  Sally believes that Faith and Reason are separately existing spheres (not unlike Thomas Aquinas), different methods to perceive the truth that should not conflict with one another.  And finally, Oogie-Boogie states that Faith is irrelevant because the universe is guided purely by chance, and that the only truth worth finding is the truth we make for ourselves.

Which of these views will ultimately be proven correct?  Will Jack's plan to subdue Faith succeed?  Will Faith and Reason finally find a lasting compromise?  Find out next time when the Idiot posts the final chapter in this philosophical saga!

Faith and Reason in Halloween Town Part 1

Halloween has come and gone, but before it went, I ended up watching Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas three times this year, twice as a film and once as a live stage opera.  I loved the story already, and by this point, Halloween is buzzing in my skull.  Will it let me be?  I cannot tell.

Maybe it's because I was reading Saint Augustine, but a few thoughts occurred to me over my recent viewings of the holiday classic, and I thought I'd share them here.  They led me to a frankly fascinating thesis:  Nightmare Before Christmas is an allegorical explanation of the interactions between Faith and Reason.  It seems a bit far fetched,  but if you keep reading (and if you are familiar at all with the story of Jack Skellington), you just might see what I mean.

I begin by proposing that Halloween Town represents Reason and that Christmas Town represents Faith, and I provide my reasons for thinking so with the following observations.  In Halloween Town, there is an increased propensity amongst the populace to be scientific.  Dr. Finkelstein, Sally's creator, is a bonafide scientist, and owns an entire laboratory complete with advanced scientific equipment.  Sally herself is incredibly adept at alchemy and potion making, which may be in and of itself a slightly outdated science, but is a science nonetheless.  We even see at one point that Jack reads a book simply entitled "The Scientific Method"shortly before conducting a series of experiments.  If you think of the remaining citizens as representations of the Form of Reason, rather than the Form of Halloweeny-Scariness, replacing terms like "scary" with "empirically provable", scenes like Town Meeting make much more sense.  Another fun comparison to make would be that of the Greeks (Reason) and their initial attempts to understand the alien ideas of the early Christian church (Faith).  For a time, the analytical Greeks were at odds with the significantly less analytical Christians.  Just as the logic of the Greeks prevented them from fully comprehending the Christians, the inability of the Halloween folk to grasp the concept of Christmas (Faith) is understandable, considering that they are capable of thinking only in terms of Halloween (Reason).  The main point I make here is that the denizens of Halloween Town only put stock in that which can be empirically proven and disproven.

Christmas Town is a bit trickier to explain, as we see significantly less of it than we do of Halloween Town, and as such, there are fewer examples to be cited.  The only real evidence I can provide is Christmas Town's effect on the character of Jack Skellington.

The best explanation involves a bit of storytelling.  The story opens on the citizens of Halloween Town celebrating (what else?) Halloween, and Jack Skellington, the terrifying Pumpkin King has "-grown so weary of the sound of screams."  He sneaks away from the celebrations to privately express his dissatisfaction with Halloween (or rather a dissatisfaction with radical monism rooted in empiricism). Go ahead and watch the video below, and try to bear in mind the idea of Halloween Town representing Reason.

1.  Jack, the Paragon of Reason, begins to realize that as comprehensive as Reason is, it cannot provide answers to every question.  After a long life of radical empiricism, he begins to long for something more (Faith)

What follows is that Jack, driven by his enigmatic need, wanders aimlessly through the woods, not unlike Dante, who "-went astray from the straight road and woke to find [himself] alone in a dark wood."  The morning after Halloween, Jack passes beyond the boundaries of the Halloween Town he knows, and stumbles upon something peculiar, a door in a tree, bearing the symbol of a Christmas tree.  Whether by accident or some external influence, Jack gets sucked into the door and finds himself transported to a place completely and utterly alien to him.  He comes to know the place by the name of Christmas Town.  Please watch the video below.  Imagine that Jack, a radical empiricist, is encountering something that defies everything his senses tell him, comparable perhaps to a divine revelation of sorts.

2.  Jack experiences something beyond the senses, unable prove or disprove the intangible aura of Faith, but despite this, he is possessed by the obsession to bring the mysterious Faith under the heel of Reason. Little does he know that doing so will not have the desired effect.

You may have noticed by now that Jack is not one to do things by halves.  He's either exuberant or exhausted, happy or sad, almost bipolar.  This is indicative of what he symbolically represents, which is obsessive, radical belief, an ironically faith-like attribute.  He is confident that all the rules of logic can be applied to something like Faith, and with this in mind, he triumphantly returns to Halloween Town, collected specimens in his boney hands.  With more excitement and vigor than he can recall ever feeling, Jack calls for a town meeting to discuss the concept of Christmas and its possible impact on the citizens of Halloween.

3.  Jack's attempts to convey his recent experience with Faith to the townspeople partly fails.  Though the people understand Faith in a purely logical sense, they cannot know what it is in particular what Jack feels.  In the end, Jack must settle for stirring their interest by making Faith sound appealing in a logical, Reason based way.

When Jack returns to explain his experience of Christmas/Faith, he finds that the task is impossible.  He can no more make them understand than he can tell a blind person what a sunset looks like.  This is because Faith is relevant in particular to the individual.  Faith is not something that can be taught, as Jack learns.  To make the point more clearly, imagine talking on the phone with a friend.  Your friend is eating some exotic dish that you've never even heard of.  Having never tasted this food, you have no idea what the experience is like.  Your friend could explain the taste and texture of the food, and this might help refine your conceptions, but no matter how specific the details, the friend's description will not make you realize what the experience of eating this exotic dish is like.

The sometimes incongruent natures of Faith and Reason clash in this scene, particularly in the case of the packaged present Jack displays on the stage.  It isn't difficult to imagine that the present represents the ambiguity of Faith.  It represents the concept of knowledge that can be known without knowing.  Most would describe Faith as being something you learn without the aid of the senses (perhaps through divine revelation[?]) that you know beyond all shadow of doubt.  The individual in question, for example, may know for certain that there is a God, but this knowledge cannot be truly communicated or proven by any reasonable means, and as such, this knowledge is only of use to the individual.  How can people who think strictly in terms of Reason be expected to understand knowledge that cannot be communicated?  How can empiricists be expected to believe that there is a limit to the scope of their Reason?  So it is with the Halloween Townsfolk.  When his attempt to convey the experience of Faith fails, Jack resorts to translating the notion of Faith in terms they can understand.  This excites the townsfolk and sparks an interest in Faith, but Jack sighs that "-at least they're excited, but they don't understand that special kind of feeling in Christmas Land...oh well..."

The relationship between Jack and Sally bears some exposition here, as it is loaded with delicious symbolism.  Sally sympathizes with Jack's emptiness prior to his experience in Christmas Town, and she harbors deep feelings for him that have thus far gone unspoken.  Because of the circumstances regarding her possessive creator, Dr. Finkelstein, she cannot be open with her affections.  One night, after sending Jack an anonymous token of her love, Sally has an unexplained vision that gives her Faith in the error of Jack's thinking, that is to say that she knows without knowing that Jack's thinking will end badly.

She sees a Christmas tree, complete with glistening decorations, burst into flames.  The destruction of the tree, obviously representing the destruction of Christmas and therefore Faith, does not necessarily mean that Christmas and Faith are futile and unworthy of our interest.  It merely means that trying to interpret Faith with Reason is ultimately useless, as we will see later.  While Jack becomes obsessed with trying to solve the riddle of Faith by scientific means, Sally quietly contemplates whether or not what Jack is doing is right. Where Jack represents radical, obsessive Reason that feels the need to explain everything in logical terms, Sally represents a moderate Reason that knows its place in relation to Faith. Despite the curiosity she has in common with Jack, she realizes that Reason does not rule Faith, nor does Faith rule Reason.  The two have a legitimate relationship, but she hopes that the boundaries will be carefully observed.

You know what?  This has turned into a LONG blog post.  Nobody likes reading LONG blog posts, so I'm gonna stop here, but I will continue explaining my thesis in another post soon.

What's going to happen?  Will Jack's experiments and study into Christmas/Faith bear fruit?  Will Faith be understood by Reason, or will Jack's good intentions shake the foundations of Halloween Town?  Stay tuned, and even if you already know the answers, you just might learn something new next time!