Scott wrote: ↑February 27th, 2021, 9:37 pm
Those possibly equivocal words could mean the same as each other when other people besides me use those words. But not how I use them.
Generally, all words are very equivocal, but to remain logical we must be careful to avoid a fallacy of equivocation, especially when interpreting each other's words.
What I would call laziness is not at all compatible with what I would call spiritual freedom.
I use the terms self-discipline and spiritual freedom interchangeably to refer to the exact same thing. So if you are reading any of my words and aren't sure you are getting my intended meaning, please switch out "spiritual freedom" with "self-discipline", and see if that fits better to understand my intended meaning in the given sentence.
Sorry for any prior confusion about what I meant by what I wrote, and I hope this clarification is helpful!
The cloistered nun speaks to other humans only one day out of the year. She passes her days in solitary prayer and meditation. Her prayers and meditations are crafted and influenced by the practice of others, many of whom were equally disciplined, who can guide her on her spiritual quest.
Now I have no idea what the "results" of her dedication might be. However, I admire her diligence, and think that if spiritual enlightenment is possible, she is more likely to achieve it than the dilletante who doesn't believe in "traditional spirituality".
Our language poet knows he can’t write sonnets as well as Shakespeare, or odes as well as Keats, or epics as well as Homer. Who can? It’s too hard. So he persuades himself that the kind of poetry he can write is the wave of the future.
Our personal spirituality lover knows he can’t give up everything he owns and become a saint, like Francis of Assisi. He knows he can’t meditate for months on end like a Buddhist monk. So he persuades himself that the spirituality he can practice is the wave of the future.
There is something both cowardly and noble about our heroes. It is cowardly to reject the past because it is threatening. The giants of the past are not only the windmills against which we tilt, but also the chargers we ride to the joust. It is sane to be in awe of giants, but cowardly to fear them. The hero, like Ozymandias of old, cries, “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”
Of course if our works are puny and pitiful (as they always are), it’s hard to work up much volume or enthusiasm on the Ozymandian shout. Most of our own works make us despair, not other people.
That is why the language poet and the seeker of spirituality are noble. Their works may be desperate bunk, but their hearts are in the right place. They may not be able to write poetry, or know God, but they have the souls of poets, the hearts of saints and the ambition of geniuses.
Of course every mailman, and every factory worker has the soul of a poet. For, even more important, each of us has the soul of a human being. What we don’t have is the ability to write poetry.
Every clerk, every waiter, and (even) every U.S. Senator has the spirituality of priest or shaman. For, more important, each of us has the spirituality of a human being. What we don’t have is the ability to talk to God, or see the future, or telepathically bend silverware. We have all “heard the mermaids singing, each to each,” but most of us are unable to understand the words, or remember the tune.
The world is a strange place. We all delude ourselves. We all believe many things which simply aren’t true. But one thing is true: we can see the wave of the future only by looking into the past. As with the waves of the sea, or the winds of the air, we know what’s coming only by knowing what has come. “There is nothing new under the sun…. All rivers floweth into the sea, and yet the sea is not full, for unto that place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.” So it is for the sea; so it is for the human soul.