Everyone has faith. No? Yes. Everyone, really. What about an atheist? An atheist has faith in place. In fact, we all do. Otherwise, we couldn’t run through our daily lives without anxiety at every turn.
Think about it. You are sitting right now. Your faith? The chair will continue to support you as will the floor. “Faith in a material object isn’t faith,” you respond, “it’s assumption.” But all assumption implies faith. You have faith that the designer of the chair could imagine a product that a builder could fashion without flaw, at least without a flaw that would jeopardize your safety. What about the faith you have in the stability of the third floor, the tenth, the sixty-second? And, don’t let me get started, the elevator! The elevator, it’s a box suspended by a cable high above a shaft. The plane, the train, an automobile, the elevator, the cantilevered overlook: these are all places that require some faith. Every conscious minute is enveloped by faith. “This place is safe,” so you enter, you stay, you even return.
Even when potential danger threatens, you seek shelter in both place and faith in place. Take an earthquake zone, such as southern California. Last big one, as of this writing, Northridge, when a blind fault shifted. Did everyone abandon Northridge? Nope. People still live there. People from outside Northridge even travel to work within its boundaries, the same boundaries that enclosed a zone of terrible shaking.
Will another earthquake shake Northridge. Yes. When? Those in the community have faith that it will not occur soon; but if it does occur, it will not affect them personally. That goes for believers and nonbelievers alike.
What about people who go on adventures, you know, the risk-takers, the extreme enthusiasts who rock climb, kayak over ten-foot rapids, or ski off precipices? Faith.
In the face of potential danger, they have faith that they are the lucky ones, that the goddess Fortuna looks on them with favor, that God will protect them, that forces of Nature cannot harm them, only hurt others.
And so the reasoning goes with those who stay in abusive relationships. “But this place is usually safe; I have faith that it will be so. That dangerous stuff happens only to others. The abuse was only a temporary shaking of the place.” Really? Think actual earthquake zones. The ground will shake again regardless of residents’ faith. Individuals will be hurt or killed, regardless of their faith. You can stay in Northridge and maybe, by chance, you will never feel the release of seismic energy. Maybe the ground won’t shake again until you are long gone, when it will affect others.
Here’s a message: We are all “others” in the eyes of others. There’s no guarantee of safety just because one has faith in place, faith that where you are poses no imminent risk to your health or life. You can stay in a danger zone. That’s a choice. Your faith in the goddess Fortuna, or in God, or in place might coincide with your safety. But if the earthquake zone is deep and under great pressure, you will eventually feel the shaking. Sometimes assuring safety means having faith in another place.
Think about it. You are sitting right now. Your faith? The chair will continue to support you as will the floor. “Faith in a material object isn’t faith,” you respond, “it’s assumption.” But all assumption implies faith. You have faith that the designer of the chair could imagine a product that a builder could fashion without flaw, at least without a flaw that would jeopardize your safety. What about the faith you have in the stability of the third floor, the tenth, the sixty-second? And, don’t let me get started, the elevator! The elevator, it’s a box suspended by a cable high above a shaft. The plane, the train, an automobile, the elevator, the cantilevered overlook: these are all places that require some faith. Every conscious minute is enveloped by faith. “This place is safe,” so you enter, you stay, you even return.
Even when potential danger threatens, you seek shelter in both place and faith in place. Take an earthquake zone, such as southern California. Last big one, as of this writing, Northridge, when a blind fault shifted. Did everyone abandon Northridge? Nope. People still live there. People from outside Northridge even travel to work within its boundaries, the same boundaries that enclosed a zone of terrible shaking.
Will another earthquake shake Northridge. Yes. When? Those in the community have faith that it will not occur soon; but if it does occur, it will not affect them personally. That goes for believers and nonbelievers alike.
What about people who go on adventures, you know, the risk-takers, the extreme enthusiasts who rock climb, kayak over ten-foot rapids, or ski off precipices? Faith.
In the face of potential danger, they have faith that they are the lucky ones, that the goddess Fortuna looks on them with favor, that God will protect them, that forces of Nature cannot harm them, only hurt others.
And so the reasoning goes with those who stay in abusive relationships. “But this place is usually safe; I have faith that it will be so. That dangerous stuff happens only to others. The abuse was only a temporary shaking of the place.” Really? Think actual earthquake zones. The ground will shake again regardless of residents’ faith. Individuals will be hurt or killed, regardless of their faith. You can stay in Northridge and maybe, by chance, you will never feel the release of seismic energy. Maybe the ground won’t shake again until you are long gone, when it will affect others.
Here’s a message: We are all “others” in the eyes of others. There’s no guarantee of safety just because one has faith in place, faith that where you are poses no imminent risk to your health or life. You can stay in a danger zone. That’s a choice. Your faith in the goddess Fortuna, or in God, or in place might coincide with your safety. But if the earthquake zone is deep and under great pressure, you will eventually feel the shaking. Sometimes assuring safety means having faith in another place.
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