Symbols of Purity

My mom used baking soda for some cooking yesterday, and the bag was left on the kitchen island. Looking at the logo, I chuckled again at the statement made by the "Arm & Hammer" slogan: "[This is] the standard of purity."

My first reaction to this is always a smirk at the "manliness" factor, and wonder if a brute stereotype for masculinity is being labeled as "pure." I was joking about the traditional symbol of purity, the lily, pitted against a dude with a mallet, when something struck me (not for the first time, come to think of it).

Joseph was a carpenter.

Unwittingly, the baking soda folks have got it right. Perhaps the idea is that the mechanical use of a hammer is more pure than the assistance of machines, maybe they want you to think of such rawness with regard to the soda because of such a branding; but however true these notions are, the message becomes exponential when applied to the saintly craftsman of the Holy Family. Here was a man pure in every sense of the word, in his labor, in his faith, in his chastity.

So for guys who consider a lily too feminine, an arm and hammer (or carpentering tools of some sort) can indeed serve as the masculine variety. This is not to say the lily is weak, nor that the hammer or saw must be toilsome. As symbols, the analogy is what matters. And here are two symbols for the perfectly pure parents of Christ: the flower of Mary and the tools of Joseph.

It would be awesome if the latter became officially recognized as such.

Wanderings of the Open Mind (or I Don't Have Any Good Tags For This)

Weak understanding is a poisonous thing.

Whenever I try to discuss a subject with somebody of a different mindset, I come away feeling defeated. Not because I lost or was proven wrong, but because I know I inadequately argued my views, which led to an anticlimactic end to the topic as a mutual act of leaving the tug-of-war rope draped haphazardly over the mud pit.

I often find myself musing over the matter for ages afterward, trying to understand both the argument and the truth of the subject in question. On one hand, there's the constant obstacle of articulation, a shortcoming of my mind to give form to a complex issue outside of my head, no matter how thoroughly understood it may be (or have been thought out in the past) on the inside. But there's more than that. The other hand holds my stripping the issue down, trying to probe it from an assumptionless angle to find why what I always held as true is really the truth and how it might be recognized from the opposing side. Eventually I question the truth of my own beliefs, because I look so long and hard through the other person's lens.

I've always come back to my knowledge of the truth, usually through the help of discussion with peers such as S.Cobbler. When my own grappling with a question leads to uncertainty, a sure course of action is to pose it bluntly to another and get a lecture. I then return to the understanding I had beforehand, reassured and affirmed in my knowledge, which may be deeper or stronger than before.

This path has struck me as somewhat dangerous, perhaps humiliating or revelatory of my own intellectual instability. Any way I cut it, it has a bothersome element to it. But when I look at my comebacks, my ability to perceive the truth in the end when it is re-presented to me, I know the problem isn't my smarts. In fact, I credit no deficiency for my forays into confusion and uncertainty; rather, I blame what is most properly a virtue on my part. In a natural effort to avoid dismissal of the other side, I try to understand why they don't see my point. Empathetically, you could say, I put myself in their shoes because I want them to fit mine.

Virtues can be excessive, and I don't doubt that is to fault when I lose my way in these situations. I become like my opponents, to a point, rejecting what they would reject, following their prerogatives for finding the truth. Yet I know something inside that screams I---they---are missing a key point, but it often takes a friend to uncover it for me at that stage. I never truly stop believing what I held true, but I can't figure it out from the perspective of the other person. That, of course, is why they hold a different opinion, why they fail to grasp my argument, why I cannot make my belief acceptable to them.

I have felt, in a childlike foolishness, that the truth should be visible---to the point of being obvious---to everyone. The fact that one man can see it means others should be just as capable. If the truth is there, logical and understandable, one should recognize it as the truth, right? And yet some people can have the truth staring them in the face and they completely disregard it. Maddening as this is, I must realize it is not my fault. Yes, I could do a better job of explaining things at times, but ultimately the choice is theirs, whether or not to believe anything. It would be machinelike to always follow the path of the most truth. It would mean no free will.

Granted, it stings to find good arguments after the discussion is over. That fuller, renewed grasp of the subject makes me wish I could challenge my opponent anew, to start the debate from the beginning. Whatever tools I was missing before would at the very least let my points be complete and well-defended, so I would not feel that defeat of inadequacy when they remained unconvinced. At most, I could say what I should have said before had my approach or articulation not failed me, squashing the rebuttals that are obviously flawed, putting them down as easily as I should have. Alas, my best arguments are not won in the presence of others, for better or worse.

I'm not dumb. I just tend to lose my grip on my sword because I face my opponents without gloves. Sure, it's a lack of armor; but with gloves I couldn't feel the warmth of their hands when I shake them. The cons: I am more vulnerable and less effective in my duels. The pros: I can be certain that I'm not the "closed-minded" party; I can honestly say "yes" to those who ask if I've ever really stepped back and thought about my beliefs. I have more than they could realize.