As I continue to reflect on my most recent mountain sojourn, I think about a marmot whom I saw outside our camp one morning.  Incredibly cute (and quite fat, the result of its summer long quest to pack as much food into itself as it can before the winter snows come), this marmot is synonymous with high altitude mountain elevations.  Although I wanted to protect our food from this particular marmot, I also wanted to enjoy watching it scurry about, digging into the tundra to find yet another tidbit to add to its stash.

     And I did.  Ever alert, the marmot darted in and out of various bushes and rocks dotting the treeless landscape, looking--and finding--what it needed.  How wonderful, how amazing, I thought, that we have land set aside for this little creature to pursue its destiny.  Equally amazing is that we live in a world of such finely tuned balance, that, absent undue human intervention, the animals of the high mountains can live in harmony with each other and the land.  It's a beautiful picture of unanimity and grace.
     Even if the world does function according to the survival of the fittest, I'm nonetheless hard pressed to appreciate it without framing my appreciation in the fact of a God.  A God who, I might add, can only be grounded in love.
     After all, in a world bent on survival, how else could love be?
     By the way, I depart tomorrow to attend a conference, so will not be posting for a week or so.  Thanks for reading!
     

     One thing about which I thought as I voyaged through some of the wilderness areas of the West was that today, July 27, marked the first anniversary of what would become a seven month journey through various permutations of bone fracture, surgery, healing, surgery again, to today, as I continue to celebrate, with tremendous gratitude and joy, my unfettered mobility.  It's been quite a ride.

     Did I want to fracture my femur?  Of course not.  Am I happy I did?  Not really.  On the other hand, as I reflect on my lengthy trek through the corridors of the medical profession, I am thankful for the people I met along the way, the wonder of modern medicine (and the enormous privilege of being able to avail myself of it)  and the  that my lifestyle change opened new windows into what it means to be human.

     We are mighty and amazing, yes, but we are also dust, dust that, at any time, can blow away and vanish forever.  We live in such liminality, such narrow margins between here and not.  As I hiked through the mountains, as I took in the plethora of alpine splendor before me, I was reminded, once more, of this stark juxtaposition:  such a glorious world, yet such a gloriously short time in it.
     I'm grateful for transcendence.

     At last night's atheist discussion group, we watched a video of a debate between A. C. Grayling, a British philosopher of considerable renown in the fields of logic, and Daniel Rowe, a rabbi of long standing note and whose graduate studies included work in the philosophy of mathematics.  It was an interesting meeting of viewpoints.
     Given his speciality of logic, Grayling (the atheist) made his case by pointing out the irrationality of God's existence.  Just because the universe exists and therefore has a cause, he said, this does not mean that this cause must be God.
     Fair enough.  However, as Rowe pointed out, given, as his work in mathematics has led him to believe, the impossibility of an actual infinite (to be distinguished from the factual concept of infinity) or, as he put it, "an endless extension" (per Descartes), we cannot legitimately conclude that anything other than an uncaused presence caused the universe to come into being.  Despite the arguments of Lawrence Kraus (see his book A Universe from Nothing), something cannot come out of nothing.
     Maybe so, responded my counterparts in the discussion group, but cannot we just as easily say that, at this time, we still do not know how the universe began?
     We certainly.  But we will always bump into the same problem:  what caused the cause?  It's an issue of infinite regress.  Although I'm willing to accept a degree of agnosticism as to origins, I will at the same time contend that whatever explanation we may eventually find will be fraught with ambiguity.  Either way, we will stumble into that which we cannot understand.

a view from Silver Pass, one of the divides we will cross

     Granted, I cannot explain where God "comes" from, and it is indeed facile to simply use God as a solution because we cannot identify any others.  On the other hand, are we citing originative ignorance because even though we claim to be open all possibilities we cannot bring ourselves to admit that the answer might be God?  Or are we genuinely striving to find the most rational solution?
     By the way, I will once again be traveling in the West for another week or so, this time to do a backpack with my siblings, something we have not done in many, many years.  It should be fun.  Thanks for reading!

     Yes!  Despite its many malfunctions, the world really is a good place; and despite their many shortcomings, human beings really are good creatures.  I speak of the recently effected--and internationally observed--rescue of the boys soccer team from a cave deep in the underground warrens of Thailand.  It is a stunning testimonial to the care that humans can have for one another:  people literally traveled from all over the world to help.
     And their efforts were successful, very successful:  everyone who was trapped got out. As the Thai SEALs Facebook page noted, "We are not sure if this is a miracle, or science, or what, [but] all the 13 Wild Boars are now out of the cave."
     Indeed.  Regardless of what forces or agencies that we choose to laud for this remarkable achievement, we can all rejoice.  Life, and God, are good.

     Shortly before I left for my most recent wilderness sojourn, we helped one of our neighbors celebrate her ninetieth birthday.  It was quite a moment.  After all, not all of us will see that milestone.  My wife and I hosted a dinner in her honor, a dinner of remembrance, reflection, and rejoicing.  Even at 90, Vera remains sharp, physically as well as mentally.  She still mows her own lawn, does her own yard work, can tell you all about the doings of her beloved Chicago Cubs.  Not much escapes her.
     Of course, Vera does not have as much energy as she had twenty five years ago, when we met her, but her spirit is indomitable.  And in a world which, she and we both believe, is but a thin skein between the material and supernatural, it is the spirit, it seems, that is key to who we most are.  Now there is spirit, and there is Spirit.  If not for the latter, the former would not be; and if not for the former, the latter would be no more than a wisp of wind.

     I am thankful for Vera, I am thankful for the fact of existence.  And I am thankful for the meaningfulness of spirit.  Yet I am even more thankful for the Spirit, the God, from which all spirit comes.  We would indeed be nothing; we would not even be Sartre's description of humanity as a "useless passion," without it.
     Do we really wish to be nothing?
     Happy birthday, Vera!

Electric Peak, one of the many summits to find

     Back from the West, I sit in the confines of my Midwestern home, longing for the wonder I left behind.  I'd like to be back there, to be back in the heights, to be back in the marvel of mountain peaks.  For over a week, I adventured, trekking through any number of meadows, gazing at many a lake, taking in the view from a lofty peak.  It's all very amazing.  And gratifying.  It's gratifying to know such things exist, it's amazing to understand that materiality can yield such astonishment and majesty.
     So little do we know, yet how much we do, riding the waves of the trails, catching the foam of the quotidian, cruising across the scope of our human imagination.  Our hearts leap, our minds are struck:  each day, we hope, we see more than we saw before.
     And that, it seems to be me, is what we should ultimately wish.  In a necessarily meaningful world, a world intentioned and occasioned by God, this is really all we ought to do, all, in fact, we can do:  we would never see more if nothingness had always been.