The Benefit of the Doubt

They’re saying they’ve seen him, and I don’t know what to make of it.  They say he “appeared” to them out of nowhere, that he spoke to them and even broke bread with them.  What in the world?

I want to believe so badly.  You know I do, God.  I love him so much, and I want it all to be real.  I’ve seen him do amazing things, things I never thought possible and wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen with my own two eyes.

But dead is dead.

I can’t just blindly accept this.  It would be an insult to his memory to be fooled like this.  If this is real, you have to show me.  Please let it be true.  Oh God, let it be true.

The others are walking around like everything’s okay.  They think he’s going to finally do what we always thought he would do, this resurrected Jesus.  But I haven’t seen him, and I’m not going to dishonour his memory by following a delusional whim.

I refuse to make him a political martyr for the sake of another revolution.  He never wanted that.  He’s not just another dead revolutionary to be remade into what we want him to be.

He’s my friend.  He’s my friend and I miss him so much my heart is dying inside me. All I have inside is this aching emptiness, like I’ve been clamped open and forgotten on the operating table.  This sadness is hemorrhaging and I feel like I’m going to die from loss of blood. Please, God.  If any of this is real, show me.  I’ll kiss his wounds and wash his feet with my tears.  I’ll serve him with my very life.  But you have to show me.  Give me the benefit of this doubt.

Unedited Thoughts on Locke & Shepherd.

Well it's taken me six seasons to do it, but here we are. I'm writing a piece about Lost. I have jumped on the philosophical bandwagon and I'm throwing in my two cents.

We've entered the final season of Lost, and we're beginning to see some answers to mysteries that have been plaguing us since the first episode. I recently started watching season one again on DVD, and I've been reminded of why this is truly great television.

In particular, I've enjoyed meeting Jack Shepherd and John Locke for the first time. Both men arrive on the island, like every other character, in a place of desperation and brokenness. Locke, who has been paralyzed for four years, is feeling worthless and abandoned after being turned away from a walkabout because of his condition. Jack was on the plane with his dead father's casket, fresh out of a debilitating divorce, is going through a similar isolation.  Locke, miraculously, finds that he can walk again. Jack begins to see visions of his father.

As the show progresses, these two characters show themselves to be of seemingly opposing views. “Man of Science, Man of Faith” is the title of one episode. Jack finds himself at odds with Locke's blind faith in “the Island,” and refuses to accept the concept of fate or destiny that Locke seems to find so easy to live with.

Throughout most of the series, I found myself really rooting for Locke. His faith had a surety and confidence that is very appealing. He embraced the Mystery.  But as the series progressed, I saw John making choices based upon his blind faith that seemed questionable at best, and morally irresponsible at worst. It seemed that his faith had led him to become dangerous and unpredictable.

Meanwhile, Jack continued to hold blindly to his empirical view of the world. Only what could be explained logically made sense. Mystery and faith were not just to be tolerated, but rebelled against. Eventually, however, his faith in reason alone brings him to a point of utter brokenness, and complete failure.

It would seem that both of these characters, in their adherence to their flawed belief systems, are incomplete. Interestingly, each of these characters are named for something or someone that seems to contradict their personality.

John Locke, of course, is named after the 17^th century philosopher, the father of modern empiricism. Empiricism, in its most essential qualities, asserts the belief that knowledge can only be derived from what is perceived and experienced, emphasizing the importance of scientific knowledge. Hardly the qualities that the John Locke of the island seems to embrace. In fact, these qualities seem to be seen most dramatically in Locke's rival, Jack Shephard, the “man of science.”

Jack Shepherd, the spinal surgeon, seems to embody empiricism and reason. It's intriguing, then, that he is apparently named from a biblical reference. It has recently been revealed that Jack's corresponding number is 23, an obvious allusion to the famous biblical passage from the book of Psalms. It is the passage that begins, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” If this was not enough, it has been revealed that, in at least one reality (!), he has a son named David. David, the psalmist and shepherd.

It would seem that, for most of the other characters on the show, they are carefully named for philosophers or people that give us clues into who they are as a person. Why, then, are these two particular characters, given such ironic names?

Because everything that rises must converge.

In one of the first episodes of season one, we see these two characters in their first true conversation. They are not at odds. They are not enemies. They are at peace. This is how they have always been meant to exist. Pope John Paul II often asserted in his writings that faith and reason are not at odds with each other, but rather, when functioning properly, compliment one another.

Locke, in faith divorced from reason, becomes dangerous and even murderous. Jack, relying on reason alone, becomes pathetic and self-destructive. These two characters, like the philosophies they embody, desperately need one another, and neither one will find peace without the other.

I don't want to make any big predictions, and without spoiling too much for the uninitiated, I can't say too much more about some of the more recent dramatic changes in Locke's character, but I believe that we will need to see these two characters acknowledge their need for one another. Faith and reason must converge. The psalmist and the surgeon must coexist.

Asleep.

To say he was sleeping comfortably would have been an exaggeration, but he was sleeping soundly. It had been another very long day, the longest in a series of very long days. He liked days like that. As much as they tired him out, it was a good kind of tired; the kind of tired that comes from a long day spent doing good in the warm sun. The heat of the day had cooled into a perfect evening, and as they set off from the shore, he had soon found a spot to sleep in the back of the boat. The cushion was solid, but soft enough for a tired man.

Of course, other boats had set out to follow the moment they saw his leave the shore. This kind of thing often happened after a big day.

It took only a few minutes for the rocking of the boat to send him to sleep. He dreamed, and the faces of the people he had met that day drifted in and out of his consciousness with the gentle rocking of the waves. A moment of touch. A girl peeking out from behind the safety of her mother's dress. The hearty, toothless, and beautiful laughter of a beggar with whom he had spoken. The open sea of tired and hopeful faces gazed back at him, each one in perfect clarity. He felt his heart taking in each soul, until it all seemed to gather inside him in an immense feeling of affection and heartbreak. A bright light seemed to burst forth from his heart and over the people, scattering and falling as a mist upon them.

And then, screaming.

He awoke, his heart instantly racing. "What is it??" he said, trying to catch his breath. Slumber faintly held on to his mind as he tried to grasp what was happening.

"Don't you care that we're going to die?!?"

"What?"

"The storm! The waves! We're taking on water! We're going down!"

Setting one arm on the back of the bench, he pulled himself up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes. Men were desperately trying to bail out water while others tried to hold the mast in position. He looked out at the darkness of the sea, and could make out through the rain the lines of at least two other boats violently rocking in the surging waves.

He wiped his face, still bleary-eyed and only mostly conscious, and spoke out, rebuking the wind. "What do you think you're doing? I need some sleep!"

It hushed.

He sighed and addressed the water. "Quiet! Settle down!"

And it did. The wind seemed to lift and travel on to another place. The sea grew gentle, until all that could be heard was the creaking of the boat, and the dropping of his friends' jaws.

"What are you so afraid of?" he said, settling himself back down into his cushion. "Do you still not have any faith yet?"

He turned on his side to the back of the bench. He was halfway to sleep before he heard the hushed voices of his followers drifting away behind him. "What the hell was....? Who is this man...?"

He dreamed again, of a river flowing from his side.