Omnipotence and Milkshakes

I didn't do a very good job explaining in my last post what Stephen (from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) meant in the quote about not taking communion. That's all English majors do, really: explain why you should like books. So I'll try again for a sentence or two. Stephen knows that he--the part of him that is him--is incompatible with taking communion when he doesn't believe it, because he can't dissociate the symbol from the act. If he did, he fears the "chemical action which would be set up in my soul." I was hoping to pun off of Joyce's convenient "chemical action," but that part isn't as important.

Well, Stephen might think that's a big deal, but today I bought a chocolate milkshake. I used to think I had a choice when I bought a milkshake, but then after about a year of only ever buying vanilla, I realized that my choice wasn't of the quality I thought it was. I'm almost incapable of buying a different flavor. I come to the decision fresh every time, and every time I have in mind that occasionally I buy chocolate, and occasionally strawberry, and occasionally vanilla. But then I always come away with vanilla.

Then today came. I went to the Chick-fil-A on Archer because they sell milkshakes there, and without thinking about it, I ordered chocolate. I'm pretty sure I'm not even the same person I was several weeks ago.

I was at a barbecue Saturday with a bunch of people and tried to explain the change that's come over me recently, only I was too eager to tell and didn't think it was important that I had only known the girl I was talking to for about twenty minutes.

"I don't love people," I summed up earnestly. "I only love myself. Is that a problem?"

She balked.

It's difficult to tell which changes are me returning from a seven-month stay in China and which are permanent modifications to my temperament. And I just bought a chocolate milkshake.

It reminds me of God's omnipotence, actually. People out for a riddle often wonder why, if God can do anything, can he not sin? Ever since I was little I looked a little skeptically at the "temptation" of Christ since God can't sin... right?

"Can" here is the fuzzy word. When we say God "can" do things, we mean there's no force external to him that would limit him. When we say we humans "can" do things, we mean it in a more nebulous sense, especially in English. (In Chinese they divide "can" into 能 (unrestricted ability) and 会 (learned ability). So I think if you're talking about driving a car, if you 能 drive a car, you have the keys and gas in your tank; if you 会 drive your parents have taught you and you know how to make it down the street without crashing.)

We as humans are changeable, and so on one day I might be in the mood to wear green and on another day in the mood to wear red. I can choose green or red. Or both if it's Christmas.

Some things about us change less. One season I might decide to watch Survivor, the next year I might prefer America's Next Top Model. It all depends on whether I have a girlfriend or not. Or whatever. I can choose to watch whatever show I want.

Some things barely change at all. I don't really like beans. If I'm pressed, I'll eat them out of politeness. I can eat beans--I guess.

And still other aspects of ourselves we regard as fundamental. One day I might snap and kill someone in cold blood. An extreme example, you say, but only because you're so secure in yourself: hat makes you different from a murderer? I can commit murder.

Here you would stop me. "I could not commit murder," you say indignantly. "Never have, never will." The idea here is that no circumstance imaginable would induce you to stab someone to death. But two factors make this uncertain: you don't know yourself perfectly; and you are mutable.

In contrast, God is self-aware and immutable. His can is not one limited by circumstance (there is nothing outside his control) but by character. God doesn't sin because that's not who God is. I'm tagging all the people I know with theological training on the Facebook version of this blog so if I'm totally off-base they can let me know. But here's my summary: God always chooses vanilla milkshakes. Thus proving by algebra that I am not God.