Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Following Thomas


During the sermon last Sunday, my pastor mentioned the apostle Thomas in passing. It wasn't a major point of the sermon, but it stood out to me. Thomas, of course, was the apostle who doubted the resurrection of Jesus until he saw Christ up close. John 20:24-29:
Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!”
But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”
Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed;blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”
After the sermon, I started thinking about faith. We (by which I mean "I") tend to hear that passage and think ourselves blessed because, after all, we haven't seen Jesus in the flesh, and yet we believe. Good for us!
I wonder, though, if it really is that simple. As I examine my own "believing," I see a distressing pattern. I feel closest to God after I "see" Him. I see an answered prayer, whether mine or someone else's, and I praise God. I read the gospel in scripture, and I rejoice in my salvation. I sing songs to God, and my heart stirs up in praise.
What about all the other times? What about when I'm upset about something, or trying to solve a problem, or even doing nothing in particular? Am I really living like somebody who believes in God?
I think the story of Thomas, left unconsidered, can lure believers into a bit of a trap. We have not seen Jesus, but we believe He is real and that He did what the Bible recounts. As James 2:19 says, "Good! Even the demons believe that."
We (again, I) have to be careful not to let our unseeing belief be the mere accepting of a fact. We should not only acknowledge Jesus's existence and deeds, but respond. And who gave us a model for responding to Jesus? Thomas.
We need to cry out, "My Lord and my God!" when we're "seeing" Jesus and when we're not. This should not be difficult; Jesus left us not as orphans, but with the gift of the Holy Spirit. God is always with us. It's ridiculous that I am not in a constant state of closeness with God. Alas, the flesh remains corrupted, even though the heart is made alive.
As I reflect on this, though, I am not discouraged. Far from it, as I have seen the power of God working in me. How could I take the mere mention of Thomas and reach a new understanding of my relationship with God? Through His Spirit, and that alone. And that's what makes the story of Thomas so beautiful. God blesses us when we believe without seeing, but He still helps us do so.
We don't even have to see His wounds.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Please Stop Staring Into the Abyss

It's staring back at me, isn't it?

There's something I would like people (myself most of all) to do: stop obsessing over the horrible things going on in the world.

I don't mean to stop paying attention or to ignore these things. I don't mean to stop caring, perceiving, considering, praying, alleviating, or fighting these things. I just mean to stop letting these things consume our entire lives.

The world is cursed. Death, violence, and all sorts of horrors plague it every minute of every day. Our own time has its own particular flavors of sin's fruit: violent Islam, abortion culture, racial hatred, economic crises, political schisms, international tensions. There's a lot going on.

We don't need to make it even worse.

This will sound strange coming from me, the most pessimistic and cynical person I know, but we need to shift our gaze to the positive. Even in the context of scary or horrible things, there are good things to turn to. Islam? We can pray for peace. Abortion? We can support pro-life causes. Racism? We can see peaceful coexistence in everyday life. Economics? We can count our blessings. Politics? We can be comforted that God's kingdom is not of this world. International relations? We can remember that God rules all nations.

Not only are there always good alternatives to bad things in the world, but focusing on the negative harms our souls. When we focus solely on the unwholesome things of the world, we end up mirroring them in ourselves. We look at other people's failings and are tempted to pride. We look at hatred and respond to it in kind. We start to devalue other people and degrade ourselves by turning more and more into instinctive animals rather than thinking, feeling humans.

This isn't just me talking. Philippians 4:8 instructs us, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Ephesians 5:11 says, "Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them," and verses 15-16 say, "Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil." The Bible is clear: we need to be aware of darkness, but have nothing to do with it ourselves, focusing on Godly wisdom instead.

Constantly proclaiming how evil everything is allows evil to control our lives. If we really want to escape such things, we have to stop making them the focal point of our hearts and minds. We know the world isn't the way it's supposed to be; instead, let's try to be what we know we're supposed to be.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Why Gay Marriage Does and Doesn't Matter


I was upset with the Supreme Court's decision. Not merely on moral grounds (as I will no doubt be accused, as if that were some crime), but on grounds of how this country's political system was created to function. Up until this point, the redefinition of civil marriage had been a state-by-state issue. Some embraced same sex marriage by popular vote, some by legislative action. Most were under court order. Even in the latter, least-representative cases, it was a state issue.

Not anymore. All 50 states must now comply, not with a new law, but with the Supreme Court's reinterpretation of what the Constitution means and addresses. On the whim of five appointed justices, the entire country's law means a new and different thing than it did before. This is not the first nor last case like this, but it puts into stark focus the immense transformation (or decay, I would contend) our nation's political ideals and institutions have undergone. Whether one sees this as a good or bad thing, it is undeniable that America in 2015 is drastically different at its core from America since 1787.

I am also perturbed by the responses I've seen to this decision. Not from people making rainbow avatars or equals signs; I view that as, at worst, silly. I'm bothered by responses like those from Gawker, who vilely gloated in their supposed victory and told everyone who opposed this, and forgive my quotation of profanity, "Fuck you."

This makes me sad and angry. A movement claiming to espouse love and tolerance is revealing itself to be, though not universally, significantly motivated by naked hatred of Christianity and its followers. The people with this mindset will continue to press their advantage. There is already talk of removing tax exemption from churches that do not comply with gay marriage. I'm not just being paranoid, it's a real thing. Freedom of religion is rapidly eroding, not because of this ruling per se, but because of the societal and political mindset that made it possible.

All of this has troubled me and many like me.

Should it, though?

What is true and good does not change, no matter what a court, or an entire country, or the entire world says. God does not change. The world does. It is fickle, deceptive, and wicked. Why should we trust it to uphold goodness? Why should we even expect it to?

America was founded on many ideas, but the one it depended on most for sustained success was a virtuous and vigilant people. How many virtuous and vigilant peoples have existed in the world's history? God's own chosen people, through whom He kept his promise to deliver the world from sin, were so unfaithful that God likened them to a whore! Who are we to expect we can do better? To think, at any time, that we are better? We are all, individually and collectively, sinful, weak, selfish creatures.

Perhaps above all else, though, we are prideful and arrogant. So arrogant that we even try to take God's perfect will into our own hands. God promised to sustain us, His bride the Church, with the Holy Spirit. He didn't say anything about our Enlightenment-inspired political experiments. We thought we could be the protectors and preservers of goodness. We can't. That's why we need Christ.

God's kingdom is not of this world (John 18:36). Even the best worldly kingdom will always fall short of our own ideals, much less God's. The plans and promises of men, even the best men, are like chaff. Only God's kingdom will reign forever.

So if I'm mad at what the Supreme Court says, or what the President says, or what Gawker says, or what even my friends might say, the fault is mine. Why do I care so much what the world says? I should be listening to what God says, even though—especially though—the world doesn't.

"What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

'For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.'

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." -Romans 8: 31-39

Monday, June 15, 2015

Old Dead White Men Are Human Too

William is tired of your nonsense.

Last night, I saw this article in the Washington Post about a teacher who thinks we shouldn't teach Shakespeare because he's old and white.

I kinda freaked out.
I reacted this way not because I think Shakespeare is the only author worth reading, or that a teacher can't reasonably exclude or include certain authors for a variety of reasons. I object so profusely because this person's reasoning behind her claim is... well...


All in all, this teacher's objections to Shakespeare strike me as astoundingly ignorant and dangerously narrow-minded. The idea that Shakespeare "lived in a pretty small world" is utterly preposterous. As I so eloquently objected on Twitter:

I mean, really, to call a time in which Shakespeare's contemporary countryman literally went around the entire world "small" is ridiculous. Not to mention that arguably his most famous and iconic play, Romeo and Juliet, isn't even set in England (and neither is his final play, The Tempest).

The more egregious claim to me, though, is the idea that Shakespeare (or any author) was a mere "chronicler" of his time. I, again, objected with erudition:

If you know anything about Shakespeare, you know that about half of his plays are set in historical England or ancient Rome. He even combines the two in Cymbeline, set in Roman-occupied Britain. He barely wrote about "life 450 years ago" at all. Shakespeare was greatly concerned with the past, and not only that of his own nation.

This teacher's "solution" to what she perceives as a problem is nonsensical. The way to expand your students' horizons is not to "dispense with our Eurocentric presentation of the literary world." She treats education like a zero-sum game; this simply isn't true. And as a friend pointed out, to argue African oral traditions deserve "equal time and value" with Shakespeare while arguing not to teach Shakespeare is to argue not to teach African oral tradition. That an English teacher would have such poor communication skills is worrying.

The real heart of the matter is what she thinks is the problem: that something from a different time or a different ethnicity is irrelevant to a student of a modern age and particular heritage. This response, also from the Washington Post, articulates my objection well:
I teach at a rural South Carolina school with a mostly white population—should I only teach white authors? Will all of my white students feel an immediate kinship to Faulkner or Hemingway to Twain?  Will all of my female students see themselves perfectly in the characters of Flannery O’Connor? Will all of my black students read A Raisin in the Sun and immediately connect to the desperation and inner turmoil of Walter Younger?  Obviously not.
To think you can only learn from someone externally the same as you is foolish and misses the point of literature entirely. Shakespeare doesn't write merely to communicate the experience of White Noble named Hamlet (and, by the way, another prominent Shakespeare character, Othello, ain't even white). He's writing about human experience. Jealousy. Rage. Depression. Suicide. Madness. Love. Prejudice. Confusion. Virtue. Cowardice. Debauchery. Treachery. Forgiveness. Can someone who wasn't a white Englishman in 1590 really not relate to these things, expressed with mastery and eloquence? Is the aim of studying literature really to seek out people exactly like us and throw away the rest as irrelevant to our own lives? No.

Segregating ourselves by external features and dismissing the commonality of the human experience is tragic. It pigeonholes us into mere ethnic specimens and actually limits our individuality. Empathetic, intellectually curious humans can find themselves in Shakespeare, Dante, Hemingway, Chinua Achebe, Sun Tzu, or any author or literature that deals with humanity.

You shouldn't teach "only" Shakespeare. You shouldn't teach "only" anything. Shakespeare certainly didn't think so. Why would he write about Julius Caesar if he was only concerned with the Englishman's experience? If Shakespeare thought a 1700-year-old Italian man was worth writing about, surely we can accept that a 450-year-old Englishman is worth reading.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Of Comics and Conservatism


I'm so late to the party that it has already packed up and moved to a different venue, but I just read three extraordinarily good comic book series: All-Star Superman, Watchmen, and The Dark Knight Returns. Each of them is tremendously well-written, and each is terrifically thought-provoking (Watchmen in particular gave me an instant existential crisis). While they don't all address political ideas at the same level, I think there's plenty to draw from each of them, especially from a conservative standpoint. While I doubt any of them were intended to make any kind of explicit case for a particular political orthodoxy, I believe they contain and convey some basic truths that help inform the views of the so-called Right.

If you're like I was a few days ago and haven't read these, here is your official spoiler warning.

I'll start with All-Star Superman. Its plot revolves around Superman dying of a sort of super-cancer, having been tricked by Lex Luthor into absorbing too much solar radiation for even his Kryptonian body. The radiation makes Superman more powerful, but dooms him to self-destruction. He sets about completing as many final tasks as he can, like revealing his secret identity to Lois Lane and releasing the shrunken, bottled Kryptonian city of Kandor. He does many things to benefit mankind, including using his newly-freed microscopic Kryptonian brethren to cure previously incurable disease. His god-like abilities save mankind from destruction, but he realizes, due to his mortality, that this is not enough. He needs mankind to be able to live without him, to find a way to defend itself.

In this process, he provides the most brilliant and noble scientist in the world with his genome in order to clone a new breed of Supermen. Meanwhile, Lex Luthor, not satisfied merely to cause Superman's demise, steals the superhero's formula for giving humans superpowers and proceeds to attempt world domination. He is, of course, foiled, but exclaims to Superman that he could have saved the world, if only Superman had let him. Luthor hates Superman because he views the presence of such a being as anathema to human progress. Of course, Luthor equates human progress with his own dominance, as his actions profess.

Contrast the two examples of human brilliance in their interaction with Superman. They both seek power, but one seeks it for a benevolent, controlled purpose, while the other seeks it for his own sake. It is not the power itself that is evil; Superman demonstrates this when he fights off rogue Kryptonians who seek to dominate Earth. It is the character of he who wields it and the manner in which he does that determines its morality.

In the midst of all this, Superman also decides to create a parallel human planet, one without his interference. This human civilization, at an accelerated pace, plays out much like the real world's, even culminating in an alternate Nietzsche postulating the Übermensch: the Superman.

This leads me to my conclusion: Superman is the ultimate thought experiment. The man who can do everything must choose what he does and how much he does of it. His choice is incredibly noble: he does not dominate the world for either good or evil. He does much to aid it, but refuses to take away mankind's freedom to make moral choices, does not take away its ability to find its own solutions. He does this by entrusting the literal power of himself to mankind, but not just any part of mankind. Mankind he trusts. Mankind that is noble. Power itself, gained through circumstance or ingenuity, is not automatically good; in fact, in the hands of someone amoral like Luthor, it is exceedingly dangerous. Power needs restraint if it is to be good. Superman represents the ultimate ideal: power voluntarily limited.

I will move on (more succinctly, I hope) to Watchmen. The question pervading the story is: who watches the Watchmen? More specifically, what keeps those who claim to protect humanity accountable to that claim? Can anyone do that but themselves? What is the responsibility of those with such power?

In the world of Watchmen, the government has tried to tame this power. It forced masked vigilantes to retire and employed some of them: the violent, repugnant Comedian and the radioactively transformed god-man Doctor Manhattan. Meanwhile, the vengeful, uncompromising, and violently pragmatic Rorschach refuses to surrender or compromise. The Comedian turns up dead, and Rorschach fears a conspiracy to kill off the former heroes. To skip a tremendous amount of plot details, everything is part of a scheme by Ozymandias, another former hero, to unite the Cold War world by perpetrating a grand, violent lie: an invasion by other species, one of his own creation. Ozymandias forces Manhattan, Nite Owl, and Silk Spectre to hide the truth, convincing them that to undo the lie would be to bring back even worse destruction via nuclear war. Rorschach refuses to comply, and Manhattan kills him to keep the secret safe. Manhattan departs this world, weary of mankind, but tells Ozymandias that nothing is ever done. The world is left to live in its new unified utopia. Meanwhile, Rorschach's journal, which documented his investigation right up until before the final confrontation, finds its way to a low-budget right-wing extremist news rag, and seems about to be published.

It would be impossible to delve into all the nuances of this story, but there a few things I can draw out here. When Ozymandias's fake alien invader explodes in New York, the scene is a microcosm of humanity. A couple violently fights; a psychiatrist, depressed by his experience with Rorschach and his wife's selfishness, tries to intervene; a newspaper salesman, trying to renew his benevolence toward mankind, watches helplessly; a pair of detectives, disgusted by the atrocities they've witnessed, approach to control the situation. The whole human spectrum of evil, grace, love, hate, prejudice, friendliness, fear, courage, and all other qualities find themselves here, on this street corner.

Rorschach has long been disgusted with humanity, fighting for justice on principle, not benevolence. Manhattan struggles to bring himself to care about petty humanity. Silk Spectre and Nite Owl try to simply get by and overcome their personal demons. And Ozymandias believes the only way to save humanity is to irrevocably manipulate it. None of these attitudes are presented as the correct one, but what's clear is that humanity is tainted, yet not worthless. Governments cannot solve the selfishness of mankind, because they are made up of people who share the same motivations. There are, essentially, two ways to improve humanity: people individually decide to recoil from selfishness, or they are forced into harmony by an unstoppable outside force. The former may be too improbable to rely on; the latter may be too irredeemable to allow.

Finally, I will address The Dark Knight Returns. Quick and dirty plot summary: Batman is middle-aged and retired, but finds he can't sit idly by as Gotham City loses all control in the face of evil. He comes back, inspires a new Robin, makes the media explode with coverage and debate, prompts the Joker to return, and punches Superman in the face.

He punches Superman in the face.

Anyway, two scenes intrigue me the most. One is a series of aftermath interview snippets paired with the climactic conclusion. An extremely selfish businessman, a priest who tried to help people, and another man who got caught up with the mob and feels ashamed all recount their experiences. Commissioner Gordon, about to retire, manages to organize people into putting out a fire, showing the strength of human benevolence. Meanwhile, the selfish mob has to be corralled by Batman and his new Mutant recruits. Like in Watchmen, the reader sees a wide spectrum of humanity at its worst and best. The other scene is at the very end. Batman, having faked his death (after punching Superman in the face), organizes and trains his new vigilante force to keep the peace. His makeshift army includes former Mutants, some of which had become overly violent toward criminals in his name. He leads them in both effectiveness and restraint, using them to combat evil without causing it. While police, government, and reformative psychiatrists had been powerless to stop the Mutant leader, Harvey Dent, and the Joker from perpetrating their horrors, Batman leads Gotham to solving these problems from within, even making it a bastion of civil solemnity in the midst of nuclear crisis.

There's a definitive theme in these comics (and implicit in the very nature of the Batman mythos) of the insufficiency of law and order. Some evil is too great to legislate away. This evil cannot be merely overpowered, either: Superman's intervention is not the solution. Good character and decisive action have to combine to stop evil and know when to stop itself. This is why Batman is a hero: he fights, but does not dominate. He knows better than to think evil can be punched out of existence. He will not become what he combats. He is unwilling to kill, even for justice. He will not carry out a role as judge, jury, and executioner to extreme lengths. Unlike Superman, he can't do everything, but like Superman as portrayed in many other comics, he doesn't want to.

I hope, at this point, you've discerned what I'm trying to glean from these three works. There is a theme these comics share, that when humanity is guided toward morality through force and dominance, it is a sham and a travesty. Even if the power to do such a thing were gained, it would ultimately fail. Evil can be limited externally, but that is not enough. Humanity has to change from within. Heroes, paragons of virtue, can arise and be examples, but they cannot force change, because then they cease to be heroes. In Watchmen, Ozymandias admits this, calling his own actions evil, albeit necessary in his mind. 

My interpretation of these comics is this: the morality of mankind cannot be viewed collectively. We cannot be reduced to an average or an equation. The heart of moral life and action lies within the individual, whether he be weak or powerful. Even the best, most powerful man must check his own action, lest he become a tyrant. 

To me, progressivism is the utter antithesis of these ideas. It espouses collective moral growth and the use of power as a net good. These comics, as I understand them, reject or at least challenge these notions.

Thus, in some sense, I believe I can call these brilliant works of illustrated literature (whether self-consciously or not): conservative.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Conquering Death: Our Sisyphean Feat



First: read/skim through this article in the Washington Post about wealthy people funding research into, essentially, finding a technological solution to death.


Now, here's what I think about it: it's very sad.

A quote from that: "I believe that evolution is a true account of nature. But I think we should try to escape it or transcend it in our society." This is where the dominant secular mindset is: everything is material, yet the material is unsatisfactory in its transience. They, in a sense, want to reject nihilism. But they have so completely removed the spiritual from their worldview, it doesn't occur to them. Their only solution is to attempt, through material means, to transcend the limits of the material.

I would argue this is impossible, given what we know about the physical. Even if we could physically augment ourselves to stave off physical death, how do we maintain this state? What fuels this preservation, Eventually, I believe you hit a wall. What may last long will not last forever. And yet, the rich pursue this end because they cannot resolve this question, also a quote from the piece: "How can a person be there and then just vanish, not be there?"

Religions in general offer their solution: spiritual life or existence in some form. The concepts of afterlife and spiritual presence vary, but basically, they offer that the physical is not the hard limit to being. This, however, has been rejected by those that call themselves intellects. They have concluded that there is only the material and sensory...

As a Christian, I hope these people can be reached by the Gospel, because it offers the only true solution to mortality and the limits of the flesh. Christian faith is in not only spiritual life and regeneration, but in the fulfillment and restoration of the physical. We talk often of "saving souls," but God doesn't just do that. He remakes the body, reclaims the creation. Eternal life is not an ethereal, distant realm of vague ghostly existence. It is, after the Last Day, perfect physical life.

Humans fundamentally seek a life free of pain, free of decay, free of mistakes, and full of maximized happiness in mind and body. This is what God offers freely through Christ's sacrifice and resurrection. The only "catch," from our perspective, is that you don't get it all right now.

Well, that's not the only catch. The other catch is that you have to trust in someone bigger than you. Someone you can't fully understand. Those things are hard for us: patience and trust. So we say, "No, I/the smart people will figure it out." Because of this fallen state of mind, we choose the futile over the free.

This is what makes me sad to see these attempts at conquering the material through material means. There's an answer right there, waiting. Physical perfection is promised, right alongside spiritual perfection. They are, in essence, the same thing, and happen at the same time.

This promise gets discarded as a fairy tale for the small-minded. And yet, the top-ranked humans try to accomplish the very same thing. They throw money at the existential problem of human frailty. Money! Perhaps the only thing more fleeting than our own lives!

Thus, I offer that the human condition is not only the fact that we have to face an end, but also our futile efforts to stop that confrontation. We try to roll that boulder up to the top of the mountain, where release from our pain dangles before our eyes. In the end, we are crushed.

I wish I could show these people the better path and convince them to follow it. But I can't. Only God can.

He's the one offering, after all.

Monday, February 2, 2015

What Are We Going to Do About Vaccines?


First and foremost: vaccines don't cause autism. They just don't. There has never been any evidence to suggest so. The only thing that ever existed as supposed evidence of a link was one guy's study, which was proven to be completely fabricated. He even admitted that he lied. I'm not even going to bother linking to the information, as it's well-documented and easy to find. Vaccines and autism have nothing to do with each other.

With that out of the way, I move to the issue at hand. There's been some controversy lately, especially in right-wing circles, about vaccines and the tension between personal and governmental responsibility. Vaccines are an obviously good thing, but many misinformed and paranoid people are eschewing them. Should, then, the government coerce people into getting themselves and their children vaccinated?

Some have argued that vaccination is a matter of liberty, a personal choice. It may be incredibly wrong to avoid vaccines for no legitimate medical reason, but people have the right to exercise their liberty and make bad decisions. Just because you misuse your freedom doesn't mean it should be taken away.

That sounds like a good argument, until you consider the fact that vaccination's impact is not limited to the individual. If you refuse vaccination for yourself or your child, you not only increase personal risk, but expose other people that cannot receive vaccination for legitimate medical reasons (like infants) to unnecessary danger (look up "herd immunity" for a more detailed explanation). That "personal choice" ceases to be a matter of individual liberty when it directly endangers other individuals.

With this in mind, is it legitimate for the government to mandate vaccination (at least to a certain threshold) to protect its citizens? While I'm not completely convinced in either direction, I do believe there's a reasonable case that it should. The government's purpose is to protect its citizens' life, liberty, and property, those unalienable human rights. When an individual under that government's authority does something to infringe upon those rights of another individual (say, robbing him of his property), then (and only then) the government can legitimately use coercion to prevent or punish this. This is, on a basic level, why we have laws against murder, theft, kidnapping, and so on.

This is similar to the argument for outlawing or severely limiting abortion. Abortion is not merely a personal decision, but infringes on the right to life of another human. Thus, it is an illegitimate moral act that the government has a responsibility to prevent. The same goes for the natural law justification for war. The government can only take military action to protect its citizens from real threats to their lives and well-being.

So, then, it is possible to support government-mandated vaccination while still adhering to liberty as a right, because liberty cannot trump life. Still, having the federal government in control of yet another aspect of our lives will, rightly, leave a bad taste in people's mouths. It also may appear that the justification of forced vaccination is all too similar to the ones for Obamacare and other government encroachments on liberty.

My initial response is to propose a compromise. This issue, one could argue, falls under the Tenth Amendment, and is thus relegated to the states. There are already state laws in place requiring vaccination for children to attend public school, so state governments are certainly capable of handling this problem. If people dislike the laws of one state, they can make the decision to move to another one with more suitable policies. People do this all the time already for things like tax laws, so it would apply to this case as well. Though not a total guarantee that people won't still make terrible decisions about vaccines, letting the states handle it will, at least in theory, reconcile the priorities of safety and liberty concerning vaccination.

One thing the federal government could do is attempt to educate people on how vaccines work, their immense benefits to both the individual and society, and the real science behind what risks do actually exist for each kind of vaccine. Obviously, the hardcore deniers will still cling to their paranoia, saying, "that's just what you want me to think!" Still, information is a valuable tool against widespread stupidity.

So, in short: get your shots. Get your kids' shots. Hopefully the government won't have to do it for you.