Borne from Above: A Spiritual Journey with Carnal Detours is the true story of a carefree, privileged man reaching middle age, who is suddenly forced to answer for the self- indulgent excesses of his life. What follows is his deeply involved day-by-day account of intense, protracted struggle between submitting to temporary hardships that would "irreversibly separate him from his former world as if guillotined but able to survive,"- and being viscerally fearful of disobeying at the risk of foregoing whatever promise eternity may hold.

The overarching theme of Borne from Above, however, both explicit and implicit, expands the personal experience to the universal, raising the timeless question of what it is that leads to the collapse of civilizations -- and considering that our own civilization seems to be teetering on the edge, what it may take to stop and reverse the process.

As John Amos Comenius, the 17th Century philosopher, educator and theologian advised, "If we are destined to wise up eventually, why not wise up now?"

In the end, even Neil Armstrong gets his due.

On the podium was Professor Franklin Le Van Baumer, delivering one of his three weekly lectures to our intellectual history class during my junior year at Yale. A tall, distinguished-looking scholar, Professor Baumer liked to gesticulate vehemently when his back wasn't hurting him. With his lumbago acting up, he was careful to make no untoward move. "There is no guarantee," he continued stiffly, "that our unexpected freak of history, when enjoyment of life is considered the norm, is assured any kind of a future. Virtually all of history, as well as the abject conditions in which most of humanity lives today, point strongly against it."

Our professor's prognosis resonated through the cavernous neogothic hall but failed to strike a responsive chord. The unbounded optimism I held as an article of faith wasn't going to be affected by a few dire words. It certainly augured well that as a recent refugee from behind the Iron Curtain, I already found myself with a scholarship at Yale. Most of my friends here were sanguine about the future too, and not just because they were at Yale. Why, even in the blighted parts of the world people were leading better lives. Was Professor Baumer so isolated in his intellectual lair that he failed to understand the world in which he lived? Or was the professor's aching back more likely to blame? A permanent cure would surely brighten his views! And I wondered, why was it that so many of the great thinkers across the ages had some physical problem or mental quirk affecting the ideas with which they tried to saddle the world? Saint Augustine went around for years moaning, "God, make me chaste . . . but not yet!" - and then did his utmost to inflict the dubious blessings of his celibacy on everyone else. Was it because his personal ardor for intimate pleasures had waned? Having myself just turned twenty, this was a problem I could hardly understand. And I had an exciting thought. What if the world were to come under the sway of a philosophy formulated by someone who had a healthy appetite for life? I was the 175-pound intramural boxing champion, yet I had pretty good grades. Why couldn't I figure out a valid philosophical system for our times that would one day be taught in Professor Baumer's class - or at least be included on the optional reading list? It was a thought with which I occasionally liked to entertain myself, especially after a few beers at the Old Heidelberg bar.

It was also a thought that would remain with me to this day.