"Confronting the lie": Nate Pyle's pile

Nate Pyle, the very sincere-sounding Lead Pastor of a very sincere-sounding protestant (make-it-up-as-we-go-along-style) church* (or rather, ecclesial community - see Dominus Iesus, para. 17), was going through a rough stretch a while back and wrote what turned out to be an amazingly popular piece called Confronting the lie: God won't give you more than you can handle.
[*That is to say, a community of Christians with a very 'minimalist' ecclesiological understanding.]

From the title of the piece, you'd think he was going to explain how it is a lie to say that God won't give you more than you can handle (call this proposition G). What he actually begins by claiming - or rather, strongly implying - is that proposition G is a "trite Christian platitude," "an insipid axiom." In other words, the proposition is not really a lie, but rather is unhelpful as advice for someone going through a rough time. And secondly, Pyle further claims that proposition G is bullshit (i.e., not just bullshit, but bold bullshit!). Let's examine these two claims.


So far as the first claim goes, let's just say it's pretty subjective. After all, sometimes all someone needs is a 'trite Christian platitude' to give him a little boost. (Ronald Knox wrote of the pious old lady whose simple heart is warmed just by hearing the hallowed name 'Mesopotamia' - 'Mesopotamia' is a place-name found in the Bible, for those who are wondering why it should be significant to a pious old lady.) And so far as the notion of its being an 'insipid axiom,' on the one hand, it's just not clear why it should be judged 'insipid'; and on the other, if it is an axiom then it can hardly make sense to call it a lie. (And if one happens to have no taste for the truth (finds it 'insipid'), probably one shouldn't assume that it is the truth which is at fault.)

Of course, possibly Mr. Pyle wasn't even trying to say anything strictly true in the foregoing. Perhaps he was just stating in a broadly rhetorical way his displeasure with people who don't try hard enough to say something creative and 'relevant' in order to make people like him feel better when they're down. He really isn't trying to make any genuine theological point, as his title suggested; he wanted to make a psychological point and vent his feelings a little.

Nonetheless, the way he does so is, well, problematic. First, you should be able to vent your feelings without sacrificing your respect for the truth. Accordingly, if you are going to vent your feelings by claiming that some theological (-sounding) claim is a lie, you should actually think, and you should explain why it is that you think, that that claim is in fact false. And in order to do that, you first have to explain what the allegedly false claim actually means (the intended meaning of proposition G is just not intrinsically obvious); then you need to explain why you think it is false. Pyle never does this.

And as for the specific claims Pyle does make, there's just not much to admire in what he says. His first attempt to dismiss proposition G involves the claim that people who insistently ask a lot of "why"-questions when things are going badly  - as opposed to trusting in 'insipid axioms' and 'trite platitudes' - are people doing something courageous, and that there is something holy and sacred in being so courageous. And a prime example of one such admirable person is Nate Pyle himself, apparently; it seems that he is one of these laudable people who asks God, Why? Why not step in? Why not act? Why wouldn’t you make it right? Why couldn’t you part the clouds and provide a moment for us to catch our breath? Why everything at once? Why? There are two problems here: First, a point of logic: it seems that you can ask those questions - if you like - without impugning proposition G. Indeed, perhaps proposition G is an important part of the axiomatic framework within which you can ponder responses to these questions. Second, a point of clarity: Pyle never explains what is so courageous - or, more generally, praiseworthy - about asking these questions. He just seems to be - rather grandiosely and absurdly - congratulating himself on what he takes to be his own courageous holiness without explaining what is especially courageous or holy about his reaction to his situation. Now again, maybe he simply isn't trying to say anything strictly true at all here, he is just trying to find a sophisticated way to make himself and others feel good about themselves (in spite of their self-pity - "my life sucks right now - but at least I'm a holy and courageous dude, not like those limp, lying cowards who try to tell me God won't give me more than I can handle"). But again, it's important to find a way of doing that which respects the truth and the truth is, it's just hard to imagine a genuine model of exemplary courage and holiness, say, the Blessed Virgin Mary, or Jesus of Nazareth, or Anthony of Egypt, or Catherine of Siena, or John of the Cross, or Isaac Jogues, or Josephine Bakhita, or Antonio Maria Claret, or Edith Stein, Maximilian Kolbe, Simone Weil, John Paul II, etc., making these kinds of laments.


Which brings us to the bullshit claim (i.e., the claim about 'bullshit'). I've already mentioned that Pyle doesn't actually do what his title indicated he was going to do, namely, explain the falsity of proposition G. Thus Pyle himself is bullshitting and it is actually his piece that is bullshit. As Harry Frankfurt explained in his 1986 essay "On Bullshit":

The bullshitter may not deceive us, or even intend to do so, either about the facts or about what he takes the facts to be. What he does necessarily attempt to deceive us about is his enterprise. His only indispensably distinctive characteristic is that in a certain way he misrepresents what he is up to.

This is the crux of the distinction between him and the liar. Both he and the liar represent themselves falsely as endeavoring to communicate the truth. The success of each depends upon deceiving us about that. But the fact about himself that the liar hides is that he is attempting to lead us away from a correct apprehension of reality; we are not to know that he wants us to believe something he supposes to be false. The fact about himself that the bullshitter hides, on the other hand, is that the truth-values of his statements are of no central interest to him; what we are not to understand is that his intention is neither to report the truth nor to conceal it.

[I pull this quote from Edward Feser's recent post, Some Varieties of Bullsh*t.] 

Now Pyle certainly might dispute my characterization of "what he is up to," but in the meantime, so far as I can see, his claim about proposition G being a lie/bullshit is itself just bullshit (in the technical sense given in the underlined sections above). Pyle tries to tell us that God won't give you more than you can handle is a "limp, anemic sentiment" which "will not stand in the face of a world that is not as it should be." But his limp, anemic argument for that claim is as follows:

Tell that [proposition G] to a survivor of Auschwitz. Tell it to the man who lost his wife and child in a car accident. Tell it to the girl whose innocence was robbed from her. Tell it to the person crushed under the weight of depression and anxiety. Tell it to the kids who just learned their parent has a terminal illness.

As if none of the people who have been in these situations has been able to handle 'what God has given them'... In reality, Pyle's list of tell-that-to's don't constitute an argument at all; it's just a vague appeal to emotion. Pyle seems to sense this, so he adds a 'real' argument, namely, a limp, anemic proof-text from 2 Cor. 1, where St. Paul writes (and Pyle emphasizes): "we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself." But Paul then goes on to say, "It is God who has preserved us, and is preserving us, from such deadly peril; and we have learned to have confidence that he will preserve us still." Paul never says, "God gave us more than we could handle." He does say, "we have learned to have confidence that God will preserve us." So what is Pyle thinking here? Not sure.

 

 

So much for a general analysis of Pyle's pile. In terms of a more personal reaction, his assertion that it takes courage to ask "why? why? why?" when some faced with some difficult situation strikes me, frankly, as ridiculous. When I had to hold my little daughter's beautiful little body and accept that she was taking her last breaths and then feel her body turning cold in my arms and finally leave it behind at the hospital, I was numb, devastated. I couldn't conceive carrying on without her and I wept bitterly in the presence of God. But I never asked "why?" Pyle and his pile of theological bullshit would seem to have it that I just lacked the courage to take up my holy and sacred duty to give God notice of the brunt of my emotions by asking evidently useless questions.

Pile's platitudes remind me of Weird Al's "Dare to be stupid." Sorry, bro, but I don't think that's real courage, and I don't think there's anything sacred or holy about it. When we dare to ask the question "why?" it should be because we actually want to know the answer to a real question, so unless you can seriously imagine that perhaps God wants to give you a special answer to some very particular question - think Abram's vision in Gen.15 or Moses and the burning bush -, and thus that he has not already given you a sufficient general answer to that question, there's no need to make a pretentious show of asking it. And it seems, I dare say, that in reality Pyle's "why"-questions are in fact all "why me"-questions. In other words, they express egotism, not courage, not holiness, not obedience to some sacred duty. Which is not to say we shouldn't feel compassion for someone who is in the clutches of self-pity, but we should still try to keep in the habit of calling things by their true names.

Love and choice: Hating God and making sense

WE (human beings) are simply confronted with a world of things (including persons) which we did not create, and from among those things we must choose what we will love. This means that our love develops as a result of our choice. What we love (and so our destiny) follows from our choice.  

In God, who is the creator and cause of all that exists, it is the other way around: love precedes choice, because love is what moves God’s will to create, to call things into being, in the first place. God’s choice of particular persons, then, and his predestining them for glory, responds to, corresponds to, follows from, his own act of creation, from his own act of will, his own act of love. In this way, God’s choice follows upon, is consequent upon, his love. God's love is the creative origin of the very being of things. Our love is not; our love, and our destiny, follow from our choice.

Now if I love someone and she dies, God let this happen. (In my case, he let my daughter die. Naomi was only two years old, dearly beloved, and yes, if God exists, then he let her die.)

Would it make sense to be angry with God, to hate God, because he lets things like this happen? Perhaps that reaction would be natural or tempting for some people, but that’s different from it making sense. In fact, to be angry with God, to hate God, would be a good indication that I never really loved my daughter, and that I am choosing not to love her now. How so? I know that life is often short (always short, in comparison to eternity), that we all have to die, and I believe that God did not create us only for this life, but for eternal life with him – so, if I really believe that, why would I thank God for loving Naomi into mortal existence and then hate him for loving her into eternal life? I may have intense feelings and emotions towards someone, but I don’t really love her if I despise the person who has given her good things. (This is a real problem for all those who attempt to love their children – or to love anyone, for that matter – while despising God.) If my love for my little girl turns to hatred of God when she dies, then my love wasn’t real, it was selfish possessiveness, directed to my own gratification here and now, and to an irrational insistence on the sufficiency and perfection of my plans for giving her good things, my way of doing things.  When my plans or ideas or expectations fail to materialize and I hate God as a result, this only proves that I had been treating my plans (and thus myself) as equivalent to God. But I’m evidently not God, and I’m not God’s equal, so this attitude simply doesn’t make sense.

So perhaps I could think the following: “This happened to my loved one, and now I feel angry with God; but I do love Naomi and since it simply doesn’t make sense to be angry with God if I believe that through this horrible event he has in fact given her good things, I’ll just stop believing in God altogether (and try to write-off my anger with him as an irrational foible of my human nature).” Does this make sense? Really, not at all. Reasoning in this way implies that what I care most about is justifying my own feelings. But I know – as any honest person knows – that just because I feel a certain way, it doesn’t follow that I should be feeling that way. It is just obvious that my feelings of anger are not, in themselves, an appropriate criterion for determining the truth about anything else. My feelings tell me primarily about me; I have to be very careful if I want to make any inferences regarding other things. In any case, if your love is real, then you will want good things for your loved one, and deciding to give up on your hope for good things for your loved one – not to mention giving up on being reunited with your loved one – just so that you can indulge your anger is hardly a genuinely loving response. It’s actually rather petulant and narcissistic, and again, it just doesn’t make sense.

[A third option would be to think: "She's dead. She's gone. She once was not, for a short time she was, and now she is again nothing, except a memory (which is likewise destined for nothingness). I believe that that's all anyone is, that's all my love for her is, and that's all my pain is: a flash in the pan, that will one day turn out to be nothing." This way of thinking isn't obviously nonsensical, there is even something stodgily noble and tritely comforting about it, but it is also sad, pessimistic, groundless, pusillanimous, and - I'm afraid - stupidly presumptuous.]

One might still think, “Maybe all you just said ‘makes sense,’ but you seem not to understand the way normal people think. Things don’t ‘add up’ and ‘make sense’ for ordinary people in such a neat 'black-and-white' way; they struggle, it’s hard, they need to grieve and rage, and they have a right to think whatever they want to think when something tragic happens or when they feel themselves to be the victims of cosmic injustice. When people are hurting, it’s not fair to assess their reactions in terms of whether they are 'making sense' or not.” It’s true that when people go through traumatic experiences, sometimes they don’t think clearly. And sometimes they really try, but they are simply unable to think clearly. It follows that we shouldn’t expect that they will always think clearly, and we shouldn't be hard on them when they don't (or on ourselves when we don't). It doesn’t follow, however, that they shouldn’t think clearly, that is, that they have a right to think things that don’t make sense ("yay, post-modernism! - it doesn't matter if I make sense!"); or that the nonsense (or the shrivelled resignation) that they end up losing themselves in actually does make good sense, at least for them, in such and such situation: it doesn't. This vacuously subjective attitude is just not how 'sense' works. So it’s true that we can’t assess people’s reactions solely in terms of whether or not they make sense, but that is no excuse for ignoring whether or not they make sense. We can and should have compassion for people who have tangled themselves up in nonsense, but we do people in this situation no favor by patting them on the head and pretending that, “hey, you’re only human, so there's really nothing wrong with the nonsensical way you’re processing things.” In the end, even when shit happens (as it inevitably does), the task lies ever before us of choosing our love - and avoiding doing so in a self-defeating, nonsensical way.

Bigots: maybe they're not so bad?

Some people are harder to love than others. Bigots*, for example, can be pretty annoying, especially when their bigotry is aggressively expressed - in the form of rudeness, arrogance, confident assertion of ignorant claims, arguments that blatantly beg questions, hypocritical double standards, refusal/inability to listen, etc. (Certainly I don't like dealing with bigots: I prefer people who are intellectually interesting and intellectually interested - like my kids, for example.)

But there are also some things to be said in favor of the aggressive bigot: it's good to be passionate about what you believe, and it's good to be prepared to openly state what you believe and to at least attempt to defend it. Why is that? Well, to believe some claim just means to hold that that claim is true. And it is good to be passionate about the truth, to openly state the truth, and to attempt to defend the truth (although of course we should always remember that even claims which we sincerely and passionately believe to be true may turn out to be false).**

Of course, not everyone needs to passionately devote their lives to discovering speculative truths and to becoming extraordinarily knowledgeable (we all have our own 'things' in life with which we are specially occupied), but everyone has to at least live their everyday lives in light of certain beliefs (i.e., suppositions of truth), and, at least from time to time, ask themselves certain basic questions about the nature of the world and their own purpose in it. These are matters of practical, psychological, and moral necessity.

It's true that the passionate, aggressive bigot gets some things seriously wrong: she shouldn't be so arrogant, she should have the courtesy and consistency to also listen, instead of just telling others what she thinks and expecting them to listen to her, she should learn how to make arguments that make sense, etc. But we all have our own peculiar faults, we all act badly sometimes, and it is important to remember (note to self) that the basic tendency underlying the bigot's inept performance is a desire to live and promote the truth, and this underlying tendency is something that is fundamentally healthy and good.

Also, while she may be annoying, that in itself is not even a bad thing. People are often annoyed or offended unjustly, so it is always an open question, when someone is offended or annoyed, who is at fault: offender or offendee (or, of course, both)? That the bigot is not afraid to offend, then, shows her courage and devotion - not to the truth, unfortunately, but at least to what she thinks is the truth. And of course, again, she really should proceed with more circumspection, not forgetting that what she sincerely believes to be true might turn out to be false: For it is no small misstep, some mere peccadillo, to act as if whatever I believe to be true is simply the same as the truth. To act in this way is in fact to show great ignorance of and contempt for the truth.*** But the point remains that the bigot's courage and devotion would be good things - and could become good things -, if only she could learn to correct those faults which are vitiating them.


*My working definition of bigot: a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices. One can thus be a bigot who is well-loved, well-mannered, and never annoy anyone. But this kind of bigot I won't talk about here. It may also be worth pointing out that bigots are always people, before they are bigots - 'bigot' should never be thought of as exhaustively describing a real person's character and identity (as in, "all you need to know about Martha is that Martha's a bigot!").
**If one were to deny this by claiming, "actually, the truth doesn't matter," the question would still remain: "is that actually true, that the truth doesn't matter?" At this point someone might still say, "but I just don't care," and you might ask, "why not?" and who knows where it goes from there. In any case, most people are not wont to maintain that the truth just doesn't matter and that they just don't care about it (although they will maintain this often enough in regard to particular truths, even very important ones, provided they don't want the bother of having to honestly consider the case for such a truth and of subsequently possibly having to amend their lives in some way).
***This is true even in the case where what the bigot believes is in fact true. Someone who knows some truth and defends it, but in a bigoted way, abuses the truth: the truth should be treated with respect (sometimes even reverence) and presented to others accordingly. Bigotry is not about what you believe, it's about how you believe. (Of course, sometimes what you believe affects how you believe: for example, some people come to believe that the only way to make 'progress' (however defined) is by violence, so naturally they will come to express their beliefs in violent and irrational ways.)

Oh, Bluster!

People like to take positions. That’s easy. When they encounter opposition to a position they have taken, that’s when it gets interesting. That’s when you get some insight into their character (and often enough it's your own character that will be in question). Possible responses to opposition include ignoring, insulting, misrepresenting, etc. One response which is more promising is to try to ask some difficult questions of one’s opponent. This is a good thing, so far as it goes: it seems to indicate a willingness to openly, honestly examine the real nature of the controverted issue. Unfortunately, often such questions are merely rhetorical and also naïve (raising such questions is a common, sometimes effective, but never enlightening polemical strategy). And when those questions turn out to be not so difficult and one’s opponent easily answers them, one all-too-often-tempting option is to simply ignore the answers and to bluster on about the righteousness of one’s cause and that’s the point where one's personal character is revealed. So remember: You can bluster, but you can’t hide. Your bluster reveals you. So why not stop pretending? Why not go ahead and actually listen to what other people have to say?

(I was) Naomi's steward

I came across this picture of Naomi sleeping recently. At first it reminded me of her death and filled me with the pain of loss.

 The phrase "sleep in heavenly peace" came to me. (A small comfort.)

When she completed her earthly course in May of this year, Naomi was 2 years and 3 months old. This end to her earthly life was sudden and unexpected. One moment she was our wonderful, joyful, beautiful, funny little girl (daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin, friend, etc.), running and skipping, jumping and dancing, poking and joking, hugging and kissing, picking flowers, blowing bubbles, feeding our resident pheasant, sleeping every night in her bedroom across the hall from us (actually me, often enough, sleeping with her); the next her soul had departed and we had the devastating pain of holding her lifeless body before saying goodbye to that too, leaving us with only her favorite pink princess nightie lying in her empty bed.

Of course this has been terribly painful. We cling to the pictures and short videos and memories we have of Naomi.

But we also believe that Naomi is God's beloved daughter just as much as she is ours. It is simply a fact that it wasn't us who had the idea of Naomi, this precious unique individual, and then created her for ourselves - and this fact surely has consequences, whatever else you believe. We believe she was a blessing bestowed upon us by God. When this happened, when she was conceived in Theresa's womb and began her existence, she was placed under our stewardship. We were stewards. (See below*, excerpt from Chrysostom's commentary on the parable of the wasteful steward (Lk. 16).) But God has always been and will always be her Lord, and difficult as it is, we have to be content to accept the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God (to borrow a phrase). He created her for us, it is true, to be our daughter (sister, etc.); but first for himself, to be his daughter, to be a unique and precious part of his creation and an eternally blessed participant in his own divine life.

Contemplating the picture of Naomi sleeping, I thought of the host of those to whom St. Paul refers as 'sleeping,' who are now (somehow) with the Lord - and with Naomi, in that calm and bright holy night, which to us seems so silent. I thought of each time Naomi slept, and of the fact that each of her (and our) sleeps could have been her (or our) last on Earth: each time we enter the subconscious night of sleep - in a way analogous to death - we can never be entirely certain where we shall visit or to what we shall awaken...

For now we (who love her) must awaken to the absence of precious Naomi. This is often difficult. But we also believe that she has been granted an early passage to eternal rest, light, and joy, with Jesus, our holy mother Mary, and all God's saints. This too is one of God's gifts, and is a gift to us just as Jesus' death was a gift to us: "If I am lifted up from the Earth, I will draw all people to myself." First Jesus spoke these words (John 12:32); now Naomi too is among those drawing us up. Certainly, while Naomi was alive with us, we did thank God for his gift of her to us - as we thank him still for the gift of her life, and for Isaac, Nathaniel, and Tabitha - and we recognized the primacy of his Lordship over our stewardship (we might as well - it's not exactly optional). But while it is obviously not the gift we would have chosen, we believe that her death too is a part of the Lord's provision for us, a gift of God's merciful love, whereby he calls us to a greater perfection in accepting the gospel, in understanding who we are and how to be humble stewards of God's gifts, and in learning to trust in him as Lord, giver of life.

 

***

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, all is bright

Round yon virgin mother and child

Holy infant so tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace

*St. John Chrysostom: "An erroneous opinion, weighed down by mortal things, increases the reproaches due to us, and diminishes the good: such an opinion is to think that whatever we possess for the needs of life, we possess as lords; and thus we also grasp such things as if they were the most important goods. But the contrary is true: for in the present life we are not placed as lords in our own house, but as strangers and foreigners we are led where we wish not, and for how long we see not: who now has a secure place, in a short time becomes a beggar. Wherefore, whoever you are, know that you are the dispenser of another’s things, and that the rights over them have been conceded to you for a passing and brief time of use. Putting away from your soul, then, the arrogance of lordship, assume the humility and moderation of a steward." [Opinio quaedam erronea aggravata mortalibus auget crimina, minuit bona: ea vero est opinari quod ea quaecumque possidemus in usu vitae, possideamus ut domini; et ideo etiam opportune ea apprehendimus tamquam bona praecipua. Sed contrarium est: non enim nos ut domini in vita praesenti collocati sumus in propria domo, sed tamquam hospites et advenae quo nolimus ducimur, et quo tempore non putamus: qui nunc locuples est, in brevi fit mendicus. Ergo quicumque sis, noveris te esse dispensatorem alienorum, et quod transitorii usus et brevis tibi iura concessa sunt. Abiecto ergo ab anima dominii fastu, sumas humilitatem et modestiam villici.] (From Aquinas' Catena aurea in Lucam, c. 17, lc. 1.)

The Jesus Prayer

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God": The great mystery of our God, our creator and redeemer, who became man, conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary, in order to reveal to us most profoundly the face of God, and so to invite each individual in a unique way to become an active participant in the divine life of knowledge and love which orders and moves the whole universe. - There is one who enlightens every soul born into the world; he was the true Light.  He, through whom the world was made, was in the world, and the world treated him as a stranger.  ... the Word was made flesh, and came to dwell among us; and we had sight of his glory, glory such as belongs to the Father’s only-begotten Son, full of grace and truth. ... We have all received something out of his abundance, grace answering to grace. (John 1:9-16)

"Me, a sinner": Who, me? A what? Yes, me - and you too - a sinner. Someone who knows - no matter how vaguely or clearly - about what is true and good, about what really matters, about how best to live, about certain actions that I should and should not do, of the love I owe to God and to neighbor - but who often enough chooses not follow through on that knowledge. - Inwardly, I take delight in God’s law,  but I observe another law in my lower self, which raises war against the law of my conscience, and so I am handed over as a captive to that law of sin which my lower self contains. (Romans 7:22-23)

"Have mercy": that is, look with love upon my defects - and so, heal my wounds, restore my brokenness, sweeten my bitterness, correct my misunderstandings, enlighten my ignorance, give courage to my tremulous heart, enflame my tepid love. - Pitiable creature that I am, who is to set me free from a nature thus doomed to death?  Nothing else than the grace of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 7: 24-25)

Pope Francis' "Big Heart" interview

I started writing something about the 'Big Heart' interview (published in the Jesuit's America magazine) a while ago. Then I read this analysis: The phoney war in the Church: five linguistic thoughts on THAT interview. I think that Ches (the author) explains the problems quite beautifully and his article definitely deserves a read and ponder. The main issue which Ches addresses, and which I think many others have ignored, is: what do the words, the specific language, the pope used, taken in context, actually mean? What is their true significance, as uttered in the present world and in the present environment of competing ideologies? (And what vanity it would be to suppose that Pope Francis speaks pure gospel, in a way that simply transcends ideology.) Too many have decided to be 'charitable' by ignoring the world-historical and ecclesiastical-historical context of the pope's words and pretending that the best way to read him is in accordance with some presumption, of innocence/orthodoxy/liberalism/etc., so that the objective meaning of his words is so obscured by hermeneutical mists that all anybody can really do is to put the 'best' spin on it he can manage - that is, in accordance with however his conscience conceives of the 'best.'

The best way to read Bergoglio, however - that is, the way which accords with true charity, which is absolutely inseparable from truth -, is to see what substantive issues he has chosen to emphasize, which he has chosen to marginalize, and - unfortunately not a null category - which he has distorted using rather clearly identifiable ideological buzz-words (see article linked to above). Surely this kind of analysis is necessary for discerning how it is that the new pope is reading the signs of the times, and which banner - which basic conception of God and man and Church - he is undertaking to take up and march under. It is tempting to say, which ideology he wants to champion, Papa Bergoglio's extremely vague protestations against 'decadent' and 'bankrupt' ideology and in favor of 'genius' notwithstanding. And indeed, it is tempting to say this, to suggest that the pope's comments have an unfortunate air of ideological cant, precisely because of the squishy vagueness of these his protestations.