Wednesday 4 December 2013

Intellectual curiosity vs. intellectual dishonesty


Intellectual curiosity is a vital antidote against intellectual dishonesty (and is necessary, though not sufficient, for intellectual flourishing), whereas a lack of intellectual curiosity is an excellent bellwether for intellectual dishonesty (where intellectual curiosity is lacking, intellectual dishonesty is sure to be found not far away).

Supposing that might be true, what is intellectual curiosity? It’s certainly very different from – though not necessarily incompatible with –, say, a fondness for picking up and spouting arcane jargon. Rather, it’s a natural inclination of healthy human beings to feel wonder in the face of things and people and ideas and a desire to learn to properly understand and appreciate all these things for what(ever) they truly are.

It seems to me that someone who says, “There’s no point in us discussing such and such an issue, because we have very different fundamental views about such and such (about the world, about truth, about human nature, etc.)” is very likely lacking in intellectual curiosity (and thus likely prone to intellectual dishonesty). Such a person simply doesn’t want to understand anything different from what she already understands. She is perhaps rather similar to a skittish horse, which simply can’t function properly – can’t placidly plod along – without blinders on to shut out distractions and to keep its gaze focused on its given task.

 

Now there’s nothing really wrong with someone having a narrow focus, so long as that person has a clearly defined job to do and she needs to stay focused on just getting that job done. But some of the tasks which life imposes on us are just not like that. If you have a wild horse, for example, that needs to keep track of the rest of the herd, be on guard against predators, etc., the horse needs to be able to look around and see what is what, to assess, in its own horsy way of assessing things, the ‘big picture’ of what is going on around it. Blinders are a bad idea in this kind of situation.

And this is the kind of situation that human beings are in when they have fundamental disagreements with the other human beings with whom they live. Whenever disagreements arise, it is always possible to just take up arms – whether physical or verbal – and attack, or to just plug one's ears and hole up in one’s ideological fortress. But most of us can see that this is a vicious kind of response, not worthy of a human being. It is a corruption of our intellectual curiosity -- even if it is one which, to some extent, inevitably occurs, given the sickness (or just feebleness) that, with varying severity, infects every human being. But it is also something that we can commit ourselves to working against, because, while it clearly is a sickness of our race, still, whatever psychoses do affect us, the undeniable existence of intellectual curiosity – which is as undeniable as the existence of children – continues to speak to us of the metaphysical possibility and the moral necessity of working to overcome such psychoses (that is, such losses of contact with reality).

Not that the evident existence of intellectual curiosity necessarily speaks to all of us. It is possible to become like the Dwarfs in C.S. Lewis’ beautiful depiction in The Last Battle of the death of intellectual curiosity. The Dwarfs decide that they’re on their own and they will only look out for each other. They are little skeptics who don’t want to be taken in by any grand tales (any ‘metanarratives’), who aren’t interested in serving any grand cause, so they refuse to believe in any ‘truth’ except that “the Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs.” They viciously and gleefully attack anyone who is outside of their clique and even when their plight becomes evidently hopeless they refuse to receive any help from others:

    “Well, at any rate there’s no Humbug here. We haven’t let anyone take us in. The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs.”
    “You see,” said Aslan. “They will not let us help them. They have chosen cunning instead of belief. Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison; and so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out…”

The Dwarfs are beautifully depicted because they are so true to life. At first they are almost frighteningly ugly, like the recent disgustingly ugly display put on by abortion zealots in Argentina. But in the end we can see that they are simply and tragically ridiculous.* (And it strikes me as more than coincidental that you very rarely (if ever) see a Dwarf child in Narnia – and that such vitriolic contempt for the lives even of innocent little children should be found together with a similar spitting, chanting, sneering contempt for intellectual curiosity in Argentina.)

[*Even though, in Lewis' account, it's also true that they are still not entirely beyond the possibility of finally accepting redemption.]

Thursday 21 November 2013

Truth is subjective! (for me)

"Truth is subjective. We all construct our own world of 'truth' and no one's version of 'truth' is any more valid than anyone else's. There is no 'objective' truth."
"Heil, Hitler!"
"Totally valid."
"You're an idiot."
"Totally valid."...
"You actually believe that you're an idiot and that Nazi's are cool?"
"No, I didn't mean those things were valid for *me*, but they are for *you*."
"Hmm... you're kind of missing the point... But... your claim about the subjectivity of truth: who is that valid for?"
"For me."
"So shouldn't you have said, "*I* construct *my* own world of 'truth' and no one else's version of 'truth' has any validity for *me*"? In other words, you don't care what anybody else thinks."
"That's right: you want to be a Nazi, go ahead. I won't like it, but it's totally valid, for *you*."
"But you're missing the point: I don't want to be a Nazi!"
"Sure, that's valid for *you*, but I really don't care."
"You really are an idiot!"
"Again, totally valid, but I don't care."

Friday 15 November 2013

Knowing and Belonging

Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI), Jesus of Nazareth, p. 280f.:
“I am the Good Shepherd; I know my own and my own know me, as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep” (Jn 10:14f.). These verses present two striking sets of interrelated ideas that we need to consider if we are to understand what is meant by “knowing.”
First of all, knowing and belonging are interrelated. The Shepherd knows the sheep because they belong to him, and they know him precisely because they are his. Knowing and belonging (the Greek text speaks of the sheep as the Shepherd’s “own,” ta ídia) are actually one and the same thing. The true shepherd does not “possess” the sheep as is they were a thing to be used and consumed; rather, they “belong” to him, in the context of their knowing each other, and this “knowing” is an inner acceptance. It signifies an inner belonging that goes much deeper than the possession of things.
Let us illustrate this with an example from our own lives. No human being “belongs” to another in the way that a thing does. Children are not their parents’ “property”; spouses are not each other’s “property.” Yet they do “belong” to each other in a much deeper way than, for example, a piece of wood or a plot of land, or whatever else we call “property.” Children “belong” to their parents, yet they are free creatures of God in their own right, each with his own calling and his own newness and uniqueness before God. They belong to each other, not as property, but in mutual responsibility. They belong to each other precisely by accepting one another’s freedom and by supporting one another in love and knowledge – and in this communion they are simultaneously free and one for all eternity.
In the same way, the “sheep,” who after all are people created by God, images of God,* do not belong to the shepherd as if they were things – though that is what the thief and robber thinks when he takes possession of them. Herein lies the distinction between the owner, the true Shepherd, and the robber. For the robber, for the ideologues and the dictators, human beings are merely a thing that they possess. For the true Shepherd, however, they are free in relation to truth and love; the Shepherd proves that they belong to him precisely by knowing and loving them, by wishing them to be in the freedom of the truth. They belong to him through the oneness of “knowing,” through the communion in the truth that the Shepherd himself is. This is why he does not use them, but gives his life for them. Just as Logos and Incarnation, Logos and Passion belong together, so too knowing and self-giving are ultimately one.
[*That is, God, Holy Trinity: Father (Origin) begetting Son (Word, Image), together breathing forth the Spirit (Love, Gift).] 
What a beautifully challenging picture of the world we indeed live in: We are indeed responsible for each other, challenged to accept one another's freedom, and to support one another in love and knowledge. And the true shepherd is the one that reveals the truth and offers his love - and so we become free to enter into that life, to seek to cling to him so as to be (and to live as) one of his own (so as to in turn lay down our lives...).

But the true shepherd has competitors, enemies. There are others who would like to take charge of the sheep and make a different kind of world. Still, the true shepherd lays down his life for all, even for the ideologues and dictators, those who are rather rapists and seducers than lovers,* who pursue an empty kind of freedom which is divorced from communion in truth and so who despise and fear reality, and hate life, hate others, hate the truth (and who thus ultimately hate themselves), and who thus suppress any natural compunction they might feel about spitting on those who dare to challenge the idol they have made of their ideology. They know - deep-down, at least - their own guilt: they know that hatred of truth and complicity in lies are deeply shameful; and they know, deep-down, that they are in fact decidedly humble and fallible little creatures, subject to the truth, not Lord over it; they know that they should thus always be open-minded, open to the possibility of correction, so as to be open to the truth; and yet they are afraid to reveal themselves - most of all to themselves - so they hide in dishonest rhetoric and malicious venom. It seems too great a risk to enter into a genuine dialogue, and so to be open to communion in the truth. They  know deep down their own pettiness and guilt, but because they haven't encountered divine mercy, they are afraid to trust and to open themselves up to something bigger than themselves, something that transcends the familiar and comfortable ideological tent they inhabit, which they have learned to embrace as their reality and source of security, and over which they do their desperate best to reign as little tyrants.

And yet, as long as they live, as long as they are still able to choose life, the true shepherd continues to lay down his life for all these sheep. That is, he continues to offer us the gift of a share in his life, whereby we can know and love the truth, know and love the Shepherd (first of all acknowledging that we need one - we need help, we need guidance, we need redemption!), and thus know and love even ourselves, so that finally we can freely rejoice together in the beautiful gift of life. Some people are too afraid or confused or too accustomed to a life of hedonism or of spitting on others with violent self-righteous ideology to take seriously the gospel, this offer of the gift of life. Nonetheless, conversion is possible, the offer is there.

***

Eternal Father, for the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on me and on the whole world.



[*Wayne Brockriede wrote an article entitled "Arguers As Lovers" (see Philosophy and Rhetoric, 1972) in which he classifies, in a rather simplistic but useful way, three kinds of arguers, that is, three possible ways of presenting and promoting truth-claims: as a rapist, as a seducer, as a lover. The rapist openly tries to force his view on the other person by the use of power (by censorship, for example, simply refusing to allow the other to even express his point-of-view - which can be accomplished simply by plugging one's ears, refusing to honestly listen to his point of view). The seducer likewise is indifferent to the humanness of the other person, but uses charm and deceit in an effort to "eliminate or limit his coarguer's most distinctively human power, the right to choose with an understanding of the consequences and implications of available options" (this is a standard device of ideologically motivated teachers, professors, politicians, journalists, parents, etc.). The lover, finally, sees the other person as a person, not as an object or victim. As Brockriede explains it, "the lover wants power parity." Rather than simply facing an adversary, "the lover...is willing to risk his very self in his attempt to establish a bilateral relationship." There is a clear resonance here between Brockriede's "lover-arguer" and Ratzinger's description of the true shepherd, who lays down his life in order to offer us freedom in relation to love and truth, freedom to belong to him (and him to us) in love, through oneness in knowing and through communion in the truth.]

Wednesday 13 November 2013

"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.

Thursday 7 November 2013

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.

Thursday 24 October 2013

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 bigota 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.)

Friday 18 October 2013

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?

Tuesday 8 October 2013

(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.)

Thursday 3 October 2013

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)

Wednesday 2 October 2013

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.

Tuesday 24 September 2013

True progress: institutions, freedom, God

Institutions are good and, anyway, necessary (i.e., unavoidable - anarchists are profoundly unrealistic). But they do have within them a totalitarian tendency. They can loom so large in human life, society, history, that they come to appear to be the ultimate reality - or at lest the ultimate arbitrators of what should count as reality. To the extent this happens, institutions discourage us from pondering ultimate realities, and so also from pondering the ways in which they themselves may be distorting our understanding of reality and thus - in spite of responding to various real or artificial or even merely imagined needs (here I think especially of educational institutions these days) - inhibiting genuinely human progress.

From Pope Benedict XVI's Caritas in veritate, para. 11 (my unofficial, and better-than-the-official, translation into English):

...the true progress of man concerns the whole person in each and every dimension. When an expectation of eternal life is taken away, human progress in this world is left short of breath (spiritu privatur). Enclosed within history, it can run into the danger of giving itself over solely to the increase of power and possessions; humanity thus loses the heart to strive for higher goods and for the great and generous (selfless) initiatives, towards which universal charity urges us. By his own powers alone man does not progress, nor can progress be given to him wholly from outside. In the course of history, this has often been supposed, that the creation of institutions would be enough to make it possible to provide the abundance of resources required in light of humanity's right to progress.  Sadly, too much confidence was placed in those institutions, as if they would be able to deliver the desired objective by themselves. In reality, institutions alone are not enough, because integral human development, including all of its elements, is primarily a vocation, and therefore it brings with it a certain free and solidary responsibility, which every person must assume. Moreover, such progress requires a transcendent viewpoint on the person, it needs God: without him,  progress is either denied, or turned over exclusively into the hands of man, who falls into the conceit of saving himself (of being his own saviour), in the end pushing forward a dehumanized kind of progress. For indeed, only an encounter with God allows us to not see "in the other always only an other," but to recognize the divine image in him, so that thus the other is uncovered in his reality and so love ripens into "caring concern for  the other."


The authoritative Latin:

...verum hominis progressum ad totam personam eius in omnibus rationibus pertinere [16]. Dempta vitae aeternae exspectatione, hoc in mundo spiritu privatur humanus progressus. Intra historiam conclusus, periculum adire potest ne ad opes augendas tantummodo se tradat; humanitas sic despondet animum praestantiora bona atque magna liberaliaque incepta appetendi, ad quae universalis caritas impellit. Suis tantum viribus non progreditur homo, neque ei mere extrinsecus datur progressus. Annorum decursu saepenumero hoc putatum est conditas institutiones humanitati progressus ius suppeditare affatim posse. Proh dolor in his institutionibus immodica fiducia est collocata, quasi optatum propositum per se ipsae consequi possent. Institutiones revera solae non sufficiunt, quandoquidem humanus omnibus ex partibus integer progressus imprimis est vocatio quaedam ideoque liberam solidalemque responsalitatem secum fert, quam omnes suscipere debent. Talis progressio praeterea personae transcendentem prospectum requirit, Deo indiget: sine Eo progressus aut negatur aut hominis manibus solummodo demandatur, qui in iactantiam se ipsum salvandi incidit, inhumanum denique progressum provecturus. Ceterum cum Deo tantum occursus non sinit « in altero semper alterum solummodo » [17] cernere, sed in eo divinam imaginem agnoscere, dum sic alter reapse detegitur atque amor maturescit qui « alterius hominis curatio » [18] fit.

The original(?) German:

...die echte Entwicklung des Menschen einheitlich die Gesamtheit der Person in all ihren Dimensionen betrifft.[16] Ohne die Aussicht auf ein ewiges Leben fehlt dem menschlichen Fortschritt in dieser Welt der große Atem. Wenn er innerhalb der Geschichte eingeschlossen bleibt, ist er der Gefahr ausgesetzt, sich auf eine bloße Zunahme des Besitztums zu beschränken; so verliert die Menschheit den Mut, für die höheren Güter aufnahmebereit zu sein, für die großen und selbstlosen Initiativen, zu denen die universale Nächstenliebe drängt. Der Mensch entwickelt sich nicht bloß mit den eigenen Kräften, noch kann die Entwicklung ihm einfach von außen gegeben werden. Im Laufe der Geschichte hat man oft gemeint, die Schaffung von Institutionen genüge, um der Menschheit die Erfüllung ihres Rechtes auf Entwicklung zu gewährleisten. Leider hat man in solche Institutionen ein übertriebenes Vertrauen gesetzt, so als könnten sie das ersehnte Ziel automatisch erlangen. In Wirklichkeit reichen die Institutionen allein nicht aus, denn die ganzheitliche Entwicklung des Menschen ist vor allem Berufung und verlangt folglich von allen eine freie und solidarische Übernahme von Verantwortung. Eine solche Entwicklung erfordert außerdem eine transzendente Sicht der Person, sie braucht Gott: Ohne ihn wird die Entwicklung entweder verweigert oder einzig der Hand des Menschen anvertraut, der in die Anmaßung der Selbst-Erlösung fällt und schließlich eine entmenschlichte Entwicklung fördert. Im übrigen gestattet nur die Begegnung mit Gott, nicht »im anderen immer nur den anderen zu sehen«,[17] sondern in ihm das göttliche Bild zu erkennen und so dahin zu gelangen, wirklich den anderen zu entdecken und eine Liebe reifen zu lassen, die »Sorge um den anderen und für den anderen«[18] wird.

Friday 20 September 2013

"Dear Madame Marois": a confused letter from a pretentious academic

Matt Friedman, a guy who teaches history at Rutgers University, recently wrote an annoyingly self-righteous letter to Pauline Marois, premiere of Quebec. I find Friedman's letter annoying because I always find pretentious academics who don't know what they're talking about annoying. But let's get into some specifics.

Friedman is writing to protest against the imposition of the "Charter of Quebecois values" currently being proposed by the government of Quebec. After an impassioned recital of his bona fides as a real Quebecois who holds real Quebecois values - though he is temporarily in exile from sa patrie -, he gets into trying to tell us what is wrong with the Charter.

He first explains that the law would allow certain things and disallow others, then, after making the accusation that the proposed Charter is essentially totalitarian, he writes: "Indeed, it is an axiom of both the Common and Civil Law that, for a law to be just it must apply equally and without discrimination. Yet the secularism you seek to impose on Québec is fundamentally unequal and discriminatory. It is therefore unjust."

Now I'm pretty sure the axiom he refers to means that the law must apply equally to all of those who fall under its prescriptions. It doesn't mean that the law itself must fail to make any distinctions, that is, that the law itself must not discriminate, that the law must regard every possible state of affairs as 'equal' - in other words, that the law should be nihilistic. The purpose of law is precisely to discriminate, and to do so in a way that is just and that will promote the common good... isn't it?? Friedman's claim is analogous to the claim that laws against murder discriminate against murderers - yeah, that's the point! (This all-too-common argument is one that annoys the heck out of me: "X is discriminatory; therefore X is unjust." No; to be discriminating is a good thing; it is to be capable of seeing reality and making sound judgments. To call something unjust is an act of discrimination, so if discrimination as such was really unjust, then it would be unjust to call anything unjust! That way of talking is thoroughly nonsensical.)

But then we might ask, how do advocates of unfettered tolerance, like Friedman, feel about someone wearing a KKK outfit, or displaying a big swastika tattoo? I'd actually be okay with that (i.e., tolerate it, not be happy about it) in some cases, perhaps in the case of a student, for example - but students are not agents of the state. As students they are expected to be open-minded, to want to learn, to be willing to examine their beliefs and values. But they are not representatives of the state and of societal values. (On the other hand, when it comes to a student having a covered face, I would incline towards intolerance. I think seeing someone's face is an important part of communicating with her, and I don't think that there are any real religious or cultural values tied specifically to the niqab that are worth defending. Are there any??) But Friedman, like Marois, seems reluctant to talk about - let alone defend - any of the specific values that are associated with any specific cultural symbols.

Friedman goes on to accuse Marois of not understanding her own cultural patrimony, of embracing, without realizing it, a "profoundly Christian secularism." [Insert extended discussion of this apparently oxymoronic concept here.] He writes: "To prohibit the display of religious symbols by citizens in public employment while the government of Québec displays them on its letterhead, in the Assemblée nationale, on Sureté de Québec cruisers – the physical embodiment of state power – and our society displays it in its geography and calendar, is not to preserve neutrality but privilege."

He thinks that Marois and co. don't understand this, and perhaps there's some truth to that [again, insert extended discussion here of exactly what that truth is], but he is just as confused as they are, because his own viewpoint no less than theirs pretends to value value-neutrality (to promote a culture of cultural neutrality) - which is impossible. And Friedman is even more confused than Marois, because he ignores the fact that most Quebecers - especially the Francophone ones - support the proposed legislation and fails to recognize that he too is endorsing a similar individualistic anti-cultural multiculturalism, which at its core is merely nihilistic. He thus fails to realize that the Charter is perfectly congruous with mainstream Quebecois culture - of which he is unwittingly a good representative in many ways -, because, au contraire de his conceited panegyric, mainstream Quebecois culture is simply nihilistic and shot through with irrationalism. I suspect that Friedman's self-righteous endorsement of Levesque and the noble humanism (or whatever) of the Quiet Revolution is simply nonsense and that in reality Marois and Drainville are, if anything, better interpreters and more genuine heirs of the legacy of Levesque than is Friedman. In any case, if Friedman wants to pretend to promote neutrality, it is a mystery how he can so baldly privilege (his interpretation of) the ideological legacy of Levesque.

And finally, I'm disgusted by Friedman's lack of ingenuousness: First he writes, "I believe that you are a very reasonable, well-meaning person, Mme. Marois, and I don’t doubt that you are motivated by the best-possible intentions." Then he concludes, "It appears that you believe that you can play the people of Québec like a violin; that you have so much contempt for us that you can manipulate us at the basest level. I hope I am wrong about you..." Really, Mr. Friedman? Make up your mind, man! But hey, let's face it: that kind of double-speak is just how lefties roll. Friedman or Marois, take your pick: when it comes to fundamentals, I don't see much difference here.