Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Is something about to happen?
I don't know. It seems as though there is a spectre haunting the news lately. Lots of charges against Pope Benedict in the news, lots of anger against the Catholic Church in the polls (admittedly, on liberal, "mainstream" news sources). Between the motu propio and the document reaffirming that the Catholic Church is the church founded by Christ, the sharp clarity of "distinguishing what is Catholic" has an almost unbearable brightness.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
On Being Catholic
Peter Laurie wrote a little piece that I appreciated in something called "The Nation Newspaper" (I don't know what its pedigree is, but it's the news media, so who really cares when it comes to religion writing).
I liked Laurie's piece because it forms a nice example of apologetics of liberal Catholicism. I liked it in particular because such apologetics usually have two main features: a heartfelt, honest expression of self, and a bitter screed against the evils of the 'premodern' elements of Catholic tradition. And Laurie's piece is content to focus on the former.
But there are, in fact, two questions that conservative Catholics have for liberals: the more common "why not join another another church?" and the rarer, "why not embrace the Spirit-inspired teachings of the Catholic Church?" The implicit modernity that lurks inside the souls of even us conservatives makes the first question is easier to ask than the second. We don't really believe that a liberal Catholic would--or even could--change his beliefs any more than we would change ours. If there is a cognitive dissonance that bothers us about liberal Catholics, we take the more prudential path toward resolution: inviting them to part company with us.
Perhaps that sometimes happens; liberals get fed up and leave, perhaps more often than they stay anonymously, or worse, become agents to "change the Church from the inside." But I really doubt that the invitation to leave is necessarily more effective than the invitation to convert would be if more Pope-believing Catholics had the cojones to ask it. And the reason I say that because the option to convert has an entirely different foundation than the option to stay, or leave the Church. The latter can be justified or argued based on comparing a series of pros and cons; authors like Peter Laurie and Gary Willis (Why I am a Catholic) and Fr. Andrew Greeley (The Catholic Imagination) can explain their continued loyalty by giving you a list of things they like. But the former, the option to convert, has one and only one foundation.
The only argument that some people would need, but perhaps are not receiving is: "Maybe it is true." Time, perhaps, to stop asking liberal Catholics to leave the Church.
Now I've already revealed a little bit of an extreme opinion. Yes I do believe that dissenting Catholics and orthodox Catholics are doing two essentially different things, different in kind and not just in degree.
Catholicmatch.com - a Catholic online dating service I confess to making use of since leaving the seminary - asks its new members to answer whether they believe seven 'controversial' doctrines. This allows members to find people of like values, if indeed this is important for them. A search criterion allows members to find matches that agree with "all", "most", or "some" doctrines.
What goes under the radar of most people is that there is potentially a world of difference between someone who follows "all" the teachings vs. someone who disagrees with even one. And that difference likely lies in the answer to the $64,000 inquiry, "why are you a Catholic?"
It is perfectly understandable that, given the cultural atmosphere, certain dissenting Catholics would feel the need to defend their association with the Catholic faith; a sort of apologia pro vita mea, albeit one whose most basic principles are different than Newman's classic. One shouldn't expect the answer to speak of salvation, for example. But we might expect a lovely litany of the natural goods of the Church.
And thus my radical thesis: one who belongs to a religion because of a series of reasons has not, in the main, converted. (Incidentally, I include here those who incidentally agree with the magisterium on all things, and yet see these agreements as the substance of their Catholic identity).
I sound like I'm channeling Kierkegaard here. I'm really not, but I would like to move on to the main reason I started writing.
Perhaps Laurie is making the Reform Jewish distinction between "orthodoxy" and "orthopraxy"; Catholicism is the business of going to church in your shorts and sandals, not an indicator of your opinions. Or maybe he is distinguishing between a pietistic, compartmentalized, hypocritical, aloof, "churchy" atmosphere, and a Catholicism which is, I'm sure he would agree, "integrated" into daily life.
Far be it from me to disparage the exalting of the ordinary. Daily life is the rich soil of sanctification - just ask any Opus Dei member. Moreover, I've witnessed my share of self-righteous "churchiness" to know that this is, in fact, a legitimate concern and one that should be shared by orthodox Catholics as much as liberals.
But somewhere in all the above "I-like-being-Catholicness" is an off-key note. What exactly does Laurie mean when he says that Catholicism is not a club?
Of course, those are words I can get behind. Catholicism isn't a club; it is not a "free association of like-minded individuals" gathered for a common purpose, nor is it exclusive in any a priori sense. As Francis Cardinal George once told an ecumenical meeting of Christian leaders, "To be perfectly honest, I want you all to be Catholic;" the same words could be legitimately said by any Catholic to the whole world. The only thing the Catholic faith excludes is sin, while embracing sinners. (there is a very catchy T-shirt slogan floating about, "Fear Only God; Hate Only Sin"; gotta get me one of those).
Yet somehow I gather that Laurie means something other than all of this. The "club" that he is repudiating is not the club of the "free association of like-minded individuals"; indeed, what he describes as his reasons for being Catholic sounds keen on precisely such a religiosity. No, the aspect of "club" that Laurie here rejects is the fact that clubs logically imply a distinction between members and non-members.
And here we see what "being Catholic" for Laurie really means. It means doing Catholic things. Just as building things makes one a carpenter, and stealing things makes one a thief, being a Catholics means going to church; "just something people do." Here Laurie follows the canon of liberal Catholicism par excellence: what makes one a Catholic is experience.
Blagh. This thing has devolved into a mess as the night winds down. Sorry.
I liked Laurie's piece because it forms a nice example of apologetics of liberal Catholicism. I liked it in particular because such apologetics usually have two main features: a heartfelt, honest expression of self, and a bitter screed against the evils of the 'premodern' elements of Catholic tradition. And Laurie's piece is content to focus on the former.
The wonderful paradox of Catholicism is the eternal tension between orthodoxy and dissent. I live that paradox, filled as I am with certainty constantly beset by doubt.Laurie is not really an innovator when it comes to seeking a public answer to the question: "If you dissent from the Catholic Church, why not just join a church that agrees with you?" I admit there is a certain temptation to wish that liberal Catholics would all do just that, clergy and laity alike; but that temptation really doesn't stem from charity and is probably at least a venial sin.
But there are, in fact, two questions that conservative Catholics have for liberals: the more common "why not join another another church?" and the rarer, "why not embrace the Spirit-inspired teachings of the Catholic Church?" The implicit modernity that lurks inside the souls of even us conservatives makes the first question is easier to ask than the second. We don't really believe that a liberal Catholic would--or even could--change his beliefs any more than we would change ours. If there is a cognitive dissonance that bothers us about liberal Catholics, we take the more prudential path toward resolution: inviting them to part company with us.
Perhaps that sometimes happens; liberals get fed up and leave, perhaps more often than they stay anonymously, or worse, become agents to "change the Church from the inside." But I really doubt that the invitation to leave is necessarily more effective than the invitation to convert would be if more Pope-believing Catholics had the cojones to ask it. And the reason I say that because the option to convert has an entirely different foundation than the option to stay, or leave the Church. The latter can be justified or argued based on comparing a series of pros and cons; authors like Peter Laurie and Gary Willis (Why I am a Catholic) and Fr. Andrew Greeley (The Catholic Imagination) can explain their continued loyalty by giving you a list of things they like. But the former, the option to convert, has one and only one foundation.
My son, the great scholars of the Torah with whom you have argued wasted their words on you; as you departed you laughed at them. They were unable to lay God and his Kingdom on the table before you, and neither can I. But think, my son, perhaps it is true. -M. Buber, quoted by Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity, p. 46.Perhaps I am taking this quote out of context; after all, Buber and Ratzinger are both addressing atheism, and I am only addressing the matter of Catholics who disagree on points they themselves consider small, even niggling. But I don't believe so. Liberalism is a kind of atheism; it is an atheism of the Church, it is the belief that God is absent from doctrine and that the Magisterium is not really the sacramental Head of the Body of Christ. And so to move from being a dissenting Catholic to an orthodox one I believe truly is a conversion; one more ultimate and radical, even, than Laurie's own conversion from atheism to liberal Catholicism. To be orthodox; to give up, finally, one's cherished right to disagree, and to see the formation of opinions to be itself within the realm moral culpability, is something that hangs on Faith, more than argument.
The only argument that some people would need, but perhaps are not receiving is: "Maybe it is true." Time, perhaps, to stop asking liberal Catholics to leave the Church.
Now I've already revealed a little bit of an extreme opinion. Yes I do believe that dissenting Catholics and orthodox Catholics are doing two essentially different things, different in kind and not just in degree.
Catholicmatch.com - a Catholic online dating service I confess to making use of since leaving the seminary - asks its new members to answer whether they believe seven 'controversial' doctrines. This allows members to find people of like values, if indeed this is important for them. A search criterion allows members to find matches that agree with "all", "most", or "some" doctrines.
What goes under the radar of most people is that there is potentially a world of difference between someone who follows "all" the teachings vs. someone who disagrees with even one. And that difference likely lies in the answer to the $64,000 inquiry, "why are you a Catholic?"
It is perfectly understandable that, given the cultural atmosphere, certain dissenting Catholics would feel the need to defend their association with the Catholic faith; a sort of apologia pro vita mea, albeit one whose most basic principles are different than Newman's classic. One shouldn't expect the answer to speak of salvation, for example. But we might expect a lovely litany of the natural goods of the Church.
Many things attracted me to Catholicism: its long history of intellectual and spiritual achievement; its spirited defence of the dignity and sanctity of life; its preferential option for the poor and vulnerable; and its rich liturgical culture.
I also liked that it's a church of sinners for sinners. It's not a church of the "elect" or of the "saved". Every day your relationship to God through Jesus begins anew.
It's also a church in the world and for the world, especially since the Second Vatican Council (1962-65). Catholics tend to be "worldly" in the best sense.
This Catholic outlook was beautifully summed up by Pope John XXIII in his opening address to Vatican II when, dismissing the Curial voices of gloom and doom who saw nothing but evil in the world, he urged the church to engage with the modern world, not in a spirit of condemnation, but in a spirit of compassion and joy.
Hope is an exemplary Catholic virtue; hope that human beings can rise above all intrinsic weakness and external shackles to build a society conducive to human flourishing.
I've also experienced in my travels the marvellous diversity within unity of Catholicism: the wonder of a Creole Mass in Haiti; the beauty of indigenous Masses and unique devotions to Mary in Africa, Latin America, and Asia.
I'm choosing to live in the apartment I've selected because of its lush, forested scenery, the kindness of its managers, the reasonable rent, and the ideal location. But given these criteria, and the ones listed by Laurie (and Willis, and Greeley), I could as scarcely expect everybody to live in the same apartment as they could expect everybody to become Catholic. A mountain of natural goods does not a reason to convert make. This is what von Balthasar would call "Aestheticism" - the attempt to, or belief that one has succeeded in "reaching" God by means of an accumulation of natural beauties. At best a naive romanticism; at worst a presumptuous idolatry.
And thus my radical thesis: one who belongs to a religion because of a series of reasons has not, in the main, converted. (Incidentally, I include here those who incidentally agree with the magisterium on all things, and yet see these agreements as the substance of their Catholic identity).
I sound like I'm channeling Kierkegaard here. I'm really not, but I would like to move on to the main reason I started writing.
For me, as for most Catholics, the church is not a club you join. Catholicism is as much a way of life as a religion, even for someone, like me, not born into it.Hence, despite the numerous scandals and crises that have beset the church, most Catholics steadfastly remain.
Hence, going to church for most of us is rarely an expression of piety. It's just something that Catholics do. The casual dress of churchgoers shows that it's not something apart from our everyday life. The Eucharist is the core of our faith.
People who know me know I love to dissect, and this here is one juicy slab of beef. As always, the first question one must ask is, "What, precisely, do you mean when you utter these words, 'way of life', 'club', 'expression of piety', 'not something apart from our everyday life', and 'core of our faith'.'?
Perhaps Laurie is making the Reform Jewish distinction between "orthodoxy" and "orthopraxy"; Catholicism is the business of going to church in your shorts and sandals, not an indicator of your opinions. Or maybe he is distinguishing between a pietistic, compartmentalized, hypocritical, aloof, "churchy" atmosphere, and a Catholicism which is, I'm sure he would agree, "integrated" into daily life.
Far be it from me to disparage the exalting of the ordinary. Daily life is the rich soil of sanctification - just ask any Opus Dei member. Moreover, I've witnessed my share of self-righteous "churchiness" to know that this is, in fact, a legitimate concern and one that should be shared by orthodox Catholics as much as liberals.
But somewhere in all the above "I-like-being-Catholicness" is an off-key note. What exactly does Laurie mean when he says that Catholicism is not a club?
Of course, those are words I can get behind. Catholicism isn't a club; it is not a "free association of like-minded individuals" gathered for a common purpose, nor is it exclusive in any a priori sense. As Francis Cardinal George once told an ecumenical meeting of Christian leaders, "To be perfectly honest, I want you all to be Catholic;" the same words could be legitimately said by any Catholic to the whole world. The only thing the Catholic faith excludes is sin, while embracing sinners. (there is a very catchy T-shirt slogan floating about, "Fear Only God; Hate Only Sin"; gotta get me one of those).
Yet somehow I gather that Laurie means something other than all of this. The "club" that he is repudiating is not the club of the "free association of like-minded individuals"; indeed, what he describes as his reasons for being Catholic sounds keen on precisely such a religiosity. No, the aspect of "club" that Laurie here rejects is the fact that clubs logically imply a distinction between members and non-members.
And here we see what "being Catholic" for Laurie really means. It means doing Catholic things. Just as building things makes one a carpenter, and stealing things makes one a thief, being a Catholics means going to church; "just something people do." Here Laurie follows the canon of liberal Catholicism par excellence: what makes one a Catholic is experience.
Blagh. This thing has devolved into a mess as the night winds down. Sorry.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Beckwith and Dawkins
Francis J. Beckwith wrote a First Things blog post, "On the Irrationality of Richard Dawkins," in which he argues that Dawkin's call for "reprimand and correction" against 'irrational' theists is itself irrational in the face of his own thoroughgoing atheism, since it contradicts Dawkins' readily-admitted denial of the ultimate existence of things like "duty" or "purpose".
As I read, I confess to being a little disappointed and bored with the argument. Let me play the honorary atheist here and pine that the entire post was a lengthy exercise in missing the point.
Dawkins, and I am sure most thoughtful atheists, are by now weary of the chorus of theists: "without God there cannot be anything like real meaning in life." For myself as a theist I would hope we would at least do our opponents the service of avoiding unnuanced choruses that, anyway, don't tell the atheists anything they don't already know. "The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference" (Dawkins in Scientific American, 1995). Of course he knows, and unless we're willing to get to the bottom of why Dawkins has no problem assigning moral duties to his intellectual peers, we haven't begun to speak to him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Atheists, as class, are not generally nihilists, and for most of them the Christian dichotomy between "ultimate life meaning" and "absolute meaninglessness" is a false option. There's a book on that very subject, as well as a collection of infidels.org essays. Bear in mind that by linking these things I am not endorsing them; I am only pointing out that we are past the point when the charge of nihilism can be made without elaboration or nuance. Atheists, for their part, believe they have already answered that charge.
For atheists, the key argument is that the Christian false dichotomy ignores the fact of non-ultimate meaning, and it is this non-ultimate meaning which atheists argue should be enough for anyone to live for. We are nothing but mammals after all; why should we bother about eternal things at all?
More later!
As I read, I confess to being a little disappointed and bored with the argument. Let me play the honorary atheist here and pine that the entire post was a lengthy exercise in missing the point.
Dawkins, and I am sure most thoughtful atheists, are by now weary of the chorus of theists: "without God there cannot be anything like real meaning in life." For myself as a theist I would hope we would at least do our opponents the service of avoiding unnuanced choruses that, anyway, don't tell the atheists anything they don't already know. "The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference" (Dawkins in Scientific American, 1995). Of course he knows, and unless we're willing to get to the bottom of why Dawkins has no problem assigning moral duties to his intellectual peers, we haven't begun to speak to him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Atheists, as class, are not generally nihilists, and for most of them the Christian dichotomy between "ultimate life meaning" and "absolute meaninglessness" is a false option. There's a book on that very subject, as well as a collection of infidels.org essays. Bear in mind that by linking these things I am not endorsing them; I am only pointing out that we are past the point when the charge of nihilism can be made without elaboration or nuance. Atheists, for their part, believe they have already answered that charge.
For atheists, the key argument is that the Christian false dichotomy ignores the fact of non-ultimate meaning, and it is this non-ultimate meaning which atheists argue should be enough for anyone to live for. We are nothing but mammals after all; why should we bother about eternal things at all?
More later!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Theology studies conundrum
OK, so the most important short term goal is done - finding a job. From that, the other landmarks should fall into place - living on my own, paying my own bills and establishing credit, and settling into a manageable lifestyle.
But unfortunately, I can't quite settle until I move another mountain: applying to masters programs in theology. Ugh, this is such a chore; if only I could have finished the M.Div program at Mundelein Seminary, this would be so much easier. As it is, I am at a total loss as to where to begin. I didn't have enough time during my last trip to the Midwest to visit the schools that were recommended to me - Marquette, Chicago Divinity, or Notre Dame. Now I'm kind of stuck. Let me count the ways.
But unfortunately, I can't quite settle until I move another mountain: applying to masters programs in theology. Ugh, this is such a chore; if only I could have finished the M.Div program at Mundelein Seminary, this would be so much easier. As it is, I am at a total loss as to where to begin. I didn't have enough time during my last trip to the Midwest to visit the schools that were recommended to me - Marquette, Chicago Divinity, or Notre Dame. Now I'm kind of stuck. Let me count the ways.
- I have a job as a high school teacher, and I assured my interviewers that I had no intention of splitting at my first opportunity. I would feel like a dog if I didn't given them at least two consecutive years. This means that I am limited to Summer programs for 2008, and this means also that my deadlines have jumped up a season. It immediately disqualifies me from Notre Dame's MTS program, which they recommend for students seeking doctoral studies, which I most certainly am.
- I have to take the GRE exam. I would rather share a glass of septic waste with the unholy mutant spawn of Richard McBrian and a giraffe.
- Money's going to be tiiiiiiiiight. I'm actually not incredibly worried about this one; a Suze Orman book convinced me that I can afford to go into debt if I'm smart about it. But sadly, part of being smart about it is applying for grants.
- My academic record is schizophrenic. One year computer science at the UofA, one year English lit at St. John's Seminary College, two years philosophy in Belgium, and two years of an incomplete 4-year M.Div program at Mundelein. I have more credits than you can shake a textbook at, but they're all so scattered that I'm scared no masters program will take me. I'm a total mutt.
- I have no idea which programs to pursue. Of course, beggars can't be choosers, but I know what I want from a master's education and I'm not going to settle if I don't need to. The professors need to be brilliant enough not to make me miss Mundelein or Louvain, and the program must lead to opportunities for employment and doctoral work. Not having to take too many classes with stupid liberals would be a plus (intelligent and engaging liberals I can work with).
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Fibromyalgia
Before I start work as a teacher I pay the bills by working as a temp. My first position was a cushy data entry job at a ritzy health spa. My current position is an office clerk for a popular journal for fibromyalgia patients.
What is fibromyaglia? The simplest definition is that it is soul-crushing, full-body agony of indeterminate origin. Societal ostracization is practically a symptom of the disease. Ostensibly my job is to take orders for subscriptions and renewals. But half the time my calls are hour-long variations on the theme of: "OH GOD IT HURTS PLEASE HELP ME NOBODY ELSE WILL AAAHHH".
This is something I never encountered as a seminarian, although I imagine it is a small taste of what my CPE would have been like. Gives me an inkling of why some seminarians have near break-down experiences on their CPE assignments. On the one hand this makes me thankful I probably won't ever have to do CPE; on the other it reminds me that the human population is truly being crucified and cannot be ignored by the Body of Christ, any one of us.
The worst part about my job is how little I can do. I can't even listen to people for very long because I have projects to do in order that our publication can get out to other people with "the fibro". So the long phonecalls wind up being a battle of wills - "HELP ME" - "Would you like a complimentary information packet? - "HEAR MY STORY" - "Perhaps a diagnosis kit?" - "UNDERSTAND MY SUFFERING" - "I do apologize but I need to return to work."
*sigh* Pray for fibro patients and for me.
What is fibromyaglia? The simplest definition is that it is soul-crushing, full-body agony of indeterminate origin. Societal ostracization is practically a symptom of the disease. Ostensibly my job is to take orders for subscriptions and renewals. But half the time my calls are hour-long variations on the theme of: "OH GOD IT HURTS PLEASE HELP ME NOBODY ELSE WILL AAAHHH".
This is something I never encountered as a seminarian, although I imagine it is a small taste of what my CPE would have been like. Gives me an inkling of why some seminarians have near break-down experiences on their CPE assignments. On the one hand this makes me thankful I probably won't ever have to do CPE; on the other it reminds me that the human population is truly being crucified and cannot be ignored by the Body of Christ, any one of us.
The worst part about my job is how little I can do. I can't even listen to people for very long because I have projects to do in order that our publication can get out to other people with "the fibro". So the long phonecalls wind up being a battle of wills - "HELP ME" - "Would you like a complimentary information packet? - "HEAR MY STORY" - "Perhaps a diagnosis kit?" - "UNDERSTAND MY SUFFERING" - "I do apologize but I need to return to work."
*sigh* Pray for fibro patients and for me.
On Equality of the Sexes, part whatever
The statement that "men and women are equal" is well and good as a principle of law, as an enlightenment value and societal goal, and so on. However I think that few forget how rooted this principle is in theism - the notion that all have equal dignity and are absolutely valuable becomes incomprehensible when our common divine origin is obscured.
But suppose we do just that, being good modern philosophers and not taking for granted theistic principle. Then, what can we say about the equality of the sexes, or the equality of anybody for that matter? In fact this is not a worthless question, for it re-asks the question from a strictly naturalistic standpoint, and could serve to say something (in a round-about way) about God.
Sub specie aeternis, I do not say that "Men and women are equal"; as an abstract principle it is empty and meaningless. Rather, I say that men and women live in an infinitely recursive alternation of natural superiority and irreducible complementariness. Naturalistically speaking no male and no female is ever in a relationship in which "equality" has any currency; rather, owing in part to the roles their sexes take in different stages of life, and in part to other reasons, there is always, always a differential, and one is always giving deference to the other. There is always a primary, a secondary, and owing precisely to this differential, a special and unique fruit of the interaction. Equality, in an abstract and numerical sense, kills fruitfulness; but infinitely alternating inequalities are the rich soil of civilization.
"Woman is not independent of man or man of woman in the Lord. For just as woman came from man, so man is born of woman; but all things are from God." 1 Corinthians 11:11-12
But suppose we do just that, being good modern philosophers and not taking for granted theistic principle. Then, what can we say about the equality of the sexes, or the equality of anybody for that matter? In fact this is not a worthless question, for it re-asks the question from a strictly naturalistic standpoint, and could serve to say something (in a round-about way) about God.
Sub specie aeternis, I do not say that "Men and women are equal"; as an abstract principle it is empty and meaningless. Rather, I say that men and women live in an infinitely recursive alternation of natural superiority and irreducible complementariness. Naturalistically speaking no male and no female is ever in a relationship in which "equality" has any currency; rather, owing in part to the roles their sexes take in different stages of life, and in part to other reasons, there is always, always a differential, and one is always giving deference to the other. There is always a primary, a secondary, and owing precisely to this differential, a special and unique fruit of the interaction. Equality, in an abstract and numerical sense, kills fruitfulness; but infinitely alternating inequalities are the rich soil of civilization.
"Woman is not independent of man or man of woman in the Lord. For just as woman came from man, so man is born of woman; but all things are from God." 1 Corinthians 11:11-12
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
On "Knocked Up"
I don't mean to turn Not Noteworthy into a movie review repository, but some friends and I watched this one last night and I would like to comment (when do I not?).
The Good:
The Good:
- Implicit anti-abortion message (at least that's what I saw).
- Demonstrates that an unexpected pregnancy is not only not the end of the world, but has potential for countless blessings.
- Importance of sacrifice for the good of family.
- Insightful criticisms of various things--superficiality of show biz, some common problems in marriages, (overly controlling, overly lax) etc.
- Funny, funny, funny, funny
The Bad:
- Another movie proclaiming the normalcy of premarital and casual sex...
- ...and irreligion.
- Seems sympathetic to adultery in some cases.
- Trots out the double-standard of chastity adults have for themselves vs. their children, while suggesting that they should be more lax toward the children than disciplined with themselves.
- Sooo much pot. Cripes, when are people going to stop believing the fantasy that this is a harmless drug?
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
"Crank" and Prayer
Another far-reaching movie analysis here; I recently rented "Crank" with Jason Statham and Amy Smart (I've had a huge crush on Amy Smart since seeing Rat Race).
The movie itself doesn't have anything in the way of culturally redeeming qualities. Sorry.
But it does furnish the stuff of good analogies, so I would like to make a comparison here that a priest giving a homily could probably never get away with.
The hit-man star of the movie, Chev Chelios (which, for me, conjures up images of boxes of cereal), has been poisoned in a such a way that his heart is continually slowing down until the point it will simply stop. In order for him to stay alive just long enough to get revenge, he needs anything at all that will keep it pumping, especially adrenaline; but substitutes will do for the short term (caffeine, epinephrine, etc).
Excuse me, but do we not have here a perfect image of the human condition after the Fall?
Crank depicts a man confronted with death and who is thus placed on a desperate quest for stimulation that he knows will only postpone the inevitable. Hence, all the destructive behaviors that he engages in within 24 hours represent a whole human life of soft-despair, crammed into a day.
But now I would like to turn the tables on this analogy and suggest that Chev's struggle to stay alive also can represent our own struggle to stay alive, spiritually. Our souls, our life in God, is poisoned, and each moment we find ourselves drifting oh-so-easily away into secular despair; the time between each heartbeat is just a little longer.
If we care, if we in fact seek life eternal, if we seek to rage against the dying of the light, then we must fight against our own dying to the One Light. And that means prayer. And lots of it.
An important similarity between Chev's need for adrenaline and our own souls' need for prayer is that Chev was not experiencing a desire for adrenaline; he did not hunger for the stuff; it was simply necessary. It was medicine. And thus all of his desperation - for crack, for Red Bull, for vehicular speed, for violence - grew not so much out of base passions but out of a choice--to live (even if that choice can be deconstructed into the base passion for revenge). Consider the scene where Chev is faced with a wholly sober choice: I either press my hand in the waffle iron, or I die. Would that we could share that clarity of vision with respect to prayer!
Our souls crave prayer like our lungs crave air, but our souls are immaterial; their desire is made known only through the intellect, not the base passions. Thus, spiritually dead profligation is possible (though it leads to one's life participating a bit in Chev Chelios' more literal reality). Thus the choice to live, spiritually, is a sober choice, even more sober than Chev's option with the waffle iron. Sometimes the struggle to pray is a kind of spiritual waffle iron into which we must thrust our accedia, and scream as it burns and sizzles, yet only then be rewarded with the knowledge that - yes - I will live, spiritually, another day.
The movie itself doesn't have anything in the way of culturally redeeming qualities. Sorry.
But it does furnish the stuff of good analogies, so I would like to make a comparison here that a priest giving a homily could probably never get away with.
The hit-man star of the movie, Chev Chelios (which, for me, conjures up images of boxes of cereal), has been poisoned in a such a way that his heart is continually slowing down until the point it will simply stop. In order for him to stay alive just long enough to get revenge, he needs anything at all that will keep it pumping, especially adrenaline; but substitutes will do for the short term (caffeine, epinephrine, etc).
Excuse me, but do we not have here a perfect image of the human condition after the Fall?
Crank depicts a man confronted with death and who is thus placed on a desperate quest for stimulation that he knows will only postpone the inevitable. Hence, all the destructive behaviors that he engages in within 24 hours represent a whole human life of soft-despair, crammed into a day.
But now I would like to turn the tables on this analogy and suggest that Chev's struggle to stay alive also can represent our own struggle to stay alive, spiritually. Our souls, our life in God, is poisoned, and each moment we find ourselves drifting oh-so-easily away into secular despair; the time between each heartbeat is just a little longer.
If we care, if we in fact seek life eternal, if we seek to rage against the dying of the light, then we must fight against our own dying to the One Light. And that means prayer. And lots of it.
An important similarity between Chev's need for adrenaline and our own souls' need for prayer is that Chev was not experiencing a desire for adrenaline; he did not hunger for the stuff; it was simply necessary. It was medicine. And thus all of his desperation - for crack, for Red Bull, for vehicular speed, for violence - grew not so much out of base passions but out of a choice--to live (even if that choice can be deconstructed into the base passion for revenge). Consider the scene where Chev is faced with a wholly sober choice: I either press my hand in the waffle iron, or I die. Would that we could share that clarity of vision with respect to prayer!
Our souls crave prayer like our lungs crave air, but our souls are immaterial; their desire is made known only through the intellect, not the base passions. Thus, spiritually dead profligation is possible (though it leads to one's life participating a bit in Chev Chelios' more literal reality). Thus the choice to live, spiritually, is a sober choice, even more sober than Chev's option with the waffle iron. Sometimes the struggle to pray is a kind of spiritual waffle iron into which we must thrust our accedia, and scream as it burns and sizzles, yet only then be rewarded with the knowledge that - yes - I will live, spiritually, another day.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
The morality of pretend.
I'm still playing Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, and for the first time since I bought it a year ago I'm playing it in earnest. I "power-leveled" a character right at the beginning, which means that I took several days before starting the first quest doing nothing but building up the character's stats representing how good he is at various tasks.
In most games, doing this makes the game very easy; you walk around with a Zeus that can just glide through the game, make monkeys out of all those evil-looking bosses, and sit back and casually watch all the pretty cut-scenes. I like to play this way. But Oblivion is different because when your character levels, the world levels with you. While some quests are easier than they would be, others are ridiculously tough.
Anyway, that's not what I'm writing about. My question is, what is the point at which pretend evil becomes real evil? I ask this because certain video games, including Oblivion, at times encourage the player's character to do profoundly evil deeds. Certainly, any game featuring violence shows a certain callousness towards the finer points of moral theology. But some games, for example the original Legacy of Kain, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, Grand Theft Auto, and Oblivion, provide opportunities for your character not only to use disproportionate force to defend himself from evil creatures, but also to unambiguously lie, steal, abuse, and commit virtual murder.
Right now in Oblivion, my character has joined an assassination cult called the "Dark Brotherhood." The Brotherhood's "theology" is interesting in itself because it is monotheistic amid a fantasy world governed by polytheistic religions, only "God" is evil and delights in death; I suppose one might consider it gnostic in this sense. But it is curious because some of the dialogue seems to echo issues that then-Ratzinger brought up in his Introduction to Christianity about the advent of monotheistic faith.
For the most part, my character's contracts have been against people who aren't particularly likable, which I'm sure is by design--the game eases you into the idea of murder by making your victims out to be villains, just like the slasher movies of the 1980's made sure that none of the doomed teenage cattle would be missed. However, from reading online guides, I know that one quest my character will soon be given involves the murder of an entire family which is absolutely blameless--again by design. The game wants to take you on a trip to nihilism.
The Pope has recently condemned all manner of violent and culture-less forms of media and entertainment. "Any trend to produce programs and products – including animated films and video games – which in the name of entertainment exalt violence and portray anti-social behavior or the trivialization of human sexuality is a perversion, all the more repulsive when these programs are directed at children and adolescents.” (Link). His primary concern seems to be the formation of the consciences of children (and most of the games I mentioned above have at least "M" ratings, forcing many game stores to check IDs before they are sold).
I think perhaps a more helpful reference point would be any other form of play or pretend. Consider adults who reenact Civil War battles, "cosplay" at comic conventions, etc; or even professional acting. Mature people are able to participate in a fiction which sometimes calls on individuals to play-act at doing profoundly evil deeds. In the case of professionals, the seriousness of their skill demands immersion and thus a participation in evil thinking which must be less than comfortable. And I am referring as much to Shakespeare as I am to less culturally redeeming modern films.
Hm. I have more to write, but it's off to my little brother's graduation! What are your thoughts?
In most games, doing this makes the game very easy; you walk around with a Zeus that can just glide through the game, make monkeys out of all those evil-looking bosses, and sit back and casually watch all the pretty cut-scenes. I like to play this way. But Oblivion is different because when your character levels, the world levels with you. While some quests are easier than they would be, others are ridiculously tough.
Anyway, that's not what I'm writing about. My question is, what is the point at which pretend evil becomes real evil? I ask this because certain video games, including Oblivion, at times encourage the player's character to do profoundly evil deeds. Certainly, any game featuring violence shows a certain callousness towards the finer points of moral theology. But some games, for example the original Legacy of Kain, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, Grand Theft Auto, and Oblivion, provide opportunities for your character not only to use disproportionate force to defend himself from evil creatures, but also to unambiguously lie, steal, abuse, and commit virtual murder.
Right now in Oblivion, my character has joined an assassination cult called the "Dark Brotherhood." The Brotherhood's "theology" is interesting in itself because it is monotheistic amid a fantasy world governed by polytheistic religions, only "God" is evil and delights in death; I suppose one might consider it gnostic in this sense. But it is curious because some of the dialogue seems to echo issues that then-Ratzinger brought up in his Introduction to Christianity about the advent of monotheistic faith.
For the most part, my character's contracts have been against people who aren't particularly likable, which I'm sure is by design--the game eases you into the idea of murder by making your victims out to be villains, just like the slasher movies of the 1980's made sure that none of the doomed teenage cattle would be missed. However, from reading online guides, I know that one quest my character will soon be given involves the murder of an entire family which is absolutely blameless--again by design. The game wants to take you on a trip to nihilism.
The Pope has recently condemned all manner of violent and culture-less forms of media and entertainment. "Any trend to produce programs and products – including animated films and video games – which in the name of entertainment exalt violence and portray anti-social behavior or the trivialization of human sexuality is a perversion, all the more repulsive when these programs are directed at children and adolescents.” (Link). His primary concern seems to be the formation of the consciences of children (and most of the games I mentioned above have at least "M" ratings, forcing many game stores to check IDs before they are sold).
I think perhaps a more helpful reference point would be any other form of play or pretend. Consider adults who reenact Civil War battles, "cosplay" at comic conventions, etc; or even professional acting. Mature people are able to participate in a fiction which sometimes calls on individuals to play-act at doing profoundly evil deeds. In the case of professionals, the seriousness of their skill demands immersion and thus a participation in evil thinking which must be less than comfortable. And I am referring as much to Shakespeare as I am to less culturally redeeming modern films.
Hm. I have more to write, but it's off to my little brother's graduation! What are your thoughts?
God the Heretic, Part Deux
Well, this thing is long, repetitive, boring, and still unfinished. Enjoy!
It seems as though the "choice" complicit in determining our beliefs is not so much a positive as a negative choice.
We do not actually choose what we believe; our beliefs are only the most consistent available terminations to the foreground of our thinking at a given time. We do not have direct, volitional access to change the content of our beliefs (they are, to use a computer-term, "read-only"). Of course, by "beliefs" I mean earnest beliefs, not statements (which can be lies) or self-deceit.
On self-deceit: Self-deceit seems to be the closest that one comes to changing one's belief by sheer act of the will. However it is still not direct. Recall that I defined beliefs as the most consistent available terminations to the *foreground* of our thinking. What people know and what they believe are not always consistent. Often, knowledges are present, but have either never been made explicit (perhaps they are very subtle, like the truths that Socrates would bring to birth in his interlocutors), or have been "forgotten" - which is not to say that they have disappeared, but they have receded from the foreground of thought. It is possible for us to wilfully forget things, whether they are subtle points or unpleasant facts. These can be pushed into the background of thought where they have no appreciable effect on conscious beliefs. This is done either by neglect of mental attention to those points, or exaggerated mental attention on a peripheral point that, isolated from its ugly cousin, yields a pleasant outcome. But note that self-deception appears always to be a filter. We do not add an untrue thought to our thinking; we let the knowledge of its falshood slide into obscurity.
But back to beliefs. Beliefs are the most consistent available terminations to the foreground of our thinking. They do not rest high above, aloof from throught, but rather make up a substantial portion *of* that thought (though thought is not simply a sequence of beliefs). Beliefs make up the soft boundaries of the thinkable; thus thought itself is not entirely accessible to the will. What part of it is?
To the extent that we have any control over our daily experiences and inputs, it seems that choice enters here. Like the food we eat, the influences that we imbibe can arrive on our doorstep according to circumstance, impulse or strict planning. Of course the extent to which individuals can do this is wildly variable, and socio-economic class is a strong factor--whether one has cable, Internet access, transportation, a public library, liesure, and the education to know what kinds of influences are where, is strictly beyond anyone's control; those who have these things didn't normally earn them or earn the tools necessary to earn them. Don't tell a destitute Guatemalan villager he can be anything he wants to be. Yet even among the wealthy the breadth of this choice is tightly constricted: there is a grave disparity between the conveniently available, little province of viewpoints that satisfies most in a given 1st world country, and an authentic breaking open of the intellect. Of course I don't mean to draw a line and put myself comfortably on the favorable side of it (though that may be a necessary consequence of merely writing about it). But there is a spectrum, and unfortunately it is precisely a part of the "lower end" of the spectrum that those who belong to it imagine themselves to be at the "upper end". The market couldn't function if it couldn't persuade the masses that they are Inspired Independent Intellectual Individuals (and persuade each that he or she is moreso than most).
Yet perhaps this is looking at it the wrong way. Certainly people have unequal access to the breadth of data generated by the human species in its recorded lifetime. But individually each life can be said to be confronted with every possible choice, irrespective of complex or simple circumstances. No civilization is without its quarrels, its traditions, its wisdoms and its foolishnesses. In one shape or another the entire range of meaningful associations is accessible to every person. Acadamia is elitist; but human meaning is absolutely egalitarian. So we must personalize the question: not what are one's influences, but who.
Our chosen associations affect our thought and thus our beliefs. But how, exactly? It is not necessarily true that one's friends are also one's teachers; as mentioned, Pascal may have played dice with the godless, but not with his belief in God. Shared beliefs are but one of the possible bonds of friendship. Yet still nobody is impermeable to undesired influences; we are "porous", and Scripture frequently warns of associating with non-believers.
I mentioned before that self-deception occurs through the neglect of true thoughts (and these not need be religious thoughts; we deceive ourselves about the simplest and most mundane things). The mind is a bit like quicksand; left alone, objects will sink beneath the surface and disappear. Of course they are still there, but you wouldn't know it simply by looking.
How long can a person sustain the presence of true thoughts in the foreground of the mind? Alone, it would depend on his or her discipline and fervor for truth; yet even religious hermits depend on periodic gatherings and reminders of the brilliant yet subtle nature of their call. How much more necessary, then, would good associations be for those who also maintained associations indifferent to truth?
Again, I make a clear distinction: the danger is not that truth-indifferent associations would put dangerous or untrue thoughts in one's mind (it is scarcely possible today to avoid exposure to untrue thoughts; intellectual provincialism I do not believe is the friend of Christian communities anymore, if it in fact ever was). It is rather that, analagous to the self-deceiver who exaggerates a peripheral thought to forget the deeper thought, truth-indifferent associations exaggerate the presence of peripheral and ephemeral ideas, of zeitgeists, and true thoughts can recede into the background of the mind if they are not brought forward again by good associations.
In short (too late!), it is not the associations that one has, but the associations that one lacks, that have the most profound effect on one's ability to have a breadth of views and truths always in the foreground of thought. The "choice" which is most relevant is not the choice for this or that association but the choice against.
OK, the next installation of this thing should finish it off. I know this essay is kind of weak; but I hope profound insights are forthcoming!
It seems as though the "choice" complicit in determining our beliefs is not so much a positive as a negative choice.
We do not actually choose what we believe; our beliefs are only the most consistent available terminations to the foreground of our thinking at a given time. We do not have direct, volitional access to change the content of our beliefs (they are, to use a computer-term, "read-only"). Of course, by "beliefs" I mean earnest beliefs, not statements (which can be lies) or self-deceit.
On self-deceit: Self-deceit seems to be the closest that one comes to changing one's belief by sheer act of the will. However it is still not direct. Recall that I defined beliefs as the most consistent available terminations to the *foreground* of our thinking. What people know and what they believe are not always consistent. Often, knowledges are present, but have either never been made explicit (perhaps they are very subtle, like the truths that Socrates would bring to birth in his interlocutors), or have been "forgotten" - which is not to say that they have disappeared, but they have receded from the foreground of thought. It is possible for us to wilfully forget things, whether they are subtle points or unpleasant facts. These can be pushed into the background of thought where they have no appreciable effect on conscious beliefs. This is done either by neglect of mental attention to those points, or exaggerated mental attention on a peripheral point that, isolated from its ugly cousin, yields a pleasant outcome. But note that self-deception appears always to be a filter. We do not add an untrue thought to our thinking; we let the knowledge of its falshood slide into obscurity.
But back to beliefs. Beliefs are the most consistent available terminations to the foreground of our thinking. They do not rest high above, aloof from throught, but rather make up a substantial portion *of* that thought (though thought is not simply a sequence of beliefs). Beliefs make up the soft boundaries of the thinkable; thus thought itself is not entirely accessible to the will. What part of it is?
To the extent that we have any control over our daily experiences and inputs, it seems that choice enters here. Like the food we eat, the influences that we imbibe can arrive on our doorstep according to circumstance, impulse or strict planning. Of course the extent to which individuals can do this is wildly variable, and socio-economic class is a strong factor--whether one has cable, Internet access, transportation, a public library, liesure, and the education to know what kinds of influences are where, is strictly beyond anyone's control; those who have these things didn't normally earn them or earn the tools necessary to earn them. Don't tell a destitute Guatemalan villager he can be anything he wants to be. Yet even among the wealthy the breadth of this choice is tightly constricted: there is a grave disparity between the conveniently available, little province of viewpoints that satisfies most in a given 1st world country, and an authentic breaking open of the intellect. Of course I don't mean to draw a line and put myself comfortably on the favorable side of it (though that may be a necessary consequence of merely writing about it). But there is a spectrum, and unfortunately it is precisely a part of the "lower end" of the spectrum that those who belong to it imagine themselves to be at the "upper end". The market couldn't function if it couldn't persuade the masses that they are Inspired Independent Intellectual Individuals (and persuade each that he or she is moreso than most).
Yet perhaps this is looking at it the wrong way. Certainly people have unequal access to the breadth of data generated by the human species in its recorded lifetime. But individually each life can be said to be confronted with every possible choice, irrespective of complex or simple circumstances. No civilization is without its quarrels, its traditions, its wisdoms and its foolishnesses. In one shape or another the entire range of meaningful associations is accessible to every person. Acadamia is elitist; but human meaning is absolutely egalitarian. So we must personalize the question: not what are one's influences, but who.
Our chosen associations affect our thought and thus our beliefs. But how, exactly? It is not necessarily true that one's friends are also one's teachers; as mentioned, Pascal may have played dice with the godless, but not with his belief in God. Shared beliefs are but one of the possible bonds of friendship. Yet still nobody is impermeable to undesired influences; we are "porous", and Scripture frequently warns of associating with non-believers.
I mentioned before that self-deception occurs through the neglect of true thoughts (and these not need be religious thoughts; we deceive ourselves about the simplest and most mundane things). The mind is a bit like quicksand; left alone, objects will sink beneath the surface and disappear. Of course they are still there, but you wouldn't know it simply by looking.
How long can a person sustain the presence of true thoughts in the foreground of the mind? Alone, it would depend on his or her discipline and fervor for truth; yet even religious hermits depend on periodic gatherings and reminders of the brilliant yet subtle nature of their call. How much more necessary, then, would good associations be for those who also maintained associations indifferent to truth?
Again, I make a clear distinction: the danger is not that truth-indifferent associations would put dangerous or untrue thoughts in one's mind (it is scarcely possible today to avoid exposure to untrue thoughts; intellectual provincialism I do not believe is the friend of Christian communities anymore, if it in fact ever was). It is rather that, analagous to the self-deceiver who exaggerates a peripheral thought to forget the deeper thought, truth-indifferent associations exaggerate the presence of peripheral and ephemeral ideas, of zeitgeists, and true thoughts can recede into the background of the mind if they are not brought forward again by good associations.
In short (too late!), it is not the associations that one has, but the associations that one lacks, that have the most profound effect on one's ability to have a breadth of views and truths always in the foreground of thought. The "choice" which is most relevant is not the choice for this or that association but the choice against.
OK, the next installation of this thing should finish it off. I know this essay is kind of weak; but I hope profound insights are forthcoming!
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