Happy Thanksgiving!

Fig. 1. Turkey. From Vintage Printable

Here is a good Thanksgiving message from Patrick Deneen.

The contrast between our "feast" days and our regular days has faded nearly to the point of indistinction. In America today, we are more likely to contend with obesity than starvation, with binge shopping than asceticism, with adult diabetes than scurvy. I don't mean to minimize the genuine sufferings of the genuine poor, but many of our disadvantaged people today are far more wealthy and comfortable than even the wealthiest of the Pilgrims; poverty, "the middle class" and wealth are and have always been relative standards, points of comparison that reflect contemporary levels of material want or plenitude.

My friend and Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Virginia, Charles Mathewes, has suggested that the problem we may face in the future (if not the present) is not too much want, but too much plenty. How do we, as a civilization, deal with the existence of so much stuff when our operative definition of the world and the economy has been based on the idea that nature is one of scarcity and we need, in response, an ever-increasing generation of more?

Much of modern philosophy - from thinkers ranging from Francis Bacon to Thomas Hobbes, from John Locke to Adam Smith - has held that nature is chintzy and that human freedom consists in extending our mastery over, and control of, the natural

Rather than seeing the world as one of scarcity that required our conquest, they saw a world of plenitude and as gift

world. Freedom is the expansion of the human power to fulfill our wills and desires. Freedom today is so often defined as choice - but more, the power to fulfill choice. If we are so often dissatisfied, it is not that many of our desires go unfulfilled, but that new desires inevitably trail those that have been met, demanding new power and the further extension of mastery. As a result, our one official political policy - regardless of party or leader - is growth....

I find this fact noteworthy - for it is our older inheritance, once embodied in our humanities disciplines, that offered a different understanding of freedom. By this older definition - found in our classical and Biblical inheritance - freedom is the attainment of self-government over our appetites. Ancient and religious thinkers (ranging from Aristotle to Augustine and beyond) argued that human appetites were infinitely expandable, and that submission to the pursuit to fulfill appetite was an endless and impossible task. To pursue their fulfillment was to make oneself a slave to one's appetites. True freedom, such thinkers argued, consisted in the governance of appetite. By extension, rather than seeing the world as one of scarcity that required our conquest, such thinkers saw a world of plenitude and as gift, one that offered us many goods and even plenitude and required of us in turn good stewardship and moderate appetites. The first Thanksgiving - for all the hardship experienced by the Pilgrims - was celebrated in this spirit, not one that despised the earth for giving us too little, but celebrated creation for offering so much.

The view of the world as miserly is becoming dominant in our world today...

Changing behavior is difficult, more difficult than getting legislation passed or inventing a new form of indigestible fat. Yet, it is a capacity given to every one of us. This is our challenge and our task. In this, we have much to learn from our Puritan forbears. Let us give thanks.

He also remarks on the use of science and technology to wield power over our world, but the forsaking of the wisdom to understand, or even ask, why? and to what extent? He also touches on the failure of both political parties to ask these question as well. You should read the rest.

Link Round-up

Hi everybody.

So here's the best ways to waste time on the internet.

Man on the Move - People find cool cars on the street, take pictures, and send them in. Pretty much the best thing ever.

Mark Bittman give us a bajillion recipes we can cook ahead of time for Thanksgiving. And they all look good. Hat tip to Dreher.

Charley Parker of Lines and Colors posts about the French painter James Tissot, who devoted much of his later life to watercolors depicting Christ in the Holy Land.

Brett McKay at Art of Manliness posts Fifty Best Books for Boys.

From A Continuous Lean, a drum battle between Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich on Sammy Davis Jr's show. Who's the winner?

Answer: Sammy Davis Jr, with his dance at 3:10.

Back!

Sorry for the delay. And thank you Chris for getting back on the bloggin road again. I owe you a brew of your own choosing.

The Mockingbird has a good post up today on the "spiritual, but not religious" viewpoint, which he views as a misnomer: truly one who holds that viewpoint is religious, but not truly spiritual.

Roughly 2000 years ago, the Apostle Paul ran into a group of people who were similarly "spiritual," and had this to say to them: "Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, 'To the unknown god." What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you."

He ends with a the much-needed understanding that spiritual life is necessarily experience and shared within a cultural context, but rebuts the postmodern canard that context is all. Despite being influenced by and influencing culture-at-large, the tenets of faith of must point to an objectively grounded reality that supersedes the culture--otherwise it truly has no meaning to impact it. Thus:

I mean, all of us are, in one sense or another, pupils of Socrates. John Stewart Mill said humanity cannot be reminded often enough that there was once a man named Socrates, and that's right. But there are no temples built to Socrates. Nobody ever wrote the "B Minor Mass" in honor of Socrates, because he calls upon people to learn and therefore to be honest with themselves, but he does not call upon them to take up their cross and follow. And both he and Jesus died for what they believed. But Jesus died in the conscious commitment to the salvation of the world. And so wherever the message is preached and brought in whatever language it comes from, the language it comes to and the culture into which it penetrates must, at some stage of its maturation, learn to answer yet again the question: "Who do you say that I am?" Because the "you say" in that question is the culture in which we live. He's not asking, "Who does the fourth century say that I am?" when it was writing in Greek. That's important, because without that we wouldn't be where we are. But, at some point, you have to be who and what you are in the only culture in which you're ever going to live, the only century in which you're going to live and die, and, in that century, you have to answer with whatever linguistic and philosophical equipment you have, you have to answer the question: "Who do you say that I am?"

PS. I always approve of bloggers with bird-themed names!

My Childhood

I thought it ended a few years ago, but now I am certain.

This happened.

Music for Learning. Music for Communicating.

One thing I have always found interesting, especially from a neurological and a psychosocial standpoint is music. For instance, I believe1 (without any evidence whatsoever--perhaps my more intrepid readers could do a PubMed search, but the only readers of this blog who would value that are myself, and Greg C) that music and lyrics engage different neurological pathways and processes for learning, as opposed to typical "book larnin." For instance, if I asked you something you read or learned several months ago, you'd probably be pretty foggy. Just ask me about all the antiepileptic drugs I crammed for my boards a couple months ago. Yet if a song came on the radio, even one you haven't heard for several months, you could sing along without much difficulty, and remember mots of lines. Probably part of this is due to repetition, but then again, I repetitively flipped through those pharmacology flash cards a lot too.

Now here's this, in a recent interview by Scott Horton with famed neurologist Oliver Sacks in Harper's:

Aphasia is a terribly frustrating and isolating condition. Some people experience temporary aphasia (say, following a stroke or brain injury), but others are left with it for months or years. Yet many people with expressive aphasia, unable to utter a sentence, may be able to sing. I often greet such patients by singing “Happy Birthday” to them, whether it is their birthday or not. Everyone knows the words and melody of this song, and often aphasic people can join in. In 1973, Martin Albert and his colleagues in Boston described a form of music therapy they called “melodic intonation therapy.” Patients were taught to sing or intone short phrases—for example, “How are you today?” Then the musical elements of this were removed slowly until (in some cases) the patient regained the power to speak a little without the aid of intonation. One sixty-seven-year-old man, aphasic for eighteen months—he could only produce meaningless grunts and had received three months of speech therapy without effect—started to produce words two days after beginning melodic intonation therapy; in two weeks, he had an effective vocabulary of a hundred words, and at six weeks, he could carry on “short, meaningful conversations.”

This is a very specific use of music therapy, but there are many others. People with Alzheimer’s or other dementias will often respond to music even when they are able to respond to little else. Music, especially familiar music from one’s early years, can help to orient and organize such people.

Music works because it engages so many parts of the brain. Rhythm, actual or imagined, activates areas of the motor cortex, crucial in synchronizing and energizing movement—whether for athletes or people with movement disorders like Parkinson’s disease or Tourette’s syndrome. In Musicophilia, I described a man who has incessant seizures, which only stop when he plays music, though this is a highly individual thing, for some people with epilepsy may find that music of a particular sort can actually trigger seizures. By and large, though, there are few, if any, bad side effects of music, and music can often work where no medications can.

Interesting!

The Man at Midnight

Via Ray Ortlund, quoting Alexander Whyte's Lord, Teach Us to Pray:

"See the man at midnight. Imitate that man. Act it all alone at midnight. Hear his loud cry, and cry it after him. He needed three loaves. What is your need? Name it. Name it out loud. Let your own ears hear it. . . . The shameful things you have to ask for. The disgraceful, the incredible things you have to admit and confess. The life you have lived. The way you have spent your days and nights. And what all that has brought you to. It kills you to have to say such things even with your door shut. Yes, but better say all these things in closets than have them all proclaimed from the housetops of the day of judgment. Knock, man! Knock for the love of God! Knock as they knock to get into heaven after the door is shut! Knock, as they knock to get out of hell!"

Do I pray with such urgency? Such humilty? No.

Travelling Aboard the Sea Wolf

Lately I've been reading some of Jack London's Sea Wolf, in which, through chance, the aristocratic and idealistic Humphrey Van Leyden finds himself aboard a seal-hunting ship bound for Japan at the turn of the twentieth century. The ship is captained by the towering Wolf Larsen, a man whose cruelty is a reflection not of the oppression of the capitalist economic regime--the socialist London uses other characters to make that point--but of the vacuousness of modern materialism.¹

An excerpt:

Before closing this incident, I must give a scrap of conversation I had with Wolf Larsen in the cabin, while I was washing the dishes.

"You were looking squeamish this afternoon," he began. "What was the matter?"

I could see that he knew what had made me possibly as sick as Harrison, that he was trying to draw me, and I answered, "It was because of the brutal treatment of that boy."

He gave a short laugh. "Like seasickness, I suppose. Some men are subject to it, and others are not."

"Not so," I objected.

"Just so," he went on. "The earth is as full of brutality as the sea is full of motion. And some men are made sick by the one, and some by the other. That's the only reason."

"But you, who make a mock of human life, don't you place any value upon it whatever?" I demanded.

"Value? What value?" He looked at me, and though his eyes were steady and motionless, there seemed a cynical smile in them. "What kind of value? How do you measure it? Who values it?"

"I do," I made answer.

"Then what is it worth to you? Another man's life, I mean. Come, now, what is it worth?"

The value of life? How could I put a tangible value upon it? Somehow, I, who have always had expression, lacked expression when with Wolf Larsen. I have since determined that a part of it was due to the man's personality, but that the greater part was due to his totally different outlook. Unlike other materialists I had met and with whom had something in common to start on, I had nothing in common with him. Perhaps, also, it was the elemental simplicity of his mind that baffled me. He drove so directly to the core of the matter, divesting a question always of all superfluous details, and with such an air of finality, that I seemed to find myself struggling in deep water with no footing under me. Value of life? How could I answer the question on the spur of the moment? The sacredness of life I had accepted as axiomatic. That it was intrinsically valuable was a truism I had never questioned. But when he challenged the truism I was speechless.

"We were talking about this yesterday," he said. "I held that life was a ferment, a yeasty something which devoured life that it might live, and that living was merely successful piggishness. Why, if there is anything in supply and demand, life is the cheapest thing in the world. There is only so much water, so much earth, so much air; but the life that is demanding to be born is limitless. Nature is a spendthrift. Look at the fish and their millions of eggs. For that matter, look at you and me. In our loins are the possibilities of millions of lives. Could we but find time and opportunity and utilize the last bit and every bit of the unborn life that is in us, we could become the fathers of nations and populate continents. Life? Bah! It has no value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest. Everywhere it goes begging. Nature spills it out with a lavish hand. Where there is room for one life, she sows a thousand lives, and it's life eats life till the strongest and most piggish life is left."

"You have read Darwin," I said. "But you read him misunderstandingly when you conclude that the struggle for existence sanctions your wanton destruction of life."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You know you only mean that in relation to human life, for of the flesh and the fowl and the fish you destroy as much as I or any other man. And human life is in no wise different, though you feel it is and think that you reason why it is. Why should I be parsimonious with this life which is cheap and without value? There are more sailors than there are ships on the sea for them, more workers than there are factories or machines for them. Why, you who live on the land know that you house your poor people in the slums of cities and loose famine and pestilence upon them, and that there still remain more poor people, dying for want of a crust of bread and a bit of meat, (which is life destroyed), than you know what to do with. Have you ever seen the London dockers fighting like wild beasts for a chance to work?"

He started for the companion stairs, but turned his head for a final word. "Do you know the only value life has is what life puts upon itself? And it is of course overestimated, since it is of necessity prejudiced in its own favor. Take that man I had aloft. He held on as if he were a precious thing, a treasure beyond diamonds or rubies. To you? No. To me? Not at all. To himself? Yes. But I do not accept his estimate. He sadly overrates himself. There is plenty more life demanding to be born. Had he fallen and dripped his brains upon the deck like honey from the comb, there would have been no loss to the world. He was worth nothing to the world. The supply is too large. To himself only was he of value, and to show how fictitious even this value was, being dead he is unconscious that he has lost himself. He alone rated himself beyond diamonds and rubies. Diamonds and rubies are gone, spread out on the deck to be washed away by a bucket of sea-water, and he does not even know that the diamonds and rubies are gone. He does not lose anything, for with the loss of himself he loses the knowledge of loss. Don't you see? And what have you to say?"

"That you are at least consistent," was all I could say, and went on washing the dishes.

And later on:

I do not forget one night, when I should have been asleep, of lying on the forecastle-head and gazing down at the spectral ripple of foam thrust aside by the Ghost's forefoot. It sounded like the gurgling of a brook over mossy stones in some quiet dell, and the crooning song of it lured me away and out of myself till I was no longer Hump the cabin-boy, nor Van Weyden, the man who had dreamed away thirty- five years among books. But a voice behind me, the unmistakable voice of Wolf Larsen, strong with the invincible certitude of the man and mellow with appreciation of the words he was quoting, aroused me.

"`O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light

That holds the hot sky tame,

And the steady forefoot snores through the planet-powdered floors

Where the scared whale flukes in flame.

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,

And her ropes are taut with the dew,

For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,

We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.'"

"Eh, Hump? How's it strike you?" he asked, after the due pause which words and setting demanded.

I looked into his face. It was aglow with light, as the sea itself, and the eyes were flashing in the starshine.

"It strikes me as remarkable, to say the least, that you should show enthusiasm," I answered coldly.

"Why, man, it's living! it's life!" he cried.

"Which is a cheap thing and without value," I flung his words at him.

He laughed, and it was the first time I had heard honest mirth in his voice.

"Ah, I cannot get you to understand, cannot drive it into your head, what a thing this life is. Of course life is valueless, except to itself. And I can tell you that my life is pretty valuable just now -- to myself. It is beyond price, which you will acknowledge is a terrific overrating, but which I cannot help, for it is the life that is in me that makes the rating."

He appeared waiting for the words with which to express the thought that was in him, and finally went on.

"Do you know, I am filled with a strange uplift; I feel as if all time were echoing through me, as though all powers were mine. know truth, divine good from evil, right from wrong. My vision is clear and far. I could almost believe in God. But," -- and his voice changed and the light went out of his face, -- "what is this condition in which I find myself? this joy of living? this exultation of life? this inspiration, I may well call it? It is what comes when there is nothing wrong with one's digestion, when his stomach is in trim and his appetite has an edge, and all goes well. It is the bribe for living, the champagne of the blood, the effervescence of the ferment -- that makes some men think holy thoughts, and other men to see God or to create him when they cannot see him. That is all, the drunkenness of life, the stirring and crawling of the yeast, the babbling of the life that is insane with consciousness that it is alive. And -- bah! To- morrow I shall pay for it as the drunkard pays. And I shall know that must die, at sea most likely, cease crawling of myself to be all acrawl with the corruption of the sea; to be fed upon, to be carrion, to yield up all the strength and movement of my muscles that it may become strength and movement in fin and scale and the guts of fishes. Bah! And bah! again. The champagne is already flat. The sparkle and bubble has gone out and it is a tasteless drink."

1. Although I'm waiting for London to point out how the social Darwinism is used to justify economic exploitation. In a later chapter I suppose. I wonder what would happen if London and Nietszche had a conversation?

WOW! In reading Wikipedia on Nietszche's "Ubermensch" (or Super-Man), I just read this:

Jack London dedicated both his novels The Sea-Wolf and Martin Eden to criticizing Nietzsche's concept of the Übermensch and his radical individualism, which London, in his interpretation of Nietzsche's concept, considered to be selfish and egoistic.

Well, that answers that question.

Pseudofaith

AW Tozer:

The man of pseudo faith will fight for his verbal creed but refuse flatly to allow himself to get into a predicament where his future must depend upon that creed being true. He always provides himself with secondary ways of escape so he will have a way out if the roof caves in. What we need very badly these days is a company of Christians who are prepared to trust God as completely now as they know they must do at the last day.

Via Justin Taylor

Return of the Blogroll; or Shout-Out Time!

Some of you don't know what a blog roll is, and may think it is a tasty pastry to go with those lady finger sandwiches I wrote about in the last post.  Actually, it's new-fangled code words for "links to other blogs that are lined up on the side of your blog---just move the pointy arrow on your screen over, click on them, and you go there like magic."

So here's a run-down of friends of mine who have blogs.  If you have a blog, and are a friend of mine, lemme know and you can be up there to.  Traffic to your site will increase by leaps and bounds: both of my readers (Hi Mom and Dad!) will visit you on your website.

So, without further adieu:

Embracing the Passion

My friend good friend Lieutenaint J writes about life as an officer in the United States Marine Corps in Iraq.

An American in Paris Phoenix

My friend writes (formerly) about the travails of cooking in Paris, and now about beating the heat in the desert.  (It's a dry heat, they say.  So's the surface of the sun).

Mark&Ali

I did a quick stint in New Orleans, and the wonderful lady who helped organize our trip, Ali, is now working with her husband in ministry in Brazil.  His name is Mark, in case you were wondering :)

The Grande Adventure

My friend Chris, reaching out in the Eternal City.  Plus he links to music all the time.

Crash

My friend Chad, working with Young Life at Central Crossing

Among the Lampstands

Wes writes as only Wes can.

Well that is it for now, folks.  Bye everybody!

Blake's Story

OK, my friend Chris posted a remarkable story from a kid who just graduated from my high school (yay, Golden Bears! Three straight state championships in hoity-toity sports like lawn bowling, horseback polo, and competitive formal dining--how many lady finger sandwiches can you eat in 15 minutes and still down a cup of Earl Grey? Out school record is 32--hollandaise sauce included¹--by Morton Mortington III--I jest because I love).

Anyway, my friend Chris reported on it first, so just go over to his place. I have a comment at the bottom, or at least I will as soon as Chris accepts it, which he better, or else I'll throw a ladyfinger sandwich at him.

¹I've long maintained that hollandaise sauce is just Dutch mayonnaise.

The Death of a Good Man

Apropos of my last post, here is an obituary of Billy Raftery, a man I never knew, but a friend of Francis Beckwith, of What's Wrong with the World.

William Paul "Billy" Raftery, 57, of Las Vegas, a loving son, brother and uncle, passed away suddenly May 27, 2009. He was born May 22, 1952, in Norfolk, Va., and was a 45-year resident of Las Vegas. Billy was employed as a room service waiter at Bally's Las Vegas since 1973, and was on duty during the 1980 MGM Grand fire. Although he graduated from Valley High School in 1971, he was a true-blue Bishop Gorman Gael. Billy was honored for his loyal support to the

If hope fails, is nothing left but to make the final cut?

Bishop Gorman Athletic Department as the equipment manager for the football, basketball and baseball teams from 1979 through 2001. Billy's devotion to the Gaels did not end with the sports he managed, his passion for everything orange and blue emanated from him. His attendance at every Gorman sporting event possible never faltered. The two things that were most important to Billy were Gorman and his family....Billy, you've touched all of our lives and will be deeply missed. We love you "Soulman."

Beckwith writes:

I forgot to mention that Billy was born mentally challenged. But, you see, it really did not matter, since Billy was more than the sum total of his parts. He was, and is, a person made in the image of God. He lived a good life, and for that, we are all better off for having known him and having witnessed the example he set for his community.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and may perpetual Light shine upon him; may his soul and all souls, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

I never knew Mr. Raftery.  But I hope I will someday.

I wonder what suprises will we see when we have pierced the veil and walk on the other side of eternity.  Whose voices of love will we hear for the first time, because we considered silence more humane than the sound sobbing, presuming that pain cannot strengthen hearts.

If we are so impoverished as to think that that tragedies are curses, inescapable and inevitable, and can never be transformed into blessings, to what purpose is endurance? To what purpose is hope?

Yes, the world, and its people, are broken.  Some may think that we can remake the world anew.  But we do not have that kind of transformative power.  We can only remove or conceal our flaws, but this is not life, but death by a thousand small amputations.  And when we are honest with our brokenness, where does the incision end?  If hope fails, is nothing left but to make the final cut?

Can we live by suicide?

"Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better."

-Ecclesiastes 7:3

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any pain: for the former things are passed away.

And He that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.  And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful."

-Revelation 21:4-5.

A Bioethics of Love

This is by far the most interesting thing you will read this week.

Helen Rittelmeyer has written a piece detailing caring for a sister who is mentally retarded, and considering the ramifications of contemporary bioethics: namely, clarifying the crucial differences between the elimination and alleviation of suffering, and whether our impulses to eliminate suffering, rather than endure it, make us poorer in the long run.

A more mature version might be: A healthy interest in happiness is good, but only when tempered by a suspicion that happiness is less an ultimate goal than a side effect. A man could live a good life by pursuing virtue, personal excellence, love, or salvation, but, if he does nothing but chase pleasure for its own sake, his life will be happy—and very, very small.

So far, so uncontroversial. The missing link between the above summary and a grand narrative of cultural decline is this: As idle pleasures become more and more alluring, they become harder and harder to resist. One need not be a paranoiac about the decline of civilization to admit that leisure is more appealing than virtue, which demands greater sacrifices and promises less straightforward rewards. As our entertainments offer greater thrills at cheaper rates, the choice between the good fight and good fun starts to look obvious.

It used to be that crotchety bellwethers of decadence would nudge our country towards self-discipline by holding up its manliest heroes and reciting Teddy Roosevelt’s paean to men who dare (which made those Americans who could not so much as go to the store without assistance begin to feel very nervous). But different ages need different heroes. Other generations had to contend with the temptations of consumerism, luxury, and ever-increasing opportunities for laziness; ours has to contend with science. The fantasy is the same: the eradication of pain, and the eventual obsolescence of all those habits that feel awful but build character. Science in our day, like leisure in others, has improved so rapidly that its champions have begun to suspect that the age of painlessness is finally at hand.

...

To frame the idea in a different way, we all hope for our friends’ continual self-improvement: that our favorite penny-pincher will become more charitable, that our directionless nephew will discover some driving passion, that the melancholic next door will find inner peace. But in none of these cases would we want our friend to become someone else. They should become better, but should stay recognizably themselves. When a man’s disability is fundamental to his character, then there is no difference between wishing for a cure and wishing he were someone else. As Jim Sinclair put it in 1993, “It is not possible to separate autism from the person. Therefore, when parents say, ‘I wish my child did not have autism,’ what they’re really saying is, ‘I wish the autistic child I have did not exist and I had a different (non-autistic) child instead.’”

...

Love—whether it’s love for a sport, love for one’s sister, or love for humanity in all its forms, however grotesque—is the thing that makes a man say, “Sacrifice. That’s all.” Its yoke is easy, its burden light. Life with a disability involves sacrifices, some of which are merely onerous and should be eliminated, some of which cannot be eliminated without implicitly disputing love’s power to turn sacrifice into a gift.

Science has asked us to endorse its vision of a perpetually comfortable and easy world, and so we cannot help but make a firm choice, now, whether to celebrate self-discipline or to resent its necessity. If we choose the latter, we may soon find ourselves living in the world of Wall*E—painless, and pointless. If we choose the former, we may find that the prophets of our new asceticism are the deaf parents who decline cochlear implants for their newborn, the wheelchair-bound employee who finds nothing undignified about asking a co-worker for help every morning, the mother who carries a Down Syndrome baby to term—those who have had hardship thrust upon them and, nevertheless, have found some nobility in it.  Science and disability law will both continue to develop, but we must be careful in choosing the goal toward which their progress is directed.

You must read the piece in its entirety.

Pistons and Punches

Well everybody, here's a couple great things you need to read.

First is a quick history of boxing from the Art of Manliness.

Second is an essay on the tragic downfall of the automobile, by PJ O'Rourke.

If all this has you hankerin' for past boxing glory, I would recommend this.  

The photo is Rocky Marciano in a 1952 De Soto, as pictured in LIFE Magazine.

Link Roundup

Howdy everybody.   Been really busy lately, but decided to shoot these links out to y'all.

Paul Zahl, quoted in Ray Ortlund's blog:

"Realism has never been a mean achievement. It is a hard-won asset. And it differs from cynicism, with which it is sometimes confused, by only a slender thread -- the thread, I believe, of God's grace. . . . We are thinking of the person who can say, on the one hand, 'I am an incredible idiot,' and at the same time, 'Life is good and the future holds out hope.'"

Anne Jackson, asking if she is a Technology Addict?

John Piper, Breaking Free From an Entertainment Addiction:

I'm deeply concerned about that. I want to stand for seriousness about God, instead of making him palatable by making him "fun"! Turning him into another piece of entertainment

Lydia McGrew, on not teaching your kids about Santa

Carlos Whittaker, on learning about God from the bearded ma at the coffee shop.

Michael Bucchino, reporting on the World Beard Championships

Megan McArdle, on why elevated CAFE standards aren't ideal

Roland Martin, on being a real father

That's probably good for now.

Maybe it will be like unplugging from the Matrix...

It's official: we're running out of internet.

When I shut the blog down, I'll notify you by email.

Weeping Ukeleles...

Best uke song I've heard in quite sometime.  Maybe that's cause I never listen to uke songs.  Maybe I should start.  Wait till he really gets goin'.

HT: Jonah Goldberg

"Systematic Training in Objectivity"

Lydia McGrew comments on specious reasonng in favor of physician-assisted suicide.

Early Marriage

Elsewhere on the internet, people are arguing about whether it is a good idea to marry early. This all stems from an op-ed in the Washington Post by sociologist Mark Regnerus, who writes:

In my research on young adults' romantic relationships, many women report feeling peer pressure to avoid giving serious thought to marriage until they're at least in their late 20s. If you're seeking a mate in college, you're considered a pariah, someone after her "MRS degree." Actively considering marriage when you're 20 or 21 seems so sappy, so unsexy, so anachronistic. Those who do fear to admit it -- it's that scandalous.

How did we get here? The fault lies less with indecisive young people than it does with us, their parents. Our own ideas about marriage changed as we climbed toward career success. Many of us got our MBAs, JDs, MDs and PhDs. Now we advise our children to complete their education before even contemplating marriage, to launch their careers and become financially independent. We caution that depending on another person is weak and fragile. We don't want them to rush into a relationship. We won't help you with college tuition anymore, we threaten. Don't repeat our mistakes, we warn.

Later:

Marriage actually works best as a formative institution, not an institution you enter once you think you're fully formed. We learn marriage, just as we learn language, and to the teachable, some lessons just come easier earlier in life. "Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth," added Tennyson to his lines about springtime and love.

Peter Suderman disagrees.  Pascal Emmanuel-Gobry agrees, and wrote this gem:

There is a very strong “ideology” (for want of a better term) that tells us each and every one of us must enjoy ourselves, start our careers and — for the love of all that is holy! — go through many, many, preferably long steps, including but not limited to, dating, assessing “sexual compatibility” (whatever that means), going “exclusive,” meeting the parents, moving in together, having a pet, having a kid or two, et caetera ad nauseam ad infinitum before we even think about getting married.

I never stop being amazed at the paradox that the more marriage is cheapened, contractualized, made commitment-lite, covenant-lite (sorry, the financial and biblical pun is irresistible), the more we are told to be careful and risk-averse when it comes to entering into it. After all, do you really need seven years of shared rent, a golden retriever, a boy and a girl to know whether your mid-life crisis divorce will succeed? It’s Sex and the City as life ethic.

Please don’t look for someone whose life outlook and deepest sensibilities complete yours — how quaint! But make sure to find out on the first date whether he likes 80s pop non-ironically or grunts weirdly during sex, so you can quickly move on to the next guy. And for the love of God never stop bar-hopping, never stop reducing courtship to a mating dance and a checklist of the most shallow criteria, and please, please extend your adolescence for as long as damn possible.

What think ye, loyal readers?

Uplifting

Stunning.

The Purpose of the Academy

Hi everybody, I am tired of studying biochemistry right now, so I will have a few brief comments on the Barack Obama/Mary Ann Glendon affair.  

For those of you who don't know, President Obama is slated to give the commencement address at Notre Dame, and Professor Glendon was scheduled to receive the Laetare Medal, a high honor given to Catholic scholars or stewards (in some capacity--I am no expert on the award).  In any case, she decided to decline the award, saying that she was used as traditional token church traditionalist in counterpoint to the President's pro-abortion views.   Google it at your leisure.

Elsewhere, Patrick Deneen wrote:

While Glendon does not emphasize one direction that these statements could be taken, the tactic is clear and widespread: it is enough for Catholic institutions to have some voice on campus that "represents" the Catholic view, and the very presence of such a voice is sufficient both to signal the soundness of the institution's Catholic identity as well as permitting the inclusion of any and all non- or even anti-Catholic voices. It's as if what's being said is: "Don't worry about all that stuff that indicates we are not Catholic - we have Program X over here, or Professor Q over there." What this thin and bankrupt argument seeks in fact to obfuscate is the absence of an actual dominant and defining Catholic culture and governing philosophy on campus. What it seeks to veil is that a large number of "Catholic" institutions seek to be indistinguishable from their secular and disaffiliated counterparts with a light sprinkling of some Catholic program or symbols that purport to show their distinctiveness. Meanwhile - as the student guides of the campus tours at Georgetown always seek to point out to prospective students and their families - we all know that this school is not REALLY Catholic - ::wink-wink:: - so don't worry. It's all just for show.

This raises a good point about the greater question of the purpose of academia and intellectual pursuit.  Some will allege that providing a panoply of views within a particular institution is beneficial, in that we need to have free inquiry into a wide variety of ideas: ideas imposed by an institutional monoculture are not ideas at all, but propaganda.  Agreed.  But intellectual humility can be taken too far, and is taken too far in many circumstances.  When official promulgation of doctrine or ideas is silenced for the prevention of "divisiveness," we must ask what, in the end, is the pursuit of truth for?  Because if we hold that adhering to an idea, or thought, or belief is necessarily oppressive or hurtful, then academia itself becomes a contradiction.  

We must have the humility to admit we can be wrong, but we must also have the honesty to stand for something.  At some point, rationality cannot be the riddle of the Zen koan--a delicate balance of yin and yang, ever opposed, ever different, but always equal.

To clarify, in the setting of Catholic universities:  some will say that official doctrine is ipso facto oppressive and antithetical to thought.  Yes, I admit, it can be; truth imposed by fear or sheer rigidity does not cause agreement, but rather, acquiescence--later to be replaced by rebellion, when out of the shadow of the nun's icy glare, so to speak.  Persuasion is necessary.  However, the entire concept of education is that the young pupils must be built up by those who are older, wiser, etc.  The power differential between teacher and student must not be abused, but we must recognize that a power differential exists, but that this is not a problem in itself.  Too often, the concept that the young should rebel against their elders is upheld, citing abuses of traditionalism and authority, but this is to say their misuese implies they are by their very nature bad, when this is not so.  Yes, all societies and cultures have problems that require change and reform, but they also have things that should endure and be preserved, and reflexive spewing about the "damn kids on your lawn," or "crotchety, old codgers who know nothing" only spares us the hard work of asking us the hard questions of what must be kept and what must be thrown out.

To the point of intellectual pursuit in a Catholic university (or any with an official doctrine): again, free inquiry is desirable in its own right, but only to its proper extent¹.  At some point, if a university or organization is established under the premise that "This is true," then eventually, it must uphold that tenet.  Why?  Because again, if academia and inquiry actually matter because the truth is actually true, then when someone concludes tenet X or point Y, they have an obligation to fight for it.  You may say that this stifles debate, asking questions, etc, but remember, universities do not exist in a vacuum, but in the greater milieu of the culture at large, where there a plenty of other universities, groups, scholars, et al who will gladly disagree.  In other words, a university that vigorously defends its tenets is not squelching dissent, but engaging it.  If we cared deeply about debate and inquiry, we would see that anything less is not accomodation---it is abdication.

1.  Yes I know I am not asking the "hard questions" of what that extent is.  It's late, I'm tired, and I have to go review aminolevulinic acid.  If you have any ideas, that's what the comment box is for.

Hopelessness

Only the man who has had to face despair is really convinced that he needs mercy.  Those who do not want mercy never seek it.  It is better to find God on the threshold of despair than to risk our lives in a complacency that has never felt the need of forgiveness.  A life that is  without problems may literally be more hopeless than one that always verges on despair.

Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island,  1955,  pp 21-22.

Greg Oden is still awesome

Yeah, you thought he was gonna fade away, but constant injuries can't prevent Greg Oden from being cooler than you are.

From Eleven Warriors

Good doggie

Here, I am going on vacation and don't want to leave you on a downer.

So here's a picture of a bulldog from the Daily Puppy.

Chas: "Ello, there! Me given name is Charles, but you can call me Chaz.  Headed down to the pub for a pint or two. Care to join?"

Ok, have a good one, y'all.

Nietzsche's Abyss

Dinesh D'Souza writes in a recent Christianity Today on another well-known atheist, ethicist Peter Singer.  D'Souza writes:

Nietzsche's argument is illustrated in considering two of the central principles of Western civilization: "All men are created equal" and "Human life is precious." Nietzsche attributes both ideas to Christianity. It is because we are created equal and in the image of God that our lives have moral worth and that we share the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Nietzsche's warning was that none of these values make sense without the background moral framework against which they were formulated. A post-Christian West, he argued, must go back to the ethical drawing board and reconsider its most cherished values, which include its traditional belief in the equal dignity of every human life.

Singer resolutely takes up a Nietzschean call for a "transvaluation of values," with a full awareness of the radical implications.

Read the rest to see what those implications are.

Not to be Here, Not to be Anywhere

Over at the American Scene, Alan Jacobs posts a couple of posts on facing death as an atheist.

Within, he notes a curious non-chalance or even celebratory attitude of some atheists towards death.  He noted that biologist Richard Dawkins called the fear of death "illogical,"  and that fantasy author Philip Pullman wrote that some characters' deaths were like "vivid little burst of happiness [like] the bubbles in a glass of champagne."  But this is a confused metaphor: any pleasure from the champagne bubbles bursting is within the tongue of the drinker.  The bubbles are the object of the pleasure, not the subject, and this sloppy metaphor provides a way to gloss over their annihiliation with the foggy memories of past soirees.  Alternatively, such language could be used to imply the bubbles are subsumed into the greater whole of the champagne itself---the raindrops becoming part of the ocean idea--but this is pantheist, and not atheist, thought, and Pullman should be clear and honest enough to say so.

Jacobs posted a portion of a poem by a more circumspect atheist, Philip Larkin, entitled "Aubade." An excerpt:

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse

- The good not used, the love not given, time

Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because

An only life can take so long to climb

Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never:

But at the total emptiness forever,

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid

No trick dispels. Religion used to try,

That vast moth-eaten musical brocade

Created to pretend we never die,

And specious stuff that says no rational being

Can fear a thing it cannot feel, not seeing

that this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,

No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,

Nothing to love or link with,

The anaesthetic from which none come round.

So, if you want to pursue atheism, you are free to do so.  Just be prepared to shudder; the reaper does not take kindly to glib snickering.

Sex positive?

A few weeks ago, I linked to a post at Rod Dreher's blog describing a recent "Sex Positive" week at Georgetown.

I was struck by the verbal positioning of the entire affair--sex positivity?  Implying that more traditional ideas are sex negative?

If the Christian community has its theology right, shouldn't we be the ones who are the most "sex positive"?  If our words don't match this, where have we erred?  How can we celebrate this blessing?  

And, more pointedly, why do we usually not?  Much of this stems from regarding the entire topic as taboo, which means we are not effectively delineating sermonologically or culturally between good and bad.  Treating the whole topic in the hushed whispers of opprobrium does us no favors, either in terms of educating believers or reaching out to those who are not.  We need to recognize our own failings, and develop means of approaching this topic with much more openness, with the ability to argue what we are for, and nor merely what we are against.  Otherwise we confirm the caricatures others make of us.

On the other hand, this isn't to excuse those who make such caricatures.  It is difficult to have real discussions when the terms of the debate are arrayed against you, and your first step is almost to apologize for being so "sex negative."  

These silly ad hominem arguments don't help anybody, and they're certainly easy to fall into.   And the Christian community falls for it, too, which only breeds insularity and self-righteousness.

By the way, one thing I need to counter here is the whole "sexual repression" concept that's been floating around for the past 50 years at least.  If you're not clear what this is, then listen to one of its proponents, Hugh Hefner:

What causes all the sickness, the perversion, the rape, is a repressive society--a society that can't be open in a loving and positive way.

OK, I am hereby proposing ground rules for ad hominem lines of thought like this one.  One of three options.  If you're going to say your opponent has some sort of psychological malady, then, please, lets have some diagnostic criteria.  I want to see the page on the DSM you're reading from.  Otherwise, please, let's not go calling everybody who disagrees with you a nutjob.  It's not helpful.

Heavy Stumbling Feet

OK, so I've been slacking again. Sorry.

This week is test week, so I will be posting, but it will be other folks' writing.  But it's good.

This from Tony Woodlief:

I spent a good portion of my time in a small chapel, learning prayers that preceded the Roman Catholic Church. I came with a great weight on my bones, a weight that overwhelmed me in that tiny chapel. I fell to my knees there, and prayed with quivering shoulders and trembling hands, done in by grief over the past, fear of the future, the knowing that this present ground is sand, that my feet must soon move forward or backward. Each way bears a cost; one of the great lies of men is that the path can be traveled without suffering. Another great lie is that we can stand still and read books and let our paltry knowledge carry us into the arms of God. We have to walk, with heavy, stumbling feet.

Read the rest.

Courage in the face of death

About every week, I read to an older man in who has diabetic retinopathy (diabetes is hurting his eyes) so he can't read that well himself.  Lately we've been reading a history of Great Britain by Thomas Babington Macaulay, a 19th century Member of Parliament who, in his spare time, wrote prolifically.¹  In any case, his histories are far more in depth

Within an hour of eternity, sleeping as sweetly as a man ever did

than anything I read in high school, bringing up all the backstories and personal elements of history that most texts gloss over or omit entirely.  Also, I think that Macaulay can often writes with more wit and style than today's texts, which are often written by committee and are editted to the point of not alleging anything forcefully or controversially.²

In any case, I was struck by this passage on the death of Argyle, a Scottish Presbyterian and nobleman captured during an insurrection against the Catholic King James II in 1685.  I don't know what to say regarding the interdenomiational warfare and political intrigue, but it is a tremendous account of courage, peace, and humility--things we don't hear often anymore, but certainly should.

And now commenced the brightest part of Argyle's career. His enterprise had hitherto brought on him nothing but reproach and derision. His great error was that he did not resolutely refuse to accept the name without the power of a general. Had he remained quietly at his retreat in Friesland, he would in a few years have been recalled with honour to his country, and would have been conspicuous among the ornaments and the props of constitutional monarchy. Had he conducted his expedition according to his own views, and carried with him no followers but such as were prepared implicitly to obey all his orders, he might possibly have effected something great. For what he wanted as a captain seems to have been, not courage, nor activity, nor skill, but simply authority. He should have known that of all wants this is the most fatal. Armies have triumphed under leaders who possessed no very eminent qualifications. But what army commanded by a debating club ever escaped discomfiture and disgrace?

The great calamity which had fallen on Argyle had this advantage, that it enabled him to show, by proofs not to be mistaken, what manner of man he was. From the day when he quitted. Friesland to the day when his followers separated at Kilpatrick, he had never been a free agent. He had borne the responsibility of a long series of measures which his judgment disapproved. Now at length he stood alone. Captivity had restored to him the noblest kind of liberty, the liberty of governing himself in all his words and actions according to his own sense of the right and of the becoming. From that moment he became as one inspired with new wisdom and virtue. His intellect seemed to be strengthened and concentrated, his moral character to be at once elevated and softened. The insolence of the conquerors spared nothing that could try the temper of a man proud of ancient nobility and of patriarchal dominion. The prisoner was dragged through Edinburgh in triumph. He walked on foot, bareheaded, up the whole length of that stately street which, overshadowed by dark and gigantic piles of stone, leads from Holyrood House to the Castle. Before him marched the hangman, bearing the ghastly instrument which was to be used at the quartering block. The victorious party had not forgotten that, thirty-five years before this time, the father of Argyle had been at the head of the faction which put Montrose to death. Before that event the houses of Graham and Campbell had borne no love to each other; and they had ever since been at deadly feud. Care was taken that the prisoner should pass through the same gate and the same streets through which Montrose had been led to the same doom. 349 When the Earl reached the Castle his legs were put in irons, and he was informed that he had but a few days to live. It had been determined not to bring him to trial for his recent offence, but to put him to death under the sentence pronounced against him several years before, a sentence so flagitiously unjust that the most servile and obdurate lawyers of that bad age could not speak of it without shame.

But neither the ignominious procession up the High Street, nor the near view of death, had power to disturb the gentle and majestic patience of Argyle. His fortitude was tried by a still more severe test. A paper of interrogatories was laid before him by order of the Privy Council. He replied to those questions to which he could reply without danger to any of his friends, and refused to say more. He was told that unless he returned fuller answers he should be put to the torture. James, who was doubtless sorry that he could not feast his own eyes with the sight of Argyle in the boots, sent down to Edinburgh positive orders that nothing should be omitted which could wring out of the traitor information against all who had been concerned in the treason. But menaces were vain. With torments and death in immediate prospect Mac Callum More thought far less of himself than of his poor clansmen. "I was busy this day," he wrote from his cell, "treating for them, and in some hopes. But this evening orders came that I must die upon Monday or Tuesday; and I am to be put to the torture if I answer not all questions upon oath. Yet I hope God shall support me."

The torture was not inflicted. Perhaps the magnanimity of the victim had moved the conquerors to unwonted compassion. He himself remarked that at first they had been very harsh to him, but that they soon began to treat him with respect and kindness. God, he said, had melted their hearts. It is certain that he did not, to save himself from the utmost cruelty of his enemies, betray any of his friends. On the last morning of his life he wrote these words: "I have named none to their disadvantage. I thank God he hath supported me wonderfully!"

He composed his own epitaph, a short poem, full of meaning and spirit, simple and forcible in style, and not contemptible in versification. In this little piece he complained that, though his enemies had repeatedly decreed his death, his friends had been still more cruel. A comment on these expressions is to be found in a letter which he addressed to a lady residing in Holland. She had furnished him with a large sum of money for his expedition, and he thought her entitled to a full explanation of the causes which had led to his failure. He acquitted his coadjutors of treachery, but described their folly, their ignorance, and their factious perverseness, in terms which their own testimony has since proved to have been richly deserved. He afterwards doubted whether he had not used language too severe to become a dying Christian, and, in a separate paper, begged his friend to suppress what he had said of these men "Only this I must acknowledge," he mildly added; "they were not governable."

Most of his few remaining hours were passed in devotion, and in affectionate intercourse with some members of his family. He professed no repentance on account of his last enterprise, but bewailed, with great emotion, his former compliance in spiritual things with the pleasure of the government He had, he said, been justly punished. One who had so long been guilty of cowardice and dissimulation was not worthy to be the instrument of salvation to the State and Church. Yet the cause, he frequently repeated, was the cause of God, and would assuredly triumph. "I do not," he said, "take on myself to be a prophet. But I have a strong impression on my spirit, that deliverance will come very suddenly." It is not strange that some zealous Presbyterians should have laid up his saying in their hearts, and should, at a later period, have attributed it to divine inspiration.

So effectually had religious faith and hope, co-operating with natural courage and equanimity, composed his spirits, that, on the very day on which he was to die, he dined with appetite, conversed with gaiety at table, and, after his last meal, lay down, as he was wont, to take a short slumber, in order that his body and mind might be in full vigour when he should mount the scaffold. At this time one of the Lords of the Council, who had probably been bred a Presbyterian, and had been seduced by interest to join in oppressing the Church of which he had once been a member, came to the Castle with a message from his brethren, and demanded admittance to the Earl. It was answered that the Earl was asleep. The Privy Councillor thought that this was a subterfuge, and insisted on entering. The door of the cell was softly opened; and there lay Argyle, on the bed, sleeping, in his irons, the placid sleep of infancy. The conscience of the renegade smote him. He turned away sick at heart, ran out of the Castle, and took refuge in the dwelling of a lady of his family who lived hard by. There he flung himself on a couch, and gave himself up to an agony of remorse and shame. His kinswoman, alarmed by his looks and groans, thought that he had been taken with sudden illness, and begged him to drink a cup of sack. "No, no," he said; "that will do me no good." She prayed him to tell her what had disturbed him. "I have been," he said, "in Argyle's prison. I have seen him within an hour of eternity, sleeping as sweetly as ever man did. But as for me ———"

And now the Earl had risen from his bed, and had prepared himself for what was yet to be endured. He was first brought down the High Street to the Council House, where he was to remain during the short interval which was still to elapse before the execution. During that interval he asked for pen and ink, and wrote to his wife: "Dear heart, God is unchangeable: He hath always been good and gracious to me: and no place alters it. Forgive me all my faults; and now comfort thyself in Him, in whom only true comfort is to be found. The Lord be with thee, bless and comfort thee, my dearest. Adieu."

It was now time to leave the Council House. The divines who attended the prisoner were not of his own persuasion; but he listened to them with civility, and exhorted them to caution their flocks against those doctrines which all Protestant churches unite in condemning. He mounted the scaffold, where the rude old guillotine of Scotland, called the Maiden, awaited him, and addressed the people in a speech, tinctured with the peculiar phraseology of his sect, but breathing the spirit of serene piety. His enemies, he said, he forgave, as he hoped to be forgiven. Only a single acrimonious expression escaped him. One of the episcopal clergymen who attended him went to the edge of the scaffold, and called out in a loud voice, "My Lord dies a Protestant." "Yes," said the Earl, stepping forward, "and not only a Protestant, but with a heart hatred of Popery, of Prelacy, and of all superstition." He then embraced his friends, put into their hands some tokens of remembrance for his wife and children, kneeled down, laid his head on the block, prayed during a few minutes, and gave the signal to the executioner. His head was fixed on the top of the Tolbooth, where the head of Montrose had formerly decayed.350

1. Macaulay was something of a inquisitive and desciptive genius, and his parents realized this when, as a toddler and looking at the smokestacks of nearby factories, and asked, "Does the smoke from those chimneys come from the fires of hell?" 

2. Macaulay has been criticized for being too pro-Whig in his historical outlook, as he claims that the Glorious Revolution of 1688 ushered in a Golden Age in English politics.  Maybe he's mistaken, but at least he's arguing for something.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Seconds...

As exhibit A of what happens when we give up on ideals, I'd like to share a recent, and somewhat saddening, article from CNN.  (My snarky readers may say this is me giving up on my  ideals of posting more encouraging things here.  I hear you...but this one connects to what I just wrote!!)

Anyway, the title says it all: "Don't Fall in Love."

I knew something was amiss when I read this:

But sometimes the bad outweighs the good, and every once in a while a lady needs to take a break and keep her heart safe from scoundrels looking to shatter it.

However, that doesn't mean you should hole up alone in beat-up pajamas with only your old pals Netflix and Jim Beam for company. Even when you're not in the market for love, it's good to keep one toe in the dating pool. You just need to date effectively. Here are some ways to keep your heart safe while the rest of you has fun.

Hmm.  I think someone just bought the one-way ticket to Splitsville, and is heading to the train station.  Here's some, uh, helpful pointers from our esteemed author.

1. Date only the wildly inappropriate.

As someone who has befriended with the wildly inappropriate...

2. Take up recreational complaining.

Because misery loves company?

3. Pair the b****ing with moaning and bragging.

Sure-fire winner there.

4. Develop an annoying catchphrase and use it constantly.

5. If, God forbid, you really start to fall for a guy, pick out his negative traits.

I know this article is a bit out of the mainstream, but it's so bizarre I just have to laugh. Is this person serious?  Is this supposed to be helpful advice?  Are we this desperate?  This sounds like a great premise for a reality show that I won't watch.  

Guidelines

Folks, just want to clarify something here.

It's easy for folks of my persuasion to dwell on problems or get all mopey or complainy things.  So for every post about problems regarding our screwed-up culture and society, I will try to post something uplifting or encouraging.  Because I am called to a life of joy, and I know what a drag bitteness can be.

If you think I am not living up to this, you can call me on it.  Or come over to my house and punch me.  Just let me take my glasses off first--they are expensive.  (Noses are a dime a dozen).

OK, peace out, y'all.

Facts of Life

Evidently a British children's show has come under fire for having a disabled host.

Cerrie Burnett was born with only one hand, which has caused trouble among some viewers:

In one chat room, a father lamented that Burnell being on the show forced him to have conversations with his child about disabilities.

To put this bluntly: it is your responsibility as a father to have that conversation!  Perhaps it is an annoyance to be "forced" to have the conversation at a certain point, but you need to have it.  And keep in mind, some people suffer from more troublesome annoyances, such as having only one hand.

Another commenter, DoYouHaveKids?, said:

Do any of you who think this is so "unbelievable" actually have kids? It's very hard, as a parent, to have every social issue jammed down the throat of your kids before they even hit first grade.

I am aware that kids these days do get every social issue thrown at them early on, especially when those issues often have a moral element that parents may disagree with, and have a right to do so.  And those supporting throwing moral issues at them may justify it terms of my title for this post; that is, such behaviors are parts of the facts of life, and any disagreement is willful ignorance.  Perhaps viewing moral discussions with such blithe resignation is easier if one waters down his ideals (see my previous post)¹.  But: is this some sticky social issue? I don't think so.

Alternatively, commenter Rich said:

As a person with a disability, I am absolutely disgusted reading about the parent who complains about having to talk to his child about disabilities. As a child, I was subjected to humiliation and cruelty by my peers who obviously had learned such behaviors from their parents. A little enlightenment and sensitivity training would not have been amiss for those little brats.  

While the "sensitivity training" always raises this blogger's hackles, Rich is on the right track here.  We live in a fallen, broken world, and facing it with both courage and love requires having difficult conversations and not shirking or blaming.  There's no reason to avoid the reality of disability with our children, especially if we are to teach them to treat those with disabilities with love rather than disgust or fear.  

Loe and courage are even more in order when issues with an explicit moral element do arise; chances are, they will arise before you are ready, and you must be willing to face them.  Perhaps not on your terms, but face them you must.

1.  Question: for some, is it really resignation? Or active pursuit?

Insipid Ideals

A few days ago at Rod Dreher's blog, there was a discussion over some symposium or some such as Georgetown promoting "Relationships Beyond Monogamy," offering "thoughts on polyamory, radical honesty, the pitfalls & joys of open relationships and much more."

Rod said that "the people pushing this garbage are the enemy, pure and simple."

Commenter Jimmy Shi responded:

No, they're not. They simply have a different view of the nature of what you, and presumably, they, believe is the gift of human sexuality. That doesn't make them particularly villainous. And if you're indicting them as villains, chances are they're doing the same.

You may not like the concept of an open marriage. But frankly, it beats the hell out of a broken family that comes apart because one partner can't keep it in their pants and simply tries to hide that fact.

I responded:

1. Who is "the enemy"? Yes, I'll concede calling people the enemy isn't the best way to persuade them and more often than not will cause strife and contention. But, for whatever reason, even if they may not themselves be "villainous," they have arrived at a terrible conclusion and ended up in support of a "villainous" position on sexuality. In the interests of maintaining dialog, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, and presume they reached their conclusion out of a simple mistake, and hold off on the vitriol. Really, I mean that--I am not trying to be patronizing, and I don't think we should try to be. But at some point, disagreements will inevitably arise, and it's not "bad faith" argumentation or disingenuous to say so.

2. In regards to the open marriage point, a broken family because one partner can't keep it in their pants and proclaims that behavior loud and proud ain't much of an improvement. Or, to put it more plainly, I am not impressed with arguments for freedom based on lowest-common-denominator morality. Why must our ideals conform to our weaknesses? Isn't the entire point of ideals that we would conform our weaknesses to them? Or has thinking of sex using concepts such as ideals and weaknesses become utterly outmoded, leaving us only with "what is," and not "what should be?" What happens to people, societies, families, when we forget to ask such questions--or deliberately avoid them?

That's when I threw down and started wailin' till the ref had to throw me in the box.  Five for fightin'. But seriously, what are your thoughts? I'm all ears.

Days of Ashes and Squalls

Here's the liturgy from the 6:30 service at my church this morning.  I've copied it verbatim.

Ash Wednesday is the beginning of the season of Lent -- a time of renewal and coming back to God. It comes as an intrusion as we face the reality that we are going to die.  "Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shalll return."  These words echo the

Perhaps I am an adequate shiphand, but I know I am a terrible captain

service at the grave -- "dust to dust."  This forceful reminder of our frail, short lives can seem offensive and rightly so.  In them we publicly state our sinfulness and human frailty.  It is a time of dying to ourselves and being crucified with Christ.  And as surely as we have died with Him, so we will be raised with Him to the glory of God.

Psalm 51 vv. 1-12.

For the director of music. A psalm of David. When the prophet Nathan came to him after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba.

 ¹ Have mercy on me, O God, 

       according to your unfailing love; 
       according to your great compassion 
       blot out my transgressions.

 ² Wash away all my iniquity 
       and cleanse me from my sin.

 ³ For I know my transgressions, 
       and my sin is always before me.

 ⁴ Against you, you only, have I sinned 
       and done what is evil in your sight, 
       so that you are proved right when you speak 
       and justified when you judge.

 ⁵ Surely I was sinful at birth, 
       sinful from the time my mother conceived me.

 ⁶ Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
       you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.

 ⁷ Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; 
       wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

 ⁸ Let me hear joy and gladness; 
       let the bones you have crushed rejoice.

 ⁹ Hide your face from my sins 
       and blot out all my iniquity.

 ¹⁰ Create in me a pure heart, O God, 
       and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

 ¹¹ Do not cast me from your presence 
       or take your Holy Spirit from me.

 ¹² Restore to me the joy of your salvation 
       and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Confession and Forgiveness

Leader: In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

ALL: Amen

L: Most merciful and holy Father:

A: We confess to You and to one another, and to the w hole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, that we have sinned by out own fault, in thought, word, and deed; by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

L: We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength.  We have not lovedo ur neighbors as ourselves.  We have not forvien others, as we have been forgiven.

A: Have mercy on us, Lord.

L: We have been deaf to Your call to serve as Christ served us.  We have not been true to the mind of Christ.  We have grieved Your Holy Spirit.

A: Have mercy on us, Lord.

L: We confess to You, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness.  The pride, the hypocrisy, and the impatience in our lives.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our self-indulgent appetites and ways and exploitation of other people.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our intemperate love of worldy goods and conforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done.  For our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty.

A: Accept our repentance, Lord.

L: For our waste and pollution of Your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us.

A: Accept our repentance, Lord.

L: Restore us, good Lord, and let Your anger depart from us.

A: Hear us, Lord, for your mercy is great. Amen.

In his brief remarks to us, Pastor John related today how we are in age of victimhood.  Everyone is a victim, he said, and people often justify their actions via the faults of others.  He sees it all the time in his frequent work with people suffering from various forms of addiction.  For any change to happen, for any progress to be made, they must first break their denial, and realize that there is a problem, and they are at fault.  It's a message we don't hear enough, and the consequences are just as grave for us, but we can easily excuse them. (In fact, I was just thinking, thank goodness I'm no addict.  There's no serious problem with me.)  How many of our difficulties and travails the bitter fruit of our own mistakes of commission and omission?  The things we do out of greed or malice, or lust, or pride? Or the things we neglect, or avoid, or weasel out of? The things we deny?

This morning before church I read a bit of a photography blog by Pablo Gazpachot.  Here's is what he had to say, and I think it's quite germane:

One of my primary interests in life is lost souls who become found. Not so much in the Amazing Grace, spiritual sense (though that can be a beautiful thing too), but more in the self creation sense. We all pass through valleys of doubt, bewildered by the world, and blown by the wind. I am drawn to people who willfully get lost and experience the brink with no safety net and then slingshot themselves back into a reality that is no longer threatening or uninteresting. These people often find a gusto and a joy that escapes so many of us who cling to the workaday world. They know that reality is both created¹ and experienced and that a command of the former brings rewards in the latter.

No.

I have tried "self-creation."  I'm sure many of you have, as well.  It's a common pursuit.  The problem is that my heart, my will, my desires, are perverted.    Oh, there may be good intentions, noble desires, and the like, but within moments they are imbued with a self-righteousness and pride that soon degrades into envy and jealousy.  And those are the moments I pursue selfless ends with selfish motives.  At other times I am purely carnal.

Mr. Gazpachot says I can slingshot myself into the destination of my choosing, and escape the brokeness around me.  But he misses the crucial detail that the brokeness is within me as well.  As I sail the seas of life, he asks that I chart my own course, but what destination should I choose?  My fancies shift with the wind.  Perhaps I am an adequate shiphand, but I know I am a terrible captain, not escaping storms, but travelling right into the tempest.  

Perhaps this heavy-handed emphasis on brokenness and failure seems bleak--some may even say hopeless---but such is to corrupt confession and ignore both its essence and its end.  First, we must realize that it is not about us.  This is the essential center of confession--not only that we are wrong, that we are flawed, that we are broken, but that our brokenness is utter, that it is not in our control, that we cannot fix it.  We must diminish.  "I'm sorry and I'll try harder next time," is not repentance: correction cannot be of our own doing.  We must be humiliated, desperate.² 

And yet!

Desperation is not despair, and humiliation is never shame!  Although the essence of confession is our utter brokeness, its end is the complete and utter grace of God--that His love is absolutely true, and absolutely free.  Confession, ultimately, is not about us, but about Him and Christ's love for us that crosses every barrier, including those we have built within ourselves.  In His love and mercy, there is hope.  There is joy.  That where we have failed, He can prevail.  A confession that does not culminate in hope is no confession at all, but a penitent man in the grip of God's grace is a saint.

I'll leave you with a hymn, continuing in the sea-faring theme, written by Charles Gabriel in the earl 1900's, titled "Sail On!":

Upon a wide and stormy sea,

Thou’rt sailing to eternity,

And thy great Admiral orders thee:

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

 

Refrain

 

Sail on! Sail on!

The storms will soon be past,

The darkness will not always last;

Sail on! Sail on!

God lives and He commands:

“Sail on! Sail on!”

 

Art far from shore, and weary worn,

The sky o’ercast, thy canvas torn?

Hark ye! a voice to thee is borne:

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

 

Refrain

 

Do comrades tremble and refuse

To further dare the taunting hues?

No other course is thine to choose,

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

 

Refrain

 

Do snarling waves thy craft assail?

Art pow’rless, drifting with the gale?

Take heart! God’s Word shall never fail.

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

 

Refrain

1.  I have a hard enough time with individualized ethics.  I shudder to think what I would do with all of reality at my beck and call.

2.  I cannot stress this enough: humiliation and shame are completely and utterly different!  Humiliation carries with it the denotation of ostracism and rejection, but I use it the strictest sense of imparting one with humility.  Ostracism and rejection belong to the cruel domain of shame.  They are Satan's cruel pleasures, but not God's.  God may convict us of sin, that is, he may show us our errors, but it is only that we might return to living in a  way that does not harm us or others.  He convicts that we might return to Him.  It is one of the most bitter of lies to confuse the two, and I know what it is like to walk with condemnation.  If this is the case with you, I must must must exclaim, no, no, a thousand times, No! God does not condemn you.  Read Romans 8:36-39.  Take heart.  Draw courage.

A Total Harvest

At the behest of my true friend, and last remaining loyal reader, Chris, I will put up some new content.  Indeed, in honor of Lent, I will try to put something up daily, even if at sometimes I must resort to the trite or mundane, but hopefully I will be able to churn out something worthwhile, at least occasionally.

My ultimate goal for this blog is to serve as a source of commentary on the prospects of professing Christ in a world that is often disinterested, but is often

...as we eat the flour of our pursuits, so, too, shall we live.

disintegrating, as well.  I understand that seems like both a vague and broad undertaking, and a daunting challenge, especially for one business medical student in a middling corner of the flat Midwest.  At this point, and as a means of introduction of my ideas, I can do no better than quote at length TS Eliot, noted poet, Nobel laureate, and erstwhile cultural thinker:

The fact that a problem will certainly take a long time to solve, and that it will demand the attention of many minds for several generations, is no justification for postponing the study.  And, in times of emergency, it may prove in the long run that the problems we have postponed or ignored, rather than those we have failed to attack successfully, will return to plague us.  Our difficulties of the present moment must always be dealt with somehow: but our permanent difficulties are difficulties of every moment.  The subject with which I am concerned in the following pages is one to which I an cconvinced we ought to turn our attention now, if we hope to ever to be relieved of the immediate perplexities that fill our minds.  It is urgent because it is fundamental; and its urgency is the reason for a person like myself attemptiong to address, on a subject beyond his usual scope, that public which is likely to read what he writes on other subjects. [More than I can say personally.--TE]  THis is a subject which I could handle better, no doubt,  were I profound scholar in any of several fields.  But I am not writing for scholars, but for people like myself; some defects may be compensated by some advantages; and what one must be judged by, scholar or no, is not particularised knowledge but one's total harvest of thinking, feeling, living, and observing human beings.

From, TS Eliot, Christianity and Culture, Harcourt Brace, 1939, p. 5.

Such is my endeavor, that "the total harvest of thinking, feeling, and living" as a believer in an age of uncertainty will be recorded here.  This apt phrase "total harvest" crystallizes many of my grave concerns facing society today: the compartmentalization of concepts and pursuits into specialized and distinct realms.  And as we sow our thinking, we reap our feelings and ideals, and as we eat the flour of our pursuits, so, too, shall we live.  

When our basic understanding of mankind at a fundamental level is fragmented within the increasingly inward-looking academy, the public eventually responds with indifference and moves to more hedonic pursuits.  And as hedonism is, at its core, selfish, what happens to society as people themselves become more inward-looking?

My goal is to restore and proclaim Truth that builds up such inward personal fulfillment that we can resume humanity's charge to live socially.  That the despair of consumption and its concomitant atomization of our society into the whims of the individual could subside into contentment and forgiveness.  Of course, I don't want to approach this naively, and want to convey emphatically that there are no easy answers, the usual suspects may not be guilty of the sins we charge, and supposed heroes may be flawed at best.  That arguing from conventional labels prevents serious thinking, but also that seeking common ground for fear of contention can be just as much an abdication.  That understanding first demands scrutiny of one's one positions, but not the assumption that apologies and doubt means you're being honest.  Perhaps you're just a wimp.  Strife is never valuable for its own sake, but contention sometimes is necessary.  It's been said before, but there is a difference between the use of a dagger and scalpel.  

I understand there's not much flesh on this skeleton of an argument right now, and you may have doubts or questions.  That's fine, and they're welcome.  I hope over the coming months I can, like in Ezekiel's vision of the valley of dry bones¹, put sinew and muscle on them, and in the process, begin the resuscitation of a dying and dessicated culture.

¹Ezek. 37.