Monday, June 12, 2017

(Don't Always) Mind the Gap

The gap between the Divine and man / Father and son / the Supernatural and the natural can not be crossed easily. Only simply. We tend to over intellectualize it, search for its ontological underpinnings, and construct a moral order that attempts to close it. While these are fruitful efforts to cultivate as above, so below, it will always be limited by the mind that contains it.

The bottom line is we want to know how to live, and we hope bridging the chasm is the way to cure our spiritual disease.

Let's take a look at some of the major diagnoses that have been made over eons. It seems like if I got a problem in-here, the solution is going to be out-there (not ideal) or go-deeper-in-here (better). Kreeft summarizes how many of the sages and saints have gone about unpacking their version of problem-to-solution approach.

And if we were going to nitpick here, I would say Christ and Buddha got closest to cutting the problem at its root. And why would that be? It would seem to me that the chasm has caused a split in our soul, and the only only thing that could heal it is a transcendent bridge. 

This bridge goes by many names, but it can't be conceptualized or willfully enacted. It can only be invited and experienced. Richard Rohr recently gave it many invocations during a homily to celebrate the recent Pentacost. Here is a partial summary...

pure gift of God
indwelling presence
promise of the Father
Eternal praise
inner defense attorney
inner anointing
reminder of the mystery
homing device guiding you home
implanted peace maker
overcomer of the gap
magnetic center
God compass
inner breath
Divine DNA
given glory
hidden love of God
implanted hope
seething desire
fire of life and love
sacred pacemaker
the nonviolence of God
seal of the incarnation
first fruits of everything
Father and Mother of orphans
truth speeker
God's secret plan
great bridge builder
warmer of hearts
space of love between everything
flowing water
wind of change
descending dove
uncreated grace
cloud of unknowing
cloud of knowing
deepest level of our longing
attentive heart
sacred wounding
holy healing
softener of our spirit
great compassion
generosity of God
universal sadness
universal joy
God's tears of joy
welcoming within
internal covenant
covenant written in our hearts
dynamic flow of life and love through the body
the great connector
Holy Spirit

And while the Holy Spirit may not always tell us how to live, it can reveal where we should live from.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

The Not-So-Virtuous Dude Abides

We all hypocrites to some degree. But being a hypocrite isn't so bad. Well, it's not the worst. Ultimately, it means we hold to some belief, but we aren't living it out fully.

The issue then comes to what we believe. Today, people talk more of values. But what are these values? For the most part, they can be whatever you want them to be. Values are a formal way of discussing our personal or societal preferences. In other words, they don't have to be objective in any way or form.

But it wasn't too long ago, we would often refer to virtues: moral excellence, right living, a goodness. Yes, virtues are seen to be more objective than not. It would be hard to be ethical without them. Yet, the word is a tad out of fashion, and we don't like it very much because it imposes on us to believe in an objective goodness too strongly. Hence, we like values better.

So what is worse than being an hypocrite? It would not be having a lack of virtue, because then we at least would believe in something objective and be aware that we aren't holding to it. What would be more corrupt is having any lack of knowledge or belief about virtue. And this is main issue Peter Kreeft tackles in his excellent book, Back to Virtue.

If we don't have any virtuous standards, then we can never be hypocrites. Sure, it makes living easy — but to a point. It really means we have no self-mastery over ourselves. And “If we can conquer everything except ourselves, the result is that we do not hold the power” (Kreeft).

It's not that we don't have any virtue these days, or are even more immoral than our predecessors. Kreeft notes, “I do not think we are necessarily more wicked than our ancestors, overall. True, we are less courageous, less honest with ourselves, less self-disciplined, and obviously less chaste than they were. But they were more cruel, intolerant, snobbish, and inhumane than we are. They were better at the hard virtues; we are better at the soft virtues. The balance is fairly even, I think.”

So it's probably more our virtues have gotten too one-sided. We are all about being kind, compassionate, nonjudgmental, and tolerant. This sort of let's us off the hook, because it doesn't require too much from us. 

It was Aristotle who recommended the golden mean when certain virtues got too extreme. For example, between foolish tolerance and strict judgement is the virtue of discernment, requiring a more refined perceiving that is appropriate to the circumstances.
But this refined approach to virtue has been mostly lost, even in how we see our exemplars. As Kreeft points out, we have even reduced Jesus to the nice guy guru instead of seeing his virtue as a whole...
“Why have we reduced him to meek and gentle Jesus? Because we have reduced all the virtues to one, being kind; and we measure Jesus by our standards instead of measuring our standards by him. But why have we reduced all the virtues to being kind? Because we have reduced all the goods to one, the one that kindness ministers to: pleasure, comfort, contentment. We have reduced ourselves to pleasure-seeking animals.
And so it is this version of Christ that gets somewhat mocked in the Coen Brothers' The Big Lebowski. (The Coen Brothers are known for plenty of religious symbolism in their films.) Near the end of the film, there is the amusing dialogue between Jeff Bridges and Sam Elliott:
The Dude: Well, take care, man, gotta get back.
The Stranger: Sure. Take it easy, Dude.
The Dude: Oh yeah!
The Stranger: I know that you will.
The Dude: Yeah, well - The Dude abides.
The Stranger: "The Dude abides." I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. 
While the Dude's virtues aren't all that bad, I believe Kreeft is making the point that any attempt to stress certain virtues with the positive exclusion of other virtues is doomed to failure by undermining goodness all together. 

Ultimate goodness requires a univocal wholeness; a place where the Dude does not abide so well.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Experiments with Truth

I was a resident assistant in college, but I was turned down the first time I applied. During the interview, I was asked one word to describe me. I've always been cerebral in nature, so I the first thing that popped to my mind was ‘thinker’. At the time, I didn't believe it was a bad answer until I went back to my apartment and told my roommate about the interview. When I mentioned my response to the noted question, he looked at me with bewilderment and said, “they don't want thinkers, they want doers!”


“Shit, he's right,” I said to myself. 

When I didn't get the position, I believed I needed to re-orientate myself to the nature of the work I was aiming for. What I didn't realize at the time is I should also be re-orientating myself for work that fit my nature.

This isn't always easy to do. We live in a culture that extols doing over being, analysis over intuition, and success over depth. Going against the grain is never easy.

Moreover, we are raised with this belief that we can be anything we want. Even today, I have a friend who goes around claiming any shortcoming seen about oneself is just a ‘limiting belief’. And yet, we all have limits: and it's in those limits where we can learn to hone in our essence to go deeper into our callings.

In his lovely book, Parker Palmer says, “The God I know does not ask us to conform to some abstract norm for the ideal self. God asks us only to honor our created nature, which means our limits as well as potentials.”

Those limits always have a way of exposing themselves, mostly in times when uninvited. As Palmer notes, “how the road closed sign turned me toward toward terrain I needed to travel, how losses that felt irredeemable forced me to discern meaning I needed to know. On the surface, it seemed that life was lessening, but silently and lavishly the seeds of a new life were always being sown.”

I've felt the same in many other failings I've had to contend with around vocation. I recall being laid off from my first post-college job at an engineering firm, and falling into a fit of anger and depression for several months. Looking back at the event, I could almost see no other way that would have benefited my transformation. At the time, I was full of hubris and took the work for granted. I needed a swift kick, because those taps on the back were not sufficing. 

Over analyzing our parachute idioms may help rationally guide us, but in my experience will add little more. Instead, embracing the mystery as to what is the-best-version-of-ourselves fully, instead of fitting things into puzzles, will allow of true vocation to unfold organically while transforming us in the process. 

Unlike a childhood friend I had who knew he wanted to be an architect at age 5 and is still working as one at age 50, the rest of us need to experiment a tad more. If we could see that “our lives are experiments with truth... and in an experiment negative results are at least as important as successes” (Palmer).

And I would add, success is never as good of a teacher as is failure. My failures are still thankfully teaching me.

*          *          *

I want to add I also just finished a great audio book by Matthew Kelly. I recently came across a list of books that transformed his life, and decided to go through a few of the ones I haven't read (including Parker Palmer's book). It's quite a compelling list so I thought I'd share:

1. Let Your Life Speak by Parker Palmer.

2. Back To Virtue by Peter Kreeft.

3. Three Philosophies Of Life by Peter Kreeft.

4. As a Man Thinketh by James Allen.

5. He Leadeth Me by Fr. Walter Ciszek, S.J.

6. Conversation With Christ by Peter Thomas Rohrbach.

7. The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis.

8. Man's Search For Meaning by Victor Frankl.

9. The Return Of The Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen.

10. Abandonment to Divine Providence by Jean-Pierre De Caussade.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Truth is Beyond Words (But We've Gotta Start Somewhere)

I mention in the subtitle of this blog that it’s about Exploring Truth and Beauty with a broad margin for error. So in regards to error, I am willing to admit I am fallible with my aim. But then again, aren’t we all. 

So what is this Truth thing I am trying to get at? While I am interested in so many life themes, they all do revolve around one thing. Call it what you may (Divinity, Tao, Brahman, God), but simply put: it’s Truth.  

As James Allen says, “Men formulate perishable dogmas, and call them Truth. Truth cannot be formulated; it is ineffable, and ever beyond the reach of intellect. It can only be experienced by practice; it can only be manifested as a stainless heart and a perfect life.”

So if Truth is ineffable, then what am I doing wasting my time writing this blog? It could be that if Truth is Eternal and can’t be talked about directly, then maybe how it shows up in the world can be. If we’re open to it, we can see the Eternal in the temporal. And it’s in this space where the horizontal can engage with the vertical. 

“Truth is nothing if not unchangeable, and in so far as a man takes his stand upon Truth does he become steadfast in virtue, does he rise superior to his passions and emotions and changeable personality. (Allen)”

Well, I try. But some folks don’t even try. Take this interesting video between Stefan Molyneux and a caller. He is clearly a very left brain person, who prides himself on his logical articulation, and she is more intuitively right brain. You can see what happens when these two sides collide…



A strictly logical person can’t understand an intuitive person, while some intuitive persons can understand logic. In other words, the right-brain can contain the left brain but not vice versa. Both hemispheres need each other, but only the right side knows this.

In his superb book, Iain McGuilichrist mentions that “the left hemisphere has to blot out the right hemisphere in order to do its job at all. That is surely the import of the functional and anatomical evidence that left hemisphere superiority is based, not on a leap forward by the left hemisphere, but on a deliberate handicapping of the right.” And we can see Molyneux do exactly this in the video. By playing by his rules that are strictly logical, he is unable to take a leap to where the caller is pointing to.

Allen notes, “the outer conditions of a person's life will always be found to be harmoniously related to his inner state.” Molyneux’s inner state is clearly so overly rigid, he can suck the life out of life. He doesn’t realize “Entering into the Infinite is not a mere theory or sentiment. It is a vital experience which is the result of assiduous practice in inward purification.” 

While logic serves a useful and needed purpose, it can lead to a dead end when in service to itself. Who cares how intelligent you are when you can’t even affirm the real Source of your intelligibility? 

I’ll take childlike wisdom over lifeless rationalism any day.

We can never make others understand something unless they already, at some level, understand it. We cannot give them our understanding, only awaken their own, latent, understanding. — Iain McGuilichrist

Friday, May 5, 2017

Between Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy

My title here may create issues for some, as they would say it's not both/and when it comes to orthodoxy and heterodoxy. It can only be either/or. If orthodoxy is the belief in doctrine, then the heterodox would take issue with any official position to belief. They would play in an open field to come up with something new.

I suppose some would say in the postmodern era, we are all heterodox. Then again, Fr. Andrew Damick says, “Orthodox dogma never claims to expound the whole truth about anything, but only delineates the borders of the mystery.” He expounds, “You can be a true theologian in the Orthodox Church and yet be mentally retarded, because true theology is not defined by the acuity of the rational mind, but by the quality of the prayer of the heart.”

Here, I think we can agree. And it is in the space between doctrinal belief of the orthodox and the more open expressive beliefs of the heterodox, where we can meet in the inner science of the heart. While there may be paths that are doctrinally divided, they are still charismatically one.

I recently watched a video by Bishop Robert Barron, where he acknowledges that had Luther not made grace alone as part of his doctrine, but instead made it only primary, it could very well be he would have created another order in the Roman Catholic Church instead of a major historic schism. In other words, maybe there is a place where the orthodox and heterodox can meet. 

Which leads me to A Different Christianity by Robin Amis, who embraced Christian Orthodoxy by spending some time with the monks at Mount Athos. But he also studied some modern mystics (Gurdjieff, Mouravieff), who were able to couch Eternal Truths with language that was more culturally relevant.

(I recommend viewing the 60 Minutes segment on Mount Athos. It sort of brings out a fantasy of mine to spend time in such a setting; however, I am well aware that I am probably best a lay householder than a true ascetic.)

Amis brings out the deep mysticism that is inherent to Orthodox Christianity. So much so, I sense if more seekers knew about it in the west, they would not turn east (Buddhism, Hinduism) to find themselves. He notes these practices can create “an actual shift within the individual of the center of awareness” where there is a redirection “from thought, imagination, and physical sensations to the heart.”

In his own way, Amis acknowledges that it is this shift that makes one a Christian: “The Greek philosophical teachings are incomplete in the sense that they leave their student destitute of strength to perform the commandments of the Lord”; however, “The Christian inner teaching, if comprehended in full, is complete in the sense that once it has been fully assimilated or digested, it gives the student the strength to perform those commandments.”

But unlike my counterparts of eastern practices (Buddhism, Hinduism) that rely primarily on own's effort, the Christian inner teachings rely on the grace of God along with man. “Some people believe that inner growth and “working on oneself ” are something we do of ourselves. Nothing much comes of it all until we learn that despite the great efforts we must make, this view is not wholly true. Others believe that spiritual change happens in an instant, as if by magic. Both these views are based on a lack of self-knowledge, on inadequate information about what actually happens. The inner change that matters is a work of God in synergy with man. This is a process, and a process takes time. (Amis)”

In place of the common conventional term awakening, the Orthodox Christians refer to metanoia. “In most English translations of the Bible, metanoia is translated “repentance.” Whatever it meant when the King James translation was originally produced, today the English word has acquired moralistic overtones that have obscured and confused the early meaning. It is not generally understood that the word metanoia (meta-noia) actually refers to the renewal of the nous described by Saint Paul in Romans: “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your nous, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God” (Romans 12:2). (Amis)” 

Metanoia is not to be reached by technique, but simply cultivated through a method of prayer (as in a relationship with Christ) and attention (without control). “Metanoia is two things: a slow transformation of the nous and a sudden reversal. The first is an inner healing process by which we lengthen and deepen the stillness of the nous until it begins to become enlightened, and so begins to overcome the effects of the Fall. But the final change is discontinuous: in this context a partial reversal of direction is a meaningless concept, so that we will discover that metanoia can be instantaneous and in some sense is always instantaneous, yet to those who work at it, metanoia is a slow and difficult process; only when we face and work against this difficulty does the Christian religion pass for us from being an idea to being a reality. Only then can we behave as Christians, as well as thinking that we are Christians. (Amis)”

As these inner experiences become more common and stabilize in our lives, we will eventually accept these experiences as real and meaningful sources of knowledge. But there also needs to be a context, and that usually comes from metaphysics of the path we are on. In Christian Orthodoxy, the path and the goal are the one in the same: “All we have to do is to become what we are: to be ourselves as God made us; to do what we see to be right according to our inherent sense of what is right and our best abilities. (Amis)”

If Reality is what is, then to become what we are is I am

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Silence and Conviction

Note: This post has a few movie spoilers.

I finally caught up with Martin Scorsese's Silence over the weekend. First, let me say it is a beautiful film, and I highly recommend it. It is well acted, full of gorgeous cinematography, and elegantly constructed to allow the rich narrative to unfold with nuance. Moreover, it challenges your soul and morality in ways few films do these days.

The film is based upon the Shusaku Endo novel with the same name. Not unexpectedly, Scorsese offers the film a twist in the end that was not covered in the book.

The story is set in mid-17th century Japan, where there is a state sponsored persecution of Christians underway. A couple young Jesuit priests (played by Adam Driver and Andrew Garfield) hear a rumor that their mentor, Fr. Ferreira, has renounced his Christian faith (a.k.a. apostatized) for the state. Under extreme danger, the young Jesuit priests decide to travel to Japan to confirm the fate of Ferreira.

When they arrive, they are greeted by Christian peasants in hiding, joyful to have priests in their midst that are able offer the sacraments. When the state authorities get wind of the priest's presence, suspected Christians are rounded up and tortured in the hopes of luring the priests out into the open. 

The film primarily focuses on Fr. Rodrigues, one of the young Jesuit priests, who is eventually captured and subjected to horrific psychological torture to temp his faith. Many of the Christian peasants risk their lives to protect him, and are in turn, tortured in his presence. In order to free the Christian captives from their torture and suffering, Rodrigues is invited by the Japanese authorities to apostatize by trampling on a Christian image. He refuses over and over again, until he comes across his spiritual hero, Fr. Ferreira.

Rodrigues finds the rumors to be true, and that Ferreira is now a Buddhist practitioner under the protection of the state. The disgraced priest then tries to persuasively get his former student to do the same. In a pivotal scene, while the Christian captives are being tortured, he corners Rodrigues in an argument for practicality; in that while he prays for the suffering, he should pray with his eyes open.


In the midst of anguish over the screams of the tortured Christians, Rodrigues hears what he takes to be the voice of Jesus himself telling him to trample on the image. He follows the voice, and in turn, follows the footsteps of his former Jesuit mentor Ferriera.

Rodrigues lives a fairly long life, renouncing his faith publicly every year until his death. The one major twist Scorsese offers from the book is he shows the corpse of Rodrigues inside his coffin clutching a small crucifix. This leaves us with a sense that Rodrigues held on to his inner Christian faith throughout his life in Japan.

I appreciate the subtlety that film displays around faith and conviction. Is it appropriate to renounce one's values to end the suffering of another? Is inner conviction enough to justify the consequences? Should we be conditionally principled when the circumstances call for it?

Yet, I can also hold the opposing view around this. Bishop Robert Barron takes another position on this film, making the well-thought out point...
“Like any great film or novel, Silence obviously resists a univocal or one-sided interpretation. In fact, almost all of the commentaries that I have read, especially from religious people, emphasize how Silence beautifully brings forward the complex, layered, ambiguous nature of faith. Fully acknowledging the profound psychological and spiritual truth of that claim, I wonder whether I might add a somewhat dissenting voice to the conversation? I would like to propose a comparison, altogether warranted by the instincts of a one-time soldier named Ignatius of Loyola, who founded the Jesuit order to which all the Silence missionaries belonged. Suppose a small team of highly-trained American special ops was smuggled behind enemy lines for a dangerous mission. Suppose furthermore that they were aided by loyal civilians on the ground, who were eventually captured and proved willing to die rather than betray the mission. Suppose finally that the troops themselves were eventually detained and, under torture, renounced their loyalty to the United States, joined their opponents and lived comfortable lives under the aegis of their former enemies. Would anyone be eager to celebrate the layered complexity and rich ambiguity of their patriotism? Wouldn’t we see them rather straightforwardly as cowards and traitors? My worry is that all of the stress on complexity and multivalence and ambiguity is in service of the cultural elite today, which is not that different from the Japanese cultural elite depicted in the film. What I mean is that the secular establishment always prefers Christians who are vacillating, unsure, divided, and altogether eager to privatize their religion. And it is all too willing to dismiss passionately religious people as dangerous, violent, and let’s face it, not that bright.”
This is an astute observation, and displays this curse we have with complexity. There are few of us willing to die for our beliefs in the postmodern era. We hold our convictions lightly, if at all. We can't relate to the the Christian peasants who remained courageous and dedicated to their faith, even when it took them through horrific torture and eventually their death. Instead, it's easier to understand the decisions that Ferreira and Rodrigues made given the circumstances they were put under. Why give up a life for something so rationally untenable as God?

That's what makes this such a great film: you can look at the issues surrounding  faith, conviction, and morality from many different angles. And yet, if one was to look for the right response to the tests the Jesuit priests go through in the film, the answer may only lie in the silence.

Father Rodrigues: I pray but I am lost. Am I just praying to silence?

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Meditative Musings

I just came back from a lovely weekend retreat, meditating on a beautiful Pennsylvania Quaker setting over the Easter holiday.

Meditation rarely comes easy to me. Too much of a busy, ruminating mind, often forcing the realizations or checking in with its experience. And through all this willing by the self, the mind often gets jammed up with agitation feeling worse than before the session started. How ironic. 

I actually do better off the cushion at times. The simplicity of being with nature, listening to a beautiful piece of music, or conversing with a soulful person gets me closer to the stillness. 

So why meditate? It seems to me there is always a deeper way to be. I know this intellectually, but I also intuit it. And this deeper place can move us in life affirming ways. It may lead to touching the hand of God, getting to know who I really AM, and finding the Ground that will allow me to traverse the storms of life.

Despite what I once believed, it has less to do with happiness. Although happiness may be its by-product. It seems we are here for more: to become saints would be the ultimate goal as the Catholics say. But before that, we should aim to be free.

I know an it can be contained by the mind, whereas Existence can never be. Not that all concepts are bad. They serve a useful purpose, and can often be a doorway of their own to spirit. “All schools, therefore, have to admit the important role that intellect plays in removing ignorance and causing the rise of knowledge of Self” (Deba Brata SenSharma).

I have practiced for many years in the Tibetan Buddhist path of Mahamudra/Dzogchen. Like much of Buddhist practice, it is very refined and systematic. For my persona, this can also make it a tad dry at times.

The teacher this weekend said maybe it may be better for me to feel my way into it like a mystic. Incidentally, the girlfriend is reading a book that makes the point to fall in love with meditation. She also added, maybe it's “enough with the technical path.” Maybe so.

All in all, I see meditation as not just a practice, but a posture toward life. The structures for practice are useful, but I am realizing the need to experiment with my own way of self in relation to Being. Without a magic bullet, all I can do is be curious and available.

In allowing for more of my absence, I am allowed to sense more presence. At least until I grab onto an intriguing thought, and get the mind in a jam once again. Over the weekend we explored those thought grabs, which often for me include seeking pleasure, survival concerns, and manipulating experience.

Then again, these are all spiritual seeker problems (in a context where there is no problem). 

Back to that saintly goal; I feel it's quite a distance from this fallible self. My recent read adds to this, as I experience some heavy heart reading about a dying neurosurgeon reflecting on his challenges in supporting his patients through their own mortality. The doctor muses, “Those burdens are what make medicine holy and wholly impossible: in taking up another's cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight.”

This story, among many like it, moves and humbles me by how much love can do through these vessels we are given. My practice is a challenge, but it has far from crushed me. So I meditate, so I can animate this finite vessel with as much as the infinite will allow.

And in the process, fall in love with love.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

The Foolish Foibles of Mr. Smarty Pants

Let’s state the obvious, although often forgotten by many: human beings are complex. That’s why I would never want to fit us in to a one-size-fits-all system. For example, why are so many religious or spiritual people jerks? Or why do so many artists who can create something so beautiful can also be so dysfunctional? Moreover, why are so many intelligent people foolish? The good, true, and beautiful are not always found in those representing the good, true, and beautiful.

I would often revere the sophistication of many high-brow academics. It can be seductive to hear theories or ideas spoken so eloquently. And I would assume because of their high capacity for knowledge, that somehow that would translate to the higher faculties of wisdom and virtue. Not so.

I recently read Roger Scruton’s excellent book, Fools, Frauds and Firebrands, to get some perspective on my old romance with postmodern philosophers.

He covers many of the biggies here: Sartre, Foucault, Habermas, Lacan, Deleuze, Gramsci, Badiou, and Žižek. So what do most of these guys have in common? Besides a lot of linguistic cleverness and windbaggery, they tend to view life through the lens of Marx to varying degrees. Scruton distills their abstract theories on the assumption that: “first, that ‘capitalist’ society is founded on power and domination; second, that ‘capitalism’ means ‘commodification’, the reduction of people to things, and the fetishizing of things as agents.”

So while establishing the Biblical idea (in secular terms) that world is fallen, the postmodern intelligentsia took it upon themselves to redeem it. In the process, they were also able to uphold their own position as a leisure class from their academic edifices while feeling contempt for the everyday man that disagreed with them. As such, they believed they possessed some knowledge inaccessible to the rest of us.

Their commitment for the postmodern intelligentsia is always toward some Utopian ideal that is never based on Truth. For instance, Scruton mentions that according to Sartre, “Nothing actual can be ‘authentic’. The authentic defines itself in opposition to the Other – which means in opposition to the world that others have created and in which they are at home.” For him, commitment can never be for the “fragmented imperfection of the actual, but to the purified ‘totality’ of an abstract idea.”

The cranky psychiatrist Lacan, who gave us ideas around the mirror stage and big Other, ultimately reduced meaning to some algebraic machination. As such, “Lacan showed that it is not necessary to mean anything anyway. You can go on meaning nothing for page upon page, and as long as a few ‘mathemes’ [symbolic representations] are thrown in, and as long as you maintain a posture of inviolable certainty, secure in the revelation of which you are the sole proprietor, you will have done all that is required by way of making a contribution to the emerging ‘revolutionary consciousness’.” (Scruton). (As a side bar, I find this video of a student protesting a Lacan lecture amusing. Apparently, Lacan had to give such nonsense lip service, since he was partially responsible for creating such misguided behavior.)  

Scruton also points to Habermas’s meta-dogma, where “you will seldom encounter a real dilemma, and actual institution, a record of some felt community of purpose.” Instead you are left with a “methodological sophistication that places it beyond any criticism from standpoints other than its own.”

Scruton elaborates that with all these postmodern theories: 
“Occasional lip service is paid to a future state of ‘emancipation’, ‘equality’ or ‘social justice’. But those terms are seldom lifted out of the realm of abstractions, or subjected to serious examination. They are not, as a rule, used to describe an imagined social order that their advocates are prepared to justify. Instead they are given a purely negative application. They are used to condemn every mediating institution, every imperfect association, every flawed attempt that human beings might have made, to live together without violence and with due respect for law. It is as though the abstract ideal has been chosen precisely so that nothing actual could embody it.”
And that’s the issue with anyone proposing a new order of things. It's easy to criticize things as they are; however, it's not so easy to know if any new order will undermine the things that actually do work now (especially when presented so abstractly, and purposely so).

This Utopian impulse itself is not new, and comes from a deeper yearning we all share. Scruton again,
“Clearly we are dealing with the religious need, a need planted deep in our ‘species being’. There is a longing for membership that no amount of rational thought, no proof of the absolute loneliness of humanity or of the unredeemed nature of our sufferings, can ever eradicate. And that longing is more easily recruited by the abstract god of equality than by any concrete form of social compromise.”
But that longing will also never be fulfilled through the application of abstract ideas. As Scruton notes, that religious need is probably better best served by traditional religious institutions — a place where we can sort ourselves out from within than to look outwardly for some systemic resolution.

So again, why all this smart foolishness? It would seem we have a scarcity of common sense in some parts of the academy. In that, Truth would be better recognized by a sensibility of deeper understanding than the conclusions that are just drawn from clever abstractions. This would require a vision of wholeness, an integrated character, and experience that is rooted in the senses and refined by reason. 

The issue is when reason alone, rooted in a fragile ego, is the source of one's ideas. As Chesterton once quipped, “The madman is not the man who has lost his reason. The madmen is the man who has lost everything except his reason.” 

Yes, indeed.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Guilt Without God

“The price we pay for our advance in civilization is a loss of happiness through the heightening of the sense of guilt.” — Sigmund Freud

With religion declining in our secular culture, you would think guilt would also be in retreat. Yet, it appears we are more guilt-ridden than ever. No Jewish mother needed. David Brooks covers this notion of pervasive guilt in a recent column, and refers to an excellent article by Wilfred McClay that covers this theme more thoroughly. 

It seems there's something built in to our nature where we acknowledge right from wrong, justice, concern for the underdog, and privilege. We feel a moral outrage, and want to be justified by it. That's not so much the issue, as is we have lost a framework for true moral deliberation. We are instead led by emotions that are unable to see the issues more clearly.

(Which reminds me, I recently watched this debate between James Baldwin and William F. Buckley asking: Is the American Dream at the expense of the American Negro? When you watch it, you realize how far we have fallen from our moral discourse. I realize these are all Oxford students, so it doesn't represent the culture at large, but it still points to a bar that has been considerably lowered. Emotions weren't driving the discourse for debate, but an objective framework.)

Ultimately, there's plenty to feel guilty about. McClay says, “Whatever donation I make to a charitable organization, it can never be as much as I could have given. I can never diminish my carbon footprint enough, or give to the poor enough, or support medical research enough, or otherwise do the things that would render me morally blameless. Colonialism, slavery, structural poverty, water pollution, deforestation—there’s an endless list of items for which you and I can take the rap.

Since most of us are lucky souls, we feel the burden of responsibility that comes with it. But we can never take it all on. Hence, the guilt overwhelms us as sin (yet, most of us can't even see it as sin, but just as outrage.)

McClay notes that the “fundamental truth about sin in the Judeo-Christian tradition is that sin must be paid for or its burden otherwise discharged.” Without religion being the foundation for culture, our psychic discharge for all this guilt moves from the vertical to the horizontal. If you don't have a metaphysical worldview to handle those internal debts, you're going to project your baggage on to the world (or the religion of politics).

Brooks elaborates, “Instead of seeing moral struggle as something between you and God (the religious version) or as something that happens between the good and evil within yourself (the classical version), moral struggle now happens primarily between groups.” Usually, this works itself out by groups identifying as victim or for the victim and against the oppressor.

Without a framework of self-reflection or atonement, we are led astray to discharge our anxiety onto the other. This leads to scapegoating, shaming, and the inability to see the complexity in an issue. Our moral discourse collapses on to itself and is relegated to hasty emotional judgments. 

Guilt is a real trickster. Until we can robustly take it on within ourselves and in a relationship with a higher authority, we are in danger of falling into flimsy approaches to working with groups with dissimilar values and resolving worldly concerns that require cooperation.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

A Gay, Marxist Atheist Does Jesus Right

The Gospel According to Saint Matthew is probably the best film ever made about Jesus. While the film is beautifully executed, fully embodying the spirit of Jesus's life simply through his teachings, it really is the director that makes the story behind the story compelling.

One IMDb reviewer says, “Certain films haunt me. The Gospel According to Saint Matthew is one of them. The only possible explanation is the passion of its maker. Everything about it is so real that I remember the first time I saw it, I felt I had met Jesus.” 

When I recently saw the film, I felt the same.

So what of the maker of this film? Italian director, Pier Paolo Pasolini, was a well known homosexual Marxist who also considered himself to be an atheist. When asked why would an atheist bother to make a film about Christ, he responded: “If you know that I am an unbeliever, then you know me better than I do myself. I may be an unbeliever, but I am an unbeliever who has a nostalgia for a belief.” It seems Pasolini intuited we are condemned to religion, whether we believe or not.

In making the film, he decided to take the dialogue directly from the Gospel of Matthew and filmed without a screenplay. He believed images would never reach the poetic heights of the text, and therefore reportedly chose Matthew's Gospel over the others because he had decided that “John was too mystical, Mark too vulgar, and Luke too sentimental” (wiki).

The film was shot in the the poor Italian district of Basilicata during the summer of 1964. Pasolini decided to cast most of the roles to local peasants and workers to align with Jesus's reverence for the poor and outcasts. In regards to Jesus, he cast Enrique Irazoqui, a 19-year-old economics student and communist activist from Spain, who just showed up to discuss the director's work. 

Pasolini's directorial style displayed a beautiful, stark simplicity that mixed in Italian Neorealism with French New Wave. As such, his sensibility for understated direction allowed for the subtlety and depth of Jesus's teachings to come through more vividly in the cinematic medium. 

Roger Ebert noted, “If a hypothetical viewer came to The Passion with no previous knowledge of Jesus and wondered what all the furor was about, Pasolini's film would argue: Jesus was a radical whose teachings, if taken seriously, would contradict the values of most human societies ever since.”

We do seem to forget this and ironically, it took an unbeliever to remind us.