Category Archives: Facebook

Happy in Costa Rica

What is it about intentionally jerking people’s chains that is so satisfying? Every once in a while I come across something that I just have to put up on facebookFacebook with minimal comment just because I know it will set off a tirade and firestorm of outrage from all possible directions. Usually I have no particular horse in the race—I just enjoy observing people get riled for no good reason other than that increased heart rate for a short period of time is healthy. In Morgan’s Medical Manual, getting riled on Facebook and thirty minutes of aerobic exercise at the gym provide the same amount of health benefits.

My most recent opportunity occurred a couple of months or so ago when someone posted on my Facebook wall a link to “The Happiness Level of Every Part of the World in One Incredible Infographic.” My only posted comment was “I guess money can’t buy happiness after all!”

The Happy World Maphappy planet map

I spent the fall semester with first-semester freshmen frequently exploring various perspectives on happiness from the ancient world, from Homer and the Jewish Scriptures through Socrates, Plato and Aristotle to the Stoics, Jesus, Paul and Boethius. Always ready to add another perspective to the list, I clicked on the link and immediately thought “Oh yes . . . I absolutely have to put this up on Facebook. Outrage will definitely ensue.” Why? Because at the top of the list of happiest nations is Costa Rica, followed by Vietnam, Colombia, Belize and El Salvador. The U.S. did not fare well, coming in at 105, while many of the European countries were in the 40s and 50s. Clearly the usual measures of happiness, which invariably include gnpGross National Product, were not dominant in this study. What were the criteria?

Within a few minutes, the expected responses starting popping up. Before he could have possibly read the article, a Facebook acquaintance posted “I’m sorry, but this map is absurd.” To which I responded “’Absurd’ is a word we all use to describe something that does not match up with our expectations.” Clearly any calculation concerning happy nations that places Costa Rica and Vietnam #1 and #2 in happiness raises eyebrows. This in itself does not make the calculation “absurd”—that adjective cannot be applied until the criteria used in the survey are made clear. So what makes Costa Ricans so happy?

According to the article, hpiThe Happy Planet Index is quickly becoming one of the world’s go-to indexes when it comes to measuring the stability and performance of the Earth’s nation states. We have come to assume that the best measures of progress, even of happiness, are financial measures. I was reminded of this just this past week as I spent two hours in seminar with eighteen freshmen considering Marx and Engels’ The Communist Manifesto. The authors eloquently and passionately describe how capitalism has reduced everything that matters to a cash value, drowning everything from meaningful work to m and eintimate family connections in “the icy waters of egotistical calculation.” Yet at least in the West we continue to assume that the best measure of success, happiness and fulfillment is best achieved in terms of dollar signs. We continue to believe that if we somehow get the right numbers to go up, we are going to be better off and things in general will be better for everyone. Why?

In a recent Ted Talk Nic Marks, one of the creators of The Happy Planet Index, describes how he and his colleagues began asking people all over the world a simple question—what is most important to you in life? What do you want out of life? The answers actually were not that surprising.

People all around the world say that what they want is happiness, for themselves, for their families, their children, their communities. Okay, they think money is slightly important. It’s there, but it’s not nearly as important as happiness, and it’s not nearly as important as love. We all need to love and be loved in life. It’s not nearly as important as health. We want to be healthy and live a full life. These seem to be natural human aspirations. Why are statisticians not measuring these?

Inspired by Robert Kennedy’s comment that “the Gross National Product measures everything except that which makes life worthwhile,” Marks and his colleagues began to think about how happiness and well-being might be measured within the boundaries of environmental limits They suggest that the ultimate outcome of a nation is how successful is it at creating happy and healthy lives for its citizens. Rejecting the antiquated notion that measuring a nation’s GDP is the best indicator of their overall well-being, the HPI calculates direct feedback from a nation’s population, along with the ecological footprint the nation has and their average life expectancy. The HPI is unique in that it takes the overall environmental sustainability of a nation into account. How much happiness does a country generate, and how does it use its natural resources to do so? For instance, although U.S. citizens might claim to be relatively happy and live long lives on the average, we rank 105 because of our “blood red colored ecological footprint score.”costa rica map Long, happy lives at the expense of abusing our greatest scarce natural resource—Earth.

At the top of the list is little Costa Rica. What’s going on there?

Costa Rica – average life expectancy is 78-and-a-half years. That is longer than in the USA. They are, according to the latest Gallup world poll, the happiest nation on the planet—happier than anybody; more than Switzerland and Denmark. They are the happiest place. They are doing that on a quarter of the resources that are used typically in [the] Western world. 99 percent of their electricity comes from renewable resources. Their government is one of the first to commit to be carbon neutral by 2021. They abolished the army in 1949. And they invested in social programs – health and education. They have one of the highest literacy rates in Latin America and in the world. latin vibeAnd they have that Latin vibe, don’t they. They have the social connectedness.

A current events FYI: Despite our best efforts over the past half century or more, Cuba (12) scored much better than the US (103) on the Happy Planet Index. Jeanne and I visited Cuba with an academic delegation a bit over a decade ago and this result fits my observation–people who are poor and challenged in all sorts of ways, but also resourceful, proud, and happy. Go figure.

All sorts of responses, of course, are possible—but it definitely made me think. As a teacher I know that one of the most effective tools in the learning process is anything that messes up everyone’s preconceptions and lets us know that one person’s “no brainer” is the next person’s big question. Nothing better than fiddling with the dials a bit, tuning in a new station with fresh assumptions, and seeing how different things look and sound. I’m not an economist or a statistician and do not have the tools to challenge or affirm the Happy Planet Index directly. But I am a human being and know from almost six decades of experience that there are many things more important to happiness than money—precisely the things that the HPI is interested in. Of course, putting a Latin American beach in Rhode Island would help.

lion and dachshund

The Dachshund and the Lion

Those who know me well or read this blog once in a while know that I live in a world dominated by dachshunds. Jeanne and I (and our Boston Terrier) share the house with two of them. FriedalinaFrieda is clearly the alpha of our three-dog pack—actually, she’s clearly the alpha-living-thing in the house, an extroverted diva who expects her world to work according to her agenda (and it usually does). Her agenda includes eating 24-7, being in charge of seating arrangements on all furniture items, and standing in the driver’s lap to look out the window while on a coveted automobile ride. 100_0870Winnie is a perpetual puppy who defers to Frieda in just about everything, wants nothing more than to have her belly rubbed, doesn’t like being outside or riding in the car, and has a few screws loose that cause her to bite strangers on the foot when least expected.

Friends and acquaintances know that my love of dachshunds rivals (but does not surpass) my obsession with penguins, so they occasionally forward to my Facebook page pictures or videos they think I will enjoy. My brother, for instance, a doctor who wishes he was a cowboy in Wyoming, send me a YouTube clip of a dachshund herding cows the other day.

I absolutely can see Frieda doing that (Winnie would run and hide in the barn). It would be good for Frieda—she could stand to lose a couple of pounds.

Here are a few things you need to know about dachshunds (whether you want to or not):

  • The tubular, short-legged body frame of the dachshund is a good example of what Darwin called “selective breeding”—human attempts to speed natural selection along for human benefit. Dachshunds were bred to hunt badgers (hence “dachshund”—“badger dog”); their low to the ground frame made badger lairs more accessible.watch dachshund
  • Remembering that dachshunds were bred to hunt badgers and that badgers are very nasty animals, it is not surprising that a 2008 study in the journal Applied Animal Behaviour Science ranked the diminutive Dachshund as the most aggressive of all breeds.
  • http://www.dogguide.net/blog/2008/07/the-3-most-aggressive-dog-breeds-revealed-pit-bulls-rottweilers-youll-be-surprised/
  • Dachshunds are notorious for being hyper alert. They are wary of strangers and tend to bark loudly when their suspicions are aroused. Or when a leaf blows across the lawn. Or when someone is walking another dog five blocks away.
  • Dachshunds were to Queen Victoria what Corgis are to Queen Elizabeth II. That’s probably because Queen V’s husband, Prince Albert, was from Germany—where the breed originated in the middle to late nineteenth century.Queen V
  • Things did not go well for dachshunds during World War I in the allied countries. Dachshunds were routinely kicked or stoned to death in the streets of England; owners of dachshunds who risked going out into public risked being labeled as German sympathizers and having their dachshunds killed in front of them.propaganda
  • Dachshunds are hard-wired to burrow. Since there are few badger burrows in the neighborhood, that means under your blankets, your clothes, anything they can dig under. 002They will burrow so deeply under things that they apparently have little need for oxygen while submerged.

Frieda and Winnie are great companions; Frieda, in particular, has been my tubular “Mini Me” for all of the years since she showed up in our house and decided I would be her pet human. I have learned a great deal from them about confidence and persistence. I have even learned things from the random dachshund videos my friends and acquaintances send me.

A few days ago I posted an essay called “Playing with Fire” in which I considered the tendency of the typical person of faith to be satisfied with tame and safe versions of engagement with the divine rather than risking being burned or consumed by the real thing.

Playing with Fire

In a comment, a new friend named Mitch—the new priest at the Episcopal church we attend—wrote “We certainly do want domesticated warmth; to tame the untamed God & capture the God who is known in freedom. barthReminds me so much of Barth in this. God will do what God wants; not our will.” I hadn’t been thinking of Karl Barth when I wrote the essay, the twentieth-century Protestant theologian who, among many other things, continually emphasized that “God is God and we’re not” in his voluminous writing, but Mitch was right. His comment reminded me of something my preacher/teacher father used to love to throw regularly into a sermon or class: Barth used to dismiss the notion of “defending the faith” by asking “if you had a large and hungry lion in a cage, what would you do when threatened—stand in front of the cage and defend the lion, or open the cage door and let the lion defend itself? The lion can take care of itself. And so can God—just get out of the way.”

Which reminded me of something else. From domesticating the divine through Karl Barth to a dachshund video—pretty typical of the connections my brain makes.

Comments on Facebook ranged from “Chomp!” to “I wonder what the lion had for lunch before this—it must have been good!” and “One day that Lion’s gonna find some mustard and a bun.” But from one commenter who actually knows the story, the following:

That is Bone Digger and the puppy is Milo. Bone Digger had problems walking when he was a baby and this little dog would go and bring him his food and literally put it in his mouth. He saved this Lions life. Such a touching story. He lives at the GW Zoo in Wynnewood, OK; you can see him any day of the week.

Lions are often used as placeholders for the power and majesty of the divine; just think of aslanAslan in C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia or, if you would rather go secular, Simba in The Lion King. Nice to look at and admire from a distance, but likely to have you for a meal if you get too close. But the flip side of that—and of “Playing with Fire” a few days ago—is that this wild, powerful and consuming God reportedly is interested in intimacy with us mere mortals. Bone Digger not only enjoys his pint-sized friend Milo, but at least at one point in his life needed Milo. What does God need from us (besides someone to rub up against the divine fur and provide a needed teeth cleaning)? I have no idea, but I won’t find out unless I muster some dachshund-like nerve and confidence on occasion and venture into the lion’s den.100_0865

consuming fire

Playing with Fire

Somewhere I heard or read that one of the top television programs in Finland (or Sweden or Norway) is a few hours of watching a fire burn in a fireplace. I don’t know whether or not this is true—I would hope that my Scandinavian cousins might go for a real fire in a fireplace rather than one on a screen. But Google “fireplace youtube video” and you will find several dozen to choose from.

During the two-hour final exam in one of my classes last semester, I put a fireplace video on the big screen up front while the students worked on their exams. Nobody commented on what I thought was a stroke of genius. I didn’t notice a significant increase in the quality of the exams, but I’d like to believe that it might have reduced the stress a bit. There is something mesmerizing and comforting about such videos; the one I chose is complete with the crackling of the logs (and no elevator music in the background). It’s low maintenance, too. No heat, but no kindling, no mess to clean up, no chance of the fire jumping out of the fireplace and causing damage edith(as in Edith’s room in Downton Abbey a couple of weeks ago), and no burns. There’s a lot to be said for domesticated fire—except that it isn’t fire. That’s what usually happens when we try to domesticate something wild and dangerous. It becomes something else entirely.

Domesticating the wild and dangerous is a favorite and necessary human activity, beginning with the domestication of the small human barbarians we call “children.” As a child, my favorite character in the pantheon of classic Bugs Bunny characters was the Tasmanian Devil.Taz I lived vicariously through his uncontrolled and destructive energy. Who doesn’t occasionally wish for the opportunity to make a god-awful mess with impunity and without repercussions, just because you can? Mom doesn’t like the way I picked up my room? I’ll show you “picked up”! I whirl into a tornado of destructive frenzy, clothes and bedding flying everywhere, leaving a child-sized hole in the wall as I exit the scene. Dad doesn’t like my attitude?  I’ll show you an attitude, as I leave flying paper and debris in the wake of my Tasmanian exit through your floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Just as the Tasmanian Devil was an infrequent visitor to the Bugs Bunny Show (maybe once every third Saturday), tasmanian_devil_and_bugs_bunny_by_erickenji1so I wasn’t looking to be destructive on a regular basis. Infrequent and arbitrary scenes of total chaos would have been enough to keep everyone on edge and suitably respectful.

I was reminded of the Tasmanian Devil as we read portions of Psalm 29 last Sunday morning:

The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the LORD, over mighty waters.

The voice of the LORD is powerful; the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.

The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars; the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.

The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.

The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness; the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

The voice of the LORD causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare . . .

dillardBroken cedars, whirling oaks, naked forests—sounds like the Tasmanian devil has been here. But for the most part, this is not the God we encounter in church (or anywhere else for that matter). As Annie Dillard writes, we tend to “come at God with an unwarranted air of professionalism, with authority and pomp, as though [we] knew what [we] were doing, as though people in themselves were an appropriate set of creatures to have dealings with God.” We want contact with the divine, but not with the Tasmanian Devil deity or with the consuming fireGod that Deuteronomy and Hebrews describe as “a consuming fire.” We want a domesticated God that we can predict and perhaps control. Why is that?

In When God is Silent, Barbara Brown Taylor suggests that we opt for a domesticated God because we suspect that the alternative is too disturbing to consider. Religious history is littered with stories of those who asked to meet God face to face and barely survived to tell about it. “Many pray for an encounter with the living God. Those whose prayers are answered rarely ask for the same thing twice.” Persons of faith complain (frequently, endlessly) that God is silent, that no direct communication from the divine is ever forthcoming, at least not in a language anyone can understand. Just ask Job. But it just might be that God is silent because this is what, in our heart of hearts, we have asked for. As the children of Israel quaking in their boots at Mount Sinai after God’s direct communication, we would rather dabble around the edges, and we would much rather hire someone to represent God to us (and us to God) than take the face to face risk.

god is silentWe are not up to direct encounter with God. We want it but we don’t want it. We want to be warmed, not burned, except where God is concerned there is no such thing as a safe fire. Safe fire is our own invention. It is what we preach to people who, like us, would rather be bored than scared.

The next time I am in church I’ll have a hard time forgetting the YouTube video of a fireplace burning. A pleasant enough experience, I suppose, but offering nothing of the warmth and danger of the original. As we proceed through the various portions of the liturgy—Gloria, Sanctus, sermon, creed, confession, collection, Sanctus, Agnus Dei and so on—Annie Dillard will be poking me in the side.

I often think of set pieces of liturgy as certain words that people have successfully addressed to God without their getting killed . . . If God were to blast such a service to bits, the congregation would be, I believe, genuinely shocked.

Indeed we would be—and attendance the following Sunday would be effected. Much better to pretend that we know what we are doing and that God somehow is entertained. Because the alternative—that God might actually show up and do something, including making us responsible for what we so blithely parrot every week—makes us uncomfortable. And above all else, human beings want to be comfortable.

holy the firmWhy do we people in churches seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? . . . On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return. Annie Dillard

no tech

Computer Sabbath

If multitasking is the enemy of reverence, which I’m quite sure it is, then I’m in trouble. Me, a week ago

seventh dayAnd on the seventh day God rested. According to the Hebrew Scriptures, God’s decision to take a day off after six days of hard work was intended to serve as a model for how human beings should structure their lives. If the Big Guy thought it a good idea to take a break from the usual “creating the heavens and the earth” grind, then perhaps mere mortals should also schedule regular breaks from their usual routines. Hence the Fourth Commandment:

fourth commandmentRemember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the LORD your God. . . . For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.

To which the general contemporary American attitude is “Whatever.” You can’t run a business or a career that way—it’s not clear that a modern life can be lived that way either.

But I’ve had the first cousin of the Sabbath—sabbatical—on my radar screen for a while. The early books of the Hebrew Scriptures have a lot to say about how the newly liberated children of Israel are to organize their communities once the Promised Land is occupied and the pesky inhabitants are killed or thrown out. sabbaticalOn a once-every-seventh-year rotating basis, slaves are to be set free, fields are to be left fallow, debts are to be forgiven—behold, all things are become new. The Sabbath/sabbatical idea incorporates some sort of divine insight into how things work; fortunately, in my profession the opportunity for sabbatical is still available for the fortunate few. And I am one of them—my third sabbatical, the first one to last a full year, will begin on July 1. To my non-academic friends and family who believe that I will be on a year-long vacation doing nothing, I respond that sabbatical is not about doing nothing. It is definitely about doing different things, but even more is about doing things differently. And so, I suspect, is the core Sabbath idea. The point is not to stop doing things one day out of seven. The point rather is to include in my life a structured reminder to see, think, and act differently than usual. Doing that on a weekly basis is far more challenging than planning for a once-every-seven-years extended sabbatical.

In last Monday’s blog post I revealed that my one New Year’s resolution is to be a more reverent person in 2015:

Freelance Christianity: One Thing

I’m sure that this decision is a confluence of thinking about sabbatical and reading BBTBarbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World in which she writes engagingly about how important taking a true Sabbath every week has been to her in the years since she stepped down from the manic energies required by being the rector of a thriving Episcopal parish. As I thought about what reverence might mean outside the confines of its usual religious implications—what “secular reverence” might be, if you will—I kept circling back to a negative definition: Reverence is the opposite of multitasking. If being reverent means paying careful attention to the tasks, persons and items in my life as they show themselves, it also means not dividing that attention fifteen different ways.

As I sat in our lovely little library room before dawn last Saturday morning, the first morning after choosing reverence as the focus of my one New Year’s resolution, I wondered “What is the thing most likely to suck me into multitasking?” The answer was obvious—my greatest temptation to non-reverence was (and is) my beloved surface 2Surface II tablet, recharged and waiting for my use, laying on the bottom shelf of the table next to my chair. And I had a “What If?” moment. What if I tried to spend twenty-four hours without turning my tablet (or either of the other laptops in the house) on? What if I deliberately removed the greatest temptation to multitask and lived in a “tablet-free” zone for twenty-four hours?  What if, in other words, Saturday January 3, 2015 was a “Computer Sabbatical”?

Immediately a swarm of questions and concerns swept over me like locusts over Egypt.locusts

  1. But what if I want to work on some essays today?
  2. What if an answer to one or more of the cosmically important emails I sent out yesterday comes in today?
  3. How am I going to be able to track how my blog numbers are doing?
  4. I was going to finish the syllabus for my upcoming Philosophy of the Human Person class today.
  5. Should I tell Jeanne what I’m doing?
  6. Would using my cell phone count as a violation of computer sabbatical?
  7. How am I going to print off the essay I wrote yesterday that I’ll be using at Living Stones seminar tomorrow after church?
  8. Most importantly, how am I going to find out when the Friars game this afternoon is?

As the above concerns flooded into my awareness (all within five minutes of my declaring the day “computer free”), I scribbled them down in a yellow pad of paper. Which immediately answered concerns 1 and 4 above—there is a remarkable invention, almost as amazing as tablets, called “paper” upon which one can record one’s most profound thoughts even when no computer is available. I did indeed write a new essay last Saturday; I dutifully typed it into my tablet on Sunday. I also finished off a few syllabus-related items in long hand. I had forgotten how horrible my handwriting is.

I’m not sure how #5 ever came up, since the sight of me without my tablet surgically attached everywhere I go would have alerted Jeanne that something was up. I did tell her what I was up to as soon as she arose because I needed her wisdom concerning #6. androidDoes my computer sabbatical apply to my phone (which isn’t technically a computer after all)? “Yes it does apply,” she immediately said, “since you use your phone like a computer instead of a phone.” True enough. I hate getting phone calls, but love checking my emails and blog numbers on my phone. Which focused my attention on #2 and #3. On Sunday morning I found out that although about twenty-five emails came in on Saturday, none of them were the responses I was looking for; I deleted all but two of the twenty-five without even reading them. Which tells me, I guess, that perhaps the emails I sent weren’t cosmically important after all.

As for checking my blog numbers, this was a big problem. I had no idea how often I do this habitually until computer sabbatical day. I have taught logic classes before and know all about the post hoc“post hoc, ergo propter hoc” (“after this, therefore because of this”) fallacy, but I have been convinced for a long time that the number of visits to my blog during a given day is directly proportional to the number of times I check my blog numbers. And guess what? Computer sabbatical day proved my theory to be correct. Last Saturday was my worst blog activity day in close to a year—obviously because I didn’t check the numbers all day. By the way, I found out when the Friars game was when I remembered I had a calendar in my backpack with all of the college sports events for the year listed by day and time. I shouldn’t have bothered. They lost.

I did make it through the day without turning a computer on or messing with my phone. Instead I took down the Christmas tree, wrote a new essay, finished An Altar in the World, listened to the Friars lose on the radio, watched a bunch of TV (only some of it worth watching), ate more than usual, and sort of felt like I didn’t get that much done in the day. But the evidence of baby steps in reverence was there. For instance, I am in the habit of noting in the index the chapters of any book I am reading that I especially like or find insightful. Was it a coincidence that three of my four favorite chapters in altarAn Altar in the World are chapters that I read without tablet interruption on Saturday morning? And when Jeanne told me early in the evening on Saturday that I looked “extremely content” sitting in my chair in the living room, I concluded that maybe the computer sabbatical experiment is worth repeating every Saturday for the foreseeable future. As regular “no computer” days become habitual, I hope to notice that at least once a week less multitasking means more reverence. And as to #7 above: I did not have print off a hard copy of my new essay for Living Stones on Sunday morning after all. I just brought my tablet to church and read it off the screen.

Convocation_2007_16

Nice Work If You Can Get It

The new semester begins in a week. I was interested a few days ago to read a Huffington Post article summarizing the results of what a bunch of anthropologists found out concerning the daily work habits of university faculty.

What Do Professors Do All Day?

After spending two weeks with a non-random sample of sixteen faculty of different ranks at boise stateBoise State University, the researchers found out that on the average the faculty worked 51 hours during the work week and 10 hours on the weekend at a host of different tasks. Amazing. It took a study to find out that teachers have full-time jobs after all and actually do work-related things on the weekend (although the numbers for both week and weekend seem a bit low). I’m wondering how to square these remarkable results with an article I read a year ago claiming that “University Professor” topped the list of “Least Stressful jobs of 2013.” Of course I had to respond . . .

Those who read this blog regularly or even occasionally know that I believe I have the greatest job in the world. For those who are finding this out for the first time, let me repeat—I have the greatest job in the world. As a matter of fact, it is so great that I don’t consider it to be a job at all. For me, teaching is a vocation rather than a job, something that I truly believe I am called and was born to do. Convocation_2007_16I raise eyebrows occasionally on the campus of the Catholic college at which I teach when I say that I consider teaching to be a vocation for me just as much as being a priest is the vocation of the guys who walk around campus in white robes. But even though I love what I do to an almost unhealthy extent, I taken aback when I learned from a colleague via Facebook that “University Professor” is listed by CareerCast.com at number one in its top ten list of “Least Stressful Jobs of 2013.”

The Ten Least Stressful Jobs of 2013

Really? Or as one of my colleagues commented on Facebook “Bullshit!!! [pardon my advanced degree French].” I guess I must have failed to notice how non-stressful my job is during my 25 year university professor career.

Every person who teaches in higher education has a virtual file full of stories about how difficult it is to get a non-academic friend or family member to understand exactly what is involved with being a college professor. pic_short_teaching_courses_londonMost difficult is getting someone to understand that this is not a part-time job. For instance, Cousin Bob finds out that the typical teaching load for a faculty member at a teaching college or university is three or four three-credit courses per semester (or perhaps five at a two-year college), meaning that the faculty member is in class at most fifteen hours per week. Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! Cousin Bob remarks. Early in my career I often patiently pointed out to the Cousin Bobs in my family that a good rule of thumb is that a teacher spends three to four hours outside of class (preparation, reading, grading, meeting with students, etc.) for every hour spent in class. “Really?” Cousin Bob replies. But he clearly is not convinced, since as we all know, easy working hours is the main reason that a person becomes a teacher.

Then, of course, Cousin Bob wonders about all of the weeks of the calendar year that I am not in the classroom. Christmas break, Spring break, the summer—teachers apparently get at least twenty weeks per year off.images Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! With what begins to feel like infinite patience, I explain to Cousin Bob that teaching is only one part of a university professor’s job. In order to advance through the ranks of promotion and, more importantly, in order to get tenure, one must research and publish on a regular basis. For most college faculty, the time and focus required for this aspect of the profession is not available during the semester, so the “breaks” are all about research, writing, and praying for publication. But I’m not in the classroom, right? Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! You get the idea. A colleague once told me about his frustrated response to a relative after one too many such conversations. Upon hearing Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! one too many times, my colleague replied “It actually is really nice. If you were smart enough you could have a job like that too.”

CareerCast’s explanation of why University Professor is the least stressful job of 2013 has more than a whiff of Cousin Bob behind it, just expressed in a slightly less aggressive fashion. For instance, the article explains that

University professors are at the pinnacle of the education field. Their students are largely those who choose the classes they attend, and thus want to be in class. Unlike elementary and secondary educators, the performance of college professors isn’t evaluated based on standardized tests. 15rfd-image-custom3University professors also have the opportunity to earn tenure, which guarantees lifetime employment.

A full response would require something more like a book chapter than a blog post. Suffice it to say that the author of the article (1) has apparently never heard of core requirements if he thinks that college professors face “students . . . who choose the classes they attend, and thus want to be in class,” (2) is not aware that despite the (usual) lack of standardized tests, college teachers are evaluated by their peers, answerable for the results of student evaluations, and are under regular scrutiny in every aspect of what they do, and (3) needs to learn something about the tenure process (assuming that the faculty member is fortunate enough to be teaching at an institution that uses the tenure process).

Tenure. Such job security is certainly unusual in today’s job market and tenure is an attractive “perk” of the academic life. Once one earns it, that is. one-does-not-simply-become-an-adjunct-professorTenure-track positions are hard to come by in academia, more and more so as many institutions opt for hiring year-to-year adjunct professors or special lecturers then proceed to treat them as well-dressed slave labor (don’t get me started on that one). Should a teacher be fortunate to land a tenure-track position in today’s heavily buyer-skewed academic marketplace, the stress she or he will experience in the next several years leading to the tenure decision will be sufficient to last a lifetime. As is undoubtedly the case in many workplace environments, the tenure decision is often as much or more about internal campus politics as it is about the qualifications of the candidate and those things that she or he can control. “The opportunity to earn tenure” is indeed that—an opportunity that, unfortunately, for many talented and qualified teachers will never be available.

Then there’s the money. The article author points out that

csreport_header02_r1_c1_s1Harvard University pays full-time professors $198,400, with a 7:1 professor-to-student ratio, while University of Chicago professors receive $197,800 per year with a 6:1 ratio. Among public universities, the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) is highest paying, with an average wage of $162,600 for its full-time staff.

Really? All of them? At all levels? In all disciplines? Such “statistics” are useless without context, about as useless as telling a lawyer in a public defender’s office working 80-100 hours per week and struggling to make ends meet that the senior lawyers in the top firms on Wall Street often make seven-figures annually. Here’s an anecdote from the real world. At least a dozen years into my teaching career, still paying off the loans from ten years of college in order to earn the PhD required to teach at the college level in my discipline,business-ethics it occurred to me one day that the second semester seniors in my Business Ethics class, most of whom would be entering the work force shortly after graduation as entry-level persons with undergraduate business degrees, would be starting at a monthly salary noticeably higher than my own. As I once told a younger colleague when I was chair of my department, in response to his complaints about how little he was being paid, “if you became a teacher for the money, you’re a moron.”

1385581_616281185091038_1215320450_nI have reached the level of experience and rank (a tenured, full professor) at which one could expect that maybe stress levels might reduce and ultimately disappear. But persons such as I are those who are tapped, appropriately, to significantly commit themselves to the third leg of the academic stool (along with teaching and research): service. After four years as chair of a department of 25 faculty and now in the middle of a four-year stint as the director of the core academic program at my college, responsible for 80 faculty and upwards of 1700 students at any given time, I realize that one sort of stress just gets replaced by another.

And actually that’s fine, since it is all part of the vocation I was born to inhabit. There are many attractive features to the life of a university professor. I can think of no other profession in which one’s creativity is required more often or in which one has more autonomy and flexibility. But it is anything but stress-free. A teacher never leaves the office. Your work goes with you everywhere. I realized at one point early last December that, other than Thanksgiving Day,  I literally had not had a day off since the middle of August. This is why I have recommended the teaching profession to no more than a half-dozen of my best students in more than twenty years of teaching. If you are looking for a profession that will fit nicely with your family obligations and other interests, don’t become a teacher.nice-work-if-you-can-get-it-1180 If you want to make a living wage at a stimulating 40-45 hour per week job, don’t become a teacher. If you want to “work to live” rather than “live to work,” you probably should not become a teacher. If you think of teaching as one among many equally interesting career possibilities, don’t become a teacher. But if you are incurably obsessed with the life of learning, if the dynamic of new ideas exhilarates you, if you suspect that you might have the heart of a teacher and nothing else will fulfill you, then this highly stressful but highly rewarding vocation might just be for you. It’s nice work if you can get it.

Happy New Year Jesus

Random Resolutions Revisited

Last year on New Year’s Day I posted several random resolutions for the new year–today I’m checking up on how I did.

1. I resolve to stop complaining about the stupid shit that people put on Facebook. If I am stupid enough to read the stupid shit that people put on Facebook, I get what I deserve.get-rid-of-dead-weight-on-facebook-L-X_hm8X[1]

FAIL: I don’t complain as much about stupid shit on Facebook as I used to, but sometimes the level of content is so abysmal that I have to say something. It has never helped.

2. I resolve never again to buy a Christmas tree from the guy who sells Del’s lemonade in the summer. No one can be good at both selling Christmas trees and making lemonade.dels_lemonade_cup__79765.1382898369.451.416[1]

FAIL: A Christmas tree purchased from the same lemonade man is sitting in our living room as I write. It started dropping needles well before Christmas, just a couple of days after moving in.

3. I resolve to never post a picture of what I am eating on Facebook. I have never done this and resolve to continue not doing it. For those who do, please stop.aecd87be60e079ba31daf89feed38cd2054bd378f8459b6bb14f88a7da8a7d9c[1]

PASS: This was one easy to keep, and my blood pressure still rises when someone finds it necessary to take a picture of their current gastronomic delight and put it on Facebook. Who cares?

4. I resolve to own a cat again before I die. More accurately, I resolve to let a cat own me again before I die.Regardless of gender, the cat’s name will be Mister Fabulous. (Random “The Blues Brothers” reference there–who knows what it is?) 

Calebs catFAIL, but I did at least meet a nice new cat this past year. His name is Bleistift (German for “pencil,” I think)–he was given this unfortunate name by my son and daughter-in-law (who is from Germany). He’s a lovely animal and has a far better attitude about life than he should, given the name he has been saddled with.

5. I resolve to stop thinking that the several dozen people I graduated with thirty-five years ago, with whom I have never been in touch, are now my friends because we are members of a Facebook group.join_our_facebook_group[1]

PASS: Another easy one to keep, since I never have thought that Facebook connections I have never met meet the ontological status of “friends.”

6. I resolve never to find out what it is like to tweet.tw[1]

EPIC FAIL: I am now on Twitter, thanks to taking the advice of blogging expert who said that being on Twitter is more important for a blogger than being on Facebook. I’m not buying it, although I do admit that I am more aware of how to say something in 140 characters or less than I used to be.

7. I resolve to never again check out a conservative media outlet’s Facebook page “just for the fun of it.” The cognitive dissonance is not worth it.FNCFacebook[1]

PASS, although I must admit that I really wanted to see what they had to say about Cuba, the improving economy and my favorite Catholic, Pope Francis, in the past few weeks.

8. I resolve to only check my blog once per hour to see how many posts I have. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this one.imagesMZKPM2SC

BIG TIME FAIL. If I could get my blog stats intravenously 24-7, I probably would.

So there it is. I was 3-5 on my resolutions, which I expect is better, unfortunately, than average. I’m working on 2015 resolutions right now, ones that will have nothing to do with social media. In the meantime, Happy New Year Jesus

Siobhan

Too Soon

Thanksgiving Break last week was a bit less relaxing than usual for Jeanne and me because, even though we are the old people in our immediate family, we did the travelling this year. We met on the day before Thanksgiving twenty-seven years ago; because of court ordered travel to their mother’s house for Christmas (the wonders of blended families) Thanksgiving was the one holiday we knew we would have my sons in house, so Thanksgiving has always been “our holiday.” It still is—people come from far and wide to make sure we are in one place at the end of November—but usually our house is the place we all gather. 002Last Thanksgiving we agreed to travel to my son and daughter-in-law’s in Florida the next time, last week was the next time, so for only the second time in recent or not-so-recent memory we were not home for Thanksgiving. We had a great time as always, although Jeanne and I agreed that for the foreseeable future we are playing the age card and having everyone revisit the tradition of coming to us. It’s a long trip for just a few days, and finding canine-care for our three four-legged daughters over a holiday was not easy.

I was committed to not checking my Facebook or email accounts while away, but of course utterly failed to honor my commitment. At around 11:00 PM on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my phone gave its “you have a new thing to look at on Facebook” beep and I took a look. I found, to my dismay, a Providence Journal news update posted by a colleague from work reporting that Siobhán, a much-loved and respected member of our college community, had been killed in a car accident on slippery Rhode Island roads a few hours earlier that afternoon. The thread of comments from my campus colleagues—“Oh no!” “Oh my God!” ross-siobhan-headshot“This is terrible!” “I’m shocked and numb”—reflected my own immediate response. I felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me with a punch in the solar plexus. I had just had a brief email exchange with Siobhán a couple of days earlier setting up a meeting time the week after Thanksgiving when she could provide me with some tech advice—and now she was gone.

If someone asked me to provide a list (which would be a very short list) of people, from among the thousands of students, faculty and staff on campus, who everyone liked, Siobhán would have been at the top of the list. She would most likely have been the only person on the list. Siobhán was the college’s Instructional Technology Development Program Coordinator, a position that put her in charge, among other things, of bringing the faculty into the twenty-first century technologically (after guiding them first through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries). Over the past few years I had dozens of interactions with Siobhán both in person and via email, sometimes asking for help with something that a two-year old probably would know how to do, other times asking for advice concerning what new technology might be useful and user-friendly for the faculty in the program I direct. She always had the answer, delivered both in language that I could easily understand and without a hint of condescension or impatience (even though I undoubtedly deserved both). Often Siobhán provided solutions for the next eight problems to follow that I didn’t even know about yet. Siobhan 2She was gracious, creative, generous, funny, and had a smile that lit up every space she entered. I pride myself in responding to emails quickly, but Siobhán was the fastest I have ever encountered. I once complimented her on her immediate helpfulness; she responded “That’s because I like you!” I asked “What do you do to people you don’t like?” “I make them wait a week.”

I wish I had known Siobhán outside of work; my guess is that she was a wonderful friend. I found upon returning to campus last Monday that everyone continues to be stunned, struggling with her passing. The following comments copied randomly from one of the many Facebook reminiscences that have popped up over the past few days are a testament to what a hole has been torn in the fabric of our academic community by the untimely loss of this beautiful colleague and friend:

I’m in shock at the news – what a profound loss for the PC family. We’ll always love that smile…

She was such a beautiful presence on campus. Unbelievable.

Siobhan on bikeSiobhan was someone who always knew how to help, and she really got what it meant to be a student at PC. I will miss her a lot.

I am shocked by the news–she was perhaps the most patient and generous person I knew. I’m still having trouble processing the news.

I’m just hearing this news now —just devastating- she was a wonderful woman

This is so devastating. Siobhan had such positive energy, always with a smile and always willing to think creatively about helping students learn… She will be missed immensely.

Oh no–this is heartbreaking news! Siobhan was one of the most generous people I knew. Her positive energy always lit up the room and lifted the spirits of those around her.

This really hurts. I served on many committees with her. We shared a passion for alternative approaches to learning. Even when I had no “business” with her, I often stopped into her office to talk. What a loss.

I didn’t know her well, but from the short time I knew her, I could tell how much love and energy she carried with her and shared with the world. I had really hoped to get to know her better and become friends.

There will be a memorial service today on campus for Siobhán; I know that my teaching teammate and I are not the only professors who have cancelled class in order to attend. The chapel will be full. There will be a number of beautiful things said about Siobhan’s impact and influence on everyone privileged enough to have known and worked with her—all of them true. SiobhanThere will also be many things said about life after death, about God’s plan, about comfort in knowing that we will see Siobhán again, about Jesus having said “I am the resurrection and the life.” Somebody said that the angels must have really wanted Siobhan badly to take her so soon. I do not know what Siobhán believed, whether or not she was religious, or whether she believed in God at all. But such words are more for those who remain than for those who have died—and I must confess that they really don’t help very much. I profess to believe all of those things but haven’t a clue at the moment about what they ultimately mean other than serving as comforting platitudes. The fact is Siobhán is gone, taken decades before her time, and I’m not sure that I am—that we are—ready to “feel better.”

But I do know what helped a bit. Last Tuesday afternoon a colleague on campus organized an impromptu gathering for Siobhán’s friends and colleagues since—as the VP for Mission and Ministry said—we didn’t want to wait until Friday. At least seventy-five people gathered in a space designed for half that many; after an opening prayer there were several moments of silence. In twenty-one years at the college, I have never seen a gathering such as this one. Faculty, administrators and staff from all over campus, people who might go a whole semester without seeing each other or speaking, all in one space to express their sadness and gratitude. One by one various people began to tell brief stories and vignettes. Many were funny, all were touching—there were few dry eyes in the room. One woman told of a time when Siobhan was helping her with a tech problem and said that what she loved about Siobhán was her ability to not make you feel like an idiot—even when you knew that you were an idiot. “The nugget that Siobhán left me with is to always meet people where they are at, then raise them up from there.” Thanks for the take away, Siobhán. Rest in peace.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

mindfulness

Going on Retreat

I begin with a confession. As recently as a week ago in a Facebook posting I have been telling people all semester that in the middle of November I was going to be away for four days at a conference (I might have called it a “workshop” once or twice). out of officeI put up an “away” message on Outlook announcing my absence for four days from the administrative saddle because of travelling to a conference, let my “inner circle” blog circulation list know that they would have to do something other than wait expectantly for my usual 7:30 AM Friday blog post on a particular upcoming Friday, arranged for my teaching teammates to cover the Friday afternoon seminar on the Aeneid that I would be missing, and generally covered my academic ass. No biggie—everyone know that giving papers at a conference is part of the academic life that requires rearranging classes and office hours on occasion.

cyprianExcept that I was not giving a paper. I wasn’t even going to a conference. I was going to a retreat, which in most corners of academia is tantamount to going to a 60s love-in. The name of the retreat, located at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus occupied by my beloved Saint John’s Abbey run by the Benedictines in the middle of Minnesota, was “Prayer in the Cave of the Heart,” led by a Benedictine monk who is the prior of a hermitagehermitage in Big Sur that I spent a week at a year and a half ago. It’s a good thing that I have not needed tenure or promotion points for a while now, because participation in such an event would have carried negative academic weight. The value of going to such a retreat in the middle of the semester in the eyes of the Committee on Academic Rank and Tenure on our campus would be similar to what the Psalmist says about the ungodly: “Placed in the scales, they rise.” The fact that I perceived several months ago that this retreat at this point in the semester would be good for my soul would be irrelevant to CART—“But will this produce a peer-reviewed article? Probably not? No tenure or promotion for you!” Too bad, CART. I’ve been around long enough to have been on that committee myself for a couple of years, convincing myself every Friday afternoon that I was qualified to mess with other people’s lives. If I determine that a trip to the middle-of-nowhere Minnesota is what is needed to keep my spirit, soul and body centered and willing to inhabit the same room, you can’t do anything about it.

Human beings are funny creatures; human beings on retreat are even funnier. The average age of the twenty-four people gathered at this one was probably a bit over my fifty-eight years, with women outnumbering men two to one. The women all looked alike—tall, thin, wearing glasses, with approximately  the same short haircut (with the exception of one woman with a long braid who looked like a refugee from the Sixties and who was the only person of either gender attending with hair longer than mine).ND Turns out that four or five of them were ordained Episcopal clergy from the Diocese of North Dakota. The guys were a bit more variant in appearance, beardless and bearded, bald and haired, thin and not so thin, including one heavyset guy who fell asleep during meditation in the oratory and snored really loudly. Twice. Everyone on retreat walks the same way, with a slow and intentionally reverent gait that actually looks a bit like how zombies walk when they are staggering toward you in the movies. Everyone and everything slows down at a retreat, at least at the ones I go to, which is a good thing.

Just as the other two times I have attended retreats at this establishment, silence was observed from the conclusion of evening prayer around 9:00 until the end of lunch the next day, the only exceptions being when were in teaching sessions with whoever is running the retreat. In these sessions we were allowed to ask questions, but only if they were good ones. I love silence. Silence is good. But not when packed into a small dining room for breakfast silenceand lunch seated six to a circular table, for breakfast and lunch during what is quaintly called “the Great Silence.” The sounds of people chewing their food while uncomfortably looking anywhere but at each other may be an important part of some people’s spiritual practice, but it doesn’t do anything for me. There is no one more introverted than I am, but even I breathed a sigh of relief when lunch ended and we all were allowed to speak for the next nine hours or so.

WardOther than the leader of the retreat, who came from California, I was the person who travelled the farthest. My flights were such that I was the first arrival early on Thursday afternoon, a few hours before the retreat officially began at dinner. After touching base with Ward, the director of the retreat house who is a friend (largely because between us Jeanne and I have been to five retreats at this place over the past five years) and moving my stuff into my room, ehopI went into the beautiful large living room area with a glass wall overlooking the adjacent forest, made a cup of tea, and sat down to read Anne Lamott’s latest book. TEA?? Since when did I start drinking tea?? As I have discussed in the past, I have been a dedicated coffee drinker (more like a coffee swiller) since my teenage years.

Saint Keurig

Jeanne was a tea drinker when we met years ago and still drinks tea on occasion as well as coffee, but not me. Tea is for pussies. coffee or teaWho can be bothered with the precious seconds wasted with opening the tea bag envelope, waiting for the tea to steep in hot water for an interminable minute or so, then figuring out how to drink it with a tea bag floating in it? By the time all that happens I will have swilled a paper cup of coffee, black since I can’t spare the time to add cream and sugar, and be back to the important business of whatever I’m doing—since everything I do is obviously important business. I don’t drink tea.

Except on retreat. I said earlier that human beings on retreat are funny creatures—I am no exception. Making myself tea instead of coffee for my first of many hot drinks over the four-day retreat was not a conscious decision—I didn’t even notice I had done it until I sat down to read. But my body knew something my mind didn’t know. mindfulGoing from an 80-100 hour week of work to a four-day retreat is not as easy as flipping a switch. Slowing down, mindfulness, deliberation and attentiveness—all those good things that I’ve begun to incorporate into my life but that slip through my fingers easily when swamped by real life—need practice. And taking the time to make a cup of tea (which I actually really like the taste of) rather than throwing another several ounces of coffee down my pie hole was a good place to start. Take the time to pay attention to what you are doing, do each thing as it comes, and wait to see what comes next. mindfulnessDo what you are doing and be where you are. I know this. Sometimes I even do it. But a retreat is an opportunity to drop fully into that space that I’ve been skimming over or dodging around for weeks. And to notice that it’s always there waiting—my deepest (and best) me.

I was even thinking that I should start drinking tea at work. Until I remembered that thanks to Saint Keurig I can now make a cup of tea as quickly and mindlessly as a cup of coffee. I don’t even need a tea bag. Oh well.

FSM

Knowing the Unknowable

babelI just spent a week with over one hundred freshman exploring the familiar but challenging stories of Genesis and Exodus. I do this just about every year, but each time I’m in a different place and the students have different interests, backgrounds, and prior experience with the texts, so once again “all things are become new.” This time the focus most frequently was on the problem of how to make contact with the most important force in the universe in a meaningful way when, virtually by definition, that force is unknowable. The God of the Old Testament stories wants simultaneously to have an intimate relationship with apparently random groups of human beings and individuals, yet frequently falls back on the “I’m God and you’re not” position when things get dicey (such as when human beings start asking tough questions).

a wild godA friend of mine from church who also is a regular at the monthly seminars I lead afterwards asked me several weeks ago whether I had ever read Barbara Ehrenreich’s Living With a Wild God. I had not, and honestly had never heard of the book (although the title alone made me want to read it immediately). “Put it on your list,” said my friend. “I want to know what you think of the end of the book.” That was at the beginning of the summer; I only got to my assignment in the last two weeks of August, right before the beginning of the new semester.

I found the book to be equal parts interesting, annoying, and incoherent. As Ehrenreich, best known (to me, at least) for her best-seller nickeled and dimedNickeled and Dimed, wanders back in time to her dysfunctional childhood and tries to pick up a thread of investigation now that she is in her early seventies that she dropped many decades earlier, she frequently gets lost in the jungle that threatens everyone who writes about themselves—the temptation to believe that just because it happened to me, it’s interesting and important to someone else. The fine line between fascinating memoir and suffocating self-absorption is often close to invisible. I should have loved the book, given that it is (roughly) the story of an atheist trying to come to grips with what can only be described as a series of  “mystical experiences” that occurred over a few years in her late teens and early twenties. Right up my alley—sounds exactly like what God would do, send mystical experiences to an atheist while giving well-intentioned believers the silent treatment. But it wasn’t until the final chapter when I realized why the whole thing just wasn’t clicking with me. Ehrenreich writes:

I have no patience with Goethe when he wrote, ‘The highest happiness of man is to have probed what is knowable, and to quietly revere what is unknowable.’ Why ‘revere’ the unknowable? Why not find out what it is?

“Aha!” I thought. She’s trying to play the “seeking after God” game using a set of rules that guarantees that she will lose the game. balticThat’s like playing Monopoly using rules that guarantee you’ll not proceed past Baltic Avenue. Never a good idea.

Ehrenreich was trained as a scientist and came from a family with no regard for religion, so her categories of explanation for everything are objective evidence, provable fact, and calculating reason. She lacks the common vocabulary for even beginning to communicate about experiences that apparently do not fit into these categories, but that doesn’t stop her from trying. And it is a heroic effort throughout, regularly teasing the reader with impending breakthroughs in understanding—when she’s not spending page after page telling us about her love affairs, her immersion in sixties radicalism and a variety of stop-and-start careers, that is. But I hung in there because I was hoping for a big payoff of some sort—Barbara Ehrenreich meets the Divine.

In her final chapter, the one in which I hoped she would tentatively draw a line between the knowable and the unknowable as her experiences have led her to draw it, Ehrenreich instead unfavorably quotes the above passage from Goethe, then proceeds to speculate randomly about the “wild God” who has been lurking around the fringes of her rational and logical life ever since her mystical experiences as a teenager. Maybe God is the Presence we occasionally found ourselves in the middle of while experiencing natural beauty. FSMMaybe God is a creation of the “Hyperactive Agency Detection Device” that cognitive scientists say our human brain comes equipped with, a device that predisposes us to project consciousness onto things other than ourselves, including rocks and trees. Maybe God is like a germ or a virus, not really alive but pervasively invading the various cracks available in living things. Or, I might add, maybe God is a Flying Spaghetti Monster, since apparently once one starts speculating beyond the boundaries of logic any guess is as good as any other.

“Why revere the unknowable? Why not find out what it is?” In the end, I find these questions to be sad, simply because the continuing assumption behind the questions is that everything, and I mean everything, is subject to not only logical scrutiny (that’s fine) but also the assumption that only those things that are at least in theory within the range and scope of human reason are worthy of even a moment of human attention. facebookIt is as if we have no other tools available for engaging with and trying to shape a meaningful life within the world we find ourselves so unexpectedly placed.

The other day I made the rare choice to get involved in a Facebook discussion. In response to my resistance to his universal claim that “Religious faith is bad,” a Facebook acquaintance (whom I’ve never met) said “Faith is belief without evidence. What else does it mean? Why else would it be needed?” My quick and inadequate response was “Faith is not belief without evidence. Faith is belief when evidence may point in a particular direction but is not complete or exhaustive. Belief entirely without any evidence at all is simply foolishness. That foolishness is not confined to religious activities–it is rampant in politics or any other arena of belief. Non-theists are just as capable of such foolishness as theists are.” As long as faith opponents are rejecting a definition of faith similar to TwainMark Twain’s “Faith is believing something you know ain’t true,” I’m with them. But that’s not what real faith is. Rather, it is applying the very common human activity of believing on the basis of important but partial evidence to the realm of the relationship between human and divine. “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” wrote the author of Hebrews. The relationship between faith, evidence, knowledge and hope is one worthy of extended investigation—perhaps a sabbatical?? But to assume that faith and evidence have nothing to do with each other is to define the game out of existence—or to guarantee advancing no further than Baltic Avenue.

Lady M

My Life as Lady Macbeth

NiccoloOver five hundred years ago, Niccolò Machiavelli raised a classic question in The Prince: for a person with power seeking to keep or increase that power, Is it better to be loved or to be feared? This question came up in two separate seminars during Old Testament week with my freshmen in only their second week of college. The texts for the day were the first twenty-five chapters of Genesis along with the first twenty-five of Exodus; the main character in these texts—God—seems in his omniscience to have decided Machiavelli’s question millennia before Machiavelli ever showed up. For an extraordinarily powerful being who also happens to be capricious, vengeful, manipulative, insecure and self-absorbed, fear is far more effective than love. My students frequently wondered why God so often found it necessary to express divine power in over-the-top and destructive ways, given that nobody doubted who was more powerful in a God-human comparison, nor was it likely that anyone was plotting an overthrow of God’s rule. GodThe ancient Israelites and their forebears had probably read Milton’s Paradise Lost and found out what happened to Lucifer when he tried that. And apparently God wasn’t aware that Machiavelli’s question applies only to those whose power can actually be lost. If one is omnipotent, one can do whatever the hell one wants.

But for mere mortals lacking the ability to generate world-wide floods or to drop creative plagues on non-compliant people, Machiavelli’s question remains pressing. If one finds oneself in a position of power or authority and is seeking to use that power effectively, is it better to cultivate love or fear among those under one’s authority? Although teachers sometimes sound as if they are entirely powerless in the face of pressures from all constituencies, in fact a teacher in the classroom finds herself in a situation of almost complete power that demands a constant, flexible, lived answer to Machiavelli’s question. A teacher’s success or failure depends on how she or he shapes love and fear into a structure solid enough to withstand challenge but flexible enough to address the ever-changing atmosphere of the classroom on a daily basis. dept chairI’ve been at it for over twenty-five years and am still working on it.

I had to think through the “love or fear” issue in an entirely different manner when I found myself in an academic administrative position for the first time. As the chair of the twenty-two-member philosophy department, knowing that if trying to lead faculty is like herding cats, then trying to lead philosophers is like herding a breed of cats who believe that ideas alone are enough and that simply thinking something makes it so, I worried about how to even begin. At the end of four sometimes exhausting years, I was surprised to look back on my term as chair and conclude that it had largely been a success. We rewrote the department mission statement, entirely revised our major and minor, and hired six tenure-track faculty, all without anyone getting killed or maimed. Not known for my “people skills,” it turned out that I had a knack for what might be called “diplomatic persuasion.” I sometimes described this new-found skill as the ability to “diss someone without their knowing they’ve been dissed until a day later,” or to “convince people that what you want them to do is actually their idea.” diplomatic persuasionAmid tedious solitary hours of paperwork and tedium, the people management thing was sort of fun—and no one hated me (that I’m aware of) at the end of four years.

When I was asked a couple of years later to step into much larger and more challenging administrative role—leading the large interdisciplinary program that is the centerpiece of my college’s core curriculum—I dusted off my “diplomatic persuasion” skills and retooled them for the task of leading and cajoling four times as many faculty down a much more treacherous path than I travelled with the philosophy department in my years as chair. Within the first couple of my first semester as director, I established a few new policies and started some difficult collective conversations that I fully expected to generate significant pushback. Surprisingly, I received almost none—everyone actually started doing what I asked. “Wow!” I thought. “My ‘diplomatic persuasion’ leadership skills really work! I actually know what I’m doing!”

Early one morning shortly before the day’s classes began I mentioned to a colleague who was a teaching veteran in the program my pleasant surprise that no one had (yet) directly complained about the new directions the program was turning toward. “That’s because everyone’s afraid of you,” my colleague suggested. Afraid of ME? Really? Introverted little ole me?? VM Ruane 9Although my colleague is not known for her sense of humor, I assumed she was kidding. “Yeah, right (ha ha ha)” I said. She replied by revealing something about me that I never knew “No, really. You can be very intimidating at times.” Add fifteen years in the program, tenure, full professorship, introversion, a teaching award and a gray ponytail together and apparently the illusion of intimidation is produced. “Fine,” I thought. “If people are under the false impression that I’m scary on some level and it’s causing them to actually pull together in a good direction, then that’s a card worth playing as long as it works.” When I reported a couple of weeks later to my two sons at our annual Thanksgiving gathering that the faculty in my program is afraid of me, the news produced guffaws and laughter of a rolling-on-the-ground-and-gasping-for-air variety.Propero

I was reminded of all of this three years later just the other day as the latest Facebook personality quiz caught my attention. “Which Shakespeare character are you?” Fully expecting the typical bland “You are Hamlet” or “You are Prospero,” another unknown feature of myself was unexpectedly revealed.

http://quizsocial.com/which-shakespeare-character-are-you/

Lady MacbethYou got: Lady Macbeth! Wow, are you ever good at manipulating people into doing what you want! It is a valuable skill, one that could help you secure a job in government one day, but also a dangerous one. Like Lady Macbeth, you have a love of power that could motivate you to do evil things. Don’t let it overtake you.

Well now—that’s very interesting. Am I really channeling one of the most determined and evil manipulators in all of Western literature? The closest contemporary comparison to Lady Macbeth is Claire Underwood, the amoral, calculating, ambitious and uncompromisingly cold wife of Frank Underwood, claire and frankthe Senate majority whip who in two seasons has climbed, manipulated, lied and murdered his way to the Presidency in Netfix’s megahit “House of Cards.” The only person more ruthlessly calculating than Frank in the “House of Cards” universe is Claire—she keeps his manipulative batteries charged when they run low. And I’m not making this up—there’s a whole cottage industry on-line that documents just how indebted “House of Cards” is to Shakespeare, especially to “Richard III” and “Macbeth,” and just how much Claire and Frank’s marriage mirrors the relationship between Lady and King (for a short time) Macbeth. (Spoiler alert)

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/21/house-of-cards-shakespeare-_n_4823200.html

So apparently my commitment to “diplomatic persuasion” is actually an expression of my deep-seated commitment to power and manipulation. w to p barMy expressed desire to lead the program I direct effectively into a new and more creative future is a thinly disguised working out of my need to control. Nietzsche was right after all—all living things seek not just to survive but to extend their dominance and influence as far as possible. Administering an academic department or program has unexpectedly turned out to be an effective way for me to get to do what all human beings secretly want to do but often never get a chance to do—boss other people around and make them dance to your tune. I may end up dead with indelible blood on my hands, but the journey will be a lot of fun.

Or not. I’m not buying this, because I’m not buying that leadership necessarily requires a commitment to manipulation and power. leadershipBut I might be wrong. Maybe my sabbatical project should be to establish a new Lady Macbeth School of Leadership on some campus somewhere. It’s a thought. P.S. From Facebook comments generated by the results of the above Shakespeare quiz, I have discovered that friends and colleagues have learned that they are Bottom, Iago, Falstaff or Richard III. But so far I’m the only Lady Macbeth. The “quizsocial” person must have been having a very dark day when he/she put this quiz together.