Category Archives: Jeanne

What Cuba Taught Me About My Faith

For many reasons, I have been interested in Cuba for the past dozen years or so. With Fidel Castro’s death a few days ago, all sorts of memories and thoughts have flooded back. The standard news coverage has been of the “Miami Cubans” dancing in the streets and celebrating, various political figures noting the passage of a repressive dictator, and speculation about how soon capitalist markets will start influencing Cuba’s socialist economy. My own experiences with Cuba brought me to very different attitudes about our neighbor 90 miles to the south, as I described in my article entitled “Shattering the Myths About Cuba,” included in one of my college’s publications in the Spring of 2004 . . .

The story is told that Augustine used to get annoyed at his students when, as he pointed toward something that he wished them to consider, they focused their attention on his finger instead. Anyone who is–or ever has been–a teacher will understand Augustine’s frustration. As a philosophy professor, I know that the most crucial, yet most difficult lesson to teach is the lesson of learning to “see beyond seeing,” of discovering what russellBertrand Russell called “the strangeness and wonder lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life.” In its most practical applications, this lesson shows us that often what we believe we “know,” what seems most self-evident and obvious, is an opaque barrier that prevents us from being open to the possibility of better knowledge.

I traveled to Cuba last summer for a week-long visit as a member of a 12-person delegation of professionals, nine of them from Rhode Island. There were a number of interrelated goals for our visit, including visiting the Latin American Medical School in Havana (where a number of American students are studying at the invitation of President Fidel Castro, free of charge), learning firsthand about Latin American School Of Medical SciencesCuba’s admirable universal health care system, visiting a number of multicultural centers to learn about Cuba’s commitment to education and cultural development, and laying preliminary foundations for educational exchanges between Cuban and Rhode Island institutes of higher education.

The greatest impact of this trip on me, however, was that it shattered everything I “knew” about Cuba. This shattering has made it possible for me to reflect ever since my return on what the undermining of these “truths” might reveal concerning deeper human issues.

I was born in the 1950s, in the middle of the Cold War. One of my earliest memories from the nightly television news was the failed bay-of-pigsBay of Pigs invasion; I was 6 years old during the perilous days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. My attitudes concerning Cuba were fashioned during those early years and remained largely the same ever since. I did not claim to know much about Cuba, but there were several things that were clear and beyond question. Cuba is an enemy, aligned with everything our country despises–a likely terrorist state, a repressor of religious and secular freedoms, a violator of human rights, an embarrassing challenge to what is most near and dear to us, a mere 90 miles off our coast. Not that I, as an educated, independent thinking adult would ever consciously allow that I carried these largely unchallenged assumptions around with me; I’m not sure that I knew of my preconceptions until I visited Cuba. elian-gonzalezI never even thought about Cuba except when some event deemed newsworthy, such as the Elian Gonzalez case, brought the island to my attention.

When, before the delegation’s trip to Cuba, I was asked what my expectations of the visit were, I continually said that I had no expectations–I was going with an open mind, the classic case of the tabula rasa, the “blank slate” that John Locke claimed all human beings are born with. Little did I know just how much would have to be erased from my slate before I could truly see. I, for instance, thought that I “knew” there was very little, if any, religious freedom in Cuba. After all, Cuba is a Communist country whose official stance on religion, in the style of the former Soviet Union, is atheism, right? Imagine our surprise when we discovered that religious faith is not only alive in Cuba, it is flourishing.

On a bright and sunny Father’s Day morning, our delegation’s first full day in Cuba, we attended services at the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Marianao, ebenezer-baptistone of the many economically impoverished neighborhoods in Havana. In a hot and stuffy auditorium packed with persons of all ages and colors, we observed the most active and vibrant church service that I, a lifelong churchgoer, have experienced in years. The worship was filled with contemporary liturgical dance, congregational singing and participation, and testimonials (including a touching tribute to fathers from a young girl around 12 years of age, read in Spanish and English, that brought tears to the eyes of many of the fathers present). After this, the pastor and one of his guest ministers from Colombia delivered brief talks about the need for men to overcome “machismo” and open their minds and hearts to the voices of women.

Uncovering false “truths”

Two days later, more “truths” about Cuba were proven false when our delegation had the opportunity to return to Ebenezer Baptist and its accompanying Martin Luther King, Jr. Center in order to meet withpastor-suarez Rev. Raul Suarez, the pastor of the church. When the Cuban Revolution succeeded in 1959, 90% of the pastors in Cuba fled for other countries, believing that religion and belief in God would no longer be tolerated. Rev. Suarez and a few others stayed, however, He explained, in his own words, “If Communism is the big bad wolf, we need to protect our sheep.” By staying, he realized immediately that the lives of the people in Cuba were being improved by the Castro government’s commitment to 100% literacy, to universal health care and education, to true socialist principles, and to equal access to and excellence in sports and the arts.

Rev. Suarez described for us how the Cuban Revolution caused him to rethink his faith and evolve from a conventional Southern Baptist minister to a proponent of liberation-theology“liberation theology,” from advocacy of spiritual wealth in the next world to a vision of radical social change in this world, and from silence to active leadership in the struggles against racism, poverty, and other societal ills. He described that he had been taught what Christians supposedly could not have (they could not smoke, dance, drink, etc.), but “no one taught us that poverty is a sin. That ignorance is a sin. That racism is a sin. That economic inequality is a sin. The Revolution taught us that.”

His church, once a largely white church in a predominantly black neighborhood, is now a powerful instrument for social change and improvement, dedicated to the betterment of human lives as they are lived in this world as well as to the tending of spiritual needs.

Church and State dialogue

So how do things stand between church and state in Cuba? Very differently than U.S. citizens are led to believe. Over the past 20 years, there has been a continuing dialogue between Cuban ministers of all faiths and the Cuban government. At the first of these meetings, the ministers told Fidel Castro that the official position of atheism was hurting the Cuban people and that Christianity is a religion meant to help the people, not to be enclosed within church walls. Castro said to the ministers: “You work in your churches and help them to understand us better, and I’ll work with my people and help them to understand you better. And my work will be more difficult than yours.”castro-and-pope

Incrementally, things changed so that by 1991, atheism was eliminated as a requirement for membership in the Communist party, all reference to Marxism/Leninism as the official philosophy of the Cuban government was eliminated from the constitution, Christians were allowed access to all professions, were granted full access to all means of communication to spread the good news of the Gospel, and were allowed to establish new congregations across the country. The congregations of all denominations in Cuba are continuing to grow rapidly to this day.

This is but one example of how the truth about Cuba turned out to be quite different than what I believed it to be. I could have written a similar article about the political process in Cuba, human rights violations in Cuba compared to such violations in this country, or how our “free” press in the United States regularly distorts the truth about what is occurring in Cuba.

As a philosopher, I find an important lesson beneath these different factual issues. As human beings, our frequent natural tendency is to assume that we know the truth about a given thing, then to selectively interpret the “facts” to fit our preconceived piece of knowledge. Whether in religion, politics, social structures, interpersonal relationships, or simply regular day-to-day existence, this is a tendency that must be actively and consciously resisted. bonhoefferThe truth, for human beings at least, does not come in bumper sticker-sized, “sound bite” form. To believe that it does leads to rigidity, absoluteness, and blindness to the evolving nature of our interaction with what is true. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the 20th-century German Protestant theologian murdered by the Nazis in the final days of World War II, wrote, “The responsible man has no principle at his disposal which possesses absolute validity and which ha has to put into effect fanatically, overcoming all the resistance which is offered to it.”

In a world of ideology presented as self-evident certainty, the following warning from Albert Camus is worth taking seriously: “On the whole, men are more good than bad; that, however, isn’t the real point. But they are more or less ignorant, and it is this that we call vice or virtue; the most incorrigible vice being that of an ignorance that fancies it knows everything . . .”

To Whom Do You Belong?

pc-centennialDuring this academic year, my college is celebrating its centennial. For Jeanne and me, the highlight so far of a series of events scheduled to mark the anniversary has been a lecture by Doris Kearns Goodwin in October. We arrived early enough to sit in the second row, twenty feet or so from the podium, and along with a packed house were held spellbound for over an hour as our favorite historian used examples from the lives of Presidents about whom she has written best sellers—LBJ, FDR, Kennedy, and Lincoln—as the anchors of her discussion of leadership qualities. In the midst of her talk she mentioned her newest book,bully-pulpit The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism. Although the book was published three years ago and apparently spent several weeks at the top of the NY Times bestseller list, Jeanne and I were unaware of its existence. I ordered it from Amazon the next day, expecting that I would have to wait until Christmas break to dive into its 750 pages. But I’ve managed to sneak in the first chapter already—and it doesn’t disappoint.

I’m looking forward to reading this book because it touches on a part of American history with which I am not particularly familiar, the turn from the nineteenth to twentieth centuries described on the back cover as “the first decade of the Progressive era, that tumultuous time when the nation was coming unseamed and reform was in the air.” As I learned about the childhood and adolescence of William Howard Taft, I also learned about his father, Alphonso, a judge on the Cincinnati Superior Court bench who, from a life filled with accomplishments, picked his dissenting opinion in a case concerning prayer and the reading of the Bible in public schools as the achievement of which he was most proud. alphonsoThe court ruled that such prayer and reading could not be prohibited; in his dissent, Judge Taft wrote that “the Constitution of the State did not recognize the Christian religion any more than it recognized the religions of any other citizens of the state . . . the school board had an obligation as well as a right to keep religious partisanship out of the public schools.” Several decades later, of course, this position became the law of the land.

Judge Taft’s position reminded me of a reader’s comment posted on my blog in response to what I wrote the day before the election three weeks ago.

Life After Tuesday

The commenter wrote that

I am unclear to how a liberal Christian votes . . . if you vote according to your faith that would be voting against abortion and those things that take God out of our government, am I correct?

To which I responded:

This liberal Christian votes according to policies that seek to facilitate assistance to the poor, the homeless, the needy, the disenfranchised–exactly the persons Jesus told us that we must be most concerned about. Given the nature of separation of church and state, God does not belong in our government, but in the lives of those who profess the Christian faith. As to abortion, I describe myself as intelligently pro-life or conservatively pro-choice. Take your pick.

Never missing an opportunity to generate further blog activity, I concluded:
I must admit that I am equally unclear about how a conservative Christian votes. I’ve written about this on occasion–take a look:

The Return of Republican Jesus

There is an important difference between Christian political advocacy and Political advocacy by persons of Christian faith. I highly recommend the latter and advise strongly against the former. But this is a very difficult tightrope to walk, especially these days.

I received by far more views, shares, and comments on my post a week ago—“Who Is Their God?—than any of the several hundred I’ve written over the past four-and-a-half years.

Who Is Their God?

In response to my wondering why 81% of white evangelicals voted for Donald Trump, the vast majority of the hundreds of comments on Facebook and my blog itself shared my own consternation and confusion. Many of these comments were eloquent and sobering. But there was some welcome push back, including a comment from a woman who said she believes that “being a Christian is compatible with just about any political position.”christians-and-politics I briefly expressed my complete disagreement with her claim, but she got me to thinking—always a good thing. Why exactly do I believe that my Christian faith draws me to embrace some social/political positions and reject others out of hand?

The text that I most often consider when wondering about what is required in real-time of a person seeking to live a life of faith is the prophet Micah’s directive: “What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” This is from the Jewish scriptures, and Jesus may have had it in mind frequently during his years of ministry, if the gospel accounts are the least bit accurate. He regularly made it clear to those who wanted to follow him that doing so would be a life changer. rich-young-ruler“Sell all you have, give it to the poor, and come follow me,” he said to the rich young ruler (who couldn’t do it). “Go, and sin no more,” he told the woman caught in adultery. His disciples walked away from their lives as they knew them—and except for a few brief lapses, never returned to those lives. universal-acidThe life of faith is not something that can be layered on top of what one already has in place, making no significant changes to what lies beneath. Instead, such a life is like what Daniel Dennett once called “universal acid”—eating through everything one believes and transforming the ways one looks at the world.

Uncertainty, doubt, and faith are constant companions—no person of faith is ever “all set” with any collection of beliefs and commitments. But the requirements of justice, mercy, and humility are a constant litmus test for the beliefs and actions of any person who claims to be a follower of Christ. All Christians—from self-described conservative evangelicals to the most dedicated liberal progressives—should regularly apply this litmus test to their political and social commitments. A commenter on “Who Is Their God?” put it succinctly:

The upcoming events will be the opportunity for Christians to think carefully about what has happened. They will surely be confronted daily with decisions and statements that fly in the face of the gospel . . . Let’s see how long it takes for people to decide where they are on the most important question they will ever have to answer.  This is an opportunity for people to answer the question, “To whom do you belong?”  As Robert Jones in “The End of Christian America” has suggested, this may be the time for church members to understand whether they love their baggage more than they love Jesus.

Who Is Their God?

I recklessly thought that if something could save this election, it would be the faithfulness of Christian followers on a spiritual journey of seeing creation as God does – worth fighting for. Christians would be the ones exercising their witness in order to defeat a whiteness that does not care whom it has to destroy on its path towards power, and ultimately toward a perverse kind of deification . . . God’s followers are supposed to rebel against this idolatrous notion. I hoped that most white Christians would resist this idolatry, that they would refuse to join their white identities with the ideology of whiteness. I was wrong. oredeinOluwatomisim Oredein, “White Christianity, and How Hope Was Wrong”

Late in the evening of Election Day, as Jeanne and I watched a slow-motion train wreck unfolding before our eyes, the results of exit polls kept reminding us of which demographic was responsible, despite virtually every poll running up to the election, for what appeared to be happening. “I’m really getting tired of white people,” I said. Nothing that has happened over the days since has changed my mind. But there’s one particular subset of my skin-tone demographic that I particularly am confused by. White Christians.

Over the past many months, I have occasionally written on this blog and social media outlets about my confusion as to why evangelical Christians were supporting Donald Trump in large numbers. Truth be told, though, I treated it as first a humorous, then a puzzling phenomenon, but never seriously thought it would be ultimately more than a curiosity and a footnote to this strangest and nastiest of campaigns. But upon learning in the aftermath of the election that more than eighty percent of self-identified white evangelical Christians voted for the President-elect, I find myself suffering from a severe case of cognitive dissonance and general sadness.dissonance

Paragraphs such as the following from an article a few days ago in The Washington Post don’t help:

In the age of Trump, what is a Christian?

“It really makes you feel great to be a Christian,” one person told The Washington Post. “I think Christians took a big stand this time and said we’re going to stand up for our faith,” said a second. Referring to Trump, a third said, “I feel like we actually have an advocate now in the White House.”

Perhaps as a Christian I should not admit this, but everyone time I read or hear something like this, I have a serious WTF?!?!? moment. wtfThe problem is that I know the evangelical Christian world intimately. I was raised in it, the foundations of my faith and my moral code were laid in it, and many members of my family whom I love are still squarely in the middle of it. Although for various important reasons I have not placed the adjective “evangelical” in front of my Christian commitment for decades, I have been regularly grateful for much that I learned about my faith, about scripture, and about myself under the tutelage of conservative, evangelical Christianity. But what I learned did not include xenophobia, racism, misogyny, sexual abuse, boorishness, or building walls. I must profess that I am thoroughly and profoundly confused.

I was reminded when reading a similar article in The New York Times a couple of days ago of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s famous 1963 “Letter From Birmingham Jail,” a text that I used to teach frequently toward the end of the final semester of my college’s four-semester “Development of Western Civilization” course that I regularly participate in.king From an Alabama prison cell, Dr. King wrote that when he was drafted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Ala., he believed that the white Christian church would support him. Instead, he discovered some white ministers were outright opponents; others were “more cautious than courageous and . . . remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.” In the face of blatant racial and economic injustice, King expressed disappointment at seeing white church leaders “stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities.” He spoke of travelling throughout the South and looking its “beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward . . .     Over and over I have found myself asking: ‘What kind of people worship here? Who is their God?’”

I have wondered the same things many times over the years, but never as frequently as during the past two weeks. I understand the various reasons why people might have voted for the President-elect, although I think their choice is one that they and our country will soon bitterly regret. But packaging such a vote as a resounding victory for Christian belief and commitment not only baffles me—it offends me. I have always believed that the Christian faith is a large tent. It must be if someone like me can accurately call himself a Christian. But I’m not sure that any tent is large enough to cover both a person who believes our President-elect is a God-given answer to prayer and me. If the President-elect is truly a standard-bearer for how the Christian faith is to look in practice, count me out. I want nothing to do with it. liberalBut because I am convinced that this is not the case, and since—as I often say—I am a liberal because I am a Christian, I continue to believe that Jesus does not call us to exclude everyone but those most like us, does not call us to build walls, and would have us neither disrespect women nor mock persons with disabilities.

In an opinion piece written less than a week after the election, the former editor of the largest evangelical Christian publication in the nation wrote the following:

I was an evangelical magazine editor, but now I can’t defend my evangelical community.ct

The night that Donald Trump was elected president, I got very little sleep. Surely the wine I sipped as a wave of red swept from east to west across that horrible, televised electoral map didn’t help. But I managed to have one vivid dream. In it, I’m standing on a stage in a stadium full of fellow Christians. And I’m telling them that they voted for the wrong candidate, and that Trump’s presidency will prove to be a grave mistake.

Wednesday greeted me as it did half the voting population, with waves of grief. But since then, the grief has turned into a more complex emotion — something like soul abandonment.

I pray for healing, clarity and enlightenment for persons of all faiths, as well as those of no faith, as we seek our ways forward.

Is He My President?

Jesus spoke the truth AND confronted those who used their position to justify their lies, self-righteousness, vitriol and hate. As a Christian, I am called to do the same. A Very Wise Person

Late in 1992, in the wake of Bill Clinton’s winning the Presidency, I noticed an interesting phenomenon. Jeanne and I were living in Memphis at the time, working at a small Catholic university that was my first teaching position after graduate school. Over the weeks following the election, more and more vehicles on the road were sporting a new bumper sticker: He’s Not My President.not-my-president Apparently, some Tennesseans were not happy with the election result. Eight years later, now happily working and living in southern New England, similar bumper stickers started popping up in the wake of George W. Bush’s contested victory over Al Gore: He’s Not My President. In 2008 and 2012 similar bumper stickers broke out like a rash: He’s Not My President.

I’ve had the opportunity over the years to raise this phenomenon to my students’ attention in various classroom contexts. “If you had a chance to talk with the person with that bumper sticker on her or his car, what would you say?” I ask. Invariably my students answer, correctly, that the person who won the election is your President, whether you like it or not. That’s one of the problems with democracy—often the person or policy that, in your estimation, makes the most sense doesn’t win. But as long as the election was run according to lawful procedures, everyone is supposed to deal with the results and move on.protest

And then last Tuesday happened. In the aftermath of the most stunning and shocking Presidential election result in my lifetime, and one of the most unexpected in American history, protests are not waiting for bumper stickers to get printed. Protest rallies in cities nationwide have broken out with chants of “We don’t accept the President-elect!” and “Not my President.” #NotMyPresident is trending on Twitter. My youngest son, in Denver with a couple of friends last Thursday evening, called me while I was watching a soccer game on campus. “DAD!” he yelled excitedly so I could hear him over soccer fan noise. “My friends and I are eating dinner and heard a bunch of noise in the street outside! It’s an anti-Trump rally! We’re going to finish dinner and head out to join in!” Later that evening he posted a video on his Facebook page of he and his friends doing just that.trump-and-obama

And yet during the day on Thursday the President-elect and the sitting President sat together in the Oval Office after meeting for the first time and having what they both described as a constructive conversation, looking normal, calm and collected, and laying the groundwork for a peaceful and efficient period of transfer of power. Never mind that this President has been arguing over the past few weeks that the President-elect is thoroughly unqualified to occupy the Oval Office or handle the nuclear codes. Never mind that the President-elect rose to political attention eight years ago by questioning loudly and publicly whether the President was even born in this country. On Wednesday, the person who everyone thought would be the President-elect, the person who won more votes on Tuesday than the President-elect, in the aftermath of the nastiest and most brutal election contest in anyone’s memory, hillary-concessionsaid that everyone owed the victor their support as he attempts to figure out how to do a job that millions of people consider him to be grossly unqualified for. As philosophers like to say, we are living in a time of cognitive dissonance—on steroids.

The brutal fact for many of us, for those of us who fear that what the President-elect said and did during the campaign might be a more accurate indicator of who he really is than the remarkably human-sounding person who sat with the President on Thursday and delivered his acceptance speech in the wee hours of Wednesday, is that Donald Trump is the President-elect and will be my President—our President—starting on Inauguration Day in January. As I discussed the election with a room full of stunned students on Thursday, young adults trying to come to grips with how the first Presidential election they voted in turned out, I was reminded of something a colleague of mine in the history department once said.

My colleague is a professor-emeritus and a specialist in American Presidential history. I taught with him in an interdisciplinary program a couple of times early in my career, and I’ll never forget when he told our students during a lecture that the American Revolution did not come to a successful conclusion until the Presidential election of 1800. jefferson-and-adamsBitter rivals John Adams (the incumbent President) and Thomas Jefferson were pitted against each other, both believing that the future of the fledgling United States of America depended on his rival being defeated. The electoral college was tied, sending the contest to the House of Representatives where Jefferson was elected on the 36th ballot. For the first time, the provisions in the Constitution for the transfer of power from an outgoing to an incoming administration were put to the test. Would Adams actually turn the reins of power over to his bitter rival? According to my colleague, the American Revolution came to a successful conclusion only when the peaceful transition of power from Adams to Jefferson did indeed take place, the very transition process that both President Obama and Hillary Clinton referred to as “enshrined” in our national history and political processes.peaceful-transfer-of-power

After telling this story in class the other day, I reminded my students that at one point in the summer a document was made public, signed by dozens of former generals and foreign policy experts, warning that Donald Trump must not be elected President, due to his shocking lack of knowledge about even the most basic details of foreign and military policy. And yet he was elected last Tuesday. My students quickly noted that what happened last week, in another country or in another part of the world, would have opened the door to a military coup. In the interest of national security, the argument would go, this man must not be in charge of the military, foreign policy, or the nuclear code. But such a coup will not take place—couprespect for the rule of law and due process remains strong, even though millions of people are convinced that what happened last Tuesday was one of the worst decisions the American electorate has ever made.

Based on what he has said and done over the past many months, I find little in the President-elect to support or endorse—he does not represent me or any of my deepest interests or commitments. But he will be President for the next four years, barring unforeseen events. Already there is evidence of misogyny, xenophobia, and racism rearing their ugly heads as certain Americans feel empowered and are emboldened by the election of a man who they have taken at his word. The anti-Trump rallies are at least partially fueled by persons like myself who fear that the country we love and its most important values will be under serious attack over the next few years. And then there’s my faith—what direction might it provide for how to frame my thoughts and attitudes going forward? In a Facebook post a few days ago, my wife Jeanne provided a beautiful and promising answer.

The anti-Trump protesters are angry. Their anger has motivated them to action. Perhaps anger is a fruit of love, love that has been abused, ignored, invalidated, spat upon. Love’s voice is powerful. Love’s voice screams at injustice. Love’s voice demands that we “DO justice, love kindness and walk humbly with our God.”

I am a Christian. My Jesus was marginalized. He did not favor those who marginalized others. He spoke the truth AND confronted those who used their position to justify their lies, self-righteousness, vitriol and hate. As a Christian, I am called to do the same.

So am I. So are we all.

t-v-h

Life After Tuesday

facebook-friendA Facebook friend, who has helped the traffic on this blog increase exponentially over the past few weeks by sharing my posts on various Facebook pages that she administers, challenged me in a Facebook message the other day:

If you don’t already have your topics set for the next week, I’d love to see something that addresses the effect that this election time is having on relationships—family and friends—and, maybe how to move through and past it . . . to “healing.”

I responded that my posts for the coming week were written and scheduled, but I would take a shot at something shortly after the election. It has turned out to be one of the most challenging posts to write of the hundreds I’ve posted here over the past four-plus years, for reasons I’ll describe below. t-v-hBut it strikes me that it is worthwhile for all of us to think today—the day before the election that will (hopefully) put an end to one of the nastiest and most divisive Presidential campaigns in American history (certainly in my lifetime)—about how we will move forward after tomorrow. Regardless of the result in tomorrow’s presidential vote, more than forty percent of those who voted will believe that voters have made a horrible mistake, our country is swirling its way down the drain, and life as we have known it will not continue. But believe it or not, no matter who is elected President tomorrow, the apocalypse will not be triggered, Wednesday will dawn, and we will have to figure out what to do next. Good luck to us.

The philosophy department on my campus, of which I have been a member for twenty-two years (and which I chaired from 2004-08), has over the past two or three years earned a college-wide reputation for being one of the most dysfunctional departments on campus (only one or two other departments are serious competitors with my department for the title). Three weeks ago our dysfunction was on full display in an important meeting—without revealing confidential matters, I have told various people since then that the fault lines at the meeting were so deep that something like the following was regularly on display, at least by some colleagues:idiot “If you don’t agree with me, then you either didn’t take the time to become aware of the facts, you are stupid, or you are immoral.” No fourth option, such as “we have all done our homework, are familiar with the facts, have made a principled decision, and we just happen to disagree,” seemed to be available. I am always dismayed by such “discussions,” believing that the prohibited fourth option often happens to be the truth. But in thinking about that meeting, I’ve come to realize that when it comes to the almost-completed Presidential campaign, I have often found myself thinking of those persons likely to vote for the major candidate other than the one I will vote for tomorrow in precisely the same ways as were on display at the recent department meeting: If you vote for that “other person,” you must either be ignorant, a moron, or dangerously lacking in moral principles.

I doubt that I am alone in having effectively constructed a political echo chamber over the past several months in which I hear only voices that I want to hear. I only listen to radio and television stations likely to lean toward my own political and social beliefs and commitments. When such stations, in the interest of “balance,” include voices from the other side of things, I mute the machine or turn it off. When my candidate is having a good week or the opponent is not, I’ve been known to watch or listen to 2-3 straight hours of talking heads on my preferred stations. But when my candidate has a bad week or stumbles in some way, game-showsI would rather watch “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy” than news analysis. My 650+ Facebook acquaintances have been carefully culled on several occasions to weed out persons who might have the audacity to post materials and arguments supporting the other side. It’s not just that I don’t want to hear arguments intended to challenge my own—I know that such arguments are out there and I reject them out of hand. It’s also that listening to more than a minute or so of representatives of that other candidate’s perspectives literally starts making me ill. I am one of those people who has said that if my candidate’s opponent wins, we’re moving to Canada. Enough of this shit.

I should know better than this. The other day in my General Ethics class, I reminded my students of a passage from an interview that was part of the day’s assignment. Toward the end of the interview, the interviewee said that “A sense of responsibility about one’s beliefs, a willingness to defend them if challenged, and a willingness to listen to the reasons given by others is one of the guiding ideals of a civil society.” The interview focused on the often fraught dynamic between atheism and theism, but the interviewee’s comments have direct application to our lives as citizens of a democracy. As we discussed the interview and accompanying article, I reminded my students that when someone presents an argument whose conclusion is something you disagree with strongly, the proper response is not “that person is an idiot,” or, slightly more charitably but just as illogically, disagree“I disagree, therefore that person is wrong.” In philosophy, you have to earn the right to have an opinion, I often tell my students—and earning the right to an opinion involves careful reasoning, argumentation, and above all cultivating the ability to listen, even to those with whom you disagree most strongly. But I, along with just about everyone else during our current political cycle, have been doing none of this. Consequently, we no longer have a civil society.

No matter how things turn out tomorrow, the apocalypse will not happen, the sun will rise on Wednesday morning entirely oblivious to what happened on Tuesday, and we will all be faced with a huge question: Now what? Forget the ruptures in our national fabric; for many Americans, the problems are personal. This election has divided friends and families in ways that might seem impossible to repair. civil-war-brothersI heard someone the other day liken the problem to members of the same family fighting on opposite sides during the Civil War a century and a half ago. That’s an extreme comparison, but it is difficult to imagine these divisions healing with the simple passage of time. Truth be told, I’m not sure that I’m ready to do my part in helping with that healing. I don’t even want to imagine the feeling in my house if our candidate does not win tomorrow. If our candidate does win, self-satisfaction and relief may well overwhelm concerns about healing for a while. But there will be life after Tuesday–and I do have a recent personal example of how people with very different convictions can coexist in peace and love.

Earlier this year, Jeanne and I had the opportunity to spend some time with my cousins and their families for the first time in many years. They know us to be dedicated liberals and we know them to be committed conservatives—the-cousinsthese differences spread across social policies, politics, and religion. Yet a wonderful time was had by all, and nary a discouraging or inflammatory word was heard.When we left to head for home, as he helped me put our luggage in the car my cousin said, “This is amazing—you’re a liberal, I’m a conservative, and yet we haven’t argued once.” We gave each other virtual high-fives over that amazing development. How did we manage to spend several evenings together without spouting incompatible talking points? Not simply by avoiding minefield conversations by talking about the weather and sports (although we did talk about both of those on occasion). We had a wonderful time because we continually sought out what we share in common—histories, faith, pets, kids, and more. We shared decades of stories, many of which were new to some of those present, talked about common interests, and were reminded that what truly connects human beings together is far more important, with the long-term in view, than what divides us.

I need—we all need—to remember this as we look forward to our shared lives past Tuesday. Don’t define people by what they post on social media. important-issuesDon’t assume you know anything about someone simply because you discover that they do not share all of your most important beliefs. Don’t get me wrong—this is going to be very difficult for all of us. It’s not as if the issues that have divided our country so sharply are unimportant; they are crucially important. But even more crucially important is our shared humanity and the fact that we all must find ways to share our nation, our communities, our circle of friends, and our families while believing very differently on issues that matter. Perhaps a good place to start is to replace the time spent on social media and listening to radio or television analysis with spending time in the company of real human beings. We might be amazed to discover how much we share in common.

Canine Ethics

Over the years I have developed dozens of strategies for getting students to participate in class discussions; the most reliable technique undoubtedly is to get them talking about their pets. Case in point: A couple of classes ago the article for the day for my ethics classes was by biologist Frans de Waal; frans-de-waalhis decades of studying chimpanzee behavior have convinced him that we can learn a lot about the foundations of the moral life—a life often considered to be exclusively available to human beings—from observing non-human primates. Although 99.8% of our DNA is identical to that of chimpanzees, we tend to be exceptionalist about the moral life—only human beings are capable of it. Yet de Waal points out that features fundamental to the moral life, including empathy, deference to the needs of others, cooperation, deliberation and more are frequently on display in chimpanzee interactions. He expresses one of his conclusions by asking

Would it be realistic to ask people to be considerate of others if we had not already a natural inclination to do so? . . . [Humans] started out with moral sentiments and intuitions, which is also where we find the greatest continuity with other primates. Rather than having developed morality from scratch, we received a huge helping hand from our background as social animals.

Knowing that few, if any, of my students were likely to have a chimpanzee at home, I decided to go a notch or two farther out the biological spectrum and asked how many of them had a dog or a cat at home. Almost every hand went up. How many people thought that their dog or cat was capable of morally relevant deliberation? Almost every hand went up. And the stories began.dog-on-furniture

There is, for instance, the dog who is banned from laying on the living room furniture. She is perfectly obedient concerning this prohibition until she thinks everyone is upstairs. When she believes she is not being observed, she jumps on the nearest piece of furniture—but was caught by the nanny cam. This, I told my students, is a canine version of Gyges and the ring of invisibility story from Plato’s Republic—how differently would you act from your law- and moral-rules-abiding norms if you thought no one was watching? Then there is the dog who chooses which human family member to sit with while watching television according to which one of them took him for a walk that day. He chooses not to sit with the most recent walk companion, since the dog apparently wants to make sure that everyone in the family gets equal snout time with him.dog-intelligence

Every dog owner believes that their dog is capable of high-level thought, but has also had the experience, as Daniel Dennett describes it, “of looking deeply into your dog’s eyes and realizing that no one is home.” Although dog-lovers don’t want to hear it, it is likely that the majority of our examples of canine intelligence on display are actually cases of humans anthropomorphically projecting intelligence where it doesn’t really belong. When my dog acts in a manner that, if I acted that way, would be explained by my ability to deliberate and think, I assume that she must be thinking when she acts that way. But biologists and animal behaviorists tell us that apparently intelligent behavior can almost always be explained without assuming any high-level thought being involved at all. It’s sort of like finding out that the apparent design of our world can be explained by natural processes without referring to an overall designer. Most of us don’t want to hear it—but that doesn’t make it any less true.100_0712

But the author of our article for class the other day wasn’t claiming that non-human animals use high-order reasoning when they behave in ways that reflect moral sensibilities. His claim, rather, was that their moral behavior comes from their ability to feel—to empathize, care about things other than themselves, even to sacrifice their own interests in deference to the interests or needs of others. It is this capacity to feel—an ability that we share with our animal brothers and sisters—that arguably serves as the foundation of moral behavior, whether the animal in question is capable of high-order reasoning or not. When I asked my students for examples of canine empathy rather than rationality, there once again was no shortage of stories. Many of the stories were strikingly similar to what Jeanne and I have observed over the past several years in our three dog pack at home. friedalinaOur dachshund Frieda, for instance, behaves in an obviously empathetic manner when someone in the house, dog or human, is in distress. Several years ago my youngest son Justin was diagnosed with cancer (fortunately he has been cancer-free now for a few years). When he returned from radiation sessions, he would collapse in exhaustion on his bed or on the couch. Frieda, who under normal circumstances did not give Justin the time of day, would immediately burrow herself next to him so he could absorb her warmth and positive vibes. Frieda acted similarly when Jeanne was recovering from hip-replacement surgery and, most recently, when I broke my leg in a bicycling mishap. Frieda, who under normal circumstances is all about herself and manipulating others to her will, becomes an ambassador of empathy and caring when someone is in need.

But just as with human beings, not all dogs are created equal with it comes to the empathy scale. Once Jeanne and I were walking Frieda with our other dachshund, Winnie, when, a couple of blocks from home, I tripped on an uneven portion of the sidewalk and fell flat on my face. Literally—my forehead bounced off the pavement. Frieda’s reaction was, on the one hand, to stick her face in front of mine, lick me, and sit next to me as I woozily tried to get up. 100_0870Winnie, on the other hand, said “I’m outta here!” and galloped the two or three blocks home as fast as her three-inch legs could carry her. It was the difference between “Dad! Are you all right???” and “Every man for himself!!”—just as we find in the human world.

I finally had to call an end to pet stories in class or we would never have gotten anything else done. I then asked my students to consider which is more important to the moral life: Reason or sentiments? Our ability to think or our ability to feel? After some discussion in small groups they reported back, predictably, that both are important—but if forced to choose between reason and sentiment as more important, feelings won out. Although this flies in the face of some of the most powerful and influential moral theories ever proposed by philosophers (Immanuel Kant, for instance), it squares well both with what some other philosophers have thought (David Hume, for instance) and—more importantly—with our experiences and intuitions. Our shared evolutionary history with other animals laid the foundations for our complex and sophisticated moral capacities. When we want to see where morality comes from we need only observe our canine family members. It turns out that someone is home after all.100_0595

A Halloween Frame of Mind

As a 60-year-old guy with no small children in my life, I don’t do Halloween. Often Jeanne and I celebrate the day by going to a late afternoon movie, followed by dinner, so we can be conveniently away during whatever time the parental units deem it safe for the children to be trick-or-treating. Halloween grinchI know that I sound like a Halloween Grinch, and there’s a certain amount of truth to that. I think Halloween is a generally useless and stupid holiday, although I participated in it fully in my youth and faithfully put in my time as a co-organizer of trick-or-treating in my house when my sons were young. I’ve been seeing Halloween stuff in stores since August and will be glad when today is over so miles of shelves can be cleared for the display of Christmas stuff two months before the day. Not—I’ve written about that before as well.

Get Thee Behind Me, Santa!

But thinking about Halloween puts me in a reminiscent mood about both persons and times long gone.

In rural Vermont, there was no walking from house to house for trick-or-treating. Our closest neighbors were at least a half mile away; accordingly, my mother logged 20-30 miles of driving every October 31 as my brother and I filled a grocery bag each with an amazing haul. This was long before the scares of razor blades and poison in Halloween treats—we collected unwrapped caramel apples and popcorn balls, maple sugar candy before it went on the market, freshly baked pastries, and more. candy cornPeople who gave only a candy bar or a little bag of candy corn were losers. Our haul filled several large bowls at home; despite my mother’s generally futile attempts at rationing, the Halloween proceeds usually lasted until close to Christmas.

Two unrelated issues caused the Halloweens of my youth to be fraught with cognitive dissonance. First, Halloween was my mother’s birthday. My mother was an “everyone else first” person by nature, and my brother and I took full advantage of her deference to all as the day was all about us rather than her. I’m having a difficult time scrounging up any memories of celebrating her natal day, a cake, a present, anything—my brother and I were selfish little bastards, apparently. Jesus pumpkinSecond, I had a sneaking suspicion that observing Halloween each year was putting me on the fast track to hell. We regularly heard at Calvary Baptist Church, where we spent most of every Sunday and Wednesday evening, that Halloween was the devil’s holiday, that participating in an evil holiday that celebrated pagans and demons and witches was a slap in Jesus’ face, and so on. Jesus-WeenBut I was never worried, because my mother—a very devout conservative Baptist—was even more dedicated to common sense and her sons having as much of a normal childhood preacher’s kids could have. So we did Halloween, but we did not trick-or-treat at the houses of anyone who went to our church.

It may be due to his usually being on the road during the fall, but I have only one Halloween memory related to my father—it was the year that the communists tried to take the holiday over. In the middle of October during one of my early years in school—probably second or third grade—the teacher announced a new plan for trick-or-treating. Instead of gathering the usual tonnage of candy, this year we were asked to “Trick-or-Treat for UNICEF,” hitting people up for money instead of sweets, money that would be sent to help children in need around the world. In art class we made boxes out of pint milk containers to hold the money; there would be a blow-out party (with candy, presumably) at school in the evening where we would turn in the proceeds. UNICEFI dutifully made the container and innocently reported the new twist on Halloween to my parents at home. Dad went ballistic. I was too young to know much about politics, but I discovered during my father’s rant that among other things, “Trick-or-Treat for UNICEF” was a sign of creeping socialism as well as the UN’s ungodly push toward one world government, and a sure prophetic glimmer of the beast from the Book of Revelation. For all we knew, they might be imprinting a “666” on us when we brought in our money on Halloween evening. halloween and christmasTrick-or-treating for UNICEF was apparently more ungodly than taking “Christ” out of “Christmas.” Needless to say, that year we trick-or-treated for ourselves as was our custom and did not go to the party.

If I needed such evidence, I became fully aware of just how much the world had changed the first time I encountered Halloween in a city. Halloween 1988 found Jeanne and me with my nine and six-year-old sons in Milwaukee where I had just started my PhD studies at Marquette University, living on the upper floor of a duplex in a reasonably safe urban neighborhood. As the Monday holiday approached (my memory is not that good—I just looked it up on Google), newspapers and television newscasters announced that for purposes of safety and community solidarity, trick-or-treating would occur on the previous Sunday afternoon, October 30, from 3:00-5:00 PM. city t or tI completely understood the reasoning, given yearly reports of after-dark Halloween mishaps and tragedies across the country, but as Jeanne and I walked a few blocks of our neighborhood with Caleb and Justin in broad daylight along with a hundred or so other families, on a Sunday afternoon that wasn’t even Halloween, I thought “this is really fucked up.” What would my childhood Calvary Baptist Church pastor have said about my language and about participating in pagan activities on the Lord’s Day afternoon? Probably not too much, since he regularly spent his Sunday afternoons worshiping at the altar of NFL football on television. To each their own pagan activity!

Something Rather Than Nothing

One of the most reliable ways to deaden a lively conversation in class is to ask a “philosophical question.” indexNothing is more certain to produce blank stares, then uncomfortable silence, than questions like “Is the world we experience primarily a matter of what we perceive or of what we create from what we perceive?” or “Is the truth something we find or something we invent?” Jeanne read one of these sorts of questions—“Is the self assembled from my memories, and if so, what if my memories are inaccurate?”—in a book she was reading not long ago. “This person sounds like you,” she said. “The problem is, I just don’t care about this question.” I know. The fact that in twenty-eight-plus years together I have failed to get Jeanne to understand the importance of properly splitting philosophical hairs is a constant source of disappointment.

For most of my years of teaching philosophy, I have managed to ask such questions, which are the bread-and-butter of my discipline, in ways that actually have some relevance to the lives that my students live. But there’s one philosophical question, perhaps my favorite, which is close to perfect in the form that it has been asked for thousands of years. 100030303-the-mystery“Why is there something rather than nothing?” That doesn’t grab you? Try this version: Assuming that the world (and us in it) could have been different, or not have existed at all, why is it the way that it is? And what might we learn about ourselves and the larger reality within which we find ourselves by pursuing possible answers?

These were the guiding questions behind the “Beauty and Violence” colloquium I will spend with a dozen Honors juniors and seniors next semester. It’s odd to be thinking about next semester when I am buried under grading this semester, but the Honors Program director asked me for a course description of the colloquium a couple of days ago, which reminded me of how much I enjoyed it the last two times I taught it. One of the authors we will study is P2P_sphysicist-turned-Anglican-priest John Polkinghorne, who once said in an interview that Creation is more like an improvisation than the performance of a fixed score that God wrote in eternity. In other words, the creator might be more like Ella Fitzgerald than Ludwig van Beethoven. Many people carry a model of the natural world around that we inherited from the Scientific Revolution, the model of an intricately and finely tuned machine, designed and created by a cosmic being whose favorite things are precision, order, economy and control. If we speculate about the personality traits of this “designer God,” characteristics such as “powerful,” “rational,” “logical,” “rule-making” come to the fore, which are but a short step to “judgmental,” “controlling,” “aloof” and “distant.”

The problem is, we don’t live in that sort of world. If our world was designed with precision, order and economy in mind, the designer was having a teilhard-1-sizedpretty bad day. Darwin opened the door wide to speculation that the world we live in is vastly more messy and open-ended than ever imagined; a century and a half of further investigation in all of the various sciences has con-firmed Darwin’s insight. It’s very possible to investigate the messy, inefficient and spectacularly fascinating universe we inhabit without reference to anything greater than ourselves, but I find it impossible to do so. If we are in fact part of a creation that is unfinished, in which in Teilhard de Chardin’s memorable phrase, “God does not make: He makes things make themselves,” where does intelligent speculation about such a creator lead? In directions both stimulating and iconoclastic.

We spent a number of weeks the last time I taught the “Beauty and Violence” colloquium teasing out some of the differences that understanding the world in this way might have for how we think about God. For some of my students, the implications were fascinating and liberating, while for others they were disturbing and paradigm-shifting. Two of the traditional characteristics attributed to God, for instance, are omniscience and omnipotence. God knows everything and has the power to do anything. These “omni” characteristics have been problematic for centuries when thinking about human choice and freedom. 20080626_kristatippett_2When thinking about an open-ended universe that continues to be created by the creatures that inhabit it, such characteristics are more than problematic—they need to be jettisoned entirely, as many cutting-edge scientists and theologians suggest. Here is the full John Polkinghorne quotation, taken from an interview with Krista Tippett:

The act of creation, the act of bringing into being a world in which creatures are allowed to be themselves, to make themselves, is an act of love. Kenosis-school-of-art-and-creative-services_11310_imageIt is an act of divine self-limitation. The theologians like to call it kenosis from the Greek word. God is not the puppet master of the universe, pulling every string. God has taken, if you like, a risk. Creation is more like an improvisation than the performance of a fixed score that God wrote in eternity. And that sort of world involves God accepting limitations, and, I believe, accepting limitations such as not knowing the future.

Rather than a tightly controlled and designed universe, this is a universe in which power and knowledge on the part of the divine are sacrificed for—something. Freedom? Choice? Beauty? At thegod_created_risk_postcard-r1d8ae1c777454aa29480a38b805f6646_vgbaq_8byvr_324 very least, the motivations for such an ongoing creative process are something other than control and order. A world in which creatures are empowered to create in novel and unique ways sounds less like a universe energized by ordering power and more like one embedded with creative love and emerging beauty, a beauty that theologian John Haught defines as “ordered novelty.” Only a universe structured on the edge of order and chaos could generate such results.

A God who intentionally created a partially finished, non-economical and messy universe that is still a project in the making is not a God who knows everything that will happen or inserts divine power into every organizational detail. This is a God who has taken a significant risk—on us. In an intellectual notebook entry, one of my students captured this idea concisely and beautifully.

God is only truly taking a risk if He has a desired intention for us—a purpose, so to speak—that could either be fulfilled or unfulfilled through our free actions and the way in which we live our lives. God is gambling on us because He has allowed for the opportunity of failure. God has fixed His hand by giving us everything we need to fulfill our purpose. He is actually no less omnipotent, he is simply using His power to limit His power, a theory that if true would be the noblest of all divine endeavors. If we deny our egos, we are to be awakened by His silence and transformed by the realization of our limitations.

This, of course, raises many more questions than it answers. But they are better questions in my estimation than the traditional ones, in keeping with my favored definition of philosophy as “the art of asking better and better questions.” Yet another confirmation that Socrates was right when he said that “the unexamined life is not worth living.”quote-the-unexamined-life-is-not-worth-living-socrates-174068

hello october

October Musings

Autumn in NEAutumn is my favorite season of the year, and October is my favorite month. This is not surprising for a native New Englander, since turning leaves together with crisp, sunny and cool days are an attractive combination. Even on this particular middle-of-October day as I write, when it is unseasonably warm and humid with a threat of heavy rain later, a few typically beautiful fall days in the past week and the promise of more to come keeps me weather-happy. I know that autumn bums many people who live where the seasons change out because it means that winter is coming. But I like winter as well, or at least the idea of it. The older I get the less I enjoy the actual fact of shoveling snow on occasion and having to warm the car up every morning, but I’ll take it over the Florida summer humidity and heat that my son and daughter-in-law profess to love for some unknown reason.halloween birthday

October not only means my favorite kind of weather, but also puts me in a reminiscent mood. October was an important month during my growing up years because both my mother and my brother were born in October (my mother on Halloween, which meant that we usually ignored her birthday in exchange for more interesting activities). It is my brother’s birthday in a few days; I am several months older now than the age at which my mother died. She died of cancer in October, just three weeks short of her sixtieth birthday, followed a couple of weeks later unexpectedly by the death of my father-in-law of only a few months. That was twenty-eight years ago; amazingly, sometimes it seems more like twenty-eight weeks.

October is a centrally important month every year for both students and faculty on college campuses—the first big papers and often the first significant exam of the semester (or perhaps the midterm exam)midterm are usually October events. For students this means even more stress than usual; for faculty it means that the first few weeks of the semester that have pleasantly been free of tons of grading are now at an end. Faculty love to bitch and moan about grading—I used to be great at such complaining until Jeanne asked me once many years ago at the end of my latest grading whine-fest “Isn’t that part of your job?” Well yes, I guess it is. It’s the one part of my job that I hope I don’t have to do in my next life (because I still intend to be a college professor—there’s nothing better). Now I tend to think of October grading as a great opportunity to learn new things from my students.

For instance, my colleague on an interdisciplinary faculty team informed me by email a few days ago that she just read the following in one of his freshman papers: “As Mr. Morgan talked about in lecture, during this time and culture, obeying god was the priority of every man, even if that means sacrificing your own son, which happened a lot in olden times.” Google UMy colleague wrote “I guess I must have missed that lecture.” I responded that “Mr. Morgan is my evil twin who gives lectures on off days for students who don’t come to the regularly scheduled lectures. I take no responsibility for anything Mr. Morgan says.” In one of my own papers (the same assignment that produced my colleague’s paper) one of my freshman began as follows: “According to Google, happiness is defined as . . .” I’m glad that I’m old enough that I won’t have to fully adjust to the brave new educational world that is just around the bend.Kathleen

October also often brings important speakers to campus. Doris Kearns Goodwin, a rock star in Jeanne’s and my estimation, speaks in ten days. I remember a couple of years ago when my friend and best-selling author Kathleen Norris was resident scholar on my campus and gave a late afternoon talk. At the beginning of Q and A , Kathleen mentioned how much she used to enjoy Q and A sessions with second-graders to whom she was bringing poetry in North and South Dakota classrooms many years ago. “How old are you?” “How much do you weigh?” “Do you have a cat?” “How much money do you make?” “Do you have a bicycle?” The next time I am in attendance at a scholarly paper event, those are the questions I’m going to ask. Because those are the things I really want to know.

Even though the liturgical year is still slogging through endless weeks of “Ordinary Time,” October always brings welcome entertainment. Last Sunday we celebrated Saint Francis Sunday with “Blessing of the Animals.” I went to the early show with Frieda, who along with five other dogs held center stage and generally behaved themselves.

Three years ago

Five years ago

This year

Two years ago

For several years running I was lector for Saint Francis Sunday and read the story of Balaam and his donkey from Numbers. My friend Marsue, who was rector of our little Episcopal church for those years, made sure I was scheduled as lector for this event every year because I always brought Frieda to the lectern so she could stare people down while I was reading.

During October the weekly readings are still stuck in Ordinary Time, where we have been since Pentecost. This year the readings from the Jewish scriptures have wandered through various prophets yelling at whoever would listen about various shortcomings.  Last year we were walked through the familiar and fascinating stories of the patriarchs in Genesis and the dramatic escape of the children of Israel from Egyptian bondage in Exodus. In Exodus 32 Moses is up on Mount Sinai hanging out while God writes the Ten Commandments and everyone else figures he’s never coming back. So they make the Golden Calf, start a minor orgy, and you know how that worked out. golden calfMoses is pissed; God is even more pissed. “Jesus Christ!” God yells (he forgot what part of the Bible he was in for a moment). “Moses, can you believe this shit?? I’ve had enough of these clowns! Stand back, Moses, while I wipe them all out. Then I’ll begin again with a new bunch of people starting with you, sort of like I did with Abraham in the previous book.” Moses points out that this would make God look bad, given that he put so much effort and creative thought—from plagues to parting a sea—into getting these people out of slavery, only to kill them in the desert. God’s response to Moses’ point is my favorite verse in the Jewish Scriptures, perhaps in the entire Bible: And the Lord changed His mind. The implications are unlimited.

October also provides me with a yearly opportunity to introduce a bunch of innocent freshmen to my choice for the greatest philosopher in the Western tradition: Aristotle. McEwanHis vision of the moral life, of the life of human flourishing, is second to none. I came across a beautiful description of such a life not long ago in Ian McEwan’s The Children Act:

Welfare, happiness, well-being must embrace the philosophical concept of the good life. She listed some relevant ingredients, goals toward which a child might grow. Economic and moral freedom, virtue, compassion and altruism, satisfying work through engagement with demanding tasks, a flourishing network of personal relationships, earning the esteem of others, pursuing larger meanings to one’s existence, and having at the center of one’s life one or a small number of significant relations defined above all by love.

Autumn is a time when I feel, at least a little bit, that such a life might be possible. Thanks, October.love october

Horton in a Nutshell

geahDr. Seuss was a regular in our house when my sons were young—my thirty-something sons still occasionally mention how much they both loved Green Eggs and Ham in particular. Theodor Geisel’s creatively madcap work has occasionally made it into this blog over the past four years, from the star-bellied Sneetches in an early essay on heresy

Dr. Seuss and Heresy

to the environmentally-minded Lorax during an on-campus controversy over the demise of a 150-year-old oak this past summer.

I Speak for the Trees

The most recent Dr. Seuss classic to cross my radar screen involves a gentle elephant who believes that “a person’s a person no matter how small,” a couple of kangaroos with bad attitudes, and other jungle animals dedicated to making the elephant’s life difficult. Early last summer someone at a conference Jeanne was attending told her that she should read Horton Hears a Who; by late summer a large orange-covered copy had arrived at our house. I paid no attention to it until a couple of weeks ago.nutshell

As I drove across town headed for minor oral surgery (a phrase that has turned out to be oxymoronic), I listened to an interview on Boston Public Radio with Ian McEwan, one of my favorite contemporary novelists.

Ian McEwan on Boston Public Radio

McEwan was in town on a book tour promoting his new novel, Nutshell. On the basis of the interview, I ordered the book on Amazon as soon as I got home. It is a reworking of Hamlet with a few twists, including that it is narrated by an unborn child hanging upside-down in its mother’s uterus. A la Hamlet, the unborn child knows that his mother is having an affair with its uncle and that they are plotting to kill its father. The fetus is urbane, sophisticated, listens to music and podcasts vicariously through its mother, has developed a connoisseur’s picky tastes in wine, and wonders whether there is life after the uterus. This is going to be fun.

Toward the end of the segment, the two interviewers asked McEwan to read a passage from Nutshell.

Certain artists in print or paint flourish, like babies to be, in confined spaces. Their narrow subjects may confound or disappoint some: courtship among the 18th century gentry, life beneath a sail, talking rabbits, sculpted hares, fat people in oils, dog portraits, horse portraits, portraits of aristocrats, reclining nudes, nativities by the millions, and crucifixions, assumptions, bowls of fruit, flowers in vases, and Dutch bread and cheese, with or without a knife on the side. Some give themselves in prose merely to the self. In science, too, one dedicates his life to an Albanian snail, another to a virus. Darwin gave eight years to barnacles, and in wise later life, to earthworms. The Higgs Bosun, a tiny thing, perhaps not even a thing, is the lifetime’s pursuit of thousands. To be bound in a nutshell, see the world in two inches of ivory, in a grain of sand. Why not, when all of literature, all of art, of human endeavor, is just a speck in the universe of possible things? And even this universe may be a speck in a multitude of actual and possible universes. So, why not be an owl poet?horton

In the wonderfully random way that things often connect together, this passage made me think of the book that had been laying on our coffee table for the last couple of weeks: Horton Hears a Who.

Horton the Elephant, while splashing in a pool, hears a small speck of dust talking to him. He comes to realize that the voice is coming from a small person who lives on the dust speck; indeed, the speck is actually a tiny planet, home to a community called Whoville, the home of microscopic creatures called Whos. the-whosThe Whos know that they are vulnerable and exposed to possible harm in a dangerous world; the mayor of Whoville asks Horton for protection, which Horton happily agrees to provide. He places the Who-planet on a clover that he proceeds to carry in his trunk as carefully as a waiter carrying a tray of crystal champagne glasses. Horton has come to the same realization as the pre-born narrator of Nutshell: Each existing thing is the center of its own universe of interests, desires, and concerns—but each existing thing is “bound in a nutshell,” “just a speck in the universe of possible things.”

The apparent insignificance of human existence prompted seventeenth-century mathematician and philosopher Blaise Pascal to write that The eternal silence of these infinite spaces frightens me. Yet in Psalm 139 we are told that

You have formed my inward parts;

You have formed me in my mother’s womb . . .

My frame was not hidden from you,

When I was made in secret

And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

As both Horton and McEwan’s upside-down narrator realize, everything is at the same time both insignificant and unique. The challenge is to keep both of these in mind simultaneously.success

As Horton’s story proceeds, his fellow jungle animals refuse to believe that the Whos exist, believing rather that Horton is nuts. In scenes reminiscent of grade school playgrounds, various animals ridicule Horton, eventually managing to steal his Who-bearing clover and hide it from him in a large field of clovers. After a long search, Horton rescues the frightened and shaken Whos; at his prompting, they finally prove their existence to the still skeptical jungle animals by making as much collective noise as possible until everyone can hear them. Now convinced of the Whos’ existence, all the animals vow to help Horton protect the tiny community.

Each of us is both insignificant and infinitely precious, no matter what current circumstances might indicate. From within the confines of his mother’s womb, McEwan’s narrator gains insights into a world he’s not sure he will ever reach. The Whos, upon discovering just how vulnerable and fragile their world is, are discovered by someone greater than themselves, someone willing to put himself on the line again and again to preserve their special existence. It’s a wonderful retelling of a story that generations have embraced. “A person’s a person no matter how small,” after all.a-persons-a-person