Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Where Were You.....?

when you heard that Cardinal Ratzinger had been elected Pope?


I was in the same Suburban packed with a family of nine, pulling into the TAC campus for the first time.


Habemus Papam! I'll never forget it!

(I remember the radio broadcaster was trying to make sense of the Latin proclamation:

Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum;
habemus Papam:

Eminentissimum ac Reverendissimum Dominum,
Dominum Josephum
Sanctae Romanae Ecclesiae Cardinalem Ratzinger
qui sibi nomen imposuit Benedictum XVI

and saying "he's going to call himself Dominic? would that be Pope Dominic I??")

(photos by Liam Ryan)

Saturday, April 18, 2009

another loss

Liam told me that Father Wilfrid Borden, former assistant dean of religious affairs at Thomas Aquinas College, also passed away last week. He had suffered a severe stroke in the fall of 2006 and in spring of 2007 retired to his order's convalescent home in Canada. Please pray for him too.

From the linked article:

Dr. Dillon spoke a few words of tribute to Fr. Borden and gave him as a parting gift an icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, saying,

“As you have faithfully tended to your flock here at the College, may Our Lady of Perpetual Help intercede for you in all your needs. We pray that God will abundantly reward you as you continue to inspire us now with your example of great patience and fortitude. We shall miss you, dear friend.”
We have lost some good, good people in this past couple of weeks but I think we have gained some intercessors in the "cloud of witnesses" that surround us.


Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine,
cum sanctis tuis in aeternum,
quia pius es.


Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Joy, Hope, Sorrow, Fear

The Circe Institute announced that Marcus and Laura Berquist have been named the winners of the 2009 Russell Kirk Paideia Prize for Lifetime Contribution to Classical Education. (HT: Quiddity)

I was just reading an article on "Joy in Homeschooling" by Laura Berquist in The Latin Mass magazine. I like the distinctions she made in this passage.... very helpful to me:

"...Joy is a passion we experience with respect to a good we actually possess. Hope, on the other hand, is the passion we experience with respect to a difficult good we wish to possess, but do not yet have. Hope is what we feel when the children are young and we are working toward the goals we want to achieve for and with them. Sorrow is the passion felt regarding an evil actually existing, while fear is the passion we experience regarding an evil not yet experienced."


If you pull out these emotions you have a pretty fair range of what I can experience as a homeschooling mom within, say, five minutes. Or maybe less.

the journey

and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

I don't usually get topical on here. But yesterday, April 15, was a day I shall always remember on the media and public arena front. I wanted to record it because even the most vivid memories get overcast and recast by future events.

First, when we drove Liam down to the AMtrak station we passed the central valley Tea Party and there were many, many cars there at the Savemart center. Our state of California has its own deficit crisis and is proposing measures like making businesses pay punitive rates if they move their business to another state -- basically an economic iron curtain to keep people in who are tempted to leave because the taxes are escalating to such giddy heights.

Then there was the news about Dr Dillon. Though we have never met him, we grieved personally for his loss. We've seen him around the TAC campus and his presence was certainly felt in a lot of the things we loved about the college. Studeo is collecting news stories and remembrances from alumni on Thomas Dillon. Quiddity has an In Memoriam including a speech Thomas Dillon gave for convocation in 2005, which was the year Liam first went there as a freshman. And Love2Learn's collection of tributes includes one from my daughter. The excerpt that Clare pulled out from Dr Dillon's 2005 address is well worth pondering:

"the true, the good, and the beautiful have much greater reality than do the false, the evil, and the ugly, which latter are too often idolized in the larger world. So I urge you to bring reality to that world - to take whatever you have grasped here of the true, good, and beautiful out into that larger world, so much in need of what is real rather than what is illusory."

While I was still in tears and shock over the news about Dr Dillon, Kevin called me into his office to show me a YouTube video which probably most of you have seen already. On the video I saw Simon Cowell in the judges' seat along with a blond movie star type lady and someone else, and a frumpy-looking lady appearing on a stage in front of them, and the title, Britain's Got Talent, and honestly, wasn't in the mood to see something silly or undignified, which is what I expected. It would be hard to imagine someone less interested in the "Got Talent" genre than I am. But this was something far different, as I'm sure you know – anyway, there's a link here that gives some background story and also has a link to the video clip that seems to be everywhere. It really is an extraordinary story. Seriously, watch the video.

This is a disparate bunch of memories, but they are all linked by the public element and also, by some mystery of the spirit that kept me awake for a good part of the night. The human being is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Even a sort of hokiness about the civil protest and the instant stardom of an unlikely talent doesn't detract from that. When reading Johny Tremain to Kieron I was very struck about how easy it would have been for some British aristocrat to be quite cynical about the Boston Tea Party. Civilians wearing Indian paint dumping tea, forsooth. But something happened there, and the Bostonians recognized it – the novel describes hundreds of silent people standing at the pier, watching, watching. The world changed right then.

I also thought – not related directly to anything else, except that this is Easter Week – about Pontius Pilate. Think about cynicism and tiredness… a civilized Roman governing a balky, difficult imperial outpost. He must have seen all kinds of cranks and criminals, people whose way of life and thought was bizarre to him. His job was no sinecure. Then one day Our Lord walked in with his hands bound. We know very well that Pilate knew how extraordinary Jesus was. Much as he might have superficially appeared as a crank or rebel, Pilate recognized that he was something else. It's obvious by what he said in the Gospel accounts.

Sometimes cynicism recognizes that cynicism is simply way insufficient, as when the judges in the Got Talent show simply sat there and gazed like children through the beautiful "I Dreamed a Dream" of Fantine in Les Miserables. And they respond, and either feel like the world is new for a moment or two and they are almost awkward children again in a different place. Or else they pull back and wash their hands and go on with their lives. But with them or without them, the world changes right then.

One more thing, while I'm talking about the mystery and grandeur of the human spirit. Through Leave the Lights On -- human dignity of anencephalic babies I came across this truly beautiful blog. ... The Story of Faith Hope. A beautiful, gentle, loving blog by a single mother who has a baby daughter with anencephaly who is now almost 2 months old. She is so precious.... the name Faith Hope suits her. In the videos, she smiles and tries to hold her head up. Her mother writes:

I'm 23 years old and a single mom to a very special little girl.

When I was 19 weeks pregnant, I was told that my baby had no brain. This condition is known as "anencephaly." I was told that my baby was only alive because she was attached to me, but that she couldn't survive on her own. The doctor said that I could continue the pregnancy safely, but that my baby would die shortly after being born. Or I could choose to terminate the pregnancy then, which would mean being induced at 20 weeks and letting my baby die without ever seeing or holding her (I don't even want to know what they do with babies in this case). Well, to some people this would be a difficult decision, but it wasn't for me. I knew there was nothing to gain by terminating the pregnancy and I already loved my daughter more than anyone else in the world. Even if she was unconscious like the doctors said and lived for only a few seconds or minutes --even if she was stillborn --it was worth it to me. And so we began our journey...

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Classical Redivivus

Some interesting (for me) threads going on at Real Learning (which is just about to close for Holy Week):

I love this time of year -- I love to ponder what we're doing in the homeschool and start figuring out what next year will look like.

I found this interview with Father Fessio and wanted to excerpt this part about homeschooling:



Q: It's evident that a passion of yours is education through your involvement with Ave Maria, the work you began and still do with Ignatius Press, and your involvement with NAPCIS. Share with our readers what you think the current state of Catholic education today is and why you feel so many parents are opting to home school their children?

A: Yes. Let me limit myself to the United States and certain features of the United States. For many years, I have received letters and phone calls from parents who are in tremendous grief because their children have lost their faith going to Catholic schools. The problem with the catechetics and academics was basically denied by those in authority and lay people were told that they were working on it- don't worry things will get better. But when your kids are growing up, you don't have time. You need to have a Catholic education now.

So, as a result of that, many Catholic parents began to home school. Primarily because they could no longer entrust their kids to the parochial schools. Once they started doing that however, many of them discovered that it's a better form of education if you can do it. So, now I know many Catholic home school parents, who even if they had a great Catholic school right across the street, would still home school. Right here at Ave Maria, we have a wonderful grammar and prep school - Ave Maria Grammar andPrep- with some of the Dominican sisters from Ann Arbor who are teaching there, a wonderful headmaster, excellent faculty and great kids. But there are many families that live literally a block or two from the school, and who home school- it's not that they think the school isn't a good school, they just think home schooling is a better education for their kids.

Q: Would you agree with them?

A: I would agree that as a general principle that home schooling is superior to schooling in a more structured context of a classroom. But, that doesn't mean it's for everybody at all times and at all grades. I do think it's better. Here at University, half of our students are home schooled. Through high school, about 25% are home schooled.

You find, in general, even though the other students are good too, a greater love of learning, willingness to study on their own, receptivity- and in addition, incredible talent. A number of our students can play the piano, or the violin, or can act, or sing, and do it well. It's astounding to me. I've never seen such a concentration of talent, and a lot of it is because they have large families that home school and can learn these things. So no one can claim now that there's no opportunity to educate their kids in a Catholic way. They can always home school.

Then there are these new family schools, many members of NAPCIS as you mentioned- there's more than a hundred of them around the country. These are family-operated, small, Catholic schools, which are loyal to the Tradition of the Church and to a classical education. And as far as universities go, there are 10 or 12 spread across the country, so I think you can get a good education. I think Ave Maria is one of the best- I really love the kids here as well as the faculty and the curriculum, but there are other good places too.

Q: In terms of a classical education, there are those who would argue that the idea of a classical education would actually include the dynamic of having peers among you in the learning environment, simply in regards to the idea that the original idea of school being leisure among friends, and granted you can get that in the home element as well…

A: What's classical about that? Do they have to be the same age? The idea of schools, is as they say in French a “pis aller” a second best type of thing. What were the best types of education in medieval and post-medieval times? It was with the nobility in the castles. How? With the tutors for the children of the noble families. They didn't go to some school. And then, when you started with the cathedral schools and in the monastaries, you would go in with the monks. You would have young men join the monastery as clerics, lower clerics, when they were 7 or 8 years old.

I think schools have a value, but I think They are not as good as the kind of care and attention you can get in a home schooling environment. I've seen it happen- in a family of four kids, the oldest boy who was very analytical and very argumentative did a lot of reading and a lot of essays on different topics; but his brother, a couple of years younger, was very intuitive and artistic. So, he did more poetry, literature, art and that sort of thing. And by doing that he also learned the other skills he needed, but learned by doing the things that he loved.

There's a fellow that helps do some work for us in our retreat house north of San Francisco. When he and his fiance were getting ready to get married, he had about a fourth or fifth grade reading level. But, he loved to hunt, so his fiancee’s mother got him three subscriptions to some hunting magazines and suddenly his reading level zoomed up because he finally found something he wanted to read. That's how home schooling works.You take a look at your kid and say, "He's interested in WWII" so there's an entrĂ©e. You learn to read better and do research. Then you might want to go on to other things, like geography or weather. Who knows what it might be. I think home schooling is a great sign of hope in this country, and the small Catholic schools as well, and as a result of that, the parochial schools and Catholic schools are going through a renewal process. We also have younger bishops now who are more traditional and younger priests who are more traditional. I do see a lot of movement in the right direction.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Blink

My husband can look at a piece of code (programming) and often spot right away whether it has bugs or problems.

It has been documented on film that some football wide receivers catch a football with their eyes closed.

In hospital days, I could sometimes tell hours before the nurses or doctors that Aidan was going to spike a temp or had something else going on with him. At home, similarly, I could often tell by morning that he was going to have to go to the ER at night.

When my son Sean was a neonate, a few hours after birth, the doctors came in and told me they were moving him to the NICU. The doctor told me he could see nothing obviously wrong, but that he saw "soft signs" that to him warranted closer monitoring and access to higher-level equipment. Half an hour later, Sean went into a state of acute acidosis and struggled for hours. Though the doctor couldn't put his finger on specific clinical symptoms, he had seen a problem before it actually went into acute form.

This intuition, though the actual word is not used, is the subject of the book Blink: The Power of Thinking without Thinking, which is very interesting reading. More on the book here and here.

The author does not use the word "intuition" because he thinks it's a catch-all term for all kinds of judgments, some of them not quite sound:

You could also say that it's a book about intuition, except that I don't like that word. In fact it never appears in "Blink." Intuition strikes me as a concept we use to describe emotional reactions, gut feelings--thoughts and impressions that don't seem entirely rational. But I think that what goes on in that first two seconds is perfectly rational. It's thinking--its just thinking that moves a little faster and operates a little more mysteriously than the kind of deliberate, conscious decision-making that we usually associate with "thinking." In "Blink" I'm trying to understand those two seconds. What is going on inside our heads when we engage in rapid cognition? When are snap judgments good and when are they not? What kinds of things can we do to make our powers of rapid cognition better?
I have struggled with this concept of "intuition" before in trust, and the knowledge of the heart. What does it mean to say that our intuition is telling us something, sometimes when our overt reasoning process is trying to lead us elsewhere? It is undeniable that "intuition" or gut instinct has led people wrong in the past. There are examples in the book. Usually it occurs either when the judger is taking TOO much into account or when he or she is taking too little into account.

An example of the former is a study which had female college-educated types go into a car lot and try to bargain the dealer down to a reasonable price, compared with white males of a similar demographic. Consistently, the males ended up being able to finagle a lower end price. If the study is correct in showing what it was meant to show, the dealer allowed the fact of the buyer being a female to cloud other factors more worth taking into consideration.

An example of the latter is something he called "mindblindedness" sometimes brought on by a state of over-adrenaline. Cops inappropriately shooting at an innocent person often receive visual messages in a distorted way because they are in a state of hyper-vigilance which interferes with their normal ability to read a situation. In the example given in the book, they saw someone trying to pull out a wallet and actually "saw" a gun.

But given the proper trained awareness, and enough time and calmness for the process to work properly, people can make eerily sound judgments in the "blink" time of a couple of seconds, as mentioned in the examples above. The book multiplies the examples.

I like the thesis that our trained consciousness can sometimes come up with a snap judgment that is on target but that we can't necessarily explain verbally right away. That seems to allow me to work on "forming" my intuition about important things without discarding reason, just understanding it differently.

Perhaps it's analogous to the Catholic Christian concept of "forming one's conscience". The Catholic Catechism says:

A human being must always obey the certain judgment of his conscience. If he were deliberately to act against it, he would condemn himself. Yet it can happen that moral conscience remains in ignorance and makes erroneous judgments about acts to be performed or already committed.

This ignorance can often be imputed to personal responsibility. This is the case when a man "takes little trouble to find out what is true and good, or when conscience is by degrees almost blinded through the habit of committing sin." In such cases, the person is culpable for the evil he commits.

Ignorance of Christ and his Gospel, bad example given by others, enslavement to one's passions, assertion of a mistaken notion of autonomy of conscience, rejection of the Church's authority and her teaching, lack of conversion and of charity: these can be at the source of errors of judgment in moral conduct.

If - on the contrary - the ignorance is invincible, or the moral subject is not responsible for his erroneous judgment, the evil committed by the person cannot be imputed to him. It remains no less an evil, a privation, a disorder. One must therefore work to correct the errors of moral conscience.
This seems to me to be roughly analogous to the process of forming right thinking about whatever area of life you are called to be well-grounded in. Almost all the saints and Catholic general wisdom says that moral formation isn't just intellectual knowledge but has to be carried through all the little moments of daily life. When the crunch comes and you go into "default mode" you will have good ways of operating built into your very muscle memory and bottom-line mental processes. But if this process hasn't taken place, or if it's been overly distorted by emotion or appetites, it won't be as reliable as it would have been otherwise.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Quotes on Perfection

St Thomas Aquinas on Whether any one can be perfect in this life?

The Divine law does not prescribe the impossible. Yet it prescribes perfection according to Matthew 5:48, "Be you . . . perfect, as also your heavenly Father is perfect." Therefore seemingly one can be perfect in this life.

I answer that, ....the perfection of the Christian life consists in charity. Now perfection implies a certain universality because according to Phys. iii, 6, "the perfect is that which lacks nothing." Hence we may consider a threefold perfection.

One is absolute, and answers to a totality not only on the part of the lover, but also on the part of the object loved, so that God be loved as much as He is lovable. Such perfection as this is not possible to any creature, but is competent to God alone, in Whom good is wholly and essentially.

Another perfection answers to an absolute totality on the part of the lover, so that the affective faculty always actually tends to God as much as it possibly can; and such perfection as this is not possible so long as we are on the way, but we shall have it in heaven.

The third perfection answers to a totality neither on the part of the object served, nor on the part of the lover as regards his always actually tending to God, but on the part of the lover as regards the removal of obstacles to the movement of love towards God, ..... Such perfection as this can be had in this life, and in two ways.

First, by the removal from man's affections of all that is contrary to charity, such as mortal sin; and there can be no charity apart from this perfection, wherefore it is necessary for salvation.

Secondly, by the removal from man's affections not only of whatever is contrary to charity, but also of whatever hinders the mind's affections from tending wholly to God. Charity is possible apart from this perfection, for instance in those who are beginners and in those who are proficient.

St Ignatius sums it up this way in his Principle and Foundation

Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul.

And the other things on the face of the earth are created for man and that they may help him in prosecuting the end for which he is created.

From this it follows that man is to use them as much as they help him on to his end, and ought to rid himself of them so far as they hinder him as to it.

For this it is necessary to make ourselves indifferent to all created things in all that is allowed to the choice of our free will and is not prohibited to it; so that, on our part, we want not health rather than sickness, riches rather than poverty, honor rather than dishonor, long rather than short life, and so in all the rest; desiring and choosing only what is most conducive for us to the end for which we are created.


Augustine says in On Man's Perfection in Righteousness:

Although even now every man who progresses, advancing ever with an upright purpose, departs from all sin, and becomes further removed from it as he approaches nearer to the fulness and perfection of the righteous state; because even concupiscence itself, which is sin dwelling in our flesh, never ceases to diminish in those who are making progress, although it still remains in their mortal members. It is one thing, therefore, to depart from all sin,— a process which is even now in operation,— and another thing to have departed from all sin, which shall happen in the state of future perfection. But still, even he who has departed already from evil, and is continuing to do so, must be allowed to be a doer of good.

Sunday, March 08, 2009

Counsels of Perfection: What Perfection Is

Now that some false ideas of perfection have been mentioned, to try and go deeper into a true definition of perfection.

One difficulty with developing an idea of perfection is that people are different from each other. An invalid confined to bed will look very different on the outside from a young athlete. There are different temperaments and roles. A life of contemplative prayer might be excellent for a nun or monk but misguided for me if I were ignoring my family and friends. There is also a legitimate range of personalities that you can see if you read about the saints. The gentle St Francis de Sales is very different from the daring St Francis Xavier, who is different in turn from the intellectual St Thomas Aquinas and the cultured lawyer St Thomas More.

"So I might heap up citation upon citation, but these will suffice to show how difficult it is to arrive at a formula for perfection which will fit all the saints, determine the common trait which permits us to classify them all under one head, and enables us to say of each one, "Here is a saint."
Here the example of Mary, Jesus's mother, comes up. Of all humans, she was the closest to Our Lord. He resided under her heart for nine months and was nursed at her breast and brought up by her from infancy to childhood. She alone was called "gratia plena", full of grace, which to the Catholic Church has been a testimony that there was no part of her interior that was not flooded with God's light. Yet in her earthly life she was not a queen, not a doer of great deeds; little is said about her life directly in scriptures; her life was hidden. From her life we can conclude that

"Sanctity does not at all consist in splendor or magnificence or the glitter of exterior things, but rather in an interior principles which animates the most ordinary actions, and communicates to them an almost inestimable value."
If Mary is an exemplar, does that necessarily mean that the ideal life is solely hidden and quiet and domestic? To think that would be missing the point, because saints have been kings and queens, missionaries, parents of families, lacemakers and tentmakers, explorers, scientists, anything you can imagine. Without the interior principle, these professions and vocations don't mean anything; with them, every sphere of life is sanctified.

So this brings us to a definition of perfection:

"Perfection is accomplishing the will of God in a constant and generous fashion. That person, then, is perfect who does at every instant what God wishes."
Personally, this is troublesome to me. I have a good friend who tells me that she always knows what God wants of her. Sometimes she doesn't actually do it, but she always knows. I've searched my heart, and I don't have that kind of certainty. I always feel that I could be doing something better (or worse, for that matter). I suppose though that this is not the point. The point is a radical openness. I usually know when I'm getting locked into my own will or being sluggish or fearful about carrying out something good. So maybe that's what my friend means about knowing what God wants.

During this Lent I've started trying to examine those concerns carefully when they come up. In other words, I am trying to check up on myself at various times during the day to make sure I am on track. If I have a vague uneasy sense I examine it and try to take it seriously and if there seems to be a problem, I try to confront it rather than rationalize it away as I find it easy enough to do. These intuitions are usually right on target in some way when I take a closer look, even if I can't totally put it into words. At any rate, I can act upon them by doing something I know is not harmful, and trying to do it in a loving way, while being open to the possibility that I am still not completely there. Angie M is carrying on a series at Real Learning on "how we think" -- cognitive distortions and some strategies for noticing and examining them. I've found it helpful. St Francis of Assissi, when told by God that he would "rebuild His Church" started building the church at San Damiano with his own hands. This was not the full meaning of what God had said but St Francis's work of faith certainly prepared him for his future work of a different kind.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Counsels of Perfection: Reflecting on the Goal

So here goes: As the title Counsels of Perfection indicates, the book is composed of counsels or pieces of advice. The first section of the book is about obstacles, the second is about means to the end, and the third is about "the means par excellence". The "end" mentioned, of course, is Christian perfection and the means are how we reach it.

Perfection is a word that needs some explanation. It doesn't mean that redemption is unnecessary or that there is some human ideal that we can reach by our own efforts. Nor does it mean something absolutely unachievable or presumptuous to attempt, either.

Rather, it comes from the gospel: "Be ye perfect; as your Father in Heaven is perfect." (Matthew 5:48) From the Catholic Encyclopedia:

Christian perfection consists not only in the habit of charity, i.e. the possession of sanctifying grace and the constant will of preserving that grace, but also in the pursuit or practice of charity, which means the service of God and withdrawal of ourselves from those things which oppose or impede it.

As you see, there are a few things here: (1) there has to be a habit, not just an occasional sporadic act (2) it depends on God's grace plus our will to preserve that grace (3) it involves action plus (4) withdrawal from things that are obstacles. Except for the bit about God's grace, Aristotle would have agreed with all these conditions, and he clearly laid out convincing reasons why the only road to true happiness "eudaimonia" was through virtue.

Later in our civilization's history, important thinkers tended to disregard Aristotle as well as the Christian tradition, and got bogged down in various confusions -- for example, thinking that "happiness" meant "pleasure" or virtue meant "duty" or various other things that only overlap and do not sum up the essence. Probably most people intuitively sense though that "pleasure alone" is like getting sick on too much candy and "duty alone" is a draining and insufficient prospect like the leech cure of olden days.

Perfection springs from love, and in fact, the book uses "devotion" as a synonym for perfection. Jesus said in Luke 10:27:

“You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind. And you must love your neighbor as your­self.”

Thomas a Kempis writes:
Love is a mighty power, a great and complete good; Love alone lightens every burden, and makes the rough places smooth. It bears every hardship as thought it were nothing, and renders all bitterness sweet and acceptable. The love of Jesus is noble, and inspires us to great deeds; it moves us always to desire perfection.
So I guess it's pretty clear that love is the means by which we approach closer to what we are supposed to be as human beings. However, most of us know by now that Love is not just a feeling, a desire or impulse to draw closer or do well, but a matter of the will and intelligence. If we didn't already know it, a long stay in the ER with a sick child, or a rough patch in our marriage, would show us the truth of it. Love, perhaps "devotion" would be a more targeted word, is an integration of emotion and intelligence and will.

Although charity is at times intensely emotional, and frequently reacts on our sensory faculties, still it properly resides in the rational will: a fact not to be forgotten by those who would make it an impossible virtue.
As you see, there is both a positive and a negative aspect to these efforts, just like there might be if you were trying to strength train or lose weight or learn something new. You want to increase your strength -- your ability to do the thing. And you want to avoid things that will present obstacles or hurt your attempts to grow. Even though growing in Christian perfection is something that can't be done by ordinary human means, that doesn't mean it doesn't INVOLVE human means -- it just means that it has to go beyond those.

That is why the book starts with some of the obstacles that commonly present themselves -- misconceptions and problems -- just like a book on strength training might start with some of the mental and physical mistakes that beginners might make that would cause lack of progress or actual injury. Then once those are understood, the writer can go on to the actual positive steps to make towards improvement.

This distillation of human aspirations to one simple command -- Love-- is difficult to understand fully, it seems. The word "Love" is so often misused. "I did it out of love" -- the punitive parent, the cheating scoundrel, the wimpy enabler all use the language. I find I only get the meaning of it in tiny glimpses. I was just reading the last bit of Plato's Phaedo with a discussion group this evening. One of the things he talks about is opposite qualities and how they can't stand together in the same place -- one has to decrease as the other increases.

  • Heat flees at the approach of cold.
  • Life recedes as death approaches.
  • As I get fatter, I get less thin, and vice versa.
  • As love increases, hatred and indifference decrease

Sometimes it seems to me that love is generally glimpsed this way, by the extent of its presence and by what is still lacking. I see something done and think "There was not much love in that, however right the person thought he was in doing it"; or I cuddle my nursing infant and I think, "This is true love, though it is not Love in its infinite form." (I don't really think like that, but somehow I'm aware that my love is a reflection, like the moon reflects the sun's light).

So there you go, for now, with a half-thought out thought. If Christian perfection is love, then it has to get rid of all the things that are an obstacle to its full effect, and it has to increase in its strength. This does not mean simply affectionate or tolerant feelings, but something that is what Aquinas called a "habit", meaning a firm disposition that was consistent and not easy to block or divert.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

Aspiring

For Lent I'm going through this old book called Counsels of Perfection for Christian Mothers, written by Msr Paul Lejeune. You could probably tell just by the title and the beginning words that it's an old book (yes, the imprimatur is from 1913).

"My daughters, you all aspire to perfection. But what is your idea of perfection?"

It occurred to me while I was reading it that I can hardly think of a priest nowadays who would begin a book by saying that we "all aspire to perfection." I think nowadays the word "perfection" brings a mental image that is either unreachable (like a supermodel) or rather distasteful (like Little Miss Perfect). I notice that nowadays, perhaps with some excuse, priests will emphasize the "humanness" of even the saints rather than their excellent qualities. The excuse is that pastors are talking to the people of this day, and in this day there is a trend towards focusing on the "dark side" in biographies and fiction, even to the point of stretching slender evidence to the separating point in order to find some shady element in, say, Jane Austen's life.


There is an emphasis on "being real" nowadays that would have seemed strange to former days, I think. It makes sense in a way, working against the unappealing "Little Miss Perfect" type of image, but at its worst it can lead to a sort of avid pursuit of folly and a kind of settling for mediocrity. This is probably why I cringe a bit when an authority figure, like a priest, tells some story about his own little follies in a homily. Sure, I understand the motive -- he doesn't want to come off falsely as some superbeing, he wants to share that he is human too. But I look at my pre-teen boys and worry. What do they have to aspire to, if a priest seems quite amused by his own imperfections and relays them almost as if he was asking for entrance into the cool club of messed-up people?

In some ways a desire for perfection is built into human nature. Who wakes up in the morning and thinks, "I want to end my life as an inadequate mess?" But here are some of the more indirect manifestations I've seen of a desire for perfection:

  1. We could already be quite disappointed and cynical because we have an ideal that seems completely out of line with our reality. I know people like that; I was just reading about essentially disappointed people in The Great Gatsby.
  2. We could be thinking that the "ideal" was another person that we know about, perhaps some super homeschooling mom or distinguished person, so by definition NOT ourselves.
  3. We could feel fairly content with where we are now and not really want to think about aspirations and perfecting. We look around us and think we look pretty OK in comparison to most people we know.

I think nowadays many people are essentially disappointed. They have disappointed themselves and they've been disappointed by people around them. And they have grown up in a society which has promised them that this shouldn't really be. They feel they are owed something more than they have and that fulfillment is relatively easy to find. So in order to find some level of content in this situation of cognitive dissonance they look for stories about messed-up people so they can feel not so bad in comparison. So you see the biographies of flawed people, or flaws attributed to excellent people, or the reality shows and talk shows on television where dysfunction is almost celebrated (though there is usually some token consequence for the dysfunction).

A corollary seems to be some version of #2, grabbing onto some exterior trait of someone who appeals to us -- their beauty, or their wealth, or their artistic talent or level of organization -- and then fall into a sort of wistful "following". Emulation is good, but often it's an attachment to some exterior trait and so doesn't really help the follower to become his or her own unique being.

Socrates mentions in Phaedo that there is a temptation when we've glorified someone or something, when we are disappointed, to become disillusioned with everything or everyone. I see this happening sometimes, too. We see some Super Mom and idolize her and regret bitterly our own inadequacies. Then when she turns out to have some imperfection, it is very disappointing or else, in a weird way, satisfying. In either case, it's a distraction from our own responsibility.


I was recently reading bits of Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics -- he goes through the various things that are conventionally thought of as means to happiness. Beauty of appearance, health, intelligence and competence, wealth; love, friendship, respect or honor from those around you.

These things are indeed goods, it is undeniable, but they are vulnerable to chance and to change. You can lose them all in a moment and you are bound to lose them over time. For sure, you can't take them with you, and they will not necessarily help you in your last moments. So while they are goods of a sort, they can't be the essence of what makes a human being approach perfection. Anything that is vulnerable to exterior fortune can't be that.

He says that virtue is the only thing that is essentially part of the human being. The etymology of "virtue" comes from "vir" meaning man and implies things like courage, loyalty and magnaminity (largeness of spirit).. "Arete", the Greek word used by Aristotle, meant something like "excellence" or the goodness proper to the thing (in this case, the human being). So "virtue" isn't the Little Miss Perfect ideal to Aristotle, but almost the reverse. It doesn't shrink someone down to a pattern model, but elevates their natural qualities.

The Greeks realized vividly that this ideal of virtue was difficult to actually realize. Stories of virtue, and philosophical discussion about virtue and its role in society, gave them models to participate in, in a way, and strive for, and an underpinning of reason rather than sentimentality in their approach to human excellence. But these models weren't models of one individual and the stories and philosophy didn't promise lasting worldly success as a reward for virtue.... it wasn't a mercantile system or a straight "input/output".

I am sometimes concerned that when pastors and teachers and parents and the like try to meet the lowest common denominator, that they actually set a lower expectation. I know I've been talking about that a lot lately. I am thinking more and more that it is essentially human to actually do better than one would expect IF the desire is there. We seem to have an ability to grow into something higher than ourselves.

Humans seem to be the only creatures that aren't satisfied with being as they are -- that CAN'T be satisfied with being what they are at a given moment, or they will actually slide towards being less than they are. Chesterton says that we say to a man who is acting like a beast, "Be a man" but we don't say to a crocodile pursuing his prey, "Be a crocodile" because that's exactly what it is already doing.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

History as Story -- "Man at the Cross-roads"

I once read a mention by CS Lewis of one of the history books used in Ambleside's early curriculum, Henrietta Marshall's Our Island Story:

I think it is possible to be strengthened by the image of the past without being either deceived or puffed up. The image becomes dangerous in the precise degree to which it is mistaken, or substituted, for serious and systematic historical study. The stories are best when they are handed on and accepted as stories. I do not mean by this that they should be handed on as mere fictions (some of them are after all true).

But the emphasis should be on the tale as such, on the picture which fires the imagination, the example that strengthens the will. The schoolboy who hears them should dimly feel - though of course he cannot put into words - that he is hearing saga. Let him be thrilled - preferably "out of school" - by the "Deeds that won the Empire"; but the less we mix this up with his "history lessons" or mistake it for a serious analysis - worse still, a justification - of imperial policy, the better.

When I was a child I had a book full of coloured pictures called Our Island Story. That title has always seemed to me to strike exactly the right note. The book did not look at all like a text-book either. What does seem to me poisonous, what breeds a type of patriotism that is pernicious if it lasts but not likely to last long in an educated adult, is the perfectly serious indoctrination of the young in knowably false or baised history - the heroic legend drably disguised as text-book fact.
I thought that was interesting.

The point, I think, is that when history is taught through narrative, through Story, it becomes personal and elevates one's thinking. One doesn't think of it as straight objective fact, though one draws a general sense of how things are from it. Whereas when propaganda is taught in standard textbook form, taught as plain fact, it can lead to a narrow parochialism that pretends to be patriotism, or to cynicism when the child grows up and realizes things aren't really that way.

Though CS Lewis assumed that books like this wouldn't be used for actual history lessons, I wonder what he would have thought of Charlotte Mason's PNEU if he had been acquainted with it. I know he rather disliked school the way it was done to him, though he got a lot out of his relationship with his tutor, a Scottish skeptic who Lewis called the Great Knock, who questioned almost everything.

Lewis was an admirer of GK Chesterton though, and his thoughts on patriotism and its attribuest had some overlaps with Chesterton's (scroll down) .

Chesterton's wife, Frances Blogg, worked as the Secretary at PNEU (editing notes, for one thing, writing articles, giving talks and so on) before her marriage to GKC (scroll down). It looks like Chesterton spoke at least once at a PNEU meeting, according to this biography written by Maisie Ward:

Gilbert.... speaks for the Richmond and Kew branch of the P.N.E.U. on "The Romantic Element in Morality"
I couldn't find that talk or any version of it online, to my regret but this is nice.

To a Christian existence is a story, which may end up in any way. In a thrilling novel (that purely Christian product) the hero is not eaten by cannibals; but it is essential to the existence of the thrill that he might be eaten by cannibals. The hero must (so to speak) be an eatable hero. So Christian morals have always said to the man, not that he would lose his soul, but that he must take care that he didn't....

All Christianity concentrates on the man at the cross-roads. The vast and shallow philosophies, the huge syntheses of humbug, all talk about ages and evolution and ultimate developments. The true philosophy is concerned with the instant. Will a man take this road or that?--that is the only thing to think about, if you enjoy thinking. The aeons are easy enough to think about, any one can think about them. The instant is really awful: and it is because our religion has intensely felt the instant, that it has in literature dealt much with battle and in theology dealt much with hell. It is full of danger, like a boy's book: it is at an immortal crisis.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

the present substance of what is yet to come

One thing that I've noticed in excellent fiction but especially in life is that the little, hidden things sometimes turn out to be the most significant. They were there all the time, but reveal their crucial nature in the final scenes. Gandalf talks about that a bit in Lord of the Rings -- that the little hobbits in their Shire have some qualities, homely and small as they are, that affect the course of kingdoms. Chesterton talks about it too -- how in Judea in the Roman Empire, while so many important wars and political things were taking place, a little child was born in a stable.

I think of the Pope's Spe Salvi:

(God)has already communicated to us the “substance” of things to come, and thus the expectation of God acquires a new certainty.....

It is the expectation of things to come from the perspective of a present that is already given.

Somewhere in my closet I have a picture of Aidan a few months after his transplant. He was maybe nine months old but hardly even using his hands yet because he was still so weak. This dragon on the left was a favorite toy of his and we would watch him struggle mightily with the recalcitrant creature. Sometimes the dragon would overwhelm him and land on his face in spite of his best efforts. At other times, he would prevail, his small unaccustomed hands in a grapple hold around the serpent's throat, pushing it away.

We thought then that his struggles were a sort of icon, especially since his middle name is Michael and in light of his "battle scars" all over his body from all the surgeries, all the marks of what he had gone through. His struggles with the stuffed dragon were charming and amusing, but they were also awe-inspiring for those very reasons.

Chesterton said of that event in the cave in Bethlehem:

the hands that had made the sun and stars were too small to reach the huge heads of the cattle.
This wounded child of ours who was willing to heroically engage in battle to subdue a soft toy was greater than the machines that supported his life, greater than his physical body: indispensable, invaluable, eternal, whatever sickness or injury befell him.

There are so many hidden struggles going on, so many victories already won but yet to show their ramifications; so many things that seem slight and trivial but are not; so many puzzling sorrows; someday they will be made clear. So many things that I only see from the knotted side right now will eventually show themselves in their true colors and patterns. The story's loose ends will come together.

Monday, February 02, 2009

not too bad for a convert

I got 18 out of 20 right on this So You Call Yourself a Catholic.

(HT: Infused Knowledge)

Some call it the pop quiz from hell. You are about to find out if you know as much about your faith as you claim to know. Take it from me: Your ego will suffer. But don’t fall into despair. Most Catholics (including some priests) will answer a majority of these questions incorrectly.

...To save you acute embarrassment this quiz will not be turned in. It is for your enlightenment—and amusement—only. In fact, I suggest you take the quiz in private so no one else will know the truth about the state of your Catholic knowledge. If you do well, you can brag later.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Sad News -- Richard John Neuhas

Father Richard John Neuhaus died today. He was born a Lutheran and converted to Catholicism at the age of 55. He was confirmed as a Catholic September 8, 1990, and ordained a Catholic priest a year later by Cardinal O'Connor. I remember this in particular because I had been confirmed as a Catholic earlier that same year; the magazine First Things that he founded was a great influence on me in those early years after conversion.

Some of Fr. Neuhaus's writings online are here.

He came very close to death once before, and in 2002 wrote a book about it called As I Lay Dying which I read a couple of years ago on the recommendation of Lissla.

First Things article:

Our great, good friend is gone.

Fr. Richard John Neuhaus slipped away today, January 8, shortly before 10 o’clock, at the age of seventy-two.
From an essay originally published in First Things in 2000 "Born Towards Dying."

We are born to die. Not that death is the purpose of our being born, but we are born toward death, and in each of our lives the work of dying is already underway. The work of dying well is, in largest part, the work of living well....Death is the warp and woof of existence in the ordinary, the quotidian, the way things are. It is the horizon against which we get up in the morning and go to bed at night, and the next morning we awake to find the horizon has drawn closer.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Otium Sanctam

I was thinking yesterday that holidays, health crises, poverty and homeschooling (particularly unschooling, I was thinking) all have something in common. They all show in some ways how few things that we THINK are needful, truly are.

This occurred to me yesterday when I was regretting that the holidays have to end and my husband said, "Why DO they?" He was not seriously proposing that we keep up our holiday schedule forever, but it did raise an interesting question.

Then later on I thought that it was the same thing, a bit, with health issues. There was, of course, a time in this family when the baby was in the hospital for several months and gravely ill. A couple of years before that, there was a time when I was on bedrest for a couple of months while pregnant, and then after the baby's birth, very shaky in health for a couple of months after.

Somehow life went on in all its important aspects, during these times. The kids even got educated. This is what brought homeschooling to my mind as another comparative, and particularly unschooling. Before starting homeschooling, you often get feedback along the lines of "how can a mom give a child the education to prepare him for life in the world, an education equivalent to the expensive, expert one he can get at school?" And if you try to do some sort of unschooling, you sometimes get the same type of response: "Don't you HAVE to assign this or that so that the child will actually learn it?" In the particulars, that is almost always not universally true. Let me try to say that more clearly -- for any particular: "Your child will not learn Shakespeare -- or math -- or religious doctrine -- or self-discipline if you unschool" -- you can find counter-examples, often in your own home. And if you homeschool long enough, you usually find that some of the "have-to's" weren't really necessary after all. You don't HAVE to have a government-funded student lab, a high school math teacher, etc. Such things are nice sometimes, but not needful.

You can see the connection with poverty. I wish I could find the blog post I just recently read -- or maybe it was somewhere else online. Anyway, it was about something I've noticed too, that lacking things often encourages creativity and resourcefulness. I found this out by experience when we dropped down in income level, and before that, when we moved to a small San Francisco apartment to be closer to our baby who was in the hospital. We didn't have most of our "stuff" but somehow we didn't lack; we made do.

At the hospital pediatric floor you see this very strongly. You meet people who live in trailer parks and you meet Muslim millionaires (seriously, you do, in UCSF because a lot of Middle Easterners come there when the child's health complication is out of the local reach). You meet authors and typical soccer moms. They are living there without a lot of things you would ordinarily consider quite important, like a real bed ;-).

I am talking about "ordinary" privations of wealth and health, of course, the kinds I've experienced here in comfortable America, not the horrible ones in war and famine-torn countries. I can't really speak for those situations, since I've never come close; however, the principle probably does apply in some ways.

And finally, there is the contemplative religious life, which shares something of poverty and something of "leisure" -- the essence of a holiday, which means "holy day". Leisure isn't the same as recreation, remember; it's something different. Leisure means doing something which is valuable for itself, which can be "enjoyed" in itself and not in pursuit of something else. ... it relates to "holy" which etymologically means "set apart"; the Church Fathers spoke of "otium sanctam", "holy leisure". That is what I think we hate to see slip away when the vacation is over. We actually kept quite busy during this holiday, in a sense, but it wasn't a "getting things done" type of busy-ness; it was more about doing things that had rewards in themselves. I won't say it was "holy" in the deeper spiritual sense because it would be hard to say that we were being holy sitting in front of the fire with our feet up talking about some interesting philosophical question, or whatever -- but it was a "set apart" time, and partook of leisure, and it was certainly affirmative of holiness in the more specific spiritual sense.

I'm talking about the ways a life can be pared way back from the "have to's" and still retain all that is really important. But I'm not saying that the extras are bad because I don't think so at all; I think they are usually very good in themselves. I'm not saying, either, at least not here, that a life of either perpetual holiday or poverty would be a perfect life (though I do think no life can be perfect without an underpinning of poverty and "otium sanctam"). I am just saying that like Martha in the Bible, whom I often think of, we can get bewitched and attracted to "the many things" that seem so important to do. They're often not even FUN things, as her story shows. We can start coveting "Have To's" in a way I've felt, and which isn't often expressed, as a sort of validation or permission to be troubled and anxious. "I have to get my child exposed to this or that so he will be better educated.... I have to buy this curriculum or take him to that activitiy." This permission to oneself to be "troubled and anxious" is an odd thing, but it is quite common, judging from my own experience. The corollary of this can be that we feel deprived and futile if we are not bustling around importantly.

Yesterday I was reading a Winnie the Pooh story to Paddy and Pooh and Piglet go to visit Rabbit. When Rabbit asks why they have come, they tell Rabbit it was to wish him a "Happy Thursday" and he says, "Oh, is that all. I thought it was something Important."

Later Pooh says that Rabbit has a Big Brain and is very Intelligent, and that is why he doesn't seem to understand anything.

The bigger point is that it's easy to get caught up in the complications of things -- I do it a lot with homeschooling -- and forget that the essence of the thing is probably quite simple. The medievals saw this excessive focus on activity and supposed "Important Things" as a form of sloth or accedie, as a way of limiting real understanding.

Friday, January 02, 2009

a couple of notes on earlier posts

Martin Cothran made a comment on yesterday's post, pointing out very kindly that in Traditional Logic II, he didn't call Descartes' "cogito ergo sum" a fallacy, but an enthymeme. I made a edit to correct on the post itself, but I thought I should echo that in this post just in case anyone read my last one and walked away with the impression that Traditional Logic contained the statement that Cogito ergo Sum was a fallacy. It does not say that. It was my mistake.

Though I feel regretful that I wrote something inadvertently misleading, and resolve to be more careful in future (cast loose that blanket and brave the curriculum closet to check my facts), I am kind of glad it was a mistake because I had been afraid there was something I was missing about how syllogisms work.

(By the way I really like the Memoria Press Logic series -- they were remarkably successful with my second son in particular -- logic is still one of his favorite subjects).

Here is the relevant section in Traditional Logic 2, Chapter 6, p 54 of my edition on Cogito Ergo Sum:

"One of the most discussed issues in the history of thought is that concerning the foundation of knowledge. How do we know anything? To this question, Rene Descartes, a 17th century philosopher, answered, I know at least this: that I think. And if I think, then I must exist.

Descartes is considered to mark the transition from the Middle Ages to the "modern" world. Yet Descartes' ideas were founded on ideas much older than himself. In fact, the argument we study here, sometimes known simply as "the cogito"..... was thought of long before .... Aristotle, who wrote about 2,000 years before the birth of Descartes, is quoted by St Thomas Aquinas (a 13th century philospher) saying, "We sense that we sense, and we understand that we understand; and because we sense this, we understand that we exist."."

While I'm commenting on my earlier posts and the comments they received, I wanted to mention Sloth's gnawing little teeth. Stephanie commented:

What if we understand that to mean that enjoyment of things is the opposite of duty? That's wrong-headed, it seems to me. ..Instead, what if we enjoy things that are ours to do? What if we do them, not "because" we enjoy them, but because they are what we are good at?.....
Prioritizing by way of enjoyment only is not right, obviously. But prioritizing away from enjoyment? That seems just as wrong. Does that make sense?
This is very true. The Catechism says:

The virtuous person tends toward the good with all his sensory and spiritual powers; he pursues the good and chooses it in concrete actions. Human virtues are firm attitudes, stable dispositions, habitual perfections of intellect and will that govern our actions, order our passions, and guide our conduct according to reason and faith. They make possible ease, self-mastery, and joy in leading a morally good life. The virtuous man is he who freely practices the good.

The way I understand it, given that virtue is a good in itself, it ideally ought to be delightful. Because it sometimes isn't, given our fallen nature, because we are sometimes reluctant to do what is best, there are prescriptions like Msgr Knox's for discerning and remedying that reluctance. But it doesn't follow that choosing the most horrible option is a virtue in itself. It is a sort of discipline that may be necessary or advisable in certain circumstances, but it's a means to an end, not an end in itself.

Kant, from what I am straining to understand, thought that virtue is merely "duty",and correspondingly thought joy, Aristotle's eudaimonia which Aquinas took onto a Christian plane, was a sort of chimaera. This is different than the Catholic point of view, which says that joy and virtue are closely related in themselves, though in our fallen state, doing good things sometimes involves effort which is distasteful to our weakened human natures.

Clare just showed up dressed in a black coat and hat, brown skirt, paddock boots and with a basket of flowers in her hands, singing quietly

All I want is a room somewhere/ Far away from the cold night air..

From that perhaps you can guess that while Liam is here, we are going to do another play reading, continuing Pygmalion which we started last time.

gratuitous New Year's family photo -- the big boys are watching the sparkly ball come down in New York, while Paddy is watching Kevin open a bottle of champagne (it fizzled -- the cork disintegrated, so no POP).

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Cosmological Credo

A bit more about that semi-Cartesian Credo I mentioned. Right after I wrote it out I found a relevant section in the book I have been reading called History of Western Philosophy: Kant and the Nineteenth Century. This book was another dime sale find that seemed to be dropped on the moveable library bookshelf just for me. At Amazon it costs $65 new!

The book is definitely hard going, and Kant is not easy to understand, so I probably will have trouble summarizing it clearly, and will have to rely on vague language as a sort of smokescreen.

One of Aquinas's arguments or proofs for the existence of God is that of the "First Cause".

Motion, i.e. the passing from power to act, as it takes place in the universe implies a first unmoved Mover (primum movens immobile), who is God; else we should postulate an infinite series of movers, which is inconceivable.

For the same reason efficient causes, as we see them operating in this world, imply the existence of a First Cause that is uncaused, i.e. that possesses in itself the sufficient reason for its existence; and this is God.
Hume opposed both the idea of "cause" in itself .... that one thing was actually "caused" by another, or at least, that our minds could know them to be.

From what I understand, Kant thought that all our thinking was either "a posteriori" (conclusions drawn from empirical experience) or "a priori" (intuitions that made thinking about empirical experience possible in the first place). So he thought that notions of time and space were "a priori". They weren't gained by experience per se, but were the mental pre-conditions that made it possible to make mental order of experience to start with.

So he did not think there was any way our minds could come to the notion of a First Cause, because a first cause by definition is outside of "a posteriori" experience and so it is over-applying particulars and in particular, extending a "category" out to where it couldn't apply.

The way I understand it, if you assume that every result has a cause, you have two choices:

  • An infinite retrograde of causes.
  • Some First Cause that put everything else in motion.

But thinkers like Hume wouldn't propose that every effect has a cause, even, or at least, that our minds are able to propose that with any kind of certainty. I don't understand that one very well yet. Certainly it is a difficult mental stretch to think that way.

Kant thought of "cause" as a way of thinking rather than a reflection of reality per se and in that way, he thought that our minds simply could not come to a knowledge of these things outside the sphere of a posteriori knowledge (knowledge derived from experience). This didn't rule out the existence of God for him, by the way -- he had proofs of his own, which are sort of weak.

Anyway, from childhood without knowing anything about Aquinas I'd always just assumed that given that reality DID exist, that there couldn't be an infinite retrograde of causes or motions. Something had to have started it all. I guess that wasn't a given though to the Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment fallacies. It was easy for me to jump from the reality of my consciousness to some kind of originator of my existence. Kant thought that this skipped several steps. But all the same, it isn't a ridiculous assumption, given that the alternative leads to lots of problems. The possibility of infinite retrograde seems to confuse physics with metaphysics in a way that a First Cause does not.

Jacques Maritain, a post-Kantian Thomist scholar, thought that Kant's thinking was a form of nominalism. He held that "the critique of knowledge is part of metaphysics" which puts into words something that has bugged me about Kant's reasoning. But now I am really getting over my head.

Also, in Traditional Logic Martin Cothran says that Descartes "Cogito ergo sum" is a formal fallacy. I don't remember exactly why that would be, and it is too cold in the house to get out of my blanket and rummage around in my curriculum closet. Certainly it is an enthymeme lacking a minor premise. I would frame the syllogism this way, and certainly this was my own mental process as a teenager:

  • I have consciousness.
  • To have consciousness is to exist.
  • Therefore, I exist.

It looks OK formally. Or am I wrong about that? Anyone?

(ETA that Martin Cothran didn't actually call "cogito ergo sum" a fallacy, and he points it out very kindly in a comment on this post; he actually did call it an enthymeme; and it's in Chapter 6 of TL 2 under enthymemes. Next time I will definitely drag myself to my bookshelf to check before I make a statement like that).

That clicking sound is my statcounter reader count dropping down next to zero, I am sure. Mental wrestling is a boring spectator sport. That reminds me of an idea my husband used to propose to amuse himself..... Game Programming Olympics. Two or more game designers would go head to head, duct-taped glasses perched on nose and plastic pocket protectors in place, fueled with vending machine Snickers and Big Gulps, and ... they would program. There could be a commentator, and a thrilling soundtrack.... like the Rocky theme song, Come and Fly Now or Thus Spake Zarusthusa. Everyone would turn on their TVs to watch. Yep!

There's a bit more about the Cosmological Argument, here. I used it a bit to help my rephrasing but any mistakes in accuracy are mine, not Stanford's, I'm sure.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

cogito ergo credo


(a roundabout attempt at starting to talk about my conversion -- weren't you just waiting ? : ))

This happened when I was just turned 18. The year before that, we had been living near Geneva, Switzerland, and I had graduated from an international school there. When we moved back to Anchorage, Alaska, rather than go right off to college out of state, I stayed home for a year and attended the local university part time.

I think my father must have driven me to university in the morning on his way to work, but on the way home I usually walked. Anchorage is a rather plain, frontier-looking city surrounded by austere and awesome natural beauty. It is rimmed by mountains -- the "smaller" deep blue Chugach range, which still contains mountains up to 13, 000 feet and the distant, almost unreal Alaska range, in shades of white, of which Mt Denali is the tallest among the tall, at over 20,000 feet. The trees are mostly thin silver birch, limned in black, and meagre spruce. But the landscape is dominated by those mountains, like icons of duration, set off by the ever-shifting clouds which sometimes hide the distant mountains and sometimes set them off in a cold glow. Walking home, I was washed in pale, delicate colors of sky and mountain and vegetation.

The distance was two or three miles. As I walked, I would imagine tales of journeys and adventure and danger. But I would also think and think. I'm not sure exactly how it came about, but what I often thought about was ontology and epistemology, though I did not call it those to myself.

I had never stopped believing in God in the experiential sense, but I had brought the intellectual question "Whether God exists" into the forefront of my mind during the difficult high school years, when classmates were living lives obviously separate from God, and the youth group at my church seemed silly and patronizing, and I had made some choices in life that had disappointed me in my own ability to live well. I was also reading Boswell and Alexander Pope and other Enlightenment authors at the time, taking advantage of the treasure-stocked university library (when in Europe, it had been a challenge to find a supply of books that were written in English). Though most of these readings did not talk philosophy -- mostly I liked the way they slammed each other in print, even in heroic couplets -- I suppose I breathed in some of the air of rationalism and skepticism that those people of the late 18th century breathed.

So... did God exist?

And consequently, as I walked, I began to speculate whether anything existed at all. Sure, I experienced it. But how, really, could I be sure I was experiencing a reality that was outside of myself. How could I be sure that what I perceived through my senses was accurate?

From what I have found out since, I was repeating Descartes' thought experiment, though I did not know it.

But I have convinced myself that there is absolutely nothing in the world, no sky, no earth, no minds, no bodies. Does it now follow that I too do not exist? No. If I convinced myself of something [or thought anything at all] then I certainly existed.

I had not convinced myself that there was nothing else besides myself, as he says he did. But I perceived that there was no way to know for sure by starting from inside oneself, and yet, to frame a skeptical question, there seemed no other way to start.

This idea took hold of my imagination. When I got home from the walk, I would touch the piano. It was glossy and solid. It felt real. But did that matter? What was there of necessity that said that what felt or "seemed" a certain way actually WAS that way? What did "real" mean anyway? Was it just a provisionary word we use to accept and deal with our conceptual understandings, which might or might not actually approximate to true?

The only thing I could be sure of, as Descartes says, is that my consciousness existed. I knew that without question because it was barraging me every minute with mental and sensory input. Even in sleep, it was there in some form. Sleep was not a break in consciousness so much as a different state. So I felt that in order to ask the question, "What is the nature of everything?" I had at least to have the mental apparatus to ask questions. That was a starting point.

I also knew that I, my consciousness, had a beginning somewhere in time. There was a time when my consciousness did not exist as I knew it now. In fact, I could remember almost precisely when it started, sometime after babyhood.

(I don't remember ever speculating explicitly whether the passage of time, too, could be illusion. But certainly the speculation was there implicitly, as it almost had to be),

Still, whether or not my notion of time proceeding in consciousness was illusory, I was quite sure I had not self-originated. My consciousness did not include an act of self-creation. Nor did these sensory perceptions seem to come wholesale from myself.

There had to be something from whence I had originated. .... at least one other Being in the universe besides me, who was responsible for my existence.

(I did not really consider a "Force" as a possible cause of my existence, at least not as an ultimate cause, because I figured that "forces" are not existent in themselves, and they are not agents except in a secondary way, at least the way the apparent world was set up. It had to be in some sense a Person, as I saw it).

Person was necessarily a vague concept at this point in my thinking. So to posit a God did not necessarily mean it had to be the Christian God. (I did not consider the Greek gods a possibility, or any pantheistic system, because that only pushes the agency question back a notch. Nor did I seriously consider the good/evil dual deities, for the same reason. So I did figure it was One God).

If there was a God, and this seemed surer to me than anything except my own consciousness.... was He what you would call a "good" God?

As I walked daily through the pale light I felt the sky almost looming over me like an immense bright bulk of ether. Sometimes I felt like it was just me, my consciousness, and this Presence. Was He good? Why ought He to be?

In some ways, I realized rather painfully, it was a bit of a moot point. Good or not, He WAS and if He Was, He was primary, He had to be, because I wasn't the primary myself. I couldn't really call a referendum on Him. By definition, this is a frivolous effort UNLESS He is good. If He is a tyrant, I was in His universe..... it was His rules. How would I have the wherewithal to critique Him? Surely as Generator He would have ruled out that possibility from the start, except as a sort of cruel mockery. Mockery or not, it would be worth nothing, this moral sense, if it were installed by a deceptive God. I could not use it as a compass or a condemnation. It would not be "real" any more than anything else.

I am not talking about cowardly submission here. I am talking about intellectual coherence. .... the creature, strictly speaking, is incapable of critiquing the creator. The power we have to critique anything comes from holding a larger standard than what is held by the object of our criticism. One has to step outside of the situation to critique, and by definition this would be impossible IF He were a tyrant and at the same time the Primary Agent.

Realizing this helped me past a certain childishness that many, not least myself, are subject to. I read a lot of atheists and agnostics who say something to the effect that "If God is there, He is not good, so I will have nothing to do with Him." This makes a certain emotional sense, but it does not make rational sense. It is like Jonah. It is basically putting God into a subsection of one's rational framework, which is impossible if He is really God. On the other hand, it is consistent for a Christian to "critique" God in a certain sense, because they believe in a God who has given them the wherewithal to do so.

Descartes writes:

The fact that an atheist can be “clearly aware [clare cognoscere] that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles” is something I do not dispute. But I maintain that this awareness [cognitionem] of his is not true knowledge [scientiam], since no act of awareness [cognitio] that can be rendered doubtful seems fit to be called knowledge [scientia]. Now since we are supposing that this individual is an atheist, he cannot be certain that he is not being deceived on matters which seem to him to be very evident (as I fully explained).
.....
Thus I see plainly that the certainty and truth of all knowledge [scientiae] depends uniquely on my awareness of the true God, to such an extent that I was incapable of perfect knowledge [perfecte scire] about anything else until I became aware of him.

This was basically my thought process. It is true that I had by definition no outside referendum as to whether my senses could be trusted, or in that sense whether God could be trusted. Neither did I really have much doubt. I was speculating this way because I had imbibed skepticism as a possible response to the world -- from the atmosphere of my high school and from reading --- and I wanted to follow out the skeptical logic to its ultimate conclusions. I wanted to give it a fair shake and see if it could be a viable way of seeing the world.

Looking around at the evidence of my consciousness, at the delicate silver birches that were rough on the edges and silky in the bark, at those mountains that seemed to make white into a spectrum of color, at the warm home waiting for me at the end of the walk, I could not propose to myself that this was completely a deception by an Evil Genius. Why would He bother, for one thing? Sure, there were bad things too..... if I went up to those mountains I would probably perish in short order from hypothermia, and that would be the end of my consciousness. That did not take away though from the goodness of the thing in itself. It seemed to me that whereas good can have a shadow of "not good" in some of its contingent effects, that it was difficult to conceive that "good" could generate out of bad, of its own, any more than that "something" could come out of nothing of its own.

Part of my "case" that God was good was that He had to be; "had to be" in the sense that I had to presume He was so in order to trust the evidence of my senses and even to trust my own moral sense that made judgments about good and bad in the first place.

As Aristotle writes:

But if life itself is good and pleasant (...) and if one who sees is conscious that he sees, one who hears that he hears, one who walks that he walks and similarly for all the other human activities there is a faculty that is conscious of their exercise, so that whenever we perceive, we are conscious that we perceive, and whenever we think, we are conscious that we think, and to be conscious that we are perceiving or thinking is to be conscious that we exist... (Nicomachean Ethics, 1170a25 ff.)

So I remember sitting down near the piano with the lamp on it and realizing I had a choice.

I didn't really have a choice whether to believe in God or not. The way my intellect had presented it, there was no choice. "I have consciousness, and a stream of apparent sensory impressions, and I did not generate those myself." Therefore, there was Someone Else.

My choices were:

  • A deceiver God -- who gave me sensory impressions that were illusory, perhaps even wrenched around my thought processes so they were deceptive and warped (whatever that would mean, in an illusory world created by a tyrant).
  • A trustworthy God, who did as it seemed He had done -- made an objective world, put me in it as the child of a family, with a unique consciousness of my own, along with other people who as they seemed to me had unique consciousnesses of their own, and bestowed me a reasoning process that could help me make sense of the created universe, etc.
"Bad God" and "Good God" could not be the choices, yet, because remember, my moral sense without divine trustworthiness was a meaningless artifact. The choices were between delusive subjectivity and an objective reality, though perceived subjectively. Later, when I decided on "trustworthiness", I could decide on "good" by using the evidence of my senses and my reasoning process.

In some ways, I saw as Descartes said, that the atheist or deceiver thesis is a life-and thought-stopper. People walk around still, either denying the existence of God or saying He must be a bad God, but that is, it seems to me, because they have been preserved in a cheerful state of relative innocence and trust.

There is also the agnostic thesis. .... an "as if" acceptance of the material cosmos at face value. "I have no way of really knowing anything beyond the appearances of my senses, so I will assume that those appearances are reflective of some sort of reality and I will trust in them, and only in them". This did not seem satisfying to me because it hardly answered any of my questions, only set them aside.


Descartes writes:

All these considerations are enough to establish that it is not reliable judgement but merely some blind impulse that has made me believe up till now that there exist things distinct from myself which transmit to me ideas or images of themselves through the sense organs or in some other way. (Med. 3, AT 7:39-40)
In the end, I decided that of the two choices, though in one sense I had no way of having complete certainty, that the "trustworthy God who created a trustworthy universe that could be understood to some extent by a human intellect" thesis was much more workable than the alternatives. It came down to choosing the road to intellectual and material life. It "felt" like somewhat of a leap of faith. At the same time, it seemed that it was the only rational choice.

I do not say that every person has to go through this mental process in his or her life, nor do I think I got into it as deeply as another person could have. But I do think it's difficult to raise the skeptical question and NOT go through this mental process or something similar, IF one isn't simply skimming over the surface of life. A lot of the modern philosophers have dealt in one way or another with this question of whether anything can be known. It seems to a scientist, perhaps, who happens to be a strict materialist, that it is silly to go off on these side paths when after all the universe is all around to be experienced. In one way, it IS a side path. Many solid Theists would share with the materialists this robust sense that the question is not really a matter necessary to pursue. On the other hand, skepticism by its very nature makes these questions relevant, even pressing, for a rational mind... it unavoidably, even if implicitly, raises these questions, in a way theism does not.

A couple of notes:

In this post, I am trying to lay out my own thought processes that I went through quite a long time ago. So for instance, I'm aware that Cartesian philosophy is much more complex and to Catholics, more arguable, than it appears in this -- I am describing my teenage thought processes, so there is much that is sketched or incomplete because they were not issues in my mind at the time.

Also, I am vaguely aware that Kant addressed the "First Cause" and that basically real skepticism such as Hume's disallows the possibility of coming to universal principles from empirical experience. I am leaving all that aside completely, as well, because these weren't concerns of mine (and really still aren't, except in a theoretical way).

Monday, December 29, 2008

sloth's gnawing little teeth

A good friend gave me Fr Ronald Knox's book Pastoral and Occasional Sermons last year. I was reading it yesterday, specifically a couple of homilies on Cardinal Newman. While I was googling today to see if I could find them online, I found this (HT: Infused Knowledge):

To-day, we have substituted the word "sloth"; a failing from which we all suffer, and one which none of us ever admits. I think the best way of examining your conscience, if you want to discover whether you are an idle man, is to leave on one side all the things which interest you and concentrate on some side-line of your daily habits which doesn't interest you....

Idleness, with most of us, doesn't mean lying in bed and doing nothing; it means giving priority, always, to the things which interest us, and leaving our other duties to queue up and take their turn, if they ever get a turn. Watch idleness; it can become a sort of creeping paralysis.

Ouch. So, then, I am definitely an idle man...... in the generic use of the noun. Anyway, though it bit me quite sharply, I am glad to have made acquaintance with it. Not that I need to make acquaintance with the thing itself, I know it quite well already, but having it described so clearly will help me keep a lookout for the nasty creature's appearance and put a jar over it and get it out of my interior castle quickly, with the help of God's grace of course; because on my own I would take the little thing in and it would be like the fox in the tunic of the Spartan boy and gnaw at my vitals until I died.

Sloth is also known as acedia, of course, and Kathleen Norris, in Acedia and Me, uses the task of the miller's daughter in Rumpelstiltskin as a metaphor. The remedy for sloth is to spin straw into gold, or rather, to take the dreary repetition of daily life, confront it, and make it into gold.