Category Archives: Deep Thoughts

On Being a Mish-Mosh

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This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

There’s something I was trying to get at in my last post in this series, and simply didn’t. And that is that many parts of our lives are a mish-mosh of the good and the bad, the moral and the immoral, of virtue and vice—and might rate highly on the good scale when looked at one way while being a pit of sin when looked at another way.

Consider a couple living in a committed relationship without benefit of marriage. (I’m unconcerned at this point with whether the relationship is same-sex or not; I’m also unconcerned at this point with whether the couple are Christians or not.) The point is that sex is going on outside of marriage, which is fornication according to the Church, and is a sin. From the sexual morality point of view, this is a bad thing. Fornication is a sin, and sin is bad both for society and for the people involved. (I don’t intend to argue that point here; that would be a separate series of posts.)

But on the other hand…suppose that these two people have been learning to love each other unselfishly, to sacrifice for each other. The sexual aspect of the relationship is sinful…and the yet the relationship is a vehicle for moral and spiritual growth. It might, in fact, represent a high-water-mark in their loves, morally speaking. There is sin in it, and yet it is the best thing that has ever happened to them, both subjectively and objectively speaking. I don’t think that it is unreasonable or wrong to say that God is using the relationship to bring the two people closer to Himself.

I don’t think that this scenario is at all unlikely; in fact, I think it likely that it’s going on all over the place.

Am I trying to “bless” their sin in some way? No, not at all. Sin is sin, and it remains sin. But I’ve noticed that in my life, God seems to deal with one kind of sin at a time. He doesn’t try to clean up the mess all at once; he deals with one room at a time. I suspect this is often the case.

When I look at other people, I often see messes in need of being cleaned up. But there are some things to remember about that:

  • The mess that I see might not be the mess that’s most critical.
  • The mess that I see might not be quite what I think it is.
  • The mess that I see is quite likely none of my business.
  • I’ve got messes of my own to clean up.

So I might look at this hypothetical couple and say to myself, “They’re living together; they really ought to either get married or split up.” But from God’s point of view, they might be on the path to redemption. I don’t know. I can’t know. And as C.S. Lewis points out, Aslan tells no one any story but his own.

Which brings me back to the point I was making in my last post. We need to love what is good, and we mustn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.

So what is my responsibility to this hypothetical couple? Difficult question. It certainly depends on what my relationship to them is. But I think that will have to be another post.

On Loving what is Good

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This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

I want to pause a moment, and go back to Leah Libresco’s blog post that kicked off this set of reflections. She says,

There are a lot of out, queer people in relationships, raising children, or hoping very much to wind up in one or both of those categories. Pro-traditional marriage movements are a threat to their relationships with the people they love most.

Leah suggests that when we oppose same-sex marriage, we are in effect asking these people to leave their partners; that we are saying that they should break up with people who love them, for their own good. Or, perhaps, she is saying that that’s what people in committed same-sex relationships hear us saying. In essence, we appear to be saying, “This relationship in which you have found love and joy—it’s bad. There’s nothing good about it. The love and joy you’ve found: it’s an illusion. We reject it, and you should, too.”

It struck me when I read Leah’s post, and I continue to think, that this extreme point of view is indefensible. It might be what “queer people in relationships” hear; and it might be what some of us do in fact think. And it might be true in certain cases; some relationships are simply toxic for one or both partners.

But consider two people who have made a commitment to each other, who have agreed to support each other through thick and thin, who have taken on the commitment of raising children as best they know how, who are practicing patience, loyalty, forgiveness, charity towards each other: is there nothing there that is good?

Is there sin in such a relationship? Surely, because there is sin in every human being we meet, and hence in every relationship. But there can be great goodness as well. We need to recognize that, and we need to love what is good.

Are there moral issues involved with same-sex marriage? Certainly there are (for the record, my views on sexual morality can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church). It must be difficult for a same-sex couple approaching the Church to put aside those aspects of their relationship. But that is not to say that everything must be put aside. It may be necessary to make changes, but against charity there is no law.

On Communal Living

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This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

What are families (natural or intentional) for? There are many ways to answer that question; one way is in terms of its effect on individual people. People, of course, are intended for God; our task in this life is to allow God to so mold us that we will be ready to enjoy spending eternity with him. To put it another way, we are here to become holy; and we should look at everything in our lives in that light.

So let’s look at families in terms of how well they encourage holiness. This is not the only way to look at them, certainly, but let’s give it a try.

I am not an expert in the Church’s theology of marriage; I’m just this guy, ya know? But I do know that part of the point of marriage-until-death-do-us-part is that it gives us lots of opportunities to forgive, forbear, help out, and in general to live in service to others: to serve Christ in the other members of the family. This applies especially to the parents once children show up, but it is true even of childless couples. It’s a true grace, it seems to me, that God gives to couples and families.

Is this grace restricted to what I’ve called natural families? By no means. As Tim Muldoon pointed out in a comment on my previous post, the Holy Family can be regarded as an intentional family in my terms, at least from St. Joseph’s point of view.

A Benedictine monastery can also be seen as an intentional family in my sense. The monks make a vow of stability: they promise to live in the monastery, with the other monks, for the rest of their lives. And just as in marriage, part of the point is that living with others, warts and all, can be a powerful school of holiness.

As I indicated in my last post, I think life in intentional families is more difficult than in natural families, in that there really are natural bonds of affection between parents and their natural children that don’t exist in, say, a monastery. And because of that, I think you could make a case that an intentional family can be an even more powerful school of holiness than a natural family: to make it work, you have to put more into it, and so you get more out of it.

That’s just a conjecture on my part, mind you, but it seems likely to me.

As before, I’m speaking of the family, natural or intentional, at its best. It can be a powerful school of holiness; I think it is intended to be; but it’s certainly possible to play hooky from school, especially if you’ve no notion that that’s one of things it is for.

In short, both kinds of family can be a great aid to holiness; and both can completely fail to hit the mark; but it’s probably easier—indeed, more natural—for natural families.

On Natural and Intentional Families

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This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

What I’m trying to do in these posts is figure out just what I think about same-sex marriage, and why. And to get any farther, I find I need to introduce some terminology.

By natural family, I mean what we usually think of when we use the word: a father, a mother, and their natural offspring, the fruit of their own two bodies. I’m avoiding the word “biological children”, because I refuse to reduce people to their biology. We are more than that.

By intentional family, I mean a group of people who have chosen to live together in a manner similar to a natural family, adopting the same mutual obligations to one another as you’d find in a natural family. We often see this kind of family in heartwarming movies and TV shows; Lilo and Stitch comes right to mind.

Of course, there are many families that don’t match either notion perfectly. Many natural families are lacking a parent or have one or two members who aren’t truly related, strictly speaking, and I suspect that many intentional families have one or two members that are. And actually, a married man and woman who do not yet have any children fit in both categories.

The primary difference between these two kinds of family is embodied in the old saying, “You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives.” In other words, intentional families are less stable by the very nature of things: my children will always be my children, come what may, but it can take real commitment to avoid dissolving a voluntary relationship.

Please note, I’m speaking about both in their ideal forms. I’m well aware that many natural families are disasters. But you don’t measure the nature of an oak tree by examining immature or blighted samples; you measure the nature of an oak tree by looking for the most healthy, majestic oak you can find.

The point here is that by my lights, a same-sex couple with children is an intentional family. So is a blended family formed of a man and a woman and their children from previous marriages. And so, interestingly, is a monastery of Benedictine monks. In each case, stability is of the essence.

On Coercion

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This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

The first problem with discussing same-sex marriage is political. Which is to say, when I say publicly that I’m for or against something in particular people tend to hear that as a political statement. In particular, they hear me say, “I want to ban such-and-such. I want to punish people who engage in such-and-such. I want to prevent them from engaging in such-and-such. I want to coerce them, if necessary, to make them behave the way I think they should.”

The thing is, I’m hugely skeptical of legislative solutions to moral and social problems; and on top of that I’m far more interested in individuals than I am in social engineering, in conversion of life than in saving the world. And while you can sometimes coerce people to do something, you can’t coerce them to want to do something, and you certainly can’t coerce them to choose to do what is right because it is right.

Jesus pointed out that sin begins in the heart. For a man to look at a woman with lust, he says, is as bad (or nearly so) as it is to act on that lust. Coercion, legislative or otherwise, can only prevent the overt act; it cannot prevent the habit of mind and heart. Consequently, when I say I’m for traditional marriage and against same-sex marriage, I am not primarily speaking about politics or legislation; I’m speaking about sin and its effect on people’s souls.

To take a slightly less contentious example than same-sex marriage, 50 Shades of Gray and its sequels have been the top-selling books at Amazon for weeks. Frankly, I think it’s really sad that a book like this is so popular; it’s a real indictment of our society that you can find them in the book section at Walmart. But banning 50 Shades of Gray won’t make people stop craving such things. Worse than that, pornography is a relative thing; the book that were truly racy in the 1940’s are truly tame now. In that sense, all banning dirty books does is change where the mark is set.

So it’s true to say that I’m anti-pornography. I’d truly like to see books like 50 Shades of Gray off of the bookshelves—but not because they are illegal. I’d like to see them off of the bookshelves because the consumers have chosen (freely, not under any kind of duress) not to buy them: because they, themselves, have rediscovered the virtue of chastity.

Please note (here’s some of that nuance) that I’m not denying that there are reasons to legislate against certain things. But what I want to talk about here is the Christian response to sin in peoples’ lives, sin that is already actual rather than potential. And I simply don’t think that coercion brings people to repentance. There’s a role for social action when dealing with a culture’s besetting sins; but ultimately conversion of life occurs one person at a time…and that’s where the real action is.

Another bit of nuance: I’m speaking about sin in general here. Whether and in what sense same-sex marriage might be sinful is a topic for another post.

On Controversy

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I am not a controversialist. I seem not to have the “happy warrior” gene that animates people like Leah Libresco; she can argue vigorously about deep matters with those that deeply disagree with her without apparently losing charity with them. And then, the few times I’ve tried to give someone else’s post a righteous fisking I’ve always repented of it later. It simply doesn’t seem to be my calling to tell people how wrong they are. So I don’t engage in controversy on other people’s blogs, and I don’t spend my time blogging about the latest scandal.

And then, I tend to avoid blogging about my own views on controversial subjects, for two reasons. First, it attracts controversy, which means I need to tell people who disagree with me why I think they are wrong, and second, I hate being misunderstood, and to avoid being misunderstood on a controversial topic you have to watch absolutely everything you see and be particularly careful to nuance everything properly, which makes me succumb to nuance fatigue before I even get started. And then, of course, people read right past the nuance, and tell you how evil and bigoted you are without taking time to understand what you said.

At least, people don’t usually do that to me, because I’ve already succumbed to nuance fatigue and so haven’t written anything controversial, thus not giving them a target.

However, the afore-mentioned Leah Libresco has written some posts on same-sex marriage recently that have gotten me thinking. I could respond in her comment box; but hey, I’ve got my own blog, and I’d rather do it here, especially since my thoughts are somewhat tangential to the point she was trying to make.

If I say that I support traditional marriage (which I do), or that I oppose same-sex marriage (which I do), I expect to have people tell me that I’m a homophobic anti-gay bigot. Leah doesn’t do that—as a happy warrior, she avoids the ad hominems—but she notes that those living in stable, loving, same-sex relationships are liable to think that I want to break up their families. I don’t, in fact; but I’ve decided that it’s worthwhile for me to work out, in detail, just what I do mean when I say that I support traditional marriage and oppose same-sex marriage, and just what effect I think my views should have (if any!) on said stable, loving, same-sex relationships.

I hesitate to say that I’m starting a series of blog posts, because when I do that I tend to write one or two posts and then never come back to the topic again. On the other hand, there’s a lot more to be said than I can fit into a single post. So what I propose to do (and feel free to hold me to this) is to post a number of reflections, all exploring aspects of the issue, rather than trying to post a connected linear series of arguments. We’ll see how it works out.

A few comments on comments, although it’s probably a waste of time. I welcome comments; however:

  • If you are rude, insulting, abusive, or obscene, your comment will not see the light of day.
  • If you are egregiously off-topic, or try to ride your own hobby-horse rather than my own, I may suppress your comment. If so, I’ll try to tell you why I’ve done so.
  • I especially welcome requests for clarification.
  • I find it hard to express myself about complex matters in the comment box. If your comment requires a lot of thought, I’m more likely to try to work it into a subsequent post than deal with it in place.

Not that I usually get that many comments…but controversial topics seem to bring commenters out of the woodwork.

Aquinas 101

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Aquinas 101, by Francis Selman, is subtitled “A Basic Introduction to the Thought of St. Thomas Aquinas”; and that’s a pretty good description.

Most of the books I’ve read about Thomas have focussed on his philosophy and natural theology, e.g., his proofs for the existence of God and of God’s attributes, as accessible to reason. This one covers that, but then goes on to cover the remainder of his theology as well. It isn’t a long book, only about 200 pages, so the coverage isn’t deep; at least, I found the opening chapters on the existence of God to be rather shallower than other books I’d read. But on the other hand it covers the waterfront, which is a really good start. It helps to study the map before putting on your boots and going for a hike.

So, recommended, with caveats.

Haggling Over The Price

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I don’t usually get political here, but Julie’s right; we have to speak up. She was prompted by the House of Representatives’ rejection of a ban on sex-selection abortions, which stunned her.

Alas, I’m not stunned, shocked, surprised, horrified, or otherwise thrown for a loop. I’m saddened; but not surprised.

It’s wrong to kill a baby just because she’s a girl. But first, it’s wrong to kill a baby. We’ve been killing babies in this country on an industrial scale since the early ’70’s. It’s wrong. It’s evil. Many people in our government are heavily invested in preserving the right to kill babies. So I’m not surprised.

I’m reminded of the story told of Winston Churchill, who asked a society dame whether she’d sleep with him for a million pounds. “You know, Winston, I rather believe I would,” she said. So he asked whether she’d sleep with him for one pound, and she was shocked. “What kind of a woman do you think I am?” she cried.

“We’ve established what you are, madam,” he said. “Now we’re just haggling over the price.”

Trying to ban sex-selection abortion is a good thing, because banning any abortion is a good thing. But at a national level, I fear we’ve established what we are.

Thomas Minus Aristotle

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I’m continuing my slow progress through Etienne Gilson’s The Spirit of Mediaeval Philosophy (slow because I’m mostly reading it while eating lunch at work on those days when I eat by myself) and I’m rather enjoying it. I’m finding it much more accessible than Gilson’s The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, which I attempted a couple of years ago and didn’t get too far with. (To be fair, I think I’d have an easier time with it now than I did then.)

As I commented last week, Gilson is concerned to delineate in exactly how there can be such a thing as a “Christian Philosophy” distinct from theology; and his argument is that there are truths, accessible by philosophical methods, that occurred to Christian philosophers but not to the earlier Greeks purely because they were suggested by Judeo-Christian revelation. The neat thing is that in order to support this claim, Gilson needs to lay out very carefully how scholastic philosophy, and particularly the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, differs from its Greek antecedents.

The result, so far, is fascinating. The books I’ve read previously have generally talked about Thomas and Aristotle at the same time in much the same way. While recognizing that the former received and extended the latter’s thought, they have generally discussed them together, as a unit. And yet there are significant differences.

As an example (and the subject of Gilson’s fourth chapter), Aristotle has the notion of the unmoved mover, the entity ultimately responsible for all motion in the universe. Remember that for Aristotle, “motion” includes all change, including things coming to be and ceasing to be. But for Aristotle, this unmoved mover is simply stirring the pot. The universe has always existed, and new things that come to be are made out of previous things that existed. Most things are in flux, and it’s the unmoved mover that makes that happen. There is no notion of creation in the Christian sense in Aristotle. The unmoved mover is in some sense pure Thought; but it is not (as Thomas would say) Being itself.

In Thomas’ view, and using essentially the same arguments as Aristotle, the unmoved mover becomes the cause, not only of motion, but of being. As Being itself (“I am who am,” as the burning bush tells Moses), the unmoved mover is responsible not only for the changes in things but for their very existence, for the existence of all things other than itself. This is consistent with Aristotle’s understanding; but it goes further and deeper.

In short, Gilson is casting light on both Thomas and Aristotle, and helping me to see both in new ways. I’m curious to see what’s coming next.

The Mystery of Consciousness

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Human consciousness is a mysterious thing. As you read this blog post, you’re thinking about the words, which you’re seeing on the screen. You’re conscious of both the meaning of the words, and of the experience of seeing them. You can feel your chair against your body (if you’re sitting down) and possibly a mouse or keyboard under your hand. Maybe you can hear music and smell dinner cooking.

Consciousness is a problem for the materialist types, because it’s not at all clear how our subjective experience of consciousness arises from the functioning of our brains. As John R. Searle points out in his book The Mystery of Consciousness, it’s clear that consciousness does arise from the workings of our brains, because damage to the brain has just a drastic effect on it. (See, for example, Oliver Sacks’ The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.) But it’s not clear how. Searle is certain that nothing more than brain function is involved; he’s equally certain that none of the currently popular accounts of how it might work actually hold water. In fact, he’s certain that they don’t.

Searle has written a number of books on more or less this topic, I gather; this one looks at both Searle’s views and the views of the proponents of each of the leading accounts of the subject, including where Searle thinks they fall short. The chapter on Daniel Dennett is especially interesting; Dennett thinks that the subjective experience we all have of being conscious is an illusion. We’re simply meat machines who do what we do for reasons that have nothing to do with our conscious thoughts and experiences, which don’t really exist anyway. Searle points out that you can’t experience an illusion without being conscious of the illusion; and regards Dennett’s views as pathological (which in my view they are). Other thinkers that Searle discusses include Francis Crick and Roger Penrose.

In my view, Searle (like so many others, in so many areas of endeavour) is good at seeing the problem, and perhaps not so good at seeing the solution. He’s right, I think, that none of the theories he discusses really get at the problem; the majority of them, in fact, work more or less by denying that consciousness is real. (To which I reply, you might be an unconscious meat-machine, brother, but I’m not.) Others attribute consciousness to anything that deals with information in any form, including thermostats and automobiles.

But I think Searle’s own views are too limited. He claims, many and many a time, that it is simply a biological fact that consciousness arises from brain processes; that it is purely biological in nature. And when discussing consciousness as we experience it, he mingles perception, memory, imagination, and conceptualization all into the same stew; which is to say, he denies the Aristotelian and Thomist distinction between the Sense and the Intellect.

Now, he’s clearly right that the Sense (perception, memory, and imagination) is in some way physically based; animals have Sense, in the Aristotelian meaning of the word. But the Intellect is an aspect of Man’s immortal soul, and dogs haven’t got one of those. But the Sense is a large portion of what he terms “consciousness”, and a good explanation of how the brain plays into it would be interesting, so more power to him. The trouble is, the methods of modern science might not avail to figure even that much of it out. Aristotle recognized four causes, of which I’ve spoken elsewhere; and the methods of science don’t cover all of them. If there are more things in Heaven and on Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, there are even more that are undreamt of by the scientific method.

The book itself is both interesting and entertaining (I found it so, at least); and given that most of the chapters started life as book reviews in the New York Times Review of Books, it’s fairly accessible. Recommended.