It used to be referred to as the horse and sparrow theory, i.e. if a horse was given enough oats, sooner or later some "ended up" in fields or along the road where sparrows could feed on them -- doesn't that sound lovely. But that's basically what trickle-down economics comes down to. Provide the wealthy with enough tax breaks or economic benefits and eventually the effect will trickle down to those on the lower rungs of the social ladder. As one who's worked his entire life for a living, as did my father (we were both business owners, by the way), you'll have to pardon me if I find that offensive.
For one thing, it's just too much like saying, if I devote myself to the care and feeding of a narcissistic parent, some day I'll be glad I did. Oh, please. For another, it's insulting to presume a "trickle" is all those who compose the majority of the American populace are deserving of. Who's making the rules here, anyway? Who decided a person born into a blue-collar family was less worthy of a seat at the socio-economic table than someone else born to wealth or privilege? It's not a good idea to forget history, you know.
It was Paris, the summer of 1789, probably a warm and humid one like we had in Maine this year, when the so-called "benevolent aristocracy" came face to face with destiny. Taxes were inequitable; merchants, tradesmen, and the poor bore the burden while the wealthy lived a life of the rich and famous. The court of Louis XVI had virtually spent the country into bankruptcy and reform was slow in coming. Food was scare and a revolution had taken place in America. The time was ripe for storming the Bastille.
Now, trust me, I'm not sounding the trumpet for revolution and I'm definitely not a member of the Tea Party. Nor, by the way, am I saying there's something wrong with having money. However, I do think it's time to take a look at the underpinnings of trickle-down aka supply-side economics, especially since one of the major presidential candidates seems to think it's the solution to what ails this country. As I see it, trickle-down economics is an outgrowth of an outmoded and substantially mistaken belief that wealth is a sign of moral, intellectual, and cultural superiority. Put another way, personal worth is what distinguishes saints from sinners. Not only is that theologically bogus, it's factually baseless. Crimes are committed by both rich and poor; Louis XVI lost his head making that clear.
Of
all the things we need in this country and God knows, we need a lot, a
repeat performance of trickle-down economics isn't one of them. I don't
know if anyone's noticed lately, but there are a great many of us out
there who are first-generation college, graduate school, and medical
school graduates. Like our parents, we've clawed our way through public
education and worked like demons to establish ourselves as persons of
social, if not yet economic, value. Not because we think that makes us
"better" than anyone else or because we think it qualifies us to stand in judgement of those who've made different choices. We've done so because we believe our efforts create opportunities we and our children might not have had otherwise. Opportunities
to be of service, opportunities to improve the lives of those around us, opportunities to establish justice
and build a world where no one goes hungry or lives in fear of
annihilation. It's not wealth that makes us do this, it's our humanity,
and thank God for it.
(Creative Commons image by David Shankbone via Wikipedia)
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. ~ George Santayana
I don't know that remembering has much to do with it. Human nature being what it is, we seem bent on some things whether they've worked at all, worked only a little, or ended up in disaster. Knowing they've been tried before doesn't appear to prevent their being tried again with similar results. Mr. Hughes hid in Dylan's shoes and wearin' his disguise, as the late Rick Nelson put it.
I'm thinking about Germany in the early 20th century, in case you're wondering. High unemployment (30% in 1932), deficit spending, economic depression overlaid with inflation from the printing of large amounts of paper money, unable to meet foreign debt payments, national pride in the gutter. Whenever I watch something about the rise of Adolf Hitler, as did yesterday afternoon, I can't help thinking about the social conditions that made him possible.
And then I start thinking about Santayana's quote.
I know, I know, Germany didn't have 1776 and the aftermath of two hundred years of democracy. Then again, she didn't have slavery and the subjugation of the western frontier. Let's play fair. I'm not one of those writers who makes a living telling you what's wrong with America, but neither do I want to ignore the obvious for the sake of good feelings. When something stinks, there's usually a reason.
What Hitler accomplished was masterful -- demonic, but masterful. Instead of taking reality on its own terms and leading Germany to do likewise, he fled into a delusional fantasy and created a massive marketing machine to sell it like Volkswagens. There are at least two ways to offer hope to those in need of it. One entails accepting responsibility for yourself, your successes and flat out, falling down failures, and by so doing, show others how to survive doing the same. Another is to imagine there's nothing wrong with you or wouldn't be if it wasn't for someone else. Say it often enough, sooner or later people will start believing. Say it long enough, maybe you'll win, and then you get to rewrite history so no one remembers the way it really was.
For instance, an editorial in an upcoming Southern Baptist theological journal, in complete ignorance of the wider social issues involved, described the fundamentalist takeover -- some have suggested "highjacking" is more apt -- of the Southern Baptist Convention a few years ago in terms of a restoration of biblical Christianity. The subsequent split with social-theological moderates, the virtual purging of non-strictly-doctrinaire seminary faculty, and the smear campaign against those who stood up to be counted, were conveniently overlooked. When the ends are used to justify the means, whether we're talking about theology, the search for weapons of mass destruction, or the virtues and vices of universal health care, a lot of things get overlooked.
Trouble is, this is precisely how we end up repeating history. And isn't that a hell of a thing.
(Creative Commons image of singer Rick Nelson via Wikipedia)
Not wishing to remove my gloves in the cold, I said, "I'll catch you on the way out." It would be simpler, I thought, to keep my wallet handy once I'd finished at the cashier's. She smiled and nodded, not missing a beat, our conversation another verse to the song she played inside her head.
I didn't have to say anything; her back was to me, I could have walked on, completed my business, then done as I intended. No one needed to know; none would be the wiser.
Except that I wanted her to know because so many just walk on by. I almost forgot myself, until the last second when I saw her again and remembered. I marveled at her patience, at her consistency. It wasn't like she expected everyone to stop; only those who were supposed to. She was on her appointed rounds, waiting for her people to show up, even if they didn't realize they were hers until that very moment. In the meantime, she kept on, ringing what I heard as Jingle Bells and she maybe something else, her eyes peeking over the rim of a muffler wrapped round her face, twinkling in good faith.
I would get impatient, I'm sure. Impatient, disgruntled, discouraged and then cynical, passing judgment, playing God. It would be easy to do, to forget how easy it is to be guarded in times like these, to blame the unfortunate for their misfortune, to cross to the other side of the road like the Priest and the Lawyer once did and a Good Samaritan didn't.
A Samaritan, by the way, who wasn't like we paint him, one of the good guys going about doing good deeds at Christmas, someone you'd like to have living next door or upstairs. He was a Black man in 1950s Alabama who dared touch a White woman who'd been raped and left for dead. Or, maybe she's homeless, living in a tent constructed from cardboard boxes. The Good Samaritan was like that, unacceptable by the book, but caring anyway.
She was also a Salvation Army Bell Ringer on a frigid Portland morning waiting for me to step up and be counted. To stuff a bill in her bucket. To render aid. To follow her example, to not cross the street and walk on by.
"Merry Christmas," she said.
(Creative Commons image by miliu92 via Flickr)
When and where I grew up, a person rarely heard the sound of gunfire. In fact, I can only recall a single occasion when I heard it within the county limits. My father was boarding a horse for a friend of his who was an avid hunter. One afternoon, concerned his new horse might be gun-shy, he and my father led the horse into our pasture and the friend fired his pistol into the ground. His horse just stood there, apparently unimpressed, waiting to be released so he could return to grazing. Why shoot into the ground? Well, despite the fact that terrorists are always firing automatic weapons into the air on film, in reality that's not a wise practice because what goes up will inevitably come down, including bullets.
So, that was the only time. Hunters eager for deer or elk had to go up into the mountains to find them and those who sought ducks or pheasant, to eastern Colorado. The fact is, there were laws prohibiting the discharge of firearms near populated areas which, if you think about it, is a wise practice. Every year there are stories in the news about someone mistaking a partner, cow, or dog for deer or moose. How you get a moose from a dog, beats me, but maybe at distance Snoopy looks that big. Anyway, s/he hears a rustling of leaves, the snap of a twig, they turn and squinting through the trees, spy a shadowy figure. The thrill of pursuit coupled with the release of adrenaline takes over and you can guess the rest.
When I relocated from Maine's seacoast, I was informed, "Oh, now and then, you might hear a gunshot or two," since this is fairly open country and Maine law permits shooting on private land. To put it another way, were I so inclined (which I'm not), I could sit comfortably in my lawn chair on the front patio with my father's western-style .30 caliber carbine across my lap and wait for the deer who gobbles up my apples to wander into the crosshairs. Either that, or I could purchase a shotgun on the internet for next to nothing and sneak up on the flock of turkeys that also feed freely on my apples to provide next year's Holiday meals. It would all be perfectly legal and conveniently culturally-sanctioned.
Except for that darned, interfering Super-Ego (Freud's term for moral and personal conscience) of mine. I don't generally shoot at friends unless they really, really, really, piss me off and then I prefer to throw pies at them. I'm joking (even about the pies). Truly, I am. Please, pretty please with maple sugar on it, don't call the FBI ("Honest, Agents Sculley and Mulder, it was only a literary device, you know that from the lines the two of you have to memorize, right?"). Well, while we're not exactly what you'd call "friends" -- I haven't invited him in for coffee or tea with late season apples lately -- I do like seeing Bambi wander through the hayfield, munching freely at will. I also like the turkeys, porcupine, and the other wild critters who seem to think this is their farm and they permit my presence, not the other way around. Maybe I'm softheaded in a hardhearted world, but it seems only reasonable to live in consideration of those who were here long before me and, no doubt, will continue to be once I'm gone.
Now, fair is fair and I don't want anyone to think I have something against my neighbors or anyone else who hunts, because it's not like that at all. True, I'm still not fully accustomed to being awakened on weekend mornings by what I'm convinced is an M-16 going off within walking distance of my house. If it was 1772, when this community was founded, I'd take my trusty long rifle down from over the fireplace and like any other responsible farmer, parson, or whomever with a family, head for the woods imitating Hawkeye from Last of the Mohicans. But this is 2011 and, like I say, I'd rather not shoot at friends or a reasonable facsimile thereof. As things stand, I'll wear orange as a precaution while cutting firewood or walking the dogs, that's not a problem. It's nearing January, it will all be over soon.
(Creative Commons image and Bambi and Thumper by Jaded Jeremy via Flikr)
We were chatting about various issues, don't ask don't tell, the nature of relationships, and of course, politics, and how he imagined I might feel about them.
"I kind of expected, you being a man of the cloth and all, you'd think differently," he said.
"I'm sorry, but what does being a minister have to do with it?"
"Well, you know, the Bible says certain things just aren't right and I figured you being a minister, you knew the Bible better than most, and therefore you'd be pretty hard-nosed about those things."
He'd made a reasonable assumption, I just didn't happen to share it. To explain why, I told him the following story.
Once upon a time, there was a woman who had been caught, I assume by her husband, with another man. At this particular time in history, it was common practice to drag the woman out into the street, humiliate and then stone her to death. No one asked whether she had been abused or neglected and no one offered to represent her in court. As a matter of fact, there was no court except public opinion and in that one, she was guilty as charged.
Things were looking bad for the woman when Jesus happened by. The townspeople told him what was taking place and asked his opinion. He thought about it a minute or two and said, "Anybody who's never done anything they're ashamed of can throw the first stone." One by one, the people walked away. Then he said to the woman, "Looks like nobody's left to accuse you and neither do I. From now on, though, try not to get yourself into another situation like this."
"Yeah, but I'm talking about stuff that's unnatural," he said, "men and men, women and women. You got to be either for or against that."
"I don't have to be one way or the other on anything," I said, "because the One I work for wasn't. He dispensed with passing judgment except on those who thought they had a right to judge others. That didn't sit well with him. If he was here right now, you know what I think he'd tell us? Stop worrying about what other people do, whether it's right or wrong, natural or unnatural, and start being compassionate because some day you may need it as much as anyone else. And if you don't show it, you have no right to expect it."
Talk about being hard-nosed.
(Creative Commons image entitled "Hard-nosed" by Peter Giger via Flickr)
And I wish I could be as cruel as you; and I wish I could say the things you do; but I can't and I won't live a lie, no, not this time. ~ Kevin Rudolf, Let It Rock
It came as a surprise to me, reading these lyrics this morning, that I'd been learning them incorrectly. I thought the line was, "I wish I could be as cool as you," and, truthfully, I'm kind of disappointed it wasn't. I really liked the image cool evoked, though I suppose it's not terribly distant from the writer's intention. Being cool and cruel can easily go hand in hand.
Interpreting song lyrics is an ify proposition because they come out of a relatively unconscious place to begin with, and even the writer may not know precisely what they mean until s/he's had the chance to live them for a while. I've read posts suggesting Rudolf is referring to the relationship between Jesus and Judas Iscariot, a father and son, or he's echoing Lennon and McCartney's Let It Be. Maybe all three or none at all.
At the risk of taking him entirely the wrong way, I think he's telling us, quite simply, that everything comes at a price and sometimes we only realize it after we've pulled out our pockets and found there isn't a shred of integrity left. We may have tried to be as cool or cruel as those who walk between the raindrops, except we've gotten doused. Have you ever felt that way? Wanted to say things without so much as a by your leave or a polite pardon me to your conscience? Send the old Super-Ego on a well-deserved cruise to the Caribbean while you live on the basis of pure Id -- if it feels good, do it -- and bid responsibility bon voyage at the pier?
Don't worry -- this is just between you and me. I won't tell a soul. No? Okay, well, many have at one time or another, so if this ever should hold true for you, don't feel alone. To be free of moral strictures, to act without consideration, to obtain without cost, to get away with murder. Most of us can't do this and we thank God for it. At the time, we wish we could be unscathed by guilt but later, when we feel loved once again, we're grateful not all our wishes come true.
I do truly believe love is the kiss that breaks this witch's spell. The too cool and so cruel don't know this; broken hearts are never their cup of tea. But if you can't be hurt, you can't love, and if you can't love, you can't live, no matter how much you get away with. This is why the songwriter refuses to live a lie. He's learned, and from him, so can we.
(Fair use of low resolution image of album cover "Let It Rock" via Amazon; utilized in view of the lack of equivalent non-licensed or limited license images able to clarify and draw attention to the song in question. Album copyright 2008 by Cash Money Records; lyrics by Kevin Rudolf, copyright 2008)
Did you know the whole Viet Nam war was fought over a bet? A bet that Howard Hughes lost to Aristotle Onasis? ~ Jerry Fletcher
In the 1997 film, Conspiracy Theory, Jerry Fletcher (Mel Gibson) is a cab driver by day and author-publisher of a newsletter entitled, conveniently, "Conspiracy Theory," by night. If he seems a little paranoid at times, it's because he was recruited by a secret organization that uses mind-control techniques to train assassins. With the help of one of his potential targets, he escaped the clutches of the bad guys, and now they're looking for him. Pair this storyline with a rocking jazz sound track and Julia Roberts, and you've got a great, entertaining two hours ahead of you.
Despite his apparent craziness, Jerry has a proclivity for being right about the connections between what an average observer would consider random events. His personal experience has taught him that conspiracies can be found under our very noses, one of them involving Howard Hughes, Aristotle Onasis, and Viet Nam. Now, obviously, this is Hollywood, but Jerry's thinking betrays a reality-based concern, namely, that armed conflict could be engaged capriciously, leaving our loved ones to pay the price.
Such concerns are a predictable response to the kind of uncertainty that is increasingly associated with decisions contemplating military force in recent years. Despite the upsurge in patriotic fervor following 9/11, for example, mixed feelings were expressed about pursuit of war in Iraq. I mention this, not to call that strategy into question, but to point out how, even in the aftermath of a direct attack on this country, "we the people" weren't in complete agreement on the appropriate course of action.
I don't think this indicates we've somehow grown "soft" or ambivalent about how to act when threatened or abused. Rather, I believe it's the natural outgrowth of an awareness that simplistic solutions are rarely the correct ones for complex situations. Furthermore, there are very few superpowers anymore, and the fact is, some behaviors aren't really that acceptable if you are one and impulsiveness is close to the top of the list. It is rightly expected that a nation which has risen to the status of being a superpower should be capable of exhibiting self-control and acting wisely -- even like a gentleman -- within the international community.
This is not to say one should be a pushover or easily intimidated, but the character of a nation is as important as that of an individual. Who we are as a country, the variety of values we embrace, and our willingness to show restraint in anticipation of those times when action is necessary demonstrates not only trustworthiness and reliability, but genuine strength. It's a question of who you gonna trust. We anticipate seeing these qualities in our friends and the world has a right to anticipate seeing them in us.
(Creative Commons image by alvy via Flickr)
Image via WikipediaAs a follow-up to yesterday's post, I've been thinking how the most recent presidential election in this country could be viewed as a shift with respect to social ambiguity. Anytime society undergoes change, ways of thinking and living will be challenged and our responses can range from open opposition to mild resistance, from moderate acceptance to enthusiastic embrace. That's pretty much a given.
In this country, the election of a president tends to be a marker predominantly indicating how registered voters (those who actually do vote, that is) feel about the direction society is taking. If things seem too uncertain or there seems to be too much departure from established norms, the trend will be toward conservative candidates. When change is in the air and people are feeling optimistic about new ideas, we favor liberal candidates.
If voting behavior can be taken to suggest comfort or discomfort with ambiguity, and if by my quick calculations, approximately 2/3 of the past 60 years have been under relative conservative presidential leadership, in general voters have preferred to lean towards certitude rather than incertitude. In other words, faced with changing social norms as a result of greater prosperity, multiplying avenues of self-expression, and the growth of a better educated and more sophisticated population, voters preferred someone who promised to slow or, perhaps in some cases, try to halt the rate of change.
2008 was a pivotal year because it resulted in the election of a candidate who represents a unique response to ambiguity, even more so than one might expect from "liberal" leadership. For one thing, he embodies it: Barack Obama is an individual of mixed racial heritage. As such, psychologically speaking, he is a transitional figure and not solely in a racial sense. He represents a willingness to look at ambiguity realistically and deal with it as an essential element in the make-up of the world community. Not in a radical sense of complete departure from our history and heritage, but a tempered response -- more than a baby step, less than a leap.
The fact that the children of Baby Boomers took such an active role in his election should tell us something. Issues that troubled their parents have little reference to their experience. They know nothing of the Cold War or duck and cover, November 1963 isn't a part of their collective consciousness, and their first car may easily be a BMW. The atmosphere in which they were raised was already fraught with change and they've adapted without a second thought. For them, the election of a Barack Obama would seem as normal as daily life.
Now, obviously, not everyone nor every young person, became his supporter and our national response to social and cultural ambiguity remains divided. And that, too, is to be expected. But what I think matters and will find its way into history is his potential to help us find effective ways of coping with uncertainty in a world that we sometimes fear has outgrown and moved on without us. Political considerations aside, I think his election represents a desire to proactively step into the currents of our time and make a difference in where they take us. They're going to flow anyway, we may as well learn how to swim; the alternative is to be swept along and for me, that spells unnecessary uncertainty.
(Collective Commons image via Wikipedia)
I used to think it was a liability associated with being a minister, but now I know it's simply a fact of life. People assume you're interested in morality and ethics because anyone who pursues a professional relationship with God is likely to be the kind of person who prefers to stay within the lines while coloring. You know what my problem was? I could never quite do that. My crayon books would have made Jackson Pollock proud (see photo). I wasn't being stubborn as a kid, or independent, or recalcitrant, I just couldn't keep my crayons between the lines to save my life.
I should have known this was a portent of things to come, but as a second grader, my vision of the future had a somewhat narrower focus, i.e. how many more weeks is it until Christmas? I'm still that way, as you may have guessed from the litter of holiday essays I manage to produce between Halloween and December 25. I mean, here we are, it's not even the end of June and I'm talking about it already. But this post isn't about Christmas. It is, however, about morality, ethics, and a disinclination to stay within the lines.
The reason I say this is partly due to the fact I have trouble seeing them. The lines aren't as distinct as they were in my coloring books depicting black ink on white newsprint outlines of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. It's not a matter of eyesight because mine has improved substantially over time to my doctor's amazement. It's really a matter of experience, and discovering that human nature needs grace most of all. Legislated morality is an open invitation to go bat bleep crazy.
A good friend of mine, now in his first week of residency, passed along a wonderful comment he overheard the other day: "Make sure you know the rules inside and out so you can discern when and how to break them." Some folks are very good at telling others what they should or shouldn't do and justifying it on the basis of any number of social considerations. What I've found, over the course of more years than I'd like to admit of doing pastoral counseling and psychotherapy, is that most people genuinely struggle over poor decisions or relationships gone sour.
It isn't that they want to screw up, but things happen that no one can anticipate. Life is far more complicated than a "do this and not that" orientation can manage. The gray areas are as common as frost heaves on a Maine country road after a hard winter, and believe me, frost heaves are really common. One can't always know with absolute or any other kind of certainty what is the best thing to do.
I'm bringing all of this up this morning because I'm thinking about all my friends who have begun residency this week. Technically speaking, they're involved in orientation meetings and the real work of doctoring starts next week. But eventually, they are going to be confronted with decisions that aren't crystal clear and situations they've never encountered before. They'll have the support of attending physicians, senior residents, and hospital staff, thankfully, but they'll still have to wrestle with the necessity of integrating training with conscience.
As they do, as we all do, I hope they find the grace of self-forgiveness in the process. No one is omniscient, everyone makes mistakes, rigidity breaks rather than strengthens the flailing heart. Granting oneself permission to ask for help, to be less than perfect, to be less than God-like, is the blessing of being human. We do far better seeking grace with every step we take, as my friend John Denver would say, and it's how we make ourselves better at the same time.
(Image of unknown license by Wallyg via Flickr; Rocky Mountain High, words and music by John Denver, copyright 1975)
I missed 2012 (2009) at the theater -- first one thing, then another came up and before I knew it, the film had gone to DVD. I saw it last night for the first time and while it was enjoyable, I was also glad I saved my brass for another day. The human story was a little weak and it reminded me too much of Independence Day (1996). It was kind of like, how many ways can director Roland Emmerich find to destroy the planet?
Aside from that, I woke up this morning thinking about the premise for the film and wondered what I would take if I had the opportunity to board one of the arks with basically what could fit into my backpack. What would I be unwilling to part with? Now, for the sake of argument, we're not including people or animals because that's an entirely different issue. I'm also assuming a day or two preparation time.
The first thing that came to mind was my laptop and back-up drive because they contain everything I've written as well as the accumulation of my medical education up to now. The next thing was photographs. I have several albums filled with photos of my family going back three generations, mostly inherited from my mother and aunt. Too many to take, I'd have to triage them, loading some into my computer and selecting others to keep as print copies. Why photos? Because if I was fortunate enough to have children in the New World, I'd want to be able to show them where they came from.
At this point, things start getting sticky. I've only got so much room and it's a matter of choosing between items of personal value and those that would render me more useful aboard ship as well as when we struck land. You have to consider that we're building a world from scratch and the question becomes, how can I maximize my contribution? From a medical standpoint, I'd want the contents of my doctor's bag, and as a minister, my minister's manual and Bible. We're going to need doctors and you can bet there will be a great deal of counseling and therapy to be done.
An electronic reader, storing the books I've come to love would save a lot of space, but it will be years before we publish real ones. I'd want a copy of my own, of course, but also a Greek New Testament my father covered in fine leather. Couldn't I have one fo those on my reader? Yes, but I'd like my children to see and handle the kind of work their grandfather performed.
So much would have to be left behind, but forcing oneself to think in terms of what is most essential puts it all in perspective. What seems to matter the most are those items that represent more than just themselves. A teddy bear from my childhood, a box containing ashes of beloved pets, my mother's engagement ring. I doubt there's room for a guitar, but I'd try to take one aboard anyway.
In the end, I have an idea there would be far less in my backpack than I initially imagined, partly due to the blessings of electronic storage. Much of what I've gathered or retained over the years isn't all that essential. Sure, they are things that meant something at one time and still do, but most I wouldn't miss in twenty years. In a situation like this, one has to think about what they'd like to have back, if there was a chance to obtain it. For me, that means the stuff of my past I would like to preserve in order to offer it to the future. Put in those terms, choices gain in importance, but perhaps become simpler as well.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? So began the 1930s mystery radio drama, The Shadow, and eighty years later, it's still a good question. You might think psychiatry is tailor-made to provide an answer since evil is often talked about in connection with certain kinds of psychopathology. By assuming cruelty represents sickness, we try to make sense out of senselessness.
I'm just not entirely certain that's true. I mean, yes, psychopathology can help explain why one person mistreats another. It doesn't settle the issue of whether or to what extent, there is such a thing as evil, something without which the world would be clearly better off. At this point, psychiatry generally defers to theologians and philosophers. When dealing with patients, we want to bracket moral judgment in favor of providing treatment because caring for people is what we do.
Approaching evil as a moral issue, however, is not as straightforward as it sounds, because we quickly find ourselves confronted by conflicting principles. This isn't easy even for religion and philosophy to unravel. When someone hijacks a plane and crashes it into a building intending to destroy the infidels, we've left Kansas far behind.
Well, isn't that why we have laws? asks one. The problem is, the rule of law can reflect moral concerns, bringing us back to having to decide whose morality will carry the day. Whoever has the most power makes the law, answers another. That's all well and good, but this country was founded on the idea that the voice of minorities should be heard. We don't write laws on the grounds that might makes right. We need to establish a broader basis for deciding what constitutes evil because, in a pluralistic world, morality is not necessarily unilateral.
So, how do we do that? I think we have to start by asking whether there is something much more fundamental that can serve as a kind of baseline. Something that creates the conditions of possibility for asking questions of right and wrong in the first place.
In medicine, we have the oft-quoted phrase, First of all, do no harm. In other words, before we even think of prescribing treatment, we are committed to refraining from doing anything intentionally harmful to a patient. Consequently, thoughtless, careless, unnecessary "harm" constitutes an evil because it violates the essential value we place upon human life.
And this is what I mean. We begin by establishing where our values lie. Not with what might be morally superior or inferior, but with what is important, what we're willing to stand by and stake our lives upon. Decisions about good and evil are utterly dependent upon identifying what truly matters to us. Once we've done that, then, like the Shadow, we'll be in a position to recognize evil when it shows its face.
(Creative Commons image by lamont_cranston via Flickr)
Since no one has asked me why, being a minister, I didn't write about issues like morality and family values, I thought I'd ask myself, why don't you? My answer surprised me: I do write about them, and fairly often. Just not in the way people might think. For one thing, I don't like to moralize.
When I graduated from seminary I suffered from a vision problem: I tended to see things in blacks and whites. The truth is, I had a head full of mush, as Professor Kingsfield from The Paper Chase was fond of saying, and had no more idea how to relate to the real life concerns of people than my dog has about driving a car. Seeing him sitting in the driver's seat when I come out of a store, I have to wonder what he's not telling me. Let's put it this way, I didn't know much.
As time has gone on, I've learned people are frequently harder on themselves and each other than I could ever be. Judgment and self-recrimination come at a price and you can measure it by the amount of ibuprofen and antacid they consume. It's like dragging a huge invisible bag around and stuffing it full of blame, guilt, fault-finding, and God-knows-what-all. It weighs you down until sooner or later you're sick, depressed, angry, or lashing out and picking a fight with some poor schmuck on the highway.
It really doesn't do anyone any good to moralize at times like these: most of us have already done enough of it for ourselves. We may not be fully aware we're dragging a bag behind us, but we know something's not working. We may not understand how it affects us, but we know we're sick at heart. We may not realize how badly we'd like to turn loose of the damn thing, but we know we have to do something.
There may be some who feel it's their duty to shout at a person who's drowning, "You should have learned to swim!" but my inclination is throw them a life preserver and if they can't grab it, dive in and help. It's not that I'm morally pure or anything of the sort. It's just that I know what it's like to be in over your head because, like most people, I've been there. Moralizing when I was a young "preacher boy," as we were called, was easier before I'd learned what it means to hurt.
So, family values? Sure. I've written about my father, a young bo
y and his mother, the delights of sunrise on my hayfield (photo), the warmth of new love, and the comfort found in the company of close friends. Those are what make for redemption, healing, and renewal. Since we're already good at filling the bag, I'd rather spend my time trying to figure out ways of making it bearable or better yet, letting it go.
(The Paper Chase by John J. Osborne, Jr.; photo by the author)
