A Silent Memo To The Republican Party

23 January 2012 (slightly revised on 29 January, before the Florida primary)

I write the following memo mainly as a political scientist and observer of the present Republican Presidential primaries. As a citizen I have my preferences, as a political scientist I seek to analyze the phenomena that show up. Indeed, even as I write this memo, I must suspend my personal feelings for one of the leading candidates, who has much to admire, and much to offer our country. Now is the time for analysis, not emotion-based preferences.

Three Presidential candidates have won the first three primaries: Senator Santorum carried Iowa by a few votes, Mitt Romney swept New Hampshire, and Newt Gingrich swept South Carolina. On 31  January the first large state holds its winner-take-all primary: Florida. From being sharply ahead in  Florida several days ago, a week ago, polls reported that Gingrich opened a sizable lead; but most   recent polls show Romney racing towards a victory in Florida. The wheel of Fortune keeps turning--  quickly.

What served Gingrich so well in South Carolina--moving him from a distant second in the polls to  a distant first place victory in the election--was largely the performance of Gingrich and Romney in the two debates immediately before the voting on 21 January. In both the Monday and Thursday debates, Romney showed himself to be unsure, flustered, unable effectively to handle questions about his work at Bain Capital and his seeming reluctance to release his tax returns. Romney waffled, and lost the appearance of looking “Presidential.” In the same two debates, Gingrich was combative, focused, a fountain of clever one-liners, and effectively played to the crowds by moving attention from his own moral failures to the media. Gingrich showed himself to be a force in debate that perhaps no one on the present American political scene can match. (Note: Obama looked fairly good in debate compared to McCain in 2008, but McCain’s performance was surprisingly weak, given his background and experience. Obama’s talent has been more in making some long and captivating speeches than in debate or handling himself in live questioning.)

But then to my surprise, a renewed Mitt appeared in the two Florida debates this past week: he was much more decisive, more aggressive towards Gingrich, and visibly stunned Gingrich with his clever come-back on the issue of owning stock in Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac: “Have you seen your own portfolio? You also own stock in Fannie and Freddie.” “Bust,” as kids would say. Even if Santorum won the second debate, as commentators from CNN agreed, Romney effectively body-slammed the bloated Gingrich.

What I write now to the Republican Party and its Presidential candidates is “silent” because it will have no effect in the political world. Still, some analysis seems worth the effort, even as the world of campaign politicking changes so quickly.

If Gingrich wins in Florida, it is difficult to imagine how Romney could win the nomination, especially given Gingrich’s much greater strength in the southern states. And the Republican Party is now solidly grounded in the South and Southwest. States in which Romney could handily defeat Gingrich--such as New York or Michigan or New Jersey--have not voted for a Republican presidential candidate in recent years. They are, indeed, strongholds of the Democratic Party. If Romney cannot inspire sizable proportions of voters in Southern and border states, how could he possibly be electable as President? And if Gingrich can appeal only to Southerners or perhaps voters in some mountain states--or “Tea Party” folks--how could he avoid going down to a solid defeat at the re-election of Barrack Obama? If Romney wins in Florida, Gingrich would still have a solid base in the Southern states, and the blood bath would continue. But then again, Romney would have regained his lost momentum, and won an important victory over his heretofore main opponent--the one Romney’s team foolishly considered road kill after Gingrich’s very poor showing in Iowa and New Hampshire. Despite efforts to slice him to pieces, “Chucky” lives.

As some commentators have begun to argue, the Republicans may be on the road to a “brokered convention.” As I see it, the two leading candidates each has major weaknesses, which would almost guarantee Obama’s re-election. Having spent nearly forty years in the Washington establishment, it sounds absurd for Gingrich to keep speaking about “Washington insiders.” If Gingrich is not a “Washington insider,” who is? And many voters are “fed up with Washington,” and have a visceral repulsion to Washington insiders. Newt may dance verbally, but his past will catch up with him sooner or later; he is too old and too slow to outrun the shadow of his past. And sooner or later, the two sides of Newt so evident when he became Speaker of the House in January, 1995, will re-appear: on the one hand, a professor who could give a highly intelligent and knowledgeable speech on American politics and the Constitution as his inaugural speech as Speaker; and then, a few months later, the same erudite politician could show himself to be a horse’s backside by whining about not being given a first-class seat on an airplane. Gingrich has for years been his own worst enemy, and that reality will re-appear sooner or later.

As for Romney, his timing for a Presidential run could not be more problematic. In a time when many American citizens across the political spectrum are suspicious and distrustful of “Wall Street” and “the wealthy” (and especially the two together), Romney presents himself to voters, and he is more of a “Mr. Wall Street” than any candidate for President I can recall in the past fifty years or more. And even as Romney seeks to sell himself for his background in business (in Bain Capital), a large number of Americans--from left and right--do not trust “big business” and what it has done, or is purported to have done--to our culture. Although Romney appears to have a good and stable character, he evidently has a kind of boarding school difficulty connecting emotionally with many Americans; for evidently, by background, experience, and character traits, Romney is not “a man of the people,” but clearly “a man of privilege.” How can a candidate who has an enormous net worth and pays a much lower rate of income tax than most hard-working Americans be able to “feel your pain” in any believable way? By all appearance and by what I have read, Romney is a good man, but as a “money Republican,” he cannot relate to the millions of Americans who worry about losing their jobs, or not having a pension, or the loss of Social Security, or simply not being able to retire at a reasonable age for lack of funds. In a word, Romney is a good man at the wrong time. And that fact has been coming to light. Unless he can learn quickly to relate to “ordinary folks,” and unless he finds a way to minimize his wealth in a political climate hostile to wealthy Republican-plutocrats, he would go down to defeat at the hands of the more populist Obama.

Hence, It increasingly becomes evident to me, as a political scientist watching Gingrich and Romney, that despite their splashy bloodbath, neither man as he appears now is electable as President. Neither the bloated Mr. Washington (Newt) nor the rich Mr. Wall Street (Mitt) could stand up to the forces aligned to guarantee Obama’s re-election. Obama is not bloated, but sleek and smooth; and although a wealthy man (and surely one of the “top 1%” himself, as are Romney and Gingrich), Obama’s racial identity and populist, anti-wealth rhetoric helps voters overlook or choose to ignore his wealth and power. Obama is a wealthy man, but that reality is plainly eclipsed by his likable, athletic, smooth persona. And although not politically correct to say so, I add: Just as it is a bad time for a politician to be part of the Washington Establishment or a “Wall Street bankster,” it is a very good time to be “a minority.” And in politics, timing is everything.

What might the Republicans do? Just let the blood bath continue, and go down to defeat in November? Senator Santorum and Representative Ron Paul are not electable, either. One is another young man who has legislative experience rather than executive experience, and the other is a consistent, devout libertarian who appeals mainly to the young and inexperienced. Ron Paul is entertaining, but quite simplistic and even naive.

Unless Romney could disavow Wall Street and pull a St. Francis--giving away all of his wealth--and learn to think, to feel, to experience as a human being without vast material resources, he should realize that we are not in the “Roaring Twenties,” when wealth was so idolized, but in a time of wide scale economic and social suffering: hence, Romney’s days as a political leader are most likely behind him. Unless Gingrich were to be transformed from a self-important Power Broker used to pulling the strings of others, into a saintly servant of the suffering, his political days are also past. Unless something unforeseen happens to transform caterpillars into butterflies, I say to Romney, and especially to Gingrich: Exit, stage right.

Again I ask, what are Republicans to do? Or what should the hidden elite in the Republican Party do, to keep its Presidential candidates from slicing up each other just for a nearly inevitable defeat to Obama? But then again, if Romney were to have a string of victories beginning in Florida, and if he handily and effectively defeated and silenced Gingrich’s mouth, perhaps he could recover and effectively transform himself from a plutocrat with an aristocratic character into a Democratic- Republican voice for “liberty and union, one and inseparable, now and forever,” and for a more perceivably just and equitable distribution of goods and services, even while reducing the size, scope, and expense of the federal government. A huge task indeed, but not wholly impossible with the right handlers and a genuine renewal in Mitt Romney.

In truth the best men and women in the Republican Party, of whom I am aware, do not want to run for President. And that is what one would expect, because in a country such as ours, the most noble and most talented human beings are not drawn into politics--something which political scientists have observed since de Tocqueville and Bagehot in the 19th century. (Indeed, according to Bagehot, America’s best talent has long been drawn into business, not politics--partly for wealth, but more essentially for the greater freedom to use their talents.) Political office, especially at the highest levels, appeals to men and women with highly bloated self-conceptions and obsessions for power--perhaps masked in a desire and promise to “transform the world,” using Obama’s phrase from 2008. This phrase, with which Obama concluded his famous speech at the Jefferson and Jackson dinner in Des Moines early in his Presidential campaign, was first articulated by Karl Marx in his well-known 11th aphorism from the Theses on Feuerbach of 1845: “Philosophers of old only sought to understand the world; the point, however, is to change it.” (Perhaps ironically, this very well known teaching of Marx serves as the epitaph on his grave in London. But apparently the error did not die with its originator.)

The best one can hope for, perhaps--if Romney cannot transform himself quickly from plutocrat to a man-of-the-people, is the virtually impossible: that at a dead-locked convention, Republicans would turn to two qualified, talented, virtuous, intelligent men or women to form their ticket. Two names come readily to mind: Governor Mitch Daniels of Indiana, and former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Characteristically, Daniels and Rice have said that they do not wish to seek higher office: Daniels because his wife does not want him to run for President, and Rice because she has repeated her desire to remain out of public life.

Perhaps the more sadly realistic and possible outcome is that two probably unelectable Republican candidates will continue to slice one another into pieces, and then not waste resources on either Romney or Gingrich going up against Obama. Rather, spend the money to help Republicans hold on to control of the House of Representatives and to regain a majority in the Senate.

An Approach To The Mystery Symbolized As "The Trinity"

“All men by nature desire to know.” So Aristotle begins his study of first philosophy, or the basic questions of existence and reality. In time this treatise was given the rather unfortunate title of “The Metaphysics” because it was placed “after [meta] the physics” in an ancient collection of Aristotle’s extant writings. And then “metaphysics” developed a life of its own, often divorced from concrete human experiences. In Aristotle’s intention, however, his opening sentence-- “All men by nature desire to know”--is the keynote of the work, and is indeed grounded on human experience. Aristotle’s profound insight, contained in the opening sentence, could be fleshed out a little this way: “All human beings, in so far as they are human beings capable of doing what is truly human, desire to know the ultimate cause or source of all of reality.” Hence, in simpler language more familiar to many Christians, Aristotle is declaring that “All human beings desire to know God.” For it is not about an athletic event, a business contract, a politician’s words, the latest weather event, the life of Alexander the Great, or whether water exists on Mars that all human beings want to know, but about that ultimate source and nature of reality which by tradition Christians call “God.” Human beings want to the know the truth about reality, and the truth cannot be known without knowing the ultimate cause of everything that exists.

Just as the title and word “Metaphysics” in time helped to obscure the underlying questions explored by the philosopher, and at worst helped to enmesh thinkers in some abstract intellectual word games, so Christianity has often become entangled in words and doctrines which may confuse human minds who in reality desire or used to desire to know the truth, rather than “dwell in the darkness and the shadow of death.” Men become confused, benumbed, intellectually disinterested when they are inundated with words they do not understand. “Keep it simple, stupid” (KISS) is not just a contemporary slogan, but generally good advice to all of us who do indeed desire to know the truth about what matters most. There is indeed a place for making clear distinctions and even coining words to explain phenomena, but one needs some sense of the whole, some grounding in what is, before he or she can understand more subtle distinctions and meanings.

Language about God, about the Divine, lends itself to confusion and verbal difficulties because in truth, in reality, that which we call “God” is ever beyond our understanding. If I remember Heracleitos’ insight, it is easier for an ant to understand the human mind than for a human being to understand God. Because of the supreme difficulty in speaking intelligently about ultimate reality, about God, some people just give up, and are content to use words they really do not understand. Among thinkers who ought to help throw light on the large questions of existence-- and most especially on the question, “Who or what is God?”--a strong tendency since the Enlightenment has been to claim that nothing true can be said about God at all, that all such talk is “meaningless,” and perhaps even that “God has no meaning,” because “there is no God.”

These clever intellectuals find it easier to stop questioning, to stop seeking the truth of ultimate reality, than to do the hard work of learning to make the right distinctions, to ask the right questions, to try to understand what is most difficult for us: to know the source of all that is. As I recall reading in the writings of the young Karl Marx, when it comes to the ultimate questions, “Why do I exist?” and “What is reality?” Marx just asserts: “Do not think, do not question. All such questions are abstractions.” And in the same context he goes on to declare that “Socialist man” would not ask such questions, but know that “human beings create themselves through their own labor.” From ultimate reality and God, the problems of reality are reduced to the study of man and his place in nature. Period. To ask about “God” in such thinking is “illusory,” “a false problem,” “alienation” from one’s “true self.” And that, in a word, is “modernity,” when man replaces God as the ultimate cause of all that exists, and human things are elevated above the Divine as the ultimate object of the mind’s natural desire to know.

It is foolish, however, to take our bearings from ideologues who refuse to ask the basic questions. Rather than blindly follow “enlightened intellectuals” who give up and decide to terminate their study at problems of language or communication, our human task is to press on through language, through mere “false problems” to the truth of experience. And if anyone with common sense has experienced anything in life, it is that one does not create himself, that each of us finds ourself existing in an utterly mysterious world not of our own making. From early experience in our lives, we know that we are parts of a mysterious whole which remains largely beyond our grasp, control, understanding. In the words of a poet, “We see the light, but we know not whence it comes.”

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Among those who have attempted to speak about the ultimate source of reality, about the cause of the process of existence in which we find ourselves, there seem to be two main approaches. One approach generally begins by accepting the truth of formulations given in tradition, in “Scripture,” in a book understood as “revelation,” or in certain “church documents,” and then proceeds to clarify what is said. This approach may be called “doctrinal theology.” It has its place, for it speaks in terms which are readily accessible, and which connect the hearer to a long and revered tradition. The other main approach is derived from experience, and seeks to understand experiences of particular men and women who in some ways “tasted” the mysterious reality called “God.” To employ this approach well, one must either be a mystic or be imaginatively open to the truth of mystical experience. This approach has often been called “mystical theology.” Thus, there are two main types of theology, or discourse on God: doctrinal theology and mystical theology. And it seems fair to suggest that each has its proper place and limitations.

When the Nicene or Apostle’s Creed is recited, one is hearing an example of doctrinal theology, at least parts of which were originally grounded in the truth of mystical experience. For example, to say that Christ is “God from God, light from light,” is for most of us merely an assertion, albeit one we consider true. Not included in the Creed is the source of these expressions, which may well have been in the souls of certain human beings who believed and experienced the reality called “God” in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. When St. Luke’s Gospel tells us that Peter cried, “Depart from me, Master, for I am a sinful man,” it gives us a profound formulation; the reader or hearer is left having to do the work of imaginatively reconstructing the experience of Peter that lead him to this utterance. Put the matter this way: Do you think that Peter was merely uttering words, and hence requiring no further thought to understand them? Or, was Peter perhaps experiencing the presence of the living God in Jesus causing him to blurt out? In other words, what was Peter actually experiencing? What did he sense or “see” that lead him to call Jesus “Master” (despotes), and caused him to feel so unworthy to be in Christ’s presence?

A better example of the distinction between doctrinal theology and mystical theology can be found in the way the Creeds handle the Resurrection of Christ. In effect, the Creeds simply assert words such as “On the third day he was raised from the dead.” That is, as it were, a “factual statement,” a bald declaration of something that “happened.” Doctrinal theology would accept the statement as true, and expect a Christian to believe the formulation, “accepting it on faith.” The approach of mystical theology is different. One notices that the formulation in the Creed is verbally lifted from the Apostle Paul’s “First Letter to the Corinthians,” chapter 15. But in that context, St. Paul does not just assert that “Christ was raised on the third day,” but immediately adds a decisive phrase: “and he appeared to Kephas (Peter), then to the Twelve...and last of all to me.” Paul explicitly links “raised” with “appeared,” so we can see that he is grounding the assertion “he was raised” not on mere words, but on reality as it presented himself to Peter, to the other Apostles, “to more than five hundred,” and “last of all,” to himself. In other words, for the Apostle and for mystical theology in general, “Resurrection” is not abstracted from experience and merely a verbal assertion, but is firmly and exclusively grounded on the truth of reality as experienced by someone, by a number of particular human beings. Reality about which one speaks, according to what I am here calling “mystical theology,” (or in the case of the Apostle Paul, mystical experience) is reality as experienced in and through a real human being, and the truthfulness of the formulations is grounded in the experience, as are the limitations of the assertions. In other words, what could “the resurrection of Christ” possibly mean if Peter, the Twelve, and especially the Apostle Paul (whose original sources we have) did not in reality have the experiences they claim to have had? To put the matter more bluntly, if the Apostle Paul and the later Gospel-writers (evangelists) fabricated their experiences (or those they report, in the case of the evangelists), how could one say in any meaningful way that “Christ was raised from the dead”? Rather then the truth of experience expressed in a verbal formulation, we would have mere words on a page, divorced from life, and indeed lifeless and not life-giving. But to say that “the Church is apostolic” means that the faith of later generations is grounded on the spiritual experiences of the Apostles, and not on mere “biblical” formulations, or on “the Bible.” Faith is grounded on reality as experienced by another, and shared: by Moses, by Jeremiah, by Jesus, by the Apostle Paul. Being open through faith to reality as expressed by the mystic or divine-experiencer, one may continue living in that same truth of experience. Hence, Christ continues to live in those open to the experience of the apostles to whom “he appeared” as “raised from the dead,” and who communicated the experience to others.

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How doctrinal theology approaches the mystery of God symbolized by the word, “Trinity,” is not my present concern. The danger of a doctrinal approach would be to begin with the word “Trinity” and various formulations of the doctrine, and then try to clarify what they mean. I leave it to others to try to explain how God is “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” or how “God is one and three,” and so on. Some attempts may be more successful and insightful than others.

For my part, when I hear the language symbol “Trinity,” I wonder: What experiences gave rise to this symbol? What--if anything--is the truth of reality being expressed? Rather than seek the origin of the term “Trinity” in documents (such as the writings of Tertulian, who coined the word “Trinitas” in Latin), I return to the earliest Christian sources, and wonder: What experiences did writers of the New Testament have that could later be summarized in the symbol “Trinity?” Or is there perhaps nothing in the writings of St. Paul, the evangelists, the author of Hebrews, and so on, which could reasonably be termed an experience of God in a “trinitarian” way? Did later theologians betray the early Christian experiences of God by introducing the term “Trinity?” (That is what one hears from various groups often called “cults” within the Christian movement.) For some say, in effect, “If the word is not in the bible, it has no place in Christian life or belief.”

I see no just reason for limiting discourse on the Divine to the terminology employed by the first generation of Christians (who gave us the bulk of the New Testament). They themselves borrowed most of their “religious vocabulary” from their Jewish culture, and some from the larger Hellenistic world. Note that from the outset of this essay, I have borrowed from Greek philosophers, who wrote about “the first cause,” “the ultimate source,” “the last end,” and so on. That is philosophical language, and not scriptural. Because the word “Trinity” occurs nowhere in “the Bible” need not at all be sufficient reason to avoid its usage. On the contrary, centuries of Christian usage--including in works by some of the most profound theological minds that ever lived--suggest to me to proceed by assuming that the term “Trinity” intends the reality called “God,” and contains within it something of a summary of Christian experiences of the Divine. Whatever helps to illuminate the divine Mystery is beneficial and “useful for teaching.” “Trinity,” especially understood in light of engendering experiences of divine reality, surely has much meaning.

I turn to the New Testament not because the documents are “in the Bible,” but because these earliest Christian sources contain within them an abundant wealth of fundamental spiritual experiences. If indeed one wants to ground his theological understanding on the truth of experience, as I seek to do, then one must have recourse to the documents closest to the experiences. In the Christian tradition, such documents surely include the letters of the Apostle Paul, Luke-Acts, the writings of “John,” other canonical Gospels (Matthew and Mark), and so on; but they also include the writings of Christian mystics, saints, and learned men and women (theologians or philosophers) through the centuries. The Christian tradition--and the more comprehensive Judaeo-Christian tradition of which it is a vast part--is extremely rich in spiritual experiences grounded on divine reality acting in human beings and letting itself be known to one degree or another. In more concrete terms, men and women who have interpreted themselves as “Christians,” as disciples of Jesus called the Christ, have provided an astoundingly rich abundance of writings in which their experiences of God, of the divine Mystery, have been recorded, articulated, explored, examined, questioned, thought about, communicated. In the bulk of Christian experience, “God” is not limited to a name given the ultimate Creator of all that is, but has been understood as fully present and active in Jesus of Nazareth, and active in the whole Church, and indeed, in all of humankind. Superb Christian writers, such as St. Anselm, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Theresa of Avila, and many others, leave no doubt that at least for the best minds in the centuries-old Christian movement, God is utterly active and ever revealing himself “in many and diverse ways” (Hebrews 1). There is no lack of “revelation” that God must be limited to “the Bible” or to “sacred books” of one type or another. On the contrary, that which is called “God” is ever present and active in all of reality, or else it would not be at all.

Now, among the great Christian saints, mystics, theologians, and philosophers, one finds experiences of the Divine that can be called “personal,” and others “impersonal.” And some experiences are “right now” and present, or “immanent,” and other experiences ever look beyond what can be known towards “the world transcendent God.” More simply put, God is experienced as personal and impersonal, present and beyond. In the earliest Christian writings, the letters of the Apostle Paul, for example, God is felt as intensely personal and alive in one’s soul or spirit. This divine presence can speak, and say things such as “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (II Cor 12),or “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Mark 1), or “Abide in me, and I in you” (John 15); or heard through Deutero-Isaiah as “I love you,” “You are mine,” and so on. Or this divine Presence may ask questions, such as “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” or “Have I been so long with you, and yet you do not know me” (John 14), or “O you of little faith! Why did you doubt?” or “I am with you always, even to the end of the age,” and so on. Generally, this divine Presence experienced in the living reality of one’s soul or spiritual life is called “Christ,” or “Jesus,” or “the LORD,” in continuity with LORD (YHWH, Yahweh) from the Hebrew Scriptures. Indeed, the earliest Christian “creed” of which we know is the simple declaration, “Jesus is LORD,” Jesus is Yahweh-God. In a word, “Jesus” or “Christ” is God experienced as personal and really present in the believer.

Experiences of divine reality, however, are not limited to God as personal, as addressing the open mind in its depth. God is also experienced as impersonal, known through its effects: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness...” (Galatians 5). The indwelling presence of God brings one the experience of “the forgiveness of sins,” of being “reconciled” or “rejoined” to God, of “the peace of God which surpasses all understanding.” And above and through all such experiences, the divine Presence is called “the Holy Spirit,” the reality of God actually felt in the soul of the believer. Although terminology about divinity was still fluid or flexible in the first centuries of Christianity, usually “the Holy Spirit” was used for the impersonal but precious divine effects, and “Christ” as God personally revealing Himself in the open soul.

Now, if Christian experienced had limited itself to the divine as experienced, it would easily have become a mere branch of ancient Gnosticism. The essence of Gnosticism is knowledge, the certain conviction ultimately that “I am God,” or “God and I are one,” or “I know from whence I have come, and to where I am going,” or “God has revealed Himself to me,” as “God unveiled” (revealed). The Apostle Paul and John the evangelist struggled to clarify the truth of Christian experience as other than Gnosticism. Hence, for example, we read in Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, “Knowledge [gnosis] puffs up, but love [agape] builds up” (I Cor 8). The “faith that works through love” (Gal 5 or 6) is an openness to God, a radical self-abandonment to the divine Presence, that allows the divine to accomplish its will in and through the human person in achieving good here and now. Gnosis degenerates into self-trust and utter self-love, or self-absorption; faith in the Christian sense (“the substance of things hoped for, the proof of things unseen,” Hebrews 11) requires a living movement from oneself into the mystery of the unseen, ungrasped, and surely uncontrolled God. The name the early Christians give the mystery of God-ever-beyond the human heart and its limitations is “Father.”

Hence, Christian spiritual experience is at once the experience of God as personal (Christ) and impersonal (Holy Spirit), and as present in the soul (Christ, Spirit) and as beyond all human understanding (Father). Herein, I would say, is the meaning, or at least an accessible meaning, to the truth of God expressed in the ancient symbol, “Trinity.” The beauty of this trinitarian knowledge of the Unknown God is that it allows both for divine self-revelation, and for divine Mystery beyond all knowing; it allows the divine to make itself known as personal (“I love you”) and as impersonal (“the peace of God surpassing all understanding”). Above all, the symbol “Trinity,” properly or at least approximately understood (as in this brief essay) both points the human being to the truth of divinity experienced, and to the ultimate reality of God beyond all that one can see, touch, feel, or know in any way.

“The Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao.” Yes and no. The God who can be expressed is not God--and yet, is God, even while pointing beyond the divine as experienced towards the depths of the Unknown God. The symbol “Trinity” at the same time presents God to the inquiring mind and points to the Divine Beyond. Paraphrasing the words of the Apostle Paul, “If you think you know God, you have not known as you ought to know.” For “you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s” (I Cor 3). And what truly matters? “That God is all and in all.”

[Note: This brief essay is a draft, and needs further clarification and development, as time permits.]

Note On Romney's Flaw

This week has been a significant turning point in the Republican primaries.  There will likely be more turning points.  I watched the turning point in action this week:  the two South Carolina debates, Monday and Thursday nights.  Gingrich triumphed.  Romney faced pestering about his association with Bain and then about releasing his tax returns.  He appeared irresolute and weak, indecisive, even flustered.  Had he not expected these questions and prepared sharp answers?  On the other hand, just before the Thursday debate, Newt was side-swiped by his ex-wife's claim that he had asked for "an open marriage."  When questioned on this, Newt attacked the questioner and the liberal media, displaying decisiveness, courage, even hutzpah.  He was given a standing ovation by the huge crowd.  Previously on Monday night, Gingrich had a number of punchy, incisive lines that struck home to the listeners, while Romney fiddled.  Their main differences are in style and character, not favored policies. 

The nomination has been Romney's to lose.  It probably still is, as he has huge funding and wide support (although he has been dropping sharply in most recent polls).  He may have thought that a bland, "do not rock the boat" approach would suffice.  Perhaps it would work against Obama, but not in the primaries with Gingrich in the race.  Newt is incendiary, but also politically astute and very sharp, with considerable knowledge of history and politics.  Yes, he is "erratic,"  as Santorum charged last evening in the debate, but that very quality contrasts with Romney's safe blandness. 

My present guess is that South Carolina will end Santorum's campaign, and that Ron Paul will remain off on the side, appealing mainly to the very young (politically naive, fervent) and to libertarians.  Hence, for the Florida primary of 31 January, Romney will be more directly paired against Gingrich.  Romney has had a huge lead, and has strong appeal to the elderly and more moderate voters.  If not in Florida, at least in coming primaries, if he wants to win the nomination, Romney will have to change his style, and show more command, more political courage, more decisiveness.  Ironically, Romney is like Obama in the smooth, no-ruffle style as a public persona.  Gingrich is utterly different:  brash, aggressive, even nasty.  And often refreshing, and humorous.  My political guess is that either Romney becomes more aggressive and much more decisive, in effect learning from Gingrich, or he will not get the nomination.  Why?  Republicans not only want to win back the Presidency, but they want to elect a leader, not a "stuffed shirt," as one of the candidates (Perry?) called Romney.  Surely Willard Romney has some very good qualities, but until he rolls up his sleeves and shows some real fight, an increasing number of voters may well turn from him.  Or so it seems to me.

O Fortuna!

On Richard Wagner's Music

Of all the words I’ve read by our American Founding Fathers, the phrases that have most embedded themselves in my memory--perhaps excluding only some from the Constitution of 1787--come from that collection of masterful newspaper articles called the Federalist, or the Federalist Papers. Some of the essays by Madison and Hamilton surely rank among the finest works of American political philosophy. Several of their phrases often recur to consciousness: “power must be made to check power,” “ambition must check ambition,” precisely because “enlightened statesmen will not always be at the helm” (No kidding!). These words come from Madison, the man often called “the Father of the Constitution,” for his contributions to the Constitutional Convention, because of his magnificent notes kept of the Convention, and because of his contributions to “the Federalist,” through which New York’s ratification of the new Constitution was earned. One sentence by Hamilton, however, may have taught me more than any other from our Founding Fathers: “I do not expect to see a perfect work from imperfect man.” Such common sense is not only profound, but profoundly needed in our day. Whether I have remembered his words precisely or not, I cannot vouchsafe, but the meaning is clear: no Constitution, no government, no church, no text--nothing in this world is perfect, because no human being is perfect.

What is true of Constitutions, governments, and churches, is also true of works of art and of artists who create them. There is no perfect work of art, and no artist who is not in some ways flawed. As many of us have learned in life, often one’s best strengths lie close to one’s weaknesses, and appear together. The very genius of Bach’s music, with its highly developed counterpoint, at the same time makes it inaccessible for listeners who need more immediate melody, less “complicated music.” J. S. Bach has worthily been called “the musician’s musician” because he demands an unusual degree of musical learning to appreciate his compositions; and for those who make the effort, who are willing to apply some intellect to listening to him, Bach pays such rich spiritual dividends.

The music of Richard Wagner (1813-1883) puzzles me perhaps more than that of any other serious composer in Western music. Granted, it is flawed and imperfect, like all the works of human beings. For some, it seems immediately accessible, but generally, those who appreciate Wagner’s music (mainly his “musical dramas” or operas) have spent hours listening to it, and acquired their taste for it gradually. Some of his compositions are more immediately approachable, so that nearly anyone could find some delight in them--for example, the orchestral masterpiece known as the “Prelude to Die Meistersingers von Nueremberg.” Following in the tradition of Beethoven’s symphonies, this prelude is powerful, rich in melodies and harmonies, provocative in its orchestration and even counterpoint, and often exhilarating, especially when performed by a competent orchestra and heard in a concert hall. So much of Wagner’s music, however, requires patience and work, and perhaps even a tolerance of what may sound like wild gymnastics for operatic voices. In listening to selections from his “musical dramas,” I often have the sense that Wagner uses the voice to effect splashes of sound, and to create immediate emotional effects on listeners, rather than composing anything like arias or songs in the more usual fashion of 19th-century opera. Clearly, Wagner has a musical language of his own, and it takes work to discover it and to enjoy it for what it has to offer. One must, in effect, suspend expectations of “opera” or “song” to enter into Wagner’s musical world.

I want to draw on several of Wagner’s compositions in order to explore a puzzle in my mind. At the outset, I want to make clear what this puzzle is: How can it be that at least some of Wagner’s music is at once delightful and disturbing, a brilliant work of art and perhaps dangerous decadence? I would ask this question even if the National Socialists--including Hitler--had not idolized Wagner, and given his music a very questionable if not just plain bad reputation in many quarters. On the contrary, I do not wish to lay on Wagner’s music “guilt by association.” Admittedly, it makes one wonder why Hitler and some of the Nazi leaders loved Wagner’s music so much. And that adulation may give a hint to an underlying problem. But it would be unjust and foolish to reject all of Wagner’s music because some really bad human beings wallowed in it. A mass murderer may go crazy for Beethoven, but I surely would not throw out Beethoven’s music on that account. The puzzle for me, however, remains: Why is it that in listening to Wagner intently--really listening, absorbing the music, trying to understand the words--I may feel at once delight, interest, and emotional disturbance? What is Wagner doing in his music? That is the question.

That Wagner is one of the great geniuses of western music, or at the very least of 19th century music, should be evident to any student of music history and composition. According to my understanding, Beethoven was truly revolutionary in western music, because on a scale utterly unheard of before him, he unleashed a full range of emotions in music, and did so with extraordinary power and sheer genius of composition. As I have noted before, Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony (#3 in E-flat) is perhaps the pivotal composition in the last four centuries of western music. From the opening, crashing, clashing chords, one enters the world of explosive emotions powerfully expressed in symphonic sounds. The Eroica is unforgettable, and surely rocked and jarred its early hearers. Since Beethoven, the composer who most advanced the Beethovian enterprise in music was Richard Wagner. Indeed, I think that Wagner not only learned from Beethoven’s genius for expressing emotions, but pushed the release of passions in sound to new and perhaps unsurpassed heights. But here is a key difference between Beethoven and Wagner: As the overwhelming and returning emotions in Beethoven’s compositions are rage and sentimental love (and often a quick vacillation between these two extremes), Wagner’s music is not drenched in anger or rage at existence. The emotions I hear in Wagner, and which his music provokes in me as I listen, are at least two: a kind of dreamland Romanticism that pulls one away from the world as it is; and sheer erotic passion. Indeed, I know of no one who has expressed sexual desire and its consummations in music to compare with Wagner. Dreamland Romanticism is common in 19th century music, but even here, Wagner excels most of his contemporaries through his compositional skills.

Let’s consider briefly a few examples of his music. I will refer to several compositions, and invite the interested reader to listen to them. Most would be available for free listening on YouTube.

In a composition such as Wagner’s Prelude to Act I of his relatively early opera, Lohengrin, one hears a beautiful example of a the music of 19th century Romanticism: lyrical, emotionally charged, relatively simple and direct (not heavily contrapuntal), and with that sense of dreaminess or floating so common in Romanticism. What especially impresses me in this composition, other than its sheer beauty, is Wagner’s compositional technique. It would seem to be an outstanding example of Romanticism’s fondness for organic growth: the entire Prelude begins from a single note, gradually builds to a full orchestral sound, and then recedes back into a simple sound and silence. It is if Wagner develops a whole, glorious plant out of a single seed, and then the plant quietly withers away. In my opinion, this Prelude shows Wagner not only as a master of musical composition, but as a highly skilled master of the orchestra, using its rich colors to magnificent effect. And the emotional effect is one of peace and delight, free from strife or anger. In a word, Wagner knows what he is doing, and he can powerfully move audiences through his skills.

Wagner’s music that has most captivated my attention in recent months comes from his breakthrough musical drama, Tristan und Isolde. At the outset I admit that I have never heard the entire opera, although I have listened intently and repeatedly to selected parts of it, especially the Prelude (which Wagner called “the love-death”); the love-duet between Tristan and Isolde that begins, “O sink hernieder;” and then the utterly unforgettable and unsurpassable final “Liebestod” or “Transfiguration” sung by Isolde over the body of her dead lover.

Without having recourse to parts of the Ring cycle, one can detect, if you will, the glory and the potential danger in Wagner in these selections from Tristan und Isolde. The music is rapturous, and if well sung, perhaps some of the most memorable and unforgettable music one will hear in his or her lifetime. I would challenge anyone to find in the entire repertoire of western music any composition as expressive of erotic love as the love-duet and the final piece conventionally known as “Der Liebestod,” the lovedeath. Here one discerns the challenge that is Wagner’s music: in some senses, utterly beautiful, brilliantly composed, excitingly orchestrated; and yet, is it not also decadent or destructive in some difficult-to-express ways?

Art is not neutral. It communicates the spirit of its creator. In the case of music, if the composer was spiritually, mentally, emotionally healthy, then the music has mainly beneficial effects. J. S. Bach, Mozart, and Haydn are healthy souls, and their music nearly always refreshes, cleanses, elevates the soul of the hearer. Of course overindulgence in any art may do some damage in the sense that one must still perform duties; but in proper balance, compositions by healthy souls bring beauty and refreshment into the active listeners. But what happens if the composer is spiritually ill, or mentally ill, or emotionally ill? Does it not seem likely that his or her compositions would be, to some degree, diseased? Good comes from good, and bad from bad. “A good tree produces good fruit.” A good, healthy soul produces good, wholesome music.

And then there is Wagner. Admittedly, I so love listening to the compositions mentioned that I could do so by the hour, and be entranced, almost as if I were indulging in a drug. And in some way, his music is intoxicating, and perhaps addicting. That claim has been made, and seems to show up in Wagner-groupies who travel around the world to hear his operas. What I know is what I experience, and I am trying to communicate it as clearly as I can. On the one hand, the music is simply gorgeous--at least when beautifully sung, as by Lauritz Melchior and Kirsten Flagstad, or Birgit Nilsson or Weltraud Meier, and so on. I am in awe at what these human voices can do and communicate as they sing the music Wagner composed. One aspect of the Wagnerian experience: amazement at such beauty. But something else takes place as one listens to the highly emotion-laden, extremely intense music. What happens?

What is the experience of Wagner’s music that leads me to call it “decadent,” or damaging when indulged in unthinkingly or unguardedly? In both Wagner’s words (and he wrote his own libretti, which are often strange, bizarre poetry) and in his music, one experiences an emotional intensity that clouds one’s sense of solid reality. The music so overwhelms the listener that he or she becomes absorbed, transfixed, perhaps ecstatic, or even sexually aroused. In parts of the love-duet (“O sink hernieder--Sink lower into the night of love”) and in Isolde’s unsurpassable “Liebestod,” the music becomes more erotically charged than any other music I have ever heard. That testifies to Wagner’s genius and ability to communicate in sound intense emotions. In effect, the listener becomes utterly at the mercy, if you will, of Wagner the master composer-magician, whose music enters into the soul with such force and power that the listener becomes spell-bound, or intoxicated, or even, as I noted, sexually aroused. Wagner inflames the passions, even while subduing reason, putting the thinking part of the hearer to sleep through puzzling, strange expressions, but inundating, flooding, stimulating, exciting the lower passions of the listener. Is Wagner exercising what Nietzsche called “the will to power” in the way he fully dominates his listeners by his music? That is a fair question. What I experience is that my soul becomes utterly at the mercy of Wagner through his words and music, so much so that even my breathing is affected, my heart-rate changes, and I find my imagination being filled with fantasies. All that through music? Yes, through music and words in a setting of intense emotional drama portrayed on the stage. Isolde utters nearly orgiastic cries of delight as she is ravished by the male part, taken by the orchestra, for Tristan lies dead. Her singing is far less a song in any sense than sexually suggestive splashes of sound erupting from a woman in a sexual frenzy.

Wagner is the master music-magician. I say this as a summary point, but do not wish to negate his artistic achievement. If you know of any music more powerfully erotic than the love-duet or Liebestod, I would have to hear it to believe it. To be a master magician in any art or science, one must know what he or she is doing, and do it with consummate art and knowledge. Wagner is a true master-singer.

The Thrill Is Gone

What ought one to do when attending Mass has become “boring,” when the readings sound all-too-familiar, and the prayers just drone on and on? What should one do when “practicing one’s religion” has become sheer drudgery? Is the only alternative just to stop attending religious services altogether?

Consider a few examples of what one hears: “I attend Mass each week because I’m supposed to.” “I go to Mass, but it is so boring, uninteresting, and uninspiring.” “Why do I waste my time? I would rather be out hunting, or playing golf, or just sleeping in?” “I go to Mass, and try to listen to the readings, but I cannot even hear what is being read.” “The priest says the same old things week after week” “Why does Father say the prayers at Mass like a freight train? Does he even believe what he is saying?” “Is Mass really prayer at all, or just a kind of external show?” “How come the priest doesn’t tell more jokes and stories?” “My kids don’t get a thing out of Mass. The priest says nothing to them. He is so out of touch.” “Why should I go to Mass anymore?”

The underlying problems and concerns are serious, and need more attention than I can offer in a few paragraphs. For the time being, rather than tackle the whole problem of practicing one’s faith in Church today, I focus on a single part of the problem: On paying attention to the readings (and by extension, to the prayers) at Mass.

On paying attention to readings at Mass

How does one pay attention to readings at Mass, especially when they sound so familiar? How do you keep the readings from becoming stale--so stale that you really stop listening? So familiar, so often heard, so stale? What is one to do? Reminds me of the old song, “the thrill is gone,” and Loretta Lynn’s twanging voice lamenting, “the tingle has become a chill.”

My whole approach to Christian spirituality is not to lay down rules or even to quote church laws to people, but to keep encouraging men and women to seek God, to listen to the Spirit, to be radically honest with themselves before God. If one truly wants to love and to know God more, then that will happen, because “God is good,” and all good desires come from God.

What needs to happen, then, before listening to the readings at Mass, before entering into all of the prayers, is some honest self-examination during the week: Do I truly seek God? Do I want to do God’s will, or do I insist on my own way? What would God have me do with me life? What may God be saying to me, here and now? Why should I attend Mass? What do I want to “get out of it?” What do I have to give of myself when we gather for the Eucharist? Yes, I can give some money or some service, but how in truth do I give my heart? How do I “present myself a living sacrifice to God, wholly and acceptable” (Romans 12). What do I need to do so God can act more freely and completely in my soul, and in my life?

In my understanding of our Christian faith, such questions need to be active in one’s heart all of the time. Anyone who thinks that he or she “has arrived,” has “been saved,” or is already doing God’s will fully and faithfully is deceiving himself or herself. “If you think you stand, take heed lest you fall,” St. Paul tells the self-inflated Christians in Corinth. The spiritual life that is self-satisfied is not a spiritual life at all, but a fake, a pretending to be what one is not. As a part-time Catholic told me years ago, “I am a good and righteous man.” I thought, “This fellow is deceiving himself. I pity the woman he is living with, and says he wants to marry.”

As one comes to Mass, it is healthy to be aware of one’s spiritual needs, aware of one’s lack of faithfulness to God, aware of one’s smallness before the LORD, and admitting one’s personal short-comings or sins. And one should also come thanking God for another day to live and to serve, another chance to “arise and go to my Father.” The life of faith is lived between God and evil, so one must keep resolving to turn towards the living God as God is, not as you want God to be. One must desire to commune in truth with God, not in pretense and show. Don’t try to look “religious,” just be the man or woman you are in light of the Almighty. One must come to Mass desiring to hear God’s Word, and not merely have one’s opinions or beliefs reinforced, and surely not to live on in sleep. The real God is alive and active, never dull or stale; those who truly want God must seek to be alive, active, aware, attentive, awake, alert.

More particularly, how should one listen to the readings at Mass? To the extent possible, it is good to spend some time in silence before Mass begins. One should ask himself, “Why am I here? What can I give?” or similar questions. Still before Mass begins, I highly recommend that each person reads over the readings appointed for this day--or at a minimum, the Gospel for the day. And as one reads, he or she should allow some questions to surface: “What strikes me in this passage? What disturbs me about it? What do I not understand here? What might the LORD be saying to me in and through these words? Why are we reading this Gospel or Old Testament reading at Mass today? What is significant about it? What is really important here?” And so on. Question. Think. Do not just passively run your eyes over the words. Passive reading or passive hearing is a waste of time, a waste of mind. Use what God gives you: your mind, reason, questioning, spiritual struggles. As an example, if the Scriptures mention a healing, you may wonder, “Am I being healed? If so, of what illness? How can I surrender my spiritual, mental, physical illnesses and problems to the LORD?” Read actively, as a human being, not as a mushroom on a log.

After hearing the readings, you would do well to ask yourself, “What spoke to me? What did I hear? What do I need to ponder as Mass continues, and in my heart in the coming days. If I heard nothing at all, why not? Am I alive, or just going through the motions? LORD, speak, for your servant is listening.

Thoughts On The Presidential Election Of 2012: View From January

Now that Mitt Romney has won both the Iowa Republican caucuses and the Presidential primary in New Hampshire, virtually every voice I have heard is quite convinced that, excluding a wholly unforeseen event (such as a death or personal catastrophe), Romney will be running against Obama for the office of President this coming fall. As of last evening, Intrade gives Romney an 85% chance of winning the Republican nomination.

A major decision both Obama and Romney will face is the choice of their Vice-Presidential running mate. For Obama, the question is whether or not to keep Biden on the ticket. It seems obvious to a number of observers that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton would strengthen the Obama ticket considerably. As for Romney, names which I read mentioned as running mates include Senator Rubio of Florida, Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey, and Condoleezza Rice. In my opinion, Rubio or Rice would most strengthen the ticket. But then, according to studies, the choice of vice presidential candidate historically has little effect on the ticket's success or failure.

Without declaring my own preference, if I had to bet on whether Obama would be reelected or not, I would give him better than a 50% chance. In fact, I think that defeating him would be a most difficult task for anyone. I give several reasons:

1. First, Obama is the incumbent, and Americans nearly always re-elect the incumbent as President (Carter and the elder Bush were the only two exceptions since Herbert Hoover).

2. Second, President Obama has amassed an enormous "war chest," and has access to vast financial assets for his campaign.

3. Third, a liberal Democrat can count on winning nearly 200 of the 270 electoral votes needed for victory from the first day of the campaign. It is highly unlikely that Obama would not carry California, New York, Illinois, and just these three states together have about 100 electoral votes. But there are other highly urbanized states that are virtually beyond Republican grasp at this time of our history. Of all the states rich in electoral votes, only Texas is highly likely to go Republican. Presently, rural and small town America tends to be much more Republican, and urban America tends to be much more Democratic; and by far, most Americans live in large urban areas, or their suburbs.

4. Fourth, with the exception of Fox News, I cannot discern any significant news network on American TV that has not displayed a clear preference to support Obama's first election and his Presidency. It may be that mass media are not significant now in moving public opinion, but given what occurred in 2008, it is evident that many media voices were not only friendly to Obama, but openly enthusiastic about his "historic candidacy." I have not seen evidence of a change in this regard.

5. Fifth, as things now stand in the U.S. economy, there are a number of signs to which Obama can point to say--and with some good reason--that "our economy is improving," and no doubt he will say, "and it has happened on my watch." If the unemployment rate continues to fall, historical evidence strongly suggests that the incumbent President will be re-elected.

6. Sixth, Obama will have little difficulty ridiculing Congress as the source of all sorts of problems in our political culture, especially given the public disrespect for Congress. That Democrats have controlled the upper house, the Senate, throughout Obama's first term, and that Democrats controlled the House for Obama first two years will be silently ignored. Congress will be a whipping boy, and the boy in this case will have the face of an elephant.

7. Seventh, Many Americans have been proud to have elected a minority President, as it has so often been called "historical." Indeed, given the history of race hatred and tension in our country, there is a good deal of truth to this claim. Hence, many voters may be reluctant to vote against the man who broke through significant "race barriers" in getting elected President in the first place.

8. Eighth, Romney has some baggage which will be used against him repeatedly and no doubt effectively:

(a). First, that Romney has "flip-flopped" on significant issues, depending on which voters he was appealing to (for example, being pro-choice in Massachusetts, but pro-life when running in Republican primaries.). The "flip-flipper" charge has already been heard repeatedly.

(b) Second, Mitt Romney is LDS ("Mormon"), and although many will not say so publicly, a sizable number of self-professed "evangelical Christians" either would not vote for a "Mormon," or would do so very reluctantly. Exit polls in New Hampshire, for example, showed that conservative Catholic Rick Santorum relatively out-performed Romney among self-described evangelicals, but Romney out-performed Santorum among Catholics. Evangelical Protestants, most of whom have been voting Republican, may boycott voting for Romney in sufficient numbers to cost Romney such states as Florida, North Carolina, Virginia, Indiana, Iowa, and others. The "Mormon factor" could be decisive. (Note that states with high proportions of LDS citizens are among the strongest conservative-Republican strongholds in the country: Utah and Idaho, mainly.)

(c) Third, Romney comes from that now infamous "1%" of the population that Obama and the "occupiers" have roundly stigmatized. Americans have a strongly egalitarian bias in our culture, and it is easy to re-awaken dislike, hatred, or envy towards the richest of the rich. Class envy and hatred are at least as real in America as race hatred. And not only is Romney from the "money class," but he made vast sums in what Governor Perry keeps calling "vulture capitalism," that is, private equity, which could be seen as an extreme case of Wall Street power and money gone amuck. Given the "Wall Street bail out" that infuriated many Americans in the past several years (including many conservatives, by the way), to label Romney as a "Wall Street banker" could be a kiss of death. And the label will stick, because of his years of running Bain Capital.

Just as I finished writing the previous paragraph, I saw a commercial on TV sponsored by the Democratic Party, featuring Romney saying, "I enjoy firing people." And so it will go.

"What Are You Seeking"?

Because the Feast of Epiphany occurred at a relatively late date this year (last weekend’s liturgy), the Baptism of Jesus was celebrated this past Monday. Today’s liturgy, then, is for the second Sunday of Ordinary Time, indicating that from now until Lent our attention is focused on the teachings of Jesus. John’s Gospel, from which we read today, however, does not emphasize the ethical teachings of Jesus, but most surely focuses on Christ Himself, on “the Word become flesh,” on the mystery of Incarnation: God pouring Himself into humankind to effect an eternal union of God and man. That is the great theme of the Gospel of John.

Note that in the Gospel heard at Mass this week-end, rather than baptize Jesus in the Jordan, John the Baptist points to Jesus and “reveals” him to two of his own disciples: “Behold the Lamb of God.” This revelation could be called “an Epiphany.” Through God’s self-sacrifice in Christ, “God reconciles the world to Himself.” The action is primarily on God’s side. Man’s part is to keep making the loving response of faith, through which God’s incarnating presence continues to grow in our hearts and hence in the world. Again, that is one way of expressing the theme of the entire Gospel.

As I intend to show in our faith classes on the Gospel of John (beginning 2 February), John chooses his words very carefully, and evidently delights in symbolic meanings intended to lead us into the mystery of Christ, into the heart of the living God. In this light, consider the first words spoken by Jesus in this Gospel: “What are you seeking?” Note well: this is a question, not a proclamation. In Mark’s Gospel, by contrast, the first words of Christ are bold proclamation: “The time is fulfilled; the Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe in the gospel.” In John’s Gospel, however, Jesus actively probes the minds of would-be disciples with a penetrating question: “What are you seeking?” Jesus is the master-questioner.

This question, I suggest, is intended by the evangelist to be a life-question for disciples. For it is not just asked and forgotten. In fact, towards the end of the same Gospel, Jesus asks Mary Magdalen in the Garden: “Whom are you seeking?” The entire Gospel of John is bracketed by this question, indicating its significance. Well, what are you seeking? Power? Money? Pleasure? Comfort? Or perhaps growth in virtue? Or knowledge, or wisdom? Or eternal life? Christ in you, “the hope of glory?”

“Know thyself.” What are you seeking? And that question needs to be heard again and again in our hearts and minds. The answer you give is your life.

A Few Thoughts On Expectations About Priests, Vocations, Giving Scandal

During my thirty years as a Benedictine monk, and over twenty years as a Catholic priest, I am well accustomed to receiving strong criticism and even mocking condemnation for being “part of the hierarchy,” or for being “a member of the clergy,” and so on. More usually, however, I have encountered quiet indifference or cool tolerance. One learns to live with such attitudes, and understand them within the context of a culture which is largely hostile to the spiritual life in general, and to “organized religion” in particular. And apparently to many people in America, a Catholic priest--regardless of what he thinks or does--is part of “organized religion.” Furthermore, every priest must bear some of the weight of shame, if not guilt, for the scandals given to faithful and to those outside the Church.

More difficult to deal with, at least for me, has been an attitude of naive respect for me and for every Catholic priest, especially when this attitude is expressed by words suggesting that “all priests are holy,” or “we just assume that priests do not sin,” and so on. People who cling to this attitude, in light of concrete evidence, are setting themselves up for strong disillusionment when the light finally dawns on them that priests and religious in the Church are first and foremost human beings, and that all human beings are in the same boat: we are somewhere between holiness and wickedness or vice, between God and sheer selfishness. Viewed morally or ethically, religious or members of the clergy (Catholic or Protestant) may be no better or worse, overall, than a general sample of the population in a given culture. In short, lay people, religious, and clergy all far short of the Gospel of Christ.

To put the matter more concretely: If I do well well, appreciate the good deeds and “give glory to God.” If I do wrong, then I am responsible for that wrong-doing, and I do not ask for you or for anyone to white-wash my wrong-doing and say, “But he’s a priest! He could not have done that.” Truthfulness and a firm grip on reality honor the Creator far better than starry-eyed, naive beliefs about “priests are all holy” or “the priest is another Christ,” and so on. Indeed, I think that naive beliefs about clergy, and misleading claims of the priest as “another Christ” have contributed to a failure to face reality and to correct clerical failures in a timely manner.

A concrete case of “vocation.”

I use my own case because I am familiar with it, and it gives perhaps a different look at clergy, and how to view us in a truer light.

I do not think of myself first and foremost as a priest, or even as a Benedictine. (And I most certainly do not think of myself as “another Christ.”) For many years I have thought about this matter of self-interpretation, which relates to the issue of vocation or calling. I think of myself first and foremost, and most essentially, as a human being under the one God, part of common humanity, a member of mankind. Secondly, I am a male human being, and now a man in upper-middle age. Next in the order of what is essential, I am a human being in Christ, one who seeks to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ, and to rise and follow again and again. Fourth, I am by calling and gifts a teacher, a man who seeks to share in the search for wisdom and knowledge with others. And then, further down the chain, so to speak, I have been a Benedictine monk since my late twenties; and now, living outside of the monastery, I am in effect a poor monk indeed, as monks take vows to their community for life. Still, I am a man formed spiritually in the tradition of St. Benedict, his Rule, and the communal life and prayer of English Benedictines. And then, less essentially still, I am also an ordained priest in the Catholic Church. I did not put myself forward to be ordained, but as befits a Benedictine, I was asked by my Abbot to pursue theological studies with the goal of serving as a priest--most importantly for our Benedictine community, or if needed, “outside the walls” of the cloister.

From my experiences in speaking with diocesan priests (men ordained to serve as priests in and for a particular diocese), our self-conceptions are in some significant ways different. My attitude is, in effect, more closely akin to that of fellow religious in the Church--brothers and sisters living the vowed life. Hence, I am a Benedictine brother (monk) who happens to be serving as a priest, and doing so willingly and thankfully, at least for this period of my life. But whereas I can serve in one diocese or another, or not serve in a diocese as a priest, but perhaps as a Benedictine teacher (which I have done much of my adult life), I am always a Benedictine, even when I am not functioning as a priest. As a Benedictine, my foremost obligation is crystal clear: to seek God. And this calling, I believe, accords as well with my call to follow Christ (general Christian vocation), and my foremost duty as a human being under God: “Seek the LORD and you will live.” As a priest, I need not serve in a parish or in any outwardly priestly role in the Church, but I am obligated to “offer myself up as a living sacrifice, which is my reasonable worship” (Romans 12). Then again, every Christian as Christian is called to make that same self-offering. This is an aspect of “the priesthood of all believers,” borrowing Luther’s apt phrase.

In short, as a man, as a Christian, and as a Benedictine, my foremost duty is to seek the living God, and to live in charity with my brothers and sisters (fellow human beings), and with all of God’s creation. Even if I were dispensed from my priestly or Benedictine vows, I would have the same duties. And if I work as a priest, or retire from active priestly minister, I have the same essential duties to love God and neighbor. The way that is done, the particulars of one’s life, must change with circumstances; one must be open to new or to different ways to “seek God and live.” I do not feel forced or compelled to remain serving as a priest, or even to remain a monk. I must follow wherever God leads, and seek to be open to undergo much change on my journey home. That, in short, is one decisive component of my self-understanding of my vocation. Note: There is here no room for me to think of myself as “having arrived,” as “another Christ,” or any other ideological or theological misunderstanding.

And now?

What I write is intended to be general, and apply to others, but I will proceed using my own case for study.

A question seems fitting, ever to be asked again with genuine concern by every one of us: “LORD, what would you have me do? What are you asking of me here and now? How would you have me do your will?” Because I am here--not there, or elsewhere--I presume that I should remain here “for the duration,” doing what duties require, and especially, seeking God. For I have learned that as a priest in active ministry, it is very easy to get so caught up in particular tasks--there is always more work than I can do--that I forgot my deeper, truer task and duty: to seek God.

And what does it mean for me, here and now, to “seek God?” The easy and obvious answer is, “Prayer.” But prayer means many things, and must change as one changes, or else it becomes a stale exercise. According to Benedictine wisdom, “Pray as you can; don’t try to pray as you can’t.” So one could and should ask, “How am I to pray? What kinds of prayer are most suitable for me?” Or letting go of the word “prayer,” and still wanting to know what it means to “seek God,” I wonder: How can I turn my heart and mind more fully, more truly, to the presence of the living God? What must I let go of to move into God? What must I leave behind here and now? Abraham, the man of faith, left homeland and kinfolk behind to seek the living God. What am I leaving behind now? Or to what am I clinging, that is hindering my soul’s life and movement into God?

To ask these questions is in part to answer them. To anyone willing to be honest with himself, one knows what one needs to renounce, to let go, for the sake of “entering the Kingdom of God,” or living in the truth of God here and now. By God we move to God. With trust in the power of God in us, we renounce the hindrances, and keep still, waiting for the time God has chosen to act, or to speak, or to guide us into deeper silence.

Changing expectations

How does one who seeks to follow the human vocation to seek God live with the serious flaws in the human condition, and especially with one’s own sinfulness? And more specifically for a man or woman in the Church, how does one who tries to seek God as a faithful Catholic deal with the scandals provided by clergy, let alone with one’s familiar sins and weaknesses?

When a priest fails in serious ways to present Christ in word and deed, his failure may well have strong effects on many of the faithful. Sins that are private limit a priest’s freedom, energy, and quality of person to give himself generously, as his duties require. But sins that cause a public scandal, and especially those that make Christians feel betrayed or abused or used, may have spiritual effects in human beings for years to come. Whether reasonably or not, many of the faithful expect their priests to be “men of God.” If they are found to be seriously deficient in basic human virtues--kindness, generosity, truthfulness, honesty, courage, prudence, hard work, charity, self-control, and so on--they in effect damage human souls, especially in men or women who were overly trusting or naively trusting in the first place. Those with the most unreal expectations are likely to be the most deeply damaged by clerical failures. Their souls suffer. More explicitly, their emotional life undergoes waves of anger, sorrow, grief. And their minds are often plagued by doubts about God and Christ, a deep distrust of the Church and “organized religion” generally, and clergy are viewed with suspicion, distrust, distaste, contempt. We have seen these effects not only in young people who were literally abused, but in adults as well who have at times felt “betrayed” by priestly sins.

A question emerges into consciousness: Have you been scandalized in the Church? Have I been scandalized? One powerful effect of being scandalized is that one becomes “obsessed,” in effect, by the religious or clergy who have given scandal--from sexual indiscretions, from sexual abuse of children, from habitual lying or deceit, from prolonged misappropriation of parishioner contributions or of church property, from an evident “will to power” that shows up in some clergy. The person who has been scandalized--deeply wounded--by a priest or religious in the Church may find himself or herself wrestling with powerful forces in one’s soul. The greatest danger of which I am aware is that feeling deeply and personally betrayed. In those who feel betrayed, the Church member may have to wrestle with anger at God “for allowing it to happen,” or even feel that God has abandoned His people, and left those abused or betrayed or victimized to blow defenselessly in the wind. More directly, any and all clergy and religious become viewed with deep suspicion, rendering their attempts to minister in the Church much more difficult.

The person who has been scandalized in the Church may find himself just shaking his head and asking, “How could he have done this to us? Why did he do it? And worse, why did he get away with such evil-doing for so long? Where were his religious or ecclesiastical superiors? Why did they not correct him, or remove him from active ministry or from religious life in the Church?” Or, in some extreme cases, “Why did the hierarchy fail to confront evil, but sell themselves out to `the powers that be,’ and then remain dumb in the face of very serious evil?” (The disgusting cases of Catholic and Protestant church authorities during the Nazi era come readily to mind with this question.)

Finally, questions emerge that look towards healing and recovery in the Church: Having been scandalized, what do we do? Having seen failures to correct serious wrong-doing, should one simply be silent, or challenge neglectful authorities? How does one help a fellow human being overcome the “obsession,” anger, distrust, and so on, engendered by these scandalous actions? In the face of real evils in the Church, what should the faithful do?

I raise some questions now, and intend to take them up in more detail later. These are painful issues, but must be addressed.

On The Feast Of The Epiphany

Question for today’s feast: What am I doing to come to the light, to live in the light? How am I living the gift of faith?

The light of faith is lived in two ways, I believe: by the “acts of will” that constitute love or charity; and by acts of seeking and understanding that constitute the life of the mind. We must love what we seek and seek what we love. So easily said, so difficult to do.

There is something about Christian faith, or any religious belief, that it wants to remain asleep, to be mere belief without the ongoing scrutiny of self-examination, of repentance and return to the light, of seeking the truth of reality regardless of the cost to one personally. There is something about the human mind that it wants to grab what it glimpses, and abide in possession, rather than constantly move out of itself into the Other that we call God. There is something about the human heart that induces it to love the familiar and comfortable rather than to undergo the long, painful journey towards the real light.

Abraham, the primal biblical modal of faith, was called to leave homeland and family in his journey to God. The Magi leave what is familiar to seek Christ. What is needed is a radical, insecure, life-upending adventure of faith.

Epiphany in the churches is a chance to celebrate the gift of faith. But the danger here is that the gift is seen as something given and received and then possessed, and not as something that one must ever receive afresh. More to the point, faith is seen as a kind of knowing, when in reality it is an awareness that one does not know as one ought to know, especially regarding the truth of God. Faith that is real must ever be awake, alive, searching, journeying, letting go, faring forward. With hope and love, faith seeks God for God, also for one’s own benefit, and to have something worthy to give to others.

Faith that is not seeking is not faith. Love that is not desiring to give is not love.

On Epiphany: Note #3

In the preceding two notes written for the Feast of Epiphany 2012 we very briefly examined three approaches, in effect: a literal-historical approach based on taking Matthew’s story as a real event; an attempt to suggest meanings intended by Matthew through his use of myth; and then, drawing on Joyce’s usage, a brief mention of epiphanies as personal revelations of ourselves or others in our daily lives.

It remains to consider the most important and spiritually profound meaning of Epiphany. In doing so, we will also be providing an interpretation which radiates some meaning over the three previously mentioned interpretations. Or to put the matter differently: the story of the Magi; meanings intended in the story; and small “epiphanies” that occur in relations to one another are in effect examples of Epiphany writ large: manifestations of the divine Mind in human affairs and in creation.

In the human condition, and in our attempts to understand our place in the Whole, the Divine and human are partners, sharers in the mysterious process that we may call “life,” or “truth,” or “goodness,” or “beauty,” or “revelation” (and so on), depending on what particular aspect of the mystery of the Divine-human we are exploring or emphasizing. As being in a human way--as human kinds of being--we cannot consider the Divine except in two ways: through reasoning about the Divine-human mutual participation; or through mythical imagination by which our thinking moves from a reasoned examination of ourselves and of other beings and things-- creation--towards the ultimate cause of all that is. That ultimate cause, that which was “in the Beginning,” lies beyond the reaches of reasoning. This beyond-our-limits, the Beginning of all, is that which is commonly named God.” An attempt to explore the meaning of Epiphany--of divine manifestation--could focus either on the Divine-human participation or through meditation on that which was “in the Beginning.” In the following note we focus our attention on the first-mentioned mode, epiphany as part of the Divine-human mutual sharing. Regarding a meditation towards God as the Beginning of all existing beings and things, suffice it for the present simply to suggest that the entire creative process of God could be called an Epiphany of the divine Mind, of Intellect. In this sense, the first words attributed to the Creator in the Book of Genesis, “Let there be light!” would deserve attention as a sign of the beginning of the process of God’s lightgiving, God’s self-manifestation, or Epiphany.

For the present essay, however, we will focus on the approach to the Mystery called God through reasoning about the Divine-human sharing. Here it is not primarily mythical imagination and speculation needed to arise towards the Divine, but acts of reasoning. In this sense, which is taken from the Greek use of reason or Nous, reasoning is itself a participation in God by the goodness of God. Through reasoning about and towards the Divine, a human being participates in the Divine through an exercise of what St. Anselm called “faith seeking understanding.” Or, one could say, following a phrase from the Apostle Paul, that reasoning towards and in God is part of the most essential human activity: “faith working through love.” In any case, without faith as genuine trust in God, and without love as a response to the Divine Love drawing a human being, no exploration of the Divine-human relationship is possible. In the present case, one cannot reflect adequately on the truth of Epiphany, of Divine Selfmanifestation, without engaging one’s reasoning power functioning by faith (firm trust) and love (a desiring response).

The thoughts in the preceding paragraph may be a little difficult, if they sound unfamiliar. In such cases, it makes sense to restate the matter as simply as one can, and then to proceed with the analysis. Reasoning about the mystery we call “God” is itself a sharing in the Divine Epiphany or Manifestation. When human beings think about the Divine, they can do so only through an already-existing participation in the the divine Mind. As human sides of the divine-human, we cannot proceed with knowledge--for God as such is unknown to us--but with faith; and our love can only be a response to the presence and reality of Divine Love already at work in us. We cannot generate love for God out of nothing, but out of divine action already at work in us. The Divine flows into us as love, and we arise towards the Divine in the process of faith. But faith in this experiential sense is not a belief in doctrine or stories, but an activity that can be justly characterized as firm trust, wondering, questioning, seeking. Faith as the trust that opens the human mind to the divine Mind is what one sees in the lives of prophets and apostles, philosophers and saints. “No one comes to the Father but by Me.” By Christ as the Epiphany of God, by Christ as the Light of God shining into the human heart, man arises into God.

Hence, every human being, at all times in human history, who is responding at all to the movements of the Divine are responding to some kind of Epiphany--to Christ. “Faith in Christ” is this experiential sense did not begin with the response of men and women to Jesus of Nazareth, who is the Christ. Faith in Christ has occurred in far more ways and times than we can know or imagine. Faith in Christ has occurred whenever a human being, drawn from within or from without by the light of the Divine, responds to that light by openness, trust, surrender, seeking the truth of God, loving kindness towards fellow creatures.

Before pushing the analysis further, let us consider: We have in effect moved from a presentation of Epiphany as recollecting the biblical story of the Magi towards reflecting on the way in which God, as divine Mind, shines into and illuminates “every soul that is coming into the world.” To reduce Epiphany to a biblical story at best misses the meaning of Epiphany , and at worst fails to help open the mind to potentials for participating in divine action here and now. That a term such as “divine Mind” may sound unfamiliar, or perhaps appears as a mere borrowing from Hegel or Mary Baker Eddy, may be unfortunate; but no better symbol for the truth of what I am seeking to express has so far come to light. These summary comments induce us to begin afresh, seeking greater clarity and understanding. For the search to clarify the meaning of the divine-human in-between or mutual participation is itself to seek to share in the process of Epiphany, of divine manifestation.

                              

                                                                              ***

Why is the exercise of writing on Epiphany reasonably difficult? Why am I forced to think out each thought and sentence? Why cannot I not just fall back on what I have been taught, or “what the Church teaches,” or biblical stories? Why do I feel a duty to seek to understand what Epiphany is, rather than simply repeat what “we all believe,” or “what the Church teaches?” Why must we think? Why must we question? To think, to question, to seek the truth of God is to share in Epiphany. Merely to repeat what one believes is not to participate in living Epiphany, although it may help induce others to arise from the sleep of mere belief and lazy habits towards questioning. In truth, however, I think that the best way to promote sharing in the Epiphany is not a mere retelling of the story of the Magi, but to engage human minds in responding to the divine Light which is, in itself, the life of the mind. To reason about God is to share in Epiphany. To refuse to think, to question, is to style the process of epiphany. So one can choose: To seek in order to find; or presume that one has already found through belief or unbelief. I recommend the path of seeking because it is seeking God in and through divine mutual participation, or to use more familiar, “churchy” language, through grace arousing a living faith.

God acts; man responds. We respond by turning towards the light, towards the “grace” given, or by refusing to recognize, refusing to see what we have been shown, by turning away from the light. Epiphany requires human response. God enlightens; man questions. God illuminates; man rejoices in the light through seeking, or closes off. Or to speak more experientially: one sees something, and either wonders, or ignores. Questions stir, and are followed and thought about, or they are dismissed. Or perhaps they are never heard, for the mind is too busy with many things.

“What is this wondrous sight. I must go over and look.” So Moses was drawn, and responded. And in looking, he heard; and in hearing, and obeying, Moses became the carrier of the Divine Mind to any who would receive. “Where is the new-born King of the Jews? We have seen his star at its arising, and have come to worship him.” Something seen, a response made, a journey onward towards the yet unseen Light. “Who are you, LORD?” “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Arise, and you will be shown what to do.” Something given, response made: God acts; man responds--or could refuse. The responders become the prophets and apostles, philosophers and saints. The non-responders? “The Light has come into the world, but human beings loved darkness, rather than light, and refused to come to the light, lest their evil deeds be exposed.”

Epiphany is joyful and painful: the joy of finding the truly good; the pain of realizing one is not what or who one ought to be. Epiphany is life-giving to those who receive the light, and death-dealing to those who resist. Epiphany invites loving trust, or provokes angry and hateful rejection. Epiphany does not leave man alone, but pursues, and finds, and reveals, and discomforts, “like death, our death,” leaving one “no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation” (“Journey of the Magi”).

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A journey to be continued, or avoided: The one our task, the other an escape.

A Second Brief Meditation On Epiphany

06 January 2012    Traditional Feast of the Epiphany

Have you ever realized suddenly that you do not know someone whom you thought you knew, at least to an extent? Perhaps you were in a conversation, and the thought forces itself into consciousness, “This is not the person I thought I knew.  Why did I miss it?  Was I deceiving myself, or perhaps was s/he deceiving me?”  This epiphany is probably disturbing, and more unpleasant than pleasant.

Or again, have you experienced this strange event, this kind of epiphany:  Someone discloses to you their image of you, their hidden thoughts about you, and the person they think you are is so utterly different from the person you have come to know yourself to be?   A light goes on, in effect, and you wonder:  “My goodness!  That is the person he / she thinks I am?  That is not who I am.  Have I deceived him about me, or has he misinterpreted me?  Or perhaps he or she sees in me what I have not admitted into consciousness.  Am I perhaps really like that?”  It can be quite a surprise, a kind of inner-worldly “epiphany” or manifestation of the unknown becoming known.  And no doubt, this experience, too, is quite painful, or at least unpleasantly disturbing.

These kinds of inner-worldly epiphanies form the substance of James Joyce’s short story, “The Dead,” which in turn concludes his collections called “Dubliners.”  Set in Dublin, Ireland, on the Feast of the Epiphany (6 January) 1903, the heart of the story is a personal epiphany:  Through the power of beautiful music to evoke long-buried memories, a woman’s agony for her young lover of many years back comes back into consciousness, and she is overwhelmed with painful grief.  The inner-worldly epiphany or realization occurs in her husband:  He comes to the painful realization that his wife had kept this lost love buried in her heart for many years, and although they have been married for a quarter of a century, he has never really known his wife.  The seminal event of her early life he never knew, nor that another man had been so intensely in love with her when they were teen-agers that he risked his life and died out of love for her.  And so the husband now confesses to himself, “I have never loved a woman like that, that I would die for her.”

These are personal realizations or sudden epiphanies which can indeed be powerful, overwhelming, and open up doors for new experiences in our lives. Granted, they are not the great Epiphany of God shining into the soul.  But for a man or woman of faith, God is understood to be beyond these personal epiphanies, and even at work in them, allowing them to occur in order to move us ultimately through love of creatures into a truer, more enduring love of the Creator, the true Light.