“She was just here . . .”

Lin-Manuel Miranda is a blessing for the USA for which I am truly grateful.  I suspect that my reasons for saying that are somewhat different from those which his high-profile fans, supporters, and friends would offer, but I’m no less serious for all that.  Of all my reasons, the most important—if we could learn to listen—might be this:  he offers our death-denying culture a model for lament.

The novelist and publisher Carolyn Givens wrote beautifully about this in an essay posted on The Rabbit Room a couple months ago called “Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hopeful Grief.”  Givens reflects on “Alabanza” from In the Heights and “It’s Quiet Uptown” from Hamilton, which she calls “two of the most beautiful and hopeful expressions of grief I’ve ever heard.”Read more

On being a man

I noted recently my appreciation for Elizabeth Moon’s novel Against the Odds, citing her character Kevil Mahoney’s discussion of the distribution of human talent.  Another favorite passage of mine is a bit of impromptu marriage counseling given by an older man, Professor Gustaf Aidersson, to one of her young protagonists, Lieutenant Barin Serrano.  (By way of background, Aidersson has been married for decades to a sculptor named Kata, while Serrano is recently married to one of Moon’s longer-running protagonists, Esmay Suiza, now Lieutenant Commander Esmay Suiza-Serrano.)

“A man who is just a scientist, or just a soldier, or just a woodcutter isn’t a whole man.  I’ll tell you what I think a man is—and by man I don’t mean a featherless biped or something who just happens to have human DNA and a Y chromosome.  A man is a person who has learned—is learning, is willing to learn—to know himself.  Who can face the truth about himself and go on living, who makes the right kind of difference in the world.”

“Truth’s not always easy,” Barin muttered into his potatoes.

“Truth is never easy,” the professor said.  “Truth about yourself is the hardest.  But men love, men protect those they love, men walk with honor.  So can women—Kata would smack me with one of her carving tools if she thought I didn’t know that—but right now, because we’re both men, we’re talking about men.”

“What if you . . . make bad mistakes?” Barin asked.

“You fix them, as best you can,” the professor said.  “Admit them, make amends, try again.  I’ve certainly made them.  Lots.  It’s how you learn.”

I love Moon’s emphasis here:  being a real man—or a real woman—is about facing yourself honestly, asking yourself the hard questions, accepting the truth without defense, and moving forward with honor.

Any group of people is a group of people

“Every time society has given it a chance, it’s been shown that talent exists in previously despised populations. . . .  Over and over again, it’s been shown that an ordinary sampling of the population, including those considered inferior or hopeless, contains men and women of rare intelligence, wit, and ability.”

—Kevil Starbridge Mahoney, in Elizabeth Moon, Against the Odds

 

For a military science fiction adventure, Elizabeth Moon’s novel Against the Odds is remarkably rich in reflection; the scene from which this quote was taken is one outstanding example, but not the only one.  Though the focus of this scene is on the distribution of human talent, the same is true of human character.  Any ordinary sampling of the population, provided it’s large enough, will contain men and women of rare integrity, humility, and selflessness—and others who are their moral opposites.

The key word there, of course, is “ordinary”; if we consider populations which are selected for specific characteristics in some way, things will be skewed accordingly.  Professional basketball players are taller on average than the normal run of people.  Serial killers as a group are presumably worse people than average.  Neither group is representative of the human race as a whole—both are out of the ordinary in some way.  They are skewed samples by definition.

In an ordinary sampling, however—one which is not selected for a particular characteristic or extreme behavior pattern—any sufficiently large group of people will be much the same as any other sufficiently large group of people, both in the distribution of physical and mental gifts and in the range of their character.  Each group will have its geniuses and its people of below-average intelligence; its profiles in courage and its exemplars of cowardice; its brilliant musicians and its tone-deaf music haters; and each group will have its saints, and each group will have its servants of death.

Having been ordained to pastoral ministry almost nineteen years ago, I could hope that the American church would qualify as an extraordinary group of people, but I know better.  There are certainly great saints in many of our congregations, but there are also those who have joined the church for all the wrong reasons.  They may value the church as a social club, or as a good place for networking; or, sadly, they may have worse motives.  Some find a congregation where they can take power and exercise control; others are abusers who have identified a given congregation as a good hunting ground.  To our shame, some in all these groups are pastors.  The false shepherds of Ezekiel 34 who use the sheep as a source of meat and wool are still very much with us.

When revival comes, that will change; and for now, as the cultural acceptability of Christianity sinks slowly in the West, perhaps that will change things somewhat as well.  What will not change is the reality that someone’s outward profession of belief doesn’t actually guarantee anything about the inward reality of that person’s heart.  What someone says doesn’t tell us why they said it, and so we will always be vulnerable to imposters, poseurs, opportunists, and other liars.  As such, though we should be grieved when people who call themselves Christians do vile things, we shouldn’t be surprised.  For one thing, of course, though we are being saved, we still have great darkness in our hearts; and for another, Jesus knew full well—and warned us—that there would be those in his church who were not truly of his church.  (As the late Keith Green put it, “going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to McDonald’s makes you a hamburger.”)

All of this said, while the church needs to remember that it has no right to think of itself as better than any other group of people, I think this lesson is needed more urgently somewhere else:  in our political parties.  At least in America, on my read, one of the great driving forces of our politics is an assertive feeling of positional moral superiority:  the belief that I am morally superior because I believe what I believe, and so are those who disagree with me.  The corollary, of course, is that those who disagree with me are on that basis my moral inferiors, and can thus be assumed to disagree with me for morally reprehensible reasons.

Not to put too fine a point on it, this is a lie from the pit of Hell.

The truth of the matter is, both the Republican and Democratic parties (or, as I tend to think of them these days, the Red Tribe and the Blue Tribe) contain the full range of people, from those whose motives are of the best to those who are modern-day Thénardiers.  We can hold our opinions for reasons which are morally admirable or morally abominable without it changing our professed arguments for those opinions one whit.  Our belief to the contrary isn’t rooted in evidence, it’s rooted in the fact that the feeling of moral superiority is powerfully addictive.  The desire to look down on other people is one of the oldest and ugliest of all temptations—an emotional drug with very few equals.  Sadly, our political culture is so high on it, it will probably take a work of the Holy Spirit to bring us down.

This is a major reason why my political agenda these days boils down to one sentence:  pray for revival.

 

Photo ©2019 Vladimir Morozov.  License:  Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International.

Fairy tales and trigger warnings

Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already.  Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey.  What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey.  The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination.  What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.  Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.

—G. K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles (1909), XVII: “The Red Angel”

I thought of this quote as I read N. D. Wilson’s recent essay “Why I Write Scary Stories for Children.”  Wilson has much the same message, except that in his case, it comes as a product of his own experience as a parent.

I write violent stories. I write dark stories. I write them for my own children, and I write them for yours. And when the topic comes up with a radio host or a mom or a teacher in a hallway, the explanation is simple. Every kid in every classroom, every kid in a bunk bed frantically reading by flashlight, every latchkey kid and every helicoptered kid, every single mortal child is growing into a life story in a world full of dangers and beauties. Every one will have struggles and ultimately, every one will face death and loss.

There is absolutely a time and a place for The Pokey Little Puppy and Barnyard Dance, just like there’s a time and a place for footie pajamas. But as children grow, fear and danger and terror grow with them, courtesy of the world in which we live and the very real existence of shadows. The stories on which their imaginations feed should empower a courage and bravery stronger than whatever they are facing. And if what they are facing is truly and horribly awful (as is the case for too many kids), then fearless sacrificial friends walking their own fantastical (or realistic) dark roads to victory can be a very real inspiration and help. . . .

Overwhelmingly, in my own family and far beyond, the stories that land with the greatest impact are those where darkness, loss, and danger (emotional or physical) is a reality. But the goal isn’t to steer kids into stories of darkness and violence because those are the stories that grip readers. The goal is to put the darkness in its place.

Wilson tells the story of his oldest child, who at the age of 7 was given screaming nightmares by an illustration in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe of the vile creatures that served the White Witch.  Rather than trying to protect his son from his own imagination, he decided (with some trepidation) “to try [to] embolden his subconscious mind.”

I carried my son into my office and downloaded an old version of Quake—a first-person shooter video game with nasty, snarling aliens 10 times worse than anything drawn by Pauline. I put my son on my lap with his finger on the button that fired our pixelated shotgun, and we raced through the first level, blasting every monster and villain away. Then we high-fived, I pitched him a quick story about himself as a monster hunter, and then I prayed with him and tucked him back into bed. A bit bashfully, I admitted to my wife what I had just done—hoping I wouldn’t regret it.

I didn’t. The nightmare never shook him again.

We do no one any favors when we try to protect them from the darkness of this world.Read more

Presidential candidate Saruman J. Trump?

From Narnia to Middle Earth with Donald Trump, courtesy of The Federalist:

I’m the best at talking to Sauron, I really am.  Tough guy, tough negotiator but you really just have to have a man-to-man.  Not like the people running Gondor, they’re stupid.  I mean, how stupid are they?  Now, my tower – and let me tell you, it’s the biggest, classiest tower, great views of the whole ring of stone and the forest and the river – I can get him on the line.  Doesn’t answer anybody else, but when I want him, here’s there.  I’ll be so good at dealing with him, it’ll make your head spin.

Read the whole thing—it’s priceless.

 

Orthanc, tower of Isengard.  Public domain.

“White Witch / Fenris Ulf 2016: Vote for a Proven Winner”

If you ever doubt that C. S. Lewis was gifted with a prophetic voice, you need look no further for correction than Prince Caspian.

So writes Gina Dalfonzo on the First Things website, discussing the Black Dwarf Nikabrik.  Nikabrik was one of the allies Prince Caspian found after his escape from his uncle, the usurper King Miraz, but as an ally, he was highly problematic.

We first meet him inside the home of Trufflehunter, wanting to kill Caspian the Tenth against the wishes of the badger and Trumpkin. Nikabrik is angry at all Telmarines, bitterly remembering the injustices suffered by the old Narnians in their hands. In his defense, Nikabrik was born in hiding, grew in hiding and lived in hiding throughout his life, which must have been very difficult for any independent, freedom-loving dwarf.

When Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy (the heroes of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, for those who might not be familiar with the series) reach Caspian, Nikabrik is speaking; they stop outside the door to listen.

“Either Aslan is dead, or he is not on our side. Or else something stronger than himself keeps him back. And if he did come—how do we know he’d be our friend? He was not always a good friend to Dwarfs by all that’s told. Not even to all beasts. Ask the Wolves. And anyway, he was in Narnia only once that I ever heard of, and he didn’t stay long. You may drop Aslan out of the reckoning. I was thinking of someone else.”

There was no answer, and for a few minutes it was so still that Edmund could hear the wheezy and snuffling breath of the Badger.

“Who do you mean?” said Caspian at last.

“I mean a power so much greater than Aslan’s that it held Narnia spellbound for years and years, if the stories are true.”

“The White Witch!” cried three voices all at once, and from the noise Peter guessed that three people had leaped to their feet.

“Yes,” said Nikabrik very slowly and distinctly, “I mean the Witch. Sit down again. Don’t all take fright at a name as if you were children. We want power: and we want a power that will be on our side. . . .

“They say she ruled for a hundred years: a hundred years of winter. There’s power, if you like. There’s something practical.”

“But, heaven and earth!” said the King, “haven’t we always been told that she was the worst enemy of all? Wasn’t she a tyrant ten times worse than Miraz?”

“Perhaps,” said Nikabrik in a cold voice. “Perhaps she was for you humans, if there were any of you in those days. Perhaps she was for some of the beasts. She stamped out the Beavers, I dare say; at least there are none of them in Narnia now. But she got on all right with us Dwarfs. I’m a Dwarf and I stand by my own people. We’re not afraid of the Witch.”

Nikabrik is so consumed by fear and hatred and the need to defeat the enemies of his people that he can see nothing else.  The White Witch was a cruel overlord who humiliated and crushed anyone who dared oppose her—but all Nikabrik can see is that she wasn’t too bad to the Dwarfs.  Dalfonzo observes,

His own people and their safety are all that matter to him now. Instead of being an important priority, this has become his only priority—and any attempt to remind him that other considerations exist brings only his contempt and anger.

This is how good people with strong, ingrained values—people who have invested time and money in the sanctity of life, religious liberty, and similarly noble causes—can come to support a man who changes his convictions more often than his shirts. This is how people concerned about the dignity of the office of President end up flocking to a reality-show star who spends his days on Twitter calling people “dumb” and “loser.” This is how some who have professed faith in Jesus Christ are lured by a man who openly puts all his faith in power and money, the very things Christ warned us against prizing too highly. As one wag on Twitter pointed out, “If elected, Donald Trump will be the first US president to own a strip club,” and yet he has the support of Christians who fervently believe that this country needs to clean up its morals.

As Joseph Loconte has observed, the Narnia stories offer us “a view of the world that is both tragic and hopeful. The tragedy lies in the corruption caused by the desire for power, often disguised by appeals to religion and morals.” How dangerously easy it is for the desire for power to take on that disguise—and how easily we Christians fall for it.

Tired of waiting for Aslan—who may be nearer than we think—we turn elsewhere. It doesn’t matter if our candidate hates, bullies, and exploits other people, the reasoning goes, just as long as he’s good to us and gives us what we want. Hatred is a perfectly acceptable weapon, as long as it’s “on our side.”

Read the whole thing.  Please.  And remember what happened to Nikabrik.

Photo © 2013 Gage Skidmore.  License:  Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic.

Debunking the myth of the “Dark Ages”

I have another book to put on my Christmas list.  I’m not sure how I missed the publication of James Hannam’s book God’s Philosophers: How the Medieval World Laid the Foundations of Modern Science, or why it’s taken me this long to discover it, but from the review I just read, it looks like a fascinating work.  Usually, you hope a book is as interesting as the review says it is; in this case, I hope it’s as interesting as the review, and for that matter the reviewer.  The reviewer in question is an Australian medievalist named Tim O’Neill who appears to specialize in the history of medieval science and technology.  He’s also an atheist who gets as irritated as I do at the ways atheists abuse and misuse history to smear Christianity.  (Rest assured, I get just as irritated at the ways Christians abuse and misuse history.  In this area, my first allegiance is to the discipline.)

O’Neill writes,

One of the occupational hazards of being an atheist and secular humanist who hangs around on discussion boards is to encounter a staggering level of historical illiteracy. I like to console myself that many of the people on such boards have come to their atheism via the study of science and so, even if they are quite learned in things like geology and biology, usually have a grasp of history stunted at about high school level. I generally do this because the alternative is to admit that the average person’s grasp of history and how history is studied is so utterly feeble as to be totally depressing.

Perhaps it’s because I can’t think of any parallel consolation, but I’ve had to accept that the average person’s grasp of history and how history is studied is indeed so utterly feeble as to be totally depressing.  I’d like to believe that atheists and secular humanists are worse than Christians in this respect—but, no.  Indeed, as O’Neill notes in passing, the myth of the Dark Ages is as much the creation of Protestants attacking the Roman church as it is of atheists attacking Christianity in general.

It’s an excellent review essay because O’Neill has a fine eye for nonsense, a firm command of his subject, and apparently no use for people who value scoring cheap rhetorical points over getting their facts right.

In the academic sphere, at least, the “Conflict Thesis” of a historical war between science and theology has been long since overturned. It is very odd that so many of my fellow atheists cling so desperately to a long-dead position that was only ever upheld by amateur Nineteenth Century polemicists and not the careful research of recent, objective, peer-reviewed historians. This is strange behavior for people who like to label themselves “rationalists”.

Speaking of rationalism, the critical factor that the myths obscure is precisely how rational intellectual inquiry in the Middle Ages was. While writers like Charles Freeman continue to lumber along, claiming that Christianity killed the use of reason, the fact is that thanks to Clement of Alexandria and Augustine’s encouragement of the use of pagan philosophy, and Boethius’ translations of works of logic by Aristotle and others, rational inquiry was one intellectual jewel that survived the catastrophic collapse of the Western Roman Empire and was preserved through the so-called Dark Ages. . . .

Hannam . . . gives an excellent precis of the Twelfth Century Renaissance which, contrary to popular perception and to “the Myth”, was the real period in which ancient learning flooded back into western Europe. Far from being resisted by the Church, it was churchmen who sought this knowledge out among the Muslims and Jews of Spain and Sicily. And far from being resisted or banned by the Church, it was embraced and formed the basis of the syllabus in that other great Medieval contribution to the world: the universities that were starting to appear across Christendom.

Read the whole thing—it’s well worth your time.

“Acting white”/“acting girly”—whither men? (Part II)

In her Atlantic article “The End of Men,” which inspired this series of posts (the introductory post is here), Hanna Rosin writes,

The economic and cultural power shift from men to women would be hugely significant even if it never extended beyond working-class America. But women are also starting to dominate middle management, and a surprising number of professional careers as well. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, women now hold 51.4 percent of managerial and professional jobs—up from 26.1 percent in 1980. They make up 54 percent of all accountants and hold about half of all banking and insurance jobs. About a third of America’s physicians are now women, as are 45 percent of associates in law firms—and both those percentages are rising fast. A white-collar economy values raw intellectual horsepower, which men and women have in equal amounts. It also requires communication skills and social intelligence, areas in which women, according to many studies, have a slight edge. Perhaps most important—for better or worse—it increasingly requires formal education credentials, which women are more prone to acquire, particularly early in adulthood. . . .

Women now earn 60 percent of master’s degrees, about half of all law and medical degrees, and 42 percent of all M.B.A.s. Most important, women earn almost 60 percent of all bachelor’s degrees—the minimum requirement, in most cases, for an affluent life. In a stark reversal since the 1970s, men are now more likely than women to hold only a high-school diploma. “One would think that if men were acting in a rational way, they would be getting the education they need to get along out there,” says Tom Mortenson, a senior scholar at the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education. “But they are just failing to adapt.” . . .

This spring, I visited a few schools around Kansas City to get a feel for the gender dynamics of higher education. I started at the downtown campus of Metropolitan Community College. Metropolitan is the kind of place where people go to learn practical job skills and keep current with the changing economy, and as in most community colleges these days, men were conspicuously absent. . . .

“I recall one guy who was really smart,” one of the school’s counselors told me. “But he was reading at a sixth-grade level and felt embarrassed in front of the women. He had to hide his books from his friends, who would tease him when he studied. Then came the excuses. ‘It’s spring, gotta play ball.’ ‘It’s winter, too cold.’ He didn’t make it.” . . .

In 2005, [Jacqueline] King’s group conducted a survey of lower-income adults in college. Men, it turned out, had a harder time committing to school, even when they desperately needed to retool. They tended to start out behind academically, and many felt intimidated by the schoolwork. They reported feeling isolated and were much worse at seeking out fellow students, study groups, or counselors to help them adjust. Mothers going back to school described themselves as good role models for their children. Fathers worried that they were abrogating their responsibilities as breadwinner.

The student gender gap started to feel like a crisis to some people in higher-education circles in the mid-2000s, when it began showing up not just in community and liberal-arts colleges but in the flagship public universities—the UCs and the SUNYs and the UNCs. . . . Guys high-five each other when they get a C, while girls beat themselves up over a B-minus. Guys play video games in each other’s rooms, while girls crowd the study hall. Girls get their degrees with no drama, while guys seem always in danger of drifting away.

Clearly, some percentage of boys are just temperamentally unsuited to college, at least at age 18 or 20, but without it, they have a harder time finding their place these days. “Forty years ago, 30 years ago, if you were one of the fairly constant fraction of boys who wasn’t ready to learn in high school, there were ways for you to enter the mainstream economy,” says Henry Farber, an economist at Princeton. “When you woke up, there were jobs. There were good industrial jobs, so you could have a good industrial, blue-collar career. Now those jobs are gone.”

Since the 1980s, as women have flooded colleges, male enrollment has grown far more slowly. And the disparities start before college. Throughout the ’90s, various authors and researchers agonized over why boys seemed to be failing at every level of education, from elementary school on up, and identified various culprits: a misguided feminism that treated normal boys as incipient harassers (Christina Hoff Sommers); different brain chemistry (Michael Gurian); a demanding, verbally focused curriculum that ignored boys’ interests (Richard Whitmire). But again, it’s not all that clear that boys have become more dysfunctional—or have changed in any way. What’s clear is that schools, like the economy, now value the self-control, focus, and verbal aptitude that seem to come more easily to young girls.

The group dynamics Rosin is describing here have a worrisome parallel in recent American history, one described well in a review essay by Richard Thompson Ford posted yesterday at Slate:

Some black students in the 1990s had a derisive name for their peers who spent a lot of time studying in the library: incog-negro. The larger phenomenon is all too well-known. Many blacks—especially black young men—have come to the ruinous conclusion that academic excellence is somehow inconsistent with their racial identities, and they ridicule peers for “acting white” if they hit the books instead of the streets after school. The usual explanations for this self-destructive attitude focus on the influence of dysfunctional cultural norms in poor minority neighborhoods: macho and “cool” posturing and gangster rap. The usual prescriptions emphasize exposing poor black kids to better peer influences in integrated schools. Indeed, the implicit promise of improved attitudes through peer association accounts for much of the allure of public-school integration.

But suppose integration doesn’t change the culture of underperformance? What if integration inadvertently created that culture in the first place? This is the startling hypothesis of Stuart Buck’s Acting White: The Ironic Legacy of Desegregation. Buck argues that the culture of academic underachievement among black students was unknown before the late 1960s. It was desegregation that destroyed thriving black schools where black faculty were role models and nurtured excellence among black students. In the most compelling chapter of Acting White, Buck describes that process and the anguished reactions of the black students, teachers, and communities that had come to depend on the rich educational and social resource in their midst.

Buck draws on empirical studies that suggest a correlation between integrated schools and social disapproval of academic success among black students. He also cites the history of desegregation’s effect on black communities and interviews with black students to back up a largely compelling—and thoroughly disturbing—story. Desegregation introduced integrated schools where most of the teachers and administrators were white and where, because of generations of educational inequality, most of the best students were white. Black students bused into predominantly white schools faced hostility and contempt from white students. They encountered the soft prejudice of low expectations from racist teachers who assumed blacks weren’t capable and from liberals who coddled them. Academic tracking shunted black students into dead-end remedial education. The effect was predictably, and deeply, insidious. The alienation typical of many young people of all races acquired a racial dimension for black students: Many in such schools began to associate education with unsympathetic whites, to reject their studies, and to ostracize academically successful black students for “acting white.”

Ford goes on, it seems to me, to largely dismiss Buck’s thesis on the grounds that other factors were in play; no doubt other factors were in play, and continue to be, but it seems to me that he really doesn’t offer any particular reason to doubt Buck’s argument that desegregation proved, in the end, to do more harm than good. As such, while it isn’t Buck’s point at all, I think we have strong reason to worry about a similar dynamic developing among many men, perhaps to the point where we might someday see a paragraph like this:

The alienation typical of many young people acquired a gender dimension for male students: Many began to associate education with unsympathetic girls, to reject their studies, and to ostracize academically successful male students for “acting girly.”

It’s a thought which anyone should find troubling, and it’s not that far-fetched; indeed, Rosin shows that it’s already starting to happen among some older boys and young men. It’s counterproductive, even destructive, but it’s also very human—if those people over there look down on me because they’re better than me at something, the easiest way for me to protect myself from feeling shame and hurt is to decide that what they’re better at isn’t really important. Just think of Aesop’s fable of the fox and the grapes: the fact that I didn’t get a good grade doesn’t really mean I failed, because I didn’t really want it anyway.

The possible concern, then, is that the growing success gap between girls and boys, women and men could be increasingly reinforced among many younger males by a rejection of academic success (and perhaps social and, to some degree, economic success as well) as “girly,” something “real” men don’t waste their time on. This, obviously, is something which could have dire consequences for our society if it becomes widespread.