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How about that? I switched to Volume I in my Breviary, the thinnest of the books, and bluer than the Pacific Ocean, last night. Advent has always been my favorite season of the liturgical year, because it’s so short. It’s wrought with a tension that Lent, which seems to stretch forever, can never really muster. Lent, in its length, seems to meander through the desert. Advent cannot contain itself, and bursts from the seams.
Advent is also, probably, the most boistrous season. Much of that probably comes from its relationship to Christmas, which, while being less vitally important than Easter, certainly attracts a more festive air to it. As much as Advent is supposed to be a small Lent, a season of repentance and preparation, it, by virtue of its proximity to Natale, ends up being something quite different. It mixes with the culture’s “holiday season” in which we are now firmly embedded, and delivers to us a time of tittering spiritual excitement. We become less focused on prayer and penitence as the purpose of the season, and embrace it as a joyful preparation for the coming of Christ into the world. Consequently, I’ve seen numerous parishes abandon purple as the color of the season, and take on blue. Perhaps it seems a little happier.
Whatever the reason, it certainly signifies the shift in how we appreciate this season, which is, I think, a big source of the tension I described above. The feelings Advent should foster in us are necessarily mixed. How can we not rejoice at the coming of God Himself into the world? The incarnation of the one the Universe cannot contain, YHWH Tzevaot? But how can we not respond with humility and fear at the appearance of the Lord? How can we not tremble?
See? Tension! I love it!
I’ve been reluctant to post a response to the tragedy in Mumbai. I was on my Thanksgiving trip to New York to see my family when it happened, and I pretty much spent three days without real access to the news the way I normally like. I had heard something had happened, but wasn’t sure either of its scale or significance. I wasn’t aware of how big a deal it really was until yesterday, and even then, I really had a hard time forcing myself to care. That is not something I say blithely, cockily, or proudly. I say it with immense shame.
If we’re being honest, though, I’m not sure how many of us here in the States who didn’t have friends or family or some other connection to the region in some sort of danger could really muster up the intense horror that these events should foster within us. Sometimes, the scale of an event is enough — I think we all stood slack-jawed and awestuck at the Christmas Tsunami of 2004 which took over two-hundred-thousand lives. More often, though, it’s proximity. Nine-Eleven and the Oklahoma City bombing. The USS Cole. and Katrina. We stood frightened and mournful then.
The truth is that I hear on the news about disasters and terrorist activities and wars and diseases all the time, and if I gave each one the attention it deserved, the emotion and outrage it needed, it demanded, I would be a blubbery, tearful mess every hour of every day.
That said, I am far too blithe about these disasters, even considering all of that. I may utter a short prayer and get back to playing Spore. But then, they don’t even come up during intercessions at mass. At some point, at some distance, solidarity falls apart. I must think more on this.
Update: My buddy True responds over at his blog, Blarg! He’s advocating “nonoverlapping magisteria,” which I don’t agree with, but he puts up a good fight.
It’s always a bit difficult to begin discussing the proper relationship between secular authorities and the religions, the religious, and religious bodies, the Church in particular. It’s a complex tango, trying to balance the interests of disparate and often opposed
parties, which do not always, or even often, coincide on what they believe. Every religion, though, works for what it believes to be the common good, even if these visions differ wildly between faiths, and hope to in some way place upon the world an enduring mark, both of their beliefs and of their understanding of the dignity and purpose of man.
In the twenty-first century, the state is the arbiter of the public good. It alone has a claim on the legitimate use of force, it alone provides the framework in which everyone within a given territory must function, and it alone is able to both make decisions and ensure their operation through force of law. If we are respectors of law and its rule, we must acknowledge this privileged position of the modern state.
In the United States, fundamental to our conception of our government is the notion of the popular mandate, or, as Lincoln more poetically put it, “government of the people, by the people, and for the people.” It’s the first clause I’d like to discuss – “government of the people.” What is the proper relationship between people and the state? Is the state fundamental to the expression of the people’s culture? Is an an instrument thereof? Or is it, in fact, directing that culture?
In my experience, this is where things get quite dicey. The people of the United States have an immense investment in their government. We have had a single Constitution for the vast majority of our existence, have not been rent by many political dislocations, and have adopted civic-mindedness as one of our chiefest virtues, placing the simple exercise of the right to vote above any consideration of who you vote for. “I don’t care who you voted for, as long as you voted!” “It’s important to exercise your right to vote. Make sure you vote!” This is, of course, the constant refrain of the election year, and we proudly wear our “I Voted!” stickers when we leave the polls. We pride ourselves on being politically responsible, being informed voters who take the time to make sure their voice is heard. It’s an exercise in power-sharing, a keeping accountable of the pols in Washington.
After these election days, these long and deathly campaigns, we begin the process of trying to govern ourselves. Our investment in the government is such, though, that we place the entire onus on ensuring the public good on law and police, on statutes and resolutions, rather than in personal or community responsibility. A substance is unhealthy? We take pains to ban it, rather than simply refraining from its use and encouraging others to do the same. Is a car unsafe? Federal regulations will take care of it. Are our children learning? If not, funding will be withdrawn. Sometimes it’s the stick, and sometimes it’s the carrot, but it’s always the exercise of power.
Religion, we reason, is different. Though well beyond its purview or competence, enshrined in American jurisprudence is the idea that “at the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.” Unlike such things as car safety or educating the young, religion cannot be imposed. The human heart has an unassailable right to seek out the divine freely, without the hanging threat of force or violence every law carries within it. It’s essentially necessary that everyone be allowed and encouraged to probe their own souls and the universe to uncover the “why” of morality, the “ought” of the human person.
Here, though, we perhaps find ourselves enmeshed in a paradox of our own work. If we propose that purpose of government is to ensure the common good, to be the bulwark and guarantor of moral behavior (which is, in the most basic definition, at least behavior that contributes to, or does not hinder, the common good), it is conceivable that the government should also provide the answers to moral questions. Beyond “is it wrong to kill?” lies “why is it wrong to kill?” and beyond any statement of natural rights, there hangs the question of “what or who gives man these certain inalienable rights?”
Of course, it’s absurd to propose that it’s the role of the state to provide these answers, to legislate or direct the spiritual life of its people. And yet, these are questions that demand answers. They lie behind very child who has ever asked their parents why they’re not allowed to play with scissors, of every teenager who questions the legal drinking age, of every man or woman who wonders why they have to pay taxes. These are all ultimately moral questions, and moral questions lie beyond the competence of the state to answer beyond “we will inflict pain upon you otherwise.”
But these questions must be answered, because, in this age, acting without reason, simply by fiat, is 
unacceptable to most people. And these are precisely the sorts of moral questions government cannot answer. Unless we are willing to transform the Federal judiciary into the ethical arbiters of both faith and reason, the state simply lacks any way to articulate the why of the what. The basic theological, philosophical, and ethical base for obedience to the state cannot be made by the state; neither can a secular government develop and express a basic morality or ethic without defining itself in alignment to some faith and in opposition to others.
So, here we are, where the Wall of Separation is in fact the very thing buoying up the state, and in which religions and nongovernmental ethical systems, by right of providing a basic framework for understanding the world and evaluating behavior, should and must hold the first loyalty. Otherwise, they are mere ethical conveniences, bandages slapped on our doubts to allow us to act in a certain way, but otherwise ignored.
What happens, then, when the decisions of the state conflict with the ethical frameworks that make the state’s continued existence possible? No surprise should register when the government is second to the religions which they have long since relegated to the sidelines, and on which they have always depended. How, then, is this government “of the people?” How, in modern ideological governments, can an ruling coalition that seeks to impose upon the populace legislation and ethics that contradict the principles held by the people?
Ultimately, no government is capable of representing everybody, nor capable of serving everybody, let alone implementing on a broad scale the ethical, religious, and philosophical beliefs held by certain — even large — segments of the population. That governments the world over continue to try and do so in their all-encompassing efforts to regulate life from it’s conception to its conclusion is problematic: the state, supposedly the slave of the nation, has in fact become its master, seeking to define and articulate its own ethical system simply from its position of power, and yoke that system upon its citizens. This is the tyranny of consensus: a system to which nobody agrees.
If we believe in the freedom of human conscience to make their own ethical and moral decisions without unreasonable duress, we are faced with a problem, not only in the actions of modern governments, but in the extent in which we participate in and legitimize those governments. From a Christian perspective, our primary vehicle for enacting positive change should not be through the imposition of our ethical system upon a chafing, rebellious people, but through and in the Church’s preaching and in the conversion of the heart. Man’s first loyalty is ultimately to his own heart, and in that loyalty, we find the obedience of love and not the bitter obedience of fear. This respects both man’s dignity and God’s glory. No law, no decree, no council decision can sway the beating of the heart; it is only when the heart changes that peace can issue from it and from it reign.
Fratelli e Sorelle,
I got back from Brooklyn about fifteen minutes ago as of the moment I started typing. I hugged my dad and stepmom goodbye as they slipped out the door and back into the big burgundy van that brought us up the Seaboard and back, from family to familiar rooms, a path along which I ate salsa-flavored combos and some pizza while engrossed — positively engrossed – in George Weigel’s biography of John Paul II, Witness to Hope, marking the third time I’ve attempted to read it. It’s not a bad book, not at all. Just very long. Every time I try to read it, I take a week or so, get a couple-hundred pages in, and find myself promptly and thoroughly pulled away by something else. If nothing else, I am quite ADD and easily distracted, my attention span notoriously short if other options avail themselves. So I decided to turn my dad’s van into a monastery of sorts, and take the time to read.
It did not disappoint.
John Paul is interesting in that, unlike many people I admire, he doesn’t terrify me. Many of the people to whom I look for philosophical or literary or artistic inspiration blow me out of the water and cause in me intense paralysis. I freak out at how much more they’ve accomplished, how intelligent, how breathtakingly creative, how productive they were. This includes Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Stein, and writer upon writer upon writer whose productivity and genius make me regret my vocation. John Paul II doesn’t.
Reading Witness to Hope, I’m reminded of my own work, projects he inspired me to begin that got sidelined when I started my long walk in the wilderness between Christianity and Judaism: plays I’ve wanted to write and revise, poems I’ve wanted to sing, philosophical and historical problems I’ve wanted to resolve (especially the relationship between Christianity and patriotism here in the US, and more specifically, the extent to which the state can or should be a tool the Church can use to bring about a better world, especially in the shadow of this country’s intense destructive and economic power), and, chief above them all, the nature of Christian freedom in the face of tyrannies, both the large and obvious, and the small and persistent.
Reading the book, I was thinking theologically in a way I haven’t thought in ages, confronted, the book being also a basic primer on his philosophical and theological work, with the thought that had so enflamed and excited me two-and-a-half years ago. It also reinvigorated in me my thought regarding my vocation, as I’ve been flirting with the priesthood for years but still don’t feel ready to make a decision (which is itself possibly a meaningless feeling).
And, finally, it reminded me of the purpose of Catholic journalism, that it’s necessary to always turn a critical (which is not a negative term) eye on our culture, and strive to understand how and where we stand with relation to Christ and the freedom toward which we have all been called.
So, in the next week, I’m going to try to post on the following:
- The problem with patriotism, to try and begin to resolve it without just retreading old ground;
- The nature of American power and how it can and does affect us as Christians;
- Christian freedom, and what it means for us, especially in contrast to civil rights;
- The role of popular culture in informing how we perceive the place where how-we-see-the-world meets what-it-means-to-be-human;
- The relationship between the Church and the State beyond the Wall of Separation;
- The impossibility of tyranny for a free people and the liberty of conscience.
It’s gonna be a good week!
The first link is this: The Revenge of Conscience, in which in which a Mr. Budziszewski explains in glaring, terrifying detail why society is collapsing around us, and how it all centers on the failure of man to keep is head on straight. Hat tip to Mr. Shea.
Conscience is not a passive barrier but an active force; though it can hold us back, it can also drive us on. Moreover, conscience comes not from without but from within: though culture can trim the fringes, the core cannot be changed. The reason things get worse so fast must somehow lie not in the weakness of conscience but in its strength, not in its shapelessness but in its shape.
The second link is nothing like it: QWOP. Learn that walking is hard as you struggle down the course one muscle at a time. I could make a vague connection about the struggle of this ersatz Olympian and the failure of man to know when one foot is in front of the other, but that’d be ridiculous.
I’ll be in New York for a few days. Dunno if I’ll have computer access. PEACE!
In the future, when we are old and grey, hair both wispy and dishevelled as we shuffle from room to room, crying out to long-dead friends from wars that haven’t happened yet, we will still be buoyed by the memory of something extraordinary. It will fill us with a constant hope, flowing fresh as from its first time overtaking its bounds and seeping into the world. It will remind us that Americans, for all our flaws and hubris, for all our failures, all our greed, are still capable of rising to any challenge, of accomplishing the unbelievable.
Our grandchildren will come to us, and we will tell them all about how we were witnesses to one of our nation’s proudest moments, how, in November 2008, after years of waiting and hoping and doubting that it would ever happen or was even possible — Guns ‘n’ Roses finally released Chinese Democracy.
I will certainly be checking this record out. I grew up on Guns ‘n’ Roses, from “Sweet Child of Mine” to “November Rain” to “Paradise City.” They were my mom’s favorite band, crazy as Axl Rose was, and they’d be in the car’s tape-deck on my way to karate class or Cub Scouts. I have many fond Guns ‘n’ Roses-related memories, and am glad to see this hubristic, excessive, whiskey-soaked rock-god finally come out of his slumber.
Today is the unofficial first day of my Thanksgiving break, which officially starts tomorrow at noon. I slept late into the morning, rising at 10AM (being in bed at 2:30 or so after catching a late-night showing of The Dark Knight), and have only one obligation today, and that’s mass. Apart from that, I barely know what to do with myself. And the answer comes: Blog!
So Sunday I was at the Central VA Comicon, the biggest show in Virginia (which still leaves it a relatively small show; about 250 attendees) pushing my comic book Sanctuary: Hope Is Not Yet Lost. I was quite literally giving away our first issue. Why would I do that? Because we have four-thousand of them which we can’t realistically sell after being dropped by our distributor, and two more issues waiting in the wings. The goal is to get as many of these as we can in as many faces as we can so that, when #’s 2 and 3 officially launch (we only had mockups available), we can them out to a ready-built fanbase. To that end, I mad sure pretty much everybody in there had a copy, handing out at least two-hundred and fifty of them.
If you happen to be a big comic lover, and happen to enjoy this silly little blog of mine, I would ask you to swing by Brett’s Comic Pile and pick one up. I don’t see a dime from this, so you know, because we’re still in the red. But these are great books, and I’m quite proud of my work, so I’d hope a whole buncha you’s take a chance on a lowly comic book writer-cum-blogger who looks like Kevin Smith.
Today, I’ll be spending most of the day at the Central Virginia Comicon. Kevin is unfortunately unable to attend, so I’ll be showing (relatively) alone. The really killer part will be introducing the new material, Sanctuary: Hope Is Not Yet Lost #’s 2 and 3.
We are located in the massive 6,000+ sf ballroom at the Crowne Plaza West in Richmond, VA!
Location: 6532 W Broad Street.
We have plenty of free parking!Directions: From I-95 take the I-64 West Exit #79 towards Charlottesville. Follow for 3.2 miles, and then take exit #183B. Go 0.7 miles to hotel.
Special guests include Jason Craig, Rick Ketcham, and James Kuhoric. It’ll be a blast for all involved!
Pushing Daisies is a show about a man who could raise the dead. Unfortunately, he cannot raise himself. The show, easily one of the smartest, most whimsically fun and terribly sweet shows on the ole’ boob tube started strong last season, pulling in solid if not exactly impressive ratings until the Gods of Television decreed that they deserved a few months off, and TV went on strike. Its stunted first season hurt it. A fairly involved show to begin with, the natural catharsis a season of television generally provides was all the more necessary here, and with an odd enough premise already, it was a show that needed time to build and hold an audience.
It was not given that time.
Normally, when an excellent show dies, I just blame FOX. The FOX Network has a truly astonishing ability to murder its best shows, moving them around, constantly fiddling with the schedule without actually informing anybody of the change, and as a result, some of its more intriguing pickups pretty consistently fail within a couple of years, as it’s damn near impossible to keep an audience if you want them to, I dunno, maybe guess when the show is on. But Pushing Daisies was not on FOX.
I’ve been trained by FOX to blame the network when a show fails, or to acknowledge that the show itself put up impediments to building a massive audience; Arrested Development is the immediate example for both, being alternately pre-empted, moved, rescheduled, and also featuring a weird, idiomatic, confusing, and sometimes off-putting main cast. But Pushing Daisies didn’t have either problem. It wasn’t moved around. It hasd a charming cast and two of the most brilliantly gorgeous women on television in addition to Chi McBride (who is of himself a reason to watch any show).
Somehow, it just didn’t build an audience when it came back. It was like everyone just sort of…forgot about it.
I will miss you, Piemaker.
