Browsing tag: philosophy

  • From St. Thomas Aquinas

    Each new human creature receives existence directly from Being and is therefore radically new.

    Each human being is determined by antecedents as regards matter and form. But each is radically undetermined by matter and form as regards existence.

    At every moment, radical newness is not only possible but actual. New persons come into existence, summoned by Being himself.

    Therefore we are free not from matter and form, but within matter and form.

    Newness comes from creation by Being.

    The individual human creature has freedom to act as a creative mover within matter and form.

    The creative mover does not destroy what came before but works within what came before. Thus the creative mover is able to act in a new way and do new things within received matter and form.

    Working within all of the constraints of matter and form, genuine newness arises from the fact that each human person as a being is genuinely new. This newness is not self-generated but depends on the sustaining Creator.

    Therefore new beginnings are possible in this world.

    Cosmological reasoning is a facet of classical arguments for the existence of God. The thesis of Thomistic Existentialism is that Thomas Aquinas can answer many of the classic objections brought against cosmological reasoning. Topics include: the principle of sufficient reason; existence as a predicate; use of ontological reasoning; reliance on sense realism; the problem of evil; susceptibility to the critique of “ontotheology” as famously put forward by Heidegger. All of these objections receive a reply. 

  • Choose Your Destination

    Choose your destination before you set out on a path.

    Their law is what they like to do, whatever strikes their fancy.  Anything they believe in and choose, they call holy; anything they dislike, they consider forbidden (Rule of St. Benedict, 1.8-9)

    So . . . if you’re thinking that this is a description of our culture today, actually it’s not.  This is St Benedict describing corrupt monks in the 6th century.  The mental outlook that surrounds us now was already an option then.  It has always been appealing to think that you can do whatever you want now and be fine in the end.  But a closer look at real experience shows that choices have consequences.  You’ve got to choose your destination in order to figure out the right path to get there.

    The monks that St Benedict approves of are the coenobitarum, which is Latin for koinos bios, which is Greek for common life, which is English for what I aim to discuss here. Life in community is the focus of St Benedict’s Rule.  He invites you to choose as your destination community with God and your fellow human beings.

    St. Benedict also refers to the eremitarum, which is the Latin transliteration of the Greek eremitēs, which means “one who lives in the desert” and gives us the English word hermit.  He himself lived as a hermit for three years.  He describes the hermit as ready with God’s help to grapple single-handed with the vices of body and mind (Rule of St. Benedict 1.5).

    When I first started to think of the housewife-mother as a domestic hermit, it was because of the experience of being overwhelmed by the demands of life in a family with children.  And yet I also felt isolated, grappling with all sorts of interior struggles.  I don’t think my experience is unusual.  I think that many people flee the domestic life exactly because of this combination of exterior harassment and interior aridity.

    My goal here is to provide some support for Christian families.  I’m going to write from the perspective of someone who finds goodness difficult and not always attractive.  If you’re very good already, I won’t be at your level.  If you’re hanging on by your fingernails and thinking of letting go, I have a few tips for how to claw your way to survival.

    Most people dislike philosophy, so I’ll just note that I would situate myself in the Existential Thomist line.  If you’re interested in pursuing this topic, I would suggest that you NOT try reading St. Thomas Aquinas on your own.  I would suggest that you read Jacques Maritain instead.  Start with his Christianity and Democracy. The difference between reading Maritain and reading Aquinas is like the difference between drinking a gin-and-tonic and chewing the bark of the cinchona tree to extract the quinine.  In the case of Aquinas, you really do want someone else to distill it for you.

    You don’t need to be a philosopher to notice how challenging it is for Jesus to say, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” John 14:6.  His way of life is a narrow path uphill, and that’s not where the crowd is heading.  Meanwhile, you have myriads of alternatives immediately available.  A lot of nice people are rushing off in other directions, and who can tell yet where they will end up?  But Jesus insists that only his path leads to life (Matthew 7:13-14).

    He didn’t say you have to climb quickly.  There’s no quota of miles you must get through in a day.  You can sit down every ten feet and rest, if you need to.  And you don’t have to get to the end to experience the life.  You just have to be on the path–or in the vicinity of the path, retrieving someone from the landscape.  You can backtrack and retrace your steps, again, because that’s just what you have to do to keep everyone together. And you may find that your children have more energy than you do for the challenge.  They hate to walk, but they love to run.  If you point them in the right direction, soon they’ll get far beyond you, and you’ll be calling to them to wait up.

    Choose your destination: are you aiming for eternal community with those you love and with your Creator?

     

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  • Silent Night, Holy Dawn

    Elegant Definition

    We absolutely condemn in all places any vulgarity. . . .  (Rule of St. Benedict 6.8)

    In the beginning, the Spirit of God hovered over the waters.  He spoke, and called forth formed things. To live a holy life is to move within these forms willingly.

    A holy life is an elegant life.

    The savor of elegance blends qualities of restraint and creativity.  Vulgarity glaringly lacks both.

    What is vulgarity?

    Vulgarity displays itself verbally in language; visually in esthetics.  Jokes can be crass, but so can architecture.  Clothing but also conversation can be indecent.  The vibe of vulgarity involves an absence of restraint along with a will to self-assertion, especially in a group.  Crude people do not call themselves into question, because everyone they notice is doing the same thing.  A sort of pushy smugness combines too much confidence with too little content in too callous a crowd.

    Profane people do not stop.  They stampede in the direction of a boundary and trample it deliberately, because they can.  It’s also the only thing they know how to do.  They tend to be the set in power at the moment.  

    With no respect for boundaries, there’s no sense of danger.  Uncouth people back off the edge of the Grand Canyon taking selfies.  They die on a ledge a few hours later because the lives of paramedics can’t be risked for anyone that graceless.  Their barbaric friends take more pictures, then go on their way just as before.

    Base people do not feel grief.  Mourning requires sensitivity to the border between life and death, and even this line of demarcation they do not perceive.  How could they?  All they’ve ever been taught is that they emerged randomly from nothing.  They fully expect to dissolve into nothing again, and not be missed.  Randomness is a brutal philosophy.  Its adherents show no pity.

    Elegant people are gracious

    In contrast, gracious people voluntarily honor boundaries: the lines between right and wrong; good and evil; being and nothing; beauty and ugliness.

    The antidote to vulgarity is humility.  If you treat other people with respect, you won’t commit obscenities, even though you make mistakes.  If you’re not trying to assert yourself over others, you’re not likely to infringe.  Minding limits, you engage your whole life in a practice of discipline.  This reeling in of yourself on the verge of a boundary is the essence of modesty.  It’s an active compliance that trains self-control, so you can live a graceful life.

    Elegant, definition: Elegance involves a sense of risk.  It’s a challenge to thread your way through without transgressing.  Who can do it?  But each attempt develops ability.  There are some who succeed beautifully.  We admire them and strive to imitate their technique.  Artistry is not the province of flippant violators.  Creativity does not ignore principles but rather applies them.

    For the Christian, beauty includes paradox.  The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  The greatest was the servant of all.  The virgin gave birth.  The creator of the universe chose human parents who couldn’t afford anything better than an animal shed to shelter in.  Again and again, Christian teachings balance improbable truths on a fulcrum of miraculous possibility.

    As we make our way, we search for this narrow ridge of redemption.  We find it, and then our feet slip out from under us, and we slide off.  But there is someone to rescue us.  Holiness is not only practiced but bestowed.  Failure climbs back as resilience.

    Within the ways of God we exercise complete freedom to create.  He is the one who called us into being, gave us shape and endowed us with talents.  Vulgarity is not our destiny.

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  • Eat Your Vegetables

    Raising Kids

    …we must be vigilant every hour… (Rule of St. Benedict 7.29)

    The kid who is old enough to chew solid food will also be smart enough to realize that you’re cooking peas with his pasta.

    He’s willful enough to feel insulted.

    He’s passionate enough to throw a screaming fit.

    Because you’re a Christian mother–loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, generous, faithful, gentle and self-controlled–you don’t beat him with your wooden spoon at the end of a long, hard day.  Instead, you pour yourself a glass of wine, turn up the music, get down in his face with the bag of frozen peas and say: WATCH ME.  Then in defiance of his will you add the peas to the ziti while he howls and kicks on the ground at your feet.

    So what if he removes every pea from his bowl and refuses to eat even one?  So what if he peers into each tube of ziti and sticks his finger in it to expel each internal pea?  You’ve held the line.  You’ve retained your principles.  That was the Battle of the Peas, and you won it.

    When he’s a little older, you’ll no longer permit him to remove all vegetable matter from his personal space.  Even if he won’t taste the broccoli, he must tolerate it.  He may not remove it to the table, or throw it on the floor, or foist it onto someone else’s plate.  He must suffer the presence of the hated green thing.  When at last he resigns himself to its existence, you’ve won the First Battle of Broccoli.

    Then there’s the Second Battle to fight: he’s got to taste the broccoli.

    When he gags and vomits at your dinner table, you feel disheartened.  You’ve already toiled through years of cooking for an ungrateful, complaining family.  Now you want to give up and never eat again–not with them.  But the night is darkest just before the dawn.  The little boy who gags on his broccoli will one day volunteer to cook dinner for his whole family (Fettuccine Alfredo; extra Parmesan; no peas).

    Far, far more important than the presence or absence of vegetables are the social principles he has internalized:

    1. Everything the cook serves must be TASTED.
    2. The one who provides dinner must be THANKED.
    3. If you want it different, do it YOURSELF.

    The first two principles are essential to civilization.  The laws of hospitality are older than Abraham. Flaunt them at your peril.  The third undergirds a free society.

    So persevere.  One day you’ll reap the rewards of having trained your children in good habits.  When you feel yourself flagging, just take a look around at the consequences of giving up.  Habits of self-control and principle go far beyond food choices.  Children who’ve learned that food consumption is not an act of self-worship will later be able to put other forms of consumption into context.  Habits acquired in childhood are difficult to break.

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  • The Challenge

    This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will, once and for all, and armed with the strong and noble weapons of obedience to do battle for the true King, Christ the Lord. (RB Prologue.3)

    St. Benedict is of course not the first to describe the Christian life as a spiritual battle: St. Paul used that figure of speech in his letters.  On the face of it, however, it seems a bit histrionic to associate the domestic life with anything as dramatic as “battle.”  Surely the metaphor is overblown.

    But then you hear of another teenager who has committed suicide; of another husband who has abandoned his family; of another wife who has had an affair.  You see people with all sorts of destructive habits hurting themselves and their children.  The national abortion statistics come in for the year.  Then it’s your own friends whose marriages rot out.  Their cute kids grow up and do shocking things in the janitor’s closet in high school.  You watch a four year-old fall apart emotionally because she realizes that her father just doesn’t care.  You watch a seven year-old learn to be stoic.  A battle?  It’s a rout; a massacre; a spiritual slaughter.  And if you abandon your post, not only you but your children will join the list of casualties.

    So there is a war raging.  Whether or not you want to fight, it will involve you.  But how can obedience be a weapon?  Isn’t that a hopelessly unfashionable idea?  In Discipleship, the WWII-era Lutheran pastor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer makes the point that obedience to the commands of God is inseparable from faith in God. “You complain that you cannot believe?  No one should be surprised that they cannot come to believe so long as, in deliberate disobedience, they flee or reject some aspect of Jesus’ commandment.”

    Following the epistle of St. James, Bonhoeffer was explaining to a modern readership how false it is to think that an experience of faith must precede an act of obedience.  On the contrary, you must take action to obey in order to experience faith.  Bonhoeffer stepped away from the trend of Germanic philosophy since Kant and rejected the primacy of the thing in the mind over the thing in action.  He stood against Nazi Germany and lost his life as a result.  His side–our side–won that war, but insidious theories of self-invention spread through the post-war culture.

    These days a call to obedience sounds like an insult, to many people.  In the postmodern context, we are self-referential by default.  We find ourselves sequestered inside labile minds, no longer even able to rely on the modern concept of the coherent individual, who at least knew who he was and what he wanted.  More than in previous ages we need to obey the commands of God so as not to be constantly tossed about by our own confused thoughts and erratic feelings.

    But once we’ve obeyed the revealed commands of God—then what?  There’s all the rest of mundane life to live.  Must each individual at every moment debate every choice that needs to be made?  In a chaotic and arbitrary culture, willfully given over to the cult of randomness, it would be less exhausting to have some templates handy, some aids for the organization of behavior. A rational person faces relentless buffeting by the sheer nihilism of the surrounding environment.  A Domestic Rule would be helpful, to provide some guidelines for self-regulation.

     

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