Mea Patria

Since the computer was unplugged and off in a corner for the long weekend (as we finished with the flooring adventure in the living room) and I returned to an unusually frenetic work week, I find myself posting on Independence Day very late.

The 4th of July is the day on which many Americans pause to be grateful for the sacrifices of those who founded our country 232 years ago -- while a few others pause to decry what they term the "nationalism" and "triumphalism" of their fellow citizens. In one thing, at least, we are most of us united: we take the day off and grill.

Many among our "best and brightest" like to talk about us having entered a post-national age. In this new age, it is imagined, we will all treasure the traditions of our regions and ethnic heritages, but we will be "citizens of the world" first and foremost, and we will think of "nation states" as mere "administrative units".

This modern internationalist/post-nationalist line of thinking has never appealed to me -- perhaps in great part because the available international institutions which these enthusiasts seem to hold dear (the UN, the World Bank, the IMF, the EU, etc.) do not impress me. They seem to provide all the dehumanizing bureaucracy of the various world-spanning empires of history, with none of the cultural heritage which these provided us with. (Imagine, if you will, that the Greeks of Alexander's age and beyond and the Romans, Byzantines, Carolingians, Normans, Holy Roman Emperors, Persians, Turks, Hapsburgs and British had, rather than spreading their cultural and political institutions throughout their spheres of influence, simply set of ponderous committees and NGOs, which provided all corruption and slowness of empire, but none of the cultural legacies. Would we be better off? Perhaps by some standards, but surely not by mine.

And yet, it has struck me increasingly of late that my own attitude towards my country has changed quite a bit over the years -- whether through a shift in philosophy or simply through maturity I cannot say. The Latin word for one's country was patria, a word which would best be translated as "fatherland" if the Third Reich had not forever tainted the connotations of that phrase. And it was very much as a parent that the ancient Greeks and Romans (our cultural forebears) saw the state.

When I first encounter the final Socratic dialogues, Crito and Phaedo, I was deeply disturged by Socrates' notion of the relationship between the citizen and the state. In Crito, Socrates, who has been condemned to death under an unjust charge, refuses the offer of his wealthy friend Crito to help him escape from captivity in Athens to another city state. Socrates refuses, arguing that by living his whole life as a citizen of Athens, and even fighting for it as a soldier, he has committed himself to live by Athens' laws -- and so it would be wrong of him to violate their laws by fleeing punishment, even though he believes that he was wrongly convicted.

To my modern, youthful mind, this was clearly idiotic. Sure, one could love one's country. But if one were wrongly convicted of a crime and sentenced to death, why not skip out? This seemed like an excess of loyalty that bordered on insanity.

Looking back, I think that my line of thinking was that one's association with a country was voluntary: I think this country is basically a good country, therefore I decide to live there. And based on that, it seemed to me that if at any point the country did something wrong, one should have no qualms in severing that voluntary association. At an individual level, that may be an appealing view. But once you get beyond the extreme individualism which is the province of the sixteen-year-old male, you realize that few people ever think themselves in the wrong. If everyone opted out of every country the minute that he felt he was being treated unjustly, we would have anarchy. In order for a nation to provide the order necessary for a stable society that protect the common good, it is necessary that we generally obey that nation's laws even when we think them unjust. (We can work to change them, to be sure, but we can't simply ignore them or leave -- except in the most extreme situations.)

Socrates' other line of thinking was more based on emotion and loyalty: Athens was his polis. One famously cannot choose one's family. Socrates clearly believed that beyond a certain point, one can't choose one's country either. Given that he had remained a constant Athenian citizen during good times, he could not now abandon it in bad. (Much though he might suffer for that decision.)

At the time, thinking of one's relationship to one's country as similar to one's relationship to one's parents struck me as very odd. After all, your parents made you. And much of the time, your parents are responsible for providing your with an educational, cultural and religious background which remains part of you through the rest of your life. A country is just a place where you live, right?

Well, clearly a country is something more than just a place where you live. Nations have specific histories and cultures, and often embody certain ideals or approaches to the world through their laws, culture and national characters. I think most of us acknowledge at least this much. Certainly, I did even in my much more individualistic youth. However, it seemed to me then that countries were spread across the world, buffet like, and that one chose (either actively or passively) with one of them. Thus, I chose to live in the US, partly perhaps because it was where I had been born, but at a deeper level because I thought it was the best country for me to live in based on its culture and founding ideals. If I didn't think that, I could go elsewhere, couldn't I?

It's true, one can leave one's country, and indeed, many people do very much become citizens of countries they emmigrate to. (My boss was born and raised in Belgium, but has become very much an American in his thinking over the last 15 years that he has lived here.) But truly becoming a member of another nation involves more than an airline ticket and a citizenship form -- in that very sense in which nations are rather more than "administrative units". Indeed, the process of truly imbibing the culture and ideals of another nation is probably best seen in analogy to the process of adopting another family. It is a process that (unless one is very young) takes a good deal of time -- and is seldom achieved completely and without traces of the old allegiance.

From my current vantage point, Socrates analogy between parent and patria seems increasingly reasonable. There really is a deep sense in which we belong to our nations, we are a part of them, and they are a part of us. Some are founded upon beautiful ideals and have inspiring histories. Others are dysfunctional to the core. Yet others simply have a lot of history, a back story which defines and shapes the current reality. You can move from one country to another, but it takes a great deal of work and abandonment of self to truly become a member of the new country. All too often, one is simply a resident in a strange land. Like it or not, we are the children of our country. And that fact has a great deal to do with who we are.

And so, looking back two hundred thirty-two years and five days, I am thankful to be an American. The United States is the country that gave birth to me, and to a great extent it is responsible (whether I like it or not) for who I am.

Iowahawk has the scoop

Iowahawk presents us with a note from Barack Obama in which he clearly explains his position on withdrawing troops from Iraq:

A Clarification

A Message to American Voters
By Senator Barack Obama (D-IL)

...Let me be crystal clear: if elected president, my first act will be to call for the immediate withdrawal of all American troops from Iraq. I have always been consistent and forthright in this position, and I want to reassure my supporters that my recent statement backtracking from it was just some bullsh*t my staff came up with to tack to the center for the general election. To win this election, it will be critical to appeal to the dwindling but stubborn group of idiots who cling to fantasies of American "victory" in this tragic disaster. It's an unfortunate part of the complicated game of presidential politics, but let's face it: I can't stop this war if I'm not in the White House. However, you should know by now that whatever I may say from now until November, once elected I will immediately pull the rug from these gullible pro-war rubes.

Or will I?

Also, Iowahawkboils down the Supreme Court's recent rulings:

Court Okays Gun Rights for Detainees, Child Rapists

...The petitioner in the case, Abdul Hamid Atwah, was a well known Taliban child entertainer and rapist who was detained by U.S. Marines after a 2005 sweep on an Afghanistan playground and has been held at Guantanamo ever since. In 2007 the court agreed to hear his case suing the government for restricting his Second Amendment rights to keep court-appointed handguns and explosives in his detention cell.

Writing for the majority, Justice William Kennedy said that "as an enthusiastic child rapist and terrorist, petitioner has a reasonable expectation of threats of harm. This court recognize his proportional right to self-defense under the sweet, elusive penumbra of our ever-mutating Constitution."

In his dissenting opinion, Justice Antonin Scalia said "I totally f@*&ing give up."

Read them both in their entirety, and no coffee near the keyboard.

A Sub-par Extraordinary Experience

(Warning: Catholic inside baseball ahead.)

This weekend we had to attend Mass at a different time than usual. Our options were a) the Spanish Mariachi-flavored Mass, or b) the Extraordinary Form down at the Cathedral. Now, Darwin's Hispanic heritage does not extend to the more vernacular forms of Mexican musical expression, and neither do I love me some mariachi, so we opted for b. As we were driving down to the Cathedral, Darwin said, "I feel like we should go down to the Tridentine Mass every so often because I keep thinking that it will get better."

"What's the definition of insanity?" I asked.

Both Darwin and I are of a traditional bent of mind. We've read the 1962 Missal, and we appreciate the richness of the language and the clarity of the rubrics. We love Gregorian chant and own a Graduale. Both of us learned basic Latin responses such as "Et cum spiritu tuo" from our parents, who remembered saying them at Mass as children. So we're predisposed to like the Extraordinary Form. We want to like the Extraordinary Form. And yet every EF Mass we've ever been to has left us wondering, "Is this really what it's all about? Why is anyone attached to this?"

Our Sunday Mass was completely in keeping with our experience of the past five years. It began with a hymn, not the introit (Holy God, We Praise Thy Name -- which I don't have to go to an EF to hear done well on a regular basis), and then... what? I was unclear where exactly the Mass started, since the Mass booklet provided wasn't exactly clear either. Since the vintage priest was inaudible and absolutely unintelligible (in Latin and in English) there was no way of following where he was in the Mass. Nor was it possible to match up his postures to the little pictures in the missal, the which I assume were included to orient those who had no way of following the Latin. We knelt for a long silent stretch, enough time to read several pages several times over while still being unclear what was going on. Darwin, in back with the baby, assured me that faintly through the speakers came the sound of the priest saying the first words of the Confiteor. I thought I heard "Gloria". The children, who had nothing either visual or aural to focus them, began to wiggle and squirm.

There was very little clear consensus on which parts were to be said by the people. Some congregants responded to some things, some to others, some said nothing at all throughout the Mass. The responses that were said were mumbled in such a low and disorganized fashion that I had trouble recognizing them. The sound system had been turned so low that even the readings, read at the lectern, were extremely difficult to follow. (This must be a choice made by the mass group, because at other Masses at the Cathedral we've been able to hear just fine.) During the long sermon I couldn't hear, due to the under-utilized sound system, I pondered the stereotype of the little old lady who said her rosary during Mass and realized that had I a rosary upon me, I would be that lady. At least then I'd have some knowledge of what prayer I was supposed to be saying when.

There is a certain desperation in attending some ritual event or ceremony in which everything seems slightly off-kilter. The sense of a familiar routine being altered in some subtle way that you can't understand or follow becomes disorienting and eventually suffocating. The girls gradually abandoned their efforts to be still and quiet when it seemed like nothing was happening, and I couldn't even show them in the missal where we were and what was going on, since I was floundering myself. Between the deteriorating behavior (which crossed the line, as children's behavior always seems to, right before communion) and my increasing frustration with being unable to align myself with what was going on, we had to drag everyone out directly after Communion -- something we have seldom ever done. (Everyone under seven promptly received a lecture and spanking, from daddy, in the car.)

On the way home, we shook our heads once again over the definition of insanity: doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result.

When the Motu Proprio was issued, we were excited. Pope Benedict's encouragement of one great sacred tradition of the Church inspired us to delve into other traditional forms of worship. Darwin worked hard to form a group to say Vespers, bought books himself, and even typed up one page sheets for each day of the week when the books proved difficult for beginners to navigate. I accosted our associate pastor on his first Sunday at our parish and asked him to use his experience with chant and sacred music to found a schola. We followed blogs and websites devoted to the "reform of the reform", which were bursting with avid devotees of the Extraordinary Form all extolling the pre-Vatican II Mass as the pinnacle of Catholic worship, and triumphantly predicting that as more people experienced the riches of the old Mass, there would be an upsurge in demand for it.

And yet... every time we actually attend the Extraordinary Form we're underwhelmed and disappointed. Perhaps we expect too much, but our expectations are based on the text itself of the 1962 missal. The text suggests an inherent drama and beauty to this form of the Mass that has not been born out by any of our actual experiences of the EF. Oddly enough, our experiences don't jibe with those of our parents and grandparents, who remember the old Mass as celebrated as the norm by parishes. It's as if our local EF Mass is formulated to accommodate those who long for a distant musty past -- as opposed to the way a living parish works, where a priest who strives for liturgical beauty and tradition must be scrupulously excellent to stave off the inevitable complaints from people who don't like "that sort of thing".

Conversely, the few times we've been to the Novus Ordo celebrated in Latin have been wondrously reverent and marvelously beautiful. Perhaps that's because we're attuned to the rhythms of the Novus Ordo and so can immerse ourselves in the richness of this form of worship. But also, the careful planning and preparation and clear love of the form and the language have shown through in the attitudes of the priest and the choir and the congregation. The worship aids have been clear and concise so that even someone who had never attended any mass, let alone a mass in Latin, could follow the prayers and respond appropriately. The same has been true of the few and various Byzantine Divine Liturgies we've attended -- even in a completely unfamiliar language, with an unknown structure, we didn't feel at sea because both the priest and the faithful were unambiguous about what they were doing, and what role each played.

It's enjoyable to click around to various websites and look at the pretty pictures of vestments and gorgeous churches and the inspiring image of the elevation with the priest surrounded by the deacon and the sub-deacon. Darwin can appreciate the richness of the Latin text, with its elevated vocabulary and the layers of ancient solemnity. I love the inherent drama of the ritual gestures and postures, and the spiritual elevation of Gregorian chant integrated into the Mass. But we've never seen these things in person. Some detractors of the Novus Ordo say that although they've heard that the new Mass can be reverently and beautifully celebrated, they've never seen it. For us, it's the other way around.

We'll probably go back to the EF Mass, even though it's unlikely that our local group will deviate from the minimalist pattern we've seen over the last five years. But please, guys. You do have to try to create beauty. At a minimum, decide which responses the congregation should make, and then make them. Even the Novus Ordo can manage that -- even in Latin on occasion.

Newsflash: Prophecies of Christ Might Shake Christian Faith

In an article which sounds like it could have been written by the parody site: Lost Gospel of Zaccheus, the New York Times writes about a stone tablet from the first century BC, which contains a text which is advertised (like just about anything dating from that period seems to be) as having the potential to shake Christianity to its foundations:

A three-foot-tall tablet with 87 lines of Hebrew that scholars believe dates from the decades just before the birth of Jesus is causing a quiet stir in biblical and archaeological circles, especially because it may speak of a messiah who will rise from the dead after three days.

If such a messianic description really is there, it will contribute to a developing re-evaluation of both popular and scholarly views of Jesus, since it suggests that the story of his death and resurrection was not unique but part of a recognized Jewish tradition at the time....

“Some Christians will find it shocking — a challenge to the uniqueness of their theology — while others will be comforted by the idea of it being a traditional part of Judaism,” Mr. Boyarin said.

Now don't get me wrong, this sounds like a fascinating find. What the stone contains is a fragmentary apocalyptic prophecy from the first century BC, which draws on the model of late Old Testament prophecies such as Daniel, Zechariah and Haggai. Some of the scholars involved have dubbed it "Gabriel's Revelation". The difficulty is, the text is fragmentary in a couple of key places. However, it appears to describe the Angel Gabriel providing a revelation either to or about a messiah who suffers for the people of Israel. One scholar has argued that, based on his interpretation of some hard to discern words, it may hint at this messiah dying and rising after three days:

Two more hard-to-read words come later, and Mr. Knohl said he believed that he had deciphered them as well, so that the line reads, “In three days you shall live, I, Gabriel, command you.”

To whom is the archangel speaking? The next line says “Sar hasarin,” or prince of princes. Since the Book of Daniel, one of the primary sources for the Gabriel text, speaks of Gabriel and of “a prince of princes,” Mr. Knohl contends that the stone’s writings are about the death of a leader of the Jews who will be resurrected in three days.

He says further that such a suffering messiah is very different from the traditional Jewish image of the messiah as a triumphal, powerful descendant of King David.

“This should shake our basic view of Christianity,” he said as he sat in his office of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem where he is a senior fellow in addition to being the Yehezkel Kaufman Professor of Biblical Studies at Hebrew University. “Resurrection after three days becomes a motif developed before Jesus, which runs contrary to nearly all scholarship. What happens in the New Testament was adopted by Jesus and his followers based on an earlier messiah story.”

The thing is, I'm not really clear why this is considered big news, unless you start out by ascribing to the theory that all references in the New Testament to Christ's death and resurrection were added in long after their original composition. In other words, unless you figure Christianity is hogwash to start with.

As it stands, Christians interpret a number of passages in the Old Testament as prophesying Christ's suffering, death and resurrection, so it's hardly going to surprise a Christian audience if you find evidence that Jews in the hundred years before Christ believed that a messiah would eventually suffer, die and rise after three days.

Very, very interesting stuff (both religiously and as a matter of history), but I'm not clear why it's supposed to shake anybody.

Man of Three Cultures

Rich Leonardi has started a new blog to celebrate the year of St. Paul: Man of Three Cultures. I'm looking forward to using it as a resource as I spend the year reading slowly through the Pauline epistles.

Just War and Proportionalism

A friend emailed me a question posed to her by a non-Catholic friend:

Her general point was that the Just War theory is an example of proportionalism and, if proportionalism was allowed in this case, why not, to quote her, "allow people to use condoms in Africa"?

She stated that "the Catholic Church was just avoiding calling the Just War theory proportionalist because then they would have to (as I quoted before) allow people to use condoms in Africa", another example of proportionalism. It came from the fact that I had stated that it was an absolute that one may not do evil that good may come. Was I incorrect on that?

The first question, I think, would be to be clear on what we mean by "proportionalism". Following upon that, we should see how both just war theory and "allowing people to use condoms in Africa" are or are not examples of "proportionalism".

I think we might say that proportionalism lies somewhere between an approach to morality based on notions of "objective good" and "objective evil" and a pure utilitarianism. In the former (which I shall take the liberty of calling traditional Catholic morality) the morality of an act is determined by the nature of the act itself, and whether that nature is good or evil. (To be clear, conscience comes into the issue of guilt/culpability, not whether the act itself is good or evil. If I do something evil under the illusion that it is good, I may not be culpable for the evil I have committed, but the act itself was still evil.) In the latter (utilitarianism), the good or evil of an act is measured strictly by it's results.

Proportionalism tries to bring a bit of utilitarianism into a traditional Christian understanding of morality, by saying that certain acts are evil by nature unless their effects are sufficiently good to outweigh the evil of the act. Proportionalism has a long history of being rejected by Christianity -- ever since the gospel writer blamed the pharisees for deciding that "it would be better for one to die for the good of the people".

Alright, so the Church says that it's against proportionalism (John Paul II condemned it in Evangelium Vitae), but how is the just war doctrine not proportionalism? Isn't the case for war basically one of "war is bad, but if it achieves something good enough, it's worth while"?

No.

According to just war doctrine, it is not wrong to use war in order to defend against certain grave injustices. Now, there is an element of proportion that comes into just war doctrine: the injustice being defended against must be sufficiently grave to justify warlike means to resist it -- and the means of war employed must be no greater than is necessary to end the injustice. (Thus, if Country A is invaded by Country B, the citizens of A may well resist by waging war, and even invade B in order to bring the war to a conclusion. But massacring all the military age inhabitants of B is unacceptable, because it is more violence than is required to end the war.)

However, these considerations of proportion are used in order to determine what acts are just within a war context and what acts would involve the defender in turn becoming an unjust aggressor. Just war doctrine is not based on the idea that acts of war are inherently evil, but justified if they result in a good greater than the evil involved.

Perhaps one of the things that would lead people to think that acts of war are necessarily evil is that war is certainly a massive occasion of sin, even for combatants who are involved in a just cause. Another issue is when people take it that killing is always wrong. According to Catholic teaching, it is not. Killing in self defense, just war or just capital punishment is not an evil act. Murder (the unjust killing of another) is an inherently evil act, but murder is a subset of killing, not the whole of it.

Now what of the use of condoms in Africa? The Church holds that using contraception when having intercourse is always wrong -- that it is an inherently wrong act. Because of this, even the apparent good of preventing the spread of AIDS is not seen as making the use of condoms right. (It's also a bit of an odd discussion, since there wouldn't be an issue with the spread of AIDS if people were obeying the Church's teaching that sex is only acceptable inside of marriage anyway.)

The Pros and Cons of having one child

Over at Teeny Manolo, Glinda has put up a list of the pros and cons of having only one child. It's an interesting read for me, since although I could give long and detailed lists of the pros and cons of having two cats as opposed to one, I'm entirely in favor of multiple children. (This is perhaps a natural result of being the oldest of six and the mother of four, counting baby.) Most of the pros don't resonate with me that much, in part because I don't see most of them as being an issue:

1. Having lots of time and energy to give to the one child versus splitting it up between siblings.
Actually, having multiple children who are old enough to play with each other means that I expend less energy because they amuse each other. For example: as I write this post, the three girls are upstairs playing a long involved game with a princess and a dump truck instead of hanging on me. I cannot underestimate the value of having siblings as built-in playmates.

5. One college tuition bill! Wheee!
Nonsense. My parents haven't been stuck with the tuition bills for any of the four of us who've gone through school so far, and neither have we expected them to pay our way. (Now, the Catholic school tuition bills, on the other hand...)

6. Less use of resources. Meaning three do not consume as much water, plastic, etc…
Perhaps, but we're able to live pretty efficiently combining resources here, not to mention that we recycle toys and clothing down and don't have families who inundate us with new plastic junk at every opportunity. (And let me take this opportunity to thank our families for this restraint. You guys are classy.)

10. Not having to buy a minivan.
I don't have a lot to say to that, other than to point out that some families with more than one child drive small cars, while other families buy far more vehicle than their size would warrant, regardless of number of children. Also that I lurve my minivan.

On the other hand, I would tend to push out the cons to the long-term consequences of having only one child. Darwin's father was, in effect, an only child who had the duties of caring for his elderly parents devolve upon him. This became quite difficult especially as the care stretched from months to years. My mother, by contrast, is one of eleven children, so there was a large support network to help her parents in their last days.

(Listen up: before anyone goes over to Teeny Manolo to pontificate about how people should be more generous with family size, please note that she says she would like more but has not been so fortunate.)