A Fossil Not At All Facile

Nathan Cervo, a noted literary critic, poet, man-of-letters and English professor (now retired), is a friend of mine. We are not close friends, I admit, but we are close enough to have a great deal of affection for one another.

I spoke with Mr. Cervo yesterday about his recent letter to the editor published in the local newspaper. As a result of that conversation, he granted me permission to reprint that letter here. So, I do.

Please note that Mr. Cervo is well-known for his diction. Believe it or not, this is Nathan Cervo using simpler words.

C. S. Lewis once described himself as a dinosaur. Mr. Cervo, who is quite old, brings us a senior and scholarly view on the current state of affairs; his critics, no doubt, would like to retire him to the tar pits. Here's his letter:

'As an epitome, or compendium, of the New America, there can be little doubt that Barack Obama will become our next president. He represents a demotic force that has been germinating in the soil of American liberalism from the establishment of the "novus ordo seclorum" (the new order of the ages; see the back of a dollar bill); that is, of secularism. It is triumphant secularism that is more openly manifesting itself in such expressions of freedom as the destruction of the family despotically headed by a male and its gradual supersession by same-sex marriage and a galaxy of one-night stands replete with drugs.

Secularism tolerates any gelded form of religion, mindful that statism is superior to all constructs of piety. The state is sovereign. (Did not Jesus, the first liberal prophet, say, "The truth shall make you free" and "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath"?)

Under management as intense as any project by the KGB, Obama echoes Karl Marx in private conferences and, probably believing socialism to be an epiphany of belated Christian romanticism, publicly avows himself a disciple of Jesus Christ. Like a modern Diogenes, holding a lantern before him, Obama searches at noon for an honest man. Unfortunately, he does this in the cesspool of Chicago politics.

Basically, Obama is the mock Sir Galahad of the liberals, whose strength is as the strength of ten because he and his rhetoric are callow; that is, are a perfect mirror of the majority of American voters, who have been liberalized out of their wits down through the ages by the creeping infamy of public education, whose cachet is that the only true religion is sociology.'

In posting Mr. Cervo's comments here, I seek to give voice to an elder statesman of letters, so to speak. I do not in any way intend to promote Mr. Cervo's ideas as identical with my own, nor do I claim to agree with them. I am simply giving an older generation another place to give voice, to be heard. No doubt Mr. Cervo's opinion is at least singularly expressed, though in fact it could be totally unique to him: no one else of his generation may think his way at all. Regardless. I have opened my blog to the thoughts of someone I respect profoundly for his stalwart defense of humanity's mind, soul, and heart. He has long been a true defender of civilization ... and the Cross.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2008/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Christianity And Politics: Palms At His Feet, At His Throat

Jesus' Silence About Political Oppression

This past Sunday was Palm Sunday, the Christian celebration of Christ's entry into Jerusalem; He entered that great city with a donkey as His steed. Palm branches were laid before Him as a sign of welcome and of His high place in the hearts of those who gathered to see Him. Shouts of "Hosanna!" were heard everywhere. "Save us!"

The irony and sorrow of the scene are well-known: Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, described by some as triumphal, is profoundly misunderstood by everyone around Him. He is not coming to Jerusalem for a political fight; He is not mounting a coup. He is merely mounting a stubborn donkey that will take Him toward the temple mount; He will pray with blood pouring from his brow in the shadow of the Mount of Olives; He will mount a cross that will be set upon a mount of trash. The one thing He will not mount is a protest of the government, nor will He mount an overthrow. His goal is different.

Jesus was born in a captive nation. He was born in the southern reaches of the Roman Empire, in a tiny territory over which a god, a Caesar, a kaiser, presided. The Roman emperor was supreme; and while Rome appears to have tolerated the Jewish love of their one true God, there is no doubt that many Jews did not tolerate the one true god of Rome.

Think about it all for a moment. Here we have -- in Rome -- the seat of the great man/god in the person of Caesar Augustus. Rome had been a Republic, but as Christ came into the world, Rome was becoming an Empire, where the Caesar, the Kaiser, the Tsar, reigned supreme. A man/god sits on the throne in Rome; a God-Man nurses at His Mother's breast in a tiny manger somewhere far away. Israel, the nation of the Chosen People of God, is held captive. The true King is hidden in a cave.

How is it that throughout Jesus' ministry as recorded in the Gospels He says virtually nothing, nothing at all, about living as a captive to the Romans? How is it He never mentions this injustice; how is it that He never talks about the government at all? Once He mentions Caesar: He holds up a coin and asks, "Whose image is on this?" But He never rails against what was clearly the anti-Christ on that coin; He never mentions Him again. There is no talk in Jesus' ministry about this captivity. He is only focused on the captivity of sin, guilt and the fear of death. There is no mention of social injustice; He is not preoccupied at all with subverting the power structure of the street, marketplace, Senate or Sanhedrin; He could care less about the collusion between opportunistic Jews and their Roman occupiers. Jesus is talking "sheep" and "goats" and "lilies" and "vineyards" and "children" and "adultery" and "stones" and "virgins" and "love." He is not talking politics; He is talking about pastoral life while scribbling in the dirt or fishing in the sea. While Rome the Parasite leeches the life-blood from Israel, the real King of the Jews is not raising the alarm about such parasitism; He merely blesses a few loaves of bread, some fish, and He feeds the masses. In His simplicity there is nothing radical or progressive; He is not seated in Rome as a dying idol, He's a shepherd walking about in a living idyll. And when He meets a Roman centurion -- an oppressor with a sword and a god above him, one he obeys immediately -- Jesus blesses the man for his faith; and in that blessing, Jesus, the King of all, says NOTHING about the centurion's sword, his orders or the gods that he serves. Jesus says nothing.

And yet He is the revolutionary.

________________
Politics Of Rightness, And Left

How is it that I get so caught up in political debate? My gut tells me that I am really not involved in political debate in order to forge policy or to change the power structure of Washington. My debate is entirely about truth: I fight what I believe are lies about what is going on right before my eyes. My fight is not to make America great or Republicans the party of choice. My fight is with those who want to damn others with their propaganda. I have fought here to preserve the human mind; I have fought to protect myself from delusions about 9/11, the Iraq War, climate change, or John Kerry's towering intellect. I have fought to protect what it means to be human, a fully integrated and sexual human, made in the image and beauty of God; and I have kicked at the deceptions proffered about identity, gender, and marriage. I am not arguing for a party or a President. I am arguing for a decent argument about all the things that matter.

But I do turn, too often, to my like-minded political leaders for deliverance. I do this even when I know that no such help can come from these fallible souls.

In the midst of this Holy Week, I think of my Christian brothers and sisters who only seem to be able to see Jesus in political terms. They see Him going about doing good political works; while I believe He did not do a single political act. They believe the gospel is about freeing people from other people; I believe that the gospel is about freeing people from themselves -- for themselves.

When Jesus tells His disciples to feed the poor, His advice is the inverse of what one would expect a Hosanna-leader to say. He does not tell His followers to fight the oppressors so that the poor can be made wealthy. He does not tell them to redress injustices in courts, in the halls of legislation. He tells them, instead, to just stop it in themselves: Just feed the poor and stop expecting others to create an ideal situation in which you can obey my commands. Love your neighbor -- right now! You. You love your neighbor. You feed Him. You help the poor. Just do it. Stop making excuses about governmental corruption, about injustice and unfairness and discrimination. You are the one who is unjust, unfair, corrupt, and discriminating: Stop it, and go and feed my sheep. And stop worrying about what others -- like the Romans -- are doing, or NOT doing. You are the one I am talking to. Go.

The God-Man Jesus, the True Caesar, is remarkably silent when it comes to politics. That is why, in part, He was betrayed into the hands of politicians, and they crucified Him.

He did not save them the way they wanted.

And the Roman Caesar never did either.

Peace.


PS. If Jesus was at all critical of political oppression, it was not of the Roman occupiers, but of those religious who oppressed their own kind. Jesus was quite open about His discontent with the Pharisees; these moral and religious leaders laid heavy burdens on others they themselves would not carry. Sounds quite familiar, really. But the Pharisees were ostensibly on the side of Israel. They were not occupiers, they were not minions of the god-man in Rome. Yet it was these folks that Jesus berated and chided the most: their morality upset Him far more than did the idolatrous Romans' behavior. Why? Why did He seem more intent on freeing people of their obligatory moral duties -- apparent rules for proper living, good works and justice -- than He was in liberating Palestine from the grip of an anti-Christ and his armies?

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Politics: Even More New Puritanism, Of A Sort

It's all about the First Amendment.

Unless you are listening to a conservative give a speech. Then it's time to turn into a New Puritan. Truly, umbrage has never been so hair-triggered.

You've heard the story: After having agreed to participate in a presidential candidates' debate sponsored by Fox News, the Nevada Democratic Party has withdrawn from the event, leading to the cancellation of the debate. Something was said; the Nevada Democrats instantly turned exceedingly righteous, so righteous in fact that they stopped their ears at the sound of a particular joke. They have taken umbrage. They are full of woe and dismay.

And they are proving that America is being overrun by New Puritans.

Amazingly, the New Puritans in Nevada have come -- or so one would think -- to the defense of George W. Bush.

Take a tour with me through the horrifying joke that led to this new spate of righteousness. Roger Ailes, chairman of Fox News Channel, was fêted Thursday at the Radio & TV News Directors Foundations' First Amendment Awards banquet. During his acceptance speech, Chairman Ailes said the following (Warning: Not For The Squeamish!!!):

First of all, I was told I should do some headlines, so I'm only anchoring this, re-reporting.

I think we all need to go very slow on this global warming thing. I realize saving energy is good, but I think it may be a trick to get our anchors to stop using blow dryers.

[Laughter]

A man in France was arrested today for using his car to run down a pedestrian. He said he thought it was Osama bin Laden. OK, it was a mistake, but it still ranks as France's biggest military victory ever.

[Laughter]

John Seigenthaler and I are the same age. Look at how he let himself go.

[Laughter]

It is true that I said Britney Spears looked great at the Academy Awards. And I later found out it was Jack Nicholson.

[Laughter/ooohs]

It is true that just in the last two weeks Hillary Clinton has had over 200 phone calls telling her in order to win the presidency she must stay on the road for the next two years. It is not true they were all from Bill.

[Laughter]

And it is true that Barack Obama is on the move. I don't know if it's true that President Bush called Musharraf and said, 'Why can't we catch this guy?'

[Laughter]

Yes, yes. Pretty shameful stuff. In fact, it is the very worst one can imagine. But I am wondering: Could you pick out the joke that has been declared a mortal sin?

Well, in case you didn't catch it, it is the joke wherein Barack Obama's name is mentioned. That's right: The great offense is the joke ridiculing George W. Bush.

I know, I know. It IS hard to understand how the Democrats of Nevada could be so sensitive about jokes mocking the president. I am, indeed, surprised that they should so quickly come to his defense. But I am no doubt prone to committing the fallacy of facetiousness; the Democrats of Nevada are actually SHOCKED that it was jokingly insinuated that a tongue-stumbling president might confuse the name of Barack Obama with Osama bin Laden. That Bush would be prone to this sort of mistake should have given Democrats some pause, as Bush's shibboleth would prove that he was a threat to decency, and a friend of Sen. Edward Kennedy's. After all, who can forget the great outrage when Sen. Kennedy said in 2005 (see YouTube clip here):

"Why don't we just ask Osama bin Laden, Osama Obama, uh, Obama, what his ... since he won by such a big amount."

(Now that's funny! Of course, there was no outrage.)

But the New Puritans in Nevada, led by the chief puritan, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, have pulled the plug on any Fox News Channel cooperative because, in light of Mr. Ailes' joke given at a banquet honoring free speech:

"We cannot, as good Democrats, put our party in a position to defend such comments."

And what comments might they be, other than ones ridiculing the intellectual and verbal capacities of the President voiced under the constitutional right to free speech? Democrats cannot defend these comments? Since when?

But the real reason the Democrats are backing out of the Fox News-sponsored debate is due to pressure from MoveOn.org; the real reason is hidden in this priggish quip by MoveOn. org, which called Fox News a "mouthpiece of the Republican Party." In other words, the left-leaning MoveOn.org crowd is intimidated and fearful; they are not confident enough in their own convictions to be asked questions by folks allegedly committed to Republican ideals. The Democratic Party -- or so we can hear them say -- is only so strong and convincing: it will gleefully submit to a New York Times-sponsored debate because that medium is a Democratic Party mouthpiece, where the questions will be safe, easy, unthreatening. But Democrats debating in a Republican-biased forum? Impossible!

And to top all this off, journalists rushed to Barack Hussein Obama to ask him whether he was "offended" by a joke that had nothing, really, to do with him. He replied that he was not offended.

'"I didn't take great offense at the joke," Obama said in an Associated Press interview while campaigning in Iowa. "I have been called worse."'

He's been called worse? One might be tempted to tell the Blessed One (Barack means 'blessed') that he was not called any thing in Mr. Ailes' joke, that this had nothing to with him. But who would do such a thing? After all, when it comes to campaigns, presidential candidates probably do think that everything is all about them.

Umbrage!

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

American Eidola

You can laugh at me if you want, but I cannot be overly ashamed of myself for watching American Idol last night. It's not like I watched the whole thing, nor is it like I've watched every show thus far. I did not, and I have not. But I did see a good chunk of last night's broadcast of auditions from New York City, and I must say that the Big Apple seemed quite sliced and cored.

My thoughts are varied and probably contradictory about the morality of presenting to the world people who clearly have psychological issues. But this is, lest we forget, America, the home of the free to be equal and the land of the politically correct; so to handicap anyone for being, well, handicapped, is to be both illiberal and harsh. At the core of America's great progressive mythology is the idea that anyone can be whatever they dream themselves to be; and much political debate is spent on arguing how such dreams are to be achieved. I confess I have little patience for all such theorizing and haggling over terms and ethics, for it all, eventually, seems to be so much theater no matter how it is sliced and diced, drawn and quartered.

Two things strike me as sad. First, that it would seem very likely that many contestants could easily be self-promoting saboteurs. While this may seem a crazy oxymoron, it is not: there are contestants who seek to make themselves known by making a mockery of the process, and the very show, itself. American Idol's success surely has inspired its detractors, both within the entertainment industry and the culture at large. I would not be surprised if Idol encounters all sorts of guerilla-types: those who would subvert the popularity of perceived pop-star idolatry, and those guerilla theater-types who have a political axe to grind. Surely there are the Julliard-type aspiring actors who need to play a role; why not a role as an Idol contestant? Surely there are the Sacha Baron Cohen wannabes who stay in character at all costs, begging for attention from their acting peers, their fellow protestors, their fellow iconoclasts. Are many of these personae even real, even genuine, that walk or flit through the doors to face Idol's well-known judges? At times the whole thing reeks of camp, and it reminds me of the millions of face-less, nameless bloggers parading around the internet pretending to be what they are not.

My innocence, I am sorry to say, regarding "reality" programming was finally shattered when I called into the popular NPR show, "Car Talk" several years ago. How naive I was to think the show was at all spontaneous. Find out for yourself by calling 1-800-Car-Talk; the spontaneity is sheer artifice. You think those guys are brilliant diagnosticians when it comes to cars? Think again. The show is built on your phone call to an automated system wherein you provide the details of your car, its apparent problem, along with your home phone number and a convenient time for them to call. In other words, your problem is researched days, perhaps weeks, in advance.

That American Idol is nonetheless a worthy myth with doses of reality is completely satisfactory. It is, after all, a show meant to entertain.

But the saddest thing is not that Idol is a myth. What is sad is that another network (I will not mention which one, but you can guess: For you satellite TV customers, it's the network just two doors down from Fox News), has taken to the tawdriest form of journalism. Two different "news-based shows," both hosted by middle-aged men in ties, tonight had segments on American Idol. Both segments were all about denigration. And both segments were clearly born of jealousy and were meant to steal viewership -- and important ad revenues -- from a very successful and overall mostly harmless show (more on this some other time). In fact, I have seen several news segments over the last few months on said network in which Fox News, or some Fox personality, is the featured fodder for fun: even one particular commentator seems quite inexplicably obsessed with Bill O'Reilly. What we are witnessing in such TV programming is not the creation of superior art that trumps less successful fare; we are not witnessing a better team beat its opponent. What we are seeing is the talk-news, talk-TV equivalent of mere trash talk, of merely talking smack. One network in particular seems predisposed towards this sort of thing, and it is clear it is not Fox.

But forgive me for sounding like a shill for Fox and its news outlet. I am hardly that. But I am paying attention, and what I see is quite sad all around. But the saddest thing -- and it is even a little creepy -- is that other networks are doing stories about another network's shows. It is a sign of the times, Orwellian in language and Randian in import.

The have-nots want to steal from the haves, and the egalitarians are squealing.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Dear Andy Warhol: You've Got The Wrong Can

After much searching of soul, mind, and heart, I have finally understood why I will never be recognized as a great visual artist. I am too thin.

Not long ago, Luke Buckham and I (see comments thread) speculated on what conditions would need to be met to criminalize the eating of meat. Perhaps both of us should have turned to PETA for help; I turned to the problem of global warming for some assistance, but the payoff was so much gas.

Now comes THIS brilliant work of creativity, this burst of genius, to make me doubt NOT whether eating meat should be criminalized, but whether I shall ever eat a meatball again.

Remember, you can't be a cannibal if you are eating art. And Andy Warhol should have realized that art is NOT in a Campbell's soup can; it's in the artist's own can. In other words, art is not on the vanguard; it's very much a rear-guard kind of thing.

At last, for once I can say that a work of art is not solely abominable; it is also abdominal.

Here's real art: Me sticking my middle finger down my throat. Now, that's genius.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2o07/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Replay: Celebrating The Forgotten Martin Luther King

[This essay first appeared here on January 16, 2006]

I don't really care what anyone thinks about the following statement, so I say it without hesitation: The 1960's in America were pretty sick years. I have no nostalgia for them; no awe of their alleged liberation or romance for their upheaval, no glee over the sexual and drug revolutions. I stand in protest of the 1960's and their legacy.

And one salient feature of the illness of the 1960's was the shocking death of Martin Luther King Jr. It is not shocking in that it was unexpected, for even Dr. King anticipated it, I believe, in his very final speech. It was shocking in that it was emblematic of truly profound social conflicts that marred that decade, perhaps the most vulgar and violent one, in America's history. Dr. King, after all, was a pacifist in a tumultuous and vicious fight for equality among the races. That his death, his martyrdom, may have spurred Americans toward a more just and kind world is disconcerting, as death should not be required for what seems intuitively to be a simple lesson: All men are created equal.

Of course, as a man bent toward the philosophical, I ask myself whether it is indeed true that all men are created equal. Is it? If we are strict Darwinists, if we are secularists without appeal to God or some transcendent force responsible for mankind's existence and equality, then we must concede that equality is not an ontological (metaphysical) reality. Evolution, in its dynamic "natural selection" process, abhors equality, as disparate species fight and morph for dominance and survival, with nary a hint of egalitarianism. To the secular mind "equality" must be a religious fiction created by that secularism, for there is nothing in the entire cosmos that even resembles "equality." As I've stated elsewhere, including here at Contratimes, neither "equality" nor "rights" exist in any place other than the faith-based imagination of secularists.

Unless, of course, there really is a God. Then one can indeed talk, not only of "equality" but of "rights" as well, rights rooted in the imago dei, the image of God. And that is why the concepts of "rights" and "equality" are rooted in theological language in the founding documents of America. If there is no God, there is no equality and no rights, except in that fictive realm wherein the secular mind places them. If there is a God, there is at least the potential for there to be real qualities to equality and rights; a real, ontological quality.

Of course, the philosopher in me also sees this astounding problem: If there is indeed a God, then only humans are equal one to another, for God surely is not equal to His creation. In short, a world wherein God exists is hierarchical, with God sitting in the highest seat. With that said, it is no wonder secularists abhor a theological structure for social governance, as God confounds their love of absolute equality.

While today we celebrate the memory of Martin Luther King, I would like to celebrate what is absolutely forgotten about Martin Luther King. And what is forgotten is that Dr. King held no expertise in social or political scheming; he was not trained to be a rebel or a revolutionary. No, Dr. King was first and foremost a Christian theologian and ordained minister. Sadly, in most celebrations of his life, these seem to be the first things that are forgotten about him. I wonder, how would this make him feel?

Today is really a religious holiday, but you wouldn't know it. It is a holiday celebrating the liberating power of the Gospel, the very power that liberated a young Martin King when he first attended church, and when he first attended college. It is a day, not of civil rights, but of the power of love and justice and this wild notion that God loves ALL MEN EQUALLY, which manifests itself in justice and truth in the Christian Savior walking the streets offering a message of hope to the oppressed and harassed: those persecuted by the powerful; those harassed by the terrors of their own sins. It is right to be civil, and it is civil to be right; but neither truth means anything without the civilizing and righteous power of the Christian God who calls all men and women unto Him: that neither Greek nor Jew, neither slave nor free; neither man nor woman nor black nor white, are to be excluded from His banquet hall. This is not unconditional universalism, but that universalism with a caveat: that all invited guests must first accept the invitation, shedding their filthy clothes for the formal clothes that come as a result of God's sacrifice, with all men and all women attired in the grace of God's forgiveness. Those who refuse the invitation, or the forgiveness, remain, freely, outside to dine alone. The maître d' bids them Bon appetit! if they would just humble themselves and accept their reservations.

But this great day is for me in many ways a day of sorrow, for the great man Dr. Martin Luther King is cheapened, gutted and reduced to something other than he was, for he was not a secular member of the vanguard; his power was not intrinsic to him; his cause was a cause that has nothing, ultimately, to do with him at all. For it is God's cause, and Dr. King knew that, and he embraced that powerful fact. How sorrowful that our schools and culture want to forget what ultimately made Dr. King a great man.†

For me, Dr. King represents the fight to keep the cardinal virtues together in harmonic balance. G. K. Chesterton argued that the Protestant Reformation smashed the union of the cardinal virtues, causing them to run amok, befouling the earth with their zeal. Just think of love, hope, faith, justice, prudence, temperance and fortitude helter-skelter on the earth, unbound from each other. Justice untethered becomes a church or legal fund or race riot insisting on its own verdicts, neglecting the temperance which is mercy. Temperance alone turns into flagellation and legalism. Prudence in isolation turns into the idolatry of caution, dreading the imperfect choice. Love runs to and fro without the truth of justice or the restraint of self-control, and blindly affirms acts and deeds that true love, in balance, would not countenance or so casually condone. Today, I can hear Dr. King call for the orthodoxy which holds all of these virtues together, the orthodoxy of Christ. It is this part of Dr. King's message that I remember today with sadness, for it is the part of his message and his life that is forgotten.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

†There are those who don't think Dr. King was a great man, but I think otherwise. His peccadilloes, his sins, do indeed count against him. But all of us have these charges against us. What made him great is that he held to his convictions without being paralyzed by the fact that he was a man of imperfections. Too many of us permit our imperfections to sway us from our course. We fall prey to one of the greatest social evils, which is the fixation on the purity of the messenger rather than on the accuracy of the message. It is the "Who are you?" fallacy. It is the devil's line of discredit.

Winning High Honors: Let The Awards Begin #1

Today marks the inaugural Contratimes awards celebration. It will be a quirky celebration; there might be nothing at all suggestive of consistency or decorum or excellence. Perhaps the awards will even wallow in mediocrity. Maybe I will fête the fetid and turn a blind eye and deaf ear to the truly glorious. I do not know, for this is all much more whimsical than it is analytical. I choose from the gut; I intuit rather than reason my way to these finalists: my viscera is far more active here than my cerebrum. And surely my vision will be sorely limited, as I can only see so far.

Note that I shall recognize the winners over a period of days.

At the end of 2006, I heard a radio personality calling out for listeners' nominees for "Jerk of the Year" awards. I found the category thoroughly cruel. And I did not wait to hear what listeners offered as viable winners. But if I choose to ignore "Jerk of the Year" categories, can I at least have something pejorative? How about "The Most Misplaced Scoffers of the Year"? How about the "We Are So Smart We're Dumb" award for 2006? Are these too harsh?

Well, for 2006, the winners -- because we can't name just one -- of the Soggy Turnip Award for Grotesque Prejudice belongs to those folks who don't know English as well as they might claim. These folks have even managed to create a small industry around their colossal ignorance, and they are totally blind to the irony of their actions.

You see, in mid-April 2006, President George W. Bush said the following during a press conference (read CNN's aptly titled article here):

"I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense." [emphasis added]

One would think that President Bush might be derided for admitting that he hears voices. Alas, if it only were that easy. But rather than leaping on the President for his clairvoyance, critics leapt on his much greater offense: He used the word, "decider." Immediately the scoffers raised their voices, and the great thinkers among us set out to prove to the world -- once again -- that Bush was an aphasiac, anomic idiot. Bloggers' fingers were set to typing damnation with great speed; and T-Shirt makers and peddlers of bumper stickers hawked their wares: "I'm The Decider!" almost became a Democratic Party slogan. Not a few voters in this area of New Hampshire had their bumper stickers placed 'just so' in time for the November elections; and even an online linguist analyzed Mr. Bush's anomia, finding Bush's "locution" inexplicably bizarre (and the linguist never notes the following fact).

Of course, reality is glorious: "decider," in case you did not know, is a thoroughly normal English word. In fact, its first known literary usage dates back to 1593, or so reports the Oxford English Dictionary. It is not one whit aberrant, nor did President Bush use it in an odd way. I readily admit that it sounded odd, but that has everything to do with frequency rather than diction or syntax. We all hear new words every day: some are used correctly, others are not. Rarely is a word invented; and even words that are used correctly can sound strange in certain contexts. But "decider" is not even close to being anachronistic, since I can instantly find it in the 2004 dictionary installed on this fine computer.

Hence, the Soggy Turnip for Grotesque Prejudice goes to all those intellectuals out there who did not know that "decider" is as common a word as chooser, picker, and pedantic.

(For a more complete essay on my thoughts regarding sundry Bushisms, see "The Seinfeld Administration".)

Peace, somewhere, if but for a moment.

(PS. Please see the first comment in the comments thread below. Thanks. BG)

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Like The Earth Underfoot, Values Divide

Prologue

Episcopal priest and former US senator John Danforth (R - MO) is interviewed by Will Sullivan in this week's issue of US News & World Reports. The Q & A is tellingly titled, "The Values Divide." Indeed, they do. For Mr. Danforth strings together some of the most disheartening -- and empty -- thoughts I have seen in a long time; it is a wonder he has a book published at all (the occasion for the interview). But more importantly it is a wonder he is taken seriously as an Episcopalian, since his theology is utterly naive. And I am not suggesting a naivete reminiscent of child-like faith. I am talking naivete that is ignorant of its own heresies.

I urge readers to read the full text, which can be found at this link. It is a prerequisite for what follows.
_____________________

One could choose to address a myriad of problems -- cultural, political, philosophical and religious -- with Mr. Danforth's comments, but I shall ignore them for what I believe to be the most salient absurdity posited by Mr. Danforth. This is not a foray -- though it could be -- into the contentious and divisive 2003 election of V. Gene Robinson to shepherd the diocese of New Hampshire. That event is no doubt relevant; it is indeed the backdrop for Mr. Danforth's interview (and his book).

When asked what The Episcopal Church (TEC hereafter) should do to bring back the many (though Danforth believes it is only a few) people who have left TEC, Danforth gives us this stupifying answer:

I think to emphasize that we are traditionally a broad church and this has been our glory. I think a lot of people would say, well, the Episcopal Church is wishy-washy, that it doesn't really stand for anything. I think we stand for a lot. I think we stand for the idea that God cannot be encapsulated in our perceptions or in our views of political issues or social issues. It's saying that God is bigger than all these issues and bigger than any of our factions, and the church is big enough to include everything. [emphasis added]

Fortunately, we are spared Danforth's full list of what might be included in his generous use of the word, everything. But we know no such list is even necessary: listing everything is as futile as dividing infinity. Everything is, well, everything, and it is impossible to find any worth in adumbrating the extension of the word: The church, reflecting the glory of God's inestimable bigness, has no rooms, no partitions. It bids welcome to everyone -- and every thing -- without distinction. After all, to distinguish or define is to be small-minded, factious: If God is big enough to include everything, well, let us fall prostrate in adoration of his hospitality.

One wonders if Mr. Danforth is at all sentient of the glaring fact that he has contradicted himself. If his proposition that "God cannot be encapsulated in our perceptions" is indeed meant as something other than a mere theological jest; if it is meant as a premise to Mr. Danforth's argument, then it must be noted that Mr. Danforth has indeed encapsulated God in his perceptions. To Mr. Danforth, God is BIG, really big. So big, in fact, that we should just submit (islam?) to the overwhelming wonders of God's mighty size in blissful nonjudgmentalism.

The pantheism of Mr. Danforth's theology is utterly clear. We see without the slightest obscurity what this all means: God is everything -- at least everything wonderful (which is a vapid tautology). But we also see the inevitable inverse of all of this: If God is everything, he is nothing. It's analogous to a Christmas morning when a child looks with shock as his father announces that he has not given his child a single gift, he has instead given him everything: "My son, there is a bow and ribbon on the whole universe!" It also calls to mind the great Steven Wright quip: "I have the world's largest seashell collection -- I have it scattered all over the beaches of the world." In other words, Mr. Wright has no seashell collection; and the little boy sits Christmas morning without a single gift to open. Mr. Wright doesn't love seashells enough to collect any for his pocket; the father of the little boy does not love him enough to make a distinction between nothing and just one thing, one gift that is set apart, distinct, chosen and shaped specifically for his little child's delight on Christmas Day.

Perhaps I misread Mr. Danforth's expansive theological statement. But I don't think I do. "Everything" can fit into the church, which is exactly why the church is increasingly empty. Mr. Danforth's God is as big as Allah, as undistinct as Buddhism's nirvana, as permissive as the cult of Bacchus, and nearly as much nothing as the atheist's void. Truly we can define this apparently Episcopalian theology as universalistic and tolerant; as syncretistic and postmodern. We might even call this idea of God authentic and accessible and "inclusive." But the one thing we can't call it is Christian. To do so would be factious -- and small.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Episcopalianism

The Grand Vacuity

To my American readers:

Have you, fellow citizen, been waiting 200 years for anything? I think not. But what about America? Has it been waiting for some incredible event for over 200 years? Apparently it has been waiting, even chafing at the bit, for one very important thing: the ascendancy of a woman to the position of Speaker of the House.

Of course, I use the word ascendancy with a wink to irony, for to be Speaker of the House may indeed be a descendancy: these allegedly lofty posts supporting the dome of human ambition may actually be dehumanizing idols that mean, ultimately, nothing. To be priest or president, king or queen, may be the least humanizing and wondrous roles on the planet. But I digress.

America yesterday apparently made history. In the United States House of Representatives, a U.S. citizen who also happens to be a woman, was given a gavel, a chair, a title, and the keys to a new house. For 2oo years America has been waiting for Nancy Pelosi to become the first woman to speak in that esteemed house -- with authority and control and dominance.

According to this morning's New York Times, Ms. Pelosi had this to say about her elevation:

“This is an historic moment ... It’s an historic moment for the Congress. It’s an historic moment for the women of America. It is a moment for which we have waited for over 200 years.” [emphasis added]

I wonder if there are any women in America who might disagree with Madame Speaker. I am sure there are not a few. It would be fun to hear from them. But one also wonders where this sudden ebullience over feminism's success comes from. Has there, for instance, been a longstanding movement afoot to have a woman Speaker of the House? And even if there was, is this really that terribly historic? We have women CEOs and women astronauts; we have women university presidents and women surgeons general; we have women attorneys general and women presidential candidates. We have had two women secretraries of state, Madeleine Albright and Condoleezza Rice. OK. So a woman holds a gavel in a house of Congress. Should I care? Should I care as much as Representative Loretta Sanchez, D-CA, who said she voted for Ms. Pelosi “for the empowerment of all women in the world”? (Wow, Ms. Sanchez.) Even Ms. Pelosi spoke of equality with some hyperbole (as reported by the Victoria Advocate), declaring, "By electing me speaker, you have brought us closer to the ideal of equality that is America's heritage and hope. For our daughters and granddaughters, today we have broken the marble ceiling." (Wasn't that ceiling really broken years ago?)

Specifically, should I care about all this if men and women are equal? Are they? How so? If men and women are indeed equal, then why do I care if a woman is Speaker of the House, for is not a woman speaker equal to a male speaker? Moreover, even if I accept that men have far too long forged laws which affect women -- with nary a sense of what women need or want -- how is it any historic gain whatsoever to have a woman forge laws which affect men with nary a sense of what men need or want?

Of course, I am merely having fun here poking at certain American sacred cows. I am grateful that women have found "higher" stations in life. But there is a problem intrinsic to the language we use about equality that peeves me a bit, with such peevishness described more fully in my essay on equality and the former president of Harvard, Larry Summers, posted in 2005.

Other thoughts on yesterday's historic turnings:

• The New York Times' headline today could not be more apt: Jubilant Democrats Assume Control on Capitol Hill. Emphasis, of course, on the word assume.
• Democrat Harry Reid, the new Senate majority leader, said (according to The New York Times), “Guided by the spirit of bipartisanship, Democrats are ready to take this country in a new direction.” The final roll call for the Pelosi-for-Speaker vote in the House? "233 to 202, the 31-seat margin of the new Democratic majority," or so reports the NYT. So much for bipartisan cooperation.
  
• Since the Democrats "assumed" control of America's destiny, one American soldier has been killed in Iraq. I shall keep count from here on in, since it is clear any death on the Democrats' watch is their fault, no? Don't hold your breath counting on these folks to resolve the Iraq conflict any time soon. They would rather raise minimum wage than lower the death count. Apparently they are concerned our soldiers are not getting paid sufficiently.

Lastly, I am reluctant to ask Mr. Reid if he believes that the "new direction" in which he plans to take America is distinguishable from the old one.

Peace.

PS. What is Ms. Pelosi doing in the photo above? What is she trying to convey, express? Just wondering.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Speaker Pelosi, Nancy Pelosi, Equality

TIME Is Its Own Award: The Beast Is Honored

As you must know by now, TIME magazine has bestowed upon the masses the rather confusing appellation, Person of the Year. Of course, the editors of that fine journal understand their use of the language better than most of us: When they declare YOU, meaning, well, YOU, to be Person of the Year, and yet they mean US, which means, you and me and everyone else who use this medium, then their equivocal language begins to make sense: the Person of the Year is really the Persons of the Year.

And yet this is not really true at all; it is not one whit accurate. TIME is not lauding persons; it is not a person or persons who are feted by TIME's inestimable annual award. If TIME is praising or noting anything, if TIME is praising a force or phenomenon or movement or revolution of information, it is really praising personae, or personas. For the WWW is not filled with people (this is hardly a cybernation of real folks). Rather, the WWW is the cult of personaes. How many bloggers (of the millions), for instance, are known by name, by address? Who are the millions of people behind the screen personae we see everyday? TIME would have been nearly as astute in bestowing such great notoriety, even honor, on mere ANONYMITY, for the ANONYMOUS run rampant through this medium. My guess is that among those who are contributors to the "information age", or information deluge, there are far more unknown contributors than known. Only a few of us post our real names, and share images of ourselves, in clear and honest admission: we are not personae, but persons to the fullest extent this medium permits. And yet, though I end nearly every essay posted here with my name, my REAL name, I find that others refer to me as "Contratimes," though I do not refer to myself this way at all. And though I usually paste my initials or name in every comment I leave elsewhere, people seem to miss the self-identification: they refer to the name of my website as if I am the name of a place, or a position.

WHAT TIME HAS REALLY HONORED

But I am not sure that TIME is even noting the unknown users and contributors of the great global gateway. I believe that TIME is actually recognizing the gateway, the web or net or digital neighborhood or whatever it is called, as the Person of the Year. It is the WWW that TIME is honoring, is recognizing. We, mere contributors and consumers, are like the dust of Eden gathered together in so many small bits and bytes; we are giving shape to Adam, to Eve, while TIME, and others, are just trying to breath life into the great PERSON we are all creating: the great IDEA, the great SYNTHESIS and SYNCRETISM; the great nearly all-knowing machine called the Internet. The great BRAIN, the great whistleblower, police officer, guardian angel; even the great provider -- of goods and services and even love and meaning and affirmation and purpose -- that will finally unite us all as family, friends, brothers and sisters. Perhaps someday soon this whole thing will just run itself, and run us. And why not? IT knows our favorite books, our favorite movies. IT knows where we like to shop, what clothes we like to wear, what music we listen to. IT knows which men prefer brunettes, which women prefer Brad Pitt. IT knows who is a Republican, a Liberal, or a defender of the Labor Party. IT knows my religion, and IT even knows why I accept that religion. IT knows your status, your socio-economic standing; IT knows what you can contribute. And IT need not really know who YOU are: IT just needs to feed your IP address -- like any good parent -- with a cookie or two. To IT, you just need to be a number, and IT will take care of the rest. Just type in your prayer, and the answer will appear on your screen or land outside your door in a day or two (assuming you choose Next Day delivery).

Perhaps the single best proof of all of this is to be found in the picture of TIME editor Rick Stengel holding a copy of TIME's "Person of the Year" issue. One look shows something shocking: Stengel's own picture appears on the cover. Has TIME then bestowed the "Person of the Year" honors on itself? It seems so. But does this not suggest that TIME has actually anthropomorphized the Internet: that the Internet is US, is YOU, is all our faces and personaes and fragmented selves wrapped into ONE, one big YOU?

And then, of course, there is this story from TIME, "The Beast With A Billion Eyes: On the Web, anyone with a digital camera has the power to change history." It is this Beast that is referred to as the "Person of the Year" as shown in these two screen captures from TIME's website:


This is TIME's Person of the Year, a thing that is not really a person at all.

(And soon academics will gather to debate what "person" even means.)

Peace to you all, lauded members of the Thing of the Year.

PS. (added 12.18.06): Please note that TIME's cover is a mylar mirror: the idea is that you will see yourself in reflection. Of course, please note too that the mirror is a computer screen. In other words, you will find yourself look at yourself through a machine (which should give the philosophical idealists much to applaud. Go, Fichte! Go, Schelling!) It's all about creating a giant, thinking, feeling Machine -- in your image!!

Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Technorati tags: TIME, Person of the Year, Internet, Blogging, The Beast, The Mark of the Beast, Thing of the Year

A Shot To The Heart

I may be mistaken, though it is not really the sort of thing that makes me care much for accuracy anyway. But I believe suicide has come close to my household in each of the past four Decembers. And then there was the accidental suicide two years ago on Thanksgiving.

I have written about last December's suicide in three Contratimes' essays, "When The Phone Rings Late At Night," "In Memoriam," and, "Staggering Still." That story remains a difficult one for me; there has not been even a few hours in which I have not thought of my college friend, M.

Yesterday, I attended the funeral service for a local friend, another man named M. This man was not a close friend; he was just a friend and a good guy, someone I liked, someone who laughed with me when we bumped into each other at the store, or when we discussed our various hikes or experiences in the wild. We had met when I was 14 and he 20, some 31 years ago. We had more than a few things in common that had to do with the outdoors, but there were others: I had been friends with his ex-wife, and friends with some of his friends; his sister is one of my neighbors. And we had gone to the same high school though he, 6 years my senior, graduated with my sister (now deceased) when I was in junior high.

On Tuesday, M.'s elderly mother died at a nearby nursing home. She had been a loving and lovely woman, mother, grandmother. She had cared for her five children in some of life's most difficult circumstances. And she was adored by all. But her death struck her one son particularly hard: by the end of the day M. would also be dead, his body found in his mother's empty house a couple of miles from where his mom had died, mere hours separating their times of death.

Last year, I grieved a man who died in Colorado. The year before I grieved for Timmy, an old schoolmate, whose alcoholism the two of us often battled together, with me praying for him with all due fervor. He even spent Christmas week seeking sobriety in my house one year, with me and my family making room for him, trying to deny him his love of big bottles of rum. And the year before Timmy died, I grieved my cousin Tom, who hung himself in a bathtub in some Florida apartment while visiting friends. Tom had recently come to New Hampshire to rekindle relations with my mother; the two were thrilled to renew acquaintances after too many years of sorrows and great distance; my mother giddy that someone on her side of the family would want to get close in her waning years. Little did she know how cruelly Tom's heart was tormented. And then there was little, sweet Roland, a learning disabled boy and my nephew's best friend, who accidently drank himself to death during Thanksgiving week two (or was it three?) years ago.

But yesterday's sorrow was not really mine. M. and I were just close enough to like each other, to share those kinds of moments when you wonder aloud why you aren't closer friends. But the tragedy of his death will reach deep, very deep, into the hearts of those he left behind: siblings, nephews, nieces, childhood pals. I cannot know their grief; I cannot really carry it. I can only know my own sorrow at not being able to help those who so carefully conceal their need for help. I can only know my own anger and sorrow in the wake of deaths that have struck closer to my heart than M.'s did yesterday, or today, or even tomorrow. I can only know the emptiness I feel, hiking in the same great woods M. hiked, wandering about in silence, outside in the cold distance, hearing a single report to the heart.

In the autumn of 1978, during the first half of my senior year in high school, I would sit next to a quiet boy named Russell Holt. We were in Contemporary Issues together; he was bright as a star, a stand-out cross-country runner, a kid with long and somewhat greasy hair; he was gentle as a lamb. How could I have ever known that one particular morning would be our last together in our seats in Room 115B? How could I know that he would put a shotgun in his mouth when he got off the late bus that day, having just finished cross-country practice with Mr. Ladue? How could I know that every vestige of memory of me - and all his more popular classmates - would be splashed all over the walls of his family's kitchen wall?

Russell Holt's death shook me to the core, and it all called me toward Christ. My conversion began with a desire to be open to all the horrors and sorrows of the human heart; I did not want to be blind to whatever it was I hadn't seen in Russell Holt as his leg jiggled alongside mine in Contemporary Issues. I wanted to see, to be present: I wanted to believe that there was hope, redemption, joy, and a peace that could heal. That could comfort and console. And I wanted, in accepting Christianity, to embrace a love that could see beyond the end of my own self-absorption; I wanted to notice the forgotten, the forsaken, the overlooked; I wanted Russell Holt to know that I cared, that I was glad that he was alive.

Now, nearly 30 years later, I know that I still can't see even beyond the end of my nose. In fact, it is getting harder to see at all. How I wish this were not so! How my heart breaks over all the noise I've allowed to drown out so many calls for help -- even the one call for help -- I may have heard had I just quieted my mind and my soul. And yet (!), I know how fearful it can be to hear such cries, to be open to the scream: griefs and sorrows can overwhelm us, can reveal to us our weaknesses, often weakening our ability to keep the flame of our good intent burning at all. We often flee such sorrows because we believe they will indeed consume us; will indeed suck the life and marrow out of our own being, leaving us too weak to live our own dreams or to love our own sons and daughters. My heart wants to be bold but not too bold; I want to hear, but not too much: I want to fight fires, but only the safe fires; I want to climb mountains, but only the lower ones; I want to sow love, but only when it is lovely.

The heart is a difficult place to find one's hope, one's joy. It is a hard place to find a foothold. Perhaps that is why I am so eager to fill my day with distractions and sundry trivialities: books, bargains, baseball, beer, and the other banalities of the day. I am afraid to really be what I am called to be; I am afraid of what is true about the nature of even my own need: that I cannot avoid the fact that I am a person very much in need of grace, forgiveness, redemption, and a hope that is not some cheap illusion.

The Physician did not come to heal the healthy, but the sick. And He does not heal the wallet, or the ego; He does not heal with accolades and honors, with awards and Christmas bonuses, with publishing deals or tax write-offs or hot babes or hot sex or cold beer in fast cars or Botox or breast implants or a new kitchen or a well-lauded poem or an iconoclastic rock song or a five-star meal or a bigger church or a bulging credit line or a new gun or a better wife. His healing begins with a broken God nailed to a cross.

The next step is for me to let go of the hammer, to let fall the nails.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Blazing To The Top Of The Charts

Just a hasty observation, but if I was, let's say, Hillary Clinton, I would be delighted with the early excitement over Senator Barack Obama. In fact, I would be fueling it at every turn. I would even attempt to move the media towards Mr. Obama. Why? Because I would want Mr. Obama to peak too early. And it is, quite likely, exactly what he is going to do. People in New Hampshire gathered on Sunday to see the man, to touch the hem of his garment; and I mean people gathered by the thousands. Over 100 reporters captured his every move and jotted down his every word. And all this -- all this money and hoopla and passion -- for a man who has not even announced he is running for president. The only other phenomenon in New Hampshire's primary history that closely resembles the Obama-Nation† was when John F. Kennedy announced his candidacy for president while standing on Main Street in Nashua.

And all this for a man who is, to be honest, utterly unseasoned, with nary a stitch of experience. That some critics of George W. Bush like to point out that he himself was hardly a fireball of political activity prior to his 2ooo run miss several points, the most salient of which is that many Republicans were utterly aware of Bush's lack of experience. In New Hampshire, at least, George W. Bush was hardly a Republican favorite. But at least Bush had some experience simply by being a President's son. I might have this wrong, but George W. actually worked in nearly every office of the White House during the Reagan-Bush years. This qualifies for something, though it does not entitle any man to have the Oval Office.

But I will not detract from Mr. Obama's popularity by suggesting he is too inexperienced. I will merely point out that those who also seek the office can only be encouraged that Mr. Obama is peaking early.

Or so they hope.

THE CULT OF PERSONALITY

I think it is important to note how many folks are indeed already committed to voting for Mr. Obama should he run. How can this be? He is hardly known, he is hardly seasoned in the public eye. On what are his enthusiasts basing their enthusiasm? I have already heard much about his charm and charisma. Is that it? I have heard Harold Ford Jr. describe Mr. Obama as brilliant. But is that all? And I know Mr. Obama has written a couple of books. But is that enough? Is this, at least right now, merely the cult of personality, the adoration of persona? Surely it is not the cult of substance, or the cult of strong political record, right? It is something other than these things. Is it more hosanna politics?

I wonder.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

†I note the word the term Obama-Nation for a host of reasons. Obviously, no supporter of Mr. Obama could ever refer to his followers as Obama-Nation, largely for its homophonic cousin, abomination. Moreover, yesterday I saw the word "obamanible," penned by an Obama defender upset by criticisms over Mr. Obama's middle name (which is Hussein). But Mr. Obama's name will no doubt lend itself to all sorts of wild headlines in the Daily News or New York Post: "Barack Star!" "Running Out Of Money: Barack's B-roke!" "Obama's Meandering State of the Union Speech: Barack's Baroque!" "Southern Vote is Clear: A'bama Says No To Obama!" "Barack Urges Kids: Obey Ma!" OK. These are foolish and, I dare say, unfortunate. But the reality is not to be denied: Headline writers are going to have a field day. "O-BAM!- A: Barack smashes O'Reilly's fastball in Factor interview."

Technorati tags: Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, New Hampshire, Cult of Personality

Ideas About Ideologues

I know more than a few people who often dismiss certain folks as "ideologues." It is almost said reflexively. At times it seems a curious habit. The disparagement is always done with great facility and, perhaps, felicity. And I never quite understand it. Definitions in some of the older dictionaries I own show that, first and foremost, an ideologue is an expert in ideology, which is defined as "the body of doctrine, myth, symbol, etc., of a social movement, institution, class, or large group." The secondary meaning is that of a person who deals with systems of ideas. And the tertiary meaning describes a person "who advocates a particular ideology." (The Random House College Dictionary, 1975).

Curiously, more recent definitions are rather blunt. For example, the American Heritage Dictionary is utterly matter of fact:

ideologue (noun): An advocate of a particular ideology, especially an official exponent of that ideology

And the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary gives us this definition for ideologue:

1 : an impractical idealist : THEORIST
2 : an often blindly partisan advocate or adherent of a particular ideology

It is interesting to note how unnuanced these online definitions prove themselves to be. I wonder if this is the trend in computer age diction, where words become more rigid, lacking subtlety, posited in all their raw black-and-white glory. Computer users are, after all, in a hurry.

My observation -- provincial as it is -- about the word in question is that the man denouncing another chap as a "mere ideologue" is usually himself something of an ideologue. With that said, I, of course, admit that my comment lacks subtlety. I promise to make amends in a forthcoming essay on the topic.

For now, two things. First, I would love to hear what you think "ideologue" means: what does it connote and who does it denote? Second, I urge you to read one of my all-time favorite essays (fragmented as it is) by C. S. Lewis. After reading his capital essay, Bulverism, this morning, I am reminded -- again -- how careful I must be.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes -- All Rights Reserved.

Building Better Brain Bombs

[Every once in a while I post an essay that is really a reply to something that happened off-stage, so to speak. This is one of those moments.]

The other day I received an email from someone who felt that she knew me, my opinions, my own sense of what is true, right, wrong. I shall name no names, and I shall give nothing away here. But the writer suggested that I was being, well, dishonest; and if not dishonest, I was being inaccurate, even, perhaps, revisionistic. What startled me most, of course, was the intimation that someone I barely know knows me better than I know myself. And what I apparently did not know without the help of this particular interlocutor is that I have always supported the Iraq invasion spearheaded by George W. Bush.

It's curious what people claim to know. I can assure you that my wife took this bit of news as a surprise; she recalls trying to get me to change my mind about Iraq, insisting, for example, that I should read Why We Fight by Bill Bennett (she insisted again Friday night that I need to read it). I have not read that undoubtedly fine work, largely because I already have far too much to do as I promote war at every turn. But what I think is clear is that people mistake my strident defense of President Bush as somehow support for everything he stands for; but my defense is really a critique of the junk hurled his way. I have never been pro-war, but I have been very much anti-crap. And I believe this fact with all my heart: the leftists are the revisionists when it comes to the genesis of the Iraq invasion.

Some people cannot believe that Michael Richards is not, in fact, Jerry Seinfeld's fictional neighbor, Kramer; Mr. Richards created such a convincing character one is tempted to conclude that he and Kramer are identical (how jarring it is to learn that they are not). Great actors who loathe serial killings nonetheless convincingly portray serial killers. Great novelists who are anti-war nevertheless portray war in all its brutal accuracy, even without having actually served a moment in battle. Great defense lawyers posit great apologies on their clients' behalf, leading jurors towards a "not guilty" verdict that the defense lawyer himself would not ever reach. You get the point. Merely because I have argued against the arguments proffered against the war, it does not follow that I am for the war. I am merely against bad arguments.

I would urge readers, who are interested in my feelings about the war against Islamic fundamentalism, to read what I believe is my definitive statement as presented in my series, "The Most Important Question: On Inevitability And The War On Terror." Readers will discover what I believe is really at stake; and readers will note, too, that I was far ahead of the pretentious and leftist billionaire George Soros, underwriter of the Democratic National Committee, who -- in a silly essay I discussed here -- called for a change in metaphor when discussing the war on terror. (And as for the attempts by linguist George Lakoff to redefine the Iraq War as an occupation, see my comment #2 at MadMike'sAmerica in this thread.)

I have been quite consistent in challenging bad arguments. I have challenged the idea that pacifism is strictly forbidden in Christian orthodoxy. I have challenged the idea that peace is attainable in "Oscar Wilde, Seinfeld, And Peace That Eludes." I have challenged arguments that suggest that only liberal dissent is deemed unpatriotic. I have criticized arguments that the war in Iraq is a quagmire, or that its difficulty proves its foolishness, or that American troops would fare better with more armor. I have criticized Madeleine Albright. In fact, I have criticized many things here. But I have never opined that I support war.

Sadly, my critic(s) will probably not read my definitive series "The Most Important Question", no matter how much I implore them to. Nor will they probably bother to read my lengthy but sincere letter to America, drafted mere days after 9/11 (and posted at a new Contratimes auxiliary), to judge its consistency with the series mentioned above. They are free to define me as they deem most expedient for them. I offer no definitions about their personal beliefs, since I hardly know these folks. I shall respectfully leave them alone.

Lastly, the emailer described me as a bomb thrower. You know, a sort of intellectual terrorist, a kind of Molotov cocktail-tosser in the brain. I stand, apparently, in the same company as Ann Coulter or, well, no one else. My rhetoric is shaped merely to detonate in the midst of irrefutable logic (or so it is suggested).

I find the 'charge' amusing.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes -- All Rights Reserved.

The Church Is A Very Idolatrous Place

[This rather lengthy essay is solely for the Christian reader who lands on Contratimes. Surely non-Christians are invited to read it, but I think it might be rather tedious for an outsider. But I might be wrong.]

I was asked last week by a Contratimes reader whether I would be writing about the unfortunate scandal which is the resignation of Rev. Ted Haggard, (former) president of the National Association of Evangelicals (USA). I replied that I was unsure. This morning, I am no more certain about that sad tale, but I am approaching certainty about things that have led to so much disappointment in not merely the evangelical church in America, but in the Church everywhere else. Not being a man of temperate mind who might reasonably restrain himself from over-reaching, I rush toward those things from which even the devil flees. It might be either a fool’s response or the mere motto of a common hero, but I have only one reply to those who might question my ambitions: ‘Well, someone’s got to do it.’

Prologue: Who Are You?

Remember the very first question God asks in the Garden of Eden after Adam and Eve flee the scene of the crime. The First Question is not about identity; it is not about who one is. Instead of being a question that might pique the interest of a mere existentialist, it is one that a rescuer or cartographer might ask: Where are you? It is about location and position, it is not about why or when. The question implies relationship: Where are you so I can BE with you? The query implies all the wonders of help and aid, succor and salvation: I need to know where you are so that I might give comfort. There is not even a what or when. Just a simple question about placement.

Please recall the devil’s slithering statements in the garden. Notice that they are all directed at sowing seeds of status: the serpent attempts to inflate Eve’s sense of who she is. He doesn’t care about where she is, he appeals to her sense of identity: “You will not surely die ... for God knows that when you eat of it [the forbidden fruit] your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” No doubt these words insult the God of the universe, and Adam as well, for the serpent implies that neither can be trusted (particularly Adam). God is keeping something from you, and you will be all the greater if you ignore what Adam and God have said. The serpent directs his comments directly at Eve’s ego, at her sense of self-worth. His goal is two-fold, like the fork in his tongue: to sow doubt and distrust between Eve and Adam, and to cause the eyes of Eve to swell wide in lust for something that will give her an advantage, an edge. It is, for a moment, all about Eve.

To what does the serpent appeal when he tempts Jesus the Christ after our Lord is driven into the desert moments after baptism? Does he not appeal to Jesus’ sense of identity, of self? “If you are the son of Man, then ...” The temptations flow like a poet’s triplet, shaped in well-metered and seductive phrases; conditionals unconditionally stated: If this, well then, of course THAT. There is nothing here about relationship, or position or place (at least not directly). It is about identity, about pride and self-esteem: If you are the son of God, then surely you can seize the kingdoms of the world. But if you don’t, surely you are a rather insipid and pitiable God. What, pray tell, is there to envy in all that fussing about obedience? Even a clod can be austere; it takes a real God to create. Create, or be damned by the blandness of your humility.

Think of any prophet, any man or woman of God. Think of Jesus Himself, or some apostle or saint of the Church. What is the most common retort against the prophetic message? What do the people say who despise the word of God preached in Palestine, or in the courts of Corinth? Is it not always something like this: Who are YOU to speak such words? Was not Jesus rejected, not because of WHAT He said, but because He, a mere Galilean, a mere son of Mary, presumed to teach the qualified, the esteemed, the wise? There was no real trial held against the man who stood as God before the Sanhedrin, for in a trial testimony would have been heard against what the accused said. Debate would have ensued. Instead, we find mere gossip, mere ad hominem attacks dripping with sarcasm: No man of this stature, of this position, could be the messiah, the God of Israel in human form: this man is not good enough to be God’s Son, born of a mere woman, the son of a mere carpenter. Jesus’ nature, not His words, was attacked; His character was impugned. As His accusers spat on Him and struck Him on the face, they taunted Him, keeping up the tempter’s cruel insinuations: If you are truly the Son of God, then tell us who strikes you; show us your power by coming down from this puny cross! The attack is always to sully and berate the character and reputation of Christ and His prophets. It is never to engage in what He said, or the message proclaimed. It is all about casting mud, stones; about striking with the scourge of cords knotted at the tip of the tongue.

The messenger is indeed always shot. But he is not shot for what he has said. He is shot for daring to say it.

The Idols Of Christianity

When a pastor presides over a church that contains over 10,000 members, I think it is prudent to ask if something has gone terribly wrong. This might just be my own quivering insecurities wondering aloud, but I have never shied away from my own self-doubt, so I see no reason not to ask such questions. But when a single man is shepherd over ten thousand sheep, surely there is something amiss. For isn’t it part of the pastor’s mission to tend such sheep until they can begin to care for themselves? Is it not the case that the best leader, or the best exemplar, leads his followers to be better leaders than himself, and better exemplars? Does not a good shepherd find other shepherds, or, at the very least, wise sheep, to help protect and nurture a flock too large for one good shepherd?

I am not one to recoil in fear that my sins might be made public. To do so is to idolize pretense, the artifice of etiquette and propriety erected around far too much of our lives, insulating us from the unseemly fact that we all are messy with sin. Somewhere along the line the Church accepted the broader culture’s sneering remarks that the Church was the household of the holy. Oddly, the Church has idolized this in forgetfulness, for it has forgotten that the Church is not the household of the whole but the hospice for the broken. And it has been held hostage to this idea, an idea which leads to all sorts of vicious disappointments. Christians too often recoil in shock that they should be called “hypocrites!” by their less-devout peers; but both critics and criticized have forgotten that the Church is the very place one would most expect to find hypocrisy. Sinners -- though this side of heaven redeemed by Christ through confession, grace and sacrament -- are not suddenly raptured out of the consequences of their own sin, nor are they given a magic key that locks away the sinner that lives in the crawlspace of each human heart.

I have written here -- with tears and righteous rage -- about the distortions of women depicted in the pornography industry, and the great evil of prostitution and sexual slavery. And I have confessed my sin, for I have participated, as a mere voyeuristic consumer, in the industry of pornography I so thoroughly despise and damn. Nearly every man reading this, I am sure, understands my confession; and for some of them, the mere mention of pornography has already lured them away from here to search for salacious images on the internet. That pornography is an addiction is a bit like the sun being hot: it is made to be that way. And those of us who have been caught in this or any other addiction know that there is no deliverance to be had from the self that dragged us into addiction’s hell in the first place. Deliverance comes from outside -- in confession, accountability, discipline, grace, sacrament, and the calming Spirit of God. But even all these things do not themselves deliver: the thorn of the flesh will have to come out later, burned away in the fires of purgatory, where there will be loss.†

All this to say that we should not ever be shocked when our pastors or priests fall into sin. We all fall into sin. Moreover, let us jettison this idea that a person of faith falls into sin. A man does not fall into sin the way a climber falls off a ladder. A man falls into sin the way a carpet falls onto the floor: he’s already there.

But why this fascination with holiness? Simple, really. It is our futile attempt to make ourselves impressive: we are trying to raise ourselves above criticism. In other words, we are trying to rebuff the scoffers who shout out “Who are you to talk about morality?!” We put on airs, we surround ourselves with the finery of moral rectitude in order to stand above the (moral) mêlée, and above the riff-raff. As literacy, wit, pedigree, wealth, education and claret separated the aristocracy from the rather uncouth servants in the wing, so vestments and austerity and impressive Christian credentials separate the saint from the sinner. Or so it all goes. We are in love with the accoutrements of proper behavior, though not because we are in love with morality, but because we are in love with being above reproach. But we forget that the poor will always be with us, and that we are the poor. There is no one who is whole in the church or out. But we all too often try to pretend that we win the fight over our accusers by showing them that we are indeed WHO we think we are.

But these are not the only idols we embrace. Yes, too often we worship moral posturing. Yes, we are much impressed by well-credentialed men and women who, in the parlance of the street, have 'real cred.' We love to show off our great churches with grand boasts that God MUST have anointed the pastor of the 12,000-member parish (or how else to explain the pastor’s success unless he is a “mighty man of God”). Many early Christians fought against the printing of the Bible in the vernacular, the common parlance, for fear that such accessibility would make every reader a Pope, a master of theology. Proponents of the popular pressings declared that it would bring the Word of God to the masses. But in sad irony we today have well-credentialed men and women, some standing on the left side of the church and others standing on the right, who constantly remind us that we cannot read the Bible for ourselves at all without their keen insights in ancient history, early Christian psychology and sociology, or semitic linguistics. Idols abound.

There are idols of liturgy, there are idols of simplicity. One church is better because of its stained glass, though the absence of such excessses makes a different church the truer Christian witness. There are idols of worship: one group pits its worship against another’s. There are idols of music, with the Grand Choir of Perfection at The Church of the Heavenly Voice elevating souls in a cappella bliss, while the praise band at the converted movie theater down the street cranks out praise choruses that can’t be heard without electricity. There are idols of spiritual gifts, or the lack thereof. Some Christians adore their erudition, rightly dividing the word of truth; while others adore their intuitive grasp of God’s inner voice, whispered in angelic tongues. Some Christians worship conversion stories, even their own. Some follow Christ in order to be the next C. S. Lewis or G. K. Chesterton, Billy Graham or Mother Theresa, imitating, not the steps of Christ, but the heroes that get all the attention. Some worship prophecy, posturing as prophets, the ones hallowed and praised during Bible studies or Sunday School flannel-graph presentations (no doubt there are men bound to an idol thinking that they are one of the forthcoming two witnesses described in Revelation 11). There is the idol of aesthetics, where Christians insist that more is less or less is more; when beauty becomes the fine line between faith and heresy. There is the idol of place, where Christianity is believed to be more powerful in an ancient British chapel than it is in a new geodesic dome in northern California; Christ is more real in the Holy Selpucher than he is in the basement of Pine Street’s Household of Power (or vice versa). There are idols of ministry, where sharing the gospel with prisoners, or cannibals in Papua New Guinea, is deemed greater than breaking bread with one’s neighbors; or where inner-city work with gangs is more courageous than sharing Christ with middle-class white males at a golf course in suburbia. And there are idols of experience, where supernatural visitations by Christ in the dark trump a plain faith, or that speaking in tongues more than Smith means Jones is all the more anointed.

There is even the idol of priesthood, where priestly duties become something adored: priests who elevate themselves -- or are elevated by others -- rendering parishioners nearly superfluous and dumb: we do not need to know or do such things because Father O’Malley takes care of all that. Sadly, Father O’Malley may very well permit, even foster, this sort of idolatry.

All of these, of course, are a response to one thing, and one thing alone: Who are you? Are you the great Christian man who writes books destined to be read for the next several generations, proving your merit, your anointing, your having been chosen? What -- Do tell! -- proves that you’re important in Church History? Are you the great prophet, hurling down corrections to the foolish and floundering, the cursed and disobedient?

Who, who are you - really? Who are you to presume to teach, to speak, to lead, to guide and rebuff and encourage, unless you are published, lauded, respected, honored and proven? Where is your great church, your impressive curriculum vitae? What Biblical language do you know? From where did you take your degrees? Are you a member of the true church?

Call it all a victory for the serpent. We are all trying to impress him without hardly a wonder whether we are impressing God. God wants to know where we are. But we like to show our brothers and sisters where we’ve been, impressing them: this is who I am. But God is not so impressed, nor is the serpent. The serpent snickers, for he has gotten us to pursue emptiness. God, of course, weeps real tears, and sheds real blood. Where are you? He shouts from Gethsemane. Where are you? He shouts from the lonely, forsaken cross. Sadly, Peter is not there, he is among the people trying to impress them with who he is: I am not one of them! But Peter finally got it: His Lord did not say, Whoever is like me is for me, and whoever is not like me is against me. No. Only those who are with Christ are for Him. It is all about being there. It is not about what you bring, or who you think you’re bringing. It’s about where, not who.

What I am not saying

What I am not saying in this essay is that I think there is no true Church, or that ministry is unimportant, or that speaking in tongues or singing praise choruses are bad things to do, or that being inspired by the saints is misguided. Nor am I saying that churches can’t be large or even gigantic. What I am saying is that the fact of sin is the egalitarian force in the church: we are all sinners and that makes us all the more equal. This does not mean that every person’s call or vocation or anointing -- or however one wants to name it -- is equal to everyone else’s. God knows we are all called. The point of all of this is that the very fact that we are called by God can become an idol: we can idolize our anointing, even WHO we have become in Christ. This is the great temptation of the devil offered to Christ in the desert: the devil asks Christ to worship His own self, His own gift and anointing. It is indeed possible to fall in love with love, to worship worship, to praise praise. And that is what we must fight against. For the fact is this: We are who we are not because of who but where we are. We are in a place, a position, and that position is all that ultimately matters, and that place is this: we are in Christ. Christ is the only who that matters. We just need to watch out for the idols that call us to come out of Him.

If there is one image that gives us a sense of what this all means, it is the shepherd and the sheepfold. The sheep are blessed because of where they are, behind the fence with Christ. They are not blessed because of who or what they are. And should one sheep separate from the flock, Christ the Shepherd leaves to find that one lost lamb. He does this solely because of where the lamb is, and where it is not. It has nothing to do with who that lamb thinks it might be, or even who it thinks it should be.

What a relief. It is not all about us.

Peace, in the sheepfold.

†1 Corinthians 3: 10-13

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

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