*Note: After taking a summer break from this series, I am returning to it and will finish it this fall.  For other posts in the series, see the bottom of this post.*

The flexible nature of discussion presents an inherent difficulty for any discussion leader: how does he ensure that the discussion goes well or that it meets the desired goals? Unlike a lecture, where an educator controls the flow of information, a discussion leader must work with other participants who don’t know the appropriate ending of the conversation. How does a leader ensure that the class makes progress in understanding the topic they are discussing?

1. Know when to delegate. In a discussion, inspiration can come from any student at any moment. When a student’s face lights up because they have just seen something–had some flash of insight or understanding–go with them. Great leaders don’t have to be in control all the time–they are more invested in the success of the group than their own position. And sometimes, that means handing the reigns over to those who have a better sense of the direction the discussion should go.
2. Persuade, don’t force. True education must be voluntary. We can only prompt our students to seek the truth—we cannot force them. But if participants do not understand why they are having a certain conversation they will be far less engaged than if they are convinced of the goodness of the direction. Persuading a class can be time consuming, and for some people it can seem distracting and less important than simply talking about the text. But in discussion we are not merely building a community. We are building a community of a certain sort. The question is, “What kind of community?” In the long run, a community where there is trust established because students see the decision making process and feel empowered to change it will be a far more healthy community than that in which they forced to go a certain direction against their will. Of course, the more transparent and persuasive the discussion leader is, and the more “successful” discussions he leads, the more participants will trust his judgment and it will be easier to propose a topic for discussion.
3. Persuade the right students.  Within any community, a natural leadership hierarchy arises.  While you have a de facto authority, the students will have their own sense of structure.  Know who the leaders within the group are, and win them.  They can do more to help–or hurt–your cause than you may be able to.
4. Treat people like adults. As we’ve pointed out here recently, infantilization may be harming students as much as hurting them.  Treating high schoolers like adults by ending ”nanny style” education–repeatedly reminding them of assignments, holding their hands through work, etc.–helps them trust the leader more. That sense of trust, not surprisingly, makes it far more likely that they will act responsibly in the discussion and treat the leaders’ recommendations with more deference and respect. Students understand when they are being respected and are often eager to return it.
5. Act as referee when you must. When improv actors break “the rules,” they need to be held accountable. If you give participants full authority over the course of the discussion, you must be prepared to act if they abuse that authority with firm, even-handed discipline.  This is true even for adult discussions—if you have a group that isn’t listening to each other, it is appropriate to ask them why they aren’t listening and what they plan to do about it. The discussion leader must make the appropriate behaviors and expectations clear for the group.
6. Set the tone. Most discussion leaders have a de facto position of authority within the group. Good leaders use that de facto authority by setting the tone—through being energetic, dressing well, remaining engaged (even when silent), encouraging, etc.
7. Mark transitions in the discussion by initiating recaps. The discussion narrative will have points where it is appropriate to take a broader perspective on the conversation itself–where have we been, where are we, where are we going? Those are the sorts of questions that leaders tend to ask, and by initiating them at the right moments, they will be affect the flow the conversation.

These are just a few of the ways in which we exercise leadership in what is, for all intents and purposes, a community of temporary equals.

I have spent some 850 hours participating in discussions and another 700 leading them.  These are my reflections on what went well and what didn’t.  If you want to hear more or have me speak to your church, your youth group or others about how to use discussion effectively, contact me at Matthew.L.Anderson at Gmail.Com

Other posts in the series:

• Becoming an Excellent Discussion Leader (Series Intro)
• What is discussion?
• The Goals of Discussion
• Why Discussion?
• Only Discussion?
• The Biblical Basis for Discussion
• The Discussion Worldview
• Common Objects of Love
• The Crucial Role of Questions
• Setting Clear Expectations
• The Rules of Improv as a Model for Discussion
• The Merits of the Improv Analogy
• The Rules of Discussion

Besides distinguishing between two cities: the city of God and the city of man, Augustine also pays close attention to the differences between the members of these two cities. By examining the nature of the populace once can gain a clearer view of the ends towards which each of these two cities strive.

Augustine refers to those citizens of the city of God who are currently living on earth as pilgrims, highlighting the fact that they are looking forward to something other than the current state of affairs in which they find themselves. Nevertheless, while they are living on earth, the goods and pursuits of the citizens of both cities are intricately related. Both cities desire certain types of peace and harmony. The city of man strives after “earthly peace in the goods and advantages which belong to this temporal life.” The citizens of the city of God who are on pilgrimage on earth “[look] forward to the blessings which are promises as eternal in the life to come.”

Further, the pilgrims make use of the same goods and advantages as the city of men, only they do so to the end of achieving a lasting and eternal peace. The earthly city establishes civil law with the aim of maintaining concord among the citizens so that they might go about pursing their happiness in earthly goods. (more…)

Adolescent brains, it turns out, are different from adult brains in at least one way.

As neuroscientist Deborah Yurgelun-Todd has found, adolescents use a different part of their brain than adults in responding to emotional states.

It is tempting to see this as an argument against the notion that “adolescence” is a cultural phenomenon that is destructive to most teenagers. After all, if science shows their brains are different, then that removes any question of where adolescent behavior comes from, right?

Not quite. The argument depends upon the assumption that biology is static–that is, it depends upon the assumption that the brains of 13-18 year-olds have always been different than those of individuals aged 30-60, for instance. For this argument to work, biology–or more specifically, neurobiology–must be “given.” That is, the brain must be a stable entity that is not subject to change based on mental, spiritual or–as I am mostly interested in here–even cultural or societal forces.

There is, however, some reason to think this isn’t the case. I’ll provide three examples that call into question the static nature of corporeality:

1. The age of menarche has dropped from 15 or 16 to 12. Why? For one, women’s bodies are bigger than they were 100 years ago. Presumably, even this is related to a general increase in wealth that allows for a more comfortable means of life.  Not only that, but women’s understandings of their own bodies has shifted dramatically during this time as well in light of new social and cultural forces. These forces have contributed to a dramatic reinterpretation of sexuality and its place in young girls’ lives and have contributed to the dropping age of menarche. As Joan Jacobs Brumberg contends, “In reality, there is an interaction between biology and culture that is shaping the experience of contemporary girls in some critical and troubling ways.”
2. Virginia Postrel points out that the Hutcheson Memorial Forest, which is full of oak and hickory trees, was originally thought to have been that way forever. As a result, researchers moved to keep it from human interference. However, when maples began to take over the oaks, further research revealed that in the past, Indians had burned the underbrush in order to travel through the forest. According to ecologist Daniel Boktin, this human involvement “cleared the understory, favored oaks over maples, and created the open forest of tall trees believed by naturalists in the early sixties to be original, constant, and unaffected by human influence.” Here, the existence of the physical order is clearly not “given.” It has been, and continually is, affected by human presence and institutions.
3. There is some evidence that those young people who were given music lessons didn’t merely show a better understanding of music, but demonstrated more improvement in general memory and cognitive development. That is, music doesn’t simply help our IQ–it actually changes the physical brain states and the overall functioning of the brain (mind).  Of course, if music, then why not the host of other influences–tv, parents, etc.–that we encounter every day?

In essence, the notion that the body is just the body is dubious.  And the notion that the only sources of physical change are physical is equally doubtful.
The proposition, of course, may not be that interesting to those who adhere to the theory of evolution.  For them, the physical structure–the form of matter, if you will–of natural entities is always in flux.  But still, this leaves the causes of such changes as an open question.
What implications might the non-fixity of corporeality have for us? It means that we can’t turn to science alone if we want to understand the physical world, as the causes of physical phenomena may not be physical. And here I do not mean to enter into an “intelligent design” debate, but rather simply point out that in attempting to understand the reason for the particularities of adolescent brain structures (for instance), we should not be overly reductionist in our attempts.  Rather, if we understand the physical world, we must understand the whole world–the historical, mental, social and (yes, even these) theological forces that shape the physical world.
On a theological level, the question for Christians is not, “body or not body?” but rather, which type of body? A body governed and empowered by the Spirit or a body governed and empowered by the powers and principalities of this world? If the body isn’t “given,” then we must be aware of the ways in which culture shapes it and be prepared to reshape it according to the image of God.

It is my hope that I am wrong. I want corporeality to be “fixed.” It would, if nothing else, make understanding the world far more simple. But if, as I have argued, it is not, then we need to ensure our approach to reality fits reality itself. And that means employing robust, multi-disciplinary accounts.

There are few books that I read (fortunately) that hit me with what I can only describe as “explosive force.”
In fact, Karen Horney’s Neurosis and Human Growth is one of the first books I can remember that I could not finish until I had set it aside for a while (nearly two months) to digest what I had read. For a time, it turned my life inside out and left me staring at the broken remnants of what I might previously dignify with the label “self-understanding.” That is, it called into question my understanding of humans and their relationships with such power that I wondered whether I ever had a sensible thought on the subject prior.

As a “Neo-Freudian,” Horney eventually rejected several core tenets of Freud’s teachings. At the end of Neurosis and Human Growth, she describes the central difference between them as a difference between optimism and pessimism. While for Freud, the deepest impulses of human life are destructive and libidinal, for Horney the deepest impulses are creative and oriented toward self-fulfillment.

I’ll address the relationship between Horney’s work and Christianity below. Needless to say, it is complex. But Neurosis and Human Growth is provocative because it is so hard to distinguish where it goes awry. Horney’s theory has extraordinary explanatory power.

The work begins with a fundamental distinction between a person’s real self–that is, a “central inner force” that allows him to feel and express his spontaneous feelings and drives him to cultivate his “particular human potentialities”–and the corruption that occurs to this real self when a young person feels “isolated and helpless in a world conceived as potentially hostile.” That is, when parents reject, inappropriately fawn over, or otherwise mistreat a young person, the basis for their life shifts away from their real self to what Horney calls a basic anxiety. The basic anxiety that now drives the person’s sense of self distorts the young person’s sense of proper relationships: “Affection, for instance, becomes clinging; compliance becomes appeasement.” (more…)

David Gushee has written a piece in Christianity Today lamenting the fact that Christians supported the decision to invade Iraq. In it, he contends that now that public opinion has turned against the war, we should embrace our “teachable moment.” He writes:

Until now, [the President] has resisted calls to reconsider his strategy or to begin a withdrawal, despite eroding public support for the war.

Such deep public distress about the war makes this a teachable moment for all of us, as Christians and as Americans.

I’m all for teachable moments, and I think Gushee is right. We’re at one. Of course, the question is whether we will learn the proper lessons. Here are Gushee’s proposals:

An appropriately pessimistic understanding of human nature (”there is none righteous, no, not one”) can remind us that government leaders are not infallible in their reading of data, not necessarily beyond reproach in their motivations, and not always fully truthful in their public statements. So we must evaluate the claims of any government (in any nation, led by any person, of any party or political ideology) with a critical eye.

Indeed. I entirely agree. At the same time, we cannot let such a “critical eye” stop us from acting to protect our own interests and to prevent evil as best as we can tell at any given moment. The perspective we have in retrospect is not the perspective we have in deliberation, and to view our government from a standpoint of skepticism can lead to an unhealthy paranoia. We must be pessimists, yes, but optimists too. The government that has struggled in Iraq is the same government that eliminated a dictator. That must not be forgotten.

What’s more, the same “pessimistic understanding of human nature” should compel us to acknowledge the lack of resolve, the inconstancy, and the shortsightedness of a fickle electorate.

Scripture repeatedly condemns governments and government leaders for unjust or unwise actions, especially in resorting to violence. Pharaoh, Ahab, and Herod come to mind. If it could happen in biblical times, it can happen now.

Once again, indeed. And the Lord also uses wicked nations to enact judgment on nations who act wickedly (see Bablyon and Israel). The war may be Biblical after all.

The life and teachings of Jesus establish nonviolent resolution of conflicts as the norm—with war as the exception. We can all agree that Jesus taught peace, blessed peacemakers, and was a man of peace himself. Certainly, the early church abhorred violence, and its members believed they were being faithful to their Lord in doing so.

The life and teachings of Jesus establish nonviolent resolution of conflicts between individuals as the norm. While war is always undesirable, it is sometimes necessary. Anyone who doesn’t think so need only consider the horrors of the Holocaust. The argument for strict pacificism (which Gushee is not making) is more forceful today only because the horrors of that war have so quickly been forgotten.

Of course, it’s worth pointing out that Rushdee’s appeal to “the early church” is, well, fairly selective. How early? And which church? Two paragraphs later, he points out that we “need to carefully rethink just-war theory.” While he doesn’t reject it, he does question how it is used, casually reminding us along the way that it is “post-biblical.” Never mind that “the early church”–especially if you include Augustine!–articulated it.

For an alternative set of lessons from this war, try Joe’s list. I don’t agree with every point on it–I am still undecided about neo-con foreign policy, for instance. It serves, however, as an effective foil to Rushdee’s column.

I, like most people, am disappointed about the course the war in Iraq has taken. But it will do no good in our corporate reflection on the events the last six years–the full meaning of which, it’s worth pointing out, won’t be clear for a long, long time–if we learn the wrong lessons.

GodBlogCon, with which I have been formally associated in the past, rests on the assumption that Christians should engage culture and do so using whatever tools are at our disposal. In this case, that’s the “new media.”

It is a proposition which I happily and eagerly affirm. But in doing so, I have become aware of the dangers and limitations of media in our presentation of the Gospel. As Christians, we must understand how to use new media in order to avoid those dangers and appreciate these limitations.

In a genre that thrives on nearly mystic writing–think Postmanand McCluhan in particular–it is refreshing to read a lucid analysis of how Christians should relate to media. Shane Hipps has provided such an account in his The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture. Drawing heavily on McCluhan’s work, Hipps argues that if we are not aware of the ways in which media–by which he (following McCluhan) means any extension of human powers–affects our lives, then it will enslave us. We are only set free from media’s bonds by awareness and understanding.

Hipps develops this idea and then analyzes the way media is changing and its effects on the Church. He argues that the shift from print to image has contributed to the shift away from propositions, reason, and individualism toward experience, story, and community.

But while his prose is clear, his connections are less so. He often relies on intuitive relationships that sometimes were less than intuitive to me. What’s more, though he insists the changes in technology are only one reason for the broader cultural changes he identifies, those qualifications are lost in the absence of identifying any other reasons for such changes. In essence, Hipps comes close to a “technological determinism” with respect to culture.

Yet the heavy emphasis on technology as the source of social change leads Hipps to a deeper problem: he sees, it seems, all such changes as inevitable and hence every change as to be embraced by Christianity. He locates the important conversation of technology in the context of the Emerging Church, which at points makes his work seem like an apologia for Emergent-style Christianity. For instance, he points to the democratization of information as partially responsible for the democratization of church structure without stopping to wonder whether such a result is a good effect or not. There may be, in fact, good reasons to keep an authoritarian church model while pushing for decentralized and democratic information. But Hipps’ implicit technological determinism cannot make this move, nor, it seems, would he want to.
Hipps’ book is an important contribution to the discussion of technology and the church. Aimed at church leaders, he raises important questions and he provides his analysis with a genuine sense of humility and awareness of his limitations. He is clear that using technology well demands careful discernment, and that understanding should precede appropriation. As such, he has provided an excellent foundation for dialogue about the challenges and issues facing churches who wish to be in, but not of, the twenty-first century.

For many, the future is a source of anxiety. Macbeth’s temptation–to know with certainty the outcome of our lives–is powerful because it is common. Yet there are others for whom the unknown possibilities of what is to come prompt only excitement, optimism and an eagerness to innovate.

It is this conflict, this disparity in dispositions to the future, that Virginia Postrel claims in her book The Future and Its Enemies is the central issue of our day.

On the one hand are those whom Postrel calls stasists. They are both the reactionaries who value stability–think those who want trade barriers with China erected to preserve American unions–and technocrats who value control. While individual perspectives on which future should be implemented vary within the stasist camp, they are fundamentally the same in that “they disapprove of ‘emergent, complex messiness,’ dread the ‘reckless ride into the unknown.’” Daunted by the unknown future, stasists seek to preserve the world as it is or shape the future in their own image.

On the other hand are the dynamists, or the “party of life” as Postrel calls them. Rather then plans, they appreciate the messiness of human creativity. They value competition, change and processes. The appreciate the flexibility that is demanded by an open future, and love the innovation that freedom from control results in. Rather than rules, they value individual empowerment. Rather than a single, centralized authority, they value the ability for small communities to create rules that are specific to their particular environments and needs. They value discovery and the criticism which often leads to it.

If it seems there is little to commend the stasist way of life, that’s mostly because Postrel’s book is an apologia for dynamism. And as such, it is effective. In Postrel’s hands, one wonders why anyone might be inclined to the arid, dull, lifeless stasist position.

But beneath the surface lurk significant problems. For one, it seems that Postrel’s work depends upon an updated and popularized Popperian philosophy, and hence is subject to its problems. While Postrel’s rejection of “the natural” as a ground for ethics is itself problematic, so is her replacement: consequences. With respect to bioethics, she points out (rightly!) that the problems of Brave New World, for instance, stem from the use of biotechnology by a central authority. She argues that those who oppose biotechnology do so on similar grounds–that someone will enforce a “homogeneous model of humanity.” Such arguments, of course, ignore the central problem of biotechnology–whether we should, in fact, subject our selves to our own control and make ourselves into our own image. Postrel, it seems, has way to answer, “Which image?”

Postrel’s work is fascinating and enjoyable, and her analysis of the different approaches to the future is absolutely correct. But while there is much in the dynamist position to commend itself, it lacks a crucial element that makes it ultimately no more desirable than that of the stasist.

The conception of just war and its relationship to the state is indispensable in both Christian and Islamic political thought. Since both Christians and Muslims set up right authority as a condition for just war, and further, they take this authority from the hands of the individual and locate it in the ruling power of the community, it is important to understand what the aims and purpose of the community are conceived to be if we are to understand the end towards which war might be applied. It is precisely in the purpose of the state that Christianity and Islam take drastically different directions. While there are many differences that are worth examining, the most important difference lies in the relationship between the temporal and spiritual powers or authorities. At first glance, it seems possible that Christian and Islamic theories may have a lot of commonalities; both recognize a distinction between the secular and religious realms. However, the difference between the two systems of thought lies in the relationship between these realms as well as in their final ends.

Augustine famously distinguished between the city of God and the city of man. This distinction carried over into the medieval period, although the meaning of the two cities and their ends often fluctuated according to the current political and religious climate. At times this distinction was taken to be that between church and state, and at times between saved and unsaved men. It is important to understand exactly what Augustine meant by his distinction and whether or not this distinction can still be made.

Augustine distinguishes between the two cities by examining the objects of their love. The cities are made up of a body of men that share a common object of love. He says,

Two cities, then, have been created by two loves: that is, the earthly by love of self extending even to contempt of God, and the heavenly by love of God extending to contempt of self. The one, therefore, glories in itself, the other in the Lord; the one seeks glory from men, the other finds its highest glory in God.” (more…)

Music has a body.

Or, as Jeremy Begbie argues in the latest Books and Culture, the expression of music is inseparable from corporeality.

Music making and music hearing are ways we engage the physical world. Even in the case of electronically generated music, the body is often involved through, say, a keyboard, and patterns of vibrating air are mediated through physical speakers. The physical things we involve ourselves with in music have ultimately arisen through the free initiative of God’s love—they are part of the ordo amoris.

Yet the Church, Begbie points out, has been reticent to acknowledge and value this corporeal aspect:

Sadly, this is often just where the church has been most hesitant about music. It is not hard to trace a double tendency marking much thought about music in the Christian West: a proneness to doubt the full goodness, and with it sometimes the full reality, of the physical. The outcome is that music, along with the other arts, has frequently been seen as fulfilling its highest function insofar as it denies, shuns, or leaves behind its own materiality.

Of course, as he proceeds to point out, this problem isn’t entirely the Church’s. Schoenberg, who see music strictly as a vehicle for ideas, has a distinctively “disembodied” sound that often fails to resonate with his embodied audiences.

Yet Begbie highlights Platonism as one culprit in the trend toward devaluing the corporeality of music:

This twin tendency surfaces prominently in the ancient Greek tradition, not least in some Platonic music theory: as part of this material world, music can be of serious value only insofar as it directs our attention to the ideal and enduring harmonies beyond the material.

But for Plato, music is probably better viewed as a means of restoring the physical–and hence, the political–realms to their proper functioning. It’s for this reason that the education that he commends in The Republic has music at its core. Plato recognizes that the material realm (in its current state) is an unruly realm, and it is music that helps redeem it.
***One minor critical point that doesn’t fit the above. Unfortunately, his essay takes a turn toward understanding music through the relationship between individuals and a group. It’s unfortunate not because what he has to say is wrong or uninteresting, but because it’s connection to the foregoing section is left unclear. The omission is disappointing since I think the two problems–corporeality, that is, and the relationship between individuals and community–are closely related.

(HT: ScriptoriumDaily.com)

After watching The Bourne Ultimatum again (this time with my wife), I am even more convinced and intrigued by Mere-O reader Nobody’s analysis of it:

But after two movies of witnessing his superior abilities and knack for escaping any situation, he’s acheived a legendary status that distances him from the audience and lessens the suspense since there’s little doubt the machine-like Bourne will come out on top. This reputation for invulnerability is further reinforced by the CIA’s own reminders to its analysts that Bourne is unlike anyone they’ve ever faced before.

So, given the apotheosis of Bourne, it’s inevitable that Ultimatum’s most exciting sequence is a low-speed pursuit on foot in which the hero has to remotely talk an espionage-naive journalist through a complicated attempt to lose a gaggle of tailling CIA agents. Since the death of his companion early on in Supremacy, he’s had nothing to lose for the last half-movie or so, but with Bourne graduated to guardian angel, Paddy Considine finally provides the audience with a vulnerable character to worry about as his disorientation recalls that of Bourne at the beginning of the series. Unfortunately Ultimatum never again recaptures the excitement of the most non-kinetic sequence in the film.

It’s interesting that the apotheosis of a character means that the drama surrounding him depends upon his protecting and enabling those who are, well, less-than-divine. Jason Bourne is, in this sense, an agent of grace who uses his virtual omniscience and omnipotence for a lesser being’s sake–and does so entirely within the constraints of the movie.

The fact that drama in movies depends upon the mortality of the characters is not surprising. After all, the drama of wedding vows depends upon the possibility of betrayal, just as the drama of sports depends upon the possibility of losing.
But it does raise interesting questions about our understanding of the world and God. While we have, in a limited sense at least, seen the end of the film–the Resurrection–the drama of the Incarnation depends upon the fact that Jesus can in fact die. But he does so voluntarily–while external forces can kill him, he is so powerful that they can do so only, as it were, with his permission (hence his reminder to Peter that he could call down legions of angels if he wished).
If there is to be a fourth Bourne film, it is this decision that he must face. Within the confines of the movie, sacrifice is the only dramatic option left for Jason Bourne. For the omnipotent to play the main part in a drama (as opposed to a supportive role, as Bourne is in while protecting the weaker journalist) and have it still be dramatic, he must play the part of the sacrificial lamb.

(Update:  broken link fixed!)

“At the close of the twentieth century, the female body poses an enormous problem for American girls, and it does so because of the culture in which we live.”

So opens Joan Jacobs Brumberg’s The Body Project:  An Intimate History of American Girls. What is that problem?

Females tend to hit sexual maturation–experience menarche, that is–around the age of twelve.  One hundred years ago, the average age was between 15 and 16.  But while their bodies mature faster, society provides young girls “fewer social protections for them, a situation that leaves them unsupported in their development and extremely vulnerable to the excesses of popular culture and to pressure from peer groups.”

What’s more, females are obsessed with their bodies in a way that women were not a century ago.  Whereas diaries used to detail the ways in which young ladies wished to grow in virtue and good character, they now articulate the means by which young women strive to make their bodies presentable to society.

Something has clearly changed.  But what, and what is the cause?  Brumberg focuses on the body to understand the changes in American girls in the last century.  Her findings are interesting:

• The “mother-daughter connection has loosened, especially with regard to the experience of menstruation and sexuality.”  As the economy shifted away from the home and as attitudes toward sexuality became more restrictive (at the end of the 19th century), young women were sent to boarding school and high school without knowledge of their bodies.  This destroyed the intergenerational communities of women where young women were trained in the ways of life.
• As the raising of daughters was outsourced, groups designed to keep young women chaste arose–the Girl Scouts, Campfire Girls, the Young Women’s Christian Organization, etc. all kept young women busy and involved so they wouldn’t think about themselves–or their bodies.  Young women were also taught about sexuality by each other.
• As mothers ceased educating doctors, they were supplanted by doctors (menarche became about “sanitation”) and marketers, who began to see an opportunity to make money offering new porducts.
• Medicine, movies, and advertising created a new standard of physical perfection for young women to attain.  This began with a campaign against acne, which outdated science thought was a result of sexual activity (even into the 1950s!).
• Changing standards of intimacy “turned virginity into an outmoded ideal.”

These combined to make women view their bodies as “projects” to be completed.  Brumberg doesn’t pine away for the past–she acknowledges the deficiencies of Victorian standards of morality with respect to sexuality and women. But she also is explicit in her appreciation of the Victorian support and care for the young woman, arguing that young women need the adult assistance and support that their Victorian predecessors enjoyed.

The problems that Brumberg highlights–an overemphasis on physical appearances, the lack of social support for virtue, the dangers of overly permissive approaches to sexuality–are not problems for women alone.  They are problems that strike at the core of our culture.

And while Brumberg’s solutions may be insufficient, her social insights are illuminating and need to be understood by those who teach, mentor, and care for young women.

When I first heard about Kid Nation, the new reality tv-show by CBS, I was excited. Having been recently been made aware by Dr. Epstein about the ways our culture’s infantalization of young people can restrict their growth, my thoughts were similar to those which he recently expressed:

The show itself is amazing. CBS took 40 young people between ages 8 and 15 and gave them an old abandoned ghost town in New Mexico to run entirely on their own – no adult supervision at all – for about 6 weeks. As horrifying as this concept may sound, when I heard about it I knew immediately that these young people would do beautifully…[Kid Nation] is a potent, incredibly graphic reminder about the extraordinary abilities of young people, abilities we have increasingly buried while trapping millions of young Americans in the bizarre, media-driven world of “teen culture.”

But for those hoping for a realistic portrayal of what young people can do when faced with the challenges of real life, Kid Nation isn’t it. As Ann Hulbert points out, the show is more “Kid Survivor” than “Lord of the Flies”:

One day in, the format shifts from a hardscrabble, kid-controlled struggle and begins to look more like a standard reality show, with producers micromanaging teams, orchestrating contests, and dispensing rewards. Chaos is kept at bay, and commerce is ushered in, when Jonathan explains the new deal: The four groups will rotate roles—as the upper class, merchants, cooks, and laborers—based on their performance in a “showdown” shaped around team-building exercises. And CBS rides into town with, as one of the leaders puts it, “some of the comforts of home.” First, the kids get to show their wisdom by declining a TV and instead choosing new outhouses to supplement the stinky single one they’ve endured for a day (”not good for your colon,” comments one kid who has said he’s not about to use it). Then come candy, soda, toys, and prizes—and, along with a cash economy, an emphasis on shopping, evidently the core of town-building. All these innovations are greeted with cheers. Good for morale, one of the four group leaders says with a relieved sigh…

The Wild West this is not. But now that civilization has intruded, I guess we might wonder whether henceforth we may see something more revealing than consumer-era kids coping in a state of nature: trophy-conscious kids going after gold stars. What unenviable pressure this puts on the four prize-dispensing leaders!…Rather than banding together against a common enemy as the Robbers Cave tribes did, these kids are bonding in pursuit of a common goal: materialistic comfort.

I was only able to catch about 25 minutes of the show, and am inclined to agree. For one, the show suffers from the same problem of all reality shows, namely, unreality. The presence of cameras makes for a profound sense of self-consciousness that inevitably restricts the possibilities of authenticity.

In addition, the incentives for the young people quickly shift away from the meaningful, rewarding aspects of life such as providing for one’s own existence toward gimmicky games designed to entertain more than inspire. The rewards, in other words, are extrinsic to the activities–rather than drill wells for water, they drill them to determine the social class for their “team” (another artificial imposition on the show). They are hardly the sort of rewards that prompt young people to “grow up,” namely, deep and close connections with people or the sense of fulfillment that comes from providing for one’s own well-being.
This doesn’t mean that the show won’t provide interesting insights into youth culture and behavior. But it does mean that for this show, youth culture will remain youth culture.

Over on Mere-O Abridged (the sidebar), where I highlight interesting articles by attempting a pithy line about them, I highlighted a review of the recently released research indicating that homosexuals can, in fact, change their behavior.

The main thrust of the research calls into question this rather dogmatic position by the American Psychological Association:

Can Therapy Change Sexual Orientation?

No. Even though most homosexuals live successful, happy lives, some homosexual or bisexual people may seek to change their sexual orientation through therapy, sometimes pressured by the influence of family members or religious groups to try and do so. The reality is that homosexuality is not an illness. It does not require treatment and is not changeable.

What’s more, the APA expresses its concern that therapy may harm those homosexuals who do seek treatment.

In a response, my brother highlighted the shortcomings of the study’s sample group, shortcomings about which the authors seem quite candid.  He concludes:

So people who really, really, really want to change can change–somewhat.

Maybe.

To borrow the phrase, sexuality is indeed “meaningful and complicated.” Dogmatism about its biological nature, its ethical import, and its psychological malleability isn’t warranted on any side. Fundamentally, though, the moral question comes first. Even if we could, through patience and therapy, make gays turn straight–or straights turn gay–it wouldn’t make it right.

I am happy to acknowledge the tendentious and limited nature of the study.  But Jim seems to confuse things when he says that “Dogmatism about…[sexuality's] ethical import…isn’t warranted.”  In making the claim in this context, it seems Jim thinks that dogmatism about ethics is derived from the conclusions of the social scientists.*  While this may be a plausible position to hold, it puts Jim in some unexpected (and perhaps undesirable?) company:  that of natural law theorists.  Using inconclusive scientific results to justify agnosticism about the moral status of what is being observed is another form of deriving the “ought” from the “is.”

Jim and I probably admit different categories into the “is” that we consider to be reality (in this case, at least), but in our ethical reasoning we may share more common ground than we have yet realized.
*I feel quite free to make this claim because I know Jim will correct me if I’m wrong!