I have sometimes argued explicitly that authenticity is one of the predominant virtues for younger evangelicals. As non-anecdotal evidence for the claim is extremely difficult to produce, I was intrigued by Gregg Ten Elshof’s corroboration of my account in his excellent book I Told Me So: Self-Deception and the Christian Life. Writes Ten Elshof:

For better or worse, authenticity continues to be a supreme value in contemporary western Christian culture. In fact, it seems to still be on the rise. Last year, when I served on a committee to review candidates for my college’s presidency, one of the most interesting things I learned was that there is a significant generation gap when it comes to the ranking of qualities that make for good leaders. Recent studies indicate that when asked for the top five qualities needed to be a good leader, those older than fifty place competency at the top of the list, but for college-aged adults, authenticity is chief among the qualifications. This is a remarkable shift.

Authenticity, however, is a double-edged sword. While those who adhere to it as a manner of life manage to expose the pretensions and posturing of those who lack it, elevating authenticity to our chief virtue increases our propensity for self-deception. Again, Ten Elshof:

Whenever a particular vice gets a promotion in the ordering of vices, the temptation to be self-deceived about the fact that one exhibits that vice increases. And, with the rise of existentialism and the supreme value of authenticity, self-deception got a promotion in the ordering of vices. And so, paradoxically, the vice of self-deception has been increasingly veiled from view by its own machinations.

Again, Ten Elshof:

To the degree that we value authenticity, we will be averse to the suggestion that we are self-deceived. Believing myself to be authentic—to be true to myself and to others—will be a source of significant satisfaction and felt well-being for me. But, as it turns out, being genuinely honest with oneself is hard work. And it is at this point that life cuts us a deal. If we can convince ourselves that we’re authentic people—that we’re not self-deceived—we can have all the benefit of theft over honest toil. We can experience the satisfaction associated with saying, “Whatever else is true of me, I’m honest with myself and with others. I know myself. I’m real.

Ten Elshof’s analysis reminds me of Chesterton’s description of James McNeill Whistler in Heretics. Writes Chesterton:

He had no god-like carelessness; he never forgot himself; his whole life was, to use his own expression, an arrangement. He went in for “the art of living”–a miserable trick. In a word, he was a great artist; but emphatically not a great man.

The ascension of authenticity as paramount virtue—so adeptly undercut by Beckwith’s essay—is a dangerous counter-reaction to the very real problem of artificiality. Cut loose from a robust metaphysics and understanding of the role of self-deception the authentic life becomes just as manufactured and false as the lifestyle it rejects.

Apologies for the lack of writing.  I am in the throes of an article on marriage to submit to The City, and it is proving much more difficult than I had expected.  The issues surrounding marriage are so intricate and complex that I suspect a book is the only proper way to treat them.

Regardless, for your reading pleasure I offer this extended treatment of drama, romance, and the acceptance of contingent circumstances that are not brought about by our own choosing by G.K. Chesterton, as I think it has relevance to many of the recent discussions we have been having here at Mere-O about technology and marriage.

But in order that life should be a story or romance to us, it is necessary that a great part of it, at any rate, should be settled for us without our permission.  If we wish life to be a system, this may be a nuisance; but if we wish it to be a drama, it is an essential.  It may often happen, no doubt, that a drama may be written by somebody else which we like very little.  But we should like it still less if the author came before the curtain every hour or so, and forced on us the whole trouble of inventing the next act.  A man has control over many things in his life; he has control over enough things to be the hero of a novel.  But if he had control over everything, there would be so much hero that there would be no novel.  And the reason why the lives of the rich are at bottom so tame and uneventful is simply that they can choose the events.  They are dull because they are omnipotent.  They fail to feel adventures because they can make the adventures.  The thing which keeps life romantic and full of fiery possibilities is the existence of those great plain limitations which force all of us to meet the things we do not like or do not expect.  It is vain for the supercilious moderns to talk of being in uncongenial surroundings.  To be in a romance is to be in uncongenial surroundings.  To be born into this earth is to be born into uncongenial surroundings, hence to be born into a romance.  Of all these great limitations and frameworks which fashion and create the poetry and variety of life, the family is the most definite and important.  Hence it is misunderstood by the moderns, who imagine that romance would exist most perfectly in a complete state of what they call liberty.  They think that if a man makes a gesture it would be a startling and romantic matter that the sun should fall from the sky.  But the startling and romantic thing about the sun is that it does not fall from the sky.  They are seeking under every shape and form a world where there are no limitations–that is, a world where there are no outlines; that is, a world where there are no shapes.  There is nothing baser than that infinity.  They say they wish to be as strong as the universe, but they really wish the whole universe to be as weak as themselves.

I like to invent games, the more variables the better: multiple creators, absurd rules, elaborate procedures, built-in randomizers. One could accuse me of getting more excited about the invention than the actual playing—I have no problem stopping a game just after starting to consider new potential permutations. Today I’ll spare you and keep the game simple: Guess the Speaker.

I believe that the art of thus giving shape to human powers and adapting them to social service, is the supreme art; one calling into service the best of artists; that no insight, sympathy, tact, executive power is too great for such service.”

It is difficult always to be a creative artist. I think, however, that we should get on more rapidly if we realized that, if education is going to live up to its profession, it must be seen as a work of art which requires the same qualities of personal enthusiasm and imagination as are required by the musician, painter or artist.”

Since learning is something that the pupil has to do himself and for himself, the initiative lies with the learner. The teacher is a guide and director; he steers the boat but the energy that propels it must come from those who are learning.”

While the raw material and the starting-point of growth are found in native capacities, the environing conditions to be furnished by the educator are the indispensable means of their development. They are not, and do not of themselves decide, the end. A gardener, a worker of metals, must observe and pay attention to the properties of his material. If he permits these properties in their original form to dictate his treatment, he will not get anywhere. If they decide his end, he will fixate raw materials in their primitive state. Development will be arrested, not promoted. He must bring to his consideration of his material an idea, an ideal, of possibilities not realized, which must be in line with the constitution of his plant or ore; it must not do violence to them; it must be their possibilities.”

These quotes come from this man, a man I have come to realize I need to understand a lot more, not only for his huge impact on America, but also for the way these quotes make him sound much more nuanced than I once believed. I recommend this book to myself (from a great publisher by the way).

While researching for an article on marriage that I am writing, I came upon this abstract:

Recent studies have found that mimicking the verbal and nonverbal behavior of strangers enhances their liking of the individual who mimicked them. An experiment was carried out in two bars during six sessions of speed dating for which young women confederates volunteered to mimic or not some verbal expressions and nonverbal behaviors of a man for 5 minutes. Data revealed that the men evaluated the dating interaction more positively when the woman mimicked them, and that mimicry was associated with a higher evaluation score of the relation and the sexual attractiveness of the woman. Mimicry appears to influence perceptions of physical attributes in addition to personal and social attributes.

I don’t have access to the full article, but the abstract is enticing. Additional proof, I suppose, of the thesis that what men really want is…themselves.

(via the new journal National Affairs)

Last Saturday, I spoke at the Christian Web Conference on the question of church online.  My prepared remarks, which I have slightly modified, are below.  Over the past few weeks, this conversation has burgeoned, and I hope to interact with many of the new voices on these questions.  For now, feel free to read and comment.

I have two regrets about speaking today.  First and foremost, I regret most of all that Andrew was unable to join us.  I have interacted some with him on this topic and was very much looking forward to having a spirited conversation with him.  His voice is an important one in the Christian community, and we are all worse off without it.  Second, I regret that I am in a position of ending this excellent conference by sounding a defensive note.  With all the things technology can do to further the mission of the church, it seems sad to close with a focus on what the Church can’t do. 

My task today, which changed slightly when we discovered Andrew was not going to be here, is to lay out for you the questions and issues of online church, and then to articulate a few worries that I have about its implementation within evangelicalism.   

The shift toward online church seems to be largely motivated by a true missionary impulse, which is the strongest argument for it.  Whatever else critics might think or say about online church, there are no grounds for denying the validity of the religious encounters and life transformation that individuals are experiencing.  The testimonials of conversions and changed lives that have come about through online church should be taken very seriously.  Those like Tony Steward, Nick Charalambous and others have clearly taken to heart Paul’s admonition that he becomes all things to all people that by any means he might save some. 

The reality of such conversions raises a host of definitional questions that make the conversation both interesting and difficult.  First, while church online might prove an effective means for some people experiencing saving faith and transformation, is it a valid expression of what Christians are saved into?  That is, is it sufficient for the primary gathering of the people of God to happen online, and why? Second, the notion of ‘church’ invites an enormous amount of disagreement.  Consider the categories:  “universal/local,” “visible/invisible,” and “virtual/real” (the last of which Andrew has introduced).  Navigating these differences was hard enough prior to the advent of the internet—now it is simply even more confused. Third, any talk of the Church’s use of technology is necessarily impaired by a given technology’s infancy.  The internet, while enormously powerful, is still relatively new.  Worries about church online that are grounded in the contemporary deployment of any specific technology may at some point be rendered irrelevant by technological developments.  Fourth, and perhaps most importantly, there are hermeneutical difficulties, which I think are twofold:  first, what, if anything, does Scripture say explicitly about the formation of Church life?  Second, how should our way of reading Scripture inform our understanding of what Scripture has to say about this question?

Additionally, there is the problem of identifying what we mean by ‘church online.’  There are, I think, four schools of thought:  (1)  some advocates argue that church online is meant strictly to enhance and extend traditional, bodily church experience and mission.  In unique cases, like invalids or those travelling, it may function as a replacement for normal fellowship.  Broadly, the internet is a meeting place where the Church can engage the world and so extend itself ‘online.’  (2)  The second slot on the spectrum belongs to those who think the online experience of corporate worship is and can be normative, and that the goal of such online communities is to encourage and culminate in offline interaction, either on a regular basis or occasionally.  Here “church online” seems to mean the corporate gathering of small communities in diverse geographical regions, and is in some cases a temporary arrangement. Communion in this case often remains a physical and social act that occurs in small group gatherings. (3) Third, some argue that both corporate worship and weekly fellowship exist online—with the hope, but not the requirement, of meeting locally, and with the caveat that baptism and communion will be done bodily, but not necessarily while gathered in the same physical location.  (4)  There are a few extreme advocates of online church who argue that the offline interaction is never going to be necessary, and that communion and baptism can both occur in some disembodied, virtual form.  

What should we say about this mess?  Allow me to take the path of any good critic short on time and ignore it.  Most advocates fall somewhere in the second and third categories, both of which suggest that online corporate worship can function as a normal replacement for the local, bodily gathering of the congregation.  In other words, the bodily presence by members of the congregation is not a necessary requirement for corporate worship. 

We might be tempted to qualify this and argue that the Sacraments—whatever those are—must be taken both physically and in the bodily presence of the (whole) church.  This is, in fact, Mark Driscoll’s rationale for rejecting online church.  However, I would argue that on this point, Driscoll is being deeply inconsistent.  If the preacher’s bodily presence is not necessary for the effective preaching of the Gospel, as the use of video sermons indicates, then the parishoner’s bodily presence is not necessary for the Gospel’s effective hearing.  But if the body is not necessary for the effective communication of the Gospel to the church, then why is it necessary for the taking of communion, unless there is some meaning intrinsic to the particular bread that the community shares, or to the combination of that bread with that pastor, or being in a particular place together.  The same Spirit who overcomes spatial distance to communicate the Word through preaching can surely make the taking of communion effective when thousands of individuals simultaneously partake of bread that has been consecrated through the prayer of the online preacher. 

I say this only to point out that the reasons for online church are more embedded in the structure of evangelical ecclesiology than most of us realize.  A sincere and Godly missionary impulse and the emphasis on the Spirit’s ability to overcome limited, physical, geographical arrangements have combined to create a forceful case for church online.

In other words, church online is the logical—and hence inevitable—extension of the multi-site movement’s implementation of video-sermons. 

Allow me, then, in my time remaining to offer two worries about online church and its emphasis on the Spirit’s ability to transcend space through technology.

First, the notion that a dislocated corporate gathering is just as real as traditional church rests on a thin view of the human body.  Andrew Jones has argued that a brick and mortar store isn’t really any more ‘real’ than Amazon.com.  But when extended to humans, I would argue the analogy fails.  The local Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com are both built for the sake of selling books.  They are, from that perspective, equal in that they are both determined by their uses.*  Their visibility is a consequence of the end for which they have been created.

However, my human body is not a tool, as my iPhone is.  It is, in a sense, me and so shapes my personal identity in ways I cannot choose to undo.  While we use it for certain ends, it also is a constitutive part of me, and I am not me without it or in a different body.  As an example, the fact that I am tall and skinny—which was not determined by me but by my makers, that is, my parents—makes me distinctly unsuited for the game of football, but particularly suited for basketball. 

Charles Lee has pointed out, of course, that were I to lose one of my legs I would still be “the same person.”  But there the notion of ‘person’ seems, again, too thin.  While the one-legged Matthew would clearly have some continuity with me right now, the change in my body would dramatically alter my interactions with the world and the world’s interactions with me.  It would be problematic as if people continued to interact with me as though I had two legs.  Clearly, what it would mean to be “Matthew Lee Anderson” would be significantly altered.

In this sense, the body is not just that by which I communicate with the world—it is a center of meaning on its own.  It reveals more than I might consciously intend and it is an essential part of me expressing my humanity.  Tony Steward has pointed out that church discipleship is possible online because they have established a “permission environment.”  But in embodied communication, we reveal more than we give permission to.  The particular shape of my smile, or the particular hunch of my shoulders can betray more anxiety or joy than I might be conscious of at any given moment.

There is a temptation to think that video communication overcomes this gap.  But when the people of God gather as the people of God in worship, the bodily communication of those people shapes the corporate response to the Spirit.  It is, for this reason, that Church traditions of worship were shaped in such a way that bodily activity—standing, kneeling, the lifting and laying on of hands, were developed:  if the people of God are to express their full humanity together–and there is no other way–they must do so in embodied fashion.

Second, and related to the first, in appealing to the spiritual universality of the church, advocates of church online utilize a problematic theology of place, which I worry further reinforces the rootlessness of the people they are ministering to.  Here, I part ways with Andrew Jones not on the essential invisibility of the Church, but rather on the way that invisibility is to interact with the visible.  

Andrew has rightly argued that Hebrews and John 4 challenge the geographically bound religious thought that seemed to be present in the Judaism of Jesus’ day.  However, as theologian Oliver O’Donovan points out, the universality of the Church can be instantiated either abstractly or concretely.  Church online, with its distance from the normal structure of human life, rests on an abstract notion of ‘universality’ where my churchly relations are scattered far and wide. 

O’Donovan appeals to, interestingly enough, the parable of the Good Samaritan to make his case, which opens with the line, “As it happened…”  While the parable clearly demonstrates that the Gospel transcends religious and social identities, it does so from within the contingent arrangements of our lives.  He happened to be travelling one day, and the need was thrust upon him.  The universal takes shape in the local.  G.K. Chesterton puts it this way: “The man who lives in a small community lives in a much larger world.  He knows much more of the fierce varieties and uncompromising divergences of men.  The reason is obvious.  In a large community we can choose our companions.  In a small community our companions are chosen for us.”

It is important to point out that for an increasing number of people, “normal life” and the sort of contingent arrangements that make it up are happening online.  But there is, I think, an important difference that makes churchly relations more difficult:  the lack of geographical boundaries makes it easy and likely to self-select our communities.  Because of the low entry points into ‘communal arrangements’—one need only select the right url to begin engaging a completely new set of people—the social ties that are formed are easier to break.  I have no freedom to choose my natural family, a point that makes it both frustrating and difficult.  The overwhelming testimony of the human behavior online is that the freedom to associate with anyone we so desire leads not to diverse and varied communities, but rather homogenous and self-selected cliques.

However, what of those who meet together offline throughout the week?  I have previously argued that embodiment is intrinsic to our humanity.  Additionally, regardless of whether we are singing or not, the embodied corporate response to the Word of God in worship is the expression of our full humanity.  Such a view inevitably (further) diminishes the role of communion within our corporate gatherings.  Paul’s logic is that the one loaf makes the one people, not the other way around.  The communal life of the Church offline provides the energy, but is not a replacement for the gathering of all the people of God in worship. 

Finally, we should point out that despite the New Testament’s emphasis on the universality of the church, it is Jesus who as the chief cornerstone is the Word made Flesh, the Word who entered a very particular place during the period that Paul describes as “the fullness of time.”  This sense of boundedness is not what the Spirit eradicates, but what the Spirit transforms through his resurrection power.  

These are, then, two worries that can be finally articulated this way:  the power of the Spirit is not such that it overcomes nature, but restores it.  The missionary impulse and the emphasis on the Spirit’s ability to join people in diverse geographical locations must be joined with a robust view of human embodiment as necessary for human—and hence a full churchly—life. 

One more point:  there are, of course, extremes on both sides.  But the nature of theological dialogue is such that what happens at the fringes pushes the center toward a given direction.  The theological assumptions of those at the extremes affect the way the center practices their spiritual life.  Hence, for those traditionalists with anxieties about the application of technology to the church’s existence, the pragmatic argument is not sufficient to justify the deployment of church online. 

Finally, these are only worries, and I must express my regret for closing with them.  As someone with deep conservative impulses, I admire the experimental nature of those who are pushing the boundaries of church’s application of technology.  As has been pointed out to me, those who have anxieties about the church’s hasty application of technology must be matched and countered by those who have anxieties about the church’s indifference toward those unreached people groups online.  It is my sincere hope, and earnest desire, that through the conversation about the prospects and pitfalls of the church’s engagement of technology, we can find common ground in Him who is the Word made flesh, and who dwells in us through his Holy Spirit, and who lives and reigns as Lord over all.

*It should be noted that during the discussion time afterward, Dr. Reynolds raised questions about the analogy itself that are worth consideration.  Specifically, he pointed out that the potential encounter with embodied human presence at Barnes and Noble may, in fact, be reason enough to reject the parallel with Amazon.com.

You guys, you will not believe what I am about to do. And I am sorry. Really. I’ve tried to figure out a way around this, but it can’t be helped.

I am starting this post with a definition from a dictionary. Webster’s 1828, to be exact.

I know.

“Friendship: n. An attachment to a person, proceeding from intimate acquaintance and a reciprocation of kind offices, or from a favorable opinion of the amiable and respectable qualities of his mind. Friendship differs from benevolence, which is good will to mankind in general, and from that love which springs from animal appetite. True friendship is a noble and virtuous attachment, springing from a pure source, a respect for worth or amiable qualities. False friendship may subsist between bad men, as between thieves and pirates. This is a temporary attachment springing from [self-]interest, and may change in a moment to enmity and rancor.” (Emphasis mine)

Now, despite feeling as if I am beginning a writing assignment in jr high, I will press on.

A blogger I keep up with referenced this definition of friendship and it struck me as particularly inaccurate. Take a look around you. Given your current group of friends, would you say that this is how you define friendship? I’ve had my share of bad friends in my day, but I call them bad friends when they are bad to me, not bad in general. In fact, I consider myself a better friend when I stick by people who are having what I will call a momentary lapse in judgement. As my uncle would say, you would have to be a bonehead many a time over for me to decide that maybe it would be better if you weren’t around so much.

I think I would go so far as to say that most people are like me. Most think (or at least act as if) character is fairly irrelevant when it comes to developing one’s friends. You want them to be good enough that they won’t go around hurting your feelings or your reputation, but would you say that you have selected your friends because they are the best, brightest, most noble, and virtuous people you know? I guess another way of saying it is, could any of your friends moonlight as a pirate? If so, maybe you are experiencing false friendship masquerading as the real thing.

Or perhaps dear Webster is wrong. It does seem a terribly stuffy definition, doesn’t it? And who are we to say who is noble and good, and bright and all that? Oh, and who did Jesus hang out with? I mean, those guys were a mess! Merely dirty, doubting fishermen. Yeah.

And yet, I can’t help but wonder who I would become if I invested myself in the very best people I knew. What might we be able to accomplish together for the kingdom of God? What sort of love might I be able to have for people I admire so deeply? On the other hand, I know I am to love (deeply) those much less admirable. So can I love them without calling them friends? I have no idea.

So, uh, friendship.

I just read an expansive article by David Tyack, professor emeritus at Stanford in the history of education. In the article Tyack considers at length the different populations that have been neglected in the American education system. Any student of history would learn something; I was struck by how racism during WWII made it seem natural that white Nazi prisoners-of-war on their way to prison camp in the South should be allowed inside a “whites only” dining room in a railroad station, but their black guards should not. One of the most insightful points Tyack makes is very helpful for understanding the present situation in public education:

Psychology, the academic discipline most influential in the field of education, has reflected and reinforced individualism by using the person as the chief unit of analysis. In this way of seeing, which boasted the label “scientific,” educations have portrayed differences between students—in “intelligence,” interests, temperament, or likely social destiny, for example—as characteristics of individuals rather than as products of class or culture.”

It’s not hard to see the influence of psychology in schools; there are school psychologists, functional behavioral analyses, special education tests for brain disorders, and the psychology-dependent teacher training programs. I like how Tyack connects the monopoly of psychology in education with individualism in the America, something that can be more clearly understood by looking at classrooms in other countries. In Japan, for instance, classes are generally rewarded or punished as a group, which has kept Japanese cleaner, even without hiring janitors. Students recognize that they will all suffer from a dirty school and pick up accordingly. In America, individual students know that if they walk far enough away from their trash it is no longer their trash. Someone else will get blamed, or, more likely, everyone will suffer during the day while paying for janitors to clean at night.

It goes without saying but is worth repeating: what goes for public education is only a reflection of society as a whole. As Paula Fass, whose recent collection of essays considers how history can inform contemporary trends in education around the globe, explains:

The shape of American education in the twentieth century…is crucially related to the problems with American diversity.”

After his discussion of whether it’s a sin to kill plants or animals, Thomas discusses the question of whether it’s permissible to kill sinners.  Thomas says it is not a sin to kill sinners.  We’ll see that the question of killing sinners is importantly related to the question of killing animals.

I don’t know about what others think, but at first glance this seems like a strange discussion to have.  So my first question is why Thomas thinks he needs to consider the question of whether it is a sin to kill sinners.  (I suppose there could be (and probably are) some aspects of Thomas’s historical and cultural setting that would suggest this topic to him, but I don’t know about them.)  I think what is off-putting is the question of whether it’s permissible to kill sinners.  In a secular society such as ours, “sinner” is not a category that comes to mind for “people who we might have a question about whether it’s permissible to kill.”  We would rather categorize such people as “criminals,” which is a much smaller class.  For Thomas, I think, all criminals are sinners, but not all sinners are criminals.  (Thomas reminds us in this article that “whatever is forbidden by God is a sin.”)

Perhaps it also helps to note that Thomas is concerned in this article with the question of whether it is permissible to kill sinners.  The question is not whether we are (or at least someone is) obligated to kill all sinners.

Thomas poses and responds to three objections to the claim that it’s permissible to kill sinners.  I’ll go over the first and third.  The first objection is that in the parable of the wheat and cockle (Matthew 13), God forbids uprooting the cockle.  So, God forbids killing sinners.

Thomas’s response is that the parable only forbade the uprooting of cockles because that action would harm the wheat.  So God only forbids the killing of sinners when nonsinners would be harmed by that action.

The third objection is that it’s evil in itself to kill a human being.  (Both Augustine and Aristotle back this claim up.)  We should instead have charity for all human beings.

Thomas’s reply to this is that a human being who has sinned “departs from the order of reason, and consequently falls away from the dignity of his manhood, in so far as he is naturally free, and exists for himself, and he falls into the slavish state of the beasts, by being disposed of according as he is useful to others.”  That is, it’s permissible to kill a sinner because the sinner is in an important sense no longer a human being.

Here’s one point where I think Thomas’s position is interesting from our point of view: Thomas says it’s permissible to kill a sinner because the sinner is no longer a human being but is instead merely an animal—in fact, is worse than an animal.  Since it’s permissible to kill an animal for our use, it’s permissible to kill a sinner for our use.  (So note that if Thomas’s argument that it’s permissible to kill animals doesn’t work, this argument won’t work either.)

But in what sense could killing a sinner be “for our use”?  Here’s another point where Thomas’s position is interesting: He does not make any mention of rights in this discussion.  Instead, he puts the whole discussion in terms of the health of the community, and he relies on the Aristotelian principle that “every part is directed to the whole, as imperfect to perfect, wherefore every part is naturally for the sake of the whole.”  Individual people, according to Thomas, stand to their community as a part to its whole.  If a part causes harm to the whole, then for the sake of the whole the part should be cut away.  Thus, if a person is “dangerous and infectious to the community, on account of some sin, it is praiseworthy and advantageous that he be killed in order to safeguard the common good.”

There is in Thomas’s discussion of killing sinners no talk of rights, only principles about parts and wholes and the health of the community.

In the latest issue of Commentary, Michael Gerson and Peter Wehner have offered the latest volley in the ongoing war to define conservatism’s future.  While less comprehensive than the path offered by Dreher or Salam/Douthat, Gerson and Wehner offer their own distinct blend of foci as a cure for the Republican intellectual and political malaise.

Which is why this foundation is a tad surprising:  “Any serious attempt to revivify the GOP might begin with a full-throated stand for a strong national defense.”  I, for one, am supportive of including national defense as one among many Republican policy positions.  But to remain belligerently focused on it in the face of enormous fiscal challenges strikes me as (at best) tone-deaf.  While I am sympathetic to their attempt to frame foreign policy around global issues like “global issues like genocide, poverty, women’s rights, religious liberty, malaria, and HIV/AIDS,” I suspect that any presentation of conservatism that leads with national defense will quickly be identified with traditional formulations.

What follows is a relatively mixed bag of proposals that includes winners like making the tax code simpler and more family friendly, and losers like picking out the “Religious Right” for the “anger, personal attack, and extreme language” of the Republican party.  As best I can tell, it was not the Religious Right who gave the world Mark Levin, Glenn Beck, or Rush Limbaugh.  And while we agree on the substance of the point, it’s curious to see tone listed alongside national defense, the economy, and other such matters of social import.

The most hopeful suggestion is this one:

In this last connection, and again with an eye toward immigrants and the poor, the GOP would be wise to strengthen its reputation as the party of community and order. Republican rhetoric can sound intensely individualistic, as if to suggest that once government impediments were cleared away, all persons and all families would thrive as a matter of course. Individual freedom is indeed central to conservatism but so is the belief that individual freedom is given purpose and direction in the context of strong communities. It is a staple of conservatism that strong social bonds are essential to human flourishing.

While it is precisely this sort of understanding that can help ground traditional social conservative arguments, Wehner and Gerson refuse to go there.  In this, Wehner and Gerson are provocative in what they don’t say as much as in what they say.  That they thought such proposals would be appealing without any mention of traditional social conservative causes suggest that they think such causes expendable, and that they would pick on the “Religious Right” suggests they are too eager to chasten them.

What to make of this?  Not much.  If social conservatives can win back the philosophical ground by striking at the heart of an unrestrained liberalism by reintroducing the concept of human communities, their generation, and continuation as meaningful and relevant categories, then they shall inevitably make progress in their social agenda.  Meanwhile, Wehner and Gerson can continue to strum the tune of national defense to an audience that isn’t listening.

As a way of getting my blogging going, I thought I’d start a series of posts on some teachings of Thomas Aquinas.  I think this will be interesting (at least to me) because Thomas covers so much material in easy-to-digest portions and because his Summa is available online.  So today, let’s start—for no specific reason—with his argument about killing plants and animals.

Thomas says that it is not a sin to kill plants and animals to use as food.  His basic argument is that “there is no sin in using a thing for the purpose for which it is.”  Since the purpose of plants and animals, which are both imperfect in comparison with human beings, is to be useful to human beings, a human being does no wrong in killing either plant or animal if he needs to use either of them.  Thomas thinks that the purpose of plants and animals is to be useful to human beings because “the order of things is such that the imperfect are for the perfect.”

The reasoning about the order of things in this particular case is based on Aristotle’s conception of the different kinds of soul.  I suppose if someone thinks Aristotle’s wrong about the soul, they won’t find Thomas’s arguments persuasive.

Thomas also has an argument from the Bible, namely, Genesis 1:29-30 and Genesis 9:3.  The first passage only allows eating plants.  The second allows for the eating of animals.  Some have argued that since the latter allowance is made only after the Fall, those who live after the Resurrection should no longer kill animals.  But there is no suggestion in Thomas that the allowance in Genesis 9:3 has been taken away.

It is interesting, from our point of view, that Thomas does not even mention the issue of animal pain.  Today, however, that consideration is a prominent source of arguments against the morality of killing animals.

It is also interesting, from our point of view, that Thomas does think that the question of killing plants needs to be addressed.  This is probably because from our point of view the question of killing animals is addressed as a matter of not causing pain.  Since plants do not experience pain, then we need not worry about killing them.

Thomas’s interest, however, is not in not causing pain but in taking life.  Life, as a fundamental kind of good, should always be respected.  It is this concern for life that makes the issue of killing plants a live one, one that Thomas has to address in his ethics.

There is also the point that the killing of plants and animals can be moral only if they are being used appropriately.  I think this would rule out hunting for sport (unless sport can be considered necessary or sufficiently momentous in human excellence), but it would not rule out using animals for medical testing, though it would rule out using animals for testing cosmetics.

Hi everyone, remember me? After a couple of guest posts and many years of faithful reading, I’ve come to join the boys as a regular contributor here at Mere-O. I tried to link my previous posts for you but, well, I don’t know how. However, if you search my name you can read them and get caught up, should you so desire. All that to say, thank you for having me.

After reading The Man Who was Thursday for a class I was teaching, I’ve been thinking a bit about character formation (I’ll explain why later this week). This is the first in a short series of thoughts on the value and development of one’s character.

Backyards are private affairs in suburban Southern California. With high fences, cement walls and locked gates, they belong exclusively to the inhabitants of the house. I was thinking about this while watering my one surviving flowering plant and as I surveyed my surroundings I began to view the condition of my backyard as a test of my character. Mine was a disaster.

I read a morning devotional once about the significance of cleanliness to the life of the soul. The author (Elizabeth Elliot, I believe it was) told a story about a former head mistress she had at boarding school. She was known for randomly checking the rooms for made beds and folded clothes, telling the girls she “would have no pious talk coming from messy rooms.” They had a hall in the old boarding house containing a series of small oriental rugs. It was known as Character Hall because an individual’s character was tested each time she accidentally disturbed one of the rugs. Would she turn back and straighten it, or would she leave it for someone else to correct? The seemingly insignificant and everyday tasks of maintaining one’s home were viewed as a window to the state of the soul.

When something remains mostly private, it is easy to let it fall into disarray, whether it be a closet, a garden, or a failure in our character that seems to affect only a few. Imagining that hidden is the same as irrelevant, we pass over the secret places of our life and soul to focus on the parts of us that everyone is looking at.

I’ve started gardening as one effort towards keeping the hidden parts of my house more beautiful. As Fall approaches and the weather cools, it is becoming a pleasant place to be, even if it is a very few of us who see it. Amending my character and healing the hidden, ugly parts of my heart is more challenging and nuanced, and so much more important. It is my hope that attending to my tangible responsibilities, however invisible, will daily remind me of my internal goal of a transparent life.

It was rewarding to make a dirty, uncomfortable place into something inhabitable and enjoyable. People need flowers to sit amongst and a hospitable soul to listen to them. Hospitality and charity flow from the well-ordered soul with nothing to hide and a house with no skeletons in the closet (or the garden).

If you are full deep yearning, and I hope you are, it’s fair to assume you have two dogmas regarding cities. (Those with very deep yearning won’t bring it up, but they actually have two “dogmata”) These axioms help inform all other urban value judgments. They are:

#1. New York is good.

#2. Los Angeles is bad.

Armed with these two dogmas, its easy to deduce what to wear, how to get around, who to be friends with, what to live in, and which expressions should adorn your countenance. Cardigans, subways, Puerto Ricans, lofts, and angst are sexy, being characteristic of New York. I’ll leave you to fill in rest regarding velour, city buses, Mexicans, ramblers, and stupefaction.

Given your yearning, I don’t need to tell you about a recent movie that makes Los Angeles a look a little less bad. In light of that film, however, I thought I’d recommend another made in Los Angeles.

Quinceañera, released in 2006, tells the story of Magdalena, a pregnant 15-year-old; Carlos, a gay cholo; and Tio Tomás, a 70-year-old street vendor. I was interested in watching it because it was filmed in the neighborhood I live in and love, Echo Park, by two men from the neighborhood. Even with only a $400,000 budget, the film did remarkably well at Sundance, I assume because it is a moving story told plainly.

Quinceañera portrays the interaction between two groups that are interacting more and more in the hearts of our nation’s cities: low-income minorities and white artists/homosexuals. The movie doesn’t demonize anyone or exposit the many concerns of gentrification; it also doesn’t try too hard or try hard at trying to look like it’s not trying too hard, both rare among indie movies.
So if you live in Los Angeles or have lived in Los Angeles, I recommend you don’t miss this charming film that is local but delightfully absent that star of most of our local films: the LAPD. Watch it in a velour tracksuit.