Repeat of entry from 12/24/06

Christmas Time is Near...

Happiness and cheer.

Fun for all that children call,

Their favorite time of year.

 

Snowflakes in the air,

Carols everywhere,

Olden times and ancient rhymes

Of love and dreams to share.

                            

                      “Christmas Time is Here,” (Vince Guaraldi-Lee Mendelson)

 

I suppose everyone expects me to launch into a social analysis of Christmas capitalist consumerism, or to attempt to debunk the myth of a young Jewish virgin girl giving birth to a child, but the truth is… I love Christmas. I always have. 

 

Friends and family back in Rhode Island used to (affectionately) call me “the Christmas slut.” It seems a harsh characterization I know, but all it means is that I have no Christmas morals. I shake packages, eat cookies and candy canes off the tree and open presents as they come in not waiting for the 25th to arrive. There are those who maintain strict Christmas ethics and will not, under any circumstances open presents before Christmas Day, and then there are the rest of us, the Christmas sluts. It’s just too exciting and tempting and we Christmas degenerates simply do not have the strength of will to observe such demanding Christmas commandments. When my children were little, I would be the first to awaken Christmas morning and if I grew too impatient waiting for them to arise, I would go into the kitchen and make noise to wake them. What kind of a mother disturbs her children’s sugarplum slumber to satisfy her unquenchable thirst for Christmas surprise? A Christmas slut of a mother, that’s what kind.

 

When I was a child, there was no separating the holiday from the Holy Day. I knew that Christmas was about Jesus and loving him and welcoming him was an integral part of my childhood Christmas ritual; midnight Mass or Christmas morning Mass after the presents had been opened always began with the processional song, “Veni, Veni Emmanuel” (O Come, O Come Emmanuel). It is still my favorite Christmas song. I learned early that “Emmanuel” means “God with us.”

 

And Christmas is ultimately an ancient celebration of the belief of a god who comes to earth, in spite of and despite the season’s modern bastardization. It is an observance of the universal myth of communion of the human with the divine; of earth and heaven joined. It is echoed in the myths of Olympus and Athens united; of Horus, the child of Isis and Osiris (one of the first divine families of three). Even the ancient rituals associated with Bacchus and Dionysus were exploited as justification for orgy and excessive drink. And the Romans complained in their missives to Saint Paul that when the new Christians arrived for the agape, the “feast of love,” some of them consumed too much wine and approached the table a bit too tipsy. My French-Canadian uncles were simply echoing the traditions of the ancient Christians when they went to midnight Mass after having consumed screwdrivers and a keg of beer amongst themselves, consequently singing “Joy to the World!” with a bit too much joy. There is nothing new under the sun. 

 

I love Christmas trees that sparkle with lights. And Christmas carols that move me in tender remembrance of the child I once was who thought that the baby Jesus was just the sweetest present ever. I love sugar cookies and vintage glass Christmas balls that must be handled carefully lest they crash to the floor and splinter into shards so small one finds traces of them in July. I love wrapping presents while watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” for the umpteenth time. I always, always cry when Donna Reed is on the phone with Sam Wainwright and Jimmy Stewart is so close to her he can smell her hair and he grabs her, the phone crashing to the floor and they hug and kiss in tears and desperation (sigh).

 

Doire Christmas tangent: When analyzed theologically of course, the whole premise behind “It’s a Wonderful Life” is false. According to Catholic tradition God only made a  certain amount of angels at  the creation of the universe and that’s all there’s ever going to be. One cannot become an angel. There will never be any more angels, so the whole story line of Clarence and the bell ringing when an angel gets its wings is counter to doctrinal angelology. When one dies one can join the communion of saints, but not the heavenly host of angels.

 

Doire Christmas tangent II: In Catholic angelology there is a hierarchy of angels (of course there is) comprised of seven types of angels on a scale of most illustrious to least. At the top of the list are the Seraphim, those gigantic Amazonian angels with powers we cannot begin to imagine. Second, are the Cherubim who stand at the gates of Eden with "a sword flaming and turning to guard the tree of life." At the bottom of the list are “Ordinary Angels,” which to me frankly, seems an oxymoron.

 

I love Christmas cards and packages; Christmas fudge and candy canes.

I love funny little Santa figurines and golden snow globes.

I love to find surprising presents to give to the people I love.

I enter into the season with joy and good intention.

 

And now, if you'll excuse me, this little Christmas slut has presents to open early…

In a Different Voice

A friend of mine recently purchased a brand new car. A few weeks ago, she walked out to her parking space to find a noticeable scratch and ding on her previously show-room perfect vehicle. There was no one in sight and no note under the windshield. Since I am ever fascinated by the ethical question, I wondered if there exists a fundamental difference between people who would leave a note and those who would not. The difference I suspect is moral maturity.

 

When my brother was in high school he hit a car in a parking lot. He left a brief note on the windshield of the dented car explaining what had happened and included his name and phone number. The owner of the vehicle called our house and reached my father, who wasn’t at all angry. When the phone call ended my father related to me how impressed the caller had been by both my brother’s actions and by how rare it is to find such a sense of right and responsibility in one so young. My father may have told me the story to teach me what to do in this situation, when I began to drive. But I suspect he told me because he was so proud. He was proud that in a moment when my brother could have driven off in secrecy, he chose to do the right thing. It is in these moments I think, when our moral character most reveals itself; in those moments when no one is watching. There is no threat of punishment if discovered. There is no risk of invoking moral judgment by others. These two motivations represent the first two stages of Lawrence Kohlberg’s stages of development in moral reasoning. The most elementary stage (pre-conventional) is represented by those who act according to fear of punishment or hope for reward. One might think of a three year old who will not eat the cookie simply to avoid being sent to the corner but there are many adults who never move past this stage. The second stage (conventional) involves acting rightly in order to win the approval and acceptance of peers exemplified perhaps by the adolescent dynamic of “peer pressure.”  Some adults as well, never move beyond this stage. In the post-conventional stage moral judgments are made through the use of abstract moral reasoning based on universal principles.

 

Doire tangent: The operative word there being “universal.” Many live by moral principles that no one would wish to become universal. Just because a person lives by principles does not mean they are “good” ones. People construct all kinds of little moral precepts in their heads and judge themselves to be virtuous because they live by them. The Mafia code of ethics is a perfect example. The Mafia live principled lives based upon a particular code of morality and yet no one who is not Mafia would wish these to be held universally. Perhaps this is what Immanuel Kant observed (not the Mafia, but the dynamic) when he posited his categorical imperative, “Act only on those maxims that you would desire become universal law.” (Or something like that—I write it from memory).

 

I cannot write of Lawrence Kohlberg’s stages however, without adding that Kohlberg’s research involved only boys and men. Carol Gilligan’s groundbreaking book (published 25 years ago), In a Different Voice, noted that (generally) men and women are socialized to reason through moral problems differently (note: she never suggested that the difference is innate).  In what she described as an “ethic of care” her research showed that women make moral decisions not on the basis of universal principles but on the basis of relationship, or on the basis of empathy for another’s injury. The difference can be illustrated by observing young children at play. Little girls when faced with a playmate’s elimination from a game will alter the rules so that she will not be excluded. Little boys will adhere to the rules and (tough luck) the child is “out.” It is this dynamic through which women have been historically rendered morally inferior. Men have noted that women “cave” in adherence to principle when potential damage to a relationship might be at risk and according to the male standard of moral reasoning, women have been perceived as weak. What you see depends upon where you stand and how you measure moral fortitude depends upon your yardstick. Neither of these modes of moral reasoning is superior to the other. Neither are they exclusively restricted by gender. When I read Gilligan’s book many years ago, so much became clear to me. I began to understand how certain moral acts committed by husbands and male friends, senators and Presidents would elicit incredulity from my women friends and me, “HOW could they ignore the human element of the thing, in deference to some law?” And male friends, “HOW could she abandon the rules because of someone’s feelings?” Strict adherence to one of the two modes may result either in the sacrifice of people to the principle, or conversely the sacrifice of principle in the interest of people. In my opinion, the mark of moral maturity is in the ability to appeal to both and to knowing when the “ethic of care” or the “ethic of principle” is most appropriate. I do not know what dynamic of moral reasoning my brother utilized when he left that note on the windshield years ago. He might have been adhering to a universal moral principle that when one damages another’s property, one fesses up. Or he might have considered how he would feel if someone hit his car and didn’t acknowledge it. Whatever the case, one thing I know: he did the right thing.

Apologies, and Stuff

Has it really been over a month since I've written anything? In the past few days I've received two messages from people who have read my previous entry and thought I was still in the midst of that hopelessness. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone. That hoplessness passed quickly. I'm fine.

 

** Since I last wrote the Red Sox won the World Series, Joni Mitchell released her first album of new songs in ten years and I had a birthday. Win some, lose some.

 

** It's a bad sign when, on the way back from work you think to yourself, "Jeez...I wish I'd bought gas this morning."

 

**I had a student today who made an argument that accuracy in accounts of "history" are related to how soon after the events the chronicler "reports" them. Jeez. He was trying to make a case for the Gospels being MORE "accurate" than all other religions stuff because the Gospel writers wrote within 100 years of Jesus' death. What crap. The freaking Buddha was still ALIVE when his disciples were remembering stuff; Muhammad presumably wrote his OWN stuff (from the mouth of God of course). The Gospel writers all wrote on the basis of stories that were told to them by "witnesses." All hearsay if you ask me. I argued against him but want to returnto the issue on Monday with this example:  The war with Iraq is VERY recent "history," and yet, the accounts of the events, reasons, objectives, and outcomes of THAT historical event are all very different and disparate. Which of them is "historically accurate?" And this is an event that occurs NOW and began only four years ago and there is no agreement about the "history" of it!

 

Another example (though admittedly, over the top): The Nazis went to trial right after the Holocaust. They had a direct view of the "history" of that event and yet, would you judge that their perspective and accounts were "accurate" simply because they were offered soon after the event?

 

** OnSunday I am giving a lecture at a Unitarian Church in Myrtle Beach. It's the third time I've been invited to do so. Since my best friend lives there, I'll drive up tomorrow morning, we'll hang out shopping and lunching and then we'll let her husband take us out for dinner. On Sunday morning, I'll go to the 11:00 service, do my thing and then some of the women in the group want to take me out for lunch. Not a bad gig.

 

I usually give them 5 or 6 topics from which to choose. This year they chose "Common Ethical Threads in the World's Religions." I thought this morning how appropriate the title I created for that topic... the world's religions' "ethical threads" sure seem to be unraveling. I'll examine the common ethical foundations in a few religions... and there ARE some believe it or not. Though you'd never think it to "look" at them, they include: an idea of the Oneness of (and interdependence of) all Being and, non-violence (hey, I said it lay in the "foundations," not necessarily the consequent construction), welcoming the stranger (ditto), alleviation of suffering and the protection of the weak and vulnerable.

 

 

Just Give Me a Moment

I know. Just yesterday I wrote of hope. I live in hope. Hope is my mojo. And very, very rarely do I give in to despair. But right now, in this moment the sadness overwhelms me. The news gets worse every day; death, violence, disease, brutal governments, torture, oppression of the weak, suppression of truth, a f**king global war against women, Buddhist monks killed as they protest for justice, murder committed in sick appeals to a loving God. If there is a god, She should just come down right now, annihilate us all and proclaim the human race a "failed experiment."

Untitled

In the past week:

 

* I have seen a story on a national news network about sexual trafficking in women’s and children’s bodies. This global “industry” is now the second largest illegal trade in the world. It used to be third.

* I read a story in the NY Times about a 13 year old Egyptian girl who died as a result of her female “circumcision.” The “clinic” where this mutilation was performed was closed down. The men in her village vowed that the practice would continue and that even though the clinic was shut down, the practice would not be. According to the article in the Times,

“For centuries Egyptian girls, usually between the ages of 7 and 13, have been taken to have the procedure done, sometimes by a doctor, sometimes by a barber or whoever else in the village would do it. As recently as 2005, a government health survey showed that 96 percent of the thousands of married, divorced or widowed women interviewed said they had undergone the procedure — a figure that astounds even many Egyptians. In the language of the survey, “The practice of female circumcision is virtually universal among women of reproductive age in Egypt…The challenge, however, rests in persuading people that their grandparents, parents and they themselves have harmed their daughters. Moreover, advocates must convince a skeptical public that men will marry a woman who has not undergone the procedure and that circumcision is not necessary to preserve family honor. It is a challenge to get men to give up some of their control over women.”

* I read a story, again in the Times, about a 16 year old young woman from Syria who was raped when she was 15. In order to protect HER honor, a beloved cousin offered to marry her. He loved her deeply. They were married. A month after their marriage, after her new husband had left the house for work, her brother went into her bedroom where she slept and brutally stabbed her five times. Her murder is traditionally considered an “honor killing.” It does not carry the charge of murder. Typically, the assailant in an honor killing is either acquitted or sentenced to a month in prison, at which point he is released to go home to family and friends who honor HIM for reconciling the family “shame.” The woman was raped by a man and then murdered by a man who presumably redeemed her; her shame and honor, determined by others than herself.

 

How much brutality have women endured throughout history in the name of “protection,” control and definition of their sexuality? It is too much to consider.

 

I can find hope only in the fact that at last there is outrage.

At last, sexual slavery and the “disappearance” of millions of women worldwide are being exposed.

At last, there is opposition to a practice that denies women sexual pleasure, autonomy and threatens their safety and their lives.

At last, there is intolerance for an absurd practice that counts a woman’s virginity as more valuable than her life.

 

The claim to moral relativity is not relevant here. A woman’s life is not negotiable. Murder cannot be defended by appealing to cultural differences or by a reluctance to make moral judgments. And know this: the feminist movement is about many things but at its core it is about liberation and ultimately, the protection of women’s lives from the men who would end them.

Dubyawood

It occurred to me today that this country has a tradition of honoring its former Presidents with Presidential libraries. Somehow though, in George Dubya Bush’s case, a library just doesn’t seem right unless the books contained within it are those most often reserved for the level of reading found in The Children’s Room. I doubt that there are enough Sendaks, Steigs, Dr. Seusses and Shel Silversteins to fill a library worthy of the status of “Presidential.” Think however, how appropriate even this might be, though first we might have to find a way to resurrect these beloved authors to write sequels to some of their most cherished stories. For example:

 

Maurice Sendak would have to write Where the Crooked Things Are. The night George wore his flight suit, and made mischief of one kind, and another, his mother called him “AWOL,” and George said, “I’ll deport you!” so he was sent to bed without reading anything. That very night, in George’s room, an oil rig grew, and grew, and grew until his ceiling hung with money and the walls became the world all around.

 

And Dr. Seuss’  Dubya Hears a Who:

 

On the fifteenth of May, in the jungle of Nool,
In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,
He was splashing…enjoying the Texan great joys…
When Dubya the President heard a loud noise.

So Dubya stopped splashing. He looked towards the sound.
“That’s funny,” thought Dubya. “There’s no one around.”
Then he heard it again! Just a very great yelp
As if some great god were calling for help.
“I’ll help you,” said George. “But who are you? Where?”
He looked and he looked. He could see nothing there
But a small speck of dust blowing past though the air.

“I say!” murmured Dubya. “I’ve never heard tell
Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.
So you know what I think? Why, I think that there must
Be a God on top of that small speck of dust!
The God of the Bible of very small size,
too small to be seen by a President’s eyes…

 

No, I think a Presidential Library is out of the question.

I suggest rather, a theme park, in the manner of Dollywood.

 

Dubyawood. The attractions of Dubyawood will pay tribute to the landmark moments that characterize the Bush Presidency:

 

*Pollution Park- This will represent Dubya’s progress on the issue of the environment. All the trees will be dead or cut down to the trunk. Park goers will picnic inside a specially designed dome. Inside the dome, the temperature will be regulated to reflect the effects of Global Warming. Heat indices will hover between 110 and 120 degrees Fahrenheit but all park personnel will deny what everyone else knows. Outside the dome, the picnickers will have a wonderful view of giant smokestacks, a memorial to the de-regulation of pollutant emissions. The stream that will run aside the dome will glisten with the sludge of toxic waste, oil slicks and dead fish.

 

* Liars’ Lake- Swimmers will be convinced that there is a lake there. Eye witnesses will swear up and down that there really is a lake there. Documents will be forged by engineers who will attest to actually having made the lake there. When swimmers pass through the gates there will be no lake to be seen for miles. But in order not to appear foolish, when they leave the area they too will tell others that there really is a lake there.

 

*The Spinning Wheel- You will only be allowed to play this game if you are a friend of Dubya’s. The player will step up to the wheel and have a chance to win 1) a juicy government contract 2) a Cabinet post 3) an ambassadorship in a sweet place 4) a Supreme Court appointment 5) a week in Kennebunkport, ME 6) a week in Crawford, Texas 7) a trip on an aircraft carrier 8) a suspended sentence for a conviction of a crime

 

* The Wheel of Fortune- Contestants will solve puzzles comprised of the many “Bushisms” that he has spoken over the past seven years such as:

 

“I can only speak to myself.”

“I’m the decider.”

“Jobs will begat houses.”

“Those who enter the country illegally violate the law.”

“Wow! Brazil is big!”

"Nucular war." "Nucular weapons." "Nucular threat." Nucular family." (Any phrase really, that refers to NUCLEAR anything).

“I’ve got eck-a-lec-tic (reading material).”

“I’m a commander guy.”

“You got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda.”

“Who could have possibly envisioned an erection, uh…an election in Iraq at this point in history?”

 

OK. Enough. Needless to say, Pat Sajak will not be wanting for material.

 

* Dunk the Clowns: This fairway game will place mannequins of Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Condi Rice and Ashcroft in the “dunk the clown” seat. Anyone who dunks one of the clowns will win a talking Dubya doll who will repeat one of the Bushisms mentioned above when the string on his back is pulled.

 

So, that’s my suggestion. Dubyawood.

I’m open to other ideas for rides, attractions, concession stands and fairway games. 

After all, we have a little bit of time before ground breaking needs to begin.

But not much.

 

 

Dark Night of the Soul?

Last night, I finally read Time magazine’s recent cover story on Mother Teresa.

The principle subject of the piece is not Teresa’s canonization, life story, nor even her great work among the poor but rather, her doubt. Papers and letters recently made public, paint a portrait of a woman of faith who had none; a woman the world thought close to God whose God was abysmally and chronically absent. Teresa’s torment is evident in her writings and one is struck by the stunning irony of it all. She was the saint without faith.

 

One has to question the motivation (not to mention the morality) of the Church and of trusted advisors who against her expressed wish to destroy the papers upon her death have instead chosen to publish them. The papers are startling in their revelatory descriptions of the state of Mother Teresa’s interior castles; bereft, hollow and tortuously empty:

So many unanswered questions live within me afraid to uncover them — because of the blasphemy — If there be God — please forgive me — When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven — there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives & hurt my very soul. — I am told God loves me — and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the Call of the Sacred Heart?

In the Time article the previous passage is followed by a notation, which reads “addressed to Jesus, at the suggestion of a confessor, undated.” It seems less a prayer than a desperate experiment suggested by an advisor; that if she pretended God was there, He might actually appear.

In almost all of the world’s religions there is the acknowledgement of a phenomenon which affirms that emptiness and darkness may serve as vehicles to spiritual fulfillment. This phenomenon has many names in the many traditions; kenosis, sunyata, the Via Negativa. Simone Weil, the 20th century Christian mystic maintained that through affliction, the experience of abandonment by God may indeed work towards bringing God more sharply into focus; may in fact result in the experience of divine intimacy. Like the beloved who is on vacation and whose qualities become more vivid and more endearing in the memory of the lover, the memory of an absent God induces greater longing and invokes a more intimate divine presence. But ultimately, even for Weil, the beloved does return. For Saint John of the Cross who first used the phrase “dark night of the soul,” the “night” is a phase of spiritual growth, a phase that is marked by suffering, but a phase that passes. The experience of the absence of God in Teresa’s life spanned a period of almost 50 years and seems not to have changed even before death. Her Beloved never returned.

When does one concede that almost 50 years of spiritual desert, absence of faith, doubt in the existence of God, and the presence of Christ signify no longer a “dark night” but rather a perpetual condition of the soul? Night passes. Dawn comes. A fifty year night is hardly a night at all. It is an existential nightmare, particularly for one whose appearance in the world is in direct contradiction to her internal reality; the nightmare, which in Teresa’s own words was marked by the terrible realization of her own deceptive persona:

 

"The smile," she writes, is "a mask" or "a cloak that covers everything." Similarly, she wonders whether she is engaged in verbal deception. "I spoke as if my very heart was in love with God — tender, personal love," she remarks to an adviser. "If you were [there], you would have said, 'What hypocrisy.'" Time magazine

I am not without sympathy for Teresa’s spiritual torture. That she obviously suffered arouses pity and compassion. I am however, not sympathetic to, nor am I convinced by those who would nonetheless interpret Teresa’s spiritual emptiness as a further indication of her “holiness,” and “sanctity.” I am not convinced by those who would insist that the absence of God in her life is ironic evidence of the presence of God in her life. I am instead reminded of the post-Holocaust theologian who argued that God’s “hiddenness” at Auschwitz was proof of God’s existence. And of Karl Rahner’s famous (or infamous) “anonymous Christian,” the title given to his claim that everyone is a Christian, they just don’t know it yet. I am very much aware of the presence of paradox in the field of religion, but in order for a paradox to be accepted it must somehow have the capacity to clear the hurdle of absurdity. It must somehow fill in the space where the contradiction might be held in believable tension, if not suspension.

 

Neither would I deny that the continuation of her work in the midst of such spiritual destitution was heroic in its persistence and determination. But if one would argue that the absence of God, while yet ministering to the poor are indications of holiness and saintliness, then how different is she from the thousands of others who commit their lives to a cause, who sacrifice body and “soul” in the service of others and who do so in living conditions from which most of us would flee? How different is she from those who also do so without the presence of faith and the experience of God (and yet, who do not claim God as their inspiration)? If a life of service in the absence of faith is grounds for beatification and canonization, then the litany of saints must surely be increased a hundred-fold.

And if, in the final stages of canonization the  requisite miracles needed forsainthood indeed be confirmed, upon whose faith did the miraculous events depend? Upon Teresa’s? Or upon those who had faith in Teresa?

 

I have never known of a saint whose principle spiritual characteristic was lack of faith. Perhaps it is time for one. Such a canonization might just crack the door open for the rest of us.