Perry Miller and the Puritans

Random thoughts sparked by The Lead and my long buried memories of reading Perry Miller:

Jim Naughton has pointed to the excellent article by Tim Townsend, "Love Thy Neighbor," in the recent edition of the Columbia Journalism Review. The closing section, detailing Townsend's run-in with the dark forces of the blogosphere is sobering, to say the least.

I noticed the following passage in the opening about New England Puritans, as described by Perry Miller, the famous historian of American intellectual history:

What Winthrop had in mind was a political system whose top priority would be, as the historian Perry Miller wrote, “the duty of suppressing heresy, of subduing or somehow getting rid of dissenters—of being, in short, deliberately, vigorously, and consistently intolerant.” The Puritans believed they, like the Israelites of the Hebrew scriptures, had a covenant with God. And they believed that fellow colonists like Roger Williams, who preached religious tolerance, could go straight to hell. Or barring that, Rhode Island.

("Love Thy Neighbor" p. 1).

Anyone who studied Perry Miller and the Puritans know that while this was, indeed, a part of the history, the New England Puritans were a complex and fascinating lot, with some brilliant minds and positive contributions to American culture along with the negative. The dark side, however, comes through even in this excerpt from a summary of Perry Miller's work:

By the late 1650s, the Puritan experiment in New England experienced significant challenges. Of the great founders only Richard Mather (father of Increase) remained. New England Puritans were increasingly an isolated Protestant sect, particularly in light of the relative religious toleration adopted in England. "New England had become, by remaining faithful to its radical dedication, a stronghold of reaction" (p. 9) Moreover, "New England was no longer a reformation, it was an administration. It was no longer battling that most of the populace should be left out of church-fellowship, but was striving to keep church-fellowship alive" (p. 11). .... During the second half of the seventeenth century, other factors emerged to further erode the original vision of the city upon a hill. Trade emerged as an end unto itself, not to serve God; younger generations in increasing numbers failed to meet the tests for church membership; old social hierarchies and orders were upset; social vices such as drunkenness and extramarital fornication became more prevalent, and the colonial status within the empire changed. Ministers responded to the perceived erosion of religious values and mission with the jeremiad, a new literary form that took aim at all the sin and strove to make sense of the changes in society. The jeremiad was a way of "making intelligible order out of the transition from European to American experience" (p. 31); it was, according to Miller, "purgation by incantation" (p. 34).

Ministers were increasingly on the defensive. Largely at their behest, the Half-Way Covenant was adopted as a means of assuring the perpetuation of church membership. They found, however, that the measures, though enacted, were bitterly divisive....

Donald A. Duhadaway, Jr, "Perry Miller and the Puritans."

Covenants formulated by the Puritans seem to have never been a good idea.

I smell a rat

The Lead tells us that The Telegraph is reporting:

The Vatican said last night that the time has come for the Anglican Church to choose between Protestantism and the ancient sacramental Churches of Rome and Orthodoxy. Cardinal Walter Kasper, president of the Pontifical Council for Christian Unity, told the Catholic Herald that the Anglican Communion must “clarify its identity” and stop hovering between the Catholic and Protestant traditions. He said: “Ultimately, it is a question of the identity of the Anglican Church. Where does it belong? Does it belong more to the Churches of the first millennium – Catholic and Orthodox – or does it belong more to the Protestant churches of the 16th century?

Add this bit of news to the following perspective from Alasdair MacIntyre. As you may recall, McIntyre was the author whose premise Archbishop Rowan Willliams addressed in his recent lecture on "Religious Faith and Human Rights" (excerpt here at "You can't make this stuff up"). McIntyre is a British philosopher, former Marxist, now Roman Catholic, who has taught at U.S. universities since 1969.

I recently picked up McIntyre's book Whose Justice, Which Rationality?, which addresses some of the questions that Archbishop Williams talks about in his lecture. Basically, both men agree that some kind of academic (well, they would call it "rational") formulation of morality and justice is necessary and that religion and philosophy should endeavor to do this. Rowan, however, speculates how some basic universal human rights might be formulated across cultures based on his notion of human "embodiment."

I am not interested now in the substance of their philosophy but rather the posture from which they begin to speculate. Take this from McIntyre, for example:

Private citizens are thus for the most part left to their own devices in these matters. Those of them who do not, very understandably, abandon any attempt to think through such issues systematically are generally able to discover only two major types of resource: those provided by the enquiries and discussions of modern academic philosophy and those provided by more or less organized communities of shared belief, such as churches or sects, religious and nonreligious, or certain kinds of political association.

* * * *
We thus inhabit a culture in which an inability to arrive at agreed rationally justifiable conclusions on the nature of justice and practical rationality coexists with appeals by contending social groups to sets of rival and conflicting convictions unsupported by rational justification. Neither the voices of academic philosophy, nor for that matter, any other academic discipline, nor those of the partisan subcultures, have been able to provide for ordinary citizens a way of uniting conviction on such matters with rational justification. Disputed questions concerning justice and practical rationality are thus treated in the public realm, not as a matter for rational enquiry, but rather for the assertion and counterassertion of alternative and incompatible sets of premises.

Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (U. Of Notre Dame Press: 2003) at p. 3 and p. 5-6.

Now I'm all for looking for ways people can better understand themselves and each other and to guide public policymaking and the law. Reason certainly has a role to play (and the absence of it is often a lamentable fact of public life -- as anyone in the U.S. surely knows after watching CNN and Fox News last night). But these gentlemen seem to really believe that top-down thinking is what is needed, and if they could only somehow reassemble and/or rework the historical (mostly religious, notwithstanding Rowan's foray into "embodied" states) bases of Western ethics and morality AND (this is key) have the results handed down and imposed by the ruling elites (church and/or state, both apparently informed by the academicians), to us poor "private" citizens who do not have the time and the talent to work it all out for ourselves, then, well, things would be much better. The suggestion from the Vatican that what is needed is an alliance and maybe someday a single hierarchy of the "orthodox" to fully articulate and impose such rules only adds further insult, but seems to be along the same line of thinking as that of McIntyre and Williams.

Aside from the high-on-the-distant-academic-hill posture both seem to take, there is something fundamentally at odds with what contemporary science (neuroscience, development psychology, anthropology, evolutionary psychology, etc. ) tells us about how most healthy human beings develop a sense of morality and act upon it. There is great controversy within and across these fields, but I suspect that today most everyone scientifically informed would agree that humans do not simply "learn" morality from a set of rules expressly given to them (at least not in terms of conventional moral instruction in the classroom or similar settings). In other words, the notion of a "tabla rasa" mind on which any rules can be written by those who choose to teach them is inaccurate, at best. However it is that we acquire some sense of morality, it seems to come very early in life, and is only later developed and expanded upon by experience and the social environment. Even then, what we learn as social conventions can be overridden by our deeper, perhaps unconscious notions and feelings about what is moral, what is right or wrong, which we have even when there are no specific rules to follow or some authority to strictly enforce them. Writing or rewriting social rules does not necessarily change our behavior, nor does making them more logical or consistent necessarily make them more attractive or persuasive.

While it still may be useful to rationally sort out and better articulate what we think we know is right and to consider, to the extent we can, altering our belief systems when our ideas, communications , or behaviors are illogical, it is doubtful that most people think or act based on the kind of reasoning supposed by McIntyre -- even those, like himself, who have the time and grey matter to ponder various questions. What I find particularly interesting are those studies among children that suggest that healthy children can distinguish between morality and social conventions (i.e. notions of what is right and wrong without any authority to back them up or enforce them as distinct from those that are authority-dependent), but children with psychopathic tendencies have great difficulty drawing the distinction. In other words,

[Psychopaths] identify both kinds of transgressions as transgressions, as infringements of the rules, but they are unable to say which are wrong only because of the rules. Because they cannot make this distinction, they seem to be missing the ability to make moral judgments at all. Hence their emotional deficit explains and underlies a deficit at moral cognition, and not merely moral action.

[From Moral Minds" by Neil Levy at Neuroethics]. Some have speculated that it has something to do with the lack of empathy among the latter group, and that empathy has something to do with the development of moral faculties. [All this from various sources, inspired by Dan's read of Moral Minds: How Nature Designed Our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong by Marc Hauser, including the post " the article "Do the Right Thing" by Rebecca Saxe at the Boston Review, and an interview with Hauser, "Is Morality Innate and Universal?" at Discover magazine.]

All this makes me wonder at those who truly believe that a well-articulated and detailed set of moral rules -- especially those supposedly immutably set in scripture, or even those crafted by a Magisterium and/or academic philosophers and theologicans -- is necessary for the purpose of teaching people so that they will simply follow what they are told (as if we were all psychopaths and had no internal sense of right or wrong and thus needed the rules laid out in front of us at all times). I can understand why reflection, consideration, and discussion of moral issues, the history and rationale behind our rules and principles, may be both good and helpful for some purposes, but the implication that "private citizens" will not and cannot ever be "moral" in any but incoherent (and, therefore, presumably undesirable) ways by simply living in and growing up in human society, rather than "learning" morality from a closed, entirely logically consistent philosophical system, seems rather astonishing to me.

It at least gives me pause reading about Marc Hauser's research. which suggests that one's religious beliefs (different religions or lack of any) make no difference in how one makes moral judgments. While these results are not unassailable, one wonders if some kind of innate moral sense (or at least one developed very early in life) works together with what parents and others in the social environment model in their behaviors to make us "moral." While the rules of social convention and later the rationalization of both one's moral sense and the rules may enforce certain moral values, I wonder if they are not more after-the-fact understandings of what we already think we know and feel. That does not mean that they are immutable for a lifetime, but the notion that if everyone only understood and agreed to abide by and strictly enforce certain rules (even assuming God's grace is factored in for the Christians), and that if we had REALLY smart and wise people articulating the rules (whether from their own systems of thought and/or based on how they interpret holy texts), we'd all be better off seems to lose sight of the complexity of human thought, emotions, and behaviors, and the physical bodies in which they originate and act.

At a later date, I want to work through some of this and consider what I think, as a layperson, that science can tell us about the contexts in which we both act and try to rationalize moral sensibility, ethical principles, and the laws and social conventions that may be formulated based, at least in part, on reason. The whole "Nature and/or Nurture Debate" at Jake's the other week has got me thinking about these matters a great deal. But for now all I can suggest is that the McIntyre/Williams approach from academic philosophy needs to be compared to various ideas from both social and physical sciences (and all the cross-disciplinary thinking going on in and beyond the margins), and all of it needs considerable scrutiny in the light of commonsense and experience.

[P.S. I apologize for my repetition, dense language, and tortured sentences. This did not help my blog-readability score -- or attract readers -- I'm sure. But it's the best I can do for now. ]

The private drama of salvation

Thanks to a recommendation from Mystical Seeker and link from Adrian Worsfield (Pluralist Speaks), I've been reading Bruce Sanguin's, Darwin, Divinity, and the Dance of the Cosmos: An Ecological Christianity. This part leaped off the page at me:

Take salvation. The word itself means to make whole, or to heal. For at least the last 300 years, the church has regarded the planet as a kind of background stage upon which the drama of private salvation has been played out. Most of Christianity continues to be involved in what Thomas Berry calls a "redemption mystique." We are obsessed with our sinfulness and whether we're "saved." The purpose of Jesus' death, according to this fall/redemption model, was to redeem us from our innate depravity, thus saving our souls for eternal life, in a heavenly realm, somewhere beyond this universe. The vast majority of Christians are so focused on their own "salvation," or on saving others, that they are blind the deterioration of the very ecosystems that sustain their private dramas. Even in those denominations, like my own, that have moved beyond thinking that God is primarily concerned with the salvation of private souls, we still focus almost exclusively on the human realm of creation. It's time we place the salvation (healing) of the planet in the foreground of our mission concerns.

Darwin, Divinity, and the Dance of the Cosmos (Wood Lakes Publishing, 2007) at pp.29-30.

The ecological crisis is something that has increasingly drawn the attention of some Christian evangelicals, as reported in the press here in the U.S. for the last year or so. But the point is still a valid one, that a great many people who profess to be Christians are almost exclusively focused on the "private drama" of their own salvation. Even Martin Luther might be surprised at the extent to which people today preach, talk, and blog about our individual relationships with God.

It's something we might all keep in mind, but quite frankly, this struck me most in terms of where, I think, the neo-Calvinists get off track with their focus on sin and damnation. It should go without saying that we all sin, individually and collectively, and that we dare not be complacent when we fall short. But it seems bizarrely self-centered and anthrocentric to act as if the fate of all Creation turns on our individual struggles and efforts to "save" ourselves and other individual human beings. Yes, God loves each and every one of us and each is as valuable as the next, as well as our companion creatures, elements, and energy in Creation. But our private dramas are not the be and end all, and what good we can do, with God's grace, is not for us, not for getting us into heaven (what or wherever), but for the whole shebang.

Remembering Aslan

Screenshot of Aslan from the movie The Chronicles of Narnia:
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe © Walden Media

The movie, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005 Walt Disney version), was shown on network television last night. I happened to catch the end, which never fails to move me deeply on account of the memories it stirs of my first reading. Although this version has some weaknesses in other areas, including the final ending, it does a magnificent job of portraying the events immediately preceding and following the sacrifice of Aslan.

As many will recall, (*spoiler alert for those who do not know the story), Edmund, the boy who was tempted by the White Witch and betrayed his brother and sisters and all the good creatures of Narnia, is rescued and finally apologizes for his conduct. The White Witch, however, reappears and demands that Edmund be presented to her, citing the law that anyone who commits treachery in Narnia must be punished by her by death. Edmund's brothers and sisters and all the other good Narnia creatures, who had just been rejoicing at his return, look on despairing, not knowing what will become of Edmund. Aslan, the wise and powerful Great Lion, speaks. He acknowledges that the White Witch has correctly stated the law but he asks her to step aside to confer with him privately. They go off together and then return to the throngs of creatures on both sides who await their decision. Aslan looks sad and resigned. The White Witch looks elated but wary. Aslan then announces that the White Witch has renounced her claim on Edmund. The children and the creatures devoted to Aslan are happy and relieved. The White Witch then asks how can she be sure Aslan will keep his promise. Aslan roars loudly, causing her to retreat in haste.

Aslan and his followers return to their camp and prepare for the great battle. Aslan seems dejected and the others worry. Later that night, Lucy and Susan cannot sleep and discover that Aslan has left the pavilion and run and find him. He agrees to take them with him as long as they agree to go back when he asks them to. They travel on, the girls riding on his back, their hands deep in his fur and mane. He welcomes their comfort but remains sad and gloomy. Finally they all reach the Stone Table, the point where he must part with them. The girls turn back but instead of leaving, hide in the bushes.

The White Witch and her monstrous followers arrive. The Witch orders Aslan bound. He lies down and does not resist. His eyes show his pain and humiliation. The Witch, who appears to be about to kill him, stops suddenly, and thinks to order that Aslan be shaved. Her followers relish this task, holding up chunks of the great mane, and kicking and jeering at the supposedly all powerful Aslan. The Witch then has Aslan placed on the Stone Table. She raises her knife above him but pauses to tell him that while his death will appease the Deep Magic, and satisfy the need to punish Edmund as traitor, once Aslan is gone there will be nothing to prevent her from killing Edmund anyway. Aslan looks up in pain. Lucy and Susan, who are watching, turn their eyes away as the knife comes down, and look up to see him dead.

The Witch and her followers leave, Aslan's body remaining on the table. When all are gone, Lucy and Susan go to Aslan and embrace him once again. Tearfully they try to remove the ties that had bound him. They spend the rest of the night with him, crying with their arms and hands around him. Then morning comes. The girls notice mice running over Aslan's body. Susan tries to shoo them but Lucy stops her when she sees that they are nibbling the remaining cords that bound Aslan. Suddenly there is a loud, deafening noise, and the Stone Table cracks in two. Aslan's body vanishes. Then the girls look up and see Aslan standing, alive again. They rush to him and wonder if they have seen a ghost. But he reassures them he is real, as they feel his warm breath on them again. Aslan explains that if the White Witch had read further in the Deep Magic, she would have known that when a willing, innocent victim is killed by a traitor, the Stone Table will crack and death will be reversed.

This is not quite the end of the story because the great battle remains to be fought and the White Witch killed, but it is the apex. What surprised me when I first read it was that I knew it was coming, in part because I had heard something about the scene somewhere and knew of C.S. Lewis's reputation as a Christian writer, and in part because of all the Christian imagery and ideas planted in the story all along. Yet, when reading the book and even seeing the movie scene for the umpteenth time, I still felt suspense, tremendous dread, anguish and concern about what might happen and how it would all turn out.

Maybe I'm just one of those deeply affected by a story well told (or dramatized). Yet these scenes move me in ways that even I cannot explain. When I first read the book, I was already well into middle age, back in church, drawn to the Eucharist, accepting of the creeds, first received as a Lutheran, and later confirmed as an Episcopalian. The Lutheran pastor who had brought me back had given me copies of The Screwtape Letters and Mere Christianity (which I gratefully skimmed but put aside in favor of Luther's Large Catechism), and later I tried to read Narnia off and on, in the spirit of my newly found Anglicanism. But it took ordering the complete set a few years later, thinking my son might want to read them, that finally got me from The Magician's Nephew through to those scenes in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And once I got there, I cried and cried. And something changed, something that had begun when I took my first Eucharist, later observed Lent and Holy Week, the Stations of the Cross, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil, but had not yet been completed. It was as if something was still held back, though I did not know it, something that broke through some otherwise unmemorable weekend afternoon, book in hand, as Aslan came to life, died, and was resurrected.

Watching the movie again last night it struck me, what I think I realized at the time, that here at last was a Jesus I could really know, touch, and hold, like Lucy and Susan. Somehow, after many years of finding the figure of Jesus off-putting -- only finally being able to separate him from his fundagelical image by abstracting him, even as suffering and dying on the Cross, and taking him whole in the bread and the wine as a faceless, formless Trinitarian One -- that big, warm-blooded, furry, wild and powerful but compassionate Aslan finally made me feel what it is like to really know Jesus, to see and know what he did for us, and what it meant for him to give and for us to receive his sacrifice, just as if I had been there and witnessed it myself. Somehow this took me from a desperately wanting to not just believe but to see and feel something that was not just out of books or even creeds. Faith became flesh.

I suppose this all seems hopelessly sentimental. Responding to Narnia this way at all takes a certain kind of cultural mindset about animals and fantasy literature. I noticed in this morning's Epistle there was a reference to lions, the kind who devour people and other animals. And for those, like me, who may think of Aslan in part due to our relations with pets (cats and dogs), such feelings no doubt would not be shared by people in places like Rwanda where dogs scavenge and eat dead humans killed by war or genocide.

But I know a great many bloggers out there who have not only enjoyed but learned from their relationships with their pets. These relationships are especially important to humans who have struggled with betrayal and hurt from fellow humans, who can appreciate the faithfulness of their pets (yes, I know, cats and dogs differ in how they express and act on it), and can know something of God's love through them, as part of Creation. I'm not saying pets are human, and certainly not that Aslan is the equivalent or perfect representative of Jesus, but there is something marvelous about the simple, direct way Lucy and Susan reach out and touch Aslan, and he allows them to touch and embrace him, follow, weep over him, and finally be the first to see his return from the dead. It is that simple and direct relationship that many of us jeopardize when we get too bound up in doctrine or theology. And it is one I am thankfully reminded of whenever I see this story.

You can't make this stuff up

Sorry, I cannot resist.

.... If the state legislates against sexual violence and abuse, as it must, it is because of the recognition that this is an area in which the liberty to make sense of or with one's own body is most often put at risk by predatory behaviour on the part of others.

So: equal liberty is at root inseparable from the equality of being embodied. Rights belong not to the person who can demonstrate capacity or rationality but to any organism that can be recognised as a human body, at any stage of its organic development. If the body cannot be property, it will always be carrying meanings or messages that are inalienably its own. And this opens up the second area in which aspects of Christian theology offer a foundation for a discourse of universal rights. Thus far, the emphasis has been upon the view from within, as it were – the body as carrier of the soul's meaning, the body as 'formed', given intelligible shape, by the continuing self called into being by God. But the process by which the body realises its communicative nature, by which it becomes concretely and actively a locus of meaning is a process in which the body receives and digests communication. The individual communicates meaningfully when s/he is decoding and responding to the meanings that are present to him or her; the full development of the particular body's freedom to communicate is realised in the process of understanding and managing and responding to the communications that are being received.

The human other is thus essential to my own growth as a communicative being, a bearer of meaningful messages that cannot be silenced; my own liberty not to be silenced, not to have my body reduced to someone else's instrument, is nourished by the equal liberty of the other not to be silenced. And, in the framework we have been using, this is identified as the central feature of the community created by the Christian gospel. Slave and owner are not merely bound to a common divine Master, they are bound in a relation of mutuality according to which each becomes the bearer of necessary gifts to the other. The relation of each to the Master is such that each is given some unique contribution to the common life, so that no one member of the community is able fully to realise their calling and their possibilities without every other. Not killing or not abusing the slave is for the slaveowner the necessary implication of recognising that the slave is going to be his or her benefactor in ways that may never be visible or obvious but are nonetheless vital.

The dignity accorded to the human other is not, then, a recognition that they may be better than they seem, but simply a recognition that what they have to say (welcome or unwelcome, intelligible or unintelligible, convergent or divergent) could in certain circumstances be the gift of God. Not every human other is a fellow-member of the Body of Christ in the biblical sense; but the universal command to preach the gospel to all prohibits any conclusion that this or that person is incapable of ever hearing and answering God's invitation, and therefore mandates an attitude of receptivity towards them. Not silencing the other or forcing their communication into your own agenda is part of remaining open to the communication of God – which may come even through the human other who is most repellent or opaque to sympathy. The recognition of a dignity that grounds the right to be heard is the recognition of my own need to receive as fully as I can what is being communicated to me by another being made by God. It compels that stepping back from control or manipulation of the other which we so often seek for our security, so as to hear what we cannot generate for ourselves. And it should be clear, incidentally. . . .

Archibishop Rowan Willams"Religious Faith and Human Rights" lecture.

So gang rape, beatings, torture, and smashing or slashing or exploding people to bits is all about silencing their communicative facilities, their liberty to make sense with their bodies, to code and decode, to speak and communicate with others? Am I missing something here? I'm a lawyer and a literature major and a great lover of words of all kinds, but golly, gee, isn't there more to life, not to mention eternity, than Saussure and semiotics?

I honestly do respect the desire and the effort to struggle to find what the Archbishop calls "robust language" for universal human rights, and I do not pretend I could do any better myself, but... It's not just the squirrely language, it's the impression that bodies and people and human suffering are abstractions, not real, bloody, messy, smelly, hurtful and hurting things, that disturbs me.

Why Bother?

One of the chief hazards of blog reading, not to mention writing, is the speed at which ideas and emotions are encountered and the speed at which one reacts. I am a rather reactive sort to begin with, so I try to make myself slow down, but the difficulty I have focusing makes it hard to resist the temptation to jot things down as they hit me. Then new information floods in, I turn in my tracks, and wonder if I should just say "oops, sorry I missed that!" or carry on and let others figure out that I'm simply off in another direction and let them decide whether it's worth their while to try to follow my current path.

After reading here and there this morning (prompted by Rowan Williams latest foray into philosophizing ("Religious Faith and Human Rights" lecture, aptly summarized in different ways by Mad Priest in "Grand Tufti argues that gay people are not recognizably human" and by Fr. Tobias in "Embodied Fel(in)icty"), I have discovered that Jonathan's earlier inquiry "Why bother?" (from "Is there Moral Atheism?") regarding the search for a reason for universal moral principles with or without a concept of God is at the heart of what Rowan Williams was trying to address -- the questions posed in particular by the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre in his books After Virtue and Whose Justice, Which Rationality? and other writings (see also article links here). Now, let me quickly say that the fact that some ex-British Marxist now Thomist philosopher and the Archbishop of Canterbury have addressed Jonathan's question does not suddenly make it more credible or worthy (on the contrary). However, seen in the context of what I've been able to glean briefly from MacIntyre's writings (as summarized by others), I now think I understand it a lot better.

The basic premise of Whose Justice, Which Rationality? is that the Enlightenment ideal of universal philosophy is unachievable, that no moral philosophy can stand outside its particular sociological and historical context. As Matthew Ray described it:

... Whose Justice, Which Rationality? argues that certain social traditions - such as the Christian religious tradition - embody conceptions of rational enquiry within them, so that what makes for a rational reason to act, for example, can only be answered by accepting the philosophical commitments of a given tradition in the first place. On this view, what justifies a theory is 'the rational superiority of that particular structure to all previous attempts within that particular tradition to formulate such theories and principles', Whose Justice, Which Rationality? There is thus no conception of rationality to be found over and above any tradition, no possibility of an objective rationality outside - and therefore able to adjudicate between - all traditions.

(From "Philosopher of the Month") October 2002, The Philosopher's Magazine). This work builds on earlier work, including After Virtue, which draws upon Nietzsche and Thomas Kuhn, and the notion that contemporary Western moral philosophy is mutually and sometimes internally incoherent.

In this context, I can better appreciate the thrust of Jonathan's question. I would still maintain my skepticism, at least about what can be gained through such inquiries other than the satisfaction of intellectual play, while meanwhile culture and politics grind on, with little or no regard for what the philosophers or theologians may say. But dropping names like Nietzsche and Kuhn is enough to whet my intellectual appetite, even though I suspect that I might do better listening to the likes of Augusta Victoria and Clumber++. While "moral relativism" is often a red herring, I am intrigued with anyone's efforts at exploring how one can or should work with traditional notions of ethics and morality in the context of one's own culture and dare to seek to impose them (preferably with more persuasion than force) on others. I also ponder something of the reverse of Jonathan's question (insofar as it asks how can it be done without reference to God), in terms of whether the church, as an institution, inevitably must fail (see Theo Hobson's "Oh thou great irredeemable") -- never mind MacIntyre's apparent great faith in St. Thomas Acquinas as the beacon for us all.

I will have to read further to see if I can discern what Williams and MacIntyre are talking about, or at least whether I want to inquire further. However, one summary of MacIntyre that gave me pause was the following:

MacIntyre wants to overthrow the liberal capitalist ideology that currently dominates the world both in the realm of ideas and in its manifestations in political and social institutions and actions. He seeks to achieve this not through the use of force but by changing how people think about, understand, and act in the world. To show that the changes he wants are possible and desirable, he returns to an older conception of morality, derived from the teachings of St. Thomas Aquinas and ultimately, through Aquinas, the philosophy of Aristotle and the way of life of the Athenian polis. He portrays this older conception of morality as both superior to and fundamentally hostile to the modern order, and his philosophical arguments are meant to help restore it to the world. On the other hand, he understands that liberal capitalism has tremendous power and appeal both in the world of ideas and in the power it has over people in the social, political, and economic spheres. Ultimately his recommendation is that the particular conditions of the modern world require that those who agree with his arguments should, to the greatest possible degree, withdraw from the world into communities where the old morality can be kept alive until the time is right for it to re-emerge.

(from Introduction, "The Political Philosophy of Alsadair MacIntyre" by Ted Clayton, Central Michigan University, for the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy).

Personally, I could care less what boxes of Left or Right, Liberal or Conservative, in which anyone's thoughts might fall. There are both silly and thoughtful comments about MacIntyre's books over at Amazon.com speculating as to whether MacIntyre is reactionary, left or right. But there does seem to be an alarming trend among the radical left turned whatever. I wrote earlier about Phillip Bobbitt in "Rowan and his shadow" -- another former British Marxist gone to U.S. academia, taking an odd turn far left to what might be viewed as far right (or simply off the map). I find it intriguing, though not surprising, that these fellows hold such fascination for Rowan Williams. While I can empathize with those on the left (as well as the right) who yearn for certainty, stability, and hope, I wonder whether all of us who have been plagued at various times with a burning sense of righteousness (especially but not only us Baby Boomers), really expect too much of both ideas and the people who hold them. Instead of retreating into the relative safety of communities where the "old morality" reigns (as did those renegade Mormons in Texas?), maybe we should set aside our fears and our arguably petty need for fixing everyone's world view and instead work on feeding the hungry, spend some time in the local soup kitchen and see whether the demons that plague us all are not sprung from modernism, relativism, or philosophic incoherency, but rather the same old, same old problems that have plagued humanity from at least the dawn of history, which no religion, ideology, or science has yet figured out how to "fix" (at least without creating a whole new set and, in the meantime, ignoring how we may be destroying our physical environment in which we continue to muddle and experiment, and the new ways we find to treat both human and non-human creation with disrespect). Why does not Original Sin humble us and lead us to the practical good we know we can do if we put aside our hate, intolerance, and arrogance in thinking we can preach our way out of it, if only we can find the right words, or books, or leaders to guide us?

But who am I to say, sitting here on a Saturday morning in front of the computer with my hyperlinks, open web windows, and stacks of books and papers on the side? Time to shove it all aside for awhile until maybe someday some sense may emerge (or at least until the household chores get done). But here's to Mad Priest for keeping track of the Big Questions and speaking bluntly to all.

If you love me you will keep my commandments

Today's Gospel reading was as follows:

If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will pray the Father, and he will give you another Counselor, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of Truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him; you know him, for he dwells with you, and will be in you. I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you. Yet a little while, and the world will see me no more, but you will see me, because I live, you will live also. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me; and he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love and manifest to him.

John 14:15-21

This struck me as speaking directly to some of the issues raised by Mad Priest about morality (see below). It also reminded me of an exchange Mimi and I had awhile back about reading St. John as a poetic expression of deep and profound spiritual truths rather than a theological tract.

I think that people look for meaning or purpose in their lives based on what they've already internalized as to what is right and wrong, good and bad, purposeful and frivolous. What religion gives is not simply morality and ethics (though indeed religion may be the means by which a society or culture collects, records, and teaches some of its most important values), but rather hope and courage to persevere.

The sermon I heard this morning spoke about motives for seeking and doing God's will. It spoke of the mix of obedience and love, recognizing that limiting and restricting our behavior out of obedience to those rules and commandments that are for our own good is part of what is involved, but what is essential is love, love which brings us opportunities to serve God and others. The fullness of life lived in love is what God truly wills for us all.

When I read these words of John, I know the love Jesus has for me and for all people. I know if I love him, devote my life to him and the good that is with him and is him, it will bear fruit, as it is his love and mercy and grace that will help me keep his commandments and love others, the best I can in light of not only his example but the light he shines into my heart and soul.

That's all. I honestly don't think John is about the business of sorting out what happens to the atheists and those of other faiths. He is urgently speaking to what Jesus can give us, the embrace of his love and the love that may infuse us if we only let it. It's not about giving us some kind of sorting hat. It's about the love of Jesus and how that love can transform lives, despite death and suffering. Jesus will not leave us desolate. He will sustain and hold us up, help us to keep seeking and doing the Father's will, even when we feel weak, discouraged, and despairing. That may sound like nonsense to some, but it's not meant to offer a reasonable philosophy of life or the means for persuading those who want logic or arguments. If only we can let Jesus enter our lives, to know his love, then maybe others will see something in us that resonates with the Good News, and they will hear and understand as well.

None of this precludes teaching and modeling moral behavior in the secular world, studying science, enacting and enforcing civil and criminal laws, and working across religions and cultures to advance fundamental human rights. I think all that is vitally important with or without any particular sectarian religious context. I'm also not sure in today's world whether secular notions of morality and justice are not heads above what most religions offer, or at least the majority of their practitioners. That's why as I endeavor to work and live in a much wider world than that inhabited by my fellow Christians and those of similar social and economic backgrounds, I try to think in terms that can contribute to all different kinds of people working together to accomplish things that may not ever happen if we try to first come to some kind of consensus about religion or philosophy down to minute details. While being part of a local and extended faith community is important as well, it cannot be all simply because even within my city, state, and country, such communities are too fragmented to be all that there is in terms of social and political life.

But in the end, there's just me, the only person I can begin to control, doing my best to love Jesus and hoping that, with God's grace, I can indeed keep his commandments. It is hope that I have in Christ and the warmth and assurance of his love that keep me going. And it is keeping going, picking up when I stumble and starting over, persisting in trying to do what is right, that is the toughest part of all.

Is there moral atheism?

Caveat - I was intrigued by what Mad Priest posted today so just jotted down some thoughts off the top of my head. I may soon decide I spoke too soon. But rather than clog up space at MP's, I will put it here for now and maybe later see what I can pull from it. Pardon my self-indulgence, if you will, and desire to catch the last of the afternoon rays of sunshine.

Mad Priest said:

Is there moral atheism?

In morality that is based on a religion, good and bad is objectively defined by a transcendent being dictating the behaviour of its adherents and/or the promise of reward or punishment within the context of a life that does not cease at earthly death. But why should an atheist do anything?

there is no goodness without god because there is no reason for goodness without god because without god there is no reason for anything

this doesn't mean an atheist cannot act in a moral way based on (for example) utilitarian avoidance of pain but there is no reason for an atheist to do so because there is no reason for anything without a god to give everything a reason

I'm not saying there is a god

but if it is proved that there is no god I would not consider myself a moral being. If I acted in a "good" way it would be purely out of self-interest and/or because I liked the feeling it gave me.


IT said:

Far better philosophers than I have explained how morality can be grounded in humanist values that do not need to invoke a supernatural God. If you like I will find some quotes for you since they generally say it much better than I.

Tobias' comments fit with MP's, who basically are saying the only reason that I, the atheist, am a (moral) person is that your concept of God ensures that I am. Frankly I find that condescending. But I recognize you are not trying to insult me personally, and that's what I get for hanging around a religious site.


Mad Priest said:

I am truly interested in being given an objective definition of morality based on an existence without the transcendent. I have been studying humanist ethics for years (I rarely read books on Christian ethics). The person who has been most influential on my own ethical thinking is Peter Singer (an atheist). Yet, so far, I have not come across one good reason from atheists for living life in a particular way that is based on something that isn't just an arbitrary choice. For example, the continuation of the human race. Sounds good, but if we exist for no reason then why bother. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow there is nothing.

This entire discussion makes my head spin. What does defining good and bad “objectively” have to do with a transcendent being or power (or whatever), let alone why would should be some kind of prerequisite for doing so? Any rules or structured system of morality are articulated by human beings based on human conceptions of right and wrong, whether they are based on social mores, historical traditions, civil or religious laws, or observation of how the physical universe and the creatures therein seem to operate. To tag something as coming from God – whether based on direct divine revelation, Scripture, church authorities, tradition, with or without some measure of what we call human reason – does not make it objective in the sense of being either empirically verifiable or, in religious or philosophical terms, eternally true. Assuming God exists, humans know of God and good and evil through their own human understandings and experiences.

That means any of what we think comes from God, or not, can be wrong or right, eternally false or true. The whole business of the authority of Scripture, the “responsibility” of bishops or popes or priests to tell everyone what God wants or intends is premised on the notion that certain writings and persons have the inside track. One does not even have to reach the issues of whether God exists, who or what God is, and how God operates in the world to hold in suspension any certainty as to who may speak for God and how, even assuming God is, indeed, the reason for it all.

What drives me crazy about some of the conevs, is how they rail on and on about how the evil, degenerate liberals base everything they think and do on what “feels good.” Yet here is MP, basically making the same protest, distinguishing between what God really wants and what we want based on the notion that if it “feels good” then that means we are hopelessly lost, self-centered, pleasure-seeking, truly Godless creatures who are going to do only what pleases us and nothing that pleases God (except maybe by accident, when, as MP suggests, so-called utilitarian concerns point us in the right direction). And, there’s dear Tobias as well, who reportedly shares the concern of the ++ABC and the Pope that Western civilization is riding the coattails of Christianity and that the greater our distance in time and numbers from Christianity, the further and further we will wander from both knowledge and practice of what is eternally good and right.

I’m sorry. I guess it’s time to throw in whatever claim I have to orthodox thinking, if not beliefs. I simply do not buy all of that. I do not trust the church or religion to get it right, although I do think that concerted effort to do so may, at times, bring some greater measure of knowledge and wisdom, through God’s grace, than that generally held by those who do not bother to try (but I’m not certain even of that). While I do not trust my own gut feelings or anyone else’s either, I do not think it is necessarily any more unreliable than what is “taught” by some people as Christian (or any other kind of morality). The whole uproar about homosexuality suggests to me that sometimes one’s gut is the better guide – harkening back to Huck Finn’s musings on slavery and his decision “to go to hell” rather than disregard what his gut (or heart) was telling him.

So, while I know, believe, and experience God’s presence and guidance in my life, while I respect and seriously consider what the church and others who care about morality and ethics have to say about them, what drives me to try do and be good is not because of what God may or may not do for me, on account of my faith, my works, or his grace, or because it makes me “feel good” in any kind of warm, fuzzy or pleasureful way, but because, well, God draws me to what is right, makes me feel like crap when I stray, chastises me when I am misled by my own thoughts and desires, and, whether I’m thinking or trying or not, infuses all of Creation with his order, design, and intent, even though none of us can even begin to comprehend it all.

Bottomline is that morality is based on what we subjectively feel is right for us and based on what we think is appropriate for us and others in our society – no matter how much we may talk and read and go into all sorts of gymnastics, mental, spiritual and emotional, over which ideas, rules, or systems are better, whether we think they’re from God or a wise philosopher or anyone else. We rely on our guts, what others have taught us, and what we have learned from experience, whether we call us believers or non-believers, liberals or conservatives, Christians, Muslims, Buddhist, Hindi, or atheists.

And when it comes right down to it, I’m not sure if it is not just as well to try to all agree to follow the Golden Rule or something of that nature and let the rest flow from there, regardless of our religious beliefs or lack thereof. For Christians we have the two great commandments, and while I “believe” the first, loving God’s with one’s whole heart is essential, I don’t know what that really means for everyone. Although no doubt both Grace and IT would have a cow over it, I can imagine that even a professed atheist could satisfy the first one if they knew on some level of something greater than themselves (even conceived in purely human terms of morality and ethics without express reference to God) and/or had some kind of basic humility. Personally, I find Christianity to be something that I not only need to embrace and live the best I can but also (although the jury is still out on this), something that I want to support and encourage others to embrace as well because I do believe in working toward building God’s Kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven, or whatever he wills in this regard. But my ideas or beliefs about this seems to be rather beside the point. What counts is not what I think but what I do.

I guess I don’t understand how anyone builds their life around what God may or may not do for them, why they need the hope and promise of some kind of reward to do his will, or, for some, the knowledge of his mercy if they follow what they think are his rules and thereby avoid his divine wrath. Whether one believes in a loving God, and judging and punishing one, or a complex or mysterious being or power that encompasses these and other qualities, I just don’t see how a conviction as to what he will or will not do sustains anyone because I don’t see how anyone can be certain. To me, striving for what is good and right and just is what it – life – is all about. I think and feel that the closer I am to what God wants, in the long run I will know it, if I pray and reflect and be self-critical and try to be as humble as I can. While it would be so much easier if there were a simple and detailed rulebook to follow, I look at those who treat the Bible or the Magisterium’s products in that way and my heart and soul and gut tell me, no, no, NO, they cannot be trusted to know eternal truth any more (or less) than what I can discern on my own.

That being said, where and how should any of us develop our sense or codes of morality and ethics? I don’t dispute that religious tradition is a good place to look, if only because most human cultures have looked to the religious side of things for inspiration and wisdom, although in many and perhaps most, there is no Western divide between the secular and religious. I also would look to biology, psychology, philosophy and law have to say on the matter.

While traditional “natural law” is distorted, I think, by religion and the religious thinkers who have espoused it, I think we do need to especially consider science and what it tells us about human nature and behavior. Although the evidence is still spotty and questionable, it looks like there may be elements of our physiology that lead us to altruistic behaviors and thinking in terms of causation and responsibility. Thus, there may be many “natural” tendencies in humans towards what we think as moral behavior, although learning and modeling are required as well. I think we need to stop thinking in terms of being either “naturally” deprave or even amoral and only, through the exercise of human agency and free will, becoming or trying to become “good.” It’s as though many of us cannot conceive God as anything but a being, separate and apart from us and all Creation, who dictates or directs, judges, and otherwise acts in a way we can understand as a separate, distinct entity. It may be helpful to think of him in those terms, but it seems so narrow and unnecessary to assume that we humans, supposedly made in his image, are so different from the rest of Creation because of our consciousness and ability to make far greater choices than other creatures (i.e. free will) that we do not have aspects of goodness or elements of godliness of any kind without our acting upon them in conscious devotion to God, and that we and/or other creatures are inherently self-centered and self-interested, that it life for all is some kind of horrific, toothsome, Spenglerian battle for the preservation of self, even though science tells us that it is not that simple at all, that we, like other creatures have some biological dispositions towards preserving the greater social good, loving and caring for our mates and offspring, etc.

This is meandering quite a bit. I hesitate to post my meanderings. I want to go outdoors while I still can and someday I want to seriously take up the idea of “natural law” and what that has to do, or not do, with science and morality and religious truth.

But I guess what I meant to get to was the basic question of whether we need religion for morality, to determine what is “objectively” good or bad, right or wrong? I think religion can be helpful, indeed long has, but it is not necessarily the best or only way to develop morality – in fact, in some places religion has developed such a bad name that maybe everyone would be better off focusing on civil law and international standards of human rights. It’s not that there is all there is to morality or all that God calls us to do in that regard, but I think given the evident unGodliness of much of religion, that one must consider working both within and without religious institutions and beliefs.

As usual, I’ve spilled way too many words when I want to get to something simple. I was struck by something I read in Newsweek the other day about the anniversary of the genocide in Rwanda. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it said that the people who hid others from the killers were mostly “peasants” and not the well-educated or even religious members of society. I wonder if there may be some truth in that for all of us in the sense that those who simply care for others, exercise both compassion and commonsense as something basic and not terribly complicated or thought provoking, who just live their daily lives as good friends, neighbors, and family members, are far more likely to be closer to God and his will then all of us who talk and think and theologize and get involved in religious politics. I don’t know, of course, but I wonder if it is often better to shut up and let God be God, and stop arguing about what he wants and just work and pray and do the best we can.

John Adams

John Adams (courtesy U.S. Senate)

Some years ago I read David McCullough's biography of John Adams. As much as I enjoyed watching the HBO mini-series , the seven episodes seemed to hardly scratch the surface of his long life and complex character. I wish the series could have delved even deeper.

Long before I ever dreamed of becoming a lawyer, I was drawn to the story of how he defended the British soldiers involved in the Boston Massacre. I first learned of it on one of those sleepy afternoons in history class when the teacher had us watch episodes of the t.v. series "Profiles in Courage" based on John F. Kennedy's book. Although it seemed odd that John Adams was played by someone who bore no physical resemblance to the historical figure (David McCallum, who by then was unimaginable as anyone but Illya Kuryakin from The Man From U.N.C.L.E.), the drama soon drew me in. I could not imagine anyone being so brave and idealistic to have defended the despised British soldiers.

What did not occur to me then, however, was to wonder about the religious beliefs or practices of John Adams. The HBO series did not really address the topic, but when Fr. Jones mentioned his Unitarianism over at The Daily Episcopalian, I started digging around. Although I could not locate my copy of the McCullough biography (which I seemed to recall having described Adams as a faithful, churchgoing Congregationalist, at least during the times he resided in Massachusetts), I found enough online to realize that first, Adams was, like many of his time, witness to the tension and divisions that arose among the Congregationalists as many resisted strict Calvinism. Many were accused of heresy, and some eventually emerged on the other side of Calvinism as either Arminians or Christian Unitarians.

Both John and Abigal Adams (the latter the daughter of an Arminian minister) were liberal in their views and, I take it, weary of the bitter disputes that arose among congregations during those times. On January 3, 1818, writing to her daughter-in-law, Louisa, Abigail wondered "when will Mankind be convinced that true Religion is from the Heart, between Man and his creator, and not the imposition of Man or creeds and tests?"

More colorfully, John Adams wrote in an 1813 letter to Thomas Jefferson:

Now, my friend, can Prophecies, or miracles convince You, or Me, that infinite Benevolence, Wisdom and Power, created and preserves, for a time, innumerable millions to make them miserable, forever, for his own Glory? Wretch! What is his Glory? Is he ambitious? does he want promotion? Is he vain? tickled with Adulation? Exulting and tryumphing in his Power and the Sweetness of his Vengeance? Pardon me, my Maker, for these Aweful Questions. My answer to them is always ready: I believe in no such Things. My Adoration of the Author of the Universe is too profound and too sincere. The Love of God and his Creation; delight, Joy, Tryumph, Exaltation in my own existence, tho' but an Atom, a molecule Organique, in the Universe, are my religion. Howl, Snarl, bite, Ye Calvinistick! Ye Athanasian Divines, if You will. Ye will say, I am no Christian: I say Ye are no Christians: and there the Account is ballanced. Yet I believe all the honest men among you, are Christians in my Sense of the Word.

What I did not quite realize before was how, at least in New England, religion and revolutionary politics were at times intertwined. John Adams was greatly influenced by Jonathan Mayhew's 1750 sermon, "Unlimited Submission and Non-Resistance to the Higher Powers." Rev. Mayhew, pastor of the West Church, was the first openly Arminian minister in New England and a strong supporter of freedom of thought and civil liberties.

It was in this context that the younger John Adams wrote his blistering A Dissertation on the Canon and Feudal Law. Here is a taste of his double-barreled attack on both secular and religious tyranny, which flows from description of the early religious settlers of New England:

But they saw clearly, that popular powers must be placed as a guard, a control, a balance, to the powers of the monarch and the priest, in every government, or else it would soon become the man of sin, the whore of Babylon, the mystery of iniquity, a great and detestable system of fraud, violence, and usurpation. Their greatest concern seems to have been to establish a government of the church more consistent with the Scriptures, and a government of the state more agreeable to the dignity of human nature, than any they had seen in Europe, and to transmit such a government down to their posterity, with the means of securing and preserving it forever. To render the popular power in their new government as great and wise as their principles of theory, that is, as human nature and the Christian religion require it should be, they endeavored to remove from it as many of the feudal inequalities and dependencies as could be spared, consistently with the preservation of a mild limited monarchy. And in this they discovered the depth of their wisdom and the warmth of their friendship to human nature. But the first place is due to religion.

They saw clearly, that of all the nonsense and delusion which had ever passed through the mind of man, none had ever been more extravagant than the notions of absolutions, indelible characters, uninterrupted successions, and the rest of those fantastical ideas, derived from the canon law, which had thrown such a glare of mystery, sanctity, reverence, and right reverend eminence and holiness, around the idea of a priest, as no mortal could deserve, and as always must, from the constitution of human nature, be dangerous in society. For this reason, they demolished the whole system of diocesan episcopacy; and, deriding, as all reasonable and impartial men must do, the ridiculous fancies of sanctified effluvia from Episcopal fingers, they established sacerdotal ordination on the foundation of the Bible and common sense. This conduct at once imposed an obligation on the whole body of the clergy to industry, virtue, piety, and learning, and rendered that whole body infinitely more independent on the civil powers, in all respects, than they could be where they were formed into a scale of subordination, from a pope down to priests and friars and confessors, — necessarily and essentially a sordid, stupid, and wretched herd, — or than they could be in any other country, where an archbishop held the place of a universal bishop, and the vicars and curates that of the ignorant, dependent, miserable rabble aforesaid, — and infinitely more sensible and learned than they could be in either.

The question of whether the Church of England should send a bishop or bishops to the British colonies was a hot issue for both political and religious reasons. Sanford Cobb's The Rise of Religious Liberty in America: A History, Chapter VIII: Colonial Bishops (available in its entirety online as part of the Classics of American Colonial History series) provides an excellent account of how complicated and difficult the issue was for both the colonists and the C of E. On the one hand, Anglicans very much needed bishops, but on the other hand, it was nearly impossible to conceive of bishops not being part of the political structure, with seats in Parliament, taxes, lands, and power like they had in England -- for either the church authorities or the soon-to-be revolutionaries in the Colonies.

Yet later, after the Revolution,

Adams, who had heartily opposed in the past, now, as minister of the United States in London, as heartily urged that bishops should be sent, though the urgency, of course, was only in his personal capacity. The difficulty in England arose from a sulky resentment which could not reconcile itself to the separation from the colonies. For three years Seabury, White, and Prevoost waited in England till the bishops of the English Church could recover magnanimity enough to ordain them. Finally Seabury’s patience was exhausted, and he obtained ordination at the hands of the non-juring bishop of Aberdeen. This was something of an object lesson, and the archbishop of Canterbury, seeing that the American brethren could not be excluded from ordination, at last consented with an ill grace to consecrate White and Prevoost.

Sanford Cobb,The Rise of Religious Liberty in America: A History, p. 480.

So, even a terrible heretic like John Adams turned out to be of service to the Anglicans who founded the Episcopal Church in the U.S. Would that we would not forget his passion and devotion to the cause of liberty and justice for all.

The Dalai Lama

Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama

Tuesday I had the opportunity of hearing the Dalai Lama speak at Colgate University on The Art of Happiness. The full lecture is available here and a brief news clip here.

We only were able to get tickets at the last minute so only my daughter and I could go. It was a beautiful sunny, spring day for driving the back roads to Hamilton and walking through town to get to the Field House, where the lecture was held. It seemed odd to end up in the place where, more than a year and half ago, I stood for so long waiting to see my son run in an indoor track meet on a bitterly cold mid-winter day.

It was an even longer wait to hear the Dalai Lama. We arrived in the Field House at about 12:30 p.m. to get our seats. Security was very tight and no phones, cameras, or bags were allowed inside. I'm able to let my mind wander freely for quite some time without ever getting bored, but it was something of a challenge for my teenaged daughter to be without cell phone or computer or company other than dear old mom for such a long time. The lecture did not begin until 3:00 p.m., but everyone had to be inside and seated by 2:30.

Protesters were lined up across the street outside the entrance. Although we could not hear them inside, they were quite vocal both when we entered and when it was all over. I read a news report later that there were some Chinese protesters, but the ones we saw were all proponents of Dorje Shugden. We had no idea what the protest was about (only gathered it had to do with religious differences within Buddhism and the protestors' claims of discrimination).

Afterwards we took one of their booklets -- well-made and bound, with glossy paper and color photographs -- and my daughter started reading it to me as we drove home. It was odd -- she kept reading and reading about how evil the Dalai Lama was, how one could tell by just looking at him and hearing him speak a few words, how terribly he had treated those who want to practice Dorje Shugden, what a tyrant and despot he was, etc., but she could find nothing that explained who they were, what they believed, what their differences were with the Dalai Lama, and what exactly he had done to them. It was uncanny how much it sounded like the so-called Anglicans and their tirades against Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori.

Only later when I returned home did I discover that the protesters most likely were connected with the New Kadampa Tradition - International Kadampa Buddhist Union (NKT-IKBU), which can be described as a group of fundamentalist Buddhists who view themselves as the protectors of the "pure" religious tradition (even though Dorje Shugden supposedly never was part of mainstream Buddhism until it began to be used to promote this particular kind of fundamentalism). I know next to nothing about Buddhism and nothing about NKT or Dorje Shudgen other than what I read at Wiki yet, accurate or not, I had to pause when I read the following:

Kay writes that, "the determination of Geshe Kelsang and the Priory Group to separate from the parent organisation was uncompromising, and this was a position that only hardened during the following years." He goes on to describe the split from the Gelug school and FPMT as follows:

“ "Geshe Kelsang's perception of himself and his centres vis-á-vis the contemporary Gelug sect changed dramatically, and he came to believe that he could only uphold the tradition of Tsongkhapa purely by separating from the degenerate world of Tibetan, and specifically Gelug, Buddhism."[18]

According to Kay, Geshe Kelsang was gravely concerned that the purity of Tsongkhapa's tradition was being undermined by the lingering inclusivism of his Western students, something he had been outspoken for some years, "but he now acted more forcefully in his opposition to it by discouraging his students both from receiving guidance from teachers of other traditions and from reading their books."[24] Kay states that another result of these "radically exclusive policies" was that after the foundation of NKT the Manjushri Institute Library, with over 3000 books,[25] was removed.[26] Kay goes on to state that, "this began with non-Gelug books being removed, but as Geshe Kelsang's vision crystallised, even books by Gelug teachers became unacceptable to him and the library disappeared altogether. He thus became convinced that the Tibetan Gelug tradition as a whole no longer embodied Tsongkhapa's pure teachings and that he and his disciples must therefore separate from it. From this point onwards, Tibetan Gelug lamas would no longer be invited to teach within his network. This perceived degeneration extended to include its highest-level lamas, and so even veneration for the Dalai Lama was now actively discouraged."[26] The pictures of the Dalai Lama were removed from the gompas and shrines of Geshe Kelsang's centres.[26] In 1990 Geshe Kelsang became also outspoken against the Geshe Studies Programme[24], and "made the pursuit of his new programmes compulsory."[24] According to Kay "As it was no longer possible for students to follow the programmes of both Geshes, the basis of Geshe Konchog's teaching programme at the Institute was undermined, and in 1991 he retired to Gyuto Monastery in Assam, India."[24]

from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Kadampa_Tradition, referring to David N. Kay, Tibetan and Zen Buddhism in Britain: Transplantation, Development and Adaptation.

While I do not begin to know enough to have an opinion as to whether the protestors' grievances are legitimate, nevertheless, the tone and the language sounds so much like others who preach the exclusivity of their beliefs and intolerance for others and yet, at the same time, cry that they are being persecuted.

In hindsight, I wish I had stopped to talk to the protesters to hear what they had to say for themselves. Although they were quite vocal and persistent in their chants about the Dalai Lama lying, I cannot say that any were rude or unrestrained. My daughter had never been in a position like that, feeling a bit as though we were crossing a picket line when we went in over their protests. I pointed out to her that if it had been President Bush, the protesters would have been relegated to a back alley somewhere blocks, if not miles, away, and the whole point of having the right to protest is to be seen and heard by those who might be discomfited by it. She agreed, remembering she had heard about the so-called "Free Speech Zones" for protests against Bush and Cheney.

I guess the protest is still on my mind, since that is what we took with us as we left and I have been reading some about it since. I'm not sure what to say about the Dalai Lama's lecture. It was simple and a bit disjointed. Compassion and inner peace were at the heart of it all. Good ideas, profound and important if followed, but nothing more than a passing glance at the essential elements of Buddhism. I would like to take the time to hear it again with the webcast, but I do not expect to get much more out of it. I take very seriously the notion that negative ideas, emotions, etc. cause much havoc both in individuals and society. I sometimes think that some kinds of Buddhist meditation or discipline and/or the ideas and practices advocated by Eckert Tolle (The Power of Now) would be of great help to someone like myself who thinks and worries way too much about many things. But beyond the discipline, I do not find much that draws me in.

In fact, having now heard the Dalai Lama, I do not quite understand why everyone flocks to hear him. Perhaps for many, like me, it may simply be a mixture of curiosity and respect for his life and work as both a spiritual and political leader. I just did a lot of people-watching in the Field House and a bit of eavesdropping and it seemed that many were looking for some kind of spiritual or ethical guide or inspiration, something, anything but Religion as they knew it. Lots of graying Baby Boomers there in the faculty/staff section; earnest young people elsewhere, both college and high school students. One man, who looked to me to be in his late 50's or early 60's, walking out of the building at the end chuckled about the crowd and said something like "This must be what it's like to be in one of those mega-churches! ..... except they didn't pass the plate around."

What was perhaps most remarkable was the crowd's reaction to the Dalai Lama's response to what I think was the last question posed -- something about how should believers "share their spirituality" with non-believers. He basically said, don't do it, be an example, and if you are and someone asks you to teach them, then you can talk to them about it. But the crowd burst into a loud, spontaneous cheer when he said it -- I don't quite recall the words, exactly -- but I think there were two different moments when there was a strong reaction against trying to convert others, even family members or friends.

Interestingly, my daughter really liked the lecture -- she who was so impatient for the first hour or so of waiting with nothing to do. She wouldn't elaborate (please, she IS a teenager), but she clearly was glad she went. She thought the Dalai Lama was "cute" -- and she meant that in a respectful, affectionate way, warming to ... well, the Dalai Lama bits, the giggles, the jokes, the self-deprecation, etc. And who but the most hard-hearted, neo-Calvinist-Anglican would quarrel with the notion that compassion for others is the key to Happiness?