Austin Hall Library

New Arrivals in the Library

I am behind on my reading as usual but I cannot help pushing a couple of recent arrivals to the top of my list. After a long delay, I finally purchased Roy Deferrari's twelve hundred page Lexicon of St. Thomas Aquinas. Originally published in 1948, it is based on the greatest of Aquinas's work, Summa Theologica, and provides a ready guide to help understand the original text of that work without having always to depend on someone else’s translation. The book is in Latin and it analyzes every word of the Summa Theologica, as well as terms from other of the angelic doctor’s works. My knowledge of Ecclesiastical Latin is virtually non-existent, but I couldn't wait any longer for a miracle. I had to begin wading through this important book now.

In the same order, I also received Denzinger's Sources of Catholic Dogma, which is an English translation of Heinrich Denzinger's great Enchiridion Symbolorum et Definitionum. It is a collection (enchiridion) of articles (symbols) of faith and morals that includes articles and creeds of the Catholic Faith beginning with that of the twelve apostles, all dogmatic definitions stamped with the Petrine authority of the apostolic See (ex cathedra), decrees of the solemn magisterium, papal bulls, encyclicals and letters, as well as some of the more weighty decisions of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (formerly known as the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office) prior to 1957. It is a great book for anyone interested in historical theology. I begin this week to teach a small class on Church History, so Denzinger's book is an invaluable resource.

Question Authority?

Some ideas seem to stand as manifestos for entire generations. Perhaps there is no idea more powerful for the generation born in the baby-boom years than the idea that authority is inherently suspect--nobody should have the right to tell another person how to think or act.

Along with the idea that unrestricted choice is a good thing, the idea that authority should be questioned are the two dominant social ideas of my generation. And the signs that these ideas are ruining us are everywhere. For unsettling illustrations, spend an hour observing classes in a public school, visit a local church, or invite a family with young children home for dinner. I can still remember my shock when years ago I moved to a Western state to find that parents there uniformly taught their children to refer to adults by their first names. I didn't analyze it at the time, but it just seemed so subversive.

Where inherent suspicion of authority and the enshrinement of individual choice began is difficult to say, but Robert Paul Wolff's landmark book In Defense of Anarchism, written originally in 1970, seemed to form the modern theoretical/philosophical basis for a denial of the legitimacy of authority. "The primary obligation of man," Wolff asserted, "is autonomy, the refusal to be ruled."

Ideas obviously begin in a mind somewhere. Often without regard to whether they comport with reality, they eventually find a legitimization and theoretical defense in the work of an academic. But, they do not really take hold until they spill over into popular culture--often through the media. For example, the enormously influential 1955 James Dean movie, Rebel Without a Cause, was the first time American popular culture was faced with the idea that juvenile delinquency was the apparent result of a lack of communication between parents and children and a failure of parents to listen to their children. It caught on like wildfire.

The 1987 Robin Williams film, Dead Poets Society, took this idea to new heights and captured the  imagination of scores of young people and adults (I continue to hear it referred to as a favorite film of members of my generation). Williams played the role of a prep school teacher of the 50s who brings tragedy (in the literary sense) by challenging mean and misguided authority figures--the school's headmaster and the father of a talented drama student. The message of this movie is clear and powerful. The affirming community of individual thinkers is rare, fragile, and beautiful. And, authority is its enemy. So intoxicated with this idea were the powers behind this film that they even glorified youthful suicide in the process of advancing it. This deeply disturbing movie in 1987 catered to the growing mortal fear (by that time) of seemingly arbitrary rules and authority figures--particularly fathers (portrayed as tyrants).   

The unraveling of culture, at its source, is so simple. Today, my generation (and subsequent generations) worships unrestricted individual choice and what is seen as the intrinsic right (sometimes duty) to question and deny authority. It probably all began with a simple moral problem--some creative person somewhere wanted to do something of questionable moral legitimacy. And the prevailing authority supported the belief that such an action was illegitimate. So, the idea, as a proposition, was born--that authority is inherently suspect, and unrestricted individual choice is the only moral imperative. 

Too Much Noise

I recently ran across Teresa Tomeo's Noise: How Our Media-saturated Culture Dominates Lives and Dismantles Families and I read it last weekend. A more popular treatment of the subject than Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, which I have previously mentioned here, Tomeo focuses on the negative ways in which the popular media impacts the family. It is an up-to-date analysis of the mind-numbing impact of one aspect of modern culture. The book is full of stats and may be particularly helpful in assisting parents of Christian faith come to grips with the fact that too much media is not a friend of the family.

There is a great quote by Pope Benedict XVI on the front cover of the book: "Put simply, we are no longer able to hear God . . . There are too many different frequencies filling our ears."

Lewis on Time

It may have been C.S. Lewis, although I am not certain, who first introduced me to the question of the nature of time. In his well-known and popular book, Mere Christianity, Lewis mentions, almost in passing, that God's life almost certainly does not consist of moments following one another. He says, "All the days are 'Now' for Him." His point was that God does not have eras; he doesn't have history. All time is present to him. That's perhaps why in Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Lucy could step through the wardrobe into Narnia, be in the wardrobe for less than a minute by her siblings' time, and claim she had been in Narnia for hours. There is a world not subject to a time system.

I think this idea, or at least this discussion about the temporal/non-temporal nature of time, is Aristotelian (time as the measurement of motion or change). Aristotle discussed the nature of time at length in Book 4 of his Physics. Augustine, in Book X of his Confessions, has an interesting but confusing (to me) discussion about time (not its nature), in which he addresses the question of how we can consistently speak about temporal being in a language primarily oriented to talk about permanent beings. He points out that the things we normally talk about as existing in time, despite their apparent permanence, are not at all permanent in their being.

What is temporal can be measured by time because it is subject to motion or change. What is eternal cannot be measured by time because, by definition, it is a permanent entity rather that a successive entity. The permanent doesn't have eras or history. All its days are "Now." Although such thinking may seem impractical, it is helpful in conceptualizing ideas beyond our temporal selves--heaven, hell, purgatory, eternity--and in concluding that only hubris prevents us from thinking about a world beyond our own. 

C.S. Lewis and Faith

I awoke to thoughts on the writings of C.S. Lewis--for no apparent reason. His Abolition of Man had a significant impact on my thought. It is the book I most often recommend by Lewis. The series of short lectures do not make up a work of academic philosophy, but they do accurately describe the loss of any objective transcendent moral standards in modern man, substituted for the most part by mere statements of subjective feeling. Contrary to the opinions of some, the book is not an apologetic for Christianity. Rather, it is a subtle and popular treatment of principles engraved upon the hearts of all men, whether outwardly "religious" or not.

As for Lewis's faith, he said he came to believe Christianity was true by the   usual combination of authority, reason, and experience. He indicated that he decided to accept the authority of many wise people in different times and places who taught the reality of the spiritual world. And, his reason eventually convinced him that it was more far-fetched to cling to his materialism than to believe in a spiritual reality. He believed feelings alone were totally inadequate reasons to accept or reject anything as true. The practical purpose of faith, according to Lewis, is to retain our hold upon the truth that seems irresistible and obvious during times of special grace, but which seems more or less unclear at ordinary times (Kathryn Lindskoog's observation about Lewis).

Being Ugly Can Lead to Death--If the Ugliness is Found in a City

What is with all the ugly and inhumane urban architecture? It has been around for a while--at least since the policies of the Johnson administration, which in the name of urban "renewal," created urban jungles on a scale previously unparalleled (at least in a time of peace). Few people in the twentieth century seemed to notice the connection between soulless urban planning and riotous boredom, with former Governor of Michigan, George Romney, being a possible exception. In his last address as governor, he declared that the Detroit riots were provoked by "urban renewal and federal highway building." There is more to bad behavior than an ugly apartment and sidewalk, but Romney had a point. There is an architecture of hopeless servitude and boredom. As Russell Kirk said, "One is a good deal safer in Palermo, or Tunis, or Fez, than in New York, or Chicago, or Los Angeles."

Arguably, the book that first began to highlight the failed experiment of modern urban planning is Jane Jacobs' The Death and Life of Great American Cities. Published originally in 1961, the 1993 Modern Library edition is available in hardback for a good price. This is known as a "common-sense" approach to analyzing urban planning, and it is a fascinating read for anyone interested in urban planning, social policies, or an analysis of culture. Jacobs likely did not intend to, but, in my opinion, she vindicated conservative principles and personalism in urban planning.

Whatever the difficulties of ancient towns like Palermo, Tunis, and Fez (and there are some), they  remain genuine communities, in which the residents remain persons, not faceless automatons lost in a crowd. A city is not simply a collectivity; it is a vital continuity with real individual persons, neighborhoods, voluntary associations, old landmarks, historic monuments--the kinds of elements that make persons feel at home. Communities nurture roots, rather than destroying them. They restore and rehabilitate, rather than reconstitute. And, communities focus on the common good, rather than commercial gain. "Urban renewal," conceived by the Johnson administration, rather than being a "war on poverty," was actually a war on the poor, for the benefit of the speculator and the contractor.

But, there are encouraging signs these days. Beginning several years ago in larger cities, the positive signs are spreading to smaller cities and I see them in many places around the country as I travel. In fact, when travel takes me away from home, I look for these areas and take notes for return trips. Neighborhood revitalization projects are rising up, characterized by numerous vibrant and walkable destinations to attractive and peaceful outdoor gathering places, shops, bookstores, restaurants, and coffeehouses. In some cases, cities are even trying to create such person-centered communities where they never existed, down to reproduction architecture. 

If the city fathers do not understand culture and are not careful, however, the reproduction approach may go too far. Civic and cultural restoration must be rooted in long-established customs, habits, and political institutions of a community. No city planner can make people happy through social innovation. It would be imprudent to draw the conclusion that good urban planning was about getting rid of ugly buildings alone.

Just a Guitar Away From Eternity

I just have to say it. Some things just seem to go too far--especially in church. It is axiomatic that one should not be confused when entering a Christian religious service about whether to enter into prayer or roll a joint and sway with the music. When will we learn that certain actions are more evocative of the latter than the former?

Who knows how Christianity in America has come to its present state--jeans, Hawaiian shirts, spiked hair--and that's the ministers. Places of corporate worship are now often called "worship malls" and "family life centers", and they contain within them "main streets" coffee kiosks, and "food courts." And so often what happens in and around these churches is a source of confusion for the faithful.

I recently ran across the following post in an online blog, the name of which I cannot recall:

"A group of Lutheran contemporary worship leaders was left angry and frustrated by the realization that Lutheran Carnival X is not a literal carnival. The worship leaders had spent much of last week canvassing neighborhoods for unchurched children, handing out fliers that promised games, animals, and even a 'Jesus Freak Show' in an upcoming worship service. Their enthusiasm turned to disappointment and hostility when they learned that the term 'carnival' is simply used to describe a collection of blog posts on a particular subject. 'I've got 200 kids expecting to see a bearded virgin next Sunday,' complained Jerry Cromer, worship leader at Cirque de Life in La Jolla, California. 'What are we going to talk about when they show up? Jesus?'"

Unfortunately, such confusion is not limited to Lutherans. There is a common tendency these days to  confuse historic Christian faith with wish-fulfillment or positive self-help group meetings. But, feeling happy, warm, and cozy is not necessarily indicative of spiritual progression. Warm feelings of contentment and light-heartedness can be arrived at by contemplating a sunset, walking on the beach, drinking a twelve-year-old single malt scotch, or, I am told, by smoking a joint and listening to Bob Dylan. But these momentary senses of being one with the universe tend to fade, leaving one where they started, or sometimes much further back.

Occasionally, there is a voice of sanity out there. But, like prophets, such people aren't all that popular, especially in their own circles. Alice Thomas Ellis (her pen name) is one such  clear-thinking writer. She was an accomplished novelist, but her short essays are a great place to start getting to know her thoughts. For an introduction to her views concerning the modern tendency to popularize historic Christian worship and other ideas, read her two short works Cat Among Pigeons and God Has Not Changed.

Miserere Mei, Deus

Miserere mei, Deus ("Have mercy on me, O God") are the opening words of Psalm 51 and have led to it being traditionally referred to as the Miserere, which is the name it is often known by in musical settings. This 17th century version by composer Gregorio Allegri is one of the best-known settings of the Miserere. Listen to the solo when the Soprano hits the C above the staff. It is one of the most hauntingly moving moments in choral music.

Today begins the Triduum (the three days from the evening of Holy Thursday to the evening of Easter Sunday) of Holy Week. It is a time of prayer and deep devotion, and there is no better musical piece than the Miserere to preface the three days that changed the world.    

The "Culture Wars" Began in the Middle Ages

If one enjoys reading intellectual history, Richard E. Rubenstein's Aristotle's Children is a book not to miss. Following an introduction to Plato and Aristotle, and a discussion of the collapse of the Roman Empire in the West, Rubenstein shifts his focus to the mid-twelfth century, when a group of Muslim, Jewish, and Christian scholars working together began translating Aristotle's rediscovered works. The dissemination of those translations sent shock waves through Europe and eventually led to Thomas Aquinas's great life work of reconciling faith and reason. It is a rich book and well worth the read.

Of particular interest, however, is chapter seven, "'Ockham's Razor': The Divorce of Faith and Reason". Rubenstein does a good job of showing that with the work of Duns Scotus and William of Ockham, the Aristotelian revolution took a radically new turn. In fact, their work, and particularly that of William of Ockham, severed the link postulated by Thomas Aquinas between our mind's and God's. Moreover, this radical turn would eventually cut loose natural science, social thought, and all other branches of philosophy from their Christian moorings, and de-intellectualize the Christian faith. In short, the separation between faith and reason, and the drift of Western Civilization did not begin with the Renaissance, but with the work of Duns Scotus and William of Ockham in the late Middle Ages.

And to this day the influence of these two men and their followers can be seen in (among many places)  the so-called culture wars. They may be seen in the potentially destructive idea that one party's views are purely rational and scientific, while the other's rest on pure religious faith. Such claims and views eliminate any possibility of dialogue because, according to modern conceptions that began with Duns Scotus and William of Ockham, rationality relies on reason and objective evidence, while faith is validated, if at all, by non-rational means entirely.

Property: The Material Condition of Freedom

“The choice lies between property on the one hand and slavery, public or private, on the other. There is no third issue.” (Hilaire Belloc)

Be satisfied with what you have. Own enough of the means of production to support yourself. Get out of debt. Own your own property. Be free. These are things Hilaire Belloc likely would have affirmed (more on Belloc here).

A staunch critic of the early twentieth century spirit of reform known as progressivism, Belloc did not believe that the latest point in time is the highest and best point in time, and that all has been tending toward this, our moment. This was the general idea of progressivism and has essentially been the implicit assumption of our times. In such a world, the drama of contingency, personal responsibility, and human choice are removed. Evil is not a permanent force in the world, and human nature does not remain the same in all times. Rather, as Clyde Wilson notes, "enlightened policies and proper education will eradicate evils and mould the plastic human world into proper shape."

In The Servile State, Belloc challenges progressivism (as he did in virtually all his writings) and promotes  the idea of "distributivism." Belloc was of the opinion that the current progressivist/capitalist society was likely to give way to something new--the servile state. He defines this state as, "That arrangement of society in which so considerable a number of the families and individuals are constrained by positive law to labor for the advantage of other families and individuals as to stamp the whole community with the mark of such labor we call the servile state." Belloc prefers for society to return to a distributivist system in which all individuals own property and the means of production. His ideas (and those of G.K. Chesterton and others) found traction with the American Agrarians.