On Love and Death

"If you are trying to love God, wanting to love God, because you are trying to love God, wanting to love God, in the measure in which you are are trying to love God, wanting to love God, you are loving God. ... You are loving God, deliberately. In that sense, there is no difference between loving a person and trying to love a person." --Ronald Knox

At another point, Knox discusses the difference between John Wesley, who didn't fear death, and Anglicans like Dr. Johnson, who couldn't even talk about it. Knox writes, "Wesley had got hold of an ecstatic type of religion ... which fixes firmly on the emotions, dominates the imagination, and makes the things of of eternity seem real to a man, as if they lay within the realm of his ordinary experience. ... It is possible to argue that the true business of faith is not to produce emotional conviction in us, but to teach us to do without it."

In the vein of Christ's blessing of St. Thomas for believing, but blessing even more those who haven't seen and yet believe, Knox points us to the fact that emotion is not necessary to faith. In fact, the faith and love that exist without feeling are often stronger as a result. It seems that we do an immense disservice to ourselves when we assume that we have a handle on on Christianity and transcendence. And, ironically, the people who most have a handle on it (the saints), most believe that they don't.

Random Thoughts On Prayer

Sunday's homily dealt with the Luke version of the Lord's Prayer. The priest emphasized the connection between holiness and prayer: every prayer is, at the very least implicitly, a prayer for the Holy Spirit (cf. the Lord will give the Holy Spirit to those who ask) and a prayer for holiness, for holiness and prayer are inextricably tied up in each other--on the one hand, prayer helps make us holier; on the other hand, the holier we are, the more effective our prayers are (the fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much).

As a side note, the priest tied all of this to an openness to vocations (a natural outworking of holiness--right?). I see his point, although my favorite sarcastic reaction to the sometimes questionable ways in which the emphasis on vocations is manifest (such as through National Vocations Awareness Week, which does not, incidentally, have to do with career planning, and the vocations crucifix, to which people pray for vocations) is: "They are trying to trick people into vocations." Similarly, I'm not sure how second collections during the mass are not part of a marketing scheme to trick people into giving more money. (Why not just divide the first collection?)

My favorite mystery is the Visitation--I think because it has to do with visiting, which is definitely my favorite activity. Also because it involves the recognition of divinity by one person in another person. This immediately follows the Annunciation is closely connected in the sense that first Mary receives God in her person, and the next step is the recognition of the Incarnation within the community--her cousin, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth's son, John. This mutual recognition of the faith that we've received, it seems to me also applies to the Church. Really why I probably like the Visitation is the Pentecostal in me attracted to the ecstatic experience of that moment. And the feminist part of me approves of the significance of women in that event.

Finally, the only things, as far as I can tell, that are necessary for prayer are that a person 1) believe that God is and 2) that He reveals Himself (is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him). The whole Straussian thing seems to get the first part, but I'm not sure it gets the latter half. For Straussians, if we can ever get to a knowledge of the divine, I think it is mediated. Christianity is mediated, as well, but it is mediated through God Himself, and only secondarily through the Church/saints/etc.

On Agnosticism and the Via Negativa

How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
but I can't think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I'm always thinking of you
I'm always thinking of you, but my words
just blow away, just blow away
It always ends up to one thing, honey
and I can't think of right words to say
Wherever I am girl, I'm always walking with you
I'm always walking with you, but I look and you're not there
Whoever I'm with, I'm always, always talking to you
I'm always talking to you, and I'm sad that
you can't hear, sad that you can't hear
It always ends up to one thing, honey,when I look and you're not there
I need to know you, need to feel my arms around you
feel my arms around you, like a sea around a shore
and -- each night and day I pray, in hope
that I might find you, in hope that I might
find you, because heart's can do no more
It always ends up to one thing honey, still I kneel upon the floor
How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
but I can't think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I'm always thinking of you
I'm always thinking of you....
It always ends up to one thing honey
and I can't think of right words to say


A friend of mine suggests that this song refers to a search for the divine rather than for a woman; this read seems to me to be at least a necessary second level of meaning. This song intrigues me for several reasons.

A) I find the search for words to be a fascinating endeavor. Stevens recognizes the failure of words and the need to invoke images (the sea and the seashore) to convey his meaning. At the same time that he shows that words are not sufficient, he recognizes that words are all we have, and so he uses them. Even conveying images relies on words.

B) Stevens also undermines his assertions that "you can't hear me" and "you aren't there" through his continued attempts at communication. It seems to me that his doubt is appropriate and legitimate. In fact, it reminds me of the via negativa that Eliot articulates in the Four Quartets:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

This is a beautiful example of and encouragement of real doubt. It is a recognition that our attempts at knowing are typically misguided and incomplete that is quite (surprisingly) similar to agnosticism. The only faith and hope and love that remain for Eliot are in the continuation of existence--this is remarkable. I think agnostics often have more hope than Eliot suggests here. In St. John of the Cross, upon whom Eliot relies here, the darkness that surrounds the person is actually the light of Christ that is so strong that it blinds their weak eyes. Perhaps the humility of agnosticism ought to serve as a criticism of Christian fundamentalism. Perhaps agnostics are closer, in the end, to the beatific vision.

Mad Cow

In The Four Loves, Lewis laments the exaltation of instinct from Romanticism on that may preclude male friendship, which reminded me of my favorite image of male friendship--Denny Crane and Alan Shore in Boston Legal. Pictures of male friendship are, indeed rare today, but Alan and Denny sipping scotch and smoking cigars on the balcony overlooking Boston is really an admirable portrayal. Their friendship transcends age difference and even Denny Crane's encroaching dementia. Their "sleepovers" when Alan has night terrors are endearing and their defense of one another in any (ridiculous, bizarre) scrapes is faithful, to say the least.

When Family Must Be Broken

"These are my children, and I will protect them from myself even if I have to."


This is the movie that I've ever seen with the most beautiful people.


Aside from that, this is the second Indian film I've watched lately that deals with the struggle to protect Indian culture from globalization/Westernization. I wonder why it is that Americans don't worry that often about loosing their culture. Furthermore, I wonder, while other countries often define themselves against us, who do we have to define ourselves against?

This film wonderfully portrays family: both the difficulty and pain as well as the delights. Even the bonds of family, however, must submit to justice, and we see the agony of such a difficult decision. It works within tradition by showing the adaptation of arranged marriages to modern culture (by including the consent of those marrying). Additionally, the choice that the father makes of breaking up the family rather than keeping it together and allowing abuse to continue is a strong one and one that perhaps is made easier by modernity. We see love, in this film, happen both within and outside of arranged marriage. What does not work, though, is the illicit "love"--the love that happens outside of the approval of family and society and morality, with the man who will never divorce his wife.

Old Truck's Still Runnin' Good

My people are simple people. Some years ago my grandfather bought a used white Lincoln town car. This car was/is one of his delights. When he would list the blessings of his life, his car immediately followed his family and pretty much rounded out his list. There is something virtuous about the person that can be filled with joy by something that many people wouldn't even think about. My grandfather rarely goes looking for entertainment to make him content, but rather finds contentment in the concrete aspects of his daily life. I think about this when I get very excited about my almost broken down little red car.

On Childhood and Imagination

"There across the road, it looked like any rocky hill--nothing but sand and rocks, some old wooden boxes, cactus and greasewood and thorny ocotillo--but it was a special place."

Roxaboxen reminds us of the beauty of imagination with the creation of a little town by children playing in the desert. It appeals to universal experience--who hasn't turned a piece of pottery into dishes? (I did it with seashells at the ocean.) It portrays the permanence of place ("Roxaboxen had always been there and must have belonged to others, long before.") and the endurance of memory ("The years went by, and the seasons changed, until at last the friends had all grown tall, and one by one, they moved away to other houses, to other towns. So you might think that was the end of Roxaboxen--but oh, no. Because none of them ever forgot Roxaboxen. Not one of them ever forgot.")

Additionally, it shows the congruence and continuity between childhood and adulthood, particularly in the previous quotation, which shows them moving on to "other houses, to other towns" as opposed to "real houses, to real towns." Imagination is real, for McLerran and Roxaboxenites. Also, their community at Roxaboxen has many elements of adult communities (unlike Wendell Berry's towns): politics (a town hall and mayor, a jail [attempt at justice?] and a policeman, wars [boys v. girls--how wonderful when things were that simple!]), markets (okay, capitalism--a bakery and two competing ice cream shops), transportation (cars and horses or steering wheels and bridles), death (a lizard).


This makes me remember the imaginary communities of my childhood--our fabulous barbie doll house that my grandfather made; our crystal prince villages that we created for an entire summer (complete with grocery stores and doctors and churches--we made it to the division of labor), our "secret places" in the woods where we would make pottery and jam and wrap everything we made in Catalpa leaves.

"[The earth] eats the Fish raised from the deep at that table which you have 'prepared in the sight' of believers." --Augustine's Confessions, XIII.xxi (29)

"But you, Lord are always working and always at rest." XIII. xxxviii (52)

The first quotation is just for kicks, but the second interests me in regard to a long-standing question I have about the nature our activity in heaven. I typically argue that we'll have some sort of work without labor and sweat and futility; perhaps this is just wishful thinking. I am excited to see a bit of support for that in Augustine. I also appeal to old old paintings of people in heaven doing something like reading.

On Hospitality

Due to recent travels and today's homily, I've been thinking a lot about hospitality. The readings today included the story of Abraham and the angels, the story of Mary and Martha, and a declaration of Christ from 1 Corinthians. [As an aside, the priest started the service by referring to the story of Mary and Martha as relating to gender roles--he said that Martha was upset that Mary wasn't conforming to them. While I am interested in/perhaps somewhat sympathetic to/intrigued by such a reading, I think it is also bizarre and less than ideally relevant.] The priest emphasized hospitality to the other as other, and hospitality as an openness to that other and any surprises that that other may bring.

I guess at one level this is a supremely feminine act, with Mary being an example of the receptivity of women in the Annunciation.

While I take the priest's point about receiving the other as other (and perhaps my drive toward connectedness is evident here), it seems to me that the orientation of hospitality is toward community and friendship and having one's goods tied up with those of another. For example, Mary's acceptance of impregnation was itself a virtuous act that moved her deeper in communion with God. In the same way, the hospitality that we offer others--the meal we share or the bed or the conversation or the favorite haunts--involves a giving of one's self and one's goods to the other (which, admittedly, cannot be done unless there are two selves that can interact).

On the Communitarianism of Christianity

What if it's American individualism that keeps people away from the communitarianism of Christianity? In a particularly revealing comment, an agnostic friend of mine lately claimed that he prefers mosques to churches because there "are no pictures of people that might be watching you." The thing is, the people watching you are part of the essence of Christianity, they are a participation in the connectedness of the Trinity.

I remember realizing the importance of images in the Catholic church for the first time when I saw the Pentecost painting on the ceiling of the National Shrine. I thought, Pentecostals don't even have pictures of this in their churches; what a beautiful way to honor and remember this day!

As a side note, I've been having trouble appreciating the religious life in Catholicism. Today in a discussion with another friend about "first vows," I thought of Hannah and Samuel and realized that when someone joins up it rightly involves much sacrifice both for that person and for those whom they love and who love them.

On Naming

Life is, in some sense, a process of connecting one's name to one's self. We don't name ourselves; rather, our names are given to us and serve as a constant reminder of our situation--we are named by our parents, who represent our social context. Naming implies an ownership and possession and connecting ourselves to our names implies a realization of our own limitedness, connectedness and of that fact that we are owned. The first man was named by God; through this, we know that our name points not only to our connectedness and duties to the physical world external to us, but also to the truth that transcends that.

Neutral Milk Hotel--In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Eva Cassidy - Tall Trees in Georgia

Ray LaMontagne Hold You In My Arms 11/27/06

Damien Rice - Older Chests Acoustic

Carving your Name in Stone

The theme of names is significant in Shawshank Redemption. Naming serves as the way toward the connection that is key to maintaining hope.

Andy asks the name of the inmate who was killed during his first night in the jail. This shows his attempt to locate and place the man, and through that location in particular, to love him.

Andy asks Red what his name means in an early scene. Red sort of brushes off the question, but, nonetheless seems to sense the significance of the questions--that Andy is making a real attempt to know him through knowing the history of his name.

It is through carving his own name in the wall, in a manly act of self-assertion that establishes his identity in his place, that Andy first gets the idea of the means of escape. It is through placing himself actively in the prison that he keeps alive the hope of escape.

Brooks carves his name in the wall of the halfway house as a last act of self-assertion, of which his suicide is a part (or, at least, is a last attempt that coincides with his suicide to make himself known).

Finally, Red carves his name in the wall beside Brooks's. This provides a contrast between Brooks's death and Red's attempt at new life through the risk involved in a trip to which one does not know the end.

Naming, knowing the names of others, and (especially) carving one's name in a wall, are all symbols for and instances of the connection of friendship that is necessary in order to maintain hope. Carving one's name may be the most manly act; it is what Mansfield talks about when he discusses leaving one's mark on the world.

*Note: it is difficult to deal with gender issues in this film, as there is a conspicuous lack of women present. Women are: the cheating seducers, the poor bakers, the posters on the wall of the men, and the one's who sing and toss their hair. There is something about women that is obviously objectified, but there is also something about them that is offered as something to pursue and work toward.

On One's Birthplace

"But my beauty was already created, in that place where I was born." --Towards the Mountain

Alan Paton's intense, overflowing love of his place, balanced by an openness toward and attentiveness to "the other" that also inhabits his place, is tied up with his Christianity, I think. Just as Christianity has a consistent emphasis on the need for respect of one's parents, so this command for respect must extend, also, to one's land. This is, first of all, a recognition of the state of man--that he is social, born into a community and place that are tied up in one another. Additionally, this is deeply conservative, for any change that man makes, he must make within a particular environment, so that change must make sense in regard not only to himself, but also in regard to his land.

Besides pointing to the social nature of man, a love of place also is the path to loving God. When Christianity maintains that without loving your brother, whom you can see, you cannot love God, whom you cannot see, it is not a commentary on the connection between vision and love. For if it were even possible to love God without loving your neighbor, then it would certainly be easier--it is easier to love that which is perfect than that which is flawed. Rather, this is a descriptive statement about how love works. We love that which is abstract through the particular things that we come in contact. We love God through loving our brothers. We love God through loving the place into which He created us and in which we work (which is, itself, another sort of love). The ability to see the beautiful in your place is a great ability, and recognizing your own limitedness is connected to this.

Wisky for My Men, Beer for My Horses

Two of my friends are at the wedding-planning stage, so, needless to say, I hear a lot about it just now. Goodness gracious, wedding planning sounds like the most tedious, un-interesting thing to me at the moment. I'm pretty sure I'd want to avoid all of that and have a nice little ceremony on a mountainside if I could find a priest who was up for that (note: is it possible to receive the Eucharist outside?).

One thing I did notice, however, when I was touring the National Cathedral with a friend, was a woman walking herself down the aisle. This violates all of my understandings of community and fatherhood and what it means to be a woman and a person, instead exalting a conception of an unencumbered individual who can enter into a social contract with another unencumbered individual. Distressing!

No Life Without Wife

There is much I love about Bollywood films: the breaking out into song and dance at unexpected times, the lack of kissing but perhaps even stronger sexual tension than Hollywood films, the random mariachi band, etc. I recently re-watched Bride and Prejudice and was struck not only by the gospel choir serenading the lead couple at the romantic climax on the beach, but also by the emphasis on place that the film is able to convey, perhaps precisely because it sets itself up against enlightenment urges for globalization.

Lalita repeatedly scorns the tendency to go to India and not really see it (but only see what money-making traps ask you to see) and the desire to leave India as backward and lacking to go to London or America. She is only able to leave her place, finally and properly, because she embraces it. She doesn't reject it, but rather embraces it as beautiful and unique. This has interesting parallels to John Henry Newman's conception of conversion, which he articulates in The Development of Christian Doctrine.

He asserts that conversion, rightly attained, is a positive and not a negative act. It involves seeing the truth that is present in heresy and correcting that truth through an acceptance of the whole tradition (which includes the needed balance to that heresy). Because Lalita loves her place wisely (and not blindly), she is able to leave it for a specific reason (a man). She can properly love the new land that she'll go to, then, and because of her attitude, she will contribute in a special way to the diversity of that place. A counter to her proper way of leaving can be seen in her cousin, the Mr. Collins character, who leaves India and indiscriminately embraces all things that belong to Los Angeles. Such a lack of self-identity and discrimination among the new things that one encounters is surely reprehensible and ultimately bankrupts not only the person who leaves himself completely open to new experiences, but also the new place, which does not receive the benefit of the person coming to it.

In the same way, the Church will benefit from converts who bring a collection of unique experiences to it, if those converts are able to distinguish between the good and the bad in their own experiences. If, however, converts attempt to start over as blank slates, they will benefit neither themselves nor the Church that they are coming to.

On Kissing

During the aforementioned seminar, we particularly discussed kissing, as Maria withholds even a kiss from the man she allows to hope for her hand, in all but agreeing to marry him until he speaks to his parents and hers. Professor Kass suggested that it is significant that she withheld this kiss because a kiss is a small consummation, a participation in the sexual act, an exchanging of breath in a meeting that is spiritual as well as physical.

On Courtship

Today I participated in a seminar led by Professor Amy Kass on courtship, based around an Erasmus dialogue. We talked about the clever woman's ability to bring men to think about marriage and children rather than just love. I am somewhat uncomfortable to think of gender relationships in terms of women changing men or men changing women, but, on the other hand, perhaps as long as this influence toward change is a) a change in being and not just saying, and b) is a change for the good, then this change is legitimate. Also, my preferred model for courtship is the Anne/Gilbert or Emma/Knightley model--the model of friendship. But according to Dr. Kass, this ignores the complementary aspect of courtship and emphasizes too much the equality and sameness of the parties involved. I just wonder if something isn't lost when we think about relationships in terms of power.

Women as Namers

What is the role of women in relationship to men with regards to love and naming? The Matrix provides some interesting insights.

The act of love requires a consequent renaming because of the new social person that is created in the relationship between a man and a woman.

Trinity's love for and recognition of who Neo was enabled him to embrace his identity. At the beginning, it was Trinity who found Neo and convinced him to join the resistance. It was Trinity who recognized that Neo was the One and whose love brought him back to life.

This shows women not as the passive beloved, but as active receivers of love. Through their recognition of particular men as worth receiving love from (which involves active trust), women affirm the existence of and the manly self-exertion of (see Harvey Mansfield's Manliness) these men. It is only in his relationship to Trinity that Mr. Anderson is Neo. Their love engenders Neo's embrace of who he is and the power associated with his new role and name.