Author: Jim Spiegel

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Mine That Underdog

By Jim Spiegel

I just saw the video of today’s Kentucky Derby.  Wow.

If you’re a fan of the underdog (or the underhorse, in this case), then this is a story for you.  Heck, if you just appreciate anything spectacular, you need to check this out.  Coming into the race at 51-1 odds, no one predicted that Mine that Bird would even be in contention at the Derby, much less take home the roses.  The horse’s trainer, Chip Woolley, confessed afterwards, “To be honest, I didn’t have any real feeling that I could win the Derby.”  And co-owner Mark Allen said, “I would’ve been happy just to have lit the board with this horse.”

mine-that-bird1As you watch the video, note the horse lagging at the rear for the first half of the race, some twenty lengths behind the leader.  Well, that’s Mine that Bird, mounted by jockey Calvin Borel.  His strategy was to lay back, hug the rail, and push hard at the end.  By hugging the rail, of course, the horse has a shorter distance to run overall.  But the challenge is finding a path through the tangle of horses in the homestretch.  Well, Borel brilliantly guided his diminutive colt through the equine mass and finished first.  Not only that, but he won handily—by almost seven lengths, the largest margin of victory in the Kentucky Derby in over sixty years! 

So many lessons here—even for us humans.

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An Atheist’s Defense of Christian Missions

By Jim Spiegel

Want to check out something amazing?  How about an atheist who extols the benefits of Christian evangelism?  Think I’m kidding?  Read this London Times article.

Here’s an excerpt from Matthew Parris’s fascinating confession:  “Now a confirmed atheist, I’ve become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people’s hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good.”  Parris goes on to note that “Faith does more than support the missionary; it is also transferred to his flock. This is the effect that matters so immensely, and which I cannot help observing.”

How refreshing to see such an even-handed appraisal of the salutary effects of the Christian worldview.  At a time when the “new atheists” are making millions publishing books which demonize the faith, this is a much-needed corrective.  But this piece also raises some interesting questions.  If you’re like me, you found yourself wondering how Parris could persist in his atheism, given his obvious recognition of the power of the gospel.  After all, he admits the reality of “spiritual transformation.”  The rebirth, he grants, “is real.”  So what gives here?  My guess is that Parris regards the change in converts to be entirely moral in nature.  The transformation  and rebirth, he might tell us, are just shorthand ways of describing a shift in ethics.  Yes, these new Christians fervently believe in God—about which they are deluded—but the critical fact is that their behavior and motivations change with conversion.  And, given the positive cultural impact of this, that’s all that really matters.

If this is Parris’s analysis, then it begs an obvious question:  How could such a fundamental delusion be so practically beneficial, producing so much personal and social renewal?  Not an easy question to answer.  This is why Parris’s position is an unstable one.  I suspect he will eventually come to grips with the reality of God or else change his tune about the public benefits of Christianity.  In any case, he should be commended for his candor and courage.

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My Linguistic Pet Peeves

By Jim Spiegel

I have a lot of linguistic pet peeves—terms or expressions that annoy me for various reasons.  I thought I’d share a few of them here so that I can have some company in my annoyance. 

Let me begin with a term that now actually appears in some dictionaries:  “incentivize.” In recent years this verbification of the noun “incentive” has become so common that it seems now to be as popular as the term it replaces: “motivate.”  But the question is, why use “incentivize” instead of “motivate” when the latter is actually easier to speak and write?  It seems to me that if you’re going to prefer a word with an extra syllable then it should be clearer or more descriptive than a standard synonym.  But neither is the case with “incentivize.”  So what’s the deal?  Probably the term emerged in the business world, and this verbal virus spread from there.  Ugh. 

Another one that drives me crazy is the way many people add an “n” to the word “other” when using it after the word “whole,” as in “that’s a whole nother matter.”  I have even heard well-educated people do this, and I really have to fight my inclination to lower my opinion of them.  This is another  deviation from correct form which actually increases the difficulty of the phrase.  It is easier, after all, to say “other” than “nother.”  Yet many people use the latter, even though it’s not a word.  I just don’t get it.

Perhaps the most annoying to me, however, is the phrase “past history.”  Sadly, this expression is often used in formal contexts, even by scholars like the author of this statement:  “Past history of major depression is more common in smokers than in non-smokers” (from the abstract of an essay in a scholarly journal).  Since this was a published paper, it must have been approved not only by the author but also the journal’s main editor and at least one referee!  The problem, of course, is that when one refers to the history of anything, we can assume that s/he is talking about the past.  So use of the word “past” to modify “history” is simply redundant.  Again, I don’t get it.

Thank you for allowing me to vent about these things.  I hope you share my annoyance.  If you don’t or, heaven forbid, you are guilty of using one or more of these expressions, then I urge you to repent.  I trust you’ll clean up your act and make the world a better place from a linguistic standpoint.  Or you might be guilty but refuse to change, such as if you are one of those sad individuals who doesn’t really care about proper use of the English language.  If so, then I have other ways to motivate you.  But, alas, that’s a whole other issue.

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Ten Lessons from Great Christian Minds

By Jim Spiegel

Recently, I was invited to give a “last sermon,” as is a popular trend these days.  At first I pondered various topics that are dear to me.  Then I considered how I would want to be sure my words lived on after me.  I realized there was no better way to ensure this than by echoing the words of those whose profound teachings have already proven the test of time and/or rigorous scrutiny. 

Also, in the rabbinic tradition, I thought it appropriate to use a method that would be given to easy memorization.  So I decided to exploit that most revered method of the top ten list.  In addition to being an outline of my hypothetical “last sermon,” I intend this to be a handy reference for those of you who are now putting together your summer reading list. 

So here we go—profound lessons from ten great Christian minds.  All of these lessons are practical, but some are more personal than others.  I will begin with the more public and civic themes and drive to those which are moral and personal.  Also, I tried to order these chronologically, but couldn’t quite pull that off.  Still, with a few exceptions, they do go in chronological order.

Lesson #1—Augustine (5th century):  Remember that you are a citizen of another kingdom.  Augustine is the greatest theologian of the first millennium of the Christian era, and his ideas have shaped the thoughts of every Christian since, to one degree or another.  In his magnum opus, The City of God, Augustine notes that there are two great cities:  the earthly city—a perishing, imperfect order, with human rulers, typified by the Roman Empire—and the heavenly city, an imperishable, perfect order where God rules.  These cities are distinguished by their loves, respectively of self and of God.  When the two come into conflict, remember where your ultimate citizenship lies.

Lesson #2—Martin Luther (16th century):  Expect politicians to be corrupt.  Have you ever wondered why politicians tend to be so corrupt?  Have you ever considered why God allows this to happen—why he permits such smarmy people as the former Illinois governor, Rod Blagojevich, to get into power?  Luther gives a simple and strangely encouraging answer:  It is because our leaders reflect us.  As a people, frankly, we don’t deserve any better.  In fact, having corrupt leaders keeps us humble and reminds us of the heavenly city of which we are citizens first.  As Luther puts it in his powerful little essay “On Secular Authority,” “Frogs must have their storks.”  Keep this in mind, and you’ll be wiser without becoming cynical.  You’ll be wiser because you won’t be gullible, and you won’t be cynical because you’ll know that God does occasionally bless us with some morally decent public leaders, though they may be rare.

Lesson #3—Thomas Aquinas (13th century):  God has made himself known in nature.  Aquinas was a Dominican priest who has been more influential than perhaps any other Christian theologian.  In his massive Summa Theologica he emphasized the fact that while scripture gives us a wealth of theological knowledge, nature and experience also provide knowledge of God, which Aquinas calls “natural theology.”  This is crucial because:  1) it reminds us that no one has an excuse not to believe in God (as Paul explains the first chapter of Romans) and 2) it inspires us to learn about God in all that we study, not just scripture.  Science, history, psychology, math, and every other subject teach us about God.  In fact, this idea is the inspiration of the concept of a liberal arts college, like the one where I teach.

Lesson #4—John Calvin (16th century):  God is sovereign over all, including our suffering.  Calvin was not only a great Church Reformer, but he wrote the only systematic theology to come out of the Protestant Reformation:  The Institutes of the Christian Religion. The lesson of God’s sovereignty is far from being uniquely Calvinist, since it was emphasized by Augustine and Luther and many other great Christian theologians.  But for various reasons it is most commonly associated with Calvin, perhaps partly because he articulated this point as clearly and eloquently as anyone.  In any case, it is a teaching plainly taught in Scripture, most clearly in such passages as Psalm 139, James 1:2-4, and Romans 8:28.

Lesson #5—Jonathan Edwards (18th century):  God is beautiful, and all beauty is divine.  The fine historian Mark Noll—who spoke here at Taylor last week—has called Jonathan Edwards the “greatest evangelical mind.”  If that isn’t an incentive to study this man’s brilliant work, then nothing is.  Like Augustine, Luther, and Calvin, Edwards emphasized the sovereignty of God.  Everything God does, he does for his own glory.  This is, in fact, the point of history and the point of your life and mine:  the glory of God.  But Edwards recognized that the concept of glory is essentially an aesthetic concept.  It falls within the category of beauty.  So what this world is all about is showing the beauty of God.  And all of our longing for beauty—whether in the form of art, good music, good films, poetry, or the beauty of other people—is really an aspect of our longing for the One who is beauty itself.  And all of the finitely beautiful things we experience are so many expressions of God’s beauty.

Lesson #6—Thomas a’Kempis (15th century):  Practice self-denial with a passion.  Born in Prussia in 1380 to a peasant family, Thomas entered a monastery in the Netherlands at age 20.  As a monk he penned the great classic Of the Imitation of Christ, which has been translated into more languages than any other book except the Bible.  The theme of the book regards how to faithfully follow Christ, but more specifically it is focused on humility and self-denial, the defining characteristics of Christ, as we learn in Philippians 2:5-11, where Paul tells us to imitate Christ in being a radical servant.  If even the God-man refused to lay claim to his rights, then what does this say about the approach we should take?  a’Kempis unpacks this theme in profound ways that will transform your life if you put them into practice.

Lesson #7—John Wesley (18th century):  Be disciplined and make the best use of your time.  Wesley was the founder of the Methodist church and very much a social activist, known as much for his organizational and motivational skills as for his Christian preaching.  Wesley worked especially hard on two major social justice issues of his day:  prison reform and the abolition of slavery.  He also devoted himself diligently to the spiritual disciplines and the pursuit of holiness and personal sanctification.  Wesley was never idle but worked constantly.  Early on in his life he resolved to live on a certain modest amount of money, and despite the huge increases in his personal income, he died with few possessions, having given away his wealth to people in need.

Lesson #8—Fyodor Dostoevsky (19th century):  God’s grace can reach anyone.  Dostoevsky was a Russian novelist who is sometimes regarded as the greatest writer next to Shakespeare.  His insight into human nature is profound, and this, combined with his Christian sensibility, make reading him immensely profitable.  Dostoevsky nearly didn’t survive to have a long writing career.  When he was in his twenties he was arrested for being part of an insurrection and sentenced to death, but the death sentence was revoked and he was sent to a prison camp instead—an experience which had a lasting impact on his life and thought.  In his classic novel Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky paints the portrait of a young man, Raskolnikov, who dares to challenge the concept of moral law through murder.  As Raskolnikov is consumed by guilt, so is the reader.  But the reader also vicariously participates in the severe divine grace that finds this seemingly hopeless man.  Nowhere else in the history of literature is there a more compelling picture of Christian redemption.

Lesson #9—Dietrich Bonhoeffer (20th century):  Beware of cheap grace.  Bonhoeffer was another Christian thinker who took part in an insurrection (a plot to kill Adolf Hitler).  Bonhoeffer, too, was sentenced to death.  In this case, however, the death sentence was not revoked and he was hung with his conspirators just prior to the end of World War II.  Fortunately, however, Bonhoeffer had already completed many great works of theology, including his classic book The Cost of Discipleship.  This work contains profound insights into the importance of self-denial and suffering for the Christian, thus echoing the same emphasis in Augustine, a’Kempis, Calvin, and Edwards.  Bonhoeffer distinguishes between cheap grace (preaching forgiveness without repentance) and costly grace (which is premised upon repentance).  There is no such thing as cheap grace, Bonhoeffer reminds us.  Jesus tells us to take up our cross and turn from sin.  If we don’t do so, then we are not truly under grace.

Lesson #10—Alvin Plantinga (21st century):  Moral virtue is crucial for intellectual health.  Plantinga is one of the premier Christian thinkers of the last generation.  At a time when theists were retreating in the philosophical community, he had the temerity to suggest that belief in God is not only reasonable but is in fact a proper starting placefor knowledge.  This was, of course, axiomatic for the Reformers, but Plantinga made a persuasive philosophical case for the idea.  In light of this insight, he has developed a rich Christian psychology (especially in his Warranted Christian Belief), complete with an arresting account of how sin corrupts cognition and how, correlatively, right living is crucial for the proper function of our cognitive faculties.  Virtue, as it turns out, is as important for the mind as the mind is for the life of virtue.

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Over My Dead Body–A Film for the Ages

By Jim Spiegel

Before seeing Slumdog Millionaire last month, Amy and I had begun to despair over whether we would ever be inspired by the silver screen again.  Well, now it has happened again, this time in the form of Over My Dead Body, a film so inspiring, redemptive, and beautiful, we couldn’t believe our eyes.  In fact, as much as I’d rather not admit it, we actually sat through two consecutive showings of the film at the local Kerasotes theater—something which neither of us had ever done before.  But this was somewhat involuntary, as we were virtually unable to move from our seats for a good ten minutes after the closing credits—partly from aesthetic fascination, partly from moral inspiration, and partly from sheer ineffable joy.

The source of Over My Dead Body is every bit as surprising as that which gave us Slumdog.  It is independent production company Thejo Films, and the director is rising Japanese filmmaker Keiso Nyou.  Otherwise, the film itself is thoroughly American, though its message is anything but American, as it profoundly challenges our culture’s prevailing quality of life ethic.  But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

Summarizing the film is not easy, since there are three interconnecting plot lines, which converge in some ironic ways in the riveting final scene.  But the central story concerns one Alan Chambers who has been diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.  The film is set in the not too distant future when advances in stem cell research have succeeded in providing a cure to this horrible degenerative illness.  However, being a devout Catholic, Chambers is fundamentally opposed to stem cell research and to any medical advances based on such research.  So he is faced with a particularly excruciating moral dilemma.  Will he compromise his ethical convictions and be cured of ALS or remain true to his principles and face a protracted demise.

For Chambers’ wife, April, the decision is easy.  He must pursue the treatment, despite the hypocrisy this might involve.  “Put your love for your family first,” she tells him.  “Don’t be a fool for your principles.”  Things become even more complicated, as we learn through back story how Chambers has firmly impressed upon his two teenage sons the importance of not compromising one’s values.  Still, the boys side with their mother, reassuring their father that they would not lose respect for him or his Catholic ethic if he goes ahead with the treatment.

However, as the film’s title suggests, Chambers refuses his family’s pleadings.  Instead, he simply prays for a miracle, all the while making practical preparations for his impeding disability and eventual death.  It is here that Nyou’s directorial strategy is most gripping, as Chambers’ faith is displayed subtly but convincingly through numerous symbols and figures—images which are apparent enough to most Catholics and Protestants alike but perhaps too subtle for the biblically illiterate.  Nyou’s refusal to succumb to cliché and melodrama is steadfast, and consequently the potency of the film’s theological statement turns out to be as powerful as anything in cinema since On the Waterfront.

It is impossible to explain the film’s ingenious climax without presenting a spoiler.  But suffice it to say that Chambers’ dilemma turns out to be, well, less straightforward than one might have thought, and his faith is proven true—though, again, not in any way you could possibly expect.  Amy and I agreed that the final scene is the most surprising, even mind-blowing we have witnessed.  Think Sixth Sense or The Crying Game on steroids. 

Yet, for all its fascination and surprise, the film’s greatest quality is its exquisite emotional realism.  Superb performances by Carnes Ward (as Alan Chambers) and Rita Maroth (as his wife) should cement Oscar nominations.  And young supporting actor Bryan Childress (as Lief, their eldest son) is also worthy of consideration.  Add to all of this a stunning soundtrack, featuring music by artists as wide-ranging as Ingrid Michaelson and Wilco while somehow maintaining a consistent melancholic but hopeful mood, and the result is nothing short of a masterpiece.

Two thumbs up?  Uh, yeah.  But that would be, as they say, damning with faint praise.  Just three days after seeing it (twice) Amy and I can already confidently declare that Over My Dead Body is one of the all-time great films.  Sound like hyperbole?  Hardly.  Check it out yourself, and we’re sure you’ll agree.

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Our Economic Mess and Its Moral Implications

By Jim Spiegel

So we are in an economic crisis of historic proportions.  The Obama administration, following treasury secretary Timothy Geithner, is addressing the situation with massive spending.  Will the strategy work?  Only the most inveterate optimist would think so.  It doesn’t take a PhD in economics to recognize that you can’t spend money you don’t have in order to solve a financial problem.  Some pundits (including the likes of former Clinton operative Dick Morris) have suggested that Obama actually wants the plan to fail as a pretext for government takeover of the entire banking industry and the final step toward a socialist state.  That’s a rather cynical take on the situation, and I pray it’s not accurate.  But I’m afraid I can’t rule it out.

But aside from the question of cure—how to solve the mess we’re in—there is the question of cause:  How did we get here?  While there were certainly failures of government oversight, in the end it boils down to greed and irresponsibility—personal vice.  In other words, this national crisis, like most of our problems, is the result of immoral behavior.  And even the most ingenious government plan cannot fix the moral faults of the populous.  So what can fix America’s moral problems, whether they regard greed in the marketplace, marital infidelity, racism, sexism, abortion, or the evils of pornography?  Moral renewal is not something that can be legislated, programmed, or solved through education.  Ultimately, it’s a matter of the human heart, and this can only be addressed spiritually.  As critical as federal policy is, our current economic debacle is symptomatic of our deeper moral-spiritual crisis.  And until we reverse course in a moral-spiritual way, we won’t see any long-term economic cures.

Like many Christians, I believe only significant divine intervention can save us from ourselves.  But what form might this take?  Perhaps a revival within the church not unlike what happened during the Great Awakening in the eighteenth century.  Another possibility is the “no pain, no gain” model, where God allows us to “hit bottom” in order to motivate repentance and the moral seriousness we seem to have lost.  An extreme version of this was recently predicted by New York City pastor David Wilkerson who warned about a coming calamity (see his March 7 entry here: http://davidwilkersontoday.blogspot.com/).  According to Wilkerson, this is a straightforward case of divine wrath which we deserve because of our extreme rebellion as a nation.  Wilkerson’s announcement is particularly stunning because:  1) he’s not a kook or money-grubbing sensationalist but a humble and reasonable pastor who has demonstrated integrity for five decades of ministry and 2) his now famous predictions from the early 1970s were remarkably accurate—a fact that cannot be fully appreciated without seeing how unlikely his prognostications looked from the perspective of someone in the early 70s.

So will Wilkerson’s prophecy be fulfilled?  It’s scary to think so, but whether or not we believe him, the category of divine wrath should be taken seriously.  Our nation is in state of extreme moral-spiritual rebellion, and we are bound to pay the fiddler, whether this takes the form of natural consequences or special divine wrath.  We all need to consider how we can deepen our moral-spiritual commitment through personal repentance and more earnest pursuit of virtue.  Just as our national economic crisis is a product of many individual vices, national renewal can result from many individual virtues.

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New Albums by Morrissey and U2: A Study in Worldview Contrasts

By Jim Spiegel

When I heard last Fall that new albums were forthcoming from both Morrissey and U2, I was thrilled.  Not only are they two of my favorite musical artists of the last 20+ years, but they have established themselves as among the most important of their time.  Naturally, I was hopeful that their new records would be good, but being a realist about the fact that the quality of a band’s or songwriter’s work tends to wane over the years, I braced myself for disappointment.  If just one of these albums was strong, I’d be satisfied. 

Well, my most optimistic hopes were realized.  Both Morrissey’s Years of Refusal and U2’s No Line on the Horizon are excellent, once again proving the staying power of these artists.  In the latter case, however, it’s a more significant achievement.  I have noticed that most bands have approximately a ten year period of inspired creativity, after which the quality of their music begins to diminish.  This seems true of all the great bands which remained together for more than a decade, e.g. The Rolling Stones, The Who, Queen, Pink Floyd, REM, etc.  It also seemed true of U2, since after their 1991 classic Achtung Baby their work has been good but not great.  However, No Line on the Horizon breaks this trend, and the ten year hex just noted, in dramatic fashion.  From the mesmerizing and addictive opening title track to the eerie closer, “Cedars of Lebanon,” Bono and his mates seem inspired.  Lyrically, Bono has yet more to say and has found new ways to say the things he’s already said.  Musically, the Irish lads have managed—even in their 30th year as a band—to explore new territory, both in terms of chord structures and production approaches.

Meanwhile, the Moz has made his own strides on Years of Refusal, which is one of the strongest of his solo career now spanning more than two decades.  It is also one of his most energetic, as many of the songs were tracked live, and Jerry Finn’s deft production preserves an immediacy of feeling on the other tracks as well.  Morrissey’s voice is as strong and rich as ever, and his slowly revolving cast of supporting musicians serves the songs well, filling the album with memorable hooks and phrases.

So I’ve been enjoying both of these albums immensely.  But as I’ve listened, I’ve been struck by the stark contrast in worldviews.  Interestingly, both Years of Refusal and No Line on the Horizontypify the personalities and values of Morrissey and U2, respectively.  In fact, one might say that each album is a definitive statement of sorts for each artist, at least relative to their output thus far.  And I would sum up the prevailing themes as follows.  For Morrissey, it boils down to temporality, resentment, and despair, while for U2, the thematic core is eternity, grace, and hope.

Temporality vs. Eternity

Morrissey’s preoccupation with his mortality was especially keen on his previous album, Ringleader of the Tormentors, but the theme shows up on Years as well, with such lines as these: “time grips you slyly in its spell and before you know, goodbye will be farewell, and you will never see the one you love again” (“One Day Goodbye Will be Farewell”).  For the Pope of Mope, life is a bitter struggle where “Only stone and steel accept my love” (I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris”) and “To the rescue nobody ever comes” (“When Last I Spoke to Carol”).  And the best he can do in the way of final comfort is to consider how death might end it all, and “we will be safe and sheltered in our graves” (“Momma Lay Softly on the Riverbed”).  But for U2, the expectation of afterlife is an abiding source of comfort.  In “Get On Your Boots” Bono assures us, “laughter is eternity, if joy is real.”  His joy is to “magnify” his Maker, as he sings, “I was born to be with you…  I was born to sing for you.  I give you back my voice.  From the womb, my first cry was a joyful noise” (“Magnificent”).  But perhaps nowhere is the theme of eternity more clear than in the title of the album and title track:  “No line on the horizon.”  For those who have eternal life, as is the hope of every Christian such as Bono, there is no such line because there is no end to what lies ahead for us.

Resentment vs. Grace

The Christian hope of eternal life is, of course, the result of divine grace and forgiveness, which comes to us through Christ.  Bono sings passionately about this grace, especially in “White as Snow,” the potency of which is underscored by the fact that the melody is a variation of that from the classic hymn “O Sacred Head Now Wounded”):  “Once I knew there was a love divine.  Then there came a time I thought it knew me not.  Who can forgive forgiveness where forgiveness is not?  Only the lamb as white as snow” (“White as Snow”).  In contrast to this, sadly, Morrissey’s world is one of self-loathing and resentment.  In one of his more sardonic songs on Years of Refusal, he sings, “It’s not your birthday anymore.  There’s no need to be kind to you.  And the will to see you smile and belong has now gone” (“Its Not Your Birthday Anymore”).  And his own refusal to forgive—perhaps offering the key to interpreting the album title—is plain in “Sorry Doesn’t Help”:  “Sorries pour out of you…like a QC full of fake humility. But sorry doesn’t help us, and sorry will not save us.  And sorry will not bring my teen years back to me….  Sorry won’t undo all the good gone wrong.”

Despair vs. Hope

So for the Moz, in the end there is only despair.  “There is no hope in modern life,” he tells us in “Something is Squeezing My Skull.”  And elsewhere he stoically declares “Disappointment came to me and booted me and bruised and hurt me but that’s how people grow up” (“That’s How People Grow Up”).  And in the closing track he sums up his own experience accordingly: “Could this be an arm around my waist?  Well, surely the hand contains a knife.  It’s been so all of my life.  Why change now?  It hasn’t!  Now this might surprise you, but I find I’m okay by myself” (“I’m OK By Myself”)  Or so Morrissey tries to convince us (and himself?).  These are the album’s lyrical book ends:  “I’m doing very well” and “I’m okay by myself.”  But in between its all angry despair.  Indeed, Morrissey’s world is a lonely one.  Things couldn’t be more different in U2’s world, where Bono proclaims, “I know I’m not alone” (“I’ll Go Crazy if I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight”).  There is plenty of pain and sorrow, but it is redeemed:  “This foolishness can leave a heart black and blue.  Only love can leave such a mark.  But only love can heal such a scar.  Only love unites our hearts” (“Magnificent”).  There is a profound and exhilarating sense of purpose:  “Every day I die again, and again I’m reborn.  Every day I have to find the courage to walk out into the street with arms out.  Got a love you can’t defeat, neither down nor out.  There’s nothing you have that I need.  I can breathe” (“Breathe”).  And there is that final hope:  “We’re gonna make it all the way to the light” (“I’ll go Crazy”).

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The APA Controversy Over Religion and Sexuality

By Jim Spiegel

Some members of the American Philosophical Association (APA) are circulating a petition that aims to censure orthodox Christian colleges and universities.  The authors of the petition are requesting that the APA not allow these institutions to advertise open positions in their publication Jobs for Philosophers. The crux of the issue?  The non-permissive stance of these schools regarding homosexual behavior.  You can read the petition here: http://www.petitiononline.com/cmh3866/petition.html

The implications of this petition are severe, not only for Christian colleges but for orthodox Jewish and Muslim schools as well.  The petition amounts to a frontal attack on the religious liberty of private educational institutions. In response, some Christian philosophers have drawn up a counter-petition, which you can read here:  http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/apa/.  I have already signed this petition and encourage you to consider doing so as well.

Mark Murphy of Georgetown University has drafted a very insightful response to this controversy, which you can see here:  http://www9.georgetown.edu/faculty/murphym/APAStatement-Murphy.htm. Murphy makes several illuminating observations, many regarding the history of the APA nondiscrimination provisions and other points pertaining to the faulty logic of the petition to change the APA’s advertising policy.  Here I will summarize and embellish some of Murphy’s points:

First, the accused Christian colleges do not single out homosexual activity as unacceptable.  Rather, such colleges prohibit all extramarital sexual practice, which also includes adultery, premarital sex, polygamy, pedophilic sex, and bestiality.  The expectation at these Christian colleges is that their employees and students will refrain from all sexual activity that is outside the bounds of Christian marriage.  While some homosexuals might consider the expectation to refrain from extramarital sexual activity to be a burden, it is not a special burden placed on them, since heterosexuals are also expected to refrain from extramarital sex.

Second, note that this is a behavioral prohibition which is consistent with nondiscrimination on the basis of sexual orientation (per the language of the APA nondiscrimination policy).  To be sexually oriented in a certain way, whether heterosexually or homosexually, is to be physically attracted to members of a particular gender.  But to act or not to act on these desires is a matter of choice, just as it is a matter of choice as to whether to have sex at all.  To insist that persons, whether homosexual or heterosexual, are not free to choose whether or with whom to have sex, assumes a form of hard determinism—a view which, to say the least, is highly contentious.  (See my January 26 post about this.)

Third, the moral norm of confining sex to marriage between one man and one woman is inherent to the religious commitment of these Christian colleges.  Moreover, this is the long-standing belief and practice of all major theisms—Judaism, Islam, and Christianity—and many other religions besides.  So to sanction schools for observing this ideal would be blatant religious discrimination—against, in fact, the religious beliefs of the majority people in the world.

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The Slumdog Gospel

By Jim Spiegel

The Academy Awards garnered by Slumdog Millionaire last week were well-deserved, to say the least.  Amy and I went to see the film a few weeks ago, after multiple recommendations by friends.  Even going in with high expectations, the film floored us.  It had been a long time since we’d seen a film that tells a story that is true to the human condition yet also dares to hope so exultantly.  Not many works of art, films or otherwise, can get you to look evil squarely in the eye and in the end have you crying tears of joy.  Slumdog Millionaire does just this.

For those who’ve yet to be graced by the beauty of Slumdog, here’s a quick summary.  The film follows one Jamal Malik, a kid from the slums of Mumbai India, who appears on the TV show Who Wants to be a Millionaire?  Somehow Jamal has answered all of the questions correctly and is “one question away from winning twenty million rupees.”  Time runs out before he can answer the final question, thus building suspense for the next night and also allowing the Mumbai authorities to brutally interrogate him to find out how he has managed to answer all of the questions correctly to that point.  Surely a slumdog like Jamal doesn’t possess such knowledge, right?  From here the action bounces back and forth between the torturous questioning and a review of Jamal’s life, showing how the answers to each of the questions were emblazoned on his mind through traumatic childhood events—from his immersion in outhouse waste to the murder of his mother.  Each of these events, painful as they were, accrue to his advantage at this fateful hour on national television, where Jamal is poised to become wealthy beyond his dreams.

But wealth is not Jamal’s true dream.  His sights are actually set on a girl named Latika, his childhood friend and now love of his life.  She and Jamal’s brother, Salim, had been abducted by ruthless criminals who cripple orphans to use them as beggars.  The brothers escaped, but not Latika.  Jamal resolves to rescue her from her captors, and the film follows his tireless efforts to do so—a quest which culminates, of all places, on the set of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? 

Critics have frequently called Slumdog “Dickensian” for the power of its narrative eucatastrophe and Capra-esque for its irrepressible hopefulness.  But I can sum up in one word the real magic of the film which makes it so transcendently inspiring: Gospel.  That’s right.  It’s the theme of unconditional love, where a savior emerges from squalor to put his life on the line for the object of his affections.  And don’t think that the film’s creators, director Danny Boyle and screenwriter Simon Beaufoy, didn’t have this in mind.  Jamal Malik, of course, is the Christ figure, and he practically journeys through hell to rescue his darling Latika from those who enslave her.  Jamal rises to public prominence through an extraordinary display of knowledge and understanding, much as did the Nazarene, albeit through the unlikely vehicle of a TV quiz program.  And this same display leads to his arrest and trial in a kangaroo court, where his prosecutors take care to beat and humiliate him, before actually hanging him by his hands for more torture.  Jamal also has his own Judas—his brother Salim, whose actions both guarantee Jamal’s suffering and prepare the way for his heroic liberation of Latika, consummated not in a steamy sex scene but in a poignant embrace in a train station—an unmistakable image of transport to another land.  They will no doubt live together happily ever after.  And, the filmmakers ask us, how do we account for all of this?  Their answer, quoting one of Jesus’ favorite phrases: “It is written.”  Indeed.

It is appropriate that so pure a Gospel story came not from Hollywood, but out of the slums of Mumbai.  For all its pretense to the contrary, Hollywood culture knows little of the abject poverty depicted in this film, much less the possibility of mirth in the slums.  And Hollywood most certainly knows nothing of the self-sacrificial commitment of unconditional love.  Slumdog Millionaire doesn’t flinch at social chaos, cruelty, or the tragic ironies which characterize life in Mumbai.  Nor does it tell us what to feel about these things or patronize us with leftist clichés, as most Hollywood directors do these days.  No, like the great storyteller he is, Boyle simply describes, letting the narrative do its profound work, leaving us to make our own judgments.  The result is a story more full of truth, wisdom, and Gospel hope than we have seen in many years.

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Why Beauty is an Objective Quality in the World

By Jim Spiegel

In my February 12 post I presented an anti-naturalist argument from beauty.  A key premise of this argument is that beauty is an objective quality in the world.  This view is known as aesthetic objectivism.  Before offering some reasons in defense of this view, let me first explain the contrary perspective known as aesthetic relativism.  The aesthetic relativist maintains that aesthetic values, such as “beautiful,” “elegant,” “ugly,” “sublime,” or “poignant,” are entirely relative to the preferences of individuals or cultures.  So, for example, an aesthetic subjectivist would say that all aesthetic judgments are relative to the individual.  Or, as it is popularly expressed, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”  The somewhat less common brand of relativism is aesthetic cultural relativism, which says that all aesthetic judgments are relative to particular cultures.

Notice that both forms of aesthetic relativism deny that there is any objective sense in which beauty or other aesthetic values exist in the world.  So according to relativism, an artwork (such as a poem or a film) or a part of nature (such as a flower, a sunset, or a human face) is not beautiful in itself but is only pleasing to a person or group of people.  Aesthetic judgments (like “this song is lovely” or “that painting is ugly”) do not reveal facts about the world but only reflect observer responses to aspects of the world.

While the claim that all aesthetic judgments are relative to a person or culture has a generous ring about it, a bit of reflection reveals the view to be absurd.  First, consider the implications of aesthetic relativism when it comes to comparing works of art.  My four-year-old daughter, Maggie, loves to draw, and on our refrigerator there are several samples of her recent work, including a crude drawing of three horses.  It is rendered entirely with a pink marker, and the horses have rectangular bodies and triangular heads.  So, we might ask, how does Maggie’s Three Horses composition compare, in terms of aesthetic quality, to, say, Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa?  Is one of these works superior (i.e. more objectively beautiful) to the other?  Not according to aesthetic relativism.  Remember, on this view no work of art can be objectively superior to another, because the relativist maintains that beauty is entirely relative to individual or cultural preference.  So if I happen to prefer Maggie’s Three Horses to Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, then the former is superior to the latter for me.  Or if a given culture—because of, say, a prevailing fancy for the color pink—preferred Maggie’s drawing, then Three Horses would be superior for that culture.  In neither case could it be said that the Da Vinci painting is aesthetically superior to Maggie’s drawing in an absolute sense.

Such a relativist view contradicts common sense.  Obviously the Mona Lisa is superior to Maggie’s line drawings, regardless of how fond I might be of my daughter’s efforts.  But the only way this judgment can make sense is if beauty is an objective fact, not merely a matter of individual or cultural preference.  Only an objectivist view can account for the common sense distinction we ordinarily make between personal tastes and real excellence in works of art.  So if we are to maintain (as we should) that the Mona Lisa is better than my daughter’s drawing, we must admit that aesthetic qualities (whether good or bad) are public facts about the world.  In other words, beauty is an objective quality of things. 

A second argument for aesthetic objectivism appeals to the universal, time-tested appreciation of many works of art.  Educated people will agree, as they have for centuries, that Shakespeare’s King Lear is a great play, that Handel’s Messiah is an excellent piece of music, and that Michelangelo’s David is a superb sculpture.  How do we explain this consensus of opinion among intelligent connoisseurs of art, except by acknowledging that the tremendous aesthetic qualities of these works are public facts?  If aesthetic relativism is true, then the convergence of opinion by hosts of art critics is mere coincidence.  There just happen to have been similarly positive responses to these artworks across cultures for hundreds of years.  But, of course, this is absurd.  So aesthetic objectivism must be true.

Third, consider the fact that we often debate the quality of artworks and we sometimes change our opinions about whether a film, book, or song is good or not.  We might find ourselves defending the merit of a novel we have read or saying something like “I was wrong about that film.  I think it is good after all.”  These are everyday occurrences in discussions of art, and they confirm the basic intuition that aesthetic judgments are objective, whether correct or incorrect.  Aesthetic qualities must be public facts and not simply subjective or cultural responses.  Otherwise, we could not meaningfully argue about them or improve our views on works of art.

For such reasons as these, we can safely say that beauty and related aesthetic attributes are not merely in the eye of the beholder or a matter of cultural preference.  They are objectively real facts about the world. 

[My arguments here are adapted from my article “Good Art and Bad Art: What is the Difference?” in Areopagus Journal, 4:1 (January-February 2004).  For an extended defense of aesthetic objectivism, including an elaboration on some of the arguments that I employ here, see Eddy M. Zemach, Real Beauty (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 1997).]