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Book Notes

By Amy Spiegel

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry: My first reading of Wendell Berry came to me via a book recommendation shared in line at our campus coffee shop and was reinforced by a friend a few days later at a wedding. Somehow this seems a fitting way to discover the world of Port William. I now know this is one of the last in the series and plan to work my way from the beginning. Beautifully written, lush with description and life without being overly fussy. Enjoyable but with depth, Berry celebrates the simplicity of rural life in America without reducing his characters to caricatures. Only now I am sad I didn’t pick up any of his works before now. I fully intend to make up for lost time.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy: Would you be satisfied if I just said “Ugh”? When he decides to dive into the world of fiction, Jim has a nasty habit of taking the plunge with very difficult but quality works. In this instance, he decided to make me share in his suffering and unfortunately for us, the work was difficult without the quality. Reading this book was an act of futile drudgery, devoid of joy or meaning. A bit like the task of “the man,” the main character, walking endlessly with his beloved son; destination and purpose unknown. My issues with McCarthy’s Pulitzer Prize winning work weren’t just the nihilism that seeped from every adverbless, comma avoidant sentence. It lacked imagination, character development, and realism. One can only assume it was meant to be a Hemingwayesque, bare bones narrative whose style reflected the bleakness of the landscape through which the man and boy are traveling after some unnamed event has left Earth in ecological ruin. But Hemingway’s genius was bringing character into sharp relief despite his restrained prose. McCarthy starves the reader’s imagination to death with regards to his characters while forcing them to feast on absurdities like roving bands of cannibals and just-in-the-nick-of-time root cellars. In this case, I’ll choose the road less taken, thank you very much.

Troubled by Rob Henderson: I read this after hearing Henderson interviewed by Jordan Peterson. This memoir is unflinchingly raw and honest about the failings of the foster care system and the adults who raised him but also his about his own behavior. He recounts how the selfishness and unthinking actions of many people impacted his life and worldview with a sympathetic clarity which is to be applauded. Avoiding creating villains and heroes, Henderson allows the reader to draw their own conclusions about the complex motivations of both himself and others. A tragic and triumphant story well worth reading.

Beyond the River: The Untold Story of the Heroes of the Underground Railroad by Ann Hagedorn: This is my favorite style of historical non-fiction. Hagedorn brilliantly draws the reader into the world of 19th century Ripley, Ohio with her immensely well-researched work, often drawing heavily from primary sources which allows the historical figures to tell their own story instead of being spoken for by the author. This book has special meaning to my family because we have vacationed near Ripley the last two summers and had the opportunity to visit both the John Parker House and the John Rankin House for two of the most memorable historical museum visits we’ve ever had. History comes to life as you look across the Ohio River listening to the stories of slaves, aided by hundreds of brave men and women in their desperate bid for freedom. These stories were passed on to Harriet Beecher Stowe, a friend of the Rankin family, and many appear in Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Inspiring stories of courage in the face of unthinkable cruelty, particularly in the dark and clarifying times in which we live.

Honorable Mentions: Close to Death by Anthony Horowitz: Nothing to write home about but the perfect light read; a nice ice cream cone on a summer day. Wrong Place Wrong Time by Gillian McAllister: This one actually annoyed me, a lot but kept me turning pages to get to the end. Not exactly an ice cream cone, more like a slightly squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich halfway through a long hike: you won’t be leaving a five star review but better than nothing at all.

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The Ultimate Mystery

By Jim Spiegel

A recent episode of the Joe Rogan Experience, featuring a conversation with Rizwan Virk, deals with the possibility (or likelihood) that we are living in something like a computer generated reality. Of course, what this really points to is the age-old notion that the world is the product of some ultimate consciousness, that is, God. Rogan, like all of us, understands the significance of this, which explains why he is uncharacteristically silent through much of the conversation. We are talking about the ultimate question here.

There are really just two fundamental worldviews: Either all comes from Mind or all comes from matter. There are many versions of each, but these are ultimately the two options. It’s really that simple. Those who take the latter view are materialists (or naturalists or physicalists, depending on one’s preferred nomenclature). They are also empiricists and typically regard science as the most reliable or perhaps only way to secure knowledge. Materialists believe in minds and consciousness, of course. They just believe that it is reducible to, or an epiphenomon of, physical reality

Those who take the Mind-most-real view reject strong empiricism, affirming that reason or mystical-religious experiences provide evidence for the reality of a supernatural realm. They do not deny the reality of the physical world but simply deny that it is the ultimate reality. They maintain that this material realm is in some way the product of the workings of an ultimate consciousness. Those among them who maintain that this Mind at the bottom of things is personal are generally called theists. For many such theists, such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, among others, theirs is a purely philosophical conviction. Most others subscribe to a theological tradition, such as Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

Whichever view one takes, the conviction tends to be held very firmly, often dogmatically. This is despite the fact that whichever view one holds there are serious metaphysical problems and ultimate mysteries that defy ready explanation. This, I suppose, is symptomatic of human arrogance or insecurity or both. Plaguing both views is the ultimate metaphysical question: How did all of this get here? And even more basic is Heidegger’s famous question, Why is there something rather than nothing? (Ways of addressing this question are boundless. For a recent sampling, check out these, most of which miss the point or involve a confusion of some kind.)

Then there are the problems unique to each perspective. For the materialist, the most fundamental problem pertains to how consciousness could emerge from inert matter. The options here are numerous, including philosophical behaviorism, strict identity theory, functionalism, and property dualism. But they all face serious problems, such as that of 1) explaining the particulars of consciousness, including phenomenal qualia, subjectivity, and enduring selfhood, 2) accounting for human freedom, 3) accounting for moral truth, and 4) accounting for rationality—non-natural things like reasons, logic, and evidence influencing the world. Then there are the perennial problems of cosmology (explaining the origin of the universe and cosmic fine-tuning) as well as all sorts of empirical data pointing to the supernatural (e.g., mystical experiences, NDEs, OBEs, etc.).

Materialists may balk and minimize these problems all they want. It’s simple denial. Any self-respecting materialist will at least admit that these are genuinely significant problems with their perspective. It is no wonder that, after a half century of concerted atheism Antony Flew flipped from a materialist view to a Mind-most-real view (see his There is a God) and that the inveterate materialist Thomas Nagel has admitted that materialism is bankrupt and in serious need of overhaul, if not outright rejection (see his Mind and Cosmos).

But Mind-most-real proponents have no grounds to be cocky. They also face serious metaphysical problems. In addition to the ultimate metaphysical question—why is there something rather than nothing?—there are many other thorny questions: How could the ultimate Mind create something so radically different as physical matter? What is the substance of this Mind? How does this being causally act on the world? How much of the cosmos does the Mind control? Does this Mind have a moral nature? If so, then why evil—and why so much evil? Has the Mind communicated to humans? If so, which, if any, of the purported supernatural revelations is genuine? If one of them is, how do we resolve the countless interpretive problems?

As a Mind-most-real advocate, I am happy to be relieved of the problems plaguing the materialist view. But I naturally am interested in many of these other problems. However, as a Berkeleyan immaterialist, I think many of these admit of ready solutions. For on the Berkeleyan idealist view (which the great American theologian Jonathan Edwards essentially affirmed as well), the physical world just is ideas. And since minds naturally traffic in ideas, God’s production and causal influence on the world is not mysterious at all. (For in-depth scholarly discussions of a wide range of issues pertaining to idealism and Christianity, look here and here. And here is a London Lyceum interview with me on topic.)

But there is one particular problem unique to the Mind-Most-Real view that is especially deep and intractable: How does a Mind make another mind? In the theistic traditions, we learn that the primordial Mind (God) created all things. In the Christian tradition, at least since Augustine, we affirm that God created ex nihilo. So how did this ultimate center of consciousness—God—bring into existence minds like yours and mine ex nihilo? How does a subjective consciousness endow another thing/substance with subjectivity? And what exactly is the substance of each of our minds? How are our minds like and unlike the ultimate Mind?

One plausible philosophical answer is theologically problematic, at least from the perspective of Christian orthodoxy: The Mind did not create other minds ex nihilo but rather finite minds are aspects of the primordial Mind. This solution isn’t necessarily pantheistic, but it is panentheistic. (For an interesting discussion of this possibility, see Jordan Wessling’s chapter in this aforementioned book.)

As a convinced theist who believes that Christianity is the most reasonable version of theism, the question of ultimate reality is settled: Mind is most real. The likes of Antony Flew, Thomas Nagel, and Joe Rogan have recently been waking up to this fact, even if they aren’t ready to call themselves theists (or even, in the case of Nagel, a non-materialist). For me, then, the remaining ultimate mystery is just this: How does the Mind make other minds? This will be one of the first questions I ask that Mind when I get to the other side.

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Women’s Work

By Amy Spiegel

For years, when our children were small, Jim and I would share a hurried kiss and a “Have a good day” as he left for campus and I began a day at home with the kids. We used to joke that as we went our separate ways, each of us would look at the other with wistful pity and mutter under our breath “Sucker!”

Sure, there were days when, with a heart full of envy, I imagined him gathered around the water cooler (this was truly imagining because they didn’t have a water cooler) with his colleagues, discussing current events, quoting Plato and basking in the luxury of adult time. I am less sure that there were days where he sighed with regret as he pulled out of the driveway, watching the kids and I head out for a walk to the library or a playdate with friends. But for the most part, we were quite comfortable in our roles. He was the main breadwinner, supporting our family financially, not to mention influencing the minds of countless students and readers through his lectures, books, and articles. I was a stay-at-home mom, supporting our family through the various little tasks of home life, planning meals and doing laundry, not to mention educating our kids through elementary and middle school. We were, and still are, a great team, sharing the responsibilities and burdens, as well as the joys and rewards, of raising a family and pursuing a life of purpose and accomplishment.

I have no doubt that Jim, were he left on his own, would not have accomplished as much professionally without my support. Were he to have been a single dad, most of his time and energy would have gone into raising his kids, with little surplus for research and writing. I consider his accomplishments, all the publications, awards, etc., to be shared accomplishments in which I played a vital, though not equal, role. Obviously, he could have been a non-dad and had many more hours for his intellectual pursuits, but without the depth of experience, not to mention the love and encouragement, a family brings which I think has shaped him into a greater man than he would be otherwise.

Similarly, had I been a single mom I’m not sure the kids and I would have made it out of their formative years alive. Putting aside the obvious financial support Jim provided, allowing me the privilege of focusing on raising our family, his emotional and spiritual support was instrumental in my development as a wife, mother, and more generally as a human being. He is quick to credit me with influencing our kids to a greater degree than he has and that is perhaps somewhat true given the sheer quantity of time I was able to spend with them. But that time was made possible through the hours he spent lecturing, grading, doing research, and so on, not to mention the profound impact he has had on me as the spiritual head of our family. Our roles have shifted over the years, with the kids off to school, though I am still more focused on the daily routines of our family while he is focused on providing for our family through a myriad of ways.

This division of labor has worked, with varying degrees of success, for thousands of years. Men and women working together to nurture the next generation. Of course there have been abuses and imbalances of power, but the modern tendency to sneer at “women’s work” in the home as oppressive or demeaning is yet another symptom of the overall mass misogyny of our times. Nowhere is this more apparent in the current petition calling for the dismissal of Kansas City Chief’s player Harrison Butker over comments he made as the commencement speaker for Benedictine College which you may read in full here.

Those supporting this effort have called his comments “sexist, homophobic, anti-trans, anti-abortion and racist.” Well, they at least they got the anti-abortion part right. I won’t go into all their claims but would like to address their accusation that Butker’s remarks were sexist. Many

National Catholic Register

have pointed to the hypocrisy of those leading the charge for Butker’s firing given the numerous instances of domestic abuse and unlawful and violent behavior on the part of countless NFL players which has garnered little attention from the press or fans. What’s most interesting to me about the outcry on the part of some regarding Butker’s comments, however, is hypocrisy in another form.

They believe that a man celebrating the sacrifices and achievements of his wife is sexist. They believe that a woman’s value is to be found in her paycheck and not in her eternal investments in the lives of those entrusted to her care. In other words, they believe that women should be judged by the historically male dominated standards of career and, for lack of a better word, “worldly” accomplishments. Do they think that Butker holds his wife hostage at home? Do they think so little of women’s intellect that we are incapable of deciding for ourselves how we will divide our time and energy? Do they see so little value in the great joys of motherhood and homemaking? This seems the epitome of sexism!

In a world where men have decided that they can simply declare themselves women, invade our private spaces, steal our opportunities in sports and demand our acceptance of them as our equal, can we not at least acknowledge that being a modern woman can take many forms? Can we not celebrate those who work inside the home alongside those who choose to do so outside the home? In a world which demands acceptance of all manner of lifestyle choices, can we not allow for the rights of the traditional alongside the pantheon of “alternatives”?

The petition demanding his firing calls for unity rather than divisiveness. I couldn’t agree more; as our founding fathers put it, “Out of the many, one.” One body with many parts, all working together to function as a whole. This to me is the unity of purpose Harrison Butker wished to celebrate by praising his wife and all she has done from the sidelines to support and enable him and their family. In my eyes, she is playing the better game and winning. There are of course other roles that women can play, roles which hold great value and purpose. But I say Isabelle Butker is the star quarterback for her team. Perhaps you disagree but as for me, I’m a big fan!

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The Best and Worst of 2023

By Jim Spiegel

It has been a very exciting year, full of transitions and making new friends. In January Jim commenced his work as a Templeton Fellow at Hillsdale College. Amy continued her role as an agent with State Farm Insurance until she changed roles in November, beginning her work in the office of Gifts and Estate Planning at Hillsdale College. So now we are officially a double-barreled Hillsdale couple! The kids continue to develop into interesting young adults, and our family conversations about art, culture, philosophy, theology, and politics are more stimulating and enriching than ever. As usual, we are closing out the year with summary remarks about good and bad stuff related to film, music, books, sports, food, and family.

Film Experiences

Jim: Continuing the trend of recent years, we have seen very few films at the theater and have focused mostly on watching films at home via Netflix and Amazon Prime. My favorite of the year was JFK: One Day in America, which has rekindled my life-long interest in the Kennedy assassination. The documentary focuses on JFK’s fateful trip to Dallas in November 1963 and features interviews with the last surviving eyewitnesses, including secret service agents Clint Hill and Paul Landis. (In his interview for the documentary, Landis’ revelation regarding the so-called “magic bullet” has enlivened the perpetual debate over whether Oswald acted alone in the assassination.) One film we did see at a theater, Napoleon, was a disappointment. Despite Ridley Scott’s spectacular cinematography and a typically strong performance by Joaquin Phoenix in the titular role, the film ultimately falls flat for lack of a compelling theme. The film recounts major events in the life of Napoleon, but a straight documentary can do this much. Probably our family favorite series of the year was Only Murders in the Building, starring Martin Short, Steve Martin, and Selena Gomez. The third season was every bit as clever, thrilling, and waggish as the first two. Kudos to the creators of this smartly crafted series.

Amy: I agree with Jim’s assessment of OMITB and Napoleon whole-heartedly. Please don’t expect any artsy, groundbreaking recommendations from me this year. Perhaps it was moving again and looking for some reassuring old friends via my viewing activity but whatever the reason, I delved deep into my anglophile ways, re-watching some familiar favorites and discovering some new ones. To The Manor Born and Keeping Up Appearances were recommended by a friend as witty, delightful escapism and lived up entirely to that recommendation. As Time Goes By was a favorite of Jim’s mom which I shamelessly binged watched and felt as if she was sitting beside me laughing along at the incomparable Madame Judi Dench. This helped to rinse the bad taste left in my mouth by the sixth, and blessed, final season of The Crown. Maggie and I love a good Hallmark genre holiday flicks and were pleasantly surprised by EXMas which departed from the hyper-stereotypical, shallow character development we have come to enjoy so much while still embracing all the characteristics of the genre (e.g., estranged boy and girl who are obviously meant for one another, quirky parents, tensions at work, an odd devotion to Christmas which is taken for granted by all, etc.). On the doc side of things, Convicting a Murderer and Who Killed Jill Dando? were shocking and well-executed. We ended the year by going to the movies with my dad to see The Boys in the Boat. As a lover of the book, I came in with low expectations which were quickly forgotten. Well-cast and well-written, this movie took me back to the good old days when movies just told a great story and left agendas to the politicians.

Food and Music

Amy’s Best Food Experiences of the Year: Without a doubt it was a meal experienced this week with all the kids. While vacationing in Florida, we went to Peg Leg Pete’s in Pensacola and were initially shocked at the 1½-2 hour wait time. Thanks to some cheerleading from Bailey and Andrew, we decided to stick it out and had a night to be remembered. We killed time playing games in the bar, ate some of the best seafood we have had in a while, and soaked up the joy of being together. We also had some truly wonderful meals with new friends in Michigan as well as spending time with “old” friends from Indiana.

Jim’s Best Musical Experiences of the Year: After doing a deep dive into the music of the Talking Heads, my respect for the musical genius of David Byrne has risen to new levels. Now in his 70s, Byrne’s innovative musical explorations continue unabated and have even taken him onto the Broadway stage with his award-winning American Utopia. Also, my son Bailey recently turned me on to the sparse, atmospheric music of the Icelander artist Soley, specifically her 2011 debut album We Sink. From there I dug into her other work, which is mesmerizing and, by turns, haunted and sweetly endearing. Oh, and my love for the music of Sia has grown even stronger. What I described as a “guilty pleasure” two years ago is now unashamed. So good! Check out her albums We are Born and 1000 Forms of Fear, and prepare to be addicted.

Sports 

Jim’s Favorite Sports Moments of the Year: Watching Andrew emerge as a star soccer and basketball player on the Hillsdale Academy teams has been a lot of fun. He’s still deciding whether to play soccer or basketball at the college level, though he’s leaning toward soccer. And watching Sam play on the Lansing semi-pro soccer team last summer was a blast, as was watching his rise as captain and goalkeeper on the Taylor University soccer team. He had another season of spectacular moments in goal this year, culminating in his being selected as national NAIA defensive player of the week near the end of the season. He’s a human highlight reel! But it does make for tense viewing. It is hard to be the parent of a goalkeeper. You want to see your kid involved in significant game action, but for the keeper to get such action there must be a defensive breakdown or an otherwise serious scoring threat. Agonizing!

Amy’s Favorite Sports Moments of the Year: Watching Andrew, newly arrived in Michigan via Bolivia, bonding with teammates on the basketball court was definitely a highlight as was cheering on Sam’s Lansing Robins this summer. I was quite proud of perfecting my “tailgate charcuterie” which I am sure contributed to much of their success.

Jim’s Most Disappointing Sports Moments of the Year: My Detroit Lions just missing the NFL playoffs last January was disappointing, but this year they are heading back to the postseason, hosting a playoff game for the first time in 30 years. The Atlanta Braves being bounced in the second round of the National League playoffs, again, by the Philadelphia Phillies who, again, were a decidedly inferior team throughout the six-month regular season, only to benefit from a playoff system that handicaps the top seeds by forcing a four-day layoff which serves to undermine the rhythm of hitters and pitchers. When will the MLB wake up and correct this? Given that it makes more money for the league, perhaps never.

Amy’s Most Painful Sports Moment of the Year: Taylor’s defeat in PK’s (following a couple of controversial calls by the refs, I might add) after tying through triple overtime against Spring Arbor in the Crossroads Conference tournament was almost more than I could bear. So proud of the team’s effort and love seeing Sam continue to grow and mature as a player. A close second would be suggesting to Jim that a great pre-Thanksgiving Lions game activity would be to “clean up” the “unneeded” cable lines cluttering up the outside of our house only to realize I forgot to mention that one was in fact our much needed WiFi line. Several agonizing hours and a panicked drive to first Wal-Mart and then Meijer later, WiFi was restored, only to have the Lions lose to the Packers.

Good Reads

Jim: Because of the transition into my new role at Hillsdale College, I have been consumed with philosophical research, especially work on the problem of evil and the metaphysical idealism of George Berkeley. My article “The Premortalist Free Will Defense” was recently published in the International Journal for Philosophy of Religion. Also, I have completed two pieces on the problem of evil which I expect to appear in peer-reviewed scholarly journals in the next year or so. I am nearing completion of an article on Berkeley, public objects, and common sense, which I’ll be submitting somewhere soon. So as far as my “good reads” for the year, I would count most of the scholarly literature I consumed when working on these articles as “good reads,” including those featuring fallacious arguments and misbegotten philosophical claims that I have been more than happy to refute! ☺

Amy: Several books I read this year fall into the strange category of books I can’t say I enjoyed but also couldn’t stop thinking about after: I Will Die in a Foreign Land by Kalani Pickhart, The Parasites by Daphne du Maurier, A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf and The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell. I devoured The Running Grave by Robert Galbraith aka J.K. Rowling and was given plenty to chew on by The Rise of the New Puritans by Noah Rothman and Michael Shellenberger’s Apocalypse Never and San Fransicko. Honorable mentions are Settle for More by Megyn Kelly and The Twist of a Knife by Anthony Horowitz. I was also terribly proud of Jim for his piece on “Self-Governance and Self-Worship” in the American Reformer and this piece at the Federalist.

Best 2023 Family Memories

Jim: A highlight for me was doing house renovations with Bailey last summer. Our “new” house in Jonesville, Michigan was built in 1846—when Nietzsche was in diapers! It has great character and “bones,” as they say, but it needed a lot of work. Doing the renovations has been a family adventure, and the joy these improvements bring Amy and the kids is thrilling for me.

Amy: Jim’s seemingly magical transformation of our house has been a sight to behold. So proud of the herculean effort he and Bailey have put in. We’ve had several special times with all four kids: Christmas in July (to make up for Andrew’s and Bailey’s absence last Christmas), walks in the woods, kayaking with Sam and Bailey on Baw Beese Lake, so much laughing over rounds Jim’s ingenious new game Make ‘Em Laugh and our time in Florida.

New Year’s Resolutions

Amy: Taking my health more seriously, cultivating my Hillsdale College fun facts database and reawakening my love of reading (over watching).

Jim:  Completing renovations on our “new” (178-year-old) house in Jonesville.

Happy 2024 everyone!

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Risky Business

By Amy Spiegel

As Christmas approaches, this mother’s heart is humming with anticipation. All four of our kids, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, will be spending the holiday break with us this year. As they grow up and out (of the house that is), I am learning not to take being all together for granted. Gone are the days of me hiding in the kitchen pantry, eating chocolate and trying to get five minutes to myself. Most of the time I’m lucky to have more than one of them sitting at the dinner table and last Christmas we suffered an emigration mix up getting Andrew home from his semester in Bolivia and ended up with only half the crew celebrating with us.

Earlier this week, I was listening to Megyn Kelly discussing the case of Kate Cox. If you haven’t heard of the case, Cox is suing the state of Texas for the right to abort her baby. Texas’ recently enacted laws prohibit abortion once a fetal heartbeat is detected with some exceptions. Despite the fact that Cox’s baby has been diagnosed with Trisomy-18 and is highly unlikely to survive to full-term or the birthing process, the lower Texas courts have denied Cox’s application for an exception to be made. Kelly expressed her belief that forcing a woman to carry a dying baby was a form of “torture” and condemned the Texas law as too extreme, a position I strongly disagree with but not, perhaps, for the reasons you might think.

Surely no one who hears this story can fail to sympathize with Cox, although extremists on the left would have a hard time selling their sympathy to me as genuine. Many, though not all, abortion advocates have moved well past the argument for “legal, safe, and rare” and into the space of gleeful celebration at the death of a helpless unborn child. Those on the opposite end of the spectrum should most definitely offer their condolences to Cox and her family; if you are pro-life, you certainly should seek to comfort those who face such a dreadful diagnosis. But for myself, I believe that in seeking an abortion Kate Cox is not escaping “torture,” as Kelly put it, but rather inflicting further wounds to her psyche. She is already the mother of a dying child and having an abortion will not erase that fact. Being the direct cause of her child’s death, rather than allowing her child’s life to unfold, in my opinion, will only add to her grief. The risk of heartbreak is an inherent part of motherhood and a medical procedure cannot remove this from the job description.

We, as mothers, are all the mothers of dying children and our journey through parenthood is a tortuous one. We bring them into this world knowing that one day, hopefully many decades from now, they will leave it. Not only do they face certain death, we also know there will be many pains and traumas along that path. We hold our breath from the moment we feel that first stirring deep inside our wombs, through their first tottering steps and watch with anxiousness as they are off to school and have their first disappointments and heartbreaks and failures. As their worlds widen, our fears only increase. As they grow, so too do the dangers they face.

But so too do their joys. And through them, our joys increase as well. As they say, with great risk comes great reward. There is no joy in mothering without the sorrow; to love is to venture heartbreak. There is no escaping the tortures of motherhood, whether it be carrying a baby you know is destined to die early or carrying a baby you know will face untold perils as he or she grows. Just as in the throes of labor there is no escaping the pain of birth; all you can do as a mother is grit your teeth and know you are giving birth to something worth the pain.

Years ago in my early days of parenthood, I was complaining about not getting a moment to myself, and a friend wisely shared an insight that pierced my heart. He looked down at one of my toddlers and said “If I had known the last time I held my son or daughter was the last time, I would have held them five minutes longer.” We never know when that last time will be so we should cherish each time as if it is the last.

From the news reports I have read, Kate Cox won’t get that last time, or a first. She has pursued an abortion in another state. For that loss, I grieve for her. I’m sure that this Christmas will be a challenging and sad time for her, to say the least. I will certainly pray for her to experience repentance, forgiveness and healing during the season which celebrates not only Jesus but also his mother Mary. Not only Mary in the stable but also Mary at the temple, dedicating her baby to God and being told by Simeon, according to Luke 2, that He would do great things but at the cost of a sword piercing, not just His side, but also her soul. I think of Michelangelo’s Pieta. Mary holding her son for just five minutes more; the pain of His death and her sorrow bring us who believe the greatest of joys.

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A Philosophical Anecdote

By Jim Spiegel

Many people complain of the trouble that philosophers cause with all of their theories and disputations. As a “professional” philosopher, I’ve fielded my share of such complaints over the years. For example, a friend once scoffed to me how he had once heard a philosopher question whether he could know that the chair in which he was sitting was real. I simply smiled in response, sensing that he was in no mood for a serious discussion of the matter. The truth is, of course, that it is not philosophy which poses the problem of the reality of the chair, but science. As physicists tell us, that chair is 99.9% empty space—very far from the “reality” of the chair that we seem to perceive with our senses. That is a scientific conclusion, not so much a philosophical one. What the philosopher says in response to this is to ask, given this apparent scientific fact, whether we can know the “chair” that is really there. This is a very natural and ordinary question, it seems to me, given the facts of the situation. So then, we might ask, what is my friend’s actual complaint in this case? If he claims the problem is with philosophy, then he’s really just confused or else in denial. But if his problem is with science and its implications for knowledge, then, well, he’s a philosopher.

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Anti-Social Behavior

By Amy Spiegel

I suppose we all have a relationship or two which falls into the “guilty pleasure” category. We know they aren’t a good influence. We rarely leave their presence feeling better about ourselves or the world in general. They make us a worse version of ourselves, and yet we just can’t bring ourselves to walk away. We make up all sorts of excuses for not cutting ties with them: we’ve known them for such a long time. Our mutual friends would feel awkward if we didn’t associate with them anymore. Or worse, our mutual friends might choose them over us. We are a good influence, and if we abandon them who will be left to offer a more enlightened perspective? We tell ourselves maybe they will change for the better.

And then one day, you’ve just had enough. A line is drawn that you just can’t cross. And you suddenly realize the futility of continuing in this relationship any longer. It’s like eating Rocky Road ice cream straight from the tub and praying it will magically turn into non-fat sugar-free frozen yogurt. Going no contact won’t be fun, but it’s time.

I have come to this place with social media, by which I am referring to Facebook and Instagram. I know these aren’t the only social media platforms out there, but these are the two with which I mostly frequently engage and with which I am officially breaking up. For a few years now, I have known FB and IG were a negative influence on my life. It wasn’t just the time wasted but the overall impact on my outlook that bothered me. When Jim left Taylor, I inadvertently walked away from posting for the most part. I’m not sure of all the reasons this happened, but I do know the co-mingling of friends and former friends in my network made me feel vulnerable online and I started just sharing pics here and there with friends through text. To minimize time spent online, I deleted my IG app and only accessed it via web browser. (If ever you doubted the intentionally manipulative design of social media, contrast the browser and app version of the experience. I can’t believe how much faster I exit IG and FB when I’m not plugged into the app.) I was more conscious or rather self-conscious about how much time I spent browsing. It also made me aware of the distraction it created in others, as I tried to engage with people whose eyes kept drifting to their phones. I have also started the absolutely radical behavior of leaving my phone in the car for church services, dinners out, and walks with the fam. Try this exercise and you will quickly realize what a lurking presence your and others phones are, even when turned upside down or in a pocket. Phones in this situation are like a rude, socially awkward third wheel, just waiting to interrupt and turn all eyes on them. Stop inviting them along! But I digress…

I noticed that this somewhat distanced relationship had me questioning why I would be involved with social media at all. I found myself asking questions like “Who is this post for? The person you are writing about or your “fanbase”? I was alarmed at the use of children as props for their parents’ “brand” and recognized that I have been guilty of doing the same. One of the kids asked me not to post pics of them from fun family events and would ask me “Why are you doing that?” which made me stand up and think “Yeah, why am I doing that?” The fact that I stopped posting for the most part during the dark season after Jim’s firing is a good indication that I was more interested in highlighting our happy seasons than transparently sharing real life with friends.

As my relationship with social media weakened, I could feel more clearly the impact on my state of mind when I did engage with it, generally walking away feeling fatter, uglier, less accomplished, and poorer while simultaneously feeling smug and judgmental. Not a good combo for the psyche.

Then this winter, Andrew’s school hosted a night with Dr. Leonard Sax, a prominent physician and psychologist, who opened my eyes even further to the negative impacts of social media on children. Not only was I participating in something harmful to myself, I was engaging with a dangerous organism which was being weaponized against the young and vulnerable. Jim and I spent time in prayer, repenting of having, in ignorance, exposed our kids to this malignant force and talking with our kids, most of whom are now young adults, about the impact this activity has had and is having on them.

With all of this, I still haven’t been able to walk away. That is until I heard of a Wall Street Journal article exposing the fact that Instagram “helps connect and promote a vast network of accounts openly devoted to the commission and purchase of underage-sex content…” What further motivation did I need to cut ties with IG? Maybe I was willing to ignore the cancerous impact it had on my productivity, my thoughts and even my children’s mental health. Sure IG is the gateway drug for pornography and a vast number of physical and mental disorders, but it’s so deliciously entertaining. But when confronted with this horrifying though hardly shocking article, how could I ignore that I was willingly partnering with a monster that doesn’t simply allow but promotes and profits from the sexual exploitation of children?

So I am breaking up with Instagram and Facebook. I will no longer post or monitor my accounts. I’m sure I will slip up every now and again or will peer over someone’s shoulder to watch a funny dog video or see who just got engaged. I’ll take it one day at a time and hopefully turn those days into months and years, but I am planning for an anti-social media life moving forward. An anti-social media life that is full of actual socializing and genuine and authentic engagement with friends.

As the saying goes, you do you. I don’t have any desire to judge others and their navigation through the complex “Metaverse” we find ourselves in. But I hope you will do so with your eyes wide open to the dangerous waters you are sailing through and prayerfully consider your course.

 

“O Trinity of love and power

Our brethren shield in danger’s hour

From rock and tempest, fire and foe

Protect them wheresoe’er they go.”

~William Whiting, “Eternal Father, Strong to Save”

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Passing Into History

By Amy Spiegel

Recently, I had the sad honor of attending a memorial service for a dear friend’s father who passed away quite unexpectedly. I listened as several people shared their memories of Fred, some funny, some touching, but all laced with the sorrow of his absence. It is a tragic irony of such events that the more beloved and accomplished the person is, the deeper the sense of loss and grief. It struck me that most of us are striving to live life in such a way as to make many people, whom we love, miserable when we are gone. The only thing worse than a funeral for someone for whom everyone is grieving is a funeral for someone for whom no one is mourning.

My friend’s dad was, fortunately, not such a person. There were many tears from the large crowd who gathered to comfort his family and celebrate his life. There was beautiful singing and a truth-filled homily declaring faith in life after death and the hope of resurrection. And then . . .  it was over. We wiped away our tears and hugged one last time. Some of us gathered for a meal and caught up on life. Then we drove home and did chores, walked our dogs and spent time with our families. Of course, the grieving process is not over and for his family and close friends. It never will be, at least this side of heaven. He will be missed at each family event, talked about among those who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him. But as those who had that privilege slip away, so will their memories. So it will be for each of us. One day in the future our lives, however long, will be reduced to an obituary and an afternoon service.

There are, of course, a select few whose lives take on historic relevance, but they are few and far between. Most of us will not be a world leader, a great inventor or the writer of a timeless classic. Even these figures aren’t really remembered as people but more by their accomplishments. Their deeds and works live on in our memories rather than in their personal impact on individual lives.

As I reflected on this truth, I realized that this is actually true for all of us. In the case of my friend’s dad, Fred, his skills will carry on every time his grandson tees up for a round of golf. His smile and kindness will echo through history in the smiles and kindness of each person whom he influenced for good. Each time his daughter stands in front of her class, his love of teaching will continue.

We each have the opportunity to live a historic life, one that ripples through time far after we are gone. Each day presents us with countless opportunities to reach beyond our eventual grave and live on through small acts of kindness or faithful service. There is no telling how you might echo through history, how loudly your life might resonate through time.

Of course, this requires one to think beyond oneself. After all, if I live a life that is primarily focused on myself, then that leaves very little behind after I am gone. While writing this post, the lyrics of the Beatles’ famous Eleanor Rigby kept playing through my mind. The namesake of this famous song which asks “all the lonely people, where do they all come from?” is buried in Liverpool’s St. Peter’s church cemetery. In the song, Eleanor is alone, touching the lives of no one, she is not mourned or missed at the end of her life. According to the gravestone of the real Eleanor, however, she was a beloved granddaughter and wife. One version of Eleanor has been enshrined as a monument to human isolation and loneliness. But the impact of the real Eleanor is quietly rippling through history in who knows how many ways. Let us strive to do the same.

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The Waiting Room

By Amy Spiegel

The past two years and counting have brought quite a few personal challenges for the Spiegels as a collective and for each of us individually. Jim’s termination, the loss of friends and pets, various health issues, moving, and new jobs and schools make up just the highlight reel. One of these circumstances is enough to inspire stress and anxiety, but experiencing them simultaneously is enough to bring you to your knees. While all living through the these major life events, it was fascinating to see how the same circumstances have acted as “opportunities for growth” for all us but in sometimes entirely different ways. Change brings previously undiscovered weaknesses (and strengths) to the surface the same way that traveling to a foreign country can highlight aspects of your own culture and personality that you weren’t aware of before.

I learned a lot about myself through all these changes. But I was also given the chance to change myself, or rather choose to allow the Holy Spirit to bring about change. And the end of 2022 brought a scenario which allowed me to put some of these changes to the test.

As many of you know, Bailey and Andrew, our oldest and youngest sons, traveled to Bolivia in July–Bailey to teach art at Highlands International School in La Paz and Andrew to spend the semester as a student at that school. This wasn’t our first time sending off kids to international destinations and I was so happy for the both of them that while I missed them, I was thrilled to send them on their way. With Sam and Maggie off at school, it gave Jim and I a taste of empty-nesting which we quite enjoyed. Of course, waiting was made easier because we knew the boys would be returning at Christmas, Andrew for good and Bailey for a visit. Or so we thought. In a hotel in Miami, with dreams of being reunited with the kids still dancing in my head, I got a phone call. I had driven down a week before to drop Maggie and Sam off at the airport. They flew down for a visit with their brothers and then I was to drive them home for the holidays. The phone call was Bailey saying that Maggie and Sam had made their flight but that Bolivian officials were refusing to allow Andrew to leave the country. He was missing an important piece of documentation and to make matters worse, it was the Friday before Christmas. Offices would soon be closing for the weekend and not re-opening until later the next week. After a frantic day of driving from one office to the next, I was able to get the necessary papers on a flight to Bolivia but had to leave the airport two kids short. The sadness of not having them with us for Christmas was compounded by the fact that Andrew was set to start a new school a few days after New Year’s. I won’t bore you with the details of the roller coaster ride that was the next two weeks but ultimately Andrew arrived back in Indiana, after what he says were the best two weeks of his trip (!!), though sadly Bailey didn’t have enough time left of his break to come home. This situation taught me many things, one of which was never to make complicated travel plans around the holidays. But it also clarified my thinking regarding stress and anxiety.

I would like to issue the disclaimer that I understand that anxiety takes many forms and comes from many places. The type of anxiety I wish to address is the type we volunteer for rather than the type that creeps unbidden into our minds without our giving permission. I have several family members who struggle with anxiety and I know this struggle is real. But there is a garden variety anxiety over which we have much more control.

I discovered this distinction before Andrew was “held hostage” over Christmas. As I mentioned, Andrew was starting a new school upon his return. That’s because we were moving…again. This time to Michigan in order for Jim to take a position as a Templeton Fellow at Hillsdale College. The timing of this move was tricky and with several months of Jim’s contract in Bloomington left, we agonized over when to put our house on the market, not wanting to sell it out from under ourselves. Instead of finding ourselves homeless, we found ourselves with too many houses, the one we owned in Indiana and the one we wanted to own in Michigan. When describing our situation to friends and family, I would find myself feeling obligated to say “I am really anxious about selling the house” or “It’s so stressful that it isn’t selling.” One day I realized that neither of those things was true. I wasn’t anxious or stressed. So why did I feel compelled to say I was? Even when our holidays were ambushed by a hurricane of bureaucratic mishaps, I wasn’t really stressed or anxious. Despite it all, there was this eye-of-the-storm calm at the center of my mind. I knew that this was not just a product of me being laid back, which I am decidedly not, nor was it a lack of concern. I very much wanted to sell our house and very much wanted the boys home. Instead, it was putting into practice the lessons I had learned through all the hardships that were now in the rear window.

Looking back I could see how God had provided and trust that He would do so moving forward. I realized that stress and anxiety are a choice. I can choose to pick them and pretend that by doing so I am actually accomplishing something. I could see all the misspent hours of worry and planning that did nothing but rob me of the joys of the present. So I chose to do the only things I can: trust. Okay, I will admit to obsessing over the tidiness of our house each morning with the confidence that today’s showing would bring someone who was on the fence about the house and then see how neatly the bed was made and declare “This is the one!” And I drove around Miami like a mad woman gathering official stamps and signatures. But then you just have to lay all that work down and wait and trust and wait some more. We are still waiting. Thank goodness not for Andrew who is thriving in his new school and still regaling us with stories of South America. But our house still hasn’t sold and I am still not stressed about it. I’m in the waiting room and any moment they are going to call our name and it’s going to be our turn. And who knows, maybe it will be our turn for more “bad” news, more challenges and “growth opportunities.” But if that’s the case, I hope I have the faith to look over my shoulder at all the mountains we have climbed and face the next one without the extra luggage of anxiety regarding the destination. I advise you to do the same; keep your eyes on the Guide and He will lead you safely home.

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Unplanned Parenthood

By Jim Spiegel

Seeing as yesterday was my mom’s birthday and today is the 50th anniversary of the notorious Roe v. Wade decision, I thought I would share a few stories that both affirm the sanctity of human life and honor my late mother, Phyllis Moore Spiegel.

When my mom became pregnant with me, she was already the busy mother of three boys and thirty-six years of age. Although my parents were not planning to have a fourth child, they didn’t exactly take a rigorous approach in trying to prevent this, as they later informed me that at the time they were using a rather unreliable spermicide contraceptive. When my mom discovered she was pregnant, she was somewhat apprehensive because, being in her late thirties, she thought of herself as too old to have another child. At some point she shared her concern with her dad who responded by offering to pay for an abortion. My mom obviously declined the offer, essentially telling my grandfather that just because she felt anxious about being an older new mother (at least relative to those days), she had no thoughts of terminating the pregnancy. In fact, she was disturbed by the very suggestion.

Still, my mom continued to struggle with anxiety about having another kid at her age. This continued even after I was born and wasn’t put to rest until she heard some wise words from our pediatrician, Dr. Stopman. One day when she took me in for a check-up, Dr. Stopman asked her how she was doing and my mom shared her concerns with him, saying “I was sitting there in the waiting room, looking around at all those young mothers, and I just feel like I’m too old to be doing this again.” Dr. Stopman looked at my mom and, pointing at me, he said, “he doesn’t think you’re too old.” My mom would later say that after this she never thought about it again. And Dr. Stopman was right. Never once did I think of my mother as “old,” even when she was in her 90s. She was always just my mom—my insightful, kind, good-humored, sometimes curiously enigmatic mom. She remains one of the two most interesting women I’ve ever known. (I’m married to the other one.)

One day when my grandfather was visiting our house a few years later, my mother noticed him pensively staring out the window at me as I was romping around in the backyard. My mom asked him what was on his mind, and he replied, “I look at Jimmy playing and I just feel horrible about the offer I made you to get an abortion.” With the frank honesty that was so typical of Phyllis Spiegel, my mom replied, “Well, Dad, you should feel horrible about it. And you know what? I should have taken your money and used it to pay for a good trip somewhere.” My grandfather smiled and said, “You’re right, honey. That would have served me right.”

As I have reflected on these stories over the years, I have been struck by the profound impact that a simple conversation can have, deciding the direction—or even the existence of—an entire life. I also contemplate the fact that although, from a human perspective, the fate of any one of us might seem uncertain at times, we are all securely in the hands of God—from the moment of our conception until the day we depart this world. As the Psalmist says, “My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Ps. 139:15-16).