Is there an intrinsic tension between upholding concern for others through social justice causes and the insistent maintenance of an individualistic mindset, especially one manifested through the assertion of personal identity that is apathetic to the reaction of the other?
Can one insist that people should care about a certain cause while simultaneously insisting that one can do what one wants, when one wants, how one wants?
Or perhaps concern for others ultimately comes at a price to pure individuality, to the notion that we are atoms randomly bouncing into each other. Perhaps concern for others ultimately means that boundaries, while necessary, are not "dogmas" and that a boundary must serve a person and not vice versa.
Showing posts with label boundaries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boundaries. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Intrinsic Dignity vs. Circumstantial Dignity
Experience tells us that circumstances may either dress a man up with nobility or with degradation. When Christ was scourged and crowned with thorns and then shown to the people, such an act was surely not dignifying but degrading. Nevertheless, we know that even in that circumstance, Christ's intrinsic dignity both as God and man perdured. In fact, reflection on such common experiences of public shame and embarrassment show us that it would be absurd to propose that a person's dignity could be annihilated by circumstances.
Intrinsic dignity is that which remains inherent to a person in spite of circumstances, perceptions, and actions. It is why rape is always wrong, even if as some people crudely suggest a victim was somehow "asking" for it or herself guilty for attracting potential rapists. Even if a woman was inviting such a gravely immoral action, the rape is still wrong because it violates the woman's dignity (among other reasons). It is also why many people argue against capital punishment; they say, "What example are we setting by killing a killer?" I'm not here to comment on the rigor of these arguments but am simply pointing out that they imply and appeal to a notion of intrinsic dignity.
Hence, it is clear that to take the life of someone, or for him to take his own life, would be wrong even if all the circumstances of his life were undignified—poverty, lack of hygiene, the absence of loved ones or any support, depression and other suffering, etc. No number of degraded circumstances could destroy the intrinsic dignity of an individual. These circumstances may make a person's life psychologically unbearable to endure, it may be granted, but the dignity remains.
When a person begs to "die with dignity," they usually, but not always, are pointing more properly to the notion of being perceived as dignified. In other cases, such a request points to that individual's self-perception of dignity: "do I see myself as dignified in these circumstances?" In either case, the person ignores intrinsic dignity. Of course, they have the freedom to do so, but they are ignoring it nonetheless.
What is the implication of intrinsic dignity? Does it mean that a person can take his own life? Most cases of euthanasia appeal to circumstantial dignity—the suffering, the dwindling resources, the age, etc. People who commit suicide often do so, if they leave a suicide note, out of circumstances and not an appeal to their intrinsic dignity.
Actually, intrinsic dignity suggests that despite circumstances a person should persevere in the struggle for self-actualization as a human. This would mean, as far as possible, the cultivation of virtue. Intrinsic dignity implies a firm rock amidst a violent ocean to which they ought to cling.
There is, finally, a striking conclusion from the notion of intrinsic dignity. A common and powerful argument for abortion is that a child should be killed before he or she should be made to suffer growing up in terrible circumstances, where a mother may resent the child for being a reminder of when she was raped, where a father is absent, where poverty and frequent abuse is the norm, where an education is practically impossible, etc. This argument presents abortion as an act of mercy to a child. But if we remember intrinsic dignity, then we can see its absurdity. Take a 5 year old who has already been growing up in such circumstances as described in this argument: should the mother/father/society/etc. be allowed to kill the child to prevent that child from suffering further abuse or neglect? What about a 2 year old? What about a 1 year old? What about a baby who has just been delivered? Should it be killed then? Clearly no one would kill a 5 year old because of such reasoning. But why should age be the only differentiating factor, and if it is, when is the child young enough, and why does that age justify the act?
If we would not kill another person because that would be a violation of their intrinsic dignity, which includes in it the right to live and to self-determination, why is the violation acceptable in the case of an infant still in the womb? The infant is biologically an individual despite its physical dependence on the mother, but even such physical dependence doesn't reduce the intrinsic dignity of an individual being; this is again circumstantial dignity which points to the physical dependence. Calling the embryo a "parasite" is again simply an argument referring to circumstantial dignity.
No, the responsible action is, as always, a respect of individuals and of what is properly theirs, which includes dignity and the right to life and self-determination even if an individual is not in the concrete capable of doing so (appeal to circumstantial dignity). The responsible act, then, is to accept the reality of suffering and moral evil AND respect the right of an infant to live despite the fact that it will grow up in the worst of circumstances.
Intrinsic dignity is that which remains inherent to a person in spite of circumstances, perceptions, and actions. It is why rape is always wrong, even if as some people crudely suggest a victim was somehow "asking" for it or herself guilty for attracting potential rapists. Even if a woman was inviting such a gravely immoral action, the rape is still wrong because it violates the woman's dignity (among other reasons). It is also why many people argue against capital punishment; they say, "What example are we setting by killing a killer?" I'm not here to comment on the rigor of these arguments but am simply pointing out that they imply and appeal to a notion of intrinsic dignity.
Hence, it is clear that to take the life of someone, or for him to take his own life, would be wrong even if all the circumstances of his life were undignified—poverty, lack of hygiene, the absence of loved ones or any support, depression and other suffering, etc. No number of degraded circumstances could destroy the intrinsic dignity of an individual. These circumstances may make a person's life psychologically unbearable to endure, it may be granted, but the dignity remains.
When a person begs to "die with dignity," they usually, but not always, are pointing more properly to the notion of being perceived as dignified. In other cases, such a request points to that individual's self-perception of dignity: "do I see myself as dignified in these circumstances?" In either case, the person ignores intrinsic dignity. Of course, they have the freedom to do so, but they are ignoring it nonetheless.
What is the implication of intrinsic dignity? Does it mean that a person can take his own life? Most cases of euthanasia appeal to circumstantial dignity—the suffering, the dwindling resources, the age, etc. People who commit suicide often do so, if they leave a suicide note, out of circumstances and not an appeal to their intrinsic dignity.
Actually, intrinsic dignity suggests that despite circumstances a person should persevere in the struggle for self-actualization as a human. This would mean, as far as possible, the cultivation of virtue. Intrinsic dignity implies a firm rock amidst a violent ocean to which they ought to cling.
There is, finally, a striking conclusion from the notion of intrinsic dignity. A common and powerful argument for abortion is that a child should be killed before he or she should be made to suffer growing up in terrible circumstances, where a mother may resent the child for being a reminder of when she was raped, where a father is absent, where poverty and frequent abuse is the norm, where an education is practically impossible, etc. This argument presents abortion as an act of mercy to a child. But if we remember intrinsic dignity, then we can see its absurdity. Take a 5 year old who has already been growing up in such circumstances as described in this argument: should the mother/father/society/etc. be allowed to kill the child to prevent that child from suffering further abuse or neglect? What about a 2 year old? What about a 1 year old? What about a baby who has just been delivered? Should it be killed then? Clearly no one would kill a 5 year old because of such reasoning. But why should age be the only differentiating factor, and if it is, when is the child young enough, and why does that age justify the act?
If we would not kill another person because that would be a violation of their intrinsic dignity, which includes in it the right to live and to self-determination, why is the violation acceptable in the case of an infant still in the womb? The infant is biologically an individual despite its physical dependence on the mother, but even such physical dependence doesn't reduce the intrinsic dignity of an individual being; this is again circumstantial dignity which points to the physical dependence. Calling the embryo a "parasite" is again simply an argument referring to circumstantial dignity.
No, the responsible action is, as always, a respect of individuals and of what is properly theirs, which includes dignity and the right to life and self-determination even if an individual is not in the concrete capable of doing so (appeal to circumstantial dignity). The responsible act, then, is to accept the reality of suffering and moral evil AND respect the right of an infant to live despite the fact that it will grow up in the worst of circumstances.
Friday, July 18, 2014
The Psychological Importance of Rubrics
Whenever we perform a liturgical action, our virtue is not in the details of the action itself but in our willing to be good servants who do only what they are supposed to do (cf. Luke 17:7-10). Hence the importance of each action is founded on the higher principle of conformity to God's will as expressed through the Church. Following the rubrics with precision is an act of loving service to God; to ignore the rubrics, or, even worse, to disobey them, is an act of pride by which we serve our own will, not God’s will. It doesn’t matter what we think about the rubrics; all that matters is that we surrender ourselves to carrying them out with loving precision. Carelessness walks the same path as disobedience, a path that takes one right into the service of the devil and his motto: "Do what thou wilt."
Each liturgical action is simultaneously a small action and a great action. It is a small action in itself, and our Lord has said regarding small things, “Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much” (Lk. 16:10). The action is great because, as St. John of Damascus wrote, “A small thing is not small when it leads to something great; and it is no small matter to forsake the ancient tradition of the Church which was upheld by all those who were called before us, whose conduct we should observe, and whose faith we should imitate" (On Divine Images, § 1). That is, each action is great because it is sacramental and an expression of God’s grace at work in the liturgy.
Rubrics provide a necessary foundational form for the expression of praise. All expression requires some form of “repression”; that is, without boundaries, rules, and limits, anything goes. But the Church teaches us that love is not formless. Charity is oriented toward the Good; thus it must follow the will of God.
The Church prescribes rubrics to demonstrate how vital and important Her liturgy is to Her; it is so important that everything within it must be carefully directed. See the strong language that She uses:
Each liturgical action is simultaneously a small action and a great action. It is a small action in itself, and our Lord has said regarding small things, “Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much” (Lk. 16:10). The action is great because, as St. John of Damascus wrote, “A small thing is not small when it leads to something great; and it is no small matter to forsake the ancient tradition of the Church which was upheld by all those who were called before us, whose conduct we should observe, and whose faith we should imitate" (On Divine Images, § 1). That is, each action is great because it is sacramental and an expression of God’s grace at work in the liturgy.
Rubrics provide a necessary foundational form for the expression of praise. All expression requires some form of “repression”; that is, without boundaries, rules, and limits, anything goes. But the Church teaches us that love is not formless. Charity is oriented toward the Good; thus it must follow the will of God.
The Church prescribes rubrics to demonstrate how vital and important Her liturgy is to Her; it is so important that everything within it must be carefully directed. See the strong language that She uses:
Regulation of the sacred liturgy depends solely on the authority of the Church, that is, on the Apostolic See and, as laws may determine, on the bishop;When the rubrics are thoroughly learned and understood, then one no longer has to consciously think about them. One is then free to pray, to enter deeply into the Sacred Mysteries of the liturgy. This interior prayer, combined with the external form of the rubrics, is true liturgy.
Therefore no other person, even if he be a priest, may add, remove, or change anything in the liturgy on his own authority.
Thick Skin is a Defense for Self-Loathing
I think the advice to have "thick skin" is terrible advice in the pursuit of human virtue. Every time that I have heard it given, it came from people who were clearly themselves both unhappy and not virtuous, or it was given in circumstances where honesty could easily have led to a much better solution to conflict.
American culture is actually very unique in the world for being one of the only places that has turned insults and sarcasm into a form of compliment. Jokes made at the expense of another person are justified by a narrative of fraternal love—e.g. "He and I are good friends, so I can do this to him or say this about him." Somehow we have the notion that being friends justifies what in most other societies would be taken as a form of hatred or abuse.
It is in this same culture that we have the saying that one ought to have "thick skin" so as not to be disturbed by the rudeness or selfishness of others. But this solution is self-deceptive and stems from pride. The proper reaction to rudeness or selfishness from a purely human point of view cannot be to somehow stifle, suppress, or ignore what is done to us and how we feel about it; such a view presupposes that the emotions are evil and that a truthful encounter with them is likewise unacceptable. The proper reaction to rudeness can be only the honest assertion of one's dignity, of which no circumstance may justify its abuse. Hence, for example:
A dismissive response, equally dishonest, would be like the following:
In such cases, good-willed persons might recommend to the victim to have a "thick skin," but how can this advice, as it is commonly given, be in any way healthy for an individual? Thick skin implies the opposite of an honest encounter and expression of one's internal state.
Why is this issue important? Because most people suffer from an unconscious (and in many cases, conscious) belief that they deserve to be treated poorly, that they are not worthy of being treated well. They unwittingly invite abuse into their lives in one form or another and do not stand up to it because for one reason or another they think that such abuse is justified. Such people do not think that they possess an inherent dignity (or they may intellectually believe this but not act on it accordingly), and hence they do not assert their dignity.
The assertion of dignity must follow upon the honest belief in one's self-worth, and the assertion of dignity must always take a form of honest communication: calling out the evil for what it is and extending the opportunity for reconciliation by the honest stating of one's feelings.
Hence even people who advise thick skin themselves reveal how much self-loathing they unconsciously harbor because anyone who actually values himself could never encourage another human being of practically measureless dignity to act in such a way that would compromise that dignity.
American culture is actually very unique in the world for being one of the only places that has turned insults and sarcasm into a form of compliment. Jokes made at the expense of another person are justified by a narrative of fraternal love—e.g. "He and I are good friends, so I can do this to him or say this about him." Somehow we have the notion that being friends justifies what in most other societies would be taken as a form of hatred or abuse.
It is in this same culture that we have the saying that one ought to have "thick skin" so as not to be disturbed by the rudeness or selfishness of others. But this solution is self-deceptive and stems from pride. The proper reaction to rudeness or selfishness from a purely human point of view cannot be to somehow stifle, suppress, or ignore what is done to us and how we feel about it; such a view presupposes that the emotions are evil and that a truthful encounter with them is likewise unacceptable. The proper reaction to rudeness can be only the honest assertion of one's dignity, of which no circumstance may justify its abuse. Hence, for example:
Offensive person: You're an idiot.It doesn't matter how the offensive person reacts. If he apologizes, then all is well. Most likely, he won't. Either way, contrast this response of honesty (1. stating one's feelings; 2. pointing out the injustice of the act openly) with one of dishonesty:
Honest person: I may be ignorant about certain things or wrong in this situation, but your insulting my character is hurtful and unjustified. If I'm wrong, correct me. There is no need to insult me.
Offensive person: You're an idiot.This is only one example of how a dishonest person might respond. Any response that does not bring to light the injustice of the offensive person's act without being judgmental (e.g. saying, either directly or indirectly, that a person is somehow "evil" for doing something wrong) or does not state one's feelings in reaction is a dishonest one.
Dishonest person: Only idiots themselves call other people idiots.
A dismissive response, equally dishonest, would be like the following:
Offensive person: You're an idiot.In trying not to take seriously the offensive person's insult, the dishonest person deflects any possibility of forgiveness, of bringing the injustice to light so that it may be repented, of reconciliation, etc.
Dishonest person: Whatever.
In such cases, good-willed persons might recommend to the victim to have a "thick skin," but how can this advice, as it is commonly given, be in any way healthy for an individual? Thick skin implies the opposite of an honest encounter and expression of one's internal state.
Why is this issue important? Because most people suffer from an unconscious (and in many cases, conscious) belief that they deserve to be treated poorly, that they are not worthy of being treated well. They unwittingly invite abuse into their lives in one form or another and do not stand up to it because for one reason or another they think that such abuse is justified. Such people do not think that they possess an inherent dignity (or they may intellectually believe this but not act on it accordingly), and hence they do not assert their dignity.
The assertion of dignity must follow upon the honest belief in one's self-worth, and the assertion of dignity must always take a form of honest communication: calling out the evil for what it is and extending the opportunity for reconciliation by the honest stating of one's feelings.
Hence even people who advise thick skin themselves reveal how much self-loathing they unconsciously harbor because anyone who actually values himself could never encourage another human being of practically measureless dignity to act in such a way that would compromise that dignity.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross on Spiritual-Sensible Friendships
[Sensible love] can be legitimate in marriage. Saint Teresa is talking to religious [....]:
Spiritual-sensible love
Spiritual love is a fruit found at the summits; hence, it is very rare. Spiritual-sensible love is much the more frequent. It is the one that ordinarily nourishes friendships between spiritual persons. As a rule, their spiritual bonds are engrafted in natural sympathies and find in these their strength and their stability. How could they love with a love purely spiritual when their faculties are not purified, and supernatural charity has not yet established its dominion over the lower powers?
Saint Teresa reassures us as to the morality of spiritual-sensible friendships by comparing the love that animates them to that which we have for our relatives. Not only are they lawful; they may be beneficial. The apostolate of friendship, that is found so often in specialized movements, will use for the most part this spiritual-sensible type, more adapted as it is to our weaknesses. By the atmosphere that these friendships create around souls, the persuasive force that they add to counsel, the affectionate support that they afford, they can rescue a soul from loneliness, from bad surroundings, or from the mediocrity of a milieu, to elevate it into purer and more supernatural regions.
The friendships by which Saint Teresa benefited before her entrance into Carmel were of this nature. The affection that she inspired in those about her and that enabled her to attract them, must also have been spiritual-sensible. We cannot suppose that those souls were elevated at once to spiritual love [....]
Might not the same be said with regard to the crowds that forgot their food and drink to follow Jesus even into the desert? They were not only captivated by the divine radiance that shone forth from the sacred humanity of our Saviour; but also, by the kindness, the eloquence, and all the external charms of the Master. Indeed, it was in order to conquer thus, by adapting Himself to our weakness, that the Word became flesh; and by assuming our human nature, He wanted it to be clothed with all the perfection of which it is capable.
In Christ, and also in Teresa, affection was wholly spiritual; and it preserved from danger the less perfect affection of the souls that were captivated by it.
The case will not be the same when both friends bring to their union only an imperfect love. How then can we avoid fearing a loss of balance between the two elements, spiritual and sensible, that are united in this friendship? It is a law that each one of our faculties is drawn towards the good that is presented to it, to taste its proper satisfaction. The satisfactions of the senses are the most violent and risk dominating in the soul that is not purified, and dragging it down. In our nature wounded by sin, love tends to descend to the lower powers and to pour itself out through the senses. This break in balance threatens the most sincere strivings for spiritual good and makes them founder in the culpable liberties of sensuous love [....]
Without falling into these excesses, spiritual-sensible friendship can imperceptibly be transformed into an inordinate affection, or an exclusive and particular friendship which is already a disorder. The Saint writes:
The Saint notes in this connection that "consciences of those who aim only in a rough-and-ready way at pleasing God ... think they are acting virtuously"; and that in order to check such friendships, "we must proceed diligently and lovingly rather than severely."
It could happen that some element of sensibility might creep into ones relations with the confessor. The question is important and delicate for religious; and so, the Saint treats of it at considerable length. First of all, a person should not fall into exaggerated scrupulosity on this point. If the confessor is holy, zealous, and if he is guiding the soul to greater perfection, Teresa advises:
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Source: Fr. Marie-Eugène, I Want to See God, trans. by M. Verda Clare (Notre Dame, IN: Christian Classics, 1953), 262–266.
These last affections are a very hell, and it is needless for us to weary ourselves by saying how evil they are, for the least of the evils which they bring are terrible beyond exaggeration. There is no need for us ever to take such things upon our lips, sisters, or even to think of them, or to remember that they exist anywhere in the world; you must never listen to anyone speaking of such affections, either in jest or in earnest. (Way of Perfection, vii; Peers, vol. II, 31)[...] The Saint tells us her plan to explain two kinds of love.
There are two kinds of love which I am describing. The one is purely spiritual, and apparently has nothing to do with sensuality or the tenderness of our nature, either of which might strain its purity. The other is also spiritual, but mingled with it are our sensuality and weakness; yet it is a worthy love, which, as between relatives and friends, seems lawful. (Ibid., iv; 19)The first is dominated by spiritual love. In the second, the spiritual is united with elements drawn from reason and the senses in diverse degrees, such as make it lawful and even good. Let us call this last love "spiritual-sensible" from the two extremes that it unites; and with the Saint, let us speak of it first.
Spiritual-sensible love
Spiritual love is a fruit found at the summits; hence, it is very rare. Spiritual-sensible love is much the more frequent. It is the one that ordinarily nourishes friendships between spiritual persons. As a rule, their spiritual bonds are engrafted in natural sympathies and find in these their strength and their stability. How could they love with a love purely spiritual when their faculties are not purified, and supernatural charity has not yet established its dominion over the lower powers?
Saint Teresa reassures us as to the morality of spiritual-sensible friendships by comparing the love that animates them to that which we have for our relatives. Not only are they lawful; they may be beneficial. The apostolate of friendship, that is found so often in specialized movements, will use for the most part this spiritual-sensible type, more adapted as it is to our weaknesses. By the atmosphere that these friendships create around souls, the persuasive force that they add to counsel, the affectionate support that they afford, they can rescue a soul from loneliness, from bad surroundings, or from the mediocrity of a milieu, to elevate it into purer and more supernatural regions.
The friendships by which Saint Teresa benefited before her entrance into Carmel were of this nature. The affection that she inspired in those about her and that enabled her to attract them, must also have been spiritual-sensible. We cannot suppose that those souls were elevated at once to spiritual love [....]
Might not the same be said with regard to the crowds that forgot their food and drink to follow Jesus even into the desert? They were not only captivated by the divine radiance that shone forth from the sacred humanity of our Saviour; but also, by the kindness, the eloquence, and all the external charms of the Master. Indeed, it was in order to conquer thus, by adapting Himself to our weakness, that the Word became flesh; and by assuming our human nature, He wanted it to be clothed with all the perfection of which it is capable.
In Christ, and also in Teresa, affection was wholly spiritual; and it preserved from danger the less perfect affection of the souls that were captivated by it.
The case will not be the same when both friends bring to their union only an imperfect love. How then can we avoid fearing a loss of balance between the two elements, spiritual and sensible, that are united in this friendship? It is a law that each one of our faculties is drawn towards the good that is presented to it, to taste its proper satisfaction. The satisfactions of the senses are the most violent and risk dominating in the soul that is not purified, and dragging it down. In our nature wounded by sin, love tends to descend to the lower powers and to pour itself out through the senses. This break in balance threatens the most sincere strivings for spiritual good and makes them founder in the culpable liberties of sensuous love [....]
Without falling into these excesses, spiritual-sensible friendship can imperceptibly be transformed into an inordinate affection, or an exclusive and particular friendship which is already a disorder. The Saint writes:
Little by little they deprive the will of the strength which it needs if it is to employ itself wholly in the love of God.... even among brothers and sisters such things are apt to be poisonous.... The harm which it does to community life is very serious.... I am more inclined to believe that the devil initiates them so as to create factions within religious Orders. (Ibid., iv; 17)They are "wrong in anyone, and, in a prioress, pestilential."
The Saint notes in this connection that "consciences of those who aim only in a rough-and-ready way at pleasing God ... think they are acting virtuously"; and that in order to check such friendships, "we must proceed diligently and lovingly rather than severely."
It could happen that some element of sensibility might creep into ones relations with the confessor. The question is important and delicate for religious; and so, the Saint treats of it at considerable length. First of all, a person should not fall into exaggerated scrupulosity on this point. If the confessor is holy, zealous, and if he is guiding the soul to greater perfection, Teresa advises:
What you can do here is not to let your minds dwell upon whether you like your confessor or not, but just to like him if you feel so inclined.... Why should we not love those who are always striving and toiling to help our souls? Actually, if my confessor is a holy and spiritual man, I think it will be a real help to my progress for me to like him. (Ibid.; 22)
But if the confessor is seen to be tending in any way towards vanity, he should be regarded with grave suspicion.... It is a dangerous matter, and can be a veritable hell, and a source of harm to everyone.... The devil can do a great deal of harm here. (Ibid., iv; 19-20)[...] The friendship that is deviating, feeds on trifles:
Some injury done to a friend is resented; a nun desires to have something to give to her friend or tries to make time for talking to her, and often her object in doing this is to tell her how fond she is of her, and other irrelevant things, rather than how much she loves God.... Many imperfections can result from this. (Ibid.; 17)The discernment of good friendships was a problem that had bothered Saint Therese of the Child Jesus. Saint John of the Cross gave her the solution. On the back of a holy card that she kept in her missal, she had copied this passage from the Dark Night:
Some of these persons make friendships of a spiritual kind with others, which oftentimes arise from sensuality and not from spirituality; this may be known to be the case when the remembrance of that friendship causes not the remembrance and love of God to grow, but occasions remorse of conscience. For, when the friendship is purely spiritual, the love of God grows with it; and the more the soul remembers it, the more it remembers the love of God, and the greater the desire it has for God; so that, as the one grows, the other grows also.... But, when this love arises from the vice of sensuality aforementioned, it has the contrary effects; for the more the one grows, the more the other decreases, and the remembrance of it likewise. (Dark Night, iv; Peers, vol. I, 362)The tree is recognized by its fruits. The criterion given by our Lord for the discernment of true prophets is applicable here also, and gives certitude. The effects make known the nature of the affection; or rather, indicate which, in this synthesis, is the force that dominates and imposes its movement on the other elements. If the spiritual-sensible friendships make one grow in love of God, they are good and should be encouraged. Such is the conclusion.
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Source: Fr. Marie-Eugène, I Want to See God, trans. by M. Verda Clare (Notre Dame, IN: Christian Classics, 1953), 262–266.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Dating Confusion
A recent survey shows how confused our society is on "dating" and "hanging out," along with its accompanying social expectations and norms. Text-based forms of communication, such as texting and email, have further alienated individuals and their ability to understand the intentions of those around them. Check out the statistics and story: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/01/21/date-hangout-relationships/4397601/
Saturday, February 15, 2014
How Not To Take Things Personally
If you are like many, you probably wake up and go through your day expecting that it will go relatively smoothly and predictably. You expect to see the same people, go through the same routines, eat basically the same food. Perhaps you look forward to it or perhaps you don’t. But something everyone inescapably experiences are people who are inconsiderate, impatient, or even downright hostile. These people can treat us in a way that leaves us feeling worthless, helpless, overwhelmed, or even infuriated. Our interactions with these people, whether in a face-to-face encounter, or over the phone, or while driving in traffic, can dampen our spirits and make it difficult to focus for the rest of the day. Some of us will spend much time and energy thinking about things we could have done or said in response. Others will vent with those they are close to, hoping to find some amount of sympathy and appreciation. Others will withdraw silently and sulkily into themselves. Still others will seemingly brush aside the incident, perhaps even appearing happy while they move forward, yet perhaps in fleeting moments of honest self-reflection will wonder why they feel awful inside.
Perhaps you have been told by people to “suck it up” or that you need to develop “thick skin.” Sometimes these pieces of “advice” are given with good intention or in good humor, by friends, relatives, supervisors, or teachers. Their basic point is the same: to get over your feelings in order to stick with the task at hand.
And indeed, some people develop “thick skin,” but not in the way we commonly think of it. Some develop thick skin by becoming fat, their obesity unconsciously representing a thick layer to protect their internal spirit from the hostility of the outside world. Others develop thick skin by covering their skin in tattoos, such images sometimes covering huge portions of the body, turning the body into a piece of exhibitionism. Still others will pierce their skin, others will cut it, others will “cover it” in baggy clothing. There are people who will develop “apathetic attitudes” by which they hardly react to anything so as at least to avoid the possibility of ever experiencing pain again. There are those who use humor to such an extent that they’ll laugh when they should really be expressing concern—”Oh, haha,” they’ll react after they “accidently” bump into you and pour hot coffee all over you, “Did that hurt?” There are those who develop the thick skin of seeking constant emotional thrills, perhaps by drugs, drinking, sex, or other entertainment. There are those who have the thick skin of intellectualizing everything so as to never deal with emotions. And there are others who in a sort of subtle inversion will dress immodestly in order to draw peoples’ attention to their “skin” so as to avoid having to deal with people—or more importantly, themselves—on any meaningful level “beneath the skin,” that is, on the level of the emotions or spirit. After all, eroticism and romantic relationships do not engage the soul in any honest and loving way but only for emotional thrill rides by means of mutual manipulation that can cause emotional scars lasting for years, even lifetimes.
People who suggest that we ought to “suck it up” or develop “thick skin” are simply misinformed about human psychology and perhaps even themselves hold deep, dark emotions hidden in the recesses of their unconscious, an ugliness that is waiting to come out given the right trigger. Nevertheless, there is a way not to take things personally, and it is through a healthy realism.
Realism is a way of looking at things “realistically.” Usually it is opposed to idealism, which filters life through overly-optimistic lenses. In fact, realism if it is true realism includes all the ideals and aspirations of the human heart, but it places them where they ought to be and chooses the appropriate means to attain those ends. Some aspirations are contrary to the hard facts of reality; for example, no matter how much an individual may desire it, he cannot grow wings to fly like a bird. No matter how much we desire it, we cannot control weather, earthquakes, fires, or other natural disasters. No matter how much we dislike it, we cannot control other peoples’ behaviors although we may do certain things that we know often in fact manipulate other people in predictable ways.
Realism accepts the highs and lows of life, and at the end of the day, you are a realist even if you don’t think of yourself that way. We expect realistically a car with gas and working parts to get us from point A to point B. We expect realistically that eating will satisfy our hunger. We expect realistically that if we flip a light switch—if there is no power outage and if the bulb is working and if the circuits are all properly in place—that the lights will go on. No one spends a minute to think about whether or not to jump out of the way of an oncoming car—we just do it because we know that if we don’t, we most certainly will be seriously injured or probably even killed.
So how does realism allow us to take other peoples’ inconsiderate or hostile behavior not in a personal way? It’s quite simple: realism reminds us that we ought to expect most people to act in an inconsiderate manner anyway.
If we expect harsh or unfair treatment, which is all that this broken world can offer, then our hopes for receiving love will never be dashed because we will never seek to satiate those desires by means of turning towards the world. The world cannot give what it doesn’t have, and the world simply doesn’t have love, patience, empathy, consideration, gentleness. All things good come from God, and if we find these beneficial qualities in another human being, it is because God is working through that person, whether consciously or not. When we encounter consideration, justice, and mercy, we rejoice like parched flowers in a dry land when it rains. We then are grateful.
When we remember that in our fallen condition, the normative—or “normal”—behavior that society expects is greediness, narcissism, an “every-man-for-himself” individualism, then we can take the concrete steps towards making sure that, no matter how we are treated, we will resolve to be virtuous, loving, and considerate. No matter how others treat us, we can always take responsibility for our actions and treat others with the love that they never received, and perhaps in that brief giving of love, that other person’s heart may be cracked open by the grace of God.
When we expect hostile behavior, then we no longer need to defend ourselves. After all, this hostile behavior usually identifies a finite aspect of ourselves that is true—perhaps we were “stupid” for not noticing something (yes, even though we couldn’t have noticed it anyway); perhaps we were “retarded” for not being able to do something so seemingly simple; perhaps we did a “fail” by our mistakes or accidents; perhaps we were “slow” because we couldn’t provide what the other person expected as fast as they expected it (yes, even though we can move only so fast).
The point in these attacks against our character is not so much that we are being demanded to do something or demeaned for failing to do something that is literally impossible given the concrete circumstances but that the other person perceives a failure regardless of how realistic their expectation is in the first place. Yes, of course, we cannot move or think with the speed of Superman or a computer calculator. Of course, we may sometimes slip, fall, bump into someone, cut someone off, make a Freudian slip, or forget something important. Everyone makes mistakes. But when people treat us “unfairly,” we ought to remember that we forget this simple, realistic fact of life: we are finite creatures who often make mistakes. And we never need to defend our mistakes. All we have to do is admit them in all simplicity, honesty, and perhaps even humor.
“Yes, I am stupid!” It’s sort of funny when we just admit it like that, isn’t it? “Of course I’m dyslexic! Dyslexics are ‘teople poo’!” “Yes, I’m slow!” Or if they demand that we "go faster," we could simply say, "Yes, sir! I'm going as fast as I can," while simply going at the same speed. And if they demand it again, we can simply repeat it again, "Yes, sir! I'm going as fast as I can!" When we admit our mistakes like this, the other person eventually has only one option: to surrender to the hard facts of reality. No matter how much they may press us, make demands of us, or treat us rudely, eventually they will have to face the fact that their expectations cannot change our behavior, cannot get them any closer to their desired goal. We can go only so fast, think so fast, speak so fast, and no more. And it is in this encounter with, this surrender to reality that perhaps the other person will then be able to feel remorse for their behavior. But then again, don’t count on it!
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