The retreat from child rearing is, at some level, a symptom of late-modern exhaustion — a decadence that first arose in the West but now haunts rich societies around the globe. It’s a spirit that privileges the present over the future, chooses stagnation over innovation, prefers what already exists over what might be. It embraces the comforts and pleasures of modernity, while shrugging off the basic sacrifices that built our civilization in the first place.
So said Ross Douthat as he bemoans the fact that our lazy, self-centered citizens are having fewer children.
I wonder what "late-modern exhaustion" is, and I wonder how Douthat measures it. In the first place, how does he know we're in a "late-modern" period. Don't you have to know how everything turns out before you start saying what is "early" and what is "late"?
Secondly, it's a sign of "exhaustion" that we're not having more babies? Please. Maybe it's just the opposite. Maybe peoples' energy and dynamism, previously sapped by having children, is now being directed into other areas. The United States is not "exhausted." Quite the contrary, we are one of the most vibrant and vital countries in the world.
This entity called "late-modern exhaustion" arose in the west? It did, did it. When and where, and what are the marks by which we might know it?
Would we know it by its two 12 trillion dollar economies--Europe and the US? Would we know this awful decadence by its tired and defunct art and culture which somehow, still, manages to enliven people around the world, and is more sought and embraced than ever?
People are not stupid. People had lots of children in past eras for a variety of reasons, the most compelling of which was economic advantage. Two hundred years ago, when most of our citizens lived on farms, people needed the help. More children meant more farm hands.
With affluence, people tend to have fewer children. This is not because they are doing something so esoteric as favoring "stagnation" over "embracing the future", or some such rot, but rather because, first of all, there is no longer an economic advantage to having children.
Children cost a lot of money and a lot of time. People have other options today, and they are taking them. It doesn't mean they're exhausted, or stagnating, or shriveling up. It means they are free to pursue their own lives in the way they want.
Not to worry, Ross. People are still having children. The birth rates have gone down, but not out. The United States birth rate is slightly more than the replacement rate, and even poor old exhausted Europe has seen an uptick in recent years.
They have children, these days, for no really good reason. There's no money in it any more, but people keep having them anyway. Maybe it's because, operating from a position of freedom and responsibility and love, they actually want them.
The shape of religion is changing rapidly around the world. Africa is becoming the center of world monotheism. Protestantism, progressive Roman Catholicism, and secularism are all on the rise in Latin America.
Christianity is outwardly prospering in the third world, yet perhaps as many as half of these new Christians were evangelized by the "prosperity gospel," which has about as much contact with the real gospel as a fish does with a cinnamon bagel.
In the United States, Christians are deep in the throes of an on-going culture war, one that is slowly tilting away from conservatives. Most Roman Catholics like their nuns way better than they like their bishops, and gay rights is rapidly increasing in public support among all groups, including evangelicals.
For thirty years, the religious right has conflated the terms "Christian" and "conservative," and for twenty-nine years, the mainstream media has abetted them. This gives the false impression that Christians are under assault from a secular culture, and are a beleaguered band of the "pure" lost in a society that is descending into a secularist hell-hole.
That's on the one hand. On the other hand, while Christians do have their problems, some new things are operating under the radar. The "emergent" churches are starting to have an impact. They may not be large in numbers, but they dominate the discussion in all wings of protestantism.
Now, "the new monasticism" is making its appearance. The name, incidentally, is misleading. This is not about going to a convent or a monastery. The "new monasticism" is an attitude of devotion, an appreciation of both action and contemplation, an understanding of, in de Chardin's words, the "divine milieu" in which we live. Thomas Merton:
Contemplation is life itself, fully awake, fully active, and fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness, and for being. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent, and infinitely abundant Source.
Good Lutherans, the "new monastics" see "the holiness of the secular." Our world is not split between the sacred and the secular. There is no "pure" and there is no "unclean." All creation is fully capable of being both holy and profane--at the same time, saint and sinner, Luther said.
Sacramental theology makes such a view possible--indeed, demands it. If Christ can be fully present with us in the most common elements of earth--water, bread, wine--then Christ can be present with us through anything in all creation. The reformer Philip Melanchthon once said, "There are a thousand sacraments"--anything in the world can bring Christ.
It will be interesting to see which, if any, spiritual traditions "have legs" as we move through this century. What appears to be "up" right now may not be "up" in the year 2100. No one knows if "emergent" or the "new monasticism" or any other spiritual thread will prosper or fizzle.
Nevertheless, every person is a mystic, whether they know it or not. Every person has what the psychologist Abraham Maslow called "peak experiences," times when the window of every-day reality seemed to crack open and show something more.
Certain strands of the Christian tradition can give expression and encouragement to this phenomenon. Those strands have been there all along, from the earliest days of the church, to the mystics of the middle ages, down to the present day. The names of Origen, St. Theresa, St. Francis, Merton, Teilhard, and many more grace the pages of Christian history.
It's a thin tradition, but a powerful one. It represents many millions of people who don't have ready words for their own experiences. Whether it prospers or not remains to be seen, though none of its advocates care much for "growth" or "success" as they are understood according to the customary models.
This tradition will continue, even when many others have long since faded. The contemplative tradition will still be alive in the year 2100, perhaps vigorously alive, while some others, outwardly prospering now, may no longer even exist.
The foot-race has been a frequent metaphor in American political and economic life. Garry Wills explored the subject in Nixon Agonistes, which was written around 40 years ago, and so have others.
It's not an American thing either. The apostle Paul also used foot-race metaphors, and so does the book of Hebrews: "Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us" (Heb 12:1).
Conservatives, he (Wills) observed, tend to concentrate on the purity of competition, while liberals stress a “fair start” in the race of life. Nobody much doubts the basic scheme of individual success, at least ideally, as reflecting individual worth, but there is significant variation in how much public intervention is necessary to establish “fair” rules for the race.
Julian Castro, in last night's keynote speech at the Democratic convention, gave the old metaphor a new spin: “The American Dream is not a sprint or a marathon; it’s a relay.”
It's not just about individual achievement, in other words, but also about the journey of a people. It's not just about "winning" a race, but about how people together navigate a whole terrain of experience through time.
That sounds rather close to the author of Hebrews. For the author of Hebrews, the emphasis is not on winning the race. The race itself is "set before us," after all. We have no choice but to "run" it.
It's also not an individualistic race. "Let us" run," says Hebrews, and "let us run with perseverance", which means exertion over time, through long effort, maybe even through several generations--a relay, one might say.
People in the ancient world felt themselves dominated by forces from outside themselves, like “fate” and kings. They felt themselves under external control.
The medieval era—roughly the period from the decline of Rome to the reformation—was characterized by feelings of internal control. People felt that they were controlled by forces within themselves, like sin and disease.
The modern era was characterized by external freedom, the idea that we could use the laws of the universe to be free from being controlled. Instead of being controlled, we could be in control ourselves. We could do this through modern means, such as science, economics, engineering, and war. The great gardens of Europe, for example, are creations of the modern era. They express the sense that nature itself could be manipulated and molded—even controlled—by human beings.
It would follow that the (so-called) postmodern era could be a time characterized by internal freedom. Will it? Will it be a time when we seek freedom by asserting power over forces inside ourselves? Put another way, will it be a time when we look for God less in “externals,” like dogmas, proofs, and external authorities, and more in “internals,” like relationship and devotion?
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing in the 1940’s, and from a Nazi prison no less, anticipated this question when he spoke of a new consciousness which he called “a world come of age.” For Bonhoeffer, “religious consciousness” was passing away and “world-come-of-age consciousness” was rising, a development which he welcomed.
By “religious consciousness,” he essentially meant a worldview that continues to be based in the authority of religion and church. “Religious consciousness” was invested in retaining what it considered to be traditional understandings of God and reality.
One of the ways that religion responded to science, for example, was by using “God” as an explanation for things that could not be explained (or, as it turned out, could not be explained yet). Bonhoeffer used the phrase “god of the gaps” as a way of saying that, when there is a “gap” in our knowledge, it is quite often there that the church asserts “God.” In other words, God is trotted out to explain what we cannot explain. (Thus, ironically, “God” is associated with what we don’t know.)
As we all know, science is now able to explain more and more of what, up until recently, was unknown. The unknown has been, and is being, whittled down. Since we had associated God with the unknown, many people came to feel that God was being whittled down too. As we knew more and more about the processes of the universe, God seemed to be pushed more and more into the background.
Perhaps this is why people in a “religious consciousness” tend to feel more and more unsettled and more and more out of place. They tend to move away from these challenges of the secular world and into what Bonhoeffer called “religious enclaves” where they can pretend that “religious consciousness” still holds sway. People in a “religious consciousness” tend to be suspicious of new discovery, and leery of human achievement.
In a “world come of age consciousness,” Bonhoeffer believed that the impulse toward human achievement, self-determination, and responsibility would not be resisted, but applauded. The increase of knowledge would not be met with suspicion, but rather with welcome.
With the decline of a “religious consciousness,” and the rise of “world come of age consciousness,” people would give less and less deference to a worldview that makes little sense to them. They would, out of their own multiplicity of experience and ability to discern between competing claims, make their own decisions and actions in life, without falling back on, or seeking refuge in, any external authority.
People would, of course, have to take responsibility for their autonomy and their decisions and actions in the world, which they would gladly do. “World come of age” people do not shirk this responsibility, or fear it. Indeed, they welcome it. Of course, they recognize that they will make mistakes, but they will not blame “God” or “fate” or even “sin” for their failures. They themselves will own up to them, without shame or guilt.
Bonhoeffer believed that the church would resist the world’s coming of age. The clergy will use all their “clerical tricks” to retain “religious consciousness,” he said. They will frame certain questions in such a way that “(supposedly) only ‘God’ can give an answer.”
The very rich irony is that “world-come-of-age people” are actually closer to a Christian understanding of themselves and the world than are people in a “religious consciousness.” Throughout the Bible, God calls people to take responsibility. Directly in the face of the “religious consciousness” expressed by the Biblical pharisees, Jesus himself expressed a “world come of age consciousness” when he told them, “Why don’t you decide for yourselves what is right?” (Luke 12: 57)
When Bonhoeffer opposed “religious consciousness,” he was not opposing the Christian faith, the gospel, the centrality of Christ, or the use of the Bible. He did not even call for a change in the liturgy. He was opposing a “head buried in sand” Christianity that, in its heart of hearts, wanted to revert to a 13th century view of the world when the church told people what to think.
“World come of age” consciousness would lead to a “religionless Christianity,” a Christianity that did not have its mind set in “religious consciousness,” one that did not seek God out there somewhere, in the wild, blue yonder, in a place we don’t really know.
“Religionless Christianity in a world come of age” would seek God in the world we do know, in the midst of life, with all its joys and sorrows, successes and failures, and would encounter God precisely there, in one’s own heart, and in relationship with our neighbor.
A “world come of age consciousness” is one of internal freedom. It is freedom from the external control of “religion” and any other hierarchical authority. People will, in an exercise of autonomy and responsibility, make their own decisions in life without relying upon the dictates of any institution—not church, not state, not even family. Edwin Friedman, the late psychiatrist, called this exactly what Bonhoeffer called it: “adulthood.”
Thus, “world come of age consciousness” is not about morality. It is not about “good” or “bad” or “right” or “wrong.” It is not about moral perfection or even moral improvement. It is about psychological maturity. It is about taking responsibility for one’s self, and making one’s way in the world without excuses.
Bonhoeffer completely understood Luther’s famous saying: “Sin boldly, and love and worship Christ more boldly still.” To “sin boldly” is to make decisions. I’m reminded of a scene in the movie “Ironweed” when a homeless woman, played by Meryl Streep, goes into a church to get warm. Looking up at one of the side altars, she said, “I don’t call it sin. I call it decisions.”
We must act in the world. We cannot escape this. Naturally, we will make mistakes. We will “sin.” But, we can “sin boldly” because the gospel is not about not making mistakes.
My policy is not to post sermons, on the principle that, if you want to hear a sermon, you should come to church. This one time, however, in response to a specific request, borne of a good reason, I'm making an exception:
I don’t know why I do this exactly, but, every year, I make a mental note to watch for newspaper articles on the problem of depression at the holidays. The first one I noticed this year appeared in the Denver Post on December 12.
It talks about the “holidays blues” and the pressure to act happy during the holidays. It says in about 600 words what my Uncle managed to say with 10: “Of course you’re depressed,” he’d say. “‘Tis the season to be jolly.”
Please understand, I'm pro-goatee. If a man wants to have facial hair, I'm for it. I've done it myself a few times.
That said, I remember reading a psychological study years ago showing that some people--a fraction, but a distinct one--tended to find men with facial hair somewhat less trustworthy. That was especially true for men with goatees.
It's well-established that some people have a fear of facial hair on men. It even has a name: pogonophobia. Pogono is the Greek word for "beard", phobia, of course, the Greek word for "fear."
Some people have it. Some associate beards with uncleanliness, others an with abusive authority figure, others with a traumatic event. Plus, genetics and biochemistry undoubtedly play some kind of role because they always do.
I'm astounded when I see a politician with facial hair, especially a goatee. It shows either (1) they haven't done their research, which would not be very smart, or (2) they did do their research and they don't care what people think, which, in turn, could either be a sign of (1) huge ego, or (2) refreshing insouciance.
The name "Black Friday" was first appended to the day after Thanksgiving in 1966 in Philadelphia, where citizens complained of the increased vehicle and pedestrian traffic as shoppers went forth to shop on the day after Thanksgiving.
Yesterday, 10,000 people were at Macy's in New York, at midnight, waiting for the doors to open. Reports like these are typical:
"I thought I was going to get run over," Lindsay O'Rourke said after shopping at a Target store in Tulsa, Okla.
"It was insane," (said Michelle Mandel at Victoria's Secret in Davenport, IA). "I had people climbing my merchandise and throwing product through the store. It was crazy."
You wonder who estimates these things, but whoever it is says that about 152 million people went shopping yesterday. That's half the country. By any definition, that is what is called "mass consumerism."
Obviously, there is no connection between celebration of Christmas, the incarnation of Christ, and the mass purchase of cheap products that few people actually want.
It is a tremendous witness to the power of consumerism and capitalism, however, that people will mindlessly and willingly enter into a bizarro-world of crowds and carnival barkers simply because advertising has convinced them that there is a "bargain" they must have.
The Washington Post/Pew Research survey basically asked respondents to free associate on the GOP candidates for president. It asked people to respond with the first word that came to their mind when they heard the name of the candidate, a Freudian therapeutic technique now, apparently, adapted for political use.
Predictably, when people heard the name of Herman Cain, many (42) responded with "9-9-9." That was followed by "businessman" (30), "interesting" (23), "good" (22), and "pizza" (19)--in general, fairly positive in tone. Everybody loves pizza, right?
Responses to "Rick Perry" and "Mitt Romney" were less positive. "Texas" (55) was the top response for Perry, followed by "no" (16), "idiot" (15), "conservative" (12), "Governor of Texas" (12), and "dislike" (10).
Romney inspired people to think "Mormon" (60), "healthcare/Romneycare" (17), "flip-flop" (13), "good man" (13), "no/no way" (12), "possible" (12), and "religion" (11).
Just guessing, but I doubt Perry and Romney really want voters first impression of them to be, respectively, "Texas" and "Mormon."
Terence Malick's "Tree of Life" begins with a quote from the book of Job: "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?...when the morning stars sang together." In the book of Job, this is God's answer to Job's quite justifiable complaints: I know more about what's going on than you do.
The ensuing story is about a Texas family, the O'Brien's, in the 1950's. Mrs. O'Brien (Jessica Chastain) receives a telegram, at home, that brings grim news. She calls her husband (Brad Pitt) who is at work. We slowly gather that one of their three sons has died.
Then, in the ultimate flash-back, Malick goes all the way to the beginning of time. Assuming the big bang theory and evolution, Malick gives us his version of the creation of the universe, and 5 billion years of history. We see a flickering flame, crashing waves, primordial chaos, light upon water, life coming into cells. We even see a dinosaur who appears to have a moment of compassion.
This dramatic opening raised hopes for a movie that might operate in the context of a Teilhardian-Tillichian view of life. These two 20th century theologians, especially Teilhard, wrote Christian theology for people living after Darwin. (People today often associate the Christian faith with opposition to evolution. It is not so. The majority of Christians actually take the opposite view, i.e. that God created the universe and used evolution to do it.)
The O'Brien family's story is set within the context of the on-going creation of the universe. Creation is in process, and creation images abound throughout the movie. The water images signify the watery chaos. The light images signify God. The trees signify the "tree of life" in the Garden of Eden.
Mr. O'Brien is a loving but stern father. He has moments of great affection with his three boys, but also some moments of heartlessness, even cruelty. He was not atypical in his time. He insists his sons call him "father"--it was an age when everyone supposed that "father knows best."
We learn that Mr. O'Brien had his own grief. He had wanted to be a classical pianist. That dream had been unattainable, and he'd had to "settle" into a white collar job at the industrial plant that supported his middle-class family. His disappointment is expressed through his exhortations toward striving, as if grief could be overcome through exhortations to accomplishment.
Several critics have talked about the interplay of "nature" and "grace" in the movie. Mr. O'Brien is said to be a figure representing the harshness of nature, while Mrs. O'Brien is the character of loving grace. This seems too pat. More on point is that the griefs and trials of life, expressed in their own ways by both Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien, are seen in the context of all of creation where there is, yes, loss and grief, but also light and hope.
The story is told from the perspective of the oldest son, Jack, who appears also as an adult played by Sean Penn. Jack is the one who most feels the contradictions of his life. He sees tragedy around him, and seems to feel it in his bones. His father's way of discipline and striving is not only inadequate to the proportion of the human problem, but also seems to issue in despotism. When your world is careening out of control, it can be tempting, if futile, to try to re-assert control.
You might say this is a Christian movie--God is both at the beginning and end of the movie, as well as all the way through it--but it would not be considered Christian in the familiar way of Hollywood. There are no glib answers or easy pieties, in other words.
Yet, near the center of the movie is an image of Jesus in stained-glass. He is wearing purple. Purple is the color of royalty. In the ancient world, purple dye was quite expensive. Only the king could afford to wear it. Purple is also the color of suffering and spiritual depth. Purple is the color of Lent for these two reasons.
The Biblical story behind the image is from John's gospel when Jesus is standing before Pilate, and Pilate asks his famous question, "What is truth?" The question seems to haunt Jack. What is truth? Jack is frequently shown gazing toward the light, but he mostly looks to the light through a window. An invisible barrier seems to keep him from breaking through.
Of course it does. Malick's view is that life's tragedies cannot be understood, just as Job's trials could not be understood. We cannot, by striving, overcome tragedy. Tragedy can only be endured unless or until some revelation serves to place it in a larger context. As the Greek poet, Aeschylus, put it:
Even in our grief, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our despair, and against our own will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.
Is "Tree of Life" a "good" movie? Yes. Malick deals with some weighty material. The book of Job, after all, deals with one of the most central questions of life: Why do bad things happen to good people? The O'Brien's are good people. Indeed, they are very nearly the archetype of what was considered "good" in the 1950's. Yet, they are punished, and each of them tormented. Something isn't right. Father is wrong.
To his credit, Father admits it. When his son dies, he expresses remorse that he had been too strict with his son. He had been too much of a perfectionist about getting his son to turn the pages properly as he played the organ. He links his son's death with his own personal tragedy and now realizes that his perfectionism, his search for mastery, has gone nowhere.
Is that why Mr. O'Brien never became a classical pianist? In order to perform at that high a level, more than technical skill is required. You can focus so much on playing the right notes that you miss the "music" that lies in, with, and under them.
Is this movie hopeful? Yes. Suffering is seen in the context of the cosmos, and tragedy is ultimately redeemed. Nothing about it was easy, but grace and love endure in the end. Is it beautiful? Yes. Terrence Malick has crafted some of the most beautiful images ever to appear on film--see "Days of Heaven" for example--and this one is like unto it.
The musical score is magnificent. For themes of this nature--the creation of the world and human suffering--only classical music will do. Mahler, Smetana, Mussorgsky, Holst, Gorecki drive the movie. (Is this just me, or did Mr. O'Brien have a moment of revelation during his playing of Bach?)
Now for some criticism. Is the movie entertaining? No. The movie is long, non-linear, and sometimes incoherent. People have gotten frustrated, and walked out--a fair number of them by this report. Long stretches are tedious, and sometimes seem pointless.
The voice-overs want to sound insightful and "spiritual," but come off sounding rather affected and pretentious. No clear narrative line exists, which can be frustrating and confusing. It is never quite clear who Jack is. Is he a younger brother, or the older?
The scene of heaven--the beach scene--seemed surreal and grim. Everything is there--all has been recapitulated--but Jack seems unaffected. Finally, it was too long. Archetypal imagery is splendid, but a little goes a long way.
Some critics have said that this is a movie you either love or hate. Either you find it emotionally deep and compelling, or you find it tedious and pompous. Contrary to the critics, my reaction is somewhere in the middle. You have to applaud Malick for his ambition and insight, and gorgeous cinematography. On the other hand, is there a rule that the great themes of creation and redemption must be murky and laborious? Mystery is one thing. Tedium is quite another.
That said, the sunflower scene was the heart of the movie for me. We are the sunflowers, Malick seems to say. We all share the same basic questions of life. Yet, each sunflower is also different from every other. No two are exactly alike. The same basic questions affect and wound each of us in different ways.
This is why sunflowers keep their face to the sun. The light offers no answers to any dilemma, no philosophies to help one endure, no method by which one may attain peace. The light brings only light and life. This may not be what we wanted exactly, but it's exactly what we need if all of life, both joy and sorrow, is to be held in God. In its way, this is God's blessing.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) is, in the opinion of many, the greatest poet of the English language. He is almost singlehandedly responsible for the Irish Literary Revival of the early 20th century. He received the Nobel Prize in 1923.
Yeats was a strong Irish nationalist and patriot, though with a strongly liberal sentiment. He deplored the bigotry and hatred which sometimes came from his own side. (See his poem, Easter 1916, for example.)
Matt Taibbi has a piece in the current Rolling Stone which deals with the political career of Rep. Michelle Bachmann, tea party leader (supposedly), and evangelical crusader.
The piece is worth reading in its own right, but this especially caught my eye: Some years ago, in Stillwater, MN, Bachmann joined up with one of those "purify our schools" outfits. This one was called EdWatch.
EdWatch...railed against various dystopian indoctrination plans, including the U.N.-inspired International Baccalaureate program, offered in some American high schools. Bachmannites despise IB because its "universal" curriculum refuses to recognize the superiority of Christianity to other religions. You and I might have thought William Butler Yeats, for example, was a great poet who died half a century before the Age of Aquarius, but EdWatch calls him a "New-Age Pantheism Guru" who was aggressively "undermining Christianity."
Yeats died in 1939, well before the "new age" movement of the 1970's. Yeats liked nature, so apparently that means he was a "pantheist." Witness the stultifying effects of ideology: Yeats is not a nature-loving mystic. He's a "new age pantheist guru."
What he was for sure is a prophet. Perhaps it is this quality which really confounds his evangelical critics. In "The Second Coming," Yeats spoke of social disintegration because of social divisions--"things fall apart / the center cannot hold"--which he attributed to ideological extremism:
The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
He hopes for rescue--"Surely some revelation is at hand!" "The Second Coming!" he exclaims. But as soon as he does, he also sees the true "spirit of the world," which is dry and lifeless--"a waste of desert sand". The "rough beast" rises out of this "waste" to do battle with "the second coming."
A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
You could call that "new age pantheistic guru-ism" which "undermines Christianity." Or, you could call it an incisive analysis of contemporary politics.
