For the first time in months, the weather here in Oklahoma has been beautiful. Temps have been in the 70s; it’s been sunny with a light breeze, and it finally feels great to be outside.
So I celebrated by mowing.
During summers, the heat and humidity are such that yard work sounds about as enjoyable as standing in a steady drizzle of dead cats.[1]
Which is to say: not very. But the other day, the weather was so nice that I actually mowed both front and back yards. Consecutively. Like a champion.
This has been rare.
One reason is that our new house has a sprinkler system, which means that we actually have grass now, and it grows quickly. And while our new yard is larger than the old one, my push mower is the same. So I’ve been compensating by paying much more attention to the front yard while the back has been neglected.
My reasoning was simple: The front yard is the part that people see. It reflects my character as a citizen—which is also why it’s devoid of presidential campaign signs. And it gives me a sense of pride to see it neatly edged and manicured. I am respectable. I drive a Dodge Stratus. Look at my lawn.
The backyard is hidden. So I have an excuse. As a result, the grass grew tall; the wasps made a home in our not-yet-fully-reassembled play set. Penelope and I got stung. (One of us cried.) And the general state of the backyard has been one of disregard and disarray.
And that’s a shame.
Because the backyard is the one we actually use. It’s where the life is. There’s a kiddie pool with moss and sidewalk chalk inside. The backyard is where we barbecue. And it’s where the kids can run and play (amid the wasps and jungle grass).
In short, I’ve been neglecting the yard we use in order to keep up the one that’s for show.
And somewhere in there is a parable about priorities.
“If you have ears to hear, then hear.”
At some point, all of us are tempted to spend lots of time and energy on the parts of life that people see, while neglecting the important parts that remain more hidden.
Jesus likened this to cleaning the outside of a cup while leaving the inside dirty and disgusting.
And it involves more than just lawn care.
More serious examples include:
Speaking kindly to friends and coworkers, while being short with a spouse.
Spending hours on a project or presentation while neglecting personal enrichment.
Ignoring the kids in order to find that perfect “filter” to display that photo of you and the kids.
Sacrificing one’s health on the altar of success.
Or sacrificing one’s soul on the altar of physical appearance.
In all of this, the “front lawn” takes precedence, while the “backyard” goes to hell.
So while I often fail to live up to this, my goal in the coming weeks is to “mow the backyard” (both literally and metaphorically), even if that means that the more visible parts of life look just a little less impressive.
Because while I enjoy being seen as a respectable citizen, that’s not the most important thing.
Besides, no one looks respectable while crying from a wasp sting.
[1] This disgusting and fantastic phrase was stolen from David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Art Making, p. 80.
That was the headline, not from a Christian news source, but from CNN (here).
I live near Tulsa. And like many, my emotions swung wildly this week between gut-wrenching sadness and seething rage. Both are justified.
Yet another unarmed black man killed, a damning video, and the predictable flood of shameful justifications for why “it’s not what it looks like.”
Let’s be clear: it is what it looks like.
And the possibility of drugs in Terence Crutcher’s system doesn’t justify homicide.
Meanwhile, in Charlotte, there was another shooting: a black cop, a black man killed, and the allegation that the deceased was pointing a gun at officers. Buildings were burned, stores were looted, and many were injured–including innocent police officers and civilians.
Two cities.
Two very different scenarios.
Two very different reactions.
Charlotte burned; Tulsa prayed.
To be clear, this is not an attempt to bash Charlotte. And I fully admit that there are things about the broader situation there of which I am unaware.
Nor is it an attempt to “tamp down” protests or anger.
In the Bible, prayer itself can be an act of protest–a revolt against the status quo–and it is sometimes very angry.
Thus my point is only about Tulsa.
WHY I’M PROUD
Because while I am deeply ashamed that this shooting took place, I am proud of how many Tulsans reacted.
A few examples:
There were peaceful protests, with many looking more like prayer vigils made up of persons of all races.
Churches led the way, inviting the community to channel anger and grief in constructive ways, rather than giving the prejudiced deniers of injustice more cause to dismiss the unsettling reality of racism.
The police released the videos almost immediately, in a step toward transparency. This didn’t happen in Charlotte, and many have connected this to prolonged distrust between citizens and the authorities.
The police chief stated immediately and unequivocally that Terence Crutcher was unarmed, because it was true.
The DA’s office investigated promptly, and filed charges against the officer involved. She was arrested and will have a chance to defend herself.
And through all of this, no buildings burned, no stores were looted, and no police officers or civilians were injured by angry mobs.
This is an answered prayer, because one reason for taking police misconduct seriously is a desire to protect and honor brave and honest cops who do a thankless and impossible job.
Sadly, none of this brings Terence Crutcher back to his four kids. And none of it means that the problem of racial injustice has gone away—even (or perhaps especially) in Tulsa.
Still, amid the sadness and anger, I am proud of how Tulsa’s people have responded.
Now let’s work to ensure that such occasions for pride (and shame) happen far less frequently.
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“In a nation of 320 million people, how did we end up with these two?”
That’s the question I’ve heard repeatedly from both my Democratic and Republican friends.
It’s hard to fathom, and almost tragically funny. As if your football team deliberated for months and then used its only draft pick on William Hung from American Idol.
He bangs, you know, and he’s not part of that “Football Establishment.”
~The Dallas Cowboys
So while many have thoughts on who is worse, I want to ask a different question: Why did the worst people win in the first place?
What is so wrong with our system (and ourselves) that we nominated two options that sound like a frightening game of “Would you rather…?”
DEFINING “WORST”
To be clear, in calling both Trump and Clinton “the worst” I do not mean that they are literally the worst people in the country. I don’t think that.
It is possible that you could find a more unsavory character, say, by
Playing “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe” at Riker’s Island,
Or “Marco Polo” at a Kim and Kanye pool party.
Maybe.
Instead, by “worst,” I simply mean that they are—in my limited judgment—the worst people (in terms of character) set forth by their respective parties in the primaries.
True, Bernie may have been more progressive than Hillary, but he was also more honest. And yes, Ted Cruz may have been voted most annoying by pretty much everyone he’s ever met, but he did not accuse an opponent’s dad of killing Kennedy, or insinuate that a disproportionate number immigrants are rapists and murderers (etc., etc…).
In that regard, the worst people won.
And our question should be “Why?”
THE OBVIOUS ANSWER
The obvious answer is simple: we voted.
Somehow, more people thought these were the best options. And while I respect that, I also think it sits among the worst nominations since Caligula tried to make his horse a consul.
But instead of blaming individuals, perhaps we should examine some broad issues that may be propelling unsavory individuals to new heights.
Because whatever we did, we’ve got to do differently next time.
Five thoughts:
1.BOTH PARTIES HAVE BEEN RADICALIZED
Few can deny that both parties have moved toward the extremes of their respective bases. This is where the energy is. And candidates lurch this way to win their primaries. It’s always been this way. Still, it does seem that the “baseness” of the base has increased in recent years.
When this happens, fortune favors the shrill, anger is confused with wisdom, and none of this bodes well for reasonable candidates.
2.THE MONEY MANDATE ENCOURAGES SOUL SELLING
A second reason we might call “the money mandate.” These days, a successful presidential campaign costs around one billion dollars. And with slippery finance laws (“corporations are people, my friend”) and SuperPACs, it seems that some level of soul selling is almost required to amass the needed capital.
Thus while billionaires like Trump are set, for all others, the money mandate propels candidates who are willing to be bought by special interests, corporate giants, and foreign powers. Thus “the worst” have a distinct advantage.
3.PUBLIC DISCOURSE HAS BEEN REDUCED TO “MEMES” AND MEANNESS
A recent study showed that in his speeches Donald Trump speaks English at a fifth grade level. That’s not an insult, it’s an algorithm. And it’s far higher than his “Tweet-level.”
For some, this was proof that the other (losing) Republican candidates were simply talking over the heads of voters, while Trump was, in the words of one supporter, “talking to us not like we’re stupid.”
Still, the real problem is not grammar or intelligence.
A deeper issue is that many have bought the myth that “straight talk” is the ability to pair insults with exclamation points. It is not. And the solution will be slow in coming. Somehow, we must teach our kids that decency matters, not just in one’s personal relations, but in campaigns and on social media. We much teach logic, critical thinking, and fact checking. Because only a thoughtful and virtuous electorate will shun thoughtless and unvirtuous candidates.
4.CROWNING ROYAL FAMILIES IS CROWDSOURCED NEPOTISM
Once upon a time, the American colonies threw off the yoke of monarchy, and with this, the idea that being related to a leader qualified you to be one. In royal families, power is gained by “waiting your turn,” but not so in democracies.
Thus it seems odd to claim that one candidate should win, because she “waited” for years.
To be sure, defacto royal families are nothing new in American politics. And few would disqualify an FDR simply because of uncle Teddy. Yet both of these men were trusted, charismatic, and brilliant in their own ways. So it wasn’t merely that they “waited their turn.”
For this reason, both parties could seriously benefit from a crop of young leaders whose names aren’t Bush or Clinton.
5.THE WRINGER RUNS OFF DECENT PEOPLE
To go through a presidential campaign means submitting one’s self and family to “the wringer” of public scrutiny and character assassination (especially if one is running against Donald Trump). Thus we might ask if the sheer scrutiny of our political process scares off the decent people, while a disproportionate number of egomaniacal narcissists fill the void.
As Shakespeare put into the mouth of Richard III:
“Conscience is but a word that cowards use” (5.3).
And sadly, it is not difficult to picture one nominee nodding inwardly at this, while the other retweets it. #strongleader#Shackspeer
CONCLUSION
If this sounds bleak, it’s not meant to be.
There are good people out there, and we must find them both now and in the future.
Yet in the meantime, perhaps we should pause from our debates over who is “the lesser of two evils” and consider how we got here.
What if evolutionary science actually posed a problem for the confident atheism of men like Richard Dawkins?
That would odd: first, because Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist; and second, because believers (especially in America) do not normally see evolution as an ally.
To end the oddity, let’s begin with a picture of a beetle mating with a beer bottle.
Obviously.
EVOLUTION AND PERCEPTION
This past year, a TED talk by the cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman went viral with over two million views (here). Hoffman studies evolution and perception at UC Irvine, and gist of his research is this:
Evolution rewards “fitness.” And fitness is defined by how effectively an organism passes on its DNA to future generations. Those adapted to do this best survive, while others die out. Hence: “survival of the fittest.”
Now the kicker. As Hoffman states in a recent interview with NPR (here):
An organism that sees reality as it is will never be more fit than an organism of equal complexity that sees none of reality but that is just tuned to fitness.
To simplify, Hoffman is saying that evolution doesn’t care whether your brain accurately perceives reality. Evolution only cares if you pass on your DNA by feeding, fleeing, fighting and reproducing. If this means distorting your perceptions, so be it.
(If this is confusing, see the TED talk linked above.)
As Hoffman argues, we do not perceive reality in itself. We only perceive what the neurons in our brain present to us. The brain constructs and reconfigures reality in this process. And while we might think that accurate perception equals “fitter perception,” that is not necessarily the case.
We once thought that the earth was flat, because it looks that way. But we were wrong. Appearances can be deceiving. On top of this, Hoffman claims that our brains add to the deception.
As evidence, we return to our besotted beetle.
WHY THE BEETLE LEFT HIS WIFE FOR THE BOTTLE
The Australian Jewel Beetle is shiny, brown, and dimpled. The males fly. The females don’t. And when a male beetle finds a shiny, brown, and dimpled female on the ground, he mates with her, favoring the bigger ones.
But there’s a problem.
The Outback is now populated with another species (humans). And this species also likes shiny, brown, and dimpled objects (bottled beer). Thus, as bottles began to litter roadways and campsites, a strange thing happened: the Jewel Beetle nearly went extinct.
Males ignored the females, and passionately embraced “the bottle.” Just like a Merle Haggard song.
As Hoffman notes: “Australia had to change their bottles to save their beetles.”
Similar cases of cognitive distortion (minus the bottles) can even be found in more complex species, including mammals.
As Hoffman, argues: Natural selection gave the beetle a “hack” to be successful in passing on its DNA: Good mates are dimpled, brown, and shiny—the bigger the better. And this worked for thousands of years. Until it didn’t.
So does evolution actually favor the accurate perception of reality? Hoffman, along with many other evolutionists, say “No.”
But what does this have to do with Richard Dawkins?
Enter Alvin Plantinga.
Photo by Matt Cashore, University of Notre Dame
PLANTINGA’S ARGUMENT
The now 83-year-old Plantinga is an institution amongst Christian philosophers.
He now holds an Emeritus post at Notre Dame, and according to many, is largely responsible for a quiet revival of theistic philosophers in the American university.
Among his more famous arguments is his “evolutionary argument against naturalism” (EAAN). This can be found, most recently, in his 2011 book: Where the Conflict Really Lies.
While the details are complex, the gist is similar to Hoffman’s argument. As Plantinga writes:
The probability of our cognitive faculties being reliable, given naturalism and evolution, is low (p. 314).
This is essentially Hoffman’s claim.
But then Plantinga continues:
If I believe both naturalism and evolution, I have a defeater for my intuitive assumption that my cognitive faculties are reliable. If I have a defeater for that belief, however, then I have a defeater for any belief I take to be produced by my cognitive faculties. That means that I have a defeater for my belief that naturalism and evolution are true (p. 314).
NATURALISM
For Plantinga, “naturalism” is the view that “there is no such person as God, or anything like God” (p. ix). Yet it is stronger than mere atheism in at least two ways: First, it rises to the level of a “quasi-religion” in claiming to answer life’s ultimate questions. And second, it proceeds with a religious zeal in confidently asserting that all religion is obviously irrational and silly.
In short, naturalists like Richard Dawkins place massive confidence in the power and reliability of their cognitive faculties. Yet—and this is key!—Dawkins’ very discipline (evolutionary science) is now calling into question the reliability of one’s cognitive perceptions.
Perhaps, say some evolutionists, we are more like the beetle on the bottle than we like to think.
The conclusion is this: You can claim with evolutionary naturalists that our cognitive faculties are deeply unreliable. But you cannot claim this while simultaneously placing a god-like confidence in your own cognitive faculties.
That move is self referentially incoherent.
A CALL TO HUMILITY
So what’s my take?
While Hoffman’s research is fascinating, I really doubt that we are essentially in the same position as the beetle on the beer bottle (Merle Haggard and George Jones songs not withstanding!).
Then again, part of my reasoning rests in a Creator who has ensured a general, though not perfect, correspondence between reality and our ability to perceive it.
As for Plantinga, I think he is quite right to challenge the confidence that Dawkins has in his own cognitive abilities. Yet I suspect that he paints too monochrome a picture of the current evolutionary science.
According to a friend of mine in the field, the claims of Hoffman and those like him are hardly universally accepted. And even if they were, it would not mean that our cognitive perceptions are flatly wrong (thus as even Hoffman notes, you shouldn’t try jumping off a cliff…).
Instead, these new findings only mean that we should be more humble in our cognitive assertions, especially about ultimate reality.
And perhaps that’s the problem with both Dawkins and many Christian apologists: a general lack of epistemic humility regarding what we can demonstrate by way of our own brilliance.
In the end, we may not be as deluded as the beetle on the bottle. But we are limited in understanding.
So here’s to some humility to season boldness.
And as a “thank you” to the insect who helped illustrate this important truth, here’s a tribute to his unrequited love (here).
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When I was in second grade, my favorite song in the world was the patriotic power ballad by Lee Greenwood: “God Bless the U.S.A.” I still remember singing it, with a lump in my throat, while reverently cradling my glued-together replica of an F-14 fighter jet.
The lyrics epitomized my second grade existence:
If tomorrow all the things were gone
I worked for all my life
And I had to start again
With just my children and my wife
I’d thank my lucky stars
To be living here today
‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom
And they can’t take that away!
That’s right! Try and take it Commies!
Later, I learned to play it on my saxophone.
And around that same time the Iron Curtain fell.
Coincidence? You tell me.
The point is: I was VERY patriotic.
And in certain ways, I still am. I remain tremendously grateful to those who have sacrificed so that I can live in relative safety and freedom. And I am reminded of what a rare opportunity I’ve had to better myself through education, despite the fact that my family was not wealthy by American standards.
Yet as I grew older I began to grow more wary of certain forms of “patriotism,” and especially as I came to view the Christian gospel differently.
WHEN PATRIOTISM BECOMES IDOLATRY
In short, the problem occurs when patriotism becomes nationalism.
For sake of clarity, Ryan Hamm defines the terms like this:
Patriotism is simply love of country.
Nationalism is a love of country at the expense (or disrespect) of others.
What’s more, I’ve come to believe that the idea of a “Christian nationalist” is an oxymoron.
So here’s the question: When exactly does patriotism become nationalism, and what are some clues that Christians can use to recognize when our love of country has become an idol?
Four points:
When we fail to see salvation as a change in citizenship.
The contradiction of a “Christian nationalist” is contained within the gospel itself.
To be “in Christ” according to the Scriptures, is to undergo change in primary citizenship.
As Paul argues, “our citizenship is now in heaven” (Php. 3.20). And we exist now as strangers, foreigners, and sojourners in our home countries.
To be sure, this did not change the fact that Paul himself remained a Roman citizen. Yet this identity (as with his Jewishness) was clearly secondary. Thus it is hard to picture him chanting “Roma! Roma! Roma!” while gladiators reenacted Caesar’s Gallic wars.
His primary concern was not to make Rome great again (let’s be honest, Nero was no Octavian), but to serve the King of kings.
Number two:
When we get angrier at unpatriotic actions than at ungodly ones.
You can sometimes tell your idols by what makes you really angry.
In recent weeks, the internet has practically overheated over a football player who refused to stand for the national anthem as an act of protest. And while I’m not endorsing this behavior, I can’t help but notice that many Christians seem far angrier over this than over the spate of players who have been busted for serious crimes including rape, child abuse, and domestic battery. Why is that?
The point is not to endorse a lack of national pride, but to issue a word caution: When you get angrier over things that are deemed unpatriotic than over things that are violently ungodly, you’ve got a problem.[1]
When we feel more kinship with unsaved countrymen than with Christians from around the globe.
While I don’t always agree with John Piper, I think he’s right in this:
Whatever form your patriotism takes, let it be a deep sense that we are more closely bound to brothers and sisters in Christ in other countries, other cultures than we are to our closest unbelieving compatriot or family member in the fatherland or in the neighborhood. That is really crucial … Otherwise, I think our patriotism is drifting over into idolatry.
The issue, once again, is one of primary citizenship.
Last point:
When we are blind to the sins of our nation while being acutely aware of those of others.
Every culture and country has uniquely beautiful and uniquely broken aspects.
In America, I’m proud of our general respect for things like freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and democracy. I also celebrate our “can do” mentality, our constitutional design of a balance of power, and our stated belief (not always lived out) that all persons are created equal.
Yet a danger in patriotic pride is that it would overlook the uniquely broken aspects that are there as well. There must be a balance.
On a recent TV show, I watched a correspondent ask a group of political convention-goers to name a time that America was truly great. The responses were hilarious and deeply saddening.
It was amazing how many individuals took us back to the era of slavery or segregation as the time when America was really “nailing it.” To be honest, most of these folks were not intending to condone such acts, but they did portray a startling historical amnesia.
CONCLUSION
In the end, the solution to patriotism gone wrong is not national negativity but the power of the gospel.
In short, Christians must come to see salvation not just as a change of mind, a change of behavior, or even a change of final destination. In addition, it also a change of primary citizenship.
And (on a lighter note) for those still wondering if a man and his saxophone can change the world, I leave you this, and rest my case.
————
[1] Credit for this point goes to a former student, Matt Atwell, as he noted in a post last week.
Recently, I’ve begun reading The Chronicles of Narnia to my daughters. You must do this as a Christian parent, or you forfeit your credentials. So I comply.
Fortunately, Lucy and Penelope love the books, and I’ve enjoyed the change from Disney princesses whose primary aim is to meet a man and live in a castle.
We just finished Prince Caspian, and near the end, Aslan arrives to help the Narnians. In gratitude, the spirits of the trees begin to dance, and all the creatures join together in a raucous celebration. It’s basically a rave, minus the Molly and the techno.
The party is led by a figure known as Bacchus.
He appears as
a youth, dressed only in a fawn-skin, with vine-leaves wreathed in his curly hair. His face would have been almost too pretty for a boy’s, if it had not looked so extremely wild. You felt, as Edmund said when he saw him a few days later, “There’s a chap who might do anything – absolutely anything.”
WHO IS BACCHUS?
Unbeknownst to my daughters, Bacchus (also called Dionysus) is the pagan god of wine, fertility, and wild parties. The Latin translates to “Kardashian.”
For the Greeks, his symbol was the phallus, and he was accompanied by a throng of women, the Maenads, who danced and sang around him. The Maenads also make the trip to Narnia.
As Lewis writes:
Bacchus … and the Maenads began a dance … and where their hands touched, and where their feet fell, the feast came into existence.
Thus Aslan feasted the Narnians till long after the sunset had died away, and the stars had come out … And the best thing about this feast was that there was not breaking up or going away, but as the talk grew quieter and slower, one after another would begin to nod and finally drop off to sleep with feet towards the fire and good friends on either side.
It sounds fantastic. Yet the question is why Lewis decided to have the pagan Bacchus lead the celebration of the Christ-cat.
The fundamentalist internet knows why.
INTERNET OUTRAGE!
It turns out, C.S. Lewis was a closet pagan, whose true desire was to turn your children into tiny Satanists. It’s true; I read it on a blog with multi-colored font (see: “homemakerscorner.com”). And who could doubt it, for as the blogger writes:
What Lewis is describing here is nothing other than a Bacchanalian orgy!
(Well, yes, minus the sex.)
The post goes on:
C.S. Lewis was a master of combining … heathen myths to develop his plots. Worst of all, this is for children! … It’s too bad nobody ever explained to him the consequences of such behavior. … Perhaps he would not have cared. Perhaps he had a known “calling” for his father the devil which he was willingly fulfilling.
And “homemakers corner” is not alone.
A quick Google search finds many sites, some even with monochrome font, decrying Lewis’ debauchery, his paganism, and what’s worst: his similarity to J.K. Rowling (*makes sign of the cross).
So why did Lewis do this?
SAVING BACCHUS
Three points:
First, it is clear that Bacchus’ Narnian revelry has been reformed in crucial ways. Thus there is no mention of sexual looseness, drunkenness, or pagan worship.
Second, it is also clear that Lewis’ view of the party god is hardly uncritical, for he has Susan say to her sister:
I wouldn’t have felt very safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we’d met them without Aslan.
Third, and quite important, is Lewis’ belief that even paganism got certain things right about the divine, even though they got other things dreadfully wrong (See Till We Have Faces; also Paul in Acts 17).
Indeed, what the Maenads knew, far better than Ned-Flanders-Christianity (TM), is that with the divine comes festival joy. Consider, for instance, how many of Christ’s parables involve parties. And consider also the critiques of Pharisees against him.
Thus, one of Lewis’ goals throughout his writings is to show that true delight is not tamped down, but rather found in Jesus. As he famously wrote in The Weight of Glory:
It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.
Given this, Lewis’ point is not to elevate the Greek god of parties, but to show that true mirth is found in Aslan’s presence.
As I heard someone say once:
I seriously doubt that Christians will have much to say to the world until we can learn to throw better parties.
That’s true, and it has nothing to do with embracing drunken licentiousness.
LORD OF THE WINE
But why use Bacchus?
This, of course, is the objection from the rainbow-fonted internet.
Why not create a less phallo-centric mythological creature to deliver this lesson, like a talking cucumb… (okay, bad example) tomato, a talking tomato?
One last point:
Interestingly, it may be that the selective nod to Bacchus was not original to Lewis.
It may trace back to Christ himself.
In John 2, Jesus’ first miraculous sign is not the healing of a leper, the raising of the dead, or the restoration of lost sight. Instead, it is the creation of over 120 gallons (!) of the headiest wine imaginable—enough to overflow three bathtubs—and this, to keep a dying party from going dry.
There is much symbolism here, but as Tim Keller notes in the best sermon I have heard on the text (here), one intended echo may have been the Dionysian tales of the hills running with wine and revelry.
In this miracle, Christ was showing himself to be the true Lord of the Wine, and the true bringer of festival joy.
This matters, as Keller says, because most people reject Jesus for the wrong reasons. They do so, because they fear that it will cost them mirth. Yet as both the Psalmist and the Maenads knew, in the presence of the divine
“there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Ps. 16).
And while one may say this with a talking tomato, I prefer Lewis’ approach.
This week, my fellow citizens in small-town (Bartlesville) Oklahoma, go to vote.
Yet the choice is not about Republicans or Democrats.
It is a bond issue that will attempt to shield our local schools from crippling budget cuts.
Turnout is expected to be very low.
And that’s a shame, because there are lots of reasons to be FAR more excited about a local school bond, than there are to be excited about either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton.
Here are five:
BECAUSE TRUMP IS GOING LOSE, NO MATTER HOW MANY FACEBOOK POSTS YOU WRITE.
He just is—and for lots of reasons. But mostly because we haven’t seen this kind of mind-numbing self-sabotage since Ryan Lochte called his mom from Rio. Given this, it would make more sense to direct your political passion to other votes at the state and local levels.
BECAUSE UNLIKE THE PRESIDENTIAL RACE, THE MAIN OPTIONS DON’T FEEL LIKE A REQUEST TO CHOOSE YOUR FAVORITE CANCER.
Unlike Trump v. Clinton, your local school bond is far less likely to feel like a lose/lose choice. It’s a simple decision either up or down. And as a colleague of mine put it, it is different from the presidential ballot because it feels much less like you’ve been asked to pick your favorite Menendez brother.
BECAUSE YOUR LOCAL SCHOOL BOND IS NOT DECIDED BY PEOPLE IN FLORIDA AND OHIO (*UNLESS YOU LIVE IN FLORIDA OR OHIO).
In small elections, at the state and local level, your vote carries much more weight in determining the outcome. Yet our passions are often illogically focused on races in which your vote will make no difference at all. To be clear, that’s not an invitation to skip the Presidential ballot, but it is a request to Google “electoral college” if you think I’m wrong.
Sadly, it’s the races that we often ignore that give us the biggest opportunity to make a difference.
BECAUSE NO MATTER WHO IS PRESIDENT, PUBLIC SCHOOLS ARE HEAVILY INFLUENCED BY FOLKS AT THE STATE AND LOCAL LEVELS.
In my home state of Oklahoma, our public schools are woefully underfunded. We pay teachers terribly. And we pay a heavy price for it. In the end, there are lots of reasons for this, but none of them have much to do with who is President. Our teachers were paid poorly under Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama, etc. And the solution to that problem will not come by way of the Presidential ballot.
BECAUSE THE SCHOOL BOND IS NEITHER A REPUBLICAN NOR A DEMOCRAT.
These days, almost everything boiled down to the awkward binaries of Republican or Democrat, liberal or conservative.
Thus it is refreshing to vote on something that is simply an important issue, and not a purely partisan one. This week, many of my Republican friends will join me in voting “Yes” on our school bond, as will many of my Democratic ones.
(If you disagree, that’s okay too.)
But in this vote, the mud slinging of Trump vs. Clinton won’t matter.
Because the choice is about our kids, like my kindergarten daughter.
“The only way to prove that you still have a mind is to change it occasionally.”
While the statement is meant to be humorous, I want to ask about the potential truth within it.
The question is this: Is there a link between wise and winsome people—the people we would like to emulate—and the ability to change one’s thinking on important issues over time?
In some cases, the answer would seem to be “No.”
After all, it is quite possible to change one’s mind for the worse. No one is born a racist, a proponent of “all natural deodorant,” or an Oakland Raiders fan. So there is nothing inherently good in simply reaching a new conclusion. Sometimes it’s bad.
Likewise, it is possible to “flip-flop” to a fault, changing majors fifteen times within a college career, or being like the wafflers in the lowest level of Dante’s Paradiso, who are “inconstant in their vows.” (The kids love Dante!)
Dante Alighieri. Divine Comedian. Wearer of awesome bedtime hats.
Despite this, I think most would say that the willingness to change one’s mind, and to admit publically that one was wrong, is a rare virtue in a world of ossified opinions and stick-to-your-guns stubbornness.
After all, there are no points for going down with your ideological ship once it hits the iceberg of Reality.
META-NOIA
And for Christians, the ability to change one’s thinking is actually a command.
In the New Testament, the Greek compound for “repentance” (meta–noia) can be translated literally as a “change of mind.” Yet while Martin Luther once claimed that the whole of life should be characterized by this humble action (see his 95 theses), few would claim that Christians are particularly known for this.
More commonly, we are known for close-mindedness. And while the label can be unfair (note: the intolerance of the “tolerant”; see here), sometimes we earn it.
So how do we change that?
AN UNUSUAL CHAPEL SERIES
When I was in seminary, the director of the chapel program dedicated an entire semester of Friday sermons to a series called: “I Changed my Mind.”
Then, he invited respected professors to give messages on how they came to think differently about an important theological or social issue. As far as I remember, some of the offerings included:
“Women in ministry leadership.”
i.e., I used to think the Bible forbade it; now I don’t.
“Politics.”
i.e., I used to think that Republicans were basically “God’s party”; now I don’t.
“War and Peace.”
i.e., I used to believe that the New Testament required pacifism; now I espouse a cautious version of Just War theory.
In the end, the purpose of the series was not to get everyone to agree, but to show how serious believers had wrestled with a particular issue, and then come to the conclusion that they had been wrong.
So they changed their minds.
In no case did this happen because they lost an argument. And in zero instances did it happen in the post apocalyptic world of internet comment boxes–where civil discourse goes to die.
Yet the series was meant (I suppose) to show students that even smart people need to continually re-examine their assumptions, entertain opposing views, and be willing to change if evidence demands it.
None of us have “arrived.”
All facts are friendly.
And as Luther argued, meta-noia ought to characterize the whole of life.
In terms of education, I love the words of Rosaria Butterfield:
“Good teachers make it possible for students to change their minds without shame.”
I hope to embody that this semester.
HOW I’VE CHANGED
But what about my own views? Despite remaining relatively constant in core commitments, I’ve also experienced mind change. And not just “way back then.”
In my discipline, I started a doctoral dissertation with the intent of blaming Augustine of Hippo for any number of deficiencies within the western intellectual tradition. I ended up with a rather different conclusion.
In politics, my once predictable midwestern/evangelical views have become much more complex. Thus I now find myself as a faculty sponsor for a student group called the College Independents. (Because picking between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton sounds like being asked to choose your favorite cancer (See here and here for more on that).)
In parenting, I was once adamant that my kids would go to public school “just like I did.” And while our daughter will start public kindergarten this week, our current philosophy is more fluid: As in, we’ll see how it goes and reevaluate based on the “situation on the ground.” No more dogmatism. Do what works for you. (But seriously, let’s pay public school teachers more; my home state of Oklahoma should be ashamed.)
CONCLUSION
So in some cases, the humorous quote has merit: The only way to prove that you still have a mind is to change it occasionally.
Now two questions:
On what important issue have you changed your mind?
“[The] grade-point average is one of the more destructive elements in American education.”
So says David Brooks in a recent Op-Ed for the New York Times (here).
In his view:
“Success is about being passionately good at one or two things, but students who want to get close to that 4.0 have to be prudentially balanced about every subject. In life we want independent thinking and risk-taking, but the GPA system encourages students to be deferential and risk averse, giving their teachers what they want.”
David Brooks
For the record, I like Brooks. Yet my question now is whether he’s right in this particular contention. As a teacher, I’ve thought about the matter a bit, and I’ve even had my own frustrations with the American elevation of broad-spectrum academic standards (like GPA).
Here’s a personal example:
ON MATH AND HERESY
After grad school, I wanted to do a PhD in theology. Yet in America, a key part of the application process is one’s GRE score. The GRE is something like the ACT on steroids, and it includes a written composition portion along with verbal and quantitative elements (aka “math”).
Sadly, I am terrible at math. Actually, I don’t “math,” which is one reason I specialized in trinitarian theology. In the Trinity, One = Three and Three = One. And if you object to that with “math,” you’re a heretic.
The GRE is a heretic (*sarcasm).
So while I achieved the highest possible mark on my written composition, my overall score was torpedoed by important theological skills like Long Division. I was not accepted.[1]
Then I applied to a great school in the UK (Manchester). Oddly, their entrance requirements had to do with (wait for it…) theology.
I got in, and finished ahead of schedule.
This brings me back to Brooks’ claim:
“Success is about being passionately good at one or two things, [not] prudentially balanced about every subject.”
I agree.
But here’s a complicating factor.
SPECIALIZED MORONS
At the same time that Brooks is critiquing the kind of broad-spectrum acumen that the GPA rewards, others are decrying the technical specialization that is rapidly replacing a liberal arts education.
The argument here is that while the migration to specialized STEM majors (Science, Technology, Engineering, or Math) may lead to a bigger paycheck initially, it can also fail to form the person broadly. And in some cases (not all), this results in highly specialized morons.
To back this up, many recent articles have highlighted the benefits of a broad-spectrum liberal arts education, even for those who eventually go into fields like business, science, and technology.
One of these articles comes from a Wheaton College grad, Alex Soholt. As he argues (here), broad training in the liberal arts has major benefits over exclusive specialization. Here are a few:
Liberal (i.e. “broad”) education teaches students how to think and learn for a lifetime. It does so by emphasizing a variety of skills, especially critical thinking and analysis that go far beyond the execution of a particular task.
Liberal education helps studentsto see things whole. As Soholt notes, the industries of the world are connected, like systems in a human body. If one fails, others are affected. Think, for instance, about the housing crisis of 2008, and the ensuing domino effect.
Liberal educationenhances wisdom and faith. This is crucial. Education is meant to form the person, not just enable the acquisition of a paycheck. Think again of the housing crisis, and ponder what even the barest amount of morality and wisdom from the big banks would have done to change things. Just because something is lucrative and legal, that doesn’t mean it’s wise.
Liberal educationcontributes to joy. This last point is among the most important, but I’d like to address it through another personal example/rant.
WHY SHAKESPEARE DIDN’T MAKE: A RANT
For this semester, I was looking forward to auditing our college Shakespeare class. I have always wanted to do this, and the course only happens every couple years. (see here for why I decided to start doing this.) I talked with the professor, and got permission.
Then a problem emerged. Shakespeare didn’t “make.” In essence, no one else signed up to take it. More precisely, out of an undergraduate population of around six hundred students, two people enrolled in Shakespeare. Two!!!
“How is that possible!?” I asked. How is it that in a liberal arts university, only two people out of six hundred signed up to study the single most important writer in the English language? How can that be!?
I’ll tell you how. Or rather, I’ll tell you one reason. In large measure, we have forgotten that education is not just about checking off requirements so that you can graduate. It’s not just about staying (barely) eligible so that you can play your sport. Nor is it merely about maximizing your “earning potential.” Education is also about maximizing JOY. And I don’t care what your major is, learning to appreciate great literature, great art, and great thinkers will make YOU better, no matter what field you settle in.
Increasingly, this reality is being noticed even in business and technology sectors, which have begun hiring more English and humanities majors in search of people who can write well, think broadly, and draw upon a number of disciplines (see here).
A POSSIBLE COMPROMISE
So which is it?
Should we stress being “passionately good at one or two things” (Brooks)—and perhaps deemphasize the GPA? Or should we encourage students to study broadly as in a true liberal arts environment?
The answer is “Yes.”
At some point, one must drill deeply into an area of specialization. This is good. And at this stage, a poor score in an unrelated field (in my case, math) should not impede one as much as it sometimes does in the American model. Brooks is right about this. And too much focus on the GPA is a problem.
Yet at the same time, we must encourage undergraduate students especially to use electives to dabble widely, especially in the liberal arts. This way, they are more likely to be shaped as whole people and not just as narrowly knowledgeable one-trick ponies.
This need not mean abolishing the GPA, but it does mean changing how we use it.
Along these lines, one option might be to remove the threat of a GPA-crushing score in electives (like Shakespeare) so that non-specialists might be more apt to take such courses. A further step would be to ensure that students actually have said electives—as some majors, even in liberal arts environments, leave no room for them.
Finally, both students and parents must change the way they think about education in general. We must get beyond the soulless notion that the only classes that matter are those that teach me to do the immediate skill that I desire to do upon graduation.
Let’s be honest, that skill may not even exist fifteen years from now, but the ability to analyze, write, speak, think, and create is timeless.
That’s my two cents.
Now, what did I leave out?
And what do you think of Brooks’ claim?
[1] Of course, it is equally possible that I was denied for completely different and reasons. But this likelihood is more damaging to my self-esteem. Better to blame math.
As Jeff Buckley quietly drowned in a Memphis tributary in 1997, he could not have known that this tragic accident would lead to immortality. If not for him, then for the mostly unknown song that he had covered: Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”
The song itself is almost universally recognized as a preeminent example of modern songwriting. Seemingly every artist has covered it (I shamelessly prefer the Rufus Wainwright version (here)).
Yet if Buckley hadn’t waded, fully clothed, into that slack water channel—wearing cowboy boots and singing Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”—you might not even know the song.
And that’s another tragedy.
TWO TYPES OF GENIUS
This is but one revelation in the latest installment of Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast. The episode is entitled “Hallelujah,” and it explores two ways that genius happens (download here).
The first form of genius is what we typically think of when we use the word. It can be seen in artists like Picasso, Melville, and Bob Dylan. These preternatural talents produce their masterpieces in quick bursts of confident and superhuman giftedness. Gladwell calls these Conceptual Innovators.
The second form of genius is what Gladwell calls Experimental Innovators. And these are very different. They spend years tinkering and dismantling their own work, never fully satisfied with it. Cezanne was like this. Many of his greatest paintings went unsigned, because he was not ready to admit that they were done. In other cases, he required a hundred sittings for a single portrait.
Leonard Cohen is like that.
THE BAFFLED KING COMPOSING
Cohen worked obsessively on Hallelujah for five years—FIVE YEARS—writing upwards of sixty verses. That’s insane. And if you’ve heard his “finished” version, you know—it’s terrible. It sounds like a Baptist choir got drunk and then sang background for a sad Neil Diamond. It’s offensive.
Ironically, the first person to take note of the song was Bob Dylan (who knows a thing or two about making terrible versions of his own music). Over lunch, Dylan asked Cohen how long it took to write it. Cohen lied and said two years. Then he asked Dylan how long it took to write one of his favorites (“I and I”). Dylan told the truth: about fifteen minutes.
Picasso, meet Cezanne. Cezanne, try not to choke him.
NOT A VICTORY MARCH
Then a series of unlikely events takes place. Here are the cliff-notes:
Cohen’s album and the song are rejected, because: sad Neil Diamond.
Cohen keeps tinkering… Now the choir is gone and the latest version sounds like he’s channeling a Jewish Barry White (here). It’s still awful.
Then, John Kale, of The Velvet Underground, hears the latest iteration. He likes it, and asks Cohen for the lyrics. Cohen faxes fifteen pages!
Kale then chooses three verses, mostly those with biblical imagery. He changes the entire feel of the song, and covers it. No one buys it.
No one, that is, except a woman named Janine, in Brooklyn—for whom Jeff Buckley cat-sits. That’s right: cat-sits.
Buckley performs the song at a dive bar. A record exec is there, and he immediately signs him.
Buckley’s 1994 version of Hallelujah is inspired. It is “the famous one.” But almost no one pays attention.
Then, in 1997, Buckley drowns in Memphis. And in the aftermath of tragedy, as often happens, people take notice.
From the swirling waters of the Mississippi, a daimon (Greek for “genius”) rises.
NO SECRET CHORD
So what’s the point?
For Gladwell, one lesson is that genius comes in more than just one form. There is Dylan, bleeding brilliance in the time it takes to nuke a hot pocket. But there is also Cohen (and Cezanne), for whom genius, to quote W.B. Yeats, “comes dropping slow,” and through endless edits and reiterations.
For these folks, there is no “secret chord” to please the ear upon first listen. Instead, there is a long slog. And in such cases, time is a key ingredient.
But that’s not the only lesson here.
I USED TO LIVE ALONE BEFORE I KNEW YOU
My takeaway involves how much help Cohen needed all along the way. In short, he needed to be rescued from his own conception of what the song should be.
To be sure, Cohen is a genius. And the brilliant words are his. But he was also terrible at separating the good bits from the bad. And he lacked an ear for how the song should sound. John Kale fixed that. Then Jeff Buckley brought his voice, his artistry, and his good looks. (Picture Jesus, but with better fashion sense.) Still, even this may not have been enough. In the end, it took a tragedy as well.
So, in the end, Cohen’s work needed not just TIME, but HELP as well.
And neither of those words are usually associated with “genius.”
We like to picture our geniuses like Dylan or Picasso. Solitary. Effortlessly churning brilliance at breakneck speed, as if tapped into a spiritual force beyond themselves.
Which is what “genius” meant originally.
For the ancients, it was not that someone WAS a genius (for life). Rather, it was that they HAD a genius (occasionally). In such rare moments, a spirit (daimon) inhabited them, and their work became transcendent.[1]
On this older definition, see this excellent TED Talk by Liz Gilbert (here).
But solitude and speed is NOT how “Hallelujah” happened.
And as someone who wrangles words for a living, that encourages me.
THE MAJOR LIFT
Personally, I take heart in knowing that even Leonard Cohen needed lots of TIME and lots of HELP to “make the mummies dance” in Hallelujah.
Even after years of work, this brilliant song was still sub-par.
But that was not the end.
Because writing is rewriting. Genius loves company. And good work takes time. Sometimes, it is a long and frustrating slog.
Yet in the Christian tradition especially, it is encouraging to know that even broken hallelujahs can be made beautiful.[2]
[1] The Old Testament has a related, though less pagan, version of this theme when speaking of Bezalel and Oholiab as artists filled with the divine Ruach (Exod. 31).
[2] For more on this fascinating story, see Alan Light, The Holy or the Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and the Unlikely Ascent of “Hallelujah” (New York: Astria, 2012).
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