Today I was looking over President Obama's sales pitch for his budget, which is rather comically titled "A New Era of Responsibility: Renewing America's Promise." You can find it here, although I can't imagine anyone wanting to read it in great detail. I only mention it here because one phase in particular caught my attention. Near the end of the "President's Message" on the first few pages, Obama writes:
"Our problems are rooted in past mistakes, not our capacity for future greatness."
On its face, this phrase seems harmless enough. It's the kind of lofty rhetoric one expects from a man who has built his entire public persona around the idea of "hope." And who can argue with him? We've obviously made mistakes, but we're capable of changing things for the better, right? Well, yes and no.
I think with regard to an individual, this is certainly true. But I believe these simple words, when applied to society generally, are the soil in which every disastrous social experiment in history has taken root. This one phrase is at the heart of the dangerously naive progressive vision of humanity. It is what Thomas Sowell calls "The Vision of the Anointed," (I highly suggest that you read his book on the subject. He explains it much better than I can)
Apparently the President's plan for "renewing America's promise" can be summarized as follows: stop making mistakes. Sounds wonderful...I wish him luck with that. But here's where it gets a little ominous. How, in a free society, can private citizens be prevented from making "wrong" choices for themselves and fouling the whole thing up again? Well, that's obvious. By taking their choices away, of course.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sean Penn's Foolishness
Sean Penn, accepting his Best Actor Oscar for Milk, snidely remarked that anyone opposing gay marriage should consider the shame with which their grandchildren will one day regard their stance on the issue. I have a few thoughts about this statement...
I have no doubt that future generations (at least for a time) will accept the idea of gay marriage more readily than our generation has. But I believe, based on my own religious convictions and observations relating to the historical composition of civilized societies, that they will be wrong to do so. Unlike Sean Penn, I see no reason to assume that our children's moral compasses will be more finely tuned than our grandparents' were simply because they are developed in the 21st century.
His view is based on the progressive assumption that society is gradually perfecting itself, moving ever closer to humanity's social and moral apex. It assumes that my grandchildren will necessarily be more enlightened than I am, and dismisses out-of-hand the prospect that future generations will regress in any way. This view can only be held by one who is idealogically blinded to historical realities.
It seems obvious to me that human history, rather than being a steady march toward perfection, has been and continues to be a moral revolving door - taking us sometimes in one direction and the next moment in another, but ever fixed around a central, unmovable point. I think most of what we would call social or moral "progress" today is nothing more than going around in the same old circles.
Perhaps another metaphor would be useful. Rather than being on a road, as most "progressives" tend to imagine, I think we are in a maze. We may be moving forward, but it is as likely as not that each step only brings us closer to a dead end - at which point we will have no choice but to turn around and walk back the way we came. C.S. Lewis explained this idea most clearly when he wrote: "We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man." (You might have noticed that I really like this quotation.)
Penn regards traditional values with childish disdain because, quite simply, he considers himself the pinnacle of morality and enlightenment. The rest of us can acknowledge that not all movement is necessarily progress. I hope that my grandchildren will not regard me as a fool or a bigot, but their opinion will say nothing about the rightness or wrongness of my views. My interaction with this world has taught me that things fall apart as often as they come together. Future generations will likely be as wrong about certain things as I have been about others. All that matters is whether they and I will choose to acknowledge Truth, insofar as God has revealed it to us.
And thankfully, Truth has no regard for consensus - whatever the actors may say.
I have no doubt that future generations (at least for a time) will accept the idea of gay marriage more readily than our generation has. But I believe, based on my own religious convictions and observations relating to the historical composition of civilized societies, that they will be wrong to do so. Unlike Sean Penn, I see no reason to assume that our children's moral compasses will be more finely tuned than our grandparents' were simply because they are developed in the 21st century.
His view is based on the progressive assumption that society is gradually perfecting itself, moving ever closer to humanity's social and moral apex. It assumes that my grandchildren will necessarily be more enlightened than I am, and dismisses out-of-hand the prospect that future generations will regress in any way. This view can only be held by one who is idealogically blinded to historical realities.
It seems obvious to me that human history, rather than being a steady march toward perfection, has been and continues to be a moral revolving door - taking us sometimes in one direction and the next moment in another, but ever fixed around a central, unmovable point. I think most of what we would call social or moral "progress" today is nothing more than going around in the same old circles.
Perhaps another metaphor would be useful. Rather than being on a road, as most "progressives" tend to imagine, I think we are in a maze. We may be moving forward, but it is as likely as not that each step only brings us closer to a dead end - at which point we will have no choice but to turn around and walk back the way we came. C.S. Lewis explained this idea most clearly when he wrote: "We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man." (You might have noticed that I really like this quotation.)
Penn regards traditional values with childish disdain because, quite simply, he considers himself the pinnacle of morality and enlightenment. The rest of us can acknowledge that not all movement is necessarily progress. I hope that my grandchildren will not regard me as a fool or a bigot, but their opinion will say nothing about the rightness or wrongness of my views. My interaction with this world has taught me that things fall apart as often as they come together. Future generations will likely be as wrong about certain things as I have been about others. All that matters is whether they and I will choose to acknowledge Truth, insofar as God has revealed it to us.
And thankfully, Truth has no regard for consensus - whatever the actors may say.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
"Henry Poole is Here" and Religious Devotion
Julie and I watched "Henry Poole is Here" last night. It wasn't particularly good, despite one or two moving scenes and a few funny lines from Luke Wilson. But one scene in particular interested me, and I'd like to discuss it here.
Henry Poole, having only a few weeks to live, moves back into his childhood neighborhood - intending to spend his last days in the one place he remembers being truly happy. The plot takes an odd twist when Esperanza, a devoutly Catholic neighbor, claims to see the face of Jesus in a water stain on Henry's wall. Although irritated by her intrusion into his final weeks, he feels some sympathy for the past pain she has experienced and indulges her delusion. When the stain on the wall begins bleeding and, unbelievably (for Henry), healing neighbors' afflictions, Henry is forced into a decision. He can either continue to dismiss the stain as a delusion or decide to believe in something that contradicts all his rationality. Given his terminal condition, this choice may have very real consequences for Henry.
I'll not spoil the ending, because what really interests me is an exchange between Henry and his Catholic neighbor. It goes something like this (very loosely paraphrased from memory):
Esperanza: "Mr. Poole, why won't you just believe?"
Henry: "Why is it so important to you that I believe? What do you care? You need me to believe so you'll feel a little less crazy. Because if you can convince others to join in your crazy little delusion then it won't seems so crazy anymore, and you could quiet that voice in your head that tells you you're wrong. You could keep silencing your own doubt."
My first response to this exchange was self-examination. Do I seek validation of my beliefs from others in order to ease my own misgivings? Has the goal of my evangelism been to insulate myself from doubt, rather than to help others find Truth? Honestly, I think not. After much reflection, I can say with certainty that my efforts to evangelize have been motivated by a desire to improve the lives of others. But rather than relying on anecdotal evidence to refute Henry's accusation, I'd like to address the charge more systematically.
I'm sure to an atheist or a moral relativist Henry's explanation for the christian compulsion to evangelize seems credible. But for a person of genuine faith it is nonsense. I choose that word carefully, because Henry's assumption, never mind its truth or falsity, doesn't even make sense when applied to religious faith - at least to anyone examining it honestly. Let me explain.
To have faith in God is to acknowledge that there exists in reality a fundamental Truth that is entirely independent of our perception. While it can be perceived, its existence is not derived from observation. It is there, even if we cannot detect it or refuse to acknowledge it. While this might sound far too mystical for the modern, scientific mind, it is nonetheless perfectly rational. In fact, the "scientific mind" that rejects the reality of unobservable truth cannot be regarded as truly scientific in any meaningful way, for scientific endeavor requires extrapolation beyond present observation and all such extrapolation is necessarily faith-based.
[Aside: If the concept of knowable truth detached from observation sounds far-fetched to you, it may be useful to consider the idea in a non-religious context. Consider: Do the lives of others continue when you are not around? When you hang up the phone with your friend, does he or she cease to be simply because you do not perceive him at that moment? Does he fall into a temporary oblivion? You may say no, because you will see him again in the future, or because someone else is perceiving him now, or even that he is perceiving himself. But all of this is purely anecdotal - it can provide no objective assurance to you. You cannot get inside his head or see through his eyes. The fact is, no matter how obvious your friend's continued existence outside of your interaction with him may be, you cannot assert the truth of it without crossing from science into metaphysics. Into faith. And yet, we do act as though the lives of others have inherent value apart from their immediate utility to us. This is because each of us, at the most basic level of our humanity, believes that what is true for one of us is true for all. Since you exist apart from others' perception of you, you feel certain that your friends, family, and neighbors are the same. That conclusion is perfectly rational but completely unscientific. You can be certain of it, but you can never prove it.]
So what does this have to do with Henry Poole's claim that religious evangelism is nothing more than an attempt to ease our own doubts and insecurities? When confronted with the reality of transcendent, objective Truth, it falls apart. Henry's argument is built to persuade relativists. It makes sense only if you have already accepted its fundamental premise - that there is no truth apart from what people can be persuaded to believe - the more people that can be convinced of something, the truer it becomes. But this idea is anathema to genuine religious devotion. Since the existence or nonexistence of God is a matter of transcendent Truth - a question of reality, rather than perception - consensus cannot possibly be relevant to the question.
So while popular culture enjoys portraying the religious as sheep - irrational and delusional followers lacking the courage to stand apart from the herd - it is actually the non-believer who is more likely to take comfort in consensus. To a relativist mind consensus is everything - it defines truth itself. But to the religious mind, consensus may be useful or informative but it is ultimately irrelevant. To believe in God is to believe that even if you yourself were to stop believing in God, He would still exist. If I believe that something is true whether I believe it or not, is that conviction likely to be influenced by the beliefs of others?
The point is...evangelism is an attempt to bring others out of the isolation and self-destruction that plagues humanity and into the contentment that accompanies genuine communion with God and man. If you've conviced yourself, like Henry, that evangelism is essentially a selfish act, aimed at silencing the evangelist's own nagging doubts and fears, you are not seeing it with honest eyes. I encourage you to take another look.
Henry Poole, having only a few weeks to live, moves back into his childhood neighborhood - intending to spend his last days in the one place he remembers being truly happy. The plot takes an odd twist when Esperanza, a devoutly Catholic neighbor, claims to see the face of Jesus in a water stain on Henry's wall. Although irritated by her intrusion into his final weeks, he feels some sympathy for the past pain she has experienced and indulges her delusion. When the stain on the wall begins bleeding and, unbelievably (for Henry), healing neighbors' afflictions, Henry is forced into a decision. He can either continue to dismiss the stain as a delusion or decide to believe in something that contradicts all his rationality. Given his terminal condition, this choice may have very real consequences for Henry.
I'll not spoil the ending, because what really interests me is an exchange between Henry and his Catholic neighbor. It goes something like this (very loosely paraphrased from memory):
Esperanza: "Mr. Poole, why won't you just believe?"
Henry: "Why is it so important to you that I believe? What do you care? You need me to believe so you'll feel a little less crazy. Because if you can convince others to join in your crazy little delusion then it won't seems so crazy anymore, and you could quiet that voice in your head that tells you you're wrong. You could keep silencing your own doubt."
My first response to this exchange was self-examination. Do I seek validation of my beliefs from others in order to ease my own misgivings? Has the goal of my evangelism been to insulate myself from doubt, rather than to help others find Truth? Honestly, I think not. After much reflection, I can say with certainty that my efforts to evangelize have been motivated by a desire to improve the lives of others. But rather than relying on anecdotal evidence to refute Henry's accusation, I'd like to address the charge more systematically.
I'm sure to an atheist or a moral relativist Henry's explanation for the christian compulsion to evangelize seems credible. But for a person of genuine faith it is nonsense. I choose that word carefully, because Henry's assumption, never mind its truth or falsity, doesn't even make sense when applied to religious faith - at least to anyone examining it honestly. Let me explain.
To have faith in God is to acknowledge that there exists in reality a fundamental Truth that is entirely independent of our perception. While it can be perceived, its existence is not derived from observation. It is there, even if we cannot detect it or refuse to acknowledge it. While this might sound far too mystical for the modern, scientific mind, it is nonetheless perfectly rational. In fact, the "scientific mind" that rejects the reality of unobservable truth cannot be regarded as truly scientific in any meaningful way, for scientific endeavor requires extrapolation beyond present observation and all such extrapolation is necessarily faith-based.
[Aside: If the concept of knowable truth detached from observation sounds far-fetched to you, it may be useful to consider the idea in a non-religious context. Consider: Do the lives of others continue when you are not around? When you hang up the phone with your friend, does he or she cease to be simply because you do not perceive him at that moment? Does he fall into a temporary oblivion? You may say no, because you will see him again in the future, or because someone else is perceiving him now, or even that he is perceiving himself. But all of this is purely anecdotal - it can provide no objective assurance to you. You cannot get inside his head or see through his eyes. The fact is, no matter how obvious your friend's continued existence outside of your interaction with him may be, you cannot assert the truth of it without crossing from science into metaphysics. Into faith. And yet, we do act as though the lives of others have inherent value apart from their immediate utility to us. This is because each of us, at the most basic level of our humanity, believes that what is true for one of us is true for all. Since you exist apart from others' perception of you, you feel certain that your friends, family, and neighbors are the same. That conclusion is perfectly rational but completely unscientific. You can be certain of it, but you can never prove it.]
So what does this have to do with Henry Poole's claim that religious evangelism is nothing more than an attempt to ease our own doubts and insecurities? When confronted with the reality of transcendent, objective Truth, it falls apart. Henry's argument is built to persuade relativists. It makes sense only if you have already accepted its fundamental premise - that there is no truth apart from what people can be persuaded to believe - the more people that can be convinced of something, the truer it becomes. But this idea is anathema to genuine religious devotion. Since the existence or nonexistence of God is a matter of transcendent Truth - a question of reality, rather than perception - consensus cannot possibly be relevant to the question.
So while popular culture enjoys portraying the religious as sheep - irrational and delusional followers lacking the courage to stand apart from the herd - it is actually the non-believer who is more likely to take comfort in consensus. To a relativist mind consensus is everything - it defines truth itself. But to the religious mind, consensus may be useful or informative but it is ultimately irrelevant. To believe in God is to believe that even if you yourself were to stop believing in God, He would still exist. If I believe that something is true whether I believe it or not, is that conviction likely to be influenced by the beliefs of others?
The point is...evangelism is an attempt to bring others out of the isolation and self-destruction that plagues humanity and into the contentment that accompanies genuine communion with God and man. If you've conviced yourself, like Henry, that evangelism is essentially a selfish act, aimed at silencing the evangelist's own nagging doubts and fears, you are not seeing it with honest eyes. I encourage you to take another look.
Thomas Sowell's Website
http://www.tsowell.com/
Amazingly, I had never visited Dr. Sowell's website before last night. Truly one of the greatest thinkers of the last 100 years.
Whatever side of the political spectrum you're on, your education is almost necessarily incomplete if you've never spent some time reading through his works.
Amazingly, I had never visited Dr. Sowell's website before last night. Truly one of the greatest thinkers of the last 100 years.Whatever side of the political spectrum you're on, your education is almost necessarily incomplete if you've never spent some time reading through his works.
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