The Good

I saw a bumper sticker the other day which said: "Humankind: Be Both."  Pithy.  Provocative.  And somehow unsatisfying.  Kindness, while a positive thing from which we all might benefit, remains only a facet or shadow of the greater thing which is the Good.  Opting always for kindness means that we will sometimes miss the Good.  Making excuses for a substance-addicted family member may be a kind thing, preserving that family member from some short-term discomfort or humiliation, but it is not a good thing.  In psychological parlance, it enables the addiction.  Kind, but not Good.  This may seem like an extreme example.  Here's a less extreme one.  Consistently driving your kid to school because he or she has missed the bus.  Very kind.  If it is an occasional occurrence.  In this case it might even be seen as good.  But where the missing is habitual all we are doing is teaching our teen that if they sleep in, someone will fix it for them.  They will be in for a rude awakening some day.  So in that case, it is neither kind nor good.

But what about the Good - this which is larger than simple kindness?  To be sure we often do that which is good, but when we do not, why?  Why do we fail to do the Good?  I can think of two reasons, there are undoubtedly more.  First, we do not do the good because we reject it for some other thing which is positive but less.  Kindness is one example.  But there are others.  We will often sacrifice the Good for the useful or utilitarian.  We do that which makes the most useful sense, or economic sense, or, to follow Freud, that which makes the most pleasure sense.  Again, usefulness, sound economics and pleasure are all positive things, but they are often morally less than the Good.

The second reason we do not do the Good is because we claim we can't know it.  There are so many shades of grey in life and situations.  How are we to know the Good?  Some thoughts on this from two characters, one fictional and one real.  In The Lord of the Rings, the riders of Rohan ask Aragorn how, in these complicated times, men might know good from ill.  Aragorn responds, "As he has ever judged...good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men."*  Aragorn puts it baldly in front of us.  The Good is knowable and has always been.  I feel this when I opt for the lesser things, usefulness or pleasure.  The Good is before me and I choose other.  It's not that I don't know.

St. Paul, while he does not mention moral good in this text, says something very similar in the first chapter of Romans:
"For what can be know about God [including his Goodness] is plain to them, because God has shown it to them.  For his invisible attributes, namely his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made." 
(Romans 1:19-20 ESV - comment in brackets mine)

What is at least as interesting as why we don't do the Good, is why we do.  Even here I think there are good reasons and bad.  For all of us, if we learn right from wrong as children, we learn to do the Good to avoid punishment and to gain reward.  This is right and proper for the punishment and the rewards are part of the teaching, the shaping of our souls.   But this, like a scale played during piano practice, or conjugations done when learning a language,  is a drill to shape and form something in us - conscience or understanding of the Good.  If as adults we are continuing to do the Good for fear of punishment, we have missed something.  We have not yet come to love.  St. John says this:
"There is no fear in love, for perfect love casts out all fear.  For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love."
(I John 4:18 ESV)

More on love in a minute.

The other reason we do the good I take from a nursery rhyme.
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said 'What a good boy am I!

We sometimes do the Good in order to congratulate ourselves, "What a good boy and I!"  Or possibly so that others will congratulate us.  This ultimately is a variation on the punishment theme, just its opposite side.  We do good things because we want people to think good of us, to approve of us and appreciate us.  The problem with this, and the fear of punishment goodness, is that the Good can easily get warped in pour minds to mean "whatever the other wants."  Here we are easily prey to manipulation, sometimes dong what is not good in order to obtain the approval of, or avoid the wrath of those whose opinion we value.  It's how we get involved in gangs and why we get engaged in cliques in our school, workplace or neighborhood.

But there is another reason for doing the Good and it is what the childhood punishment and reward system is meant to grow in us.  And that is the love of the Good.  There is a big difference between doing what is Good because we are afraid that if we don't God is going to get us, and doing it because we love it.  I remember distinctly the day this realization came to me - that God was not asking me to do the Good but rather to love it.  And the doing then flows much more easily out of the loving.

The Good, together with the True and the Beautiful, are things we are made to love. And in loving them we become more truly human.  And something quite a bit more than kind.

*J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

Location Location Location

Here's a familiar one:  "I am the way, the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father but by me."  This selection from John's Gospel was part of the lectionary reading and it got me thinking about the most common understanding of the point of the text - or at least the one I encounter most frequently.  The verse is usually taken to be a vindication of our beliefs as Christians.  As Christians we claim Jesus as the unique Savior.  And Jesus says if there is going to be any saving done, it's going to be by him - Dominical support of the our claim that Jesus is the Savior.  "Païens ont tort et Chrétiens ont droit."* to quote La Chanson de Roland. 

I want to be clear that I take this to be true - that Jesus is THE Savior. And in this matter I am with the author of La Chanson.  However, I am not convinced that when Jesus first said this that he was intending to affirm or vindicate his disciples' beliefs.  I don't think he was trying to tell them that they "ont droit."  The reason I suspect this is all about location - the location in the biblical text where the comment comes - reading it in its context.

What is happening is that Jesus is preparing the disciples for the fact that he is going to go away to prepare a place for them.  He assures them they know the way to where he is going.  Thomas assures Jesus that they do not: "We do not even know where you are going, much less the way."

Jesus response, "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me, " is not intended to assure Thomas that he is right.  It is actually a gentle correction.  He is mistaken and has misunderstood something.  He is wrong.  

Thomas is looking for the information, the plan, the road map.  And aren't we all.  He wants to know the formula for spiritual success - to know both where Jesus is going and how to get there.  I have often thought it would be awesome if Jesus provided me with a detailed flight plan.  I have yet to receive one.  Thomas, like me, wants the right knowledge, the correct technique and find assurance in that knowledge.

But there is no map and there is no technique.  There is only (and the use of the word "only" here is nearly blasphemous) - there is only a Person.  To know him is to know the way.  He is it.  "No one comes to the Father but my me" is not necessarily a validation of my theology but an invitation for me (and all) to know Him who is the Way, the Truth and the Life.

The advantage to a map or technique is that I can follow it.  Emphasis on I.  No surprises and guaranteed success if we follow and execute.  Sounds perfect.  But it is not the option given - although we often try to make it thus creating rules and rolling out techniques for spiritual success. 

The option given is a Person - relationship with One to whom we must learn to listen and obey.  Harder then rules and maps but more like Love and Life (two other things that He also is.) 

*Pagans are wrong and Christians are right.

Moving On

One of the many things I appreciate about The Lord of the Rings is its ample epilogue.  Generally in books and movies there is little that follows the major climax.  A few minor details may get tied up but it is not substantive in any way.  In Tolkien's opus, there are crownings, weddings, another voyage, a parting of friends (at least twice), a minor conflict and an ensuing battle.  What I appreciate is that we are not forced to immediately move on after Sauron is defeated.

Moving on seems to be a significant imperative for us.  When one thing is completed the next thing is immediately before us.  There is no gracious time to ponder, reflect, appreciate or even learn from the thing completed.  We must move on.  We have miles to go before we sleep, as Robert Frost suggested.  Mustn't dwell on the past.  And we all know that a rolling stone gathers no moss, so let's keep rolling.  In the act of writing this I suddenly wonder what is so bad about moss.

I notice this impetus to move on especially at Christmas.  Coming from a Christian tradition that follows with some care the liturgical calendar, I know that Christmas STARTS on December 25 and then lasts for 12 days (hence the song in which the curious Lords-a-leaping are figured).  But on December 25th we have moved on.  It's over.  On to the next thing which will include post-Christmas sales, New Year's resolutions and all that lies ahead.  Could we not rest in the moment, for just a few days?

This has occurred to me because we have just passed Easter (it was on Sunday) and I had moved on.  We're done with Holy Week, Good Friday and the Feast of the Resurrection.  What's next?  As I was reading the lessons appointed in the lectionary this week, I found myself vaguely annoyed that we were going over the Passover in Exodus, rereading resurrection accounts in the Gospels, and meandering through I Corinthians 15.  Wasn't that last week?  I thought to myself.  Isn't it time to move on?

I come back to Tolkien as I think on this.  His multi-chapter epilogue does us the service of not immediately moving on.  All that follows the climactic victory at the gates of Mordor and in the heart of Mount Doom is a working out of the implications of that victory.  All of the events that follow the climax are results of same climax.  Life, in all of its joys and also struggles, blossoms forth.  The climax and victory allow for all of these other things to happen.  It is moving on, in a way, but a moving on that is deeply rooted in and thankful for the event that permits it.

And thus it is with Easter.  Christmas is 12 days.  Easter is 7 weeks.  On Monday and Tuesday I was annoyed because the lectionary hadn't moved on.  Today I had a change of heart.  I am thankful that these themes and stories are again before me.  The Easter event, Jesus' resurrection from the dead, bears some continued reflection.  I am moving on, but deeply rooted in and thankful for the event that permits me.

Pride

I am proud.  Made evident by the fact that I am unwilling to admit that I am a fan of Star Trek. (I would rather that people think me studious and erudite, eschewing the vulgarities of popular culture). But the bald facts are that I have seen every episode of all the series (except Deep Space 9, which tried even my fanatic devotion), and certainly all the movies at least once.

Science fiction is interesting because it is deeply philosophical.  Worldviews are very evident in this genre, more so than in, say historical fiction.  In all the series, but particularly in The Next Generation, there is an evident philosophical conviction that with time and progress we will build the perfect world - where there is no disease, or war or need for money.  This has, of course, been accomplished on earth by humans.  The conflict that make the show worth watching arises from encountering other-worldly species who have not yet reached this level of enlightenment.  Not to point out inconsistency, but for all his talk of peace and harmony, Jean-Luc Picard gives the command to arm the photon torpedoes fairly frequently.  But I digress.

This widely-held notion, in Star Trek and in us and our neighbors, is what the ancient Greeks would call hubris, a manifestation of pride.  It is the basic conviction that we can do it (whatever the it is) ourselves.  Man can build utopia.  Dorothy Sayers puts it this way:

"It [pride] is the sin of trying to be as God.  It is the sin which proclaims that Man can produce out of his own wits and his own impulses and his own imagination the standards by which he lives: that Man is fitted to be his own judge."*

Pride is the first sin and the very thing that the serpent tempted Eve with.

For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

That knowing of good and evil can and has been understood as judging for ourselves what is good and evil.

The conviction that we can build the Utopia or Heaven on earth, the Brave New World, as Aldous Huxley called it, is simply pride.  Huxley saw that the "progress" brought not Utopia but Distopia.  Both Hitler and Stalin were trying to build a Utopia by encouraging or coercing people to progress.  Great damage is done by this manifestation of pride.

But I am no Hitler or Stalin, I think.  For this I am grateful.  I have much less opportunity to harm.  But I am still trying to build my own Utopia in some way.  If only we could educate more, or inoculate more or recycle more we can save _________ (fill in the blank). If only I can try harder, think better, or read more, I can overcome my addiction, or make my family happy or get out of debt.

"So, who is this guy anyway?" you might be asking, "Some kind of Luddite that hates progress and good things?" Perhaps, but I don't think so.  I love education, the advances we have made in medicine and science.  I am thankful for indoor plumbing and, most days, for my cell phone.  I think that frugal use and reuse of materials we have (a definition of recycling) is virtuous. This is not a call to complacency and sloth - a different problem and sin. Pursuing improvement, betterment, brings much good.  But I am not so naive as to think that any of this will make a perfect world, because the world will still have a critical problem.

What pride and the trust we have in progress, another name for trusting in ourselves, fail to take into account is sin.  The obvious, if I but look at myself, and unfortunate reality that my education, medication and hard work does not cease to make be desperately self-centered.  There is only one cure for that cancer and only one Surgeon who can perform it.

I had a friend in high school and university who, with me, was involved in Model Parliament (Model Congress to translate for my American friends).  He was in opposition trying to defeat a bill put forward by the Government that welfare payments be increased.  It is worth noting that ideologically he would have been in favor, but one's task in debating is to argue the side you have been assigned.  Mike's (for that is his name) line of reasoning was that this is dangerous because of, and I quote, "People like me." He continued to point out how unmotivated and lazy he was and how he would delight in taking advantage of the system.  Mike put his finger on the problem in trusting the progress to Utopia.  It is hubris because of people like me, because of sin.

The Scriptures warn us against this particular manifestation of pride in this way:

Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation. (Psalm 146:3)

And that warning is for, and against, this son of man - me - and my Utopian dreams as well.

*Dorothy Sayers in "The Other Six Deadly Sins"