Father's Day

Today in churches across the land there will no doubt be sermons preached with the theme "father". It is common for pastors to draw on various holidays for inspiration, especially when these holidays allow one to draw comparisons and contrasts between a role played by man, and the corresponding divine role played by God. Many of these sermons will highlight the relative fragility of the human "father", the incompleteness of his presence, the awkwardness of his expressed love, etc. Other sermons will remark on the absent father, the father who fled or otherwise passed on. Still others might approach the topic with nostalgia, reminiscing of fatherhood during a bygone era. Some preachers may even call attention to the challenges of the new daddy daycare phenomenon sweeping younger generations, quickly becoming the new norm in some societies (one only needs to think of Sweden and the public scorn shown to fathers who choose to stay at work rather than take a year off to help raise children!). All of this will be only one side of the homiletic coin. Many (but not all), will go on to contrast these very fragile, but generally well-meaning human fathers with "our Father in heaven". Here we have a prototype, a Platonic form, the ideal Father. When our earthly father fails us (for fail us he must, we're told), the heavenly Father is there to pick us up, to show us grace, to hear our heartfelt cries. In this way human fathers are given an example, and each one of us assured intimacy with a Father-figure par exellence. Here is the Father we all long for and desire, sans the awkward human barriers to authentic human affection.

I will not comment here on a feminist critique of God-as-Father, as interesting and pertinent as this critique happens to be. I will simply speak from experience. I've been lucky enough to have a human father who puts any heavenly version to shame. In fact, even if a heavenly version were to present himself claiming to be my Father, I would greet him with a yawn and ask him to leave. Or perhaps I would entertain him and ask where he's been all this time if he is my Father. I would like to know how he is any different than so many human fathers who abandon their children for years, returning after various adventures to try and insert themselves back into the lives of their children. "I was with you in spirit" he might say. At this I would press him for a clear definition of "being with" someone (let alone what he means by "spirit"!). If one's presence is merely an idea or feeling, then it is my idea or feeling, and as such what you're really saying is that I had myself. Besides, many comforting ideas or thoughts could be created to suit this purpose. I would be forced to point out that the "relationship" has been rather one-sided all these years, and that in the end one couldn't speak of a proper "relationship" at all, the very idea suggesting mutuality and companionship. I would recommend to him that rather than be referred to as "Father", he change his name simply to "God" without using any other misleading nouns or descriptors ("God" is sufficiently ambiguous to reflect the lived experience). This silly nonsense leading back to Jesus' use of "abba", or "daddy" must really stop (other rabbis and prophets may have used similar expressions, but of course Jesus' relationship to the Father is portrayed uniquely by various writers). It's emphasis in many churches seems to reflect a need for fathering, rather than any actual experience of Father. It reflects a hope/desire, rather than any action by heavenly Father. This is seen in the common rebuttal made by some Christians that if one really desires the Father he will make himself known: "draw near to him and he will draw near to you". If one hasn't experienced the presence of the Father it is only because one hasn't had faith enough, desired it truly, recognized it even. For my part I know that my human father, knowing that his child earnestly desired to be with him, would stop at nothing to be present. Not only this, even if his child didn't want to be with him, he would still make every effort to show his availability, his wish to be present (and this in personal terms). Rightly so! For some people throughout history it is the very absence and impotence of the heavenly Father that has caused such consternation. Where was he when....? The answers are hardly satisfying.

Personally, my earthly father is good enough. He's not perfect, but then again, he could teach the heavenly version a thing or two...

A Secular Age -reflection-

Having just completed Taylor's A Secular Age and having presented an analysis of it to my colleagues, I feel leaving a few of my reflections here makes for good closure.

One major conclusion I made was that Taylor and Žižek are in fact trying to do the same thing: revitalize their respective traditions with a vision of renewal. Taylor, following Péguy's comments, could have just as easily been quoting Žižek:

"Creative renewal was only possible in action which by its very nature had to have a certain temporal depth. This kind of action had to draw on the forms which had been shaped in a deeper past, but not by a simple mechanical reproduction, as with “habit”, rather by a creative re-application of the spirit of the tradition."

It was Lenin, when faced with implementing the New Economic Policy in 1922 (after the Bolshevik Revolution), a policy allowing a greater market economy and private ownership, who said it is sometimes necessary to “begin from the beginning” again and again. Žižek, apropos the Left, says this repeatedly. Following Badiou he emphasizes a fidélité à l’événement (Fidelity to the Event), in this case, a fidelity within a given context which is always "beginning from the beginning" in a creative reinterpretation of the emancipatory Idea. This is precisely Taylor's formulation for the Christian Church (sans the transcendent):

"The goal in this case is not to return to an earlier formula, inspiring as many of these will undoubtedly be; there will always be an element of imitation of earlier models, but inevitably and rightly Christian life today will look for and discover new ways of moving beyond the present orders to God."

Some Christians have begun to do this, to contextualize and move beyond traditional forms, while creatively reapplying the "spirit of the tradition". Whether they will gather momentum remains to be seen, a large part of this depending on their ability to avoid defining themselves by what they are not, or what they perceive themselves to be a corrective to. These considerations should not even enter the equation. Another risk will involve making the particular the universal, imposing some local form as a mould for all others. So a particular form may be successful (transformative etc), we may write books about it, others may start to think it would be possible to transplant the forms in other places (didn't something analogous to this happen with communism, so that we have Russian communism, Chinese communism, Cuban communism, etc, each taking on slightly or radically different form?). No, both Taylor (the transcendent frame) and Žižek (the immanent frame) insist on the key concept of contextualization, serving the Idea (which is Universal) of the movement from precisely where one is. Each of these emancipatory groups (or Christian groups, who may also have an emancipatory orientation in the Leftist sense) form a kind of communion. Taylor sees the way forward as a “communion of itineraries”, a multiplicity of “whole lives”.

So much more could be said here, but this will suffice for now. I close Taylor's massive tome with a new appreciation for this Catholic thinker at McGill. I am richer because of him. To be continued...

Dear pithecus

Dearest pithecus

I write you again to inquire about your life.

What was it like to step into the world that first time? What were your thoughts? Could I understand their content? Did you bring fire with you or did you learn to make it? What manner of weapons did you fashion? What did you kill and what did you eat? You became a traveler. Perhaps you met others, somewhat different than you? Did you kill and eat them or did you love them? How did you live out your days upon the earth?

Tell me, did you have a god or gods? Did they aid or harm you? I have heard that man developed a fear of the shadows early on as a survival advantage. I suppose not every dark corner of the forest harbours a demon, but thinking so might protect one from a sabretooth on occasion. To this day our sense of the supernatural may still be hard-wired, as it were. It is a legacy left over from your day my darling pithecus. What do you think? Perhaps there is no difference to you between a sabretooth and a demon...

What was your impression of the sun and moon, those great lights of day and night? What did you long for? What cambrian thoughts burned beneath your brow?

I'm full of questions dear pithecus but perhaps you have nothing to say? That's right you're a man of action.. but I wonder sometimes about that first step.. not a literal step mind you, but the impulse to move out into the world. A great deal has happened since then. I wonder what you would think of it all.. I'm excited at the prospect of one day receiving an answer from you.

Your loving child,

H. Sapiens

Reflection

There is a town in north Ontario

With dream comfort memory to spare

And in my mind I still need a place to go

All my changes were there.

Neil Young

My memories know only a wild freedom

On snowy winter nights I would often ride the snowmobile out to a place overlooking my hometown. It was fitting that this small snowmachine was called an "Elan", for it was during these nighttime runs, darting along winding trails as fast as the shadows receding from the headlight, that I would be filled with a pure and powerful sense of living, of an élan vital: a powerful creative force. This was also a sustaining force, seeing me through some of my most difficult moments. Standing upon the summit of my solitude, the glowing lights below -filtering through a million gently falling wonders- warmed and comforted my heart. I suppose such moments are purchased with great sums of money, or hastily lived during a weekend away. Such moments might be the point of life for some, the whole reason for such industriousness and labour, though I suspect that so much work is often rewarded by other things. I will never cease to be amazed by the commercialization of experience.

There are such places in my dreams... places I once haunted like a ghost. They contain no trace of me now, like a lake reflecting the flight of geese over its water. Once upon a time I flew over them.. now they fly over me.

Enchanting and Disenchanted

In A Secular Age (2007) Charles Taylor speaks of the "disenchantment" of the West. This was/is a process which in a recognizable way started to unfold around the Reformation, prefigured to some degree by other movements/philosophies reaching back in time (the Epicureans, pre-Socratics, etc). The idea is that people once existed in a world/cosmos thoroughly embedded in and pervaded by the "divine," participating in the Eternal Forms (Plato), and that people themselves were also pervaded by spiritual forces and persons. A few examples of this: demon possession or the power of curses, objects containing spiritual forces such as amulets, sacred stones, or even (in the New Testament) clothing: "handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were taken to the sick, and their illnesses were cured and the evil spirits left them" (Acts 19:12). This last example might provoke slight unease in some Christians today, but this only proves Taylor's point that we have undergone a thorough process of disenchantment (though not that long ago I viewed an ad on television offering "free" handkerchiefs blessed by an evangelist- in exchange they wanted a free-will "donation". I took them up on the offer, sans donation, and was sent a 3cmx3cm piece of cloth. With some disappointment I realized that not only did I not receive a blessing, it was barely large enough to blow my nose in). Perhaps I wasn't "porous" enough (the term Taylor uses to refer to the self living in this enchanted world, a world where spirits and forces can "penetrate" and fill an individual).

I think he's right that fundamentally our (Western) world is disenchanted. The stars are no longer angelic creatures, or windows into heaven. We no longer burn witches at the stake for supposed hexes and curses. There are always exceptions of course, and the handkerchief example is a case in point. In addition to blessed handkerchiefs one might think of "holy" water and oil, the Eucharist, relics of the saints and of Christ's clothing/cross/cup, and even a belief among some denominations in demon possession and spiritual "warfare" within and without the human life and world events. The instructor of the course in which I'm reading Taylor's text was absolutely right when he said, "For many people it isn't a matter of believing or not believing: these things are simply incomprehensible." Taylor is quick to point out that this reaction was not even a possibility at one time in the West.

Reflecting on the idea of enchantment/disenchantment I wonder what other areas of the Western world may still hold an enchanted view of things. I say "other" here because obviously much of the Church still holds a medieval view of the cosmos/universe, one where spiritual forces still inhabit material wildernesses.. but even here the Church cannot help being influenced by disenchantment. Church bells are no longer set ringing to ward off thunderstorms. With few exceptions, medical science and doctors are consulted about illness before priests or spiritual healers (prayer may be said concurrently with treatment, but of course medical treatment takes priority). I could go on.. but what about non-Christian/religious worlds? One that immediately jumped to mind was the area of brain science. Are there not still scientists/philosophers who hold to an enchanted model of consciousness? This isn't to be opposed to a mechanistic/reductionist view either. There are other organic models (plasticity models for example) that are not reductive in this way, but even here there is always a risk of seeing consciousness as a deep mystery (reminiscent of the Eucharistic Mystery: an unfathomable -presence-) which will never be solved.

As researchers uncover more and more it is inevitable that resistance will increase to their discoveries, or rather, to the implications of these discoveries. We see this in fundamentalist appropriations of the sciences (eg. Creation Science) and the full out battle being waged between Christian apologists and the New Atheists (who for the most part are scientists). I will also mention Islam only briefly here. Islam has proven much more adaptable to scientific discovery than Christianity, but I would still challenge the Islamic notion of "Insha'Allah", for example, with the question "but how is God's will actually made manifest: through what -divine action-?" Or is divine action once again seen as humans-at-work as in a Christian model (we are his hands, his feet, etc)?

With mixed hope and despair I continue to observe the relationship unfold:

The enchanting and the disenchanted.

Christian Charity

I was recently reminded of a “real” which we should often reflect upon: Christians give more to charity, do more charitable work, than any other single group. Studies indicate that the churchgoer gives up to twice as much to charity as any other person, religious or non-religious (giving even more to non-religious affiliated charities than non-Christians). In addition to charitable work, Christians also provide an impressive degree of first-response disaster relief. Name a disaster in the last fifty years and a Christian-affiliated response team was among the first ones there.

Even if one takes into account the fact that a great deal of Christian giving goes towards “ministers' salaries, church upkeep, and Sunday School” the simple fact is that Christians still give more than any other group. What can explain this?

I will delve into the realm of “motivations” only to say this: whether the Christian gives more because they “are forced to” (an ignorant claim I’ve often heard), i.e. it is their (absolute) duty as a Christian, or because they have a genuine concern for the suffering of the world, matters little to me. In fact, one could argue that "giving as a duty" takes nothing away from the charitable act, but speaks a great deal rather about the integrity of an ideology that requires providing assistance to others. What concerns me here is the outcome: Do the suffering receive aid? Motivations are a moot point (though I would accept an argument which attacks a “charity” with strings attached). In a twist on St. Paul’s discussion concerning the preaching of the gospel: “But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice” (Phil. 1:18) -What does it matter? (Why question the motives of the Christian here?) The important thing is that Christians give more, whether from false motives or true, to the aid organizations of the world. And because of this I rejoice.

Apart from motivations, one of the major contributing factors to this incredible amount of Christian giving must certainly be related to organizational structure. I've touched on this briefly in a previous blog (in relation to the possibility of reconciliation): Isn't it precisely the Christian system, a system which provides a structure within which giving is made a simple matter, a system in which large groups of people are effectively empowered to give, in which giving itself is a kind of cherished narrative within the community, that has contributed to the success of Christian charity? (This should give those anti-organizational Christians pause: Do not forget the power of an organized people to change the world).

I agree here with my beloved philosopher: The way to show our respect for an authority (an individual or organization, political or not) is to be ruthlessly critical. I want to add: And let us also give honour where honour is due.

The Modern Malaise

I recently spoke with a group of Christian scholars concerning Charles Taylor's A Secular Age (2007). This particular conversation involved an analysis of what Taylor calls "the malaises of modernity." Briefly, summarizing Taylor, the malaises of modernity involve the following:

1) The sense of the fragility of meaning and the search for an over-arching significance (those moments we no longer feel our chosen path is compelling, or cannot justify it to ourselves or others).

2) The felt flatness of our attempts to solemnize the crucial moments of passage in our lives (for example birth, marriage, death- previously solemnized by linking with the transcendent-holy-sacred, but now many people use the rites without feeling any connection with religion, eg. marriage in a church).

3) The utter flatness, emptiness of the ordinary (in the repeated cycle of desire and fulfillment in the consumer culture, "the cardboard quality of bright supermarkets, or neat row housing in a clean suburb; the ugliness of slag heaps, or an aging industrial townscape").

For Taylor these malaises are ones of immanence, the loss of the transcendent (of the Other outside of ourselves, i.e. God). What I found interesting about our discussion was how the group took it for granted that what Taylor was discussing was indeed a universal Western condition. This simply is the way things are. A suspicion steadily arose in my mind: is this not an entirely post-Christian sentiment? I cannot begin to count the many times I've heard Christians tell me that "without God life would be meaningless." I too have experienced a great sense of the "fragility of meaning," of no longer being able to justify my beliefs to others or myself. This was of course when I "lost my faith". It took several years before I was able to recover from this (and I might add, without help, support, or understanding from almost anyone- there is a great need for qualified and understanding workers in loss-of-faith contexts). The point here is, however, that in order to experience this "malaise", this loss of feeling/living towards the transcendent, one must have something to lose in the first place. Yes for the post-Christian this loss and subsequent sense of flattening may indeed be experienced (though of course it is not inevitable), but when I reflected on acquaintances who were raised in non-faith homes or who had never believed in a transcendent Other in the first place, I came to the conclusion that perhaps there has been a mis-diagnosis here, that many people live without displaying any of the three symptoms above. Perhaps it is because they are unreflective! Yes perhaps.. many people certainly do not reflect on the bigger questions. Regardless, it simply isn't true that the "modern malaise" afflicts everyone in the West, or perhaps even that it afflicts the majority of people.

How convenient it is to think so if one is a Christian. "People are lost and adrift without God: therefore, we, the Church, have an important answer for them- inoculation against meaninglessness." [In my mind I see a more sinister (hopefully fictional) Christian character discussing his plan with his underlings: "If the malaise of modernity didn't exist, we would have to invent one. In other words: In order to justify our continuing belief in this myth we must first invent a problem for which we alone have the solution."] The malaise Taylor speaks of here is the post-Christian malaise of the loss of meaning. It is, afterall, in modernity that Christian faith has taken a number of blows from various sources (perhaps ultimately from itself: I am totally in agreement with Taylor here). It is, therefore, (and I wouldn't extend this too far beyond it), a Christian illness, rather than a societal one per se.

Didaskalos

I believe we owe a great debt to our teachers. I've come to this conclusion after a little conflict within myself. The reason for this conflict was two-fold:

1) Is it not my teachers who often cause me to feel foolish, who challenge my most cherished convictions, who show me again and again how ignorant I am, who refuse to give me any comfort?

My teacher is therefore my enemy.

2) Is it not my teachers who remind me that I haven't "arrived," that there is still work to be done, who guide me and illuminate my path?

My teacher is therefore my friend.

The conflict dissipates when one transforms the moral-ontological field on which Reason #1 is premised so that it reads thus:

1) My foolishness is based on ignorance, many of my cherished convictions have remained unanalyzed and assumed, my comfort is derrived from a false sense of self-assuredness and self-righteousness, all of which are challenged by my teacher.

My teacher is therefore a god.

[For the weak of heart I will add: This is not the Christian or Muslim conception of a divine who commits no error. This is the ancient Jewish divine who not only falls short of his design, but regrets too his own blundering. Here is a god who also learns and is therefore qualified to teach.]

To the keepers of the Idea: the Immortal

My teachers.

The Human Condition

A recent article published in Lancet medical journal relates how a California college professor has sequenced his own genome and discovered he has a high risk of suddenly dropping dead from a heart attack, as well as being at a high risk for prostate cancer. The technology cost approximately $50,000, but the latest equipment can do it for $5000 (from such companies like Illumina and Life Technologies Corp). The team leader who analyzed the professor's DNA says "The $1000 genome is coming fast."

Using science to make accurate predictions about how one will die, or even when, is not new. A test for Huntington's chorea (a central nervous system disease resulting in uncontrolled movements, loss of mental abilities, and changes in personality or behavior, eventually leading to immobility and complications such as congestive heart failure and pneumonia -there is no cure), has been available for pre-symptomatic carriers for some time. It's interesting to note, however, that only 5% of potential carriers ever take advantage of the test. Prenatal testing is also available, raising ethical issues surrounding aborting fetuses known to be carriers.

My wife and I recently watched the movie "Gattaca", a sci-fi set in the not too distant future. In it, citizens have been genetically modified from conception to avoid such health problems as heart disease, cognitive disabilities, and even poor eyesight. Those whose parents have opted for a natural birth are often shunned, given jobs like scrubbing the toilets of the more genetically "perfect". The movie follows the efforts of a character played by Ethan Hawke, a man born naturally, to participate in a space mission to Titan. Having been turned away from entry into the prestigious space training center because he is not genetically "up to the task," Hawke embarks on a long journey of training and deception in order to achieve his goal. I won't spoil the ending for those who haven't seen it...

As much as this movie is about class society, the haves and the have nots, the elite and the workers (including the bodily discipline that so marks the working class, who often have only their own bodies), this movie is also about the coming (and already upon us) genetic revolution. What was once science fiction has now become non-fiction. It raises several questions:

If it is possible to detect and screen out genetic conditions leading to health issues, why not? If there is a way to manipulate genes to make us smarter or healthier shouldn't we jump at the chance? Here we might also enter into the debate about the use of performance enhancing drugs in sport and academia. If one can pop a pill to aid memory or energy without adverse side-effects, shouldn't one do it? I admit to being a regular user of the performance enhancing drug caffeine, a drug with relatively few side effects! But there are many more powerful and effective drugs now available.. So if one is able to circumvent even this (or supplement it) through genetic manipulation, why not?

This also raises the more fundamental question of what it means to be human. Do these advances in bio-genetics not challenge us for a redefinition? It will continue to do so as scientists are even now capable of creating life at a basic level (not reconstituting life from spare parts, but actually constructing it from a molecular level). The resistance given to such projects is telling. What is it exactly that is being resisted?

The Radical Core of Christianity

There is an increasing trend of materialists/atheists appropriating the language of Christianity for ideological reasons. It is not simply that Christianity, as an ancient and rich source of a wide range of philosophical and scientific thought provides some "models" or "linguistic schemas" for materialist appropriation. These interpreters are interested in a much more profound meaning of Christianity: Christianity as the religion of the exit from the religious.

It has been said that the only authentic atheism is one which has taken part in the Christian experience. What does this mean? A brief theological excursus is in order.

What took place when Jesus first appeared in Mary's womb? The writer of the gospel of John said: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God." Later he said, "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among men." The incarnation of God himself took place in Mary's womb. It is no wonder she was called "Theotokos" or "God-bearer" by later Christian thinkers. What was necessary for this to occur? St. Paul says in his letter to the Philippians that Jesus had to "make himself nothing", literally, to "empty" himself, what theologians refer to as Christ's kenotic emptying. Empty himself of what? Of his divinity, his divine power. This kenosis is key for Death of God theologians like Thomas Altizer. It was here that they see a definite (de) evolution in God's being. God became man in Christ Jesus. He was indeed a man, but a man who was a God emptied of his power. The next step is crucial: the God-man was crucified. He was put to death. These interpreters see in Christ's "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" a confession of helplessness, a sign of his final kenotic existence. (It is interesting to note that the Gospel of Peter records Jesus as saying: "My power, my power, why have you forsaken me"). What took place on the cross was not just the death of a man, but the death of God. God merely remained consistent in finishing the final kenotic gesture and emptying the cup of his being to the last drop and then smashing the cup.

It is at this moment that Christianity prepares a way for the exit from the religious. Heaven lies vacant, the Christian God has emptied out any meaning the word "God" has ever had. There is no "big Other", no final Guarantor of meaning, no Master behind the curtain pulling the strings (and is Zizek not correct in saying that even in Stalinism there remains a big Other in the guise of "History"?). The stage lies silent and the audience suddenly realizes they're the main act from now on. Right away some people understand and start forming emancipatory communities. It's up to people to change the world, to emancipate humanity. The Spirit of Christ is now interpreted as the will and the action of the emancipatory people. Did Jesus not say, "where two or three are gathered in my name I am there with them"? Suddenly a light dawns on a radically new egalitarian community. "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, there is no female and male..." The Spirit, to quote Hegel, "rises up out of the foaming ferment of finitude." Here now is the only locus of the Spirit: the new universal community. It is literally the people's fidelity to the Event.

The universal collective is soon challenged, however, by a particularist appropriation of Jesus. What this Christian God has done is more than some can bear. No, God cannot be allowed to die. So they constructed the myth of his resurrection. The radical message, the gospel, was soon embedded in an institutionalized ideology. The original heresy was committed: they identified the Church as the body of Christ, forced the particular at the expense of the universal.

The atheist challenge to Christians is clear here: Sacrifice the "Church" as its original founder once sacrificed himself, so that the kenotic will of God may be fulfilled. It's time to reclaim the radical core of Christianity: Christianity as the original and most complete atheism. It's time to form a new world order.

Vânaprastya

I know a man from Uganda who moved to Canada with his wife a few years ago. When he learned that I had lived in Guinea for a short time his first question to me was: "When you went into the jungle, what did you feel?" I thought back to my many treks through those great forests with canopies towering over the earth, blocking out the sun.. I thought about hunting there for meat, battling vine and jungle mountain, breaking suddenly through the foliage to see a great panorama of rain forest and mist, rainbow and endless green life.

"I have not been able to think clearly since leaving my village," he said. "When I am in the forest I can collect my thoughts, but here in the city I cannot." He smiled and looked down at his feet.

The Romance of the New

It is precisely the giveness of love that enables us to hurt one another. It's perverse isn't it? But it's been like this since the beginning of human time. The cliché "We hurt the ones we love" is true here precisely for the reason I've elaborated. People really do love: here to the point of familiarity. Like any child or creature really, we treat those things we are familiar with differently than we treat something new. Elliott first gets a toy and lovingly plays with it.. and in time (sometimes not very long) he's throwing it down the stairs for our dog to chase. We're the same way with people (which is largely why people have affairs: they long for the "newness" of relationship and all that entails), when the relationship is in its initial stages, things are more passionate, it's easier to forgive, easier to defer to our partners. Over time, this changes and the relationship loses its "spark". But if people could understand that the exact same process takes place when we buy a new car, or coffee maker, perhaps we could stop blaming the other person in the relationship, or even ourselves, and start thinking about this fundamental experience of human nature. You can see how in a consumer society the logical next step would be to buy a new product to replace the now familiar one (in essence an effort to recapture the experience, the thrill, the romance of -the new-). So, relationships become disposable, replaceable, and objectified (and so commercial). I think the same underlying mechanism is at work here in our approach to human relationships and commercial objects. It's funny, but sad too, how these relationships often fall apart and are as flimsy as so many of the "new" products being sold in our malls. We are children of our time.

So, how does one forsake here the -Romance of the New- for a -Romance of the Familiar-? Can we stop seeing one another as objects (which is a fundamental part of the problem playing into -or out of- our culture's rampant commercialism)? Are we able to break our addiction to our experience of the new, develop 12-step programs, form support groups, etc? Can we cultivate an appreciation for the familiar, which is an awareness? Or, are we doomed to long for our shiny new things like plastic crack addicts, like addicts of the human object and other new toys?

Reconciliation

I really started thinking about -reconciliation- at the funeral of Vu Pham. Pham's wife spoke of forgiveness toward the one who killed her husband.. At that moment it was as if a weight had been taken off my shoulders, perhaps not completely, but consciously noticeable. I hadn't realized just how connected I was with my community, to feeling a shared responsibility for one of our neighbours and friends. The immediate victims of Fred's actions had taken the first step toward not just individual healing and reconciliation, but communal healing.

On the way to the school today I was talking to my father about Fred's wake yesterday. He mentioned that Pham's father and sister came to pay their respect to the family and a man they had shared a community with. I was struck by this information quite profoundly. Here was yet another step taken by the victims of this tragedy toward reconciliation and the healing of a broken community. I heard soon after that Fred's family has asked that any donations be made to the Pham family fund and was struck again how these two families have chosen to move forward. Preston's family thus acknowledges the wrong that was committed, and in their own way have taken a step towards restitution (no matter how inadequate).

I'm reminded of one of the key themes of restorative justice: healing the brokenness of community. The perpetrator of crime isn't always able to participate in this process, as in Fred's case, but it's victims (both Fred's family and Pham's family) are able to work toward the healing of their respective communities. Communities, it turns out, are organic, interconnected living things. This is precisely why any view of people as objects (as financial entities, as means to an end, etc), even if perpetrators of crime, fails to provide a ground for building a future where violence towards others becomes an option of last choice. In fact, understanding humanity in these ways only perpetuates violence by masking the "human" with abstract ideology.

One last observation here. Isn't it precisely the Pham and Preston family's faith that allowed these first steps of reconciliation to take place? Before my friends accuse me of losing my mind (or coming to my senses), let me say that I speak here of the Christian system, as opposed to any claim to content as truth. Isn't it precisely the Christian system that provides both families with a language to draw from, a language rich with notions of "forgiveness" and "grace", an ancient tradition of response to oppression and violence, an entire framework of belief in which to frame and understand not just "sin" but one's response to it? I claim here that it is Christianity which has made this kind of reconciliation possible, these first steps toward healing not just individuals but entire communities. In this sense then, there is a kind of "truth" revealed in this power to heal and transform very real people.

There will be naysayers no doubt, for whom bashing Christianity (indiscriminately) has become not only fashionable, but a religious way of life. For my part I'm calling it how I see it. I'm further interested in thinking about how other systems provide similar language, narratives, and traditions from which to approach the issue of violence and victimhood.

In the meantime, I pay respect and honour to the integrity and humanity displayed by both families.

A series of unfortunate events

The past few weeks have not been easy.. First I heard of a close relative who attempted suicide. Dealing with the realization that someone I love, loved herself so little and felt so lost and alone that she could attempt to end her life was stunning to me.. I was literally stunned.

The second news I heard actually came to me before it ever hit the mainstream media: Fred Preston, a man who lived literally three doors away, a man who was a member of the church I grew up in, who I've known my entire life, had shot and killed a police officer just a short drive from where I live now, some 4-5 hours from my hometown. Anyone who has grown up in a small town will understand how quickly news can travel, and before the shooter's identity was ever displayed in the media, I had called my parents and asked them if it could possibly be true, if they had heard anything about Fred. Dad served for years on the same township council as Fred and it was through the current reeve that the rumours I had heard from local friends here (who of course had never heard of a "Fred Preston" but had gleaned this information from their neighbours) were true. The impact of this is still resonating within me, within the community of Sundridge, within my family. It's been a horrific experience to live here where Officer Pham worked and hear the opinions and feelings of the locals about Fred, a man they've never met or known, to see Fred's picture in the local papers and news broadcasts, to read the comments made by people on websites about this tragedy, to go to school but a few blocks from where Fred is recovering from his wounds and feel torn inside about whether or not I should go over there and try to see him (I know this would be impossible) while at the same time feel the guilt rise up when I think about Pham's wife and three children who have been left without a father and partner.. I've spent hours and hours trying to put it all together.. I've watched reporters interview people in my hometown and felt the sadness well up inside myself when these honest people can only hang their heads and lower their voices: "I just can't believe Fred would do something like this."

Has it been a tough couple of weeks? Yes more than I can ever articulate. Can I find a redeeming something here? Can I make this into a lesson, a study of human behaviour? Can I say, "Here's what we can learn from this?" I can.. yes it is possible.. but my heart isn't in it. My heart is broken, along with my communities' heart. It is during these moments that I realize what "community" means.. and you precious soul who reads, Sundridge is indeed a community. When one (and yes two) of its sons fall, the community falls. It will not point a finger at Fred: it will weep for Fred. It will not justify Fred: it will weep for Pham. This is no lesson.. it is pain and it is loss. It is a series of events which are not just unfortunate, but tragic.

Scapegoat

I was thinking about T-- too on the way home.. especially after our readings this last week. Doesn't he function as the scapegoat in this class? The rest of us certainly have banded together to form a kind of expulsionary alliance against him.. expulsion in the sense that our primary mode as group toward him is one of alienation. T-- is "the one" in every crowd. In his identification as scapegoat (the exlusionary subject) we are united and cohesive. In a sense the group owes him more than we know.

This, however, presupposes the veracity of the mimetic model. Do we really "believe" that T-- is the scapegoat in our miming of one another? My issue here is that imitation is never authentic, in the sense that only the originary subject/s can claim. Imitation, by definition, is never authentic: it only thinks it is. What we try to convince ourselves, rather, is that "I believe more than you". It's a group one-upmanship which eventually leads to the slaughter of the sacrificial victim. This is why I disagree with the internal mechanism of the mimetic model (of "real belief": even though I think the outcome is pretty much the same). Understood in this way, there is always room to ask the question "but do I really believe this about T-- or do I only think I should?"

I've thought about this a bit (long drives home are quite conducive to thinking/soul searching), and I've come to the conclusion that I don't really want to be a part of any alliance (even unconsciously) against him, even though his personality makes him an easy target at times. I really have nothing against him. I can certainly disagree with him, even feel his positions may be completely erroneous, but in the end I share his humanity and recognize we've both been shaped by forces we had no control over. Here is freedom and peace I think..