October 28, 2004
ballot box blues
well at the risk of persecution for cheesiness, i am going to post this article. if you've never heard of budziszewski, (boo-di-chesky) know that he has been called the modern-day CS Lewis, and his books are not nearly as light as this article. however cheesy, it contains truth.
Don and Theresa had asked me for critique of their term papers from the previous semester. We were almost finished talking, or so I thought. "Does that help?" I asked.
"Yes, a lot," said Theresa. She glanced at Don. "What do you think? Should we ask him?"
Don said, "Go for it."
I gave them an interrogative glance. Theresa asked, "Professor T, we have a different kind of question. Do you mind taking off your professor hat and putting on your older-Christian-mentor hat?"
"I don't mind," I said, "but are any other students waiting for me?"
Don glanced into the hallway. "Nope."
"Then go ahead. What's on your minds?"
"Elections are coming up," Theresa said.
"So I've noticed."
"Some of the choices are easy," she said, "but some are really hard."
"You know I can't "
Don finished my sentence for me. " tell us who to vote for. Of course not. We wouldn't ask you to. But maybe you can help us think through a dilemma."
"Maybe. What's the dilemma?"
"Well," said Don, "none of the candidates are perfect."
I grinned. "Has there ever been a perfect candidate?"
"So what do we do?" he asked.
"If you can't find a perfect candidate, vote for the least imperfect."
Theresa broke in. "Don't you mean the least evil?"
"It could come to that."
"But Professor Theophilus," she said, "you've always taught that it's wrong to do evil that good might result."
"I have. It's wrong to will evil either as an end, or as a means to an end."
"Then I'm confused."
"Which issues are confusing you?"
"They all involve abortion."
"But that's not confusing, is it? Abortion is intrinsically evil."
"We know that," said Theresa. "No Christian can ever support the deliberate taking of innocent human life."
She glanced at Don, who grinned and said "Reesi and I first met each other in a pro-life group."
"The hard part is when other issues get mixed in," Theresa said.
"I'm not sure I follow you."
"Take my home state, Prof," said Don. "I'll be casting an absentee ballot. Two candidates are competing for a seat in the U.S. Senate. One of them supports abortion, and I know I can never support that. But here's the hard part: Although the other guy opposes abortion, he holds positions on certain issues that I also consider seriously wrong. So no matter which candidate I vote for, I'm voting for something evil."
"Now I understand," I said, "but you're overlooking an important distinction," I said.
"What kind of distinctions?" asked Theresa.
"Let's say that candidate X and candidate Y both hold certain immoral positions, but candidate X is worse. If you vote for candidate Y because of his immoral positions, then you're intentionally cooperating with evil. That's called 'formal' cooperation. Formal cooperation is always wrong. Are you with me so far?"
"Yes," said Theresa. "What you've just said seems pretty obvious."
I went on, "But suppose you vote for candidate Y for a different reason. You don't do it to enable him to do bad things, but to prevent candidate X from taking office and doing even worse things. In that case you're not formally cooperating with evil."
"But you're sort of cooperating," said Don.
"It's true that the effect of your action is to make it more likely for candidate Y to take office, where he can do wrong," I said. "That's called 'material' cooperation. But in material cooperation, enabling him to do wrong isn't your intention. Your intention is to keep the candidate X from taking office where he can commit even graver wrong."
"I don't see why material cooperation isn't wrong too," said Don.
"Try an easier example. Suppose you're a teller in a bank. A robber grabs a customer, holds a gun to the customer's head, and says 'Unless you give me all the money in your drawer, I'll blow his brains out.' What should you do?"
"Give him all the money in my drawer," said Theresa.
"Don?"
"I agree."
"So do I," I said, "but think about it. That's material cooperation too, isn't it? Giving the thief the cash has the effect of enabling him to commit theft, but that's not your intention. You're not trying to help him do wrong, either as a goal or as a means to some other goal. Your intention is merely to keep him from committing the even graver wrong of murder."
"I get it," said Theresa. "You don't share in the guilt of stealing by giving him the money, because you're not trying to help him steal. And you ought to give it to him, because otherwise something even worse would happen."
"Right," I said, "and it's just like that when you vote for candidate Y. You don't share in the guilt of the wrong things he wants to do when you vote for him "
Don took the cue. "Because you're not trying to help him to do them."
"And you ought to vote for him "
"Because if the other guy wins, he'd try to do something worse."
"Right," I said.
Theresa was still troubled. "I understand, but doesn't that force me to decide what counts as 'something worse'?"
"It does," I agreed. "But that may not be as difficult as you think. Don, didn't you say that in your home state candidate X supports abortion?"
"Yes."
"So it would be wrong to vote for him unless candidate Y supported something even worse than abortion, and you voted for candidate X just to stop him."
"I see that."
"So is that the case? In your home state, does candidate Y support something even worse than abortion?"
"No, he doesn't support anything that bad," said Don. "My quarrel with him was about welfare policies. I guess the choice in my home state election isn't as tough as I thought it was. Thanks."
He made as if to get up, but Theresa wasn't finished.
"But something might be worse than abortion," said Theresa, "couldn't it?"
"Like what?" I asked.
Theresa thought for a moment. "Like an unjust war? There's a war going on right now."
"Do you think the war is unjust?" I asked.
"I don't think it's unjust, but some of our friends do. Besides, some wars really are unjust."
I nodded. "Through history, I'd say most wars have been unjust."
"Do you think this one is?"
"No," I said. "I think it's just."
"Just for purposes of argument," she persisted, "suppose candidate X supported abortion, and candidate Y opposed abortion but supported a war that was unjust. Like some of our friends think this one is."
"Okay," I said, "I'm supposing."
"Don't unjust wars also deliberately take innocent human life?"
"They do."
"So an unjust war would be a sanctity-of-life issue too, wouldn't it?" she asked. "Just like abortion."
"It would," I said, "and an unjust war certainly could be even worse than abortion. But let's think a little further. To be even worse than abortion, just how bad would the unjust war have to be?"
"Well," said Don, "since the main evil is the same in both cases the slaughter of innocents I guess there would have to be even an even greater rate of slaughter in the unjust war than there is through legalized abortion."
"Right," I said. "Do you happen to know how many innocent lives are lost each year through legalized abortion?"
"A lot."
"Do you know exactly?"
Don looked inquiringly at Theresa. "You remember things like that, Reesi. Do you know?"
"Just through surgical abortions? We're running at about 1.2 million a year," she said. "More than 44 million babies have been killed since abortion was legalized."
"A third of your generation," I said.
She nodded grimly.
"So to be worse than abortion," I asked, "wouldn't an unjust war have to kill even more than 1.2 million innocent people each year?"
"Hey, that's right," said Don.
"What's the death rate in the present war?"
"Not even close," he said. "Thanks! That'll help you talk with your friends, won't it, Reesi?"
Theresa sat pensively and didn't answer him directly. "Professor Theophilus," she said, "these differences we've been talking about now that you've pointed them out, they're so obvious."
"They are, aren't they? What's the problem?"
"Why didn't think of them ourselves?"
Don nodded. "I was wondering that myself."
She looked troubled. "Do you think do you think we overlooked them because we don't see abortion going on?"
"But we don't see war going on either," Don said. "Do we?"
"With war there are images," she answered. "The announcers get in front of the cameras and boom, 'Another two soldiers slain by terrorists today. Pictures at six.' Seeing things like that pulls at your emotions even if you think the war is just."
"I see what you mean," said Don. "The talking heads never say 'Another three thousand babies slain by abortionists today. Pictures at six.' Not seeing the pictures has got to influence your emotions even if you're pro-life."
Theresa said, "Yes! It makes all those babies being murdered for a selfish cause seem less real than the soldiers giving their lives for a just cause. It's not right. We shouldn't let our feelings be manipulated like that."
I broke in gently. "Do you remember how the letter to the Hebrews defines faith?"
They looked at each other. Theresa quoted hesitantly, "'Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for' um 'the conviction of things not seen.'"*
"What's that got to do with what we've been talking about?" Don asked. "'Things not seen' that just means things like God in heaven, right?"
Theresa said, "Don, I think it includes every invisible thing that God teaches us to cherish."
His face changed. "You mean like the child in the womb."
She nodded. "So maybe we just need more faith."
*Hebrews 11:1 (RSV).
Copyright © 2004 J. Budziszewski. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.
Posted by tacyjane at 04:48 PM | Comments (1)
October 25, 2004
we are miserable failures
yesterday i heard a really good sermon. i can't stop talking about it. i have thoroughly annoyed my roommates.
it was on the fruit of the spirit but the title was "two state secrets." j.r. caines was preaching. he said, "a good sermon on the fruit of the spirit would be to explain what each fruit is, then tell you to pray that God would give them to you. but first, i have to let 2 secrets out of the bag." he said over the course of the past week, he heard people in the church refer to other people with these words:
-he is such a bum.
-wow, she's really a loser.
-look at him- what a freak.
-he is an idiot.
we separate ourselves from other people. it's us against them. we also use the "good" language all the time. "he is a good guy." but the thing is, he said, we are all losers. we are all bums. we are all idiots. we are all freaks. he went on to say "there is not a good marriage in this place. there is not a good parent in this place. there is not a good child in this place." we are all miserable failures.
we think God loves people who don't look like losers more than he loves people who are clearly losers. but that is not true. he told a story about an alcoholic who went to a therapy group. at the group, they would put people on the hot seat, and interview them. the leader said, "tell us about how you are a slobbering drunk." the man was offended. "i have eight martinis a day, four at the office, four at home. i am not a drunk. i just want to drink a little less."
"ok," the leader said, "then how have you hurt your kids? all of us have hurt our kids in one way or another. how has your drinking hurt your kids."
"that's just the thing! i have a great relationship with my children. they respect me and love me. i just want to cut back on the drinks a little bit."
"ok, tell us one time you've hurt one of your kids."
"well, maybe i hurt my daughter's feelings last christmas eve, but i don't really remember what happened, it was just one of those things."
the leader said, "well maybe your wife can tell us what happened."
so he phoned her up and put her over the speaker so the group could hear her. the leader asked her "what happened last christmas eve? did your husband hurt your daughter's feelings."
the wife broke down crying, and said her husband bought some new shoes for their daughter. she was very happy, but then he stopped at a bar and told the girl he'd be right back. it was six pm. he locked her in the car, turned on the heat because it was 10 degrees below zero. he came back at midnight, six hours later. slobbering drunk. his little daughter had frostbitten ears and fingers.
the man broke down crying and fell to his knees.
that is what we all need to happen to us. to have our sins broadcast, so that we don't have to put on a show any longer.
then we can start thinking about the fruit of the spirit.
Posted by tacyjane at 09:27 AM | Comments (4)
October 23, 2004
somehow i don't get sick of postal service
sorry my comments box is working now. leave me messages, please!
the elliott smith memorial ended up a dark comedy, more comedy less dark. we were on our way to a bluff and ended up outside the library. huh. evan d (you know who you are, fool) couldn't get his incense to light because of the wind blowing so i finally took it from him and just lit it. he then proceeded to use the rest of the matches so he could do it himself. it's amusing if you know him. courtney started reading lyrics from the new album (they're handwritten), and right when she got to the climactic conclusion, she said, "well, i can't read the rest because he marked it out." then the batteries kept dying on brae's portable cd player. it would die about twenty seconds into each song. so we just kept pressing power and starting songs over.
then john holberg showed up and made some comment, "i always read about these things, and now here i am at one..." what did that mean??? something about incense makes everything feel so pagan...
it was all topped off by two professors walking by us and dr. kapic turned to dr. wildemann and said, "i knew i smelled something!"
elliott, we love you. i'll be pagan for your music, man.
Posted by tacyjane at 01:24 PM
October 21, 2004
a commentary on eastern birds
my xanga site
click above to see my online entries previous to the existence of this site.
i thought now would be a good time to explain my title, now that i figured out how to do the subtitle. time has gotten away from me today, so i cannot spend a lot of time on it right now... so know, there is more to come.
a year ago, i moved from the west coast to the east coast. when i lived in california, we had this dastardly parrots that, rumor had it, had escaped from the santa barbara zoo. they sat on trees outside our dorm and blasted unearthly noises from their beaks every morning as we tried to sleep. my roommate and i kept the window and door open at night for air flow, but because of those stupid birds, we endured many stuffy nights.
when i came home to the southeast, and transferred to covenant, i noticed three major things about my home which i loved. number one: the seasons. number two: the trees. number three: the birds. i have a book on my shelf at all times that catalogues "eastern birds." i love the way that book looks. it has a thick white binding with bold blue lettering. the sound of the title is like poetry. and many times that very scientific book has been a form of poetry for me. to know the names of the sparrows and robins, to recognise the art on their wings and the characteristic chirping...
i love the red-breasted robin- indeed, she is one of my favorite characters in my favorite childrens book, the secret garden. but if i had been born in california, i would have never known what sort of bird Mary was encountering when she was led to the key that unlocked the garden.
so... eastern birds. wendell berry has isaiah 14:7 at the beginning of his book "a timbered choir." i assumed his title was speaking of the birds in the forest, but in fact, when i looked up the verse in the bible, i found it was speaking of the trees crying out. but that is ok. you can read it out of context.
the birds, then, represent an attachment to home. they tie me to literature, and nature, and home. three things that constitute a richer life with less conflict but more healing. that is, i refer to the change from strange to normal, from west to east, from far to home. i have determined that it was not a failure for me to leave that which was different, because under the circumstances, i needed some constants in my situation. but i consider it a preparation time for some ministry i should have in my future.
Posted by tacyjane at 06:39 PM | Comments (2)
a distorted reality is now a necessity to be free
You lose the chase
Where you're dragged against your will
From a basement on the hill
All anybody knows is
You're not like them
They hit you in the head
And send you back to bed
Isolation called you and passed a tunnel into a
Bright world where you can rule a place of state
Here's a little house for you to stay
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
The mayor's name is fear
His voice patrols the pier
By a mountain up of cliche
That advances everyday
The doctor speak in clowns
He rings out loud
He'll keep the doors and windows shut
And swear
Never join a soul again
But isolation chased you til every muscle ached
Down the only road it ever takes
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
If it's your decision
To be open about yourself
Be careful or else
Be careful or else
Uncomfortable apart
It's all written on my chart
That I take what's given to me
Most cooperatively
I do what people say
And lie in bed all day
Absolutely horrified
I hope you're satisfied
Isolation pushes past something and chained to
A place where sufferings a game
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Posted by tacyjane at 03:36 PM | Comments (0)
October 20, 2004
from a basement
lots of drums, a distant voice, perfect poetry,
bright musicality contrasts with the often more sober lyrics...
something about singing out of his range in memory lane...
great guitar rifts and powerful rhthym in distorted reality...
reminds me of figure eight... short, poignant songs like choppy brushstrokes that say something against the background of longer louder songs.
pretty harmony in lets get lost.
a song is the translation of a feeling. the feeling in pretty (ugly before) is longing
everything ends up being pretty to me. all the songs. every song.
it's not worth it to you, cause you gotta get high somehow.
we're having a memoriam at covenant tomorrow for elliott.
meeting at 8:30 in carter lobby, then we're going to go somewhere else.
.
Posted by tacyjane at 03:20 PM | Comments (0)
October 13, 2004
One Granule of Salt
I have started this blog thing three different times now. How pathetic! Blogger, Xanga, and now this. Moveabletype, are you really an upgrade? Why do I not understand you? Moveable type, why did I drink caffeine at midnight? Moveabletype, would you like a cup of tea?
Communal weblogging... I like it. YOU CHRIST AND CULTURE GRADUATES YOU!
Way to integrate the community into technofreakingology.
I'm sorry... my roommate stirs. In her bed. I must attend and follow her lead.
Posted by tacyjane at 01:07 AM | Comments (1)