Reading and Thinking....

Despite this summer being incredibly busy, I did still manage to find time for some ‘fun’ reading. I have always loved literature, in all of its many forms: classic,modern, adventure, fantasy, drama, mystery, and romance. Curling up with a good book is still one of my favorite pastimes. While the point of this reading is often that it requires little to no thinking, I also cannot help thinking about why this is so- especially in connection to my not so fun (or at least light) reading in moral theology.

This got me wondering: what is it about a good novel that is so appealing; so enjoyable? It seems that at least one answer lies in the fact that novels in some way function as a lens of our lives and society. Think about it: what is it that draws us into a book like Pride and Prejudice, or even Harry Potter? First, I think it magnifies certain aspects of its characters such that we can in some way identify with them. We all recognize Mr. Darcy’s pride because we have all been there in some way, and we all have felt lonely or abandoned like Harry. We identify with the characters, which attracts us to them. But I don’t think it stops there.

While we may identify with certain aspects of characters or situations, we also recognize (or at least recognize that we ought to realize) that the story of the novel is not our own. We are self-interested in many ways, but it doesn't seem to me that novels are popular just because we are narcissistic. While in a lot of ways they allow for escapism, to me, they also offer more than that. We don’t read a book just to get away from our problems, because those in the book have problems too. Rather, it seems to me that I read because subconsciously I recognize that the simplicity of fiction can shed new light on many problems.

This is not to say that a novel has to be simple to be good, or that complicated characters in tangled situations makes for a bad work of fiction. The simplicity of fiction comes in that in most cases, the described human being simply cannot be as complicated as the real thing. Even the deepest character cannot be all-encompassing. We human beings have too many aspects for that. Rather, the beauty of fiction is that it paint a picture of a person in a way that is believable and yet simplifying, such that a particular problem or issue is highlighted.

Since Harry Potter is all the rage right now, take that as an example. Since this was a series, Harry is perhaps better developed than the average character. We get a picture of an ‘average’ boy: he goes through teen angst, falls in love, makes friends, and, above all, makes mistakes. Yet through the fictional setting of the magical world and the choice made by the evil villain to single out Harry, the power of love and self sacrifice are shown again and again. We see this not only in Harry’s final action, but in the actions of his friends, teachers, and the complete strangers who are unwilling to do evil in order to save themselves, often at the cost of death. Through the lens of the extraordinary situation-- the amplification of the good and evil that exist in this world-- we see what love can do. And we start to wonder what it has done (and can do!) in our lives.

Through this lens, the reader is then able to think through the dilemma in a way that is separate from and yet still relevant to her own life. The novel presents, through its characters, a snapshot of the drama of human life. Maybe it’s a picture that the reader recognizes as parallel to something in her own life, or maybe it’s a completely foreign experience. Perhaps she gains perspective on her own problem or maybe she catches a glimpse into another person’s experience, enabling her to sympathize. Either way, she is enriched.

Basically, I think all of this leads to a really interesting question about the role of Literature in cultural Morality and individual moral formation, but I think for now I'll start with these musings. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have on the subject?

Being Bodily

In studying the Theology of the Body, as I have been blessed to be able to do for the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized that there are a lot of absolutely amazing things about the Church’s teaching. Some of them have been more profound than others, and I don’t really have the time, energy, or space to reflect on them all here, so it seems like the perfect time to make a list.
 

1. I’ve realized that I often think like a dualist. Body and soul are separate, and the body is the bad part.  To me, it is an AMAZING revelation that our bodies are actually good, and necessarily part of WHO we are, our person.

2. Thinking #1 is pretty natural to us, given that we live in a fallen world. No joke, sin means our bodies don’t work with our spirit as they were supposed to. This may seem obvious, but when you really think about it, it’s surprising. We don’t know anything else because we live in this fallen world…

 

3. Though we often think of sin as in the body (think St Paul here), if you look at the whole of Scripture, what is often blamed for sin is not the body itself, as though the matter God created is bad, but bodily desires, which cannot be separated from the person himself.

 

4. The only way we know it’s supposed to be different is through revelation (see prior post). I can’t get over that one.

 

5. Even though we are fallen, and this affects everything we do, we are also redeemed through Christ. This means we can do good with our bodies; we can overcome sin and we can recapture who we are meant to be.

 

6. We actually need our bodies to do good. Think about the Sacraments!!

 

7. All of this means that I’m not totally going to be in heaven until my body is there too.

 

8. Once we are body and soul in heaven, we will experience ourselves (our personhood) in a way that we cannot even imagine right now. 

It is such a temptation in our world to think this way; to think of our bodies as property for our ‘use’ or tools for gaining whatever we need. We often think of our bodies as hindrances, especially when we have to exercise, or get sick, or need sleep. This kind of thinking is so easy because these weaknesses are in the body, and since we always want to believe we are invincible, we separate our ‘selves’ from our bodies. This is how our world justifies so much, and even if we don’t fall into the major sins (e.g. my body is my property so I can have an abortion or do drugs), this attitude sneaks into little things, and before I know it, I catch myself copping out and blaming my body for my failings.

Being Human

This week I started a course on John Paull II’s Theology of the Body that was introduced by the Professor with a quote from Guadium et Spes, the Constitution of the Church in the Modern World developed at Vatican II: 

“Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.” (Section 22)    

I must admit, I had heard this before, but never really understood it. Whenever I had previously heard this quote, I thought, “sure, of course, Christ was the perfect man, so we should follow him, etc…” But for some reason it struck me differently this time around. The Church is actually making an incredibly bold statement here. It’s not just saying that that Christ is a good guy so we should follow him, but rather that we human beings cannot actually know our true selves without God becoming Incarnate as a man. Christ is the perfect man, and we would not even understand what ‘the perfect man’ meant without Him. It’s an extremely humbling thought, and also sheds light on a recurring problem I’ve run into while studying Moral Theology.

So often it seems that the conclusions the Church comes to are completely contrary to what the world judges to be right. Not just in the obvious things, but in seemingly minute details like the difference between contraception and family planning. The whole world seems to disagree, and the Church stands alone. On the face of it, this seems arrogant, and in our democratic culture, obviously wrong. When asked why this is, Catholic appeals to the ‘fallen nature of man’ seem hollow and unreal, grasping at straws to explain away the pride that leads us to claim to have truth.

Seen in light of this statement, however, I realized that this truly is the only answer that we, as Catholics, can give. While our faith is illuminated by reason, Christ is the Truth, and so we can only know the whole truth in knowing Him. It is not just our actions that are affected by the fall, but our ability to know things as well. Thus, we, as fallen beings, cannot even know the whole truth about ourselves, about who we are, without God’s revelation. And so even in the face of overwhelming opposition, the Church, which has used reason and revelation to discern the truth in Christ, must proclaim this to the world.

This, incidentally, is what the Theology of the Body is all about: how Christ, as a man (body and soul!) demonstrates for us the truth of our personhood. It’s controversial, because it’s about Christ, and who we are meant to be, rather than what we currently are. And nobody likes to be told to change. 

Be Still

I like ideas. I also like tasks, lists, and activities. The feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction when I cross the final item off my long list of ‘to do’ items for the day is one of my favorites. I have also always liked rules and rubrics, with their transparency and well defined limits, telling me exactly what to do in order to accomplish my goal. Conversely, I tend to get frustrated with projects and people who expect things of me, but do not lay out guidelines in a clear way.

I realized some time ago that this tendency often led to my treating people as tasks, and to my getting frustrated with others who ‘got in the way’ of my ‘to do’ list. While I have (am still working) worked on this problem, what struck me recently was how much I had let this tendency pervade my prayer life. My general thought process: “I want to be holy. What can I do to be holy? Dear God, I love you. What can I do to be holy? If I go to mass every day, pray more, read spiritual books, or become a nun, will that work?”  The general idea of this: “what can I do, God, just tell me and I’ll do it?!” You can imagine the ensuing frustration when I cannot figure out the answer…

 And yet, as I’ve realized before, this is neither possible, nor (fortunately) what God wants from me. This revelation came about when a friend pointed me to a familiar verse in the Psalms: “Be still, and know that I am God” (46:10). In this request, God is not asking us to do anything, but rather simply to be. In our task oriented culture, it is so hard to even know what it is simply ‘to be’.  What can it mean ‘to be’ with God? How can I be with someone I cannot see? The saints got it; Mother Teresa has a famous quote about ‘looking’ at God as prayer. My question was always, how do I get there?! 

What I failed to understand was that this ‘being’ with God isn’t the end to arrive at, it’s the whole point; just as loving my mom or sister or friend here on earth isn’t about doing anything, it’s about spending time, building a relationship, being with and for the other person. Our actions matter in these relationships, but much more so the relationship does the relationship itself.

I’ve realized in my struggle to overcome my task oriented nature that I am much happier, much more who I am meant to be when I ‘waste’ time with others, simply being with them. How much more so will this apply as I simply try to ‘be’ with God.

To Be the Best Possible Failure

Starting is scary. 

A childish observation perhaps, but we all start as children, and it seems like every new beginning in some way brings us back to our earliest memories of meeting new people or riding a bike. For me, this blog is one of those instances. While I've thought and prayed about writing one for some time, I've been putting it off for one reason or another, all boiling down to me being afraid. Afraid of rejection, hurtful comments, becoming overwhelmed, and, above all, failure. 

And so it is that failure becomes the inspiration for this whole project~ because, as one of my very wise professors pointed out (compliments of Blessed John Henry Newman!), we are not put on this earth to be perfect, because we cannot be. We are fallen and broken and simply cannot do it all ourselves, and so rather than trying to be perfect, we can only set out to be the best we can be. We then understand that God means us to be the best possible failure that we can. Thus, He means me to try, to work to be holy for Him, and yet He knows that I can never be perfect. 

At first glance, this seems awfully depressing. God put me on this earth, expecting me to fail?! To a perfectionist who likes to control her own fate (aka. me), this is very hard to accept. And yet, knowing that no matter how hard I try to be perfect, I always fail anyway, also makes this an incredibly freeing statement. Consciously or subconsciously I have tried all my life to be perfect, to never fail, and while I sometimes fool myself into thinking that I am indeed perfect, if I am honest with myself, I recognize that I truly am not. I always manage to forget a detail, or a person, or a birthday...

But this humiliating recognition then enables me to accept that perhaps I am not perfect because I am not meant to be. That perhaps it was a loving and merciful act of God who recognized that being perfect is too big of a burden for a mere creature. That to "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48) requires the aid of that Father himself, and cannot be left to us. Instead, we are left to try, and as long as we try, accepting that we will fail, we can then recognize the love of the Father who would not place such a heavy burden upon us. Instead we fail, and He perfects us with His love. And so rather than a spiteful God who laughs at our failures, He gives us the gift of love, found in the ability to fail. 

And so opens a new project for me. Perhaps it will fail, but I must at least try. And trust. God will do the rest.