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A student recently described FUS to me as "a delightful, wonderful and fantastic swimming pool of God's grace and love that I am currently splashing around in." It is, to be sure, an unusual description of college life, but I thought it beautifully apt for my alma mater. It has been announced that Fr. Michael is retiring this summer, but it is marvelous to behold how he leaves behind him not only a pool of grace at FUS, but new springs popping up in unexpected places throughout the parched terrain of modern Catholic education . His vision for renewing, enlivening and deepening the faith of students is taking root in other schools now too, like Ave Maria College, where my husband and I and other alums now live and work, and where still more are coming--bringing with them what they have gratefully received. There is a marvelous sense that we are only just beginning to see the wonder of what God has done through Steubenville. Eternal thanks to our dearly-beloved out-going president! (since there is no earthly measure for what we owe him.) May God grant him a retirement as restful as his work has been fruitful! Five years of work on the Concourse has taught me that this point cannot be stressed enough (given that we've all grown up breathing the poisonous gas of pop psychology): There is no essential conflict between criticism and charity--even between very harsh criticism and charity. If there were, we would have to say that Love Incarnate was being uncharitable when he called the Pharisees "snakes" and "vipers' brood," or St. Paul was being uncharitable when he called some of the early Christians "fools." The beneficence of our criticism is not measured by its mildness, but rather by its intention and its justice. Is it directed at the good? Is it true? These are the questions we should be asking about criticism that comes our way, not "Was it pleasant to hear?" "Was it sandwiched in praise?" Just try to imagine Jesus following the conventional wisdom about "constructive criticism": "I really want to commend and honor you Pharisees for your zeal; I'm just suggesting that there might be some room for improvement in this one area. There's no question that you have a valid point when you stress the importance of keeping the Sabbath; definitely, we need to keep the Sabbath; I'm just saying maybe if you expressed your concern differently it might be more effective. But, in any case, I really want to affirm you for your great leadership of the Jewish people." On the other side of the same coin Here's another thing that keeps amazing me: how readily even very intelligent Christians will identify a mild-toned opinion with a charitable or "balanced" one. Never mind that the opinion does not settle any difficulty; never mind that it reveals an extremely superficial grasp of a deep and complex issue; never mind that it mischaracterizes or passes thoughtlessly over the carefully presented concerns and insights of others; never mind that it throws no new light on a problem. It was expressed so congenially; it wasn't "emotional;" it was vaguely affirming; it didn't hurt anyone's feelings; it was, therefore, an exemplary piece of Christian discourse. We really need to get a better grip on the relation between charity and truth. Speaking (as Mr. Cascino does in this issue) of Shakespeare and religion, a recent article of Joseph Sobran's on the subject adds this fascinating piece of evidence to his case for Oxford:
A few years ago an independent scholar named Roger Stritmatter found that Oxford's personal copy of the Bible is heavily marked, and that hundreds of verses Oxford marked correspond to verses cited in the Shakespeare plays. For example, Oxford underlined the verse in which the shaft of Goliath's spear is compared to "a weaver's beam." In The Merry Wives of Windsor, Sir John Falstaff boasts: "I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam." Coincidence? If so, there are a hundred such coincidences pointing to Oxford. No one could call it proof, but it is another little probability converging with the numberless others. Thomas Storck has offered a convincing critique of capitalism from the point of view of Catholic social teaching, but I have a bone to pick with his distributist alternative. Perhaps I misunderstood, but it sounded like he was saying that no one should be allowed to become wealthy. "For if private property has a purpose and end... it surely is to allow a man to make a decent living for himself and his family by serving society. But one living, not two or three." Philip Harold expressed something similar when he urged us to examine our economic consciences with questions like this: "Do we eat and drink for the sake of our bodily needs only, or with a view toward the maximum pleasure?" Though I doubt either author thinks so, such statements and questions seem to suggest that there is something illicit in a Catholic's having and enjoying wealth that greatly exceeds his material needs. But, not only is such an idea not to be found in the teachings of the Church; it is out of sync with the history of Catholic life and culture. The Church shows a preferential love for the poor; she also warns us about the spiritual perils of material abundance; she exhorts us to give generously of our substance. But she never comes close to saying that there is something morally wrong or even compromising in being wealthy. If there were, there would be no such thing as a rich saint, while in fact there have been many. Poverty-lived-virtuously gives witness to the next world; wealth-lived-virtuously reveals the beauty and plenitude of this one. Where we personally fall in the cosmic scheme of economic witnessing to God's glory is a private question of circumstance and vocation. Am I called to sell everything I have and give it to the poor? Am I called to live moderately in the middle; or am I called to live leisurely and add to the material splendor of Catholic culture on earth? Only my conscience can say. Similarly only my conscience can settle for me particular questions of what to do with what wealth I have. And it seems to me the question to ask is not: "Do I need this [cell-phone, say, or beautiful painting]?" but "Is it good for me to buy it? Is this a right use of my money at this time in my life?" This is a question no one else can answer for me, since it depends so entirely on my own inward and outward circumstances, my sense of value, my myriad responsibilities, my unique make-up of strengths and weaknesses, my interior impression of God's call in my life--what Newman calls my "illative sense." In the much-needed critique of consumerism and the system that engendered and sustains it, let's take care not fall into a kind of economic Puritanism that equates abundance with extravagance and pleasure with self-indulgence. What the education debate is and isn't about To clear up some apparent confusion: Here is what proponents of a stronger core curriculum are not saying about FUS' education. They are not saying that we should do away with professional programs and offer nothing but humanities courses. They are not saying that professional training is useless. They are not saying such training is unimportant, and that every student should choose his major as if he expected to enjoy a lifetime of leisure. What they are saying is that training for a career is not the essence of higher education; its essence is the strengthening, expanding, deepening and perfecting of the mind. (They add, by the way, that perfecting the mind is excellent preparation for any graduate program or career, as well as for evangelization.) They say further that to achieve the proper end of education, a strong foundation in liberal arts is the time-tested, tradition-hallowed, insubstitutable means. Next, they point to the fact that despite some truly wonderful course offerings, the FUS core is comparatively weak and in need of fundamental reform so that it includes more liberal arts more thoughtfully arranged. And for this they get labeled extremists, elitists and medievalists, who are trying to remake FUS after the image of Thomas Aquinas College. How does this happen? Where does it come from? The Core Curriculum Task Force has just unveiled its proposal for a new core, which apparently represents only a minor improvement over our current core. For instance, it still includes only one philosophy course. Professor Lee, who is on the Task Force, told me that he hasn't been able to find a single other Catholic university that requires so little philosophy, nor one that dedicates as few total credit hours to the core. Shouldn't that tell us something? He used the analogy of a father who asks himself whether he is spending too much time away from home. One way--not the only way, but a helpful way--of finding out would be for him take note of what other Catholic fathers do. If he discovers that every other Catholic father he knows is spending significantly more time with his family, he would have a pretty good indication--not a proof, but an indication--that some lifestyle adjustment on his part was in order. If we continue this debate next year--and I hope we will, since we have a long way to go before we reach something like consensus--let's make sure we dispute with one another's real views and concrete proposals, and not with caricatures and straw men. Were it not for hope in God, the chilling parallels between the Elian events and events in Germany in the 1930s would be enough to make the soul sink. There is the media campaign to make an ethnic minority appear despicable--to make the general public believe them capable of anything, to make us agree that unprecedented, illicit, government-ordered use of armed force is "appropriate" when dealing with such people. There is the impatient desire of the majority to sweep the issue under the rug, to put it behind us and move on, to ignore its implications, to deny that there are large principles and literal lives at stake. And then there are what a recent caller to the Rush Limbaugh show termed "the Weimar Republicans" (e.g. Jeb and George Bush) who, keeping a finger in the political winds, are lying low, issuing harmless "statements," and waiting cravenly for the issue to pass out of the headlines before too many people notice their non-leadership. Who can rally behind a presidential candidate who won't stand for principle even at a moment like this? Ralph Sharafinski's issue 4 article on baptism in the Holy Spirit included an illuminating analogy taken from the early Church:
The early fathers used another analogy to speak about this release of the Spirit. They compared it to a green log that is thrown on a fire. It will not ignite immediately because it is wet. As it lies on the fire it dries out and eventually bursts into flame. The bursting into flame is Baptism in the Holy Spirit. It comes to the point of being consumed by the fire, and then generates light and heat. I find this a helpful way of grasping the phenomenon that so many cradle Catholics (and others) have experienced: though we may have been members of the Church all along, at a certain moment in our lives we experience a sudden dramatic spiritual awakening--an awaking so piercing and powerful that we feel as if we had hardly been Christians up until that moment. If it's not irreverent, I'd like to draw this analogy out a little, to throw light on a different phenomenon. It is easy for "charismatics," who are joyfully and gratefully amazed by their own experience of conversion, to misapprehend and judge falsely the religious experience of others. We have a tendency to say, in effect, "I perceive you are not in flames, as I am. Therefore, you are still wet and green, like I was; you need to come closer to the fire." We forget that logs in very energy-efficient wood stoves can be reduced to embers without ever "bursting into flame." There may be occasional flickers of fire and light, but nothing stunning. And these logs, though they give off less light, produce much more heat. Let us rejoice continually in the myriad workings of Grace, and reverently refrain from projecting our own experience onto others. How beautiful it is to think of you going out into the world, bringing with you the grace and blessings and knowledge you have received at FUS over the last years! Thrilling to contemplate what you can do for the world and the Church! (Only two more years and AMC and OLCC will have graduates too!) If you send us your address for next year, we will make sure the Concourse meets you there, and keeps you connected to the lively, now-intercollegiate intellectual atmosphere of your undergraduate years. How to support the Concourse by buying books A perennial question for us is how to make the Concourse financially independent without needlessly burdening our readers and subscribers. We think we have found a good way. Our Managing Editor and website designer (my husband) has put a link to Barnes and Noble on our website. They will give the Concourse 5% of the sale for any books bought through that link. So if you read the Concourse, and if you buy books on-line, please do it through our website!! It won't cost you anything extra, but it will be a great help to us. I owe special gratitude this year to fellow editors Ben Brown and Michael Houser, who have been exceptionally generous and helpful in their work for the Concourse. Ben is heading for graduate school in the Fall; Michael for Austria. Both will continue as editors, thank goodness. Pre-theologate student Scott Johnston has graciously agreed to take up the practical slack left in Ben's wake. He has joined the editorial board and will handle FUS on-campus distribution next year. For tireless dedication and perpetual good cheer, Justine Schmiesing stands alone. To paraphrase P.G. Wodehouse: "Among all possible design-editors, she's the only possible one." She volunteers all the layout work for the Concourse. And the light-hearted, tension-diffusing and humorous illustrations you find in our pages are chosen by her. The other editors: Mark Fischer, Susan C. Fischer (sister-in-law, not wife of Mark), David Schmiesing and Jules van Schaijik have been extra involved and supportive this year. The editorial work has been more of a team-effort than ever before. I am so grateful to all of them. Thanks also are due to Jody Trupiano, who has been our faithful subscriptions manager since September. (Now that Jules and I are finally settled stateside again, we will begin sending subscriptions out from Ypsilanti rather than Steubenville, which should cut down significantly on the time between publication and mailing.) Finally, thanks be to our advisers, and even more to those who have contributed to the Concourse by sending in articles. I have been especially pleased that so many faculty took time out of their busy schedules to send us something this year. I hope many more will next year. It makes our discussion that much more interesting and fruitful. May your jubilee summer be full of rest and joy!
© The University Concourse, May 4, 2000 |
