"Some victory for humanity"

 

In today’s Writer’s Almanac, Garrison Keillor reports the following about Horace Mann, “the father of American public education”:

When he left politics, (Mann) moved to Ohio to accept a position as president of Antioch College. “I beseech you to treasure up in your hearts these my parting words,” he told one graduating class: “Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.”

At my age, those words struck me hard: ashamed to die. Whoever considered being ashamed to die? Maybe being willing to die, or afraid to die. But ashamed to die? What shame can there be in dying? We all do it.

Have I ever in all my years won any victory for humanity? That’s a question I’d rather excuse myself from having to answer. I suppose I’ve helped one or two humans win a personal victory or two in my eight decades. But a victory for humanity? Not even close. And I do not have much time left.

Some part of Mann’s condemnation makes sense to me, and even motivates me. What, if anything, might I yet do to “win a victory for humanity?” Horace Mann’s challenge will not easily leave me.

In the meantime--or better in the eternity that holds time in their hands--I believe I am loved by a Savior who at my end will deliver me from any and all shame. Love overcomes shame. I work on whatever victories I might achieve assured of love. And you can, too.

P.S.: Here’s another line from Horace Mann that seems particularly relevant to our times: “If any man seeks greatness, let him forget greatness and ask for truth, and he will find both.” I know you want to make it more inclusive, and that’s okay. I’d like to reformulate it this way: “If any nation seeks greatness, let it forget greatness and ask for truth, and it will find both.” Make of that what you will.

Truth or Consequences

It’s not hard to imagine how a 21-year-old National Guard guy lost his way in our ongoing national journey into fantasy. He is both a participant in the game and its victim. The consequences of his leaking of U.S. government secrets may be enormous.

We are constantly surrounded by forces that intend, first, to confuse truth, and second, to seduce us into believing versions of “truth” that serve their purposes. No better example of this is Fox News, which knew that Trump had legitimately lost the 2020 election but continued to tell its viewers that he had won it in order to hold on to Fox’s audience and maximize its profits.

A lot of advertising works the same way: make people believe their happiness, worth, or success depends upon buying this or that elixir that we happen to be selling. Explicitly or implicitly, suspicion is planted that I am not as happy, valuable, or successful as I could be if I had that. Truth and reality be damned.

I am not into what is called virtual reality, but from what I do understand it depends upon drawing us into something more interesting, more entertaining, more satisfying than reality itself. Of course, there is that philosophical question about reality itself, about what reality really is, championed as I understand it by advocates of post-modernism, a term that continues to escape my ability to understand, as surely it is intended to do.

It’s hard to keep your eye on the ball when you are not sure the ball even exists. or when you are confronted by multiple balls simultaneously demanding your attention and response.

I claim no special ability to keep my head on straight in the middle of all this. I may be as confused as I think you are.

But however we do it, it is important to try to stay grounded in reality humanity can generally stand on and in truth we can commonly defend. After all, virtual reality is virtual and artificial intelligence is artificial. That a young man raised in so unsettled a society as ours would apparently not know how to handle information far beyond his pay grade is not surprising. And it is most troubling because he is far from alone.

Thaddeus's job

"Write a paragraph about a cat with a silly job.”

(Janine’s prompt for her second grade Abbott Elementary class)

There’s this about cats: they do not have “jobs.” You might say a cat’s only job is to take care of themself, on their own schedule. So I was surprised when our otherwise undistinguished domestic short hair, Thaddeus, started doing something regularly on his own, without being taught (as if he could have been). He began to patrol our house (well, his house) every three or four hours, like a prison guard, apparently checking every closed door to determine if it could be opened. Not that he could or would open it himself. No, he stops at every closed door, then meows until a human shows up to open the door and show him that it is unlocked and can be unlatched and that its hinges have not rusted closed. And not that he goes into whatever space the now-opened door leads to, but that he just watches it opened and, perhaps, closed again, and then moves on to the next door. He does this for about fifteen minutes before he tires of the game until next time. But perhaps the routine is not a game to him but a service to everyone in the house. After all, what if I wanted to go through some door sometime—or, God forbid, had to open a door to escape a threat like a fire or a robber—and I could not open it to save my life, all because Thaddeus had not done his job and forced me to check it regularly? I mean, what if that happened? Not silly at all, is it?

Drag queens and proud boys

Up the hill from where we live—out in Chardon, Ohio—a restaurant and a church have teamed up to offer two drag events this coming Saturday. Their plans are causing some stir.

The restaurant is hosting two “Drag Brunches.” You have to be over 18 to attend and they are sold out. The church is sponsoring an afternoon “Drag Story Hour.” It is a ticketed event, but I don’t know much about it otherwise.

It has been reported that the Proud Boys are inviting members and sympathizers to show up to protest Saturday’s events. They threaten guns and violence. “It will be wild” one post promised. (Sound familiar?)

A few days ago, a call went out to area clergy and others to also come on Saturday to support the events, and to counter the Proud Boys. This morning the organizers are asking supportive folks who do not already have tickets to stay home on Saturday but to instead attend a prayer vigil tonight in Chardon. I believe it is a wise decision to let law enforcement deal with any protesters.

I do not know much about drag events. I think I may have gone to a drag show with seminary friends in San Francisco in the ‘60s. If so, I hardly remember it. I don’t know what’s involved in a drag brunch or story hour. Frankly, I don’t know much about drag culture, etc., at all, and hesitate to write anything about it.

I do know this, however: in an open society, people should be as free as possible to express themselves and their interests. Of course, individual freedom is not unlimited; we must live together. Competing freedoms need to be negotiated to assure that everyone’s freedom is allowed to the maximum extent possible while maintaining social cohesion. Doing this takes hard work and careful listening and even more carefully speaking. Shouting doesn’t help much.

I do not have to attend or even approve of drag events to hold that people who enjoy them should be able to. If they want to share them with others, that’s okay, so long as others remain free not to accept the offer. (You are free to avert your eyes when you happen upon Michelangelo’s David if it offends you.) So far as I know, the organizers of the events in Chardon this weekend are not forcing anyone to participate who does not want to.

Of course, children need to be protected from some things available to adults. But young people have access via the internet to far more troubling things than drag brunches and drag story hours, and there is no limit on what they might hear from one another. Vigilant as parents and others might be about what they don’t want their children to learn, they will learn it. Why not give them and their parents a chance to be open about all that’s out there, and discuss how it affects them and their understanding of themselves and of others? It is a healthier way to become adults than by being inhabited by secrets.

I’d like to see the Proud Boys hold a prayer vigil tonight, too, and stay home on Saturday. But since I don’t expect them to do that, I pray for Chardon and its safety and security forces, and that everyone enjoys the day however and wherever they choose to spend it.

With all that's good?

If you are not sufficiently shocked by yesterday’s killings in a Nashville church-sponsored elementary school, read this from this morning’s Heather Cox Richardson post:

In the wake of the shooting, Representative Andrew Ogles (R-TN), who represents Nashville thanks to redistricting by the Republican legislature that cut up a Democratic district, said he was “utterly heartbroken” by the shooting and offered “thoughts and prayers to the families of those lost.” 

In 2021, Ogles, his wife, and two of his three children held guns as they posed for a Christmas card with a caption that read: “The very atmosphere of firearms anywhere and everywhere restrains evil interference—they deserve a place of honor with all that’s good.”

(I checked out the accuracy of Richardson’s report as best I could, and believe she has it right. Strangely, the caption is sometimes attributed to George Washington, but likely erroneously.)

Christian friends: if you attend a church that believes that “firearms…deserve a place of honor with all that’s good” you need to find a new church.

If your church’s minister preaches that “firearms…deserve a place of honor with all that’s good” your church needs a new preacher.

If you think Jesus would agree that “firearms…deserve a place of honor with all that’s good” you need to read the gospels.

And if you cannot imagine a Jesus who wouldn’t honor guns, you need a new savior.

(BTW, even if it was George Washington who said that, it is just plain wrong.)

What's at stake

Last weekend, our granddaughters were in the Oneonta, New York, High School production of Beauty and the Beast. We were there to see them and to celebrate their latest accomplishments. It is thrilling to watch them maturing, a sometimes rocky journey that benefits from appreciative and appropriate adult guidance along their way.

      To me, student plays have a layer that may not be so apparent in professional productions. In acting, a young person takes on a role that may or may not bear any resemblance to who they are. It can be a guided experiment into alternatives that may confirm their personalities and priorities, or that may suggest options to consider as they continue toward adulthood.

What student actors do during hours of rehearsals and for a couple of hours on stage is, I suspect, parallel to what many more do daily in the school’s halls and classrooms. They seem to try on various roles or personas to see what they feel like in what may be conscious or unconscious real-life play acting. If I dress like this, talk like that, dye my hair blue, express an opinion I know many will not understand…if I do these kinds of things somewhere outside my comfort zone, what will happen? What will I learn about me, and about other people? How will I feel?

Many characters or characteristics young people try in seeking to discover who they are obviously don’t fit, and get discarded pretty fast. Others immediately fit perfectly. And some may take years to settle into their lives.

During intermission, I looked at some art work on display in the school’s hallway. Here again young people seemed to be trying on ways of seeing the world, particularly its human inhabitants. I saw experimentation, guided by experienced adults who knew how to help a young person express themselves artistically, just as experienced adults had helped Beauty and the Beast come to life. In looking at another person in a some particular way, perhaps some of those budding artists saw glimpses of themselves that might otherwise never have surfaced, or perhaps surfaced in ways harmful to themselves or to others. A self-portrait can be particularly telling.

Suddenly, I felt I was seeing the kinds of self-discovery experiences that the heavy hands of some politicians and legislators are trying to squash. Guided by particular conceptions of what “ought to be,” some who would lead our country into the future seek to limit what students can see and do in order to make sure they come to the same understandings of themselves and this world that people with power have come to. They do not trust teachers or counselors or medical professionals to be capable of appropriate guidance as young people go through these formative years of their lives. Some who know little about how people happily grow and develop take it upon themselves to make laws to assure outcomes they believe should fit everyone, no matter how much they pinch.

What’s at stake here is students’ futures as individuals and ours as a people. Are they and are we truly free if someone who doesn’t know us at all is telling us what we can read, what we can learn, and who we can be? Of course not.

Education is not indoctrination. Indoctrination is what extremists from left and right seek to lay upon others. Education is what good teachers, counselors, and medical professionals offer to those in their charge. Let them do their jobs. The overwhelming majority of them have no interest other than what will best allow and prepare young people to live fulfilling lives as citizens in our United States.

Goin' about 80

I’m hitting 80 this week. Not 80 miles per hour, but 80 years of age.

I have rarely hit 80 on the speedometer, even in my younger years. But I’ve been creeping up to 80 years all my life, and now that I am almost there, I’m getting cold feet about it all. Not that my anxiety will do me any good.

Since middle age, I’ve been noticing that many of us get through our 70’s more or less intact, but at 80 things start to loosen and fall off. Of course, a serious illness or an accident can skew aging’s trajectory against any of us, but I’m talking about simply getting old.

Trouble is, at no age can you slam on the brakes and throw yourself into reverse. The age-speedometer just keeps revving higher and higher but you just keep moving slower and slower. 

(If you are wondering why I don’t compare aging to running up miles on an odometer, it’s because an odometer is rarely that interesting or important. And because I don’t want to.)

On the other hand, I have had the privilege of aging, both absolutely and relatively.

Absolutely because the alternative to aging is—as is frequently pointed out—death.

Relatively because I’ve lived a good and privileged life, wherein my work seemed worthwhile at least to me, my family thrives, and the worst of illnesses and accidents have missed me so far. I am comfortable financially, in part because of generational wealth. I was raised by a good and caring family, in a safe environment, and with access to sound education.

I live in a friendly and active retirement community, see a compassionate and insightful therapist, and most of all share life with my loving and patient wife. Our daughters and their families, including our granddaughters, bring us deep satisfaction. I have time and energy to enjoy activities and hobbies, including singing great choral music with large ensembles. I authored and published a small book about my favorite place on earth, Ghost Ranch, New Mexico. I’ve lived in states from Maryland to California and in between. I have visited much of our country and some of Europe and Africa as well. What more can a man what or need when he’s hitting 80?

There are some regrets: missed opportunities, investing less than I might have in friendships, fixing things that were really not that much better off for all my effort. I wish I could remember faces and names, good jokes, and humorous personal experiences. I would like to laugh more easily. I am calendar- and clock-driven when I probably don’t need to be, haven’t read all the books I wish I had, and refuse to try to keep up with pop culture. I have not spoken out about my political and societal convictions as often as I could have, and have rarely acted decisively on those convictions.

I am a quiet person in many ways, for whom public speaking and preaching served as foils to my introverted nature. I do not mind being alone as long as I know I will soon have some opportunity for human interaction—for a while. I am thrilled we will hear our Cleveland Orchestra play Mahler’s 5th on my 80th birthday. That’s about the best way I can think of to celebrate it.

I am grateful for it all. If you ask me to whom I am grateful beyond the people I’ve mentioned and the opportunities my U.S. citizenship has offered me, I’d say God. But my gratitude to God is more general than specific because I do not claim any special place in some divine plan for the universe. I have been and am no more worthy of God’s beneficence than any one of the other 8 billion of my earthly cohorts. If good has been my lot because somehow God chose me, it is because I was to share good with others. I hope I have done that.

With the Psalmist I know that the lines have fallen in largely pleasant places for me. Approaching 80, I am unambiguously grateful to God whose ways and purposes are limited only by a love far beyond my power to understand or predict.

“—Night is drawing nigh__”

For all that has been—Thanks!

To all that shall be—Yes!

Dag Hammarskjöld, 1953