Central to Kirk's philosophy is the connection between order in the soul and order in the commonwealth. A society's politics reflects its culture, and hence its morality. Kirk sought — in McDonald's words — to "rediscover, articulate, and defend those enduring moral norms, now blurred in our consciousness, by which civilized peoples have governed their conduct." McDonald situates this effort within the concept of "ethical dualism," as fleshed out in the work of Irving Babbitt and Paul Elmer More. In this view, man is torn between two natures: his lower self, which focuses on selfish and momentary goals, and his higher self, which has the ability to envision something nobler. The moral man checks his lower self and seeks to strengthen his higher self.
Out of this inner tension comes an outer tension, one between order and freedom. For Kirk, true freedom is not the libertarian's total lack of external restraint but rather the opportunity to attain one's own natural potential, and to live in harmony with the moral order. "Liberty," writes McDonald, "can be found neither in individual self-gratification (as the utilitarian would hold) nor in flowing with one's spontaneous impulses (as the Rousseauists would affirm), but resides instead in [what Babbitt called] the individual's 'ethical self; and the ethical self is experienced not as expansive emotion, but as inner control.'"
May 14, 2004
NRODT Review of "Russell Kirk and the Age of Ideology" by W. Wesley McDonald
Spiritual Interconnectivities
I recently happened upon the blog of a nurse, a blog reflecting alarming malevolence and spiritual emptiness and my knee-jerk reaction was auto-focus. Sadly, it wasn't pity or prayer that leapt to mind, it was self-pity in the form of thinking, "the world is going to hell in a handbasket and when I'm sick and in need of a nurse, they'll all be evil and full of hate."
In other words, it sent a chill up my spine to realize that my physical health in my waning years will be dependent on a generation of nihilists. And then I began to wonder if our spiritual health is tied to this generation. When I read about St. Joseph of Cafasso, and how he delivered the Balm he got from Christ, I realized anew how dependent we are on one another not just physically but spiritually.
But this is still coming at it from a selfish, auto-focus view. The real way to approach it would be to welcome the opportunity of being a force for good in that nurse's life, either now or in the future. It's going to be a target-rich environment for all Christians, spiritually speaking. Pray up, boys.
I recently happened upon the blog of a nurse, a blog reflecting alarming malevolence and spiritual emptiness and my knee-jerk reaction was auto-focus. Sadly, it wasn't pity or prayer that leapt to mind, it was self-pity in the form of thinking, "the world is going to hell in a handbasket and when I'm sick and in need of a nurse, they'll all be evil and full of hate."
In other words, it sent a chill up my spine to realize that my physical health in my waning years will be dependent on a generation of nihilists. And then I began to wonder if our spiritual health is tied to this generation. When I read about St. Joseph of Cafasso, and how he delivered the Balm he got from Christ, I realized anew how dependent we are on one another not just physically but spiritually.
But this is still coming at it from a selfish, auto-focus view. The real way to approach it would be to welcome the opportunity of being a force for good in that nurse's life, either now or in the future. It's going to be a target-rich environment for all Christians, spiritually speaking. Pray up, boys.
Friday's Hodge Podge of Discontinued Items
...the weekly feature where I empty the cupboards of items that didn't make the blog during the week, for reasons that will become obvious.
I'd forgotten my Confirmation name and now after eighteen years I finally got around to calling my grade school parish and confirming (teehee) what I'd suspected: William. Must read about St. Williams's now since I know precious little about them.
Overheard someone saying that they'd read the Da Vinci Code and "didn't know there were over 400 gospels!". Oy vey.
Conversation:
"I stink" he said.
"Well yes but that's a bit harsh, you're not so bad."
"No, I mean I stink. Haven't taken a shower yet."
"Oh--yeah--"
On the recent EWTN show "Church & the Culture Today", Deal Hudson and Charlotte Hayes talked about Catholic authors Jon Hassler and J.F. Powers. Hayes committed a small heresy when she declared Powers the best modern Catholic author. As much as I like Flannery O'Connor, I've always assumed Walker Percy should have that honor. I haven't read any of Powers, but you can bet I will now. Hassler too.
Catholic/Nazi voting patterns
Scott Hahn interview (kudos to Curt Jester for the find).
Added a blogger profile today.
Nice mousepads!
...the weekly feature where I empty the cupboards of items that didn't make the blog during the week, for reasons that will become obvious.
I'd forgotten my Confirmation name and now after eighteen years I finally got around to calling my grade school parish and confirming (teehee) what I'd suspected: William. Must read about St. Williams's now since I know precious little about them.
Overheard someone saying that they'd read the Da Vinci Code and "didn't know there were over 400 gospels!". Oy vey.
Conversation:
"I stink" he said.
"Well yes but that's a bit harsh, you're not so bad."
"No, I mean I stink. Haven't taken a shower yet."
"Oh--yeah--"
On the recent EWTN show "Church & the Culture Today", Deal Hudson and Charlotte Hayes talked about Catholic authors Jon Hassler and J.F. Powers. Hayes committed a small heresy when she declared Powers the best modern Catholic author. As much as I like Flannery O'Connor, I've always assumed Walker Percy should have that honor. I haven't read any of Powers, but you can bet I will now. Hassler too.
Catholic/Nazi voting patterns
Scott Hahn interview (kudos to Curt Jester for the find).
Added a blogger profile today.
Nice mousepads!
If You Can't Jog, Write
Wash Post article suggests more art in our lives for better fitness:
Wash Post article suggests more art in our lives for better fitness:
Forget broccoli. Forget the treadmill. Go play the violin!
Doing something creative is good for your health...That's the conclusion of a recent study assessing the health effects of participating in music, art, dance and poetry programs.
Tucker and Victor
Interesting interview with CNN's Tucker Carlson who is becoming more paleo by the minute (he even apologized to Pat Buchanan). Meanwhile, Victor David Hanson lends perspective. Fair and balanced, that's me.
Interesting interview with CNN's Tucker Carlson who is becoming more paleo by the minute (he even apologized to Pat Buchanan). Meanwhile, Victor David Hanson lends perspective. Fair and balanced, that's me.
May 13, 2004
Path to Grove City a fictional journey
Chapter 2
My progress towards Grove City moved in fits and starts; the well-traveled roads often led in other directions, and sometimes I took them just for distractions’ sake.
I came across the sight of a women and her teenage boy having a loud argument. He sported a mullet haircut and she wore a bathrobe. For a minute I thought I was watching Jerry Springer and I shamefully slowed my pace that I might hear them, although they were screaming at a volume that one could pass quickly and still hear everything a block away. They argued with great loquaciousness and impressive word play; I was taken aback by the finely-honed verbal skills. Both cut the other with the sharpest stilettos and no mercy was shown though the woman was sobbing profusely, her face blanketed with tears.
A woman crying is something that I can't bear to hear and yet the child granted no quarter, at least not initially. It seemed that the emotions of these people were closer to the surface than most, they loved more ardently, fought more furiously, sobbed more uncontrollably. I sat at a nearby bus stop, too caught up in the soap opera to leave and hoping for a resolution, which finally arrived. They alternately gave and conceded ground before finding resolution, after which they hugged and forgave each other such that the argument seemed to serve only to bring them closer, as if the expenditure of emotional energy and the copious tears were proof of their love. And I briefly thought of Israel-
LECTOR. Israel!? What does Israel got to do with a mother and son arguing outside a bus stop? Must you always bring up religion?
AUCTOR. It’s my story and I can talk of religion if I like. As I was saying…Israel literally means, “struggles with God”, taken from Jacob’s wrestling match. God was also a parent to Israel so there is that parallel, and it was interesting to see how this mother/son struggle seemed necessary to get to a greater love.
LECTOR. I'd thank you to leave your symbols to yourself and continue the story.
I continued my travels another mile before stopping at a local tavern named the "Abner's Elbow Room”. It was dusty and quiet and dark, and accurately reflected the image of the bars of my youth, a place almost meditational at this hour of the day for it was just two o’clock in the afternoon. I sat in a stool and asked for a PBR. A man who looked hard on his luck was sitting a couple stools over, nursing what looked to be a plain water.
“Pacing yourself ‘eh?”
“I’m a recovering alchy. Been dry two weeks. Missed the quiet time so I come back for this,” pointing and grimacing at his drink.
I come to find out his name was Bill and bit my tongue in order not to ask “Bill W?”. I asked instead if he’d been to AA and he said he that’s how he’s been dry, although he shouldn’t be here now.
I’d always wondered about the “Higher Power” mentioned at AA meetings. No God who entered history, who died for you personally, no god who gave Himself to eat. Just a “Higher Power”, thin gruel it seemed but it worked. They were changed men which spoke to God’s power but also to the men themselves, men beaten down and given up, who in their misery were more inclined to say uncle to God. Prodigal sons.
Chapter 2
My progress towards Grove City moved in fits and starts; the well-traveled roads often led in other directions, and sometimes I took them just for distractions’ sake.
I came across the sight of a women and her teenage boy having a loud argument. He sported a mullet haircut and she wore a bathrobe. For a minute I thought I was watching Jerry Springer and I shamefully slowed my pace that I might hear them, although they were screaming at a volume that one could pass quickly and still hear everything a block away. They argued with great loquaciousness and impressive word play; I was taken aback by the finely-honed verbal skills. Both cut the other with the sharpest stilettos and no mercy was shown though the woman was sobbing profusely, her face blanketed with tears.
A woman crying is something that I can't bear to hear and yet the child granted no quarter, at least not initially. It seemed that the emotions of these people were closer to the surface than most, they loved more ardently, fought more furiously, sobbed more uncontrollably. I sat at a nearby bus stop, too caught up in the soap opera to leave and hoping for a resolution, which finally arrived. They alternately gave and conceded ground before finding resolution, after which they hugged and forgave each other such that the argument seemed to serve only to bring them closer, as if the expenditure of emotional energy and the copious tears were proof of their love. And I briefly thought of Israel-
LECTOR. Israel!? What does Israel got to do with a mother and son arguing outside a bus stop? Must you always bring up religion?
AUCTOR. It’s my story and I can talk of religion if I like. As I was saying…Israel literally means, “struggles with God”, taken from Jacob’s wrestling match. God was also a parent to Israel so there is that parallel, and it was interesting to see how this mother/son struggle seemed necessary to get to a greater love.
LECTOR. I'd thank you to leave your symbols to yourself and continue the story.
I continued my travels another mile before stopping at a local tavern named the "Abner's Elbow Room”. It was dusty and quiet and dark, and accurately reflected the image of the bars of my youth, a place almost meditational at this hour of the day for it was just two o’clock in the afternoon. I sat in a stool and asked for a PBR. A man who looked hard on his luck was sitting a couple stools over, nursing what looked to be a plain water.
“Pacing yourself ‘eh?”
“I’m a recovering alchy. Been dry two weeks. Missed the quiet time so I come back for this,” pointing and grimacing at his drink.
I come to find out his name was Bill and bit my tongue in order not to ask “Bill W?”. I asked instead if he’d been to AA and he said he that’s how he’s been dry, although he shouldn’t be here now.
I’d always wondered about the “Higher Power” mentioned at AA meetings. No God who entered history, who died for you personally, no god who gave Himself to eat. Just a “Higher Power”, thin gruel it seemed but it worked. They were changed men which spoke to God’s power but also to the men themselves, men beaten down and given up, who in their misery were more inclined to say uncle to God. Prodigal sons.
A Switzerland in British Attire:
...rather than validating the neoconservative vision, Iraq, a year on, has discredited it. For all America's brilliant show of arms, it seems likely to be another instance of Ferguson's paradox of a mighty America that miscalibrates its attempts to project that power.What if you were given an empire but didn't want it? Yes.
The challenge for the United States, especially after our reversals in Iraq, is to model American power to fit the real strengths and limitations of our culture and political experience. The most intriguing passage in Ferguson's book is his discussion of an imperialism that would be an appropriate fit with globalization. I suspect he's wrong in thinking the answers can be found in a centuries-old British tradition. We haven't the stuff for that, as Ferguson says, but we may have the stuff for something else that will suit the world far better. We will surely fail as a modern-day version of Gladstone's Britain, but we may yet succeed as America.
Sad commentary on the changes in society from one on the front lines: a teacher.
‘Don’t talk to that weirdo; apparently he’s got a mother and a father.’
(cartoon via UK Spectator)
‘Don’t talk to that weirdo; apparently he’s got a mother and a father.’
(cartoon via UK Spectator)
Local Columnist says 'a pox on both your houses'
The columnist for our local paper whispered sweet nothings today into the ears of political moderates, writing that "When liberals and conservatives meet, they find out what they have in common: They are equally closed-minded."
I'm obviously biased since I'm a conservative, but I'm more skeptical of moderates than he is. I'm thinking that perhaps we should be more open-minded about how virtuous open-mindedness really is. If it's is a good thing in the young it can be embarrassing in adults because it often indicates a lack of principle. In an age where social issues are extremely divisive, liberals and conservatives have at least taken stands that reflect a coherent world view.
Swing voters and moderates are the ones influenced by cheap campaign slogans like "compassionate conservative" and swayed by Kerry's supposed Botox treatments. Not something to be proud of.
The columnist for our local paper whispered sweet nothings today into the ears of political moderates, writing that "When liberals and conservatives meet, they find out what they have in common: They are equally closed-minded."
I'm obviously biased since I'm a conservative, but I'm more skeptical of moderates than he is. I'm thinking that perhaps we should be more open-minded about how virtuous open-mindedness really is. If it's is a good thing in the young it can be embarrassing in adults because it often indicates a lack of principle. In an age where social issues are extremely divisive, liberals and conservatives have at least taken stands that reflect a coherent world view.
Swing voters and moderates are the ones influenced by cheap campaign slogans like "compassionate conservative" and swayed by Kerry's supposed Botox treatments. Not something to be proud of.
Fr. Groeschel
...still writes with humor and grace despite his pain:
...still writes with humor and grace despite his pain:
As I read through a selection of the mail and e-mails that we receive in response to these daily thoughts from the hospital, I’m amazed at the number of people who speak about the fact that my problem has been the cause of their conversion. I don’t really understand this. If I was shot by the Communists or beaten up by the Klu Klux Klan, I could understand it, but I was hit by a car after buying Mexican food for the two people who were traveling with me. Somehow or other my pain and suffering has been an opportunity for a lot of people to think life over a little more seriously....God will use anything to cause grace, and if he uses my illness to cause grace in the life of others, it’s certainly worth it....Last year I published a book called The Rosary: Chain of Hope. Little did I realize that the Rosary would be my chain of hope this year. When things are going badly or when the darkness of it all settles in on me, I turn to the Rosary. I made a Rosary retreat during the first month of my consciousness while I was on the respirator. It kept me going. I wish I could convince everyone to try the Rosary. Naturally when you first get started, it seems to be boring and repetitive, but if you turn your mind to the mysteries, you will see that it is a great blessing and a great school of spirituality. The Rosary is recommended to us by Our Lady herself and by the saints. I can only tell you that I don’t know where I would be right now if it were not for the Rosary....One of the things about being quite sick and wounded is that you begin to recognize that the rest of the world is much in the same situation and those who are not will be eventually. This is why our ultimate hope and trust must be in God and in Christ, His crucified Son.
How to See Deer
-- by Philip Booth
-- by Philip Booth
Forget roadside crossings.
Go nowhere with guns.
Go elsewhere your own way,
lonely and wanting. Or
stay and be early:
next to deep woods
inhabit old orchards.
All clearings promise.
Sunrise is good,
And fog before sun.
Expect nothing always,
find your luck slowly.
*
things even out. Be
careless of nothing. See
what you see.
Spring Sprang
What bliss to find a night such as last, the front porch our harbor against the sturm and drang! I alit there at 7:15 and savored a cigar, surrounded by books but unwilling to choose so I sat in sublime comfort and watched the trees grow and marveled at the beauty of the light and of the pure variety of planted things in our neighborhood, from griping pines with boughs hung low to sprightly Glendalough ferns and nubile cherries.
Neither the cigar nor my spirit flagged as I sat there for past an hour, just soaking in the splendour of summer and at this new thing that's arrived in my life, this new place to sit, this new place to ponder, this new place to ----
And then came the thunderous roar of a lawn tractor, some beastly hundred decibel maniacal noise that was three houses away but joined me on the porch. After that came our neighbor out with his gas-powered hedge clippers which also clipped my hearing faculties. I went inside briefly and got some ear plugs, and soon I was luxuriating in the fresh-tight prose of "Albion's Seed", lingering amid the foothillian footnotes and white, printless valleys sans twenty-five decibels. Or so it said on the earplug packaging.
History calms and soothes; newspapers lift our finger nails and pierce. I read with great delight of the early American settlers, of their fresh experiment about the 'city upon a hill'. The book itself is new and pristine as America herself then, with accompanying broad margins. My wife joined me and read Business Week and then a book about sled dogs in the Arctic. Soon natural light abated and our porch lamp sufficed; gorged on book and beauty, we went in to suck at the glass teat (watch TV) at a quarter past nine.
What bliss to find a night such as last, the front porch our harbor against the sturm and drang! I alit there at 7:15 and savored a cigar, surrounded by books but unwilling to choose so I sat in sublime comfort and watched the trees grow and marveled at the beauty of the light and of the pure variety of planted things in our neighborhood, from griping pines with boughs hung low to sprightly Glendalough ferns and nubile cherries.
Neither the cigar nor my spirit flagged as I sat there for past an hour, just soaking in the splendour of summer and at this new thing that's arrived in my life, this new place to sit, this new place to ponder, this new place to ----
And then came the thunderous roar of a lawn tractor, some beastly hundred decibel maniacal noise that was three houses away but joined me on the porch. After that came our neighbor out with his gas-powered hedge clippers which also clipped my hearing faculties. I went inside briefly and got some ear plugs, and soon I was luxuriating in the fresh-tight prose of "Albion's Seed", lingering amid the foothillian footnotes and white, printless valleys sans twenty-five decibels. Or so it said on the earplug packaging.
History calms and soothes; newspapers lift our finger nails and pierce. I read with great delight of the early American settlers, of their fresh experiment about the 'city upon a hill'. The book itself is new and pristine as America herself then, with accompanying broad margins. My wife joined me and read Business Week and then a book about sled dogs in the Arctic. Soon natural light abated and our porch lamp sufficed; gorged on book and beauty, we went in to suck at the glass teat (watch TV) at a quarter past nine.
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