Naples, Florida and East Greenwich, RI
Monday, April 14, 2008
Out of the Box
I want out. Out of the box. Out of whatever box people have me in. My heart and mind and soul call me out. The Christ of my faith calls me out.
I don't want to be in a Republican box or Democrat box, a conservative or liberal box. I don't want to be in any of the ideological or political religious boxes, either. I don't want to be in any boxes of inherently divisive identity. And I don't want to argue about political parties or political identity, save my freedom to be out of those boxes. It's all a frustrating waste of my time and yours. I want out.
Save me from the dance, the totentanz, of one step forward and two steps back spitting vitriol and hissing at each other through clenched teeth. Save me from the disingenuous who engage the debate offering up misleading information and shouting half-truths—for whom winning is more important than good answers or reasonable solutions, more important than serving and helping. Save me from those whose ersatz patriotism, faith or altruism declared artfully thinly veils self-interest, ambition, even avarice, the need for power, even control. I want out.
I want to talk about issues and answers, problems and solutions, building community and supporting people. I want to talk about respect for families (however those families may be arrayed) and different cultural identities in local and national community—in international community, too, however difficult the challenge, however frail and attenuated the reality. In these places, we can find common ground, respect, inclusion, can’t we?
Can’t I support or not support—or change my mind about supporting—an answer or solution without instigating ad hominem disparagement of people in different boxes, even me? Can’t we disagree on an issue and still find common ground on another—and respect each other in the process? Can’t we give more open-minded attention to the process, the way we identify issues, carry out inquiries, analyze findings—and agree on what we know and don’t know? Can we be rational? Can we do it together?
We can. And we can also agree that we have the potential for real community, and that that’s a good thing. We can listen to what other people are hearing, read what other people are reading, watch for what other people are seeing. We can try to understand. We can agree that we have responsibilities toward each other, for each other. We can allow this to inform our understandings, to raise our hopes and aspirations for community, too. (It is allowed.)
But can I be for economic growth and still place people and community first? For competitive markets and also for social justice? For free markets, but also protective laws? Can I be for individual opportunity, initiative, and reward, and still expect those who create or earn more to contribute more? Can I be for families, as I find mine, without being against yours, as you may find it? Can I be for freedom, mine, without denying you yours?
I can. And more, I can live by my faith and allow others to live by theirs, or not. I can live a faithful life—devout, in its own flawed way—without the need to legislate or force-feed my faith ideals on those who neither profess my faith nor have interest in it. I can be confident in how God reveals himself to me in the writings He inspires, in prayer, in community, in the Mystery of His intimacy with me—and still respect the faith orientations of others, and hear and see God in them. You can, too. (It is allowed.)
And if others claim a faith in God, can’t I expect to sense something of His presence in them? Can’t I expect more love than legalism? More forgiveness than judgment? Can’t I expect more humility than self-righteousness? More compassion and charity than self-interest and selfishness? Can’t I reasonably expect to sense their trust that God is in charge, and that others can make their own faith choices as they feel led by God, or not?
But you think I ask too much, don’t you? People can’t take me out of one box without putting me in another. I understand that. It’s just the sense of order we apparently need to live with who we are and the seemingly random, uncontrollable circumstances of life. We seem desperate to create or declare our own sense of order and profess cultural, ideological or religious faith in it—and with it, find comfort in identity. It’s just the way we are wired and put together. I may want out, but it doesn't seem to be part of the deal.
Is it also too much to ask, then, that others would respect me and let me grow in my own way in the box they have me in, and that I would treat them in the same way (even if we won’t openly concede that we have each other in boxes)? It probably is—too much to ask, that is—isn’t it? Oh, we could agree that it isn't, yes, but it wouldn’t last. However right and appealing it might be, it just doesn’t seem to be part of the deal either.
So, how about this: I’ll live my life as well as I know how, and others can do the same. We will try, so far as we are able, to respect each other. But failing that, we will politely tolerate each other. Civility. I can live with that. How about you?
First written: December 2004. Edited 2007, 2008
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
I don't want to be in a Republican box or Democrat box, a conservative or liberal box. I don't want to be in any of the ideological or political religious boxes, either. I don't want to be in any boxes of inherently divisive identity. And I don't want to argue about political parties or political identity, save my freedom to be out of those boxes. It's all a frustrating waste of my time and yours. I want out.
Save me from the dance, the totentanz, of one step forward and two steps back spitting vitriol and hissing at each other through clenched teeth. Save me from the disingenuous who engage the debate offering up misleading information and shouting half-truths—for whom winning is more important than good answers or reasonable solutions, more important than serving and helping. Save me from those whose ersatz patriotism, faith or altruism declared artfully thinly veils self-interest, ambition, even avarice, the need for power, even control. I want out.
I want to talk about issues and answers, problems and solutions, building community and supporting people. I want to talk about respect for families (however those families may be arrayed) and different cultural identities in local and national community—in international community, too, however difficult the challenge, however frail and attenuated the reality. In these places, we can find common ground, respect, inclusion, can’t we?
Can’t I support or not support—or change my mind about supporting—an answer or solution without instigating ad hominem disparagement of people in different boxes, even me? Can’t we disagree on an issue and still find common ground on another—and respect each other in the process? Can’t we give more open-minded attention to the process, the way we identify issues, carry out inquiries, analyze findings—and agree on what we know and don’t know? Can we be rational? Can we do it together?
We can. And we can also agree that we have the potential for real community, and that that’s a good thing. We can listen to what other people are hearing, read what other people are reading, watch for what other people are seeing. We can try to understand. We can agree that we have responsibilities toward each other, for each other. We can allow this to inform our understandings, to raise our hopes and aspirations for community, too. (It is allowed.)
But can I be for economic growth and still place people and community first? For competitive markets and also for social justice? For free markets, but also protective laws? Can I be for individual opportunity, initiative, and reward, and still expect those who create or earn more to contribute more? Can I be for families, as I find mine, without being against yours, as you may find it? Can I be for freedom, mine, without denying you yours?
I can. And more, I can live by my faith and allow others to live by theirs, or not. I can live a faithful life—devout, in its own flawed way—without the need to legislate or force-feed my faith ideals on those who neither profess my faith nor have interest in it. I can be confident in how God reveals himself to me in the writings He inspires, in prayer, in community, in the Mystery of His intimacy with me—and still respect the faith orientations of others, and hear and see God in them. You can, too. (It is allowed.)
And if others claim a faith in God, can’t I expect to sense something of His presence in them? Can’t I expect more love than legalism? More forgiveness than judgment? Can’t I expect more humility than self-righteousness? More compassion and charity than self-interest and selfishness? Can’t I reasonably expect to sense their trust that God is in charge, and that others can make their own faith choices as they feel led by God, or not?
But you think I ask too much, don’t you? People can’t take me out of one box without putting me in another. I understand that. It’s just the sense of order we apparently need to live with who we are and the seemingly random, uncontrollable circumstances of life. We seem desperate to create or declare our own sense of order and profess cultural, ideological or religious faith in it—and with it, find comfort in identity. It’s just the way we are wired and put together. I may want out, but it doesn't seem to be part of the deal.
Is it also too much to ask, then, that others would respect me and let me grow in my own way in the box they have me in, and that I would treat them in the same way (even if we won’t openly concede that we have each other in boxes)? It probably is—too much to ask, that is—isn’t it? Oh, we could agree that it isn't, yes, but it wouldn’t last. However right and appealing it might be, it just doesn’t seem to be part of the deal either.
So, how about this: I’ll live my life as well as I know how, and others can do the same. We will try, so far as we are able, to respect each other. But failing that, we will politely tolerate each other. Civility. I can live with that. How about you?
First written: December 2004. Edited 2007, 2008
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Political Boxes
When and how did it come to this? I suppose it just evolved with the increasing polarization: more divisive people, more intolerant people.
But I do understand--even if I was self-blinkered to the realities for a long time. And I still appreciate the balancing, centering way the political process often appears to work: a two-party system, or two dominating, each professing acceptance of the same societal and political values—freedom, equality, representative democracy, opportunity and justice—while representing differing views along the continuum of each. The power, the advantages of it are both instinctively and empirically clear. I know the mantra well: whatever its failings, it’s better than whatever is in second place.
It seems more wish or whimsy now, for I don’t fully accept that tidy package anymore. Perhaps it once was true, but I doubt that, too. I don’t want to belong to those political parties anymore. Not Republican. Not Democrat. And certainly not the political religious crowd, either—whatever their affiliation, wherever they fall on issues. And I don’t want any political labels, please. Not conservative. Not liberal. They’re inadequate, misleading and divisive.
They’re half the story claiming to know it all. They’re half the questions claiming all the answers. They’re a half-way effort claiming complete success. They’re about winning and imposing their will, not governing. They’re about evading responsibility, or placing it on others. They’re about political “spin” and legerdemain. They do not allow for political, cultural or social accomodation, not really. Solving problems and serving people is what they talk about, not what they do. They're insulting to my intelligence and values, and yours. Republicans, Democrats, both.
They say many things, inconsistent things. They’ll say almost anything, it seems, to get me to nod my head and pull the voting lever in their direction—to cast my lot with them and their party. And they just keep saying the same things again and again, ignoring the challenges and charges, as though consistency and persistence trump facts, honesty and reason, as though I am too stupid or distracted to notice. So, why is it, again, that I would want to associate with either party—the one which never forgets but is mired in the past, and doesn’t want to change; or the other, which does not appear to hear (or want to) and obstinately refuses to grow and move forward? They don’t want to listen to me, not really. And they don’t want to include me, either. They just want my vote and the right to claim mandate for imposing their agenda on me.
Rather than consult and invite more inclusive efforts, rather than build or support broader community, rather than seek common ground or common cause, rather than entertain the thought that there might be a better answer, they have too often, too precipitously acted or refrained too long from acting—for personal and political advantage: position, power, control. They have compromised the heart and will, the moral and ethical solvency of who we are. They placed us in harms way, and now they blithely place our children there, too.
And then they spin-and-sell, spin-and-sell, brooking no comment or argument or questioning of their acts, rationalizing as they go why it is our duty—our patriotic duty—to believe that they are acting in our best interest. It all has devolved, degenerated into thinly veiled political manipulation and propaganda, into rank political opportunism. What they want is control at our expense, at our peril, and that of our children. And I distrust and disrespect them for it.
Their boxes should come with warnings. Not only do I want out, I want to warn others out, as well. And however less stable or less centering it may be, I want to rethink the advantages of a functioning, inclusive multi-party system, maybe a parliamentary approach, something—and I recommend that others rethink it, too. It’s time to concede—then celebrate—the fact that we have become a country of diverse peoples with diverse interests, representing diverse cultures and values. Two parties can’t contain us any more (if they ever could)—not and be truly representative, not with the capacity to reach for new answers, accommodate differing interests, make compromises, govern all by representing all. I’d gladly take less stability if it meant the expression, consideration and vitality of more ideas and views, more possibilities and answers. I’d gladly take less centering if it meant that all parties and represented views will have to work more openly, diligently, honestly together to form viable, accountable coalitions to govern.
The merits of all interests and positions should be openly, fully heard, challenged and defended. Their appeal and continued viability, strength and contribution, should be only as enduring as the legitimacy of the interest served, the solvency of the ideas, the practicality of their implementation, and the flexibility and good faith of the divers parties working together. We could fashion a system with a process that better represents and serves us all—if we really wanted to.
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
But I do understand--even if I was self-blinkered to the realities for a long time. And I still appreciate the balancing, centering way the political process often appears to work: a two-party system, or two dominating, each professing acceptance of the same societal and political values—freedom, equality, representative democracy, opportunity and justice—while representing differing views along the continuum of each. The power, the advantages of it are both instinctively and empirically clear. I know the mantra well: whatever its failings, it’s better than whatever is in second place.
It seems more wish or whimsy now, for I don’t fully accept that tidy package anymore. Perhaps it once was true, but I doubt that, too. I don’t want to belong to those political parties anymore. Not Republican. Not Democrat. And certainly not the political religious crowd, either—whatever their affiliation, wherever they fall on issues. And I don’t want any political labels, please. Not conservative. Not liberal. They’re inadequate, misleading and divisive.
They’re half the story claiming to know it all. They’re half the questions claiming all the answers. They’re a half-way effort claiming complete success. They’re about winning and imposing their will, not governing. They’re about evading responsibility, or placing it on others. They’re about political “spin” and legerdemain. They do not allow for political, cultural or social accomodation, not really. Solving problems and serving people is what they talk about, not what they do. They're insulting to my intelligence and values, and yours. Republicans, Democrats, both.
They say many things, inconsistent things. They’ll say almost anything, it seems, to get me to nod my head and pull the voting lever in their direction—to cast my lot with them and their party. And they just keep saying the same things again and again, ignoring the challenges and charges, as though consistency and persistence trump facts, honesty and reason, as though I am too stupid or distracted to notice. So, why is it, again, that I would want to associate with either party—the one which never forgets but is mired in the past, and doesn’t want to change; or the other, which does not appear to hear (or want to) and obstinately refuses to grow and move forward? They don’t want to listen to me, not really. And they don’t want to include me, either. They just want my vote and the right to claim mandate for imposing their agenda on me.
Rather than consult and invite more inclusive efforts, rather than build or support broader community, rather than seek common ground or common cause, rather than entertain the thought that there might be a better answer, they have too often, too precipitously acted or refrained too long from acting—for personal and political advantage: position, power, control. They have compromised the heart and will, the moral and ethical solvency of who we are. They placed us in harms way, and now they blithely place our children there, too.
And then they spin-and-sell, spin-and-sell, brooking no comment or argument or questioning of their acts, rationalizing as they go why it is our duty—our patriotic duty—to believe that they are acting in our best interest. It all has devolved, degenerated into thinly veiled political manipulation and propaganda, into rank political opportunism. What they want is control at our expense, at our peril, and that of our children. And I distrust and disrespect them for it.
Their boxes should come with warnings. Not only do I want out, I want to warn others out, as well. And however less stable or less centering it may be, I want to rethink the advantages of a functioning, inclusive multi-party system, maybe a parliamentary approach, something—and I recommend that others rethink it, too. It’s time to concede—then celebrate—the fact that we have become a country of diverse peoples with diverse interests, representing diverse cultures and values. Two parties can’t contain us any more (if they ever could)—not and be truly representative, not with the capacity to reach for new answers, accommodate differing interests, make compromises, govern all by representing all. I’d gladly take less stability if it meant the expression, consideration and vitality of more ideas and views, more possibilities and answers. I’d gladly take less centering if it meant that all parties and represented views will have to work more openly, diligently, honestly together to form viable, accountable coalitions to govern.
The merits of all interests and positions should be openly, fully heard, challenged and defended. Their appeal and continued viability, strength and contribution, should be only as enduring as the legitimacy of the interest served, the solvency of the ideas, the practicality of their implementation, and the flexibility and good faith of the divers parties working together. We could fashion a system with a process that better represents and serves us all—if we really wanted to.
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Good Intentions
It’s more than a little sad for me; I relate to it all so well. We’ve been down so many crooked highways that it’s hard to recognize in us the persons we once were. I guess I expected more, a better effort: more inward growth, more outward connectedness and selflessness. I expected too much, didn’t I? But I understand this, too.
I remember the things we cared so much about—the foundations we vowed to build our lives upon, the principles, the values. We cared about our own opportunities, yes, but also the opportunities of others. We cared about fulfilling our potential, but helping others fulfill theirs. We cared about making more often real the promise of a better, fuller life for all people, about building and protecting a greater sense of community. We believed in reaching out and, where there appeared no common ground, building bridges. We believed in a higher calling, a greater good.
Oh, we still talk about a land that provides for all, regardless of who they are or are not, what they have or have not, where they may or may not be found. We still talk about freedom, equality, opportunity and justice. We still talk about poverty, education, and health care. But do we mean it? What have we done to move our rhetoric toward reality? How real is that freedom? How inclusive is that equality, opportunity and justice? How good are our good intentions?
We took advantage of our own opportunities, to be sure. We’ve always understood the avenues to success and the wealth-creating power of free, competitive markets; and we’ve advocated with conviction the importance to all of economic growth. We know quite well how amazingly it all has worked, producing the wealthiest of upper classes, the broadest, most financially secure middle class. But when and how did we develop a blind eye to how poorly competitive free-market dynamics provide for the poor, the undereducated, and those in need of health care? Is it just too inconvenient? Or does it just make too complex these issues for which we prefer simpler, unaccountable laissez-faire answers?
To what end our persistent anti-“big government”, anti-“welfare”, anti-tax refrain? We are a big country. We have big problems that call for big solutions. To that end, we require big, consistently effective government. And it requires each of us to pay our fair share of the cost. How can we say that we cannot comfortably contribute our fair share, when in good part it is devoted to helping and supporting the poor, aged and unable, to better educate people out of their poverty and into productivity and self sufficiency?
What happened to our genuine intention to advocate and work for needed assistance to those struggling day to day, often failing? We even had a nascent concern—however passive or naïve—for the earth and air and water that contains us, nurtures and supports us. And if, as we have said, the answers are all about private interests, private philanthropy or church missions, show me how that alone has solved these problems—or even come close. And let’s consider our contribution, our part played.
We’ve lost our way somewhere on our quest for the greater good, on that path paved with good intentions. Somewhere we lost our footing, our vision and mission. We have our success and worldly goods, yes, but has that fulfilled our potential, our promise? And if that is what we gained in that world we’ve so easily slipped into, what have we lost?
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
I remember the things we cared so much about—the foundations we vowed to build our lives upon, the principles, the values. We cared about our own opportunities, yes, but also the opportunities of others. We cared about fulfilling our potential, but helping others fulfill theirs. We cared about making more often real the promise of a better, fuller life for all people, about building and protecting a greater sense of community. We believed in reaching out and, where there appeared no common ground, building bridges. We believed in a higher calling, a greater good.
Oh, we still talk about a land that provides for all, regardless of who they are or are not, what they have or have not, where they may or may not be found. We still talk about freedom, equality, opportunity and justice. We still talk about poverty, education, and health care. But do we mean it? What have we done to move our rhetoric toward reality? How real is that freedom? How inclusive is that equality, opportunity and justice? How good are our good intentions?
We took advantage of our own opportunities, to be sure. We’ve always understood the avenues to success and the wealth-creating power of free, competitive markets; and we’ve advocated with conviction the importance to all of economic growth. We know quite well how amazingly it all has worked, producing the wealthiest of upper classes, the broadest, most financially secure middle class. But when and how did we develop a blind eye to how poorly competitive free-market dynamics provide for the poor, the undereducated, and those in need of health care? Is it just too inconvenient? Or does it just make too complex these issues for which we prefer simpler, unaccountable laissez-faire answers?
To what end our persistent anti-“big government”, anti-“welfare”, anti-tax refrain? We are a big country. We have big problems that call for big solutions. To that end, we require big, consistently effective government. And it requires each of us to pay our fair share of the cost. How can we say that we cannot comfortably contribute our fair share, when in good part it is devoted to helping and supporting the poor, aged and unable, to better educate people out of their poverty and into productivity and self sufficiency?
What happened to our genuine intention to advocate and work for needed assistance to those struggling day to day, often failing? We even had a nascent concern—however passive or naïve—for the earth and air and water that contains us, nurtures and supports us. And if, as we have said, the answers are all about private interests, private philanthropy or church missions, show me how that alone has solved these problems—or even come close. And let’s consider our contribution, our part played.
We’ve lost our way somewhere on our quest for the greater good, on that path paved with good intentions. Somewhere we lost our footing, our vision and mission. We have our success and worldly goods, yes, but has that fulfilled our potential, our promise? And if that is what we gained in that world we’ve so easily slipped into, what have we lost?
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
What Kind of Messiah?
They say that they love me. But I don’t feel that love from them. They say that they love me—but that they hate my sin. Yet I feel only disapproval, condescension and judgment from them. And what of their sin, their personal failings? Because they are different in kind, does that provide them a different kind of absolution, a greater forgiveness? By common assent or practice do they make their common shortcomings more a forgivable human frailty, even a badge of identity or twisted virtue? But others, because of their misfortune of time, place and prevailing prejudice, are persons that a table cannot be comfortably shared with. Not comfortably, not really.
They deign to share space with me, talk to me, even indulge me, it appears, only because it’s a duty, a burden they bear in the example of Jesus. They see themselves as laborers about His harvest, converting souls to “saved” status as fast as they can get them to say, “I believe.” Cajoling or prompting conforming responses, they’re flipping salvation switches, taking the tally, and moving on, culling out another, then another, claiming more and more numbers for their side of the ledger. It’s all about goats vs. sheep, their beliefs vs. others’, their cultural identity vs. others’, conservative vs. liberal, Republican vs. Democrat, life vs. choice, heterosexual vs. homosexual, literalist-evangelical vs. liberal humanist, saved vs. non-saved and seeker too, legalism and judgment vs. love and humility—they vs. me. That’s what I hear; that’s what I feel.
But where’s the table? You know the one, where Jesus sat with the most prominent cultural and religious pariahs of the day, those people most shunned by the synagogue and the community. You know the one, where, by His example, He made clear that we all fall short of God’s righteousness, that we are all-alike sinners, not some-better-than-others sinners. And why would He sit with them? Why, just to be with them in fellowship and community; just because He actually did love them and care personally about them; just because they really were first in His interest and in His heart—and first as recipients of the promises and possibilities, the assurances that only He so caringly could give.
I want to talk and listen to someone like that, someone who listens and understands, who cares about me and accepts me as I am, not who he wants me to be. I can only trust and listen to someone like that. I can only be vulnerable and safe with someone like that. I can only want to learn to be like someone like that.
But who is their messiah, really, this god they claim to serve, and what has he to do with me and the biblical Jesus? And why does it appear as if they serve more their own cultural, political interpretation of Judeo-Christian life—with Jesus claimed, yes, but reinterpreted to affirm or rationalize the self-serving rigidities of their own identity and community? In them, I sense or experience precious little of Jesus’ love, His compassion, forgiveness, inclusiveness and, importantly, His humility. In its place, like a dusty lump of coal in my soup, they offer legalism, close-mindedness, self-righteousness and judgment.
Two millennia ago, I’m told, an occupied, dispirited Israel looked for a Davidic, conquering Messiah and deliverer from the Romans, a restorer of their nation and their independent cultural identity. They could not see or accept in Jesus another kind of deliverer, a spiritual deliverer, a restorer of their relationship with God.
In the same way today, the more aggressive expressions of cultural, political Christianity lift up a Davidic Jesus as their deliverer from secular humanism, liberalism, other spiritualities, even other Christian views. He would be their conquering, culture-restoring Messiah. And they, too, now appear unable to see or accept in Jesus another kind of deliverer, a spiritual deliverer, a restorer of their personal relationship with God. Do they fear the real, the profound personal and cultural changes an indwelling Spirit of Christ might necessarily bring?
First written: Fall 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
They deign to share space with me, talk to me, even indulge me, it appears, only because it’s a duty, a burden they bear in the example of Jesus. They see themselves as laborers about His harvest, converting souls to “saved” status as fast as they can get them to say, “I believe.” Cajoling or prompting conforming responses, they’re flipping salvation switches, taking the tally, and moving on, culling out another, then another, claiming more and more numbers for their side of the ledger. It’s all about goats vs. sheep, their beliefs vs. others’, their cultural identity vs. others’, conservative vs. liberal, Republican vs. Democrat, life vs. choice, heterosexual vs. homosexual, literalist-evangelical vs. liberal humanist, saved vs. non-saved and seeker too, legalism and judgment vs. love and humility—they vs. me. That’s what I hear; that’s what I feel.
But where’s the table? You know the one, where Jesus sat with the most prominent cultural and religious pariahs of the day, those people most shunned by the synagogue and the community. You know the one, where, by His example, He made clear that we all fall short of God’s righteousness, that we are all-alike sinners, not some-better-than-others sinners. And why would He sit with them? Why, just to be with them in fellowship and community; just because He actually did love them and care personally about them; just because they really were first in His interest and in His heart—and first as recipients of the promises and possibilities, the assurances that only He so caringly could give.
I want to talk and listen to someone like that, someone who listens and understands, who cares about me and accepts me as I am, not who he wants me to be. I can only trust and listen to someone like that. I can only be vulnerable and safe with someone like that. I can only want to learn to be like someone like that.
But who is their messiah, really, this god they claim to serve, and what has he to do with me and the biblical Jesus? And why does it appear as if they serve more their own cultural, political interpretation of Judeo-Christian life—with Jesus claimed, yes, but reinterpreted to affirm or rationalize the self-serving rigidities of their own identity and community? In them, I sense or experience precious little of Jesus’ love, His compassion, forgiveness, inclusiveness and, importantly, His humility. In its place, like a dusty lump of coal in my soup, they offer legalism, close-mindedness, self-righteousness and judgment.
Two millennia ago, I’m told, an occupied, dispirited Israel looked for a Davidic, conquering Messiah and deliverer from the Romans, a restorer of their nation and their independent cultural identity. They could not see or accept in Jesus another kind of deliverer, a spiritual deliverer, a restorer of their relationship with God.
In the same way today, the more aggressive expressions of cultural, political Christianity lift up a Davidic Jesus as their deliverer from secular humanism, liberalism, other spiritualities, even other Christian views. He would be their conquering, culture-restoring Messiah. And they, too, now appear unable to see or accept in Jesus another kind of deliverer, a spiritual deliverer, a restorer of their personal relationship with God. Do they fear the real, the profound personal and cultural changes an indwelling Spirit of Christ might necessarily bring?
First written: Fall 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
You Couldn't Let Me Love You
You couldn’t let me love you. Not the way I wanted to, needed to. And it could go without saying that you couldn’t love me that way either. (But it had to be said.) For I wanted to place you on a pedestal worthy of the more perfect relationship I desired. I wanted you to be the object and ideal of my love: sharing life, a spirit, ourselves, selflessly giving, intimately sharing. I wanted too much, of course.
Your responses and mine were often short of the relationship I was sure I wanted and thought I needed. Still, you usually wanted to be with me or, more likely, wanted me to be with you. Sometimes, it was just the sad old game: wanting what you can’t have, losing interest in what you can, a hole not easily filled. But most often, our relationships were made of more earnest stuff than that.
Still, I wanted to love more about you, and more of the life that contained you. But that is just not the way things are most often ordered, not the way the game—and so often it seems just that—is played. Left to our own devices, we are not capable of the love we think we want, not capable of accepting it, returning it, sharing it, or dealing with it. Oh, we deny the fact when confronted with it, we reconstruct and reinterpret it, we rationalize and spiritualize it, but it remains nonetheless true. When it comes to love in our relationships, there is rather more a relative, uneven and selfish quality to the reciprocity allotted or allowed.
I often thought it was I who cared more about you than you about me. It was I who was more patient and tried more to understand, I who more often made excuses for you or forgave you. I enjoyed and appreciated you more, wanted more often to be together, felt more right and whole when we were, more incomplete when we were not. I was the one who found it easier to sacrifice for you, to place you first and myself second. That’s just how it seemed to me.
But, more likely, mine was an imperfect, self-centered view. More likely, I was wrong. Perhaps I really didn’t know how to love you in that way any more than you knew how to love me. Is it possible that I was as much the impatient, demanding or prideful one, the jealous or possessive one? Was I as much the one too easily hurt, too willing to count myself wronged, too ready to give up and slip away, to abandon the possibilities of relationship? Was I as much the petulant one, the presumptuous one, whose expectation was a singular level of accommodation and attention? Were my responses to your expectations of me—approval, patience, caring, empathy, forgiveness, joy, excitement, even love—just as often measured and extended with calculation?
When was it that I could finally see? How long did it take? It was years or more, I think, before I could see that I was failing you—and just as much, just as culpably—as you were failing me. (That too had to be said.) Perhaps my ideal could be realized only if our common life, our interests, persons and things shared—and the calendar and clock for sharing—were most often mine. Our life was to be my life, our interests were also to be mine, and if there was a common character or spirit, it too was to be more mine. The sharing was more you with me, than I with you. It was all about me—at least to the same extent it seemed to me to be all about you.
*************
It did’t matter who you were: a first love, a passing, but passionate love, a life-long love. In another way, you could also have been a filial or brotherly love, a good friend or best friend. It doesn’t matter on which side of the male-female, yin-yang, right brain-left brain dichotomies our relationships fell; they were too often more about emptying boxes than filling them.
And in yet another sense there were the ideas, ideals, aspirations and institutions I encountered and embraced. Attending them were the ways and wiles of the world, the good and evil that called me: the promises and deceptions, moods and measures, joys and sufferings, the conflicting values and gods to be served. One after another, more of these worldly siren songs, the aspirations, successes and attachments, became as cul de sacs, more limiting and less satisfying than I expected and wanted them to be.
As to the relationships, we sometimes worked through it all, but often did not—you going in your new direction, I in mine. Too often it all just became more unsatisfying than you or I could comfortably abide--one or the other of us unable or unwilling to give or forego what was necessary to fulfill the other's needs or expectations. Still, there were personal or shared comforts, relational breakthroughs, even sublime moments—or at least the companionship and aspirations of a shared place and purpose. There was still much to be grateful for.
*************
It’s all just more of those life things, I guess—just the way we are wired, the way we are ordered. An evolutionary, genetic thing, but also a learned thing. A self-interested, even selfish thing, but also a self-protective thing. Eventually, all that remains to us is openness to a transcendent perspective and the possibility of an unknown but greater purpose. But a perspective that transcends us and our relationships is not an easy thing to grasp. Behavior consistent with that perspective--living it--is harder still. Trusting others or a new perspective with our wellbeing is hardest of all. (Too often that behavior is misunderstood or the trust misplaced.)
*************
But after it all, is it possible they may still have been just the right relationships, just the right experiences for me—the right set of difficult, sometimes ironic challenges and failings, just the ones I needed to love me or engage me in those flawed, very human and worldly ways? As if there were a twisted, indiscernible but wonderful purpose, it somehow seems the uneven, even mismatched relationships were prescribed and in turn fashioned me into the person I had to be, the person I was intended to be.
After it all, in fact, I felt as if I were led and sometimes pushed to a transcendent sense of myself and the relationships, circumstances and contexts of my life. I felt pointed in a different, unknown direction. And there, wherever that might lead, I might love as I needed to love because I would be loved in that way. There I might be more forgiving than I had earlier been inclined, more gentle and compassionate though my nature once objected, more humble, more selfless than my sense of identity previously allowed. It’s as if by some arcane, counter-intuitive calculus, for some esoteric purpose—could it be?—they were anonymous gifts to me.
First written: May 2006
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Your responses and mine were often short of the relationship I was sure I wanted and thought I needed. Still, you usually wanted to be with me or, more likely, wanted me to be with you. Sometimes, it was just the sad old game: wanting what you can’t have, losing interest in what you can, a hole not easily filled. But most often, our relationships were made of more earnest stuff than that.
Still, I wanted to love more about you, and more of the life that contained you. But that is just not the way things are most often ordered, not the way the game—and so often it seems just that—is played. Left to our own devices, we are not capable of the love we think we want, not capable of accepting it, returning it, sharing it, or dealing with it. Oh, we deny the fact when confronted with it, we reconstruct and reinterpret it, we rationalize and spiritualize it, but it remains nonetheless true. When it comes to love in our relationships, there is rather more a relative, uneven and selfish quality to the reciprocity allotted or allowed.
I often thought it was I who cared more about you than you about me. It was I who was more patient and tried more to understand, I who more often made excuses for you or forgave you. I enjoyed and appreciated you more, wanted more often to be together, felt more right and whole when we were, more incomplete when we were not. I was the one who found it easier to sacrifice for you, to place you first and myself second. That’s just how it seemed to me.
But, more likely, mine was an imperfect, self-centered view. More likely, I was wrong. Perhaps I really didn’t know how to love you in that way any more than you knew how to love me. Is it possible that I was as much the impatient, demanding or prideful one, the jealous or possessive one? Was I as much the one too easily hurt, too willing to count myself wronged, too ready to give up and slip away, to abandon the possibilities of relationship? Was I as much the petulant one, the presumptuous one, whose expectation was a singular level of accommodation and attention? Were my responses to your expectations of me—approval, patience, caring, empathy, forgiveness, joy, excitement, even love—just as often measured and extended with calculation?
When was it that I could finally see? How long did it take? It was years or more, I think, before I could see that I was failing you—and just as much, just as culpably—as you were failing me. (That too had to be said.) Perhaps my ideal could be realized only if our common life, our interests, persons and things shared—and the calendar and clock for sharing—were most often mine. Our life was to be my life, our interests were also to be mine, and if there was a common character or spirit, it too was to be more mine. The sharing was more you with me, than I with you. It was all about me—at least to the same extent it seemed to me to be all about you.
*************
It did’t matter who you were: a first love, a passing, but passionate love, a life-long love. In another way, you could also have been a filial or brotherly love, a good friend or best friend. It doesn’t matter on which side of the male-female, yin-yang, right brain-left brain dichotomies our relationships fell; they were too often more about emptying boxes than filling them.
And in yet another sense there were the ideas, ideals, aspirations and institutions I encountered and embraced. Attending them were the ways and wiles of the world, the good and evil that called me: the promises and deceptions, moods and measures, joys and sufferings, the conflicting values and gods to be served. One after another, more of these worldly siren songs, the aspirations, successes and attachments, became as cul de sacs, more limiting and less satisfying than I expected and wanted them to be.
As to the relationships, we sometimes worked through it all, but often did not—you going in your new direction, I in mine. Too often it all just became more unsatisfying than you or I could comfortably abide--one or the other of us unable or unwilling to give or forego what was necessary to fulfill the other's needs or expectations. Still, there were personal or shared comforts, relational breakthroughs, even sublime moments—or at least the companionship and aspirations of a shared place and purpose. There was still much to be grateful for.
*************
It’s all just more of those life things, I guess—just the way we are wired, the way we are ordered. An evolutionary, genetic thing, but also a learned thing. A self-interested, even selfish thing, but also a self-protective thing. Eventually, all that remains to us is openness to a transcendent perspective and the possibility of an unknown but greater purpose. But a perspective that transcends us and our relationships is not an easy thing to grasp. Behavior consistent with that perspective--living it--is harder still. Trusting others or a new perspective with our wellbeing is hardest of all. (Too often that behavior is misunderstood or the trust misplaced.)
*************
But after it all, is it possible they may still have been just the right relationships, just the right experiences for me—the right set of difficult, sometimes ironic challenges and failings, just the ones I needed to love me or engage me in those flawed, very human and worldly ways? As if there were a twisted, indiscernible but wonderful purpose, it somehow seems the uneven, even mismatched relationships were prescribed and in turn fashioned me into the person I had to be, the person I was intended to be.
After it all, in fact, I felt as if I were led and sometimes pushed to a transcendent sense of myself and the relationships, circumstances and contexts of my life. I felt pointed in a different, unknown direction. And there, wherever that might lead, I might love as I needed to love because I would be loved in that way. There I might be more forgiving than I had earlier been inclined, more gentle and compassionate though my nature once objected, more humble, more selfless than my sense of identity previously allowed. It’s as if by some arcane, counter-intuitive calculus, for some esoteric purpose—could it be?—they were anonymous gifts to me.
First written: May 2006
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Doing What I Don't Want to Do
I do some things I don’t want to do. And I just feel or think about some others, as well. So do you. We all suffer at the hands of a human nature that just won’t evolve fast enough, change completely enough, that we might more consistently live by the moral and ethical standards of our place and time: our cultures and societies, our philosophies and faiths. Our individual personalities, the realities of people living, struggling in society—the ways of the world—continually bend us and move us in directions we’d rather not go, cause us instinctively, or at least involuntarily, to think, feel, or respond in disheartening ways that shame us (even if only privately), that cause us to wonder if we are frauds to ourselves as well as others.
Anger has its place, I guess—a useful place in limiting aggressive or hurtful behavior wrongly directed against others. And then there is that “righteous anger” that calls the self-righteous, judgmental, or superficially faithful to authentic life in God. But so much of all anger is unnecessary, misdirected or dysfunctional, and it usually creates more hurt and does more harm than it curtails. And even if outwardly suppressed or managed, it still contaminates and consumes us from the inside out. If only we could more instinctively, earnestly forgive, find empathy, and move on.
Resentfulness often takes us by another path to the same sad end, lost to love and joy, lost to ourselves and others. And this is especially true when born of the jealous, worldly or carnal desires of our eyes and hearts, desires which in themselves move us to thought or action that inevitably produces guilt or sadness. If we could only more instinctively be accepting of who we are and grateful for our place in life, our opportunities and limits, the cards we’ve been dealt. If only we could be more instinctively motivated by gratitude, love and caring. (And if we could also more often forgive ourselves.)
And then there is pride. What more can be written about pride? Of course, we’re not talking of a healthy sense of self-respect or confidence. We’re not talking of a healthy element of joy and happiness. We’re talking of the inability of one to feel fulfilled or successful or accomplished unless someone else feels less so, about not being able to feel good about ourselves unless someone else feels worse. At the extreme, we’re talking of arrogant presumptuousness, hubris.
But pride can also be a deceiving, seductive quality. Rationalization and denial are its servants. As with so many other subtle enemies of our self, it’s so much easier for others to see in us excessive pride, when we cannot see it or admit it to ourselves. Oh sure, we recognize those occasions when our reactions, or at least our thoughts, go over the edge. We are a little guilty about it, too, of course. After all, it’s demeaning to others, makes them feel like less than they should, and visits more harm on them than good on us. But those are infrequent, exceptional circumstances and don’t define who we really are, right? Right? If only we could be more instinctively humble and compassionate in relationship with others.
The Christian Apostle Paul poignantly acknowledges in the 7th chapter of his letter to the Romans that these are troubling issues of identity that mankind has wrestled with through the ages. Without hesitation or excuse he confesses, “For that which I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but doing the very thing I hate.” But then he begins the 8th chapter offering absolution, freedom: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” I don’t know if the span of my life is enough time to understand all this, and to fully appreciate this promise.
First written: October 2007
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Anger has its place, I guess—a useful place in limiting aggressive or hurtful behavior wrongly directed against others. And then there is that “righteous anger” that calls the self-righteous, judgmental, or superficially faithful to authentic life in God. But so much of all anger is unnecessary, misdirected or dysfunctional, and it usually creates more hurt and does more harm than it curtails. And even if outwardly suppressed or managed, it still contaminates and consumes us from the inside out. If only we could more instinctively, earnestly forgive, find empathy, and move on.
Resentfulness often takes us by another path to the same sad end, lost to love and joy, lost to ourselves and others. And this is especially true when born of the jealous, worldly or carnal desires of our eyes and hearts, desires which in themselves move us to thought or action that inevitably produces guilt or sadness. If we could only more instinctively be accepting of who we are and grateful for our place in life, our opportunities and limits, the cards we’ve been dealt. If only we could be more instinctively motivated by gratitude, love and caring. (And if we could also more often forgive ourselves.)
And then there is pride. What more can be written about pride? Of course, we’re not talking of a healthy sense of self-respect or confidence. We’re not talking of a healthy element of joy and happiness. We’re talking of the inability of one to feel fulfilled or successful or accomplished unless someone else feels less so, about not being able to feel good about ourselves unless someone else feels worse. At the extreme, we’re talking of arrogant presumptuousness, hubris.
But pride can also be a deceiving, seductive quality. Rationalization and denial are its servants. As with so many other subtle enemies of our self, it’s so much easier for others to see in us excessive pride, when we cannot see it or admit it to ourselves. Oh sure, we recognize those occasions when our reactions, or at least our thoughts, go over the edge. We are a little guilty about it, too, of course. After all, it’s demeaning to others, makes them feel like less than they should, and visits more harm on them than good on us. But those are infrequent, exceptional circumstances and don’t define who we really are, right? Right? If only we could be more instinctively humble and compassionate in relationship with others.
The Christian Apostle Paul poignantly acknowledges in the 7th chapter of his letter to the Romans that these are troubling issues of identity that mankind has wrestled with through the ages. Without hesitation or excuse he confesses, “For that which I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but doing the very thing I hate.” But then he begins the 8th chapter offering absolution, freedom: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” I don’t know if the span of my life is enough time to understand all this, and to fully appreciate this promise.
First written: October 2007
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
The New Humanism
Observing the new humanism from my old perspective I am struck not only by its lack of positive belief, but also by its need to compensate for this lack by antagonism toward an imagined enemy. I say "imagined," since it is obvious that
religion is a declining force in Britain. There is no need to consult the pronouncements of the Archbishop of Canterbury: the response to the bus campaign abundantly proves the point. But a weak enemy is precisely what these negative philosophies require. Like so many modern ideologies, the new humanism seeks to define itself through what it is against rather than what it is for. It is for nothing, or at any rate for nothing in particular.
--"The New Humanism" by Roger Scruton, The American Spectator (3.09)
First, for transparency's sake, I am a Christian of a type, a seeker of God as a follower after Christ, at least to the extent I understand His essential spiritual teachings and example. And I also count myself something of a traditional humanist, at least so far as I understand that term. I do not consider the highest understanding and expression of each to be incompatible with the other, and certainly they are not mutually exclusive. But I am now more than a little troubled by a shameless, unapologetic appropriation of the proud and worthy name of humanism, a tradition that has long and consistently stood for the highest regard, respect, and caring for all humanity, and a kindly tolerance for cultural and religious differences. Now comes an angry, edgy group of self-important anti-theists, counting among their organizational and proselytizing leaders the fundamentalist Darwinist, Richard Dawkins. The article's author, Mr. Scruton:
This humanism is self-consciously "new," like New Labour; it has its own journal, the New Humanist, and its own sages, the most prominent of whom is Richard Dawkins, author of The Selfish Gene and vice-president of the British Humanist Association. It runs advertising campaigns and letter-writing campaigns and is militant in asserting the truth of its vision and its right to make converts. But the vision is not that of my parents. The new humanism spends little time exalting man as an ideal. It says nothing, or next to nothing, about faith, hope, and charity; is scathing about patriotism; and is dismissive of those rearguard actions in defense of the family, public spirit, and sexual restraint that animated my parents. Instead of idealizing man, the new humanism denigrates God and attacks the belief in God as a human weakness. My parents too thought belief in God to be a weakness. But they were reluctant to deprive other human beings of a moral prop that they seemed to need.
I understand that some might rightly say that the rise of this publicly aggressive, anti-theistic initiative by those who have made a religion of Darwinist theory or evolutionary science is a predictable response to the long-standing public aggressiveness of anti-evolution, anti-science fundamentalist Christians who express their faith to the world primarily as conservative cultural and political advocates. For unlike in the U.K., Christians in the U.S.--and particularly fundamentalist and politically conservative Christians--are forces to be reckoned with.
I also understand there has long been a troubling strategy by marginal political or cultural groups of appropriating honored philosophic or patriotic descriptors or names to provide cover for and misdirect understanding of their marginal views.
So, yes, publicly aggressive, intolerantly judgmental, and poorly informed elements of the Christian or other faiths have likely invited this response. What else might we reasonably expect in response to the threatening, ignorant denial of evolutionary and environmental science by influential fundamentalist Christians? And a result, perhaps the least of the harm done, is that a proud name and tradition could be smeared and changed irreparably--much as the name "Christian" has. "Humanism" may no longer be viewed the way Mr. Scruton or his parents understood it; and the expectation that faith and humanism can share the same common ground with respect and good will may no longer be realistic. Hear Mr. Scruton on the humanism of his parents:
They regarded humanism as a residual option, once faith had dissolved. It was not something to make a song and dance about, still less something to impose on others, but simply the best they could manage in the absence of God.
All around me I encountered humanists of my parents' kind. I befriended them at school, and was taught by them at Cambridge. And whenever I lost the Christian faith which had first dawned on me in school assemblies I would be a humanist for a spell, and feel comforted that there existed this other and more tangled path to the goal of moral discipline. Looking back on it, I see the humanism of my parents as a kind of rearguard action on behalf of religious values. They, and their contemporaries, believed that man is the source of his own ideals and also the object of them.... All the values that had been appropriated by the Christian churches are available to the humanist too. Faith, hope, and charity can exist as human causes, and without the need for a heavenly focus; humanists can build their lives on the love of neighbor, can exercise the virtues and discipline their appetites so as to be just, prudent, temperate, and courageous, just as the Greeks had taught, long before the edict of the Church had fallen like a shadow across the human spirit. A humanist can be a patriot; he can believe with Jesus that "greater love hath no man than this, that he should lay down his life for his friend." He is the enemy of false sentiment and lax morals, and all the more vigilant on behalf of morality in that he believes it to be the thing by which humanity is exalted, and the proof that we can be the source of our own ideals.
That noble form of humanism has its roots in the Enlightenment, in Kant's defense of the moral law, and in the progressivism of well-meaning Victorian sages. And the memory of it leads me to take an interest in something that calls itself "humanism" ...
But these traditional humanists may now be relegated to a quiet, anonymous back seat as the "new humanism" assumes a more strident public voice, much as people of more traditional religious spirituality were run over by the strident voices of the cultural, political soldiers of the religious right. So this is what it has come to: culture wars, too often fueled by misunderstandings or misrepresentations of matters of faith and spirituality.
Regrettably, history clearly informs us that it is all too sadly human and too troublingly predictable. It makes me careful in relating the nature of my Christian identity, for I want in no way to be confused with the intolerantly judgmental, anti-science, politically-oriented Christian cultural warriors. How can you miss the point of Christ so badly? And now I must also be careful in relating my sympathies and solidarity with the honorable notions of humanism, for it is being defined anew as a strident and uncompromising anti-theistic voice in the public forum. And it is addressing all people of faith, whether or not they are among those most intolerant, judgmental forces of the cultural and religious right. May God help us. And, too, may the more moderate voices of wisdom step forward to lead us all.
First written: March 2009
© Gregory E. Hudson 2009
Being Here
If for so many good reasons, I try to extend respect to others, I also want to receive respect in return. But that is not the way of the world, is it? Nor is it the way of many who claim Christianity—not even toward other Christian groups or traditions. To fully entrust that expectation of respect to others—including those who dislike or disagree with you—would be more than innocent or naive, it would be unwise and trust misplaced, wouldn't it?
But if not respect, then what about tolerance? Surely that is a reasonable expectation. As I posed the question in Out of the Box:
But even the guarded hopefulness you might struggle to infer from that question might be misplaced, even naïve, might it not? We are not nearly ready to see each other as one family of humanity, and certainly not as one family of God. It is not the way we’ve evolved genetically or been molded socially, culturally—or at least not most of us. As my pastor is wont to say, it’s not heaven yet.
We are competitive and contentious as a species, and given too much to disagreement and argument. Not only are we contentious and disagreeable among our different nations, races or ethnicities, cultures, religions and ideologies, we are constantly disagreeable within them. We are continually in the process of finding reasons to distinguish or differentiate ourselves from others, lift ourselves above them or remove ourselves from them. This is an observable, predictable process, and we are too often unpleasant and hurtful in doing it. And it all breeds deep prejudice and discrimination, anger, even hate. It’s clearly not heaven yet.
And sadly, being an outwardly religious person too often has little effect on one’s inclination toward contentiousness, prejudice, and discrimination. For as we have lamented, religion too often and regrettably has more to do with distinguishing, defending and strengthening various cultural and political identities than humbly loving and serving God by loving and serving others. It’s not much like heaven in some religious communities either.
(But for those who hear the voice of the One who calls, accept the invitations that lead to new life and changing identity in Him, then more and more, nothing short of respect, compassion, forgiveness—even love—will do.)
So, if loving one another, even respecting one another, is too often just not in the cards, not realistic, don’t we have to reach even more earnestly and insistently for tolerance, at least? Can’t we make an effort to focus on those personal or group characteristics that we can appreciate or accept, and work from there? Can’t we make a better effort to just get along? In the name of mutual safety for ourselves and our families, in the name of peace on shared ground and in common spaces, can’t we agree to patiently and politely abide one another? Can’t we at least get over the lowest bar of tolerance and civility?
We should be able to do this. Flawed creatures that we are, we still should, wouldn’t you think? You’d think we could do it in the name of intellectual understanding, knowledge and wisdom. But not so. You’d think we could do it in the name of civilization or common humanity. But no. You’d think we could do it in the name of God. But still no—and ironically, sadly, it is this very intolerance of other people, and the attendant attacks and warring ventures against them, that have so often been identified with people who claim faith in God.
But eventually, won’t this “flattening” world, this evolving but loosely woven global economy and society force us to abide, if not respect, our different neighbors? Since the world is pushing us more and more together, since we can’t help but encounter each other daily as we more often share the same living places and work places, perhaps we can find ways to be more understanding, more patient with one another. Out of social or economic necessity, through some measure of assimilation, or because of the inevitable laws that have become necessary to protect the public order and welfare—nationally and internationally—we’ll find our way there, won’t we? Perhaps. In its time, if it has an appointed time. And, God willing.
God willing. That’s the rub, isn’t it? Maybe it’s just not part of the deal, not the way it’s all been set up to evolve. (And certainly evolutionary science, its mechanisms and history, would lead us to that conclusion.) Maybe it would even defeat the greater Purpose of it all. For if the primary purpose is that we discover and seek relationship with the One who calls us, and then a transcendent and eternal identity in Him, we might next ask, how? We could then recognize that another key purpose of it all might be to make clear and continually reiterate the inherent shortcomings and failings of humanity, and the brevity, constraints and limitations of the temporal human experience. And in this way, the quest might be better understood, redefined and redirected. That is, it isn't heaven yet. Not here. Not now. Our eternal, spiritual citizenship is Elsewhere.
I know that this understanding could be for many a troubling explanation of things. But I only report what history reports, what I see observing the world and its people, what appears reasonably evident to me given my experience and sense of identity—and also what the Bible and reverenced writings of other faith traditions also seem clearly to affirm.
These sources and research science, too, continually remind us that the world is constantly passing, with its cycles of birth and death, beginnings and endings. And our lives and identities are passing along with it—the people, places and experiences, and who we used to be. On a larger scale, cultures and nations pass, too, and with the longer cycles of cosmic events, so do most all species of all life forms.
And one day, eventually, the Earth as we know it will also pass away—rendered deep-frozen lifelessness, exploded into scattered cosmic debris, or imploded into nonexistence. Only faith and hope sustain me, and only humility and love usher me into a transcendent, timeless relationship with the One who calls us. And my mysterious, abiding-in relationship with Jesus increasingly opens the door to a sense of shared identity and spiritual existence with God that endures—now and, in some real sense, forever.
First written: November 2006 – January 2007
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
But if not respect, then what about tolerance? Surely that is a reasonable expectation. As I posed the question in Out of the Box:
So, how about this: I’ll live my life as well as I know how, and others can do the same. We will try, so far as we are able, to respect each other. But failing that, we will politely tolerate each other. Civility. I can live with that. How about you?
But even the guarded hopefulness you might struggle to infer from that question might be misplaced, even naïve, might it not? We are not nearly ready to see each other as one family of humanity, and certainly not as one family of God. It is not the way we’ve evolved genetically or been molded socially, culturally—or at least not most of us. As my pastor is wont to say, it’s not heaven yet.
We are competitive and contentious as a species, and given too much to disagreement and argument. Not only are we contentious and disagreeable among our different nations, races or ethnicities, cultures, religions and ideologies, we are constantly disagreeable within them. We are continually in the process of finding reasons to distinguish or differentiate ourselves from others, lift ourselves above them or remove ourselves from them. This is an observable, predictable process, and we are too often unpleasant and hurtful in doing it. And it all breeds deep prejudice and discrimination, anger, even hate. It’s clearly not heaven yet.
And sadly, being an outwardly religious person too often has little effect on one’s inclination toward contentiousness, prejudice, and discrimination. For as we have lamented, religion too often and regrettably has more to do with distinguishing, defending and strengthening various cultural and political identities than humbly loving and serving God by loving and serving others. It’s not much like heaven in some religious communities either.
(But for those who hear the voice of the One who calls, accept the invitations that lead to new life and changing identity in Him, then more and more, nothing short of respect, compassion, forgiveness—even love—will do.)
So, if loving one another, even respecting one another, is too often just not in the cards, not realistic, don’t we have to reach even more earnestly and insistently for tolerance, at least? Can’t we make an effort to focus on those personal or group characteristics that we can appreciate or accept, and work from there? Can’t we make a better effort to just get along? In the name of mutual safety for ourselves and our families, in the name of peace on shared ground and in common spaces, can’t we agree to patiently and politely abide one another? Can’t we at least get over the lowest bar of tolerance and civility?
We should be able to do this. Flawed creatures that we are, we still should, wouldn’t you think? You’d think we could do it in the name of intellectual understanding, knowledge and wisdom. But not so. You’d think we could do it in the name of civilization or common humanity. But no. You’d think we could do it in the name of God. But still no—and ironically, sadly, it is this very intolerance of other people, and the attendant attacks and warring ventures against them, that have so often been identified with people who claim faith in God.
But eventually, won’t this “flattening” world, this evolving but loosely woven global economy and society force us to abide, if not respect, our different neighbors? Since the world is pushing us more and more together, since we can’t help but encounter each other daily as we more often share the same living places and work places, perhaps we can find ways to be more understanding, more patient with one another. Out of social or economic necessity, through some measure of assimilation, or because of the inevitable laws that have become necessary to protect the public order and welfare—nationally and internationally—we’ll find our way there, won’t we? Perhaps. In its time, if it has an appointed time. And, God willing.
God willing. That’s the rub, isn’t it? Maybe it’s just not part of the deal, not the way it’s all been set up to evolve. (And certainly evolutionary science, its mechanisms and history, would lead us to that conclusion.) Maybe it would even defeat the greater Purpose of it all. For if the primary purpose is that we discover and seek relationship with the One who calls us, and then a transcendent and eternal identity in Him, we might next ask, how? We could then recognize that another key purpose of it all might be to make clear and continually reiterate the inherent shortcomings and failings of humanity, and the brevity, constraints and limitations of the temporal human experience. And in this way, the quest might be better understood, redefined and redirected. That is, it isn't heaven yet. Not here. Not now. Our eternal, spiritual citizenship is Elsewhere.
I know that this understanding could be for many a troubling explanation of things. But I only report what history reports, what I see observing the world and its people, what appears reasonably evident to me given my experience and sense of identity—and also what the Bible and reverenced writings of other faith traditions also seem clearly to affirm.
These sources and research science, too, continually remind us that the world is constantly passing, with its cycles of birth and death, beginnings and endings. And our lives and identities are passing along with it—the people, places and experiences, and who we used to be. On a larger scale, cultures and nations pass, too, and with the longer cycles of cosmic events, so do most all species of all life forms.
And one day, eventually, the Earth as we know it will also pass away—rendered deep-frozen lifelessness, exploded into scattered cosmic debris, or imploded into nonexistence. Only faith and hope sustain me, and only humility and love usher me into a transcendent, timeless relationship with the One who calls us. And my mysterious, abiding-in relationship with Jesus increasingly opens the door to a sense of shared identity and spiritual existence with God that endures—now and, in some real sense, forever.
First written: November 2006 – January 2007
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
II. Good People
Good people can be found just about anywhere. And interestingly, many of them acknowledge no personal faith at all, and so ascribe no cause of their good values or behavior to God, or Deity by any other name. It is true. But doesn’t that beg two further questions? Why are good people—as we define “good” in Western culture—good? And to what extent are the reasons related to historical religious aspects of the culture? May I now hazard a more considered, if provocative, answer than I have before?
Questions about behavior and culture almost always bump up against the age-old questions of nature or nurture—or, to what extent nature or nurture is involved in shaping them. And it would probably be easy for students of these questions to agree that most behavior is a function of both—to some degree a function of our genetic prescriptions or predispositions, and to some degree a function of family, social, and cultural learning or conditioning.
To expand on that, certainly it would seem likely that 4000-5000 years of Judaic faith and culture, on the one hand, or 1000-2000 years of Christian faith and culture on the other, would likely exert significant conditioning or shaping influence on the values, character and behavior of generations of individuals raised in families in those faith cultures. And doubtless, the reproducing young men and women in those cultures sought spouses with characteristics that those cultures and families honored and rewarded most. To the extent those were genetically-influenced traits or predispositions, they would be the most likely selected and genetically transferred through the generations. And this is no less true for other faith traditions and cultures that have endured for millennia.
So, it would seem defensible to suggest that whether or not an individual were observant of their Judaic, Christian or other faith today, they would nonetheless likely carry the same cultural values, honor the same personal characteristics of "good” people, and likely be indistinguishable in that respect from their faithful or observant brethren. That is to say, we could easily be indifferent or even antagonistic toward the faith of our forefathers, but owe our own predisposition toward the good behavior of good people to the social behavior and values conditioned or genetically passed to us through the generations of our families in their religious cultures.
Then, it must be asked, may those with markedly different religious or spiritual cultural histories also be "good” people? Of course they may; but whether they are depends first on their cultural definition of good, and then how closely that conforms to our own definitions and expectations. Since most religions or spiritual traditions in the world involve requirements for development of conformity with socially-acceptable, community-supportive behavior, it is likely they will also develop and select for many traits that most people consider good.
Even societies without major religions usually have a history of some manner of spiritually-influenced social organizing structure that developed and selected for ordered, mutually-supportive behavior. At least some of that behavior would likely be viewed as good by most other people today. But it is also true that very different spiritual traditions and cultures have developed and selected for some behaviors people of the Judaic and Christian traditions would not consider as good. In fact, some of it has been and is abhorrent to us.
To observe these things or to believe them is not particularly profound or unusual. Much has been written about it; it’s well researched and likely true. Part of it is explained by the evolutionary advantages of groups of individuals forming mutually-supportive communities. But the most socially advanced and mutually supportive cultures—the most ordered and civil—appear to enjoy the advantage of a socially-organizing deistic religion or spirituality. Again, the compelling question is, why?
Doesn’t there appear a clear evolutionary advantage to some manner of deistic religion, spirituality or belief for the health and advancement of humans in community? And if so, is it simply one of Gould's "accidental" evolutionary choices, or more one of Conway Morris' predictable evolutionary "convergences?" And as the evidence mounts for the more dominant role of convergence, isn't it likely more directed, more purposeful than most evolutionary scientists want to admit (as Conway Morris also suggests)? Is there more a Purpose or reason of a creative, enduring, perpetuating and redeeming spirit, force, or intelligence? Is there by any other name a directing Spirit or God, self-motivated by purposes and reasons we cannot fully understand or prove?
We could, of course, speculate reasonably about the collective sociological value and power of faith for community or cultural stability and order—and more personally about their psychological value for emotional stability of the individual in community. We could find appreciation and respect for observations like those of Joseph Campbell in his thinking and writing about the importance and power of myth across the cultures and religions of human history.
Nonetheless, many of us are unlikely to find wholly probative or satisfying partial sociological or psychological answers deduced by looking without ourselves at religious aspects of cultures or their histories. Nor are we likely to be fully satisfied with the explanations and convictions of others, however moving or convincing their reasons or experiences may be. No, in the end it is often more personal to each of us than all that.
It is often more about our personal depths to be plumbed, following an internal voice faintly heard, seeking a truth which at first is more sensed or apprehended than articulated or understood. It is about seeking and finding peace about that which passes and that which endures. It challenges us with notions of humility and transcendence. It challenges us to understand ourselves as a passing experience, identity and consciousness, which is somehow part of a greater Purpose and existence that endures. This understanding and peace, ever incomplete but continually unfolding, seems more often extended by invitation and accepted than pursued. And it appears that the more attentive we are to the unfolding, the more often we accept the invitations, the deeper, more intimate the journey becomes.
Is this something to be proved or even pursued in a certain way? No; it's a matter of personal journey and experience, and very personal to each of us. Can I logically explain it to you? In part, perhaps, but not completely—and probably not satisfactorily. Is it all part of our purpose in life? Yes, it seems to be, although we can find many reasons to treat it as though it is not or try to ignore it altogether. Do we play a role with each other in this process? Yes, and a very important one. But sometimes we may only touch a responsive chord with others—and sometimes only inadvertently—and provide a sense of invitation or permission to listen and seek some understanding of that faint voice or apprehension. Beyond that, if asked, we can only share our own experiences and understandings, which are unlikely to be altogether the same as someone else’s. That's just the way it seems to me to be.
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Questions about behavior and culture almost always bump up against the age-old questions of nature or nurture—or, to what extent nature or nurture is involved in shaping them. And it would probably be easy for students of these questions to agree that most behavior is a function of both—to some degree a function of our genetic prescriptions or predispositions, and to some degree a function of family, social, and cultural learning or conditioning.
To expand on that, certainly it would seem likely that 4000-5000 years of Judaic faith and culture, on the one hand, or 1000-2000 years of Christian faith and culture on the other, would likely exert significant conditioning or shaping influence on the values, character and behavior of generations of individuals raised in families in those faith cultures. And doubtless, the reproducing young men and women in those cultures sought spouses with characteristics that those cultures and families honored and rewarded most. To the extent those were genetically-influenced traits or predispositions, they would be the most likely selected and genetically transferred through the generations. And this is no less true for other faith traditions and cultures that have endured for millennia.
So, it would seem defensible to suggest that whether or not an individual were observant of their Judaic, Christian or other faith today, they would nonetheless likely carry the same cultural values, honor the same personal characteristics of "good” people, and likely be indistinguishable in that respect from their faithful or observant brethren. That is to say, we could easily be indifferent or even antagonistic toward the faith of our forefathers, but owe our own predisposition toward the good behavior of good people to the social behavior and values conditioned or genetically passed to us through the generations of our families in their religious cultures.
Then, it must be asked, may those with markedly different religious or spiritual cultural histories also be "good” people? Of course they may; but whether they are depends first on their cultural definition of good, and then how closely that conforms to our own definitions and expectations. Since most religions or spiritual traditions in the world involve requirements for development of conformity with socially-acceptable, community-supportive behavior, it is likely they will also develop and select for many traits that most people consider good.
Even societies without major religions usually have a history of some manner of spiritually-influenced social organizing structure that developed and selected for ordered, mutually-supportive behavior. At least some of that behavior would likely be viewed as good by most other people today. But it is also true that very different spiritual traditions and cultures have developed and selected for some behaviors people of the Judaic and Christian traditions would not consider as good. In fact, some of it has been and is abhorrent to us.
To observe these things or to believe them is not particularly profound or unusual. Much has been written about it; it’s well researched and likely true. Part of it is explained by the evolutionary advantages of groups of individuals forming mutually-supportive communities. But the most socially advanced and mutually supportive cultures—the most ordered and civil—appear to enjoy the advantage of a socially-organizing deistic religion or spirituality. Again, the compelling question is, why?
Doesn’t there appear a clear evolutionary advantage to some manner of deistic religion, spirituality or belief for the health and advancement of humans in community? And if so, is it simply one of Gould's "accidental" evolutionary choices, or more one of Conway Morris' predictable evolutionary "convergences?" And as the evidence mounts for the more dominant role of convergence, isn't it likely more directed, more purposeful than most evolutionary scientists want to admit (as Conway Morris also suggests)? Is there more a Purpose or reason of a creative, enduring, perpetuating and redeeming spirit, force, or intelligence? Is there by any other name a directing Spirit or God, self-motivated by purposes and reasons we cannot fully understand or prove?
We could, of course, speculate reasonably about the collective sociological value and power of faith for community or cultural stability and order—and more personally about their psychological value for emotional stability of the individual in community. We could find appreciation and respect for observations like those of Joseph Campbell in his thinking and writing about the importance and power of myth across the cultures and religions of human history.
Nonetheless, many of us are unlikely to find wholly probative or satisfying partial sociological or psychological answers deduced by looking without ourselves at religious aspects of cultures or their histories. Nor are we likely to be fully satisfied with the explanations and convictions of others, however moving or convincing their reasons or experiences may be. No, in the end it is often more personal to each of us than all that.
It is often more about our personal depths to be plumbed, following an internal voice faintly heard, seeking a truth which at first is more sensed or apprehended than articulated or understood. It is about seeking and finding peace about that which passes and that which endures. It challenges us with notions of humility and transcendence. It challenges us to understand ourselves as a passing experience, identity and consciousness, which is somehow part of a greater Purpose and existence that endures. This understanding and peace, ever incomplete but continually unfolding, seems more often extended by invitation and accepted than pursued. And it appears that the more attentive we are to the unfolding, the more often we accept the invitations, the deeper, more intimate the journey becomes.
Is this something to be proved or even pursued in a certain way? No; it's a matter of personal journey and experience, and very personal to each of us. Can I logically explain it to you? In part, perhaps, but not completely—and probably not satisfactorily. Is it all part of our purpose in life? Yes, it seems to be, although we can find many reasons to treat it as though it is not or try to ignore it altogether. Do we play a role with each other in this process? Yes, and a very important one. But sometimes we may only touch a responsive chord with others—and sometimes only inadvertently—and provide a sense of invitation or permission to listen and seek some understanding of that faint voice or apprehension. Beyond that, if asked, we can only share our own experiences and understandings, which are unlikely to be altogether the same as someone else’s. That's just the way it seems to me to be.
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
Identity, Ideology, Opinion Formation & Change
Many of us have lived a lot of life, some more than others. But all have managed to negotiate some of life's passages, and the challenges and growth experiences that go with it. And I expect most have changed their views about some things, perhaps even their ideological, philosophical or faith perspectives, to one degree or another. Of course, some amount of opinion formation and change has to do with the personality and temperament of each of us as individuals. And some of it cannot be understood without reference to one's emotional stake or personal interests in a particular position, ideology or philosophy.
But changes in our opinions or perspective also have to do with the range of different places we find ourselves across a period of time, places that offer different experiences, work or life with people with different expectations and ideas, that offer different information, different incentives, even different identity. If we are also moved by certain values and interests in addressing national and societal issues--and many of us likely are--it is important that we are open and respond to the need to personally examine each place, the people and their perspectives. It is important for us to learn more and understand more about them and how they address resolution of those national and societal issues--not just to debate them, but to understand how they have changed or might change our own perspective, even our sense of identity.
Many of us have walked personal career and life paths of many turns. And it changes you, or at least it often does. That's the point. It's difficult to walk those many and varied paths without doing some serious assessment and reconciliation of the very different views, ideas, thinking and identities assimilated or assumed in those different places, those different worlds. At least it was for me. And throughout those years, I felt compelled to examine those very different experiences and the more characteristic views, ideologies, philosophies or faith perspectives identified with them. And that covered a considerable spectrum of intellectual, political and spiritual thinking.
But even if one is a willing learner of such things--and not all are--that process usually takes quite some time. Yet, most of us soon or later recognize that every approach, point of view, or policy answer--certainly every ideology and philosophy--is defined as much by its shortcomings and failings, its incomplete or insufficient answers, as it is by its trumpeted virtues and correctness, its political, cultural or philosophical acceptability. And I could not help but carry with me a good measure of understanding and respect for each experience and each perspective as I moved from one to the next to where I am today. And it is a process that continues to work for me today. Perhaps it does for you, too.
A sound approach to national and societal problem solving first honors the strength and virtue of the principal philosophical foundations of this greatest of representative democracies and most effective of market economies. It honors the necessity for robust, intelligently regulated markets, but also providing for the important needs of people, especially those who are poor, unable, ill or aged. That's what responsible, advanced societies do, and in that way strengthen our national identity and social fabric while advancing and strengthening our economy.
But then, so far as we can muster and manage the balance and will, it is important that we the begin the issue resolution process with a reliable statement of the problem and available information, the alternative solutions or answers, and their likely cost and probable results--but without constraining adherence or reference to ideological, political or philosophical direction. It is more useful to speak of market mechanisms, incentives, strengths and weaknesses, than ideological understandings or dictates. It is more useful to speak of societal challenges, problems or needs and, again, the alternatives, the costs and benefits, the wisest answers for society and the economy, not considerations of ideology or political platforms. It's the only way we can feel at all competent or accountable in approaching such issues or problems responsibly.
And this approach also makes it so much easier to effect course corrections or reverse field with changed information, alternatives or goals--because it's based on the best information and problem-solving processes, all of which can and do change. And we are much freer to change with them. Certainly that has been my general experience, and perhaps the experience of many of you as well. It is the power of seeking the best, most complete and unbiased information about an issue, identifying and understanding the implications of available alternatives, and then dispassionately exploring that information and those alternatives for the better solutions or answers. That is difficult enough without the procrustean constraints, the polarizing and sobotaging effects, of narrow ideological or philosophical imperatives.
It is also easy to see that this approach or orientation more likely generates respect for, if not acceptance of, other views because there is understanding of and mutual respect for the process. And if you are like me, you are also likely to recognize a view you once held, or one you may yet support. When working with a common, credible body of information or facts, and similar understandings of alternative resolutions, it makes agreement on issues or problems more likely, or at least reduces the scope and depth of differences. There is more often a type of "regression to the mean" of resolutions or answers reached and agreed to when we mutually accept and respect a competent, open and fair process for reaching them. Let our identity be more that of competent, respectful and respected resolvers of issues and formulators of wise policies, than ideological drones. Integrated thinking and synthesis, informed and fair reasoning, transparent and respectful dialogue, must rule.
First written: March 2010
copyright, Gregory E. Hudson 2010
But changes in our opinions or perspective also have to do with the range of different places we find ourselves across a period of time, places that offer different experiences, work or life with people with different expectations and ideas, that offer different information, different incentives, even different identity. If we are also moved by certain values and interests in addressing national and societal issues--and many of us likely are--it is important that we are open and respond to the need to personally examine each place, the people and their perspectives. It is important for us to learn more and understand more about them and how they address resolution of those national and societal issues--not just to debate them, but to understand how they have changed or might change our own perspective, even our sense of identity.
Many of us have walked personal career and life paths of many turns. And it changes you, or at least it often does. That's the point. It's difficult to walk those many and varied paths without doing some serious assessment and reconciliation of the very different views, ideas, thinking and identities assimilated or assumed in those different places, those different worlds. At least it was for me. And throughout those years, I felt compelled to examine those very different experiences and the more characteristic views, ideologies, philosophies or faith perspectives identified with them. And that covered a considerable spectrum of intellectual, political and spiritual thinking.
But even if one is a willing learner of such things--and not all are--that process usually takes quite some time. Yet, most of us soon or later recognize that every approach, point of view, or policy answer--certainly every ideology and philosophy--is defined as much by its shortcomings and failings, its incomplete or insufficient answers, as it is by its trumpeted virtues and correctness, its political, cultural or philosophical acceptability. And I could not help but carry with me a good measure of understanding and respect for each experience and each perspective as I moved from one to the next to where I am today. And it is a process that continues to work for me today. Perhaps it does for you, too.
A sound approach to national and societal problem solving first honors the strength and virtue of the principal philosophical foundations of this greatest of representative democracies and most effective of market economies. It honors the necessity for robust, intelligently regulated markets, but also providing for the important needs of people, especially those who are poor, unable, ill or aged. That's what responsible, advanced societies do, and in that way strengthen our national identity and social fabric while advancing and strengthening our economy.
But then, so far as we can muster and manage the balance and will, it is important that we the begin the issue resolution process with a reliable statement of the problem and available information, the alternative solutions or answers, and their likely cost and probable results--but without constraining adherence or reference to ideological, political or philosophical direction. It is more useful to speak of market mechanisms, incentives, strengths and weaknesses, than ideological understandings or dictates. It is more useful to speak of societal challenges, problems or needs and, again, the alternatives, the costs and benefits, the wisest answers for society and the economy, not considerations of ideology or political platforms. It's the only way we can feel at all competent or accountable in approaching such issues or problems responsibly.
And this approach also makes it so much easier to effect course corrections or reverse field with changed information, alternatives or goals--because it's based on the best information and problem-solving processes, all of which can and do change. And we are much freer to change with them. Certainly that has been my general experience, and perhaps the experience of many of you as well. It is the power of seeking the best, most complete and unbiased information about an issue, identifying and understanding the implications of available alternatives, and then dispassionately exploring that information and those alternatives for the better solutions or answers. That is difficult enough without the procrustean constraints, the polarizing and sobotaging effects, of narrow ideological or philosophical imperatives.
It is also easy to see that this approach or orientation more likely generates respect for, if not acceptance of, other views because there is understanding of and mutual respect for the process. And if you are like me, you are also likely to recognize a view you once held, or one you may yet support. When working with a common, credible body of information or facts, and similar understandings of alternative resolutions, it makes agreement on issues or problems more likely, or at least reduces the scope and depth of differences. There is more often a type of "regression to the mean" of resolutions or answers reached and agreed to when we mutually accept and respect a competent, open and fair process for reaching them. Let our identity be more that of competent, respectful and respected resolvers of issues and formulators of wise policies, than ideological drones. Integrated thinking and synthesis, informed and fair reasoning, transparent and respectful dialogue, must rule.
First written: March 2010
copyright, Gregory E. Hudson 2010
First Americans, Authentic Americans
Mine has been a thoroughly American life and experience--broadly, deeply American. I am 63 years old, and I was born to a multigenerational American family; my father was a successful small businessman whose ancestors came to America centuries ago, literally. My Mother's is a similar story. And my story is one of taking advantage of all the opportunities offered me because of that; mine has been the fortunate life that America offers. But I can only speak impersonally, philosophically and proudly in reference to my family's immigration experience so long ago. Other than the "where" and the probable "when" there is no recollection retained of who they were and what their uniquely American experience of first-generation American life was like.
The article shared and linked below reminds me that my life did not include the quintessential, but most difficult of American experiences: immigration, being a "first-generation American." I did not personally come here to escape religious intolerance, political tyranny, or economic hardship. I did not make the passage, the tortuous, often painful journey to a new, very different world to build a new life and a new identity. I was not called to that riskiest, most honest and transparent, most personal and American of experiences. It was left to me and most of you to be grateful for that foundation, to build on it and enjoy the best of what America offers today.
It is immigrants who were and are the most important Americans. And if each had their own type of first-generation American experience, in a real sense they also had a type of "first American" experience. Because they were and are first Americans. And they continue to make those passages and take those risks, to embrace the opportunity and challenges, the joys and pains, of being a first American today. They are willing to risk and sacrifice all just for the oportunity to earn a place here, and to bring to us everything they have to offer. And historically, that has been the best of everything we Americans are today. To me, in a most real and basic sense, they are also the most authentic Americans.
Albert Sabina is director of Hispanic initiatives for the Naples Daily News and naplesnews.com. To my view he is one of today's many authentic first Americans. This article by him reflects the pride he embraces both in the culture he came from and the culture and place--the identity, really--he now comfortably calls home. Mr. Sanina:
First written: April 2010
Copyright Gregory E. Hudson
The article shared and linked below reminds me that my life did not include the quintessential, but most difficult of American experiences: immigration, being a "first-generation American." I did not personally come here to escape religious intolerance, political tyranny, or economic hardship. I did not make the passage, the tortuous, often painful journey to a new, very different world to build a new life and a new identity. I was not called to that riskiest, most honest and transparent, most personal and American of experiences. It was left to me and most of you to be grateful for that foundation, to build on it and enjoy the best of what America offers today.
It is immigrants who were and are the most important Americans. And if each had their own type of first-generation American experience, in a real sense they also had a type of "first American" experience. Because they were and are first Americans. And they continue to make those passages and take those risks, to embrace the opportunity and challenges, the joys and pains, of being a first American today. They are willing to risk and sacrifice all just for the oportunity to earn a place here, and to bring to us everything they have to offer. And historically, that has been the best of everything we Americans are today. To me, in a most real and basic sense, they are also the most authentic Americans.
Albert Sabina is director of Hispanic initiatives for the Naples Daily News and naplesnews.com. To my view he is one of today's many authentic first Americans. This article by him reflects the pride he embraces both in the culture he came from and the culture and place--the identity, really--he now comfortably calls home. Mr. Sanina:
The Broadway musical "In the Heights" mamboed, hustled and merengued into the Naples Philharmonic Center on Monday, leaving a lasting impression on the audience — and in the most subtle and caring way bringing up issues about my identity I had not pondered for many years. With me, as with most Latinos, these
issues lie dormant within our consciences.
Upon watching the first act, I was overtaken by my sense of pride as I saw Latino themes, story lines and sentiments eloquently presented. It is a rare opportunity as a "hyphenated" American — In my case Cuban-American — for me to witness such accurate, heartfelt portrayals of the Latino experience. "In the Heights" masterfully captured the essence of the U.S. migration saga in a way that not only rings true to Latinos, but can easily stir up the emotions of all Americans whose descendants arrived from somewhere else. The musical made me ponder my accented perspective, but even more powerful was the sense of pride it gave me as being an American and living in the most inclusive, welcoming country in the world.
At the crux of the "In the Heights" plot line is the notion of the place and culture that one defines as home. As the musical cleverly depicts, home is where one's friends and family are. Home is also where one feels they are a part of something greater.
"In the Heights" is the brainchild of Puerto Rican-American Lin-Manuel Miranda, who wrote the play in the winter of his sophomore year at Wesleyan University. Somewhere between shoveling snow and donning nine layers of clothing while braving the Connecticut cold, Miranda began questioning his sense of belonging. This introspection is familiar to millions of Americans like me.
My family and I settled in Los Angeles from Cuba in the late 1960s, sometime between the Kennedy assassination and Woodstock. At first I wanted nothing more than a quick return to my beloved Ranchuelo (my hometown in Cuba). However, geopolitics and history played a different hand, and I wound up listening to rock 'n' roll and watching Lakers games.
Assimilation, it's called. Yet the five-syllable word doesn't capture the tons of emotions that go into the process. "In the Heights" took me on a two-hour journey that tugged on every nuance and sentiment of the last 40-plus years of my assimilation. It made me laugh and cry, sometimes both at the same time.
The rhythm of the musical is heartwarming and the lyrics tug at the heartstrings. Abuela Claudia (Grandma Claudia) sings one of the musical's most poignant songs, "Paciencia y Fe" (patience and faith). It is a song that reflects the feelings of the many who came before us. When I heard the song, I could not help but think about my father, who arrived in this country with very little money in his pocket and several mouths to feed. Yet what sustained him, and all of us, was "paciencia y fe.
"Usnavi, the protagonist of "In the Heights," concludes his home is in a little-known corner of Washington Heights, Manhattan, where people care about him. In return, he cares about their lives and about the place itself.
Watching and feeling "In the Heights" at the Phil reminded me Naples is my home — even if my soundtrack may have a little more salsa and spice to it.
http://www.naplesnews.com/news/2010/mar/30/albert-sabina-heights-brings-issues-about-my-ident/
First written: April 2010
Copyright Gregory E. Hudson
Prefatory Comments
I became more conservative through my middle years. As a former Marine, tax lawyer, corporate executive and church elder, I just seemed to move in that direction. But a return to graduate school at Harvard at age 54, and an extraordinary corner turned in my prayer and spiritual life, challenged and changed my sense of identity, purpose and direction.
In December 2004, I started writing about it and couldn’t seem to stop. An edgy personal anthem, a statement of complaint and declaration of changed identity just demanded expression. I titled it Out of the Box for reasons evident in the reading of it. Other essays soon followed clarifying or expanding on aspects of the first, then still more were called forward to address issues of faith posed by some of the earlier pieces.
These essays reflect the earlier stages of that personal change process. They are about the discomfiting understandings found in constraining aspects of life and identity—and particularly Christian identity. But more, they acknowledge the new corners being turned in my spiritual journey and that Christian identity.
They are titled, Identity’s Complaint, an apt description of the collection of pieces included here. The tone of some is edgier and more rhetorical, but a few reflect a softer tone, a sharing of new landscapes on a spiritual journey. But all are intended to be provocative in the sense of challenging our spiritual sense of identity, our understandings, directions and actions.
Some of the edgier pieces are also related to a bill of particulars against co-opting political and cultural religious agendas, and Christian faith in the context of those compromised identities and relationships in the world.
Although I have lodged some clear complaints and shared some new views, in the end these writings are as much an apologia as anything else—more intended to explore and share why my views have changed than to change anyone else’s. Those views are explored and shared more fully in the series of essays that follow this one: What God?, Cassandra's Tears, and Beyond Life's Boxes.
Greg Hudson
September 2007
In December 2004, I started writing about it and couldn’t seem to stop. An edgy personal anthem, a statement of complaint and declaration of changed identity just demanded expression. I titled it Out of the Box for reasons evident in the reading of it. Other essays soon followed clarifying or expanding on aspects of the first, then still more were called forward to address issues of faith posed by some of the earlier pieces.
These essays reflect the earlier stages of that personal change process. They are about the discomfiting understandings found in constraining aspects of life and identity—and particularly Christian identity. But more, they acknowledge the new corners being turned in my spiritual journey and that Christian identity.
They are titled, Identity’s Complaint, an apt description of the collection of pieces included here. The tone of some is edgier and more rhetorical, but a few reflect a softer tone, a sharing of new landscapes on a spiritual journey. But all are intended to be provocative in the sense of challenging our spiritual sense of identity, our understandings, directions and actions.
Some of the edgier pieces are also related to a bill of particulars against co-opting political and cultural religious agendas, and Christian faith in the context of those compromised identities and relationships in the world.
Although I have lodged some clear complaints and shared some new views, in the end these writings are as much an apologia as anything else—more intended to explore and share why my views have changed than to change anyone else’s. Those views are explored and shared more fully in the series of essays that follow this one: What God?, Cassandra's Tears, and Beyond Life's Boxes.
Greg Hudson
September 2007
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