Monday, November 5, 2012


The Present Fence



A recent interview with Dean Koontz by Raymond Arroyo on EWTN prompted me to return to a teenage daydream: how to be a writer. In the late 1960's I wrote a high school English essay entitled “The Present Fence”. (When our teacher handed back our papers he called mine “the present tense”.) As an avid science-fiction reader I had made the point that authentic writing was either about the past or the future. The present is always sliding one way or the other.


In the fleeting present of 2012 I realize even more why writers are attracted to science-fiction. If this was 1812 the stage which a writer would use was fairly stable in human moral and technological terms. All the wars and revolutions would simply be a vehicle for plot and character development. As the 19th century proceeded inventions physically changed the human stage – steam, rail, telegraph, biology, telephone. At the turn of the 20th century these physical changes, pardon the pun, picked up steam and accelerated. Change that had taken forty years, twenty-five, now came at a pace of twenty, fifteen, ten and less.



As communication and transportation became easier and more rapid and even daily labor became comparatively more efficient and easier, there was a real psychological effect on human personality. An “easier" life means later and fewer confrontations with the mortality of life. This results in slowed moral development – less maturity, less moral responsibility. What adolescents had decided at fourteen to sixteen years of age during most times in human history now begins to be put off twice as long or deferred indefintely.



So the writer now has the moral and physical stage deeply changed and still changing. “Let me skip trying to grasp the present and project my writing onto another time.” But this brings back my first concern about authentic writing. Can a person of 2012 write honestly a novel about 1812? We are not discussing history – it is reasonable I think to use historical fact and present perspective to write history. But is it possible to walk among the characters of 1812? It seems to me that I don't have any personal experience of that world or stage. The same could be said of 2112.



Yet there is one vital difference between historical fiction and a certain type of science-fiction. While a person of 2012 cannot live in 1812 neither can they live in their own past. We must live in the precious time called “now” and build on the good and try to repair the evil. But there is a legitimate human activity in the present for the future - preparing: using some of our now to plan the building and repairing. The best science-fiction prepares for the future. It projects human characteristics into the future to see what we may face. It is thinking about consequences, good and evil. It is a kind of prophetic literaure or cautionary tale..



Lets think about the future. One ironic aspect of our condition is that while we have been given many new tools to use, our moral capacity to use them properly has declined.
Another aspect, and an even more dangerous one, is that while we mature psychologically more slowly, our bodies don't. This disharmony cascades. The chronic immature marry and break their public vows, leaving the fruit of their union to be even more challenged in living responsible adult lives. “Children playing with matches” and “children having children” are phrases that are not unfair as a quick shorthand for our situation.



Science-fiction strives to imagine the effects of change on people in the future. But another irony: those who would imagine the future are likely to be morally immature or ignorant. Who is morally mature? The one who accepts responsibility to do good at the cost of self-denial and who blames no one but themselves for the evil they do. In order for this moral adulthood to survive and not lead to corruption requires a spiritual foundation. If I do not believe in God, I may want “dignity” or “the fullness of my humanity” by living a life of “existential good faith”. But why should I? “I don't want to live a life where I am ashamed of myself – that is what existential good faith means!”

Fine. Why would anything I do make me feel ashamed? What is good and what is evil?



What is the objective way that you determine good and evil? There are many attempts at non-theological morality. Is your measure of right and wrong the practical? The efficient? Art? Human life? Emotional sentiment? And even if you can naturally approximate a real morality, why follow your own rule? After all is said and done, its yours. You are master. There is no ultimate punishment for my lie, my adultery, my war of aggression, my “mercy”-killing.



An objective morality must be based on reality. Did the universe pop itself into existence? Without reasoned belief (intellect and free will) in the Creator, our concept of reality goes around in a circle. It becomes only my perception. I cannot stand firm on only my ego. There is a telling piece of dialogue in George Orwell's “1984”. (A cautionary tale for Orwell's time of 1948.) The captive protagonist is in love. Big Brother asks, “Do you believe in God?” He responds, “No.” With no real ground for his love it is no surprise that he is tortured into not only giving up his love but wanting to have her tortured in his stead. Of course, some will protest that this is only a fictional drama. Yet good drama highlights aspects of life that need examining.



Which brings us back to Dean Koontz. In the interview he said literary people are not just accidentally confusing good and evil, they are not just transposing them for the sake of a story, they are consciously inverting good and evil. They reject the very notion of evil. They straddle another Fence. But there is no neutral ground between what is good and what is not.




Friday, January 27, 2012

The Burdens of Saint Joseph

The Burdens of Saint Joseph




When we think of the sorrows of Our Lady, our own sorrows receive healing. Why? Because our sorrows are purified of their poison in Mary's acceptance of suffering and healed in her victory of faith. In similar fashion, when we consider St. Joseph's burdens our burdens are lightened. St. Joseph steadfastly tried his best to provide for and to protect the Holy Family. Events, resources and emotions were challenging but he persevered by faith.



The Annunciation To St. Joseph

(Mt. 1:18-25) The burden of the news that Mary his espoused was with child before their life together. His first concern was not himself but protecting the reputation of his beloved.



The Journey to Bethlehem

(Lk. 2:1-5) The burden of obeying the civil law. He had to care for his pregnant wife Mary while travelling from Nazareth to Bethlehem in order to fulfill a civic requirement.



The Birth of Jesus

(Lk. 2:6-7) The burden of caring for Mary and the newborn Jesus without the ordinary resources that a father wants for his family. He accepts the humiliation of using the poorest lodging for his wife to bear her son. He does not give up. He later finds them a decent “house”. (Mt. 2:11)



The Presentation

(Lk. 2:24) The burden of acknowledging poverty in public again – they cannot sacrifice a lamb as the standard offering prescribed by Leviticus but only the turtledoves or young pigeons used as a poor woman's substitute. Hearing the words of the prophet Simeon to Mary.



Herod's Threat

(Mt. 2:13-14) The burden of Herod's threat against his family. Joseph must wake his wife and tell her the fearful news of the murderous threat. He must protect them on a dangerous journey through the night.



Refugees in Egypt

(Mt. 2:15) The burden of providing for Mary and Jesus while living as refugees in a strange land of grotesque gods and foreign values.



Return to Nazareth

(Mt. 2:19-23) The burden of returning and re-settling years later in Israel which still held political dangers for his family.



Loss of the Child Jesus

(Lk. 2:41-50) The burden of searching in sorrow for his lost foster child Jesus. Seeing the disappointment and fear in his wife Mary's eyes. Accepting that Jesus was growing to be a man.