Category: Commentary

Those who suffered through my last commentary (Everything you know is wrong III) learned about the US Republic,  but you probably left the blog wondering “what was that all about? Did Pat drink some bad tequila?”

The answer to the second question is “no” (because there is no bad tequila), but here’s the answer to the first question.

The fact that the US is a Republic based on a Constitution has two important implications: one about the document itself, the other about the people it serves.

Americans hold their Constitution in high regard. We are right to do so, as intelligent observers around the world have commented on its simplicity, its insight, and its longevity. But the document is not magical. It works not just because it was brilliantly designed, but because it was ideally matched to the culture and characteristics of the American people (circa 1791).

Freed America slaves who returned to Africa to establish the nation of Liberia borrowed large parts of the US Constitution to little success. The US Constitution begat similar efforts in 19th century Latin America, post-Great War Europe, and post-colonial Africa, again with mixed success. The US Constitution was a unique match of brilliant political theory and informed citizenship.

What was the indispensable characteristic of that citizenry? Here the founders were unanimous: virtue, or as we call it today, morality. Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Patrick Henry, and George Washington wrote about it.  Samuel Adams said “Neither the wisest constitution nor the wisest laws will secure the liberty and happiness of a people whose manners are universally corrupt.” John Adams said, “Public virtue cannot exist in a nation without private virtue, and public virtue is the only foundation of republics.”  and added “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”

And these are just the pull quotes. All the Founding Fathers wrote and spoke about how important the virtue and morality of the American people were. This is not to say the Founders or the citizens were saints. Those same Founders tolerated America’s original sin–slavery. The candidates and their supporters in the Presidential election of 1800 engaged in far more slander than anything any candidate said in 2016!

Rather, the comments about the virtue or morality of the American citizenry described their common understanding of right and wrong. While the United States had no established religion, its people broadly accepted a code of conduct based on Judeo-Christian values. Even the Founders, many of whom were Deists, held the same beliefs, as Deism was a Christian off-shoot (heresy is the technical term). This morality, these virtues, matched uniquely with the Republican government developed under the Constitution.

Back at the beginning of the Republic, the American people had a common conception of right and wrong, even if those same citizens were individually more or less virtuous. Today, our citizens are just as likely to have different levels of virtue, but there is no common understanding of how to measure right and wrong. Religious participation continues to dwindle, and many organized religions follow, rather than lead, public mores. Some argue religion has no right to a voice in American government: a point historically inaccurate and (frankly) bigoted. Nevertheless, I would concede that religion has mainly lost its voice, while no alternative voice has succeeded it.

Instead, we have replaced a shared public morality with an individualistic one. As Justice Anthony Kennedy put it in Planned Parenthood vs. Casey, “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.” There is little room for me to compromise with you when you have the right to define the meaning of the universe.

All of which leads to my final point: many of the problems we as Americans identify today are actually only symptoms of the real problem: the lack of a common morality. Our Republic requires it. Arguments about policy are just about politics (the art of compromise), while arguments about morality are good versus evil, and compromise is immoral. You can see this play out in issue after issue today: gun control, abortion, free speech, police violence, marriage, welfare, etc.

This is not a call to return to the days of that  good, old-fashioned religion; a culture can never return to its past. This is more a caution. America has only once experienced a similar moral debate: slavery. The issue was fundamental to concepts ranging from individual freedom and human rights to property, states’ rights, and habeus corpus. It took a bloody civil war to address that issue, and another one-hundred years to finish the argument.

I trust I have made a case for why our Republic needs a shared morality. I wish I had an easy answer for how we regain one. I have not heard anything beyond some platitudes thus far. I am open to good ideas: I know I am praying on this already.

As Paul Harvey used to say, my friends, “and now you know the rest of the story.”

The topic today is government, specifically, the type of government in the United States. If I asked you what form of government the United States has, what would you say?  A democracy? A constitutional democracy? A representative democracy? An oligarchy, run by big government elites? Anarchy (especially under the current administration)?

This is not an academic question: if you don’t know what type of government you have, you may be surprised when things happen that you thought could not–or should not–happen. I noticed this after the last Presidential election, when the popular vote did not track with the electoral outcome, and many commented that this should not be. I saw it again recently when the very vocal students marching for gun control were talking about making democracy work. You will often hear politicians and thought leaders referring to “our democracy.” I trust they are using a shorthand reference, but are they correct? What is our form of government?  As Warner Wolf used to say, “Let’s go to the videotape.”

Okay, there is no videotape, but there is a historical record. But when asked what form of government the new Constitution established for these United States, Benjamin Franklin responded, “A Republic…if you can keep it.” The Founding Fathers had many negative things to say about democracy as a form of government: they saw it as majority rule, or the rule by factions, as they called it.  The Federalist Papers (especially Federalist #10) detail their concerns: They wanted a government “of the people,” but they distrusted the average “person.” So they built in several safeguards, limiting the franchise (i.e., the right to vote) creating the electoral college, bifurcating the legislature. While we can all agree some of their methods were morally suspect (e.g., denying women the right to vote), their intent was sound: people making the choice of our governmental representatives should be informed and properly disposed. The Founders thought it very important to use voting as a means to establish the representatives in our government, but they knew the masses could be impassioned and misled.

Here’s another hint: recall the beginning of the Pledge of Allegiance. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands…” Now the pledge has no authoritative standing, but it has been around since the late 19th century, and represented the common knowledge and wisdom of our culture.

Now, before I go any further, one must recall that the names political parties give themselves (today and historically) are not relevant within this discussion. In the Cold War, communist governments called themselves democratic socialist republics. In the United States, today’s Republican party was cobbled together out of the old Whig and Free Soil parties, and once gave birth to the Progressive party (in the early 20th century). Today’s Democratic party began as the anti-federalist Democratic-Republicans! As so much else in politics, you have to look past the labels. So forget about them, for the time being.

Every form of government has to have two things: a source of its legitimacy (hereafter source), and an authority for its actions. In a democracy, the source is the people, and the authority is the majority. If you further define a government as a representative democracy, the source remains the people, but the authority becomes some form of legislature. Communist governments also said the people were the source, but claimed the party was the authority.

Republics can choose different forms of source and authority. A Monarchy can be a republic that chooses God’s divine right as source and a King /Queen as authority (or perhaps vice versa). Our own republic claims the people as source, but establishes a constitution as the authority. How do we know this? Majorities of the U.S. population have frequently been told that what they wanted was not to be, according to the Constitution. Likewise, various governments at the federal and state level have been denied their policies for the same reason. Now, the astute reader will point out that a majority can amend the Constitution. True, but not just any majority: only by a two-thirds majority of both Houses of Congress and three-fourths of the States! As you can see, it is a most difficult proposition, and hardly represents a trump card for “the majority” over the constitution as authority.

Over time, democratic methods have become more and more important within the U.S. republic. Federal senators were originally appointed by the States, to be the voice of the state governments to Washington (in addition to being the curative to the passions of the more democratically-elected House of Representatives). Some states sent poor representatives, since they saw it as a chance to get rid of one of their worst, or because Washington was far away and less important.  In the early 20th century, this led to direct election of federal senators, a victory for democracy but a loss for the state governments, who to this day have no representative to the federal side.

Likewise, various states have experimented (as was intended by the Founders) with greater democracy. California has been at the forefront of this movement, especially with its ballot initiative process that permits simple majorities to enact amendments to the state constitution binding on the state government (recall Proposition 13, which famously tied the state government’s hands with respect to taxes).

Based on the evidence, it is clear the United States began as a republic.  It is fair to say it has changed, and continues to change, toward more democratic aspects and methods. It cannot be called a democracy, even in shorthand. Why does this matter (“now he asks, after I read all this!”)?

That must wait for a future post!

A couple of my close friends are going through one of those quintessential “bad times” we all seem destined to experience eventually. Theirs includes cancer diagnoses (note the plural), which just complicate their lives immeasurably. And it leads other friends to question “why”as in “why is this happening to them?”

The why question is an obvious one under the circumstances, but it is the right question at the wrong time. Let me explain. At its heart, the why question is a search for an answer in order to assign blame. Its premise is that blame can be assigned: but why accept that premise? What makes a person think there is blame to assign? I know that some people trot out “the problem of evil” (an offshoot of the Why question) as a means to question the existence of God. If you are a believing Christian, there is nothing in your faith which would lead you to believe God is responsible for the bad things that happen. If you an atheist or agnostic, why should there be a reason? Sh*t happens, as the bumper sticker says.

Linking the fact that evil happens with the necessity of a cause is like misunderstanding irony: ironic humor requires a cause and effect, or else it is not ironic (an aside which permits me to post Alanis Morissette’s infamous song “Ironic”, which has either the most confused lyrics in the history of music <!>, or is meta-ironic, since a song about irony contains none.  You be the judge.)

But I digress. The larger problem in my opinion is asking the Why question at the wrong time.  Consider this allegory: Tax filing deadlines approach (public service announcement: they do!). You decide tomorrow is the day to complete your taxes. The night before, you order-in the spiciest Thai meal you can stand, open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and stay up all night watching a “Die Hard” marathon on TNT. The next morning, as you gather your tax documentation, you wonder why it is so hard to understand tax instructions through a pounding headache and upset stomach.

Good question, bad timing. The why question is an important philosophical (and/or theological) question. The best time to ask it is not when you are hurting, physically or psychically, but when you are clear-headed and relaxed. Everyone must answer the why question eventually: refusing to consider it is just another way of answering it. So it is an important question. Like most important questions, it deserves careful attention, rational thought, and concentration.

Next time you’re sitting back on a beautiful day, after a good meal, with a fine Port (or Scotch, or your adult beverage of choice), consider it properly. Why…is there good in the world?  Why have so many good things happened to me and those I know and love? In a world that is “red in tooth and claw,” (Tennyson), where evolution determines how the species progress and Nature does not care if it rains on your wedding day (sorry, Alanis), why is there any good at all?

Aye, that’s a good question!

When I first started blogging and reading social media. I was shocked by much of what I saw. I originally wrote this post at that time, but then I shelved it, sensing that maybe my experience was not widely shared. Since that time, things have gotten worse, and I have ample evidence from friends and acquaintances that many feel the same way.  Here is what I wrote:

There is a meme with a long pedigree, going back to at least 1835, that cites the three questions, or three gates, or the rule of three.  Sometimes it is attributed to Socrates, sometimes Buddha or a Sufi mystic, the Quakers or a nineteenth century poet named Beth Day.

Three things to consider before spreading gossip, exchanging info, or even speaking:

1. Is what you are going to say true, to the best of your ability?
2. Is what you are going to say good, either good news or something good about another?
3. Is what you are about to say essential to those who will hear it, and if not essential, at least useful?

A post which fails the first test is a lie or propaganda. One which passes the first and fails the second test is just an unwelcome, inconvenient truth; something which passes the first two but not the third is simply information, if irrelevant. One can see how any post which failed all three tests is malicious gossip, and therefore should not be shared. There is wisdom in applying these rules, especially with respect to information about other people.

I’d like to propose an adaptation of these rules for social media:

1. Have you verified what you want to post is true? This is a subtle change, but it removes the passive nature of the original with an active requirement. Just because you like it, or saw it in the Times or on a website is NOT good enough.  Newspapers print retractions everyday, and first reports are often proven wrong.  If you cite a media source, have you checked competitors? Did you check Snopes? If your source is partisan, have you sought an opposing view? If you quote someone famous, did you Google it? If it refers to a court decision, did you read the actual finding? Think this is overdoing it? How do YOU like to be on the receiving end of an endless stream of partisan screeds, troll-tweets and fake news? Don’t add to it; be value-added by checking the truth!
2. If it is true, have you questioned your motives? Ask “why am I posting this?” To antagonize someone? To score a point on the internet scoreboard? Will this cause someone to think, or just react? If the only response you seek is “Wow, you’re right!”, you may be virtue-signalling. If you are, you are also contributing to the social media echo chamber. Just don’t.
3. It was true, and your intentions are as pure as the driven snow.  Great, now ask yourself “what good will come to those who read this?” Not good for you, mind you. Will they be better educated about an issue? Will they understand some little known aspect or nuance? Will they encounter an unexpected argument or a compelling case? Or it this a tired rehash or a polemic?

That’s it. The internet did not suspend the rules of civilized discourse–it just seems so. Simply because someone (even the President) violates them, that does not mean we abandon them altogether. If you think otherwise, where does it stop? By all means argue for your cause, and oppose hatred and bigotry where you find it, but do so with love and wisdom. The worst abuses have come from those who were certain they were on the right side of history.

Social media needs some rules. It is great for cat & dog pics, news on family, and finding old friends. It is not so good for informed discussion and adult discourse. Let’s make it better.

PS. This post was not directed at any of my good friends or their recent posts. Given the state of social media in general, I could post this ANY time.

If you stop and think about it, New Year and its eve are odd things to celebrate. We know time is an abstract, human concept.  We know it is relative: the world uses the Gregorian calendar and tomorrow is 2018, but it is 4713 in the Chinese calendar, 5778 in the Jewish calendar, and 2561 in the Buddhist calendar. So what difference does it make?

Even the precise time of the calendar change is relative. North America is the last continent to experience it, and New York City is the focus. I recall as a child celebrating the New Year as it was broadcast live from NYC, even though we lived in the central time zone in Indiana. Now we can watch as cities in every time zone cross the New Year and celebrate, all in realtime. But why celebrate it at all?

That such celebrations are universal is undeniable. All those calendars I mentioned have a New Year’s Day, with its accompanying celebration. Even long-dead cultures left behind stories of celebration of a change in the annual cycle. It all points to one thing: the fundamental optimism of the human race. It seems that people everywhere and in all times hope for better times with the change of that calendar page.

Optimism is a double-edge sword. I know people who invest great time and energy trying to ensure the very best New Year’s eve date, party, or event, only to feel disappointment creeping into their midnight countdown. Now we all know the fate of our year is not determined by New Year’s eve, but what accounts for all that optimism in the first place?

Certainly human history holds no cause for such optimism: last century was the bloodiest yet, and one in which we eventually developed multiple means to destroy humanity or the planet itself, belying the notion of “the right side of history.” Why would history have an arc that bends toward morality, or liberty, or love for that matter? Of course, some (including me) believe history is unfolding according to a plan, although this guarantees nothing positive in the meantime, just a positive finale.

Perhaps that optimism we all feel is a tiny residue of a deeper longing that one day everything will be better. This is rightly called Hope, and it is not the same as optimism. We often use the word hope casually to indicate something we wish would happen. Hope is actually a form of trust: we hope things will end well because we have been assured, or promised, they will. So while history and our own experiences will often provide an overwhelming rebuttal to our optimism, hold on to the hope. Hope is a good thing.

Of course, one quiet day sometime after the New Year, ask yourself this: Not only what do you hope for, but why do you hope?

Here on Christmas day, just a quick post to send you a simple thought on this holy day.

Perhaps you’re having a spectacular Christmas, full of good cheer and Good News: seeing old friends, gathering with family, enjoying quiet time and parties and thoughtful presents and weather which completes the Christmas tableau for you. I certainly hope this is the case. If so, know that all this is the result of the love of an all-knowing and almighty Creator who only wills all the best for you, and wishes simply to share in your joy.

Maybe this year has been hard for you: rancorous politics, a difficult job or boss, time spent away from family and friends or just alone, even the serious illness or death of a loved one. I pray this was not the case, but all of us have had–or will have–such an experience. If such was the case for you, know that even in your darkest times, you live in the palm of a God-Who-Is-Love, who is all-compassionate in that He suffers alongside you.

Most of us had a year somewhere in between. In that case, know that whether we believe in Him or not, The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. If we run to meet Him, He welcomes us even with all our frailties and imperfections. If we stand and wait, skeptical or suspicious of Him, He coaxes us constantly with signs and wonders. If we run from Him, he pursues us with haste, as a father pursues a child headed for a busy intersection.

Such a God is hard to fathom, but then, what else explains a King of Kings born in a manger?

Merry Christmas!

I thought about entitling this post “Everything I know is wrong” but that seemed to invite your disinterest in reading further. Every once in a while, you learn something new about a topic you thought you knew all about. I will occasionally post about my experiences of “being totally wrong” (I have had many!). This first post involves a famous historical figure: Galileo Galilei.

Some years back at work, I received a professional recognition called “the Galileo Award for Innovation.” In preparing to accept the award, I decided to do a little extra research on Galileo, to use in a short acceptance speech. I thought I knew the story well; we all do, right? Galileo was a brilliant 17th century scientist who proved that the sun did not revolve around the earth. This upset the Catholic Church, which tried him for heresy, tortured and imprisoned him, forcing him to recant his beliefs. Science eventually proved him right, and Galileo is remembered as a martyr for truth and reason against religious dogma.

There are excellent historical records on the entire affair, and they tell a more nuanced story. Galileo was both brilliant and irascible, with a unique ability to anger both friends and enemies with his sharp tongue. Ever notice how exceptional genius is oftentimes accompanied by an exceptional lack of tact? That was Galileo.

Copernicus proposed the theory of heliocentrism in 1543 in a book dedicated to the then-Pope Paul III. Kepler expanded on Copernicus’ work in 1606, ten years before Galileo published his first work arguing for it. Much of this work was financed by the Church, and the Church expressed no objection to it, as long as heliocentrism was posited as a scientific theory. However, the scientific establishment was vehemently opposed to it; to borrow a phrase, geocentrism was settled science. Scientists who had spent entire careers explaining geocentrism were not going to throw away a life’s work, even if heliocentrism did a simpler job explaining observed planetary motion. Furthermore, some of Galileo’s theory required space to be almost infinitely large (it was, but no one at the time could prove it), and that our sun was the center of the entire universe (it wasn’t, but no one could determine this with the instruments available at the time).

In 1616, some of Galileo’s scientific opponents reported him to the Church for heresy, since (in the scientists’ opinion) his views contradicted language in the Bible. Galileo responded that since he was correct, the Church needed to interpret the Bible to conform with his views. This all happened in the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation, where the question of who gets to authoritatively interpret Scripture was a cause of actual war. The Holy Office (the “Inquisition”) forbid any attempt to interpret Scripture to support heliocentrism. At the Pope’s request, Cardinal Bellarmine met with Galileo and made this agreement: Galileo was to stop making claims about how the Bible should be interpreted; he was free to write about heliocentrism as long as he described it as a scientific theory and gave other theories their due. For the next seven years, Galileo complied with this agreement.

In 1623, Galileo caught a huge break: his old friend and patron Cardinal Barberini became Pope Urban VII, who now asked him to write a work explaining the case for and against heliocentrism. The Pope cautioned Galileo to be fair to all sides. Galileo sensed his opportunity to win the argument once and for all, but also to settle old scores. His resulting work Dialogue on the Two World Systems was a masterful repudiation of geocentrism and argument for heliocentrism, employing a series of discussions between a brilliant scientist, an impartial scholar, and a foolish philosopher named Simplicio. While he presented both theories, Dialogues clearly favored heliocentrism, and Galileo voiced the Pope’s views in the character of Simplicio, mocking him in the process.

Having antagonized his chief benefactor, Galileo was now referred for trial by the Inquisition for having broken his vow not to publicly espouse heliocentrism. In a one day trial (without any torture) Galileo confessed that he had broken his vow, although he continued to contend that he did not hold to heliocentrism (which was not the charge against him). He was sentenced to a day in jail and afterward house arrest, daily penance, and to observe his previous agreement. The Holy Office forbid arguments supporting heliocentrism for over a century. Three-hundred and fifty years later, then-Pope John Paul II apologized for the Church’s treatment of Galileo.

The real Galileo story is a cautionary tale on many levels. The Church let itself get needlessly dragged into a scientific controversy, and then let pride play a role in how it meted out justice. Galileo was brilliant but could not overcome his own ego. He never proved heliocentrism; that would take until the 18th century, and his views on our sun as the center of the universe ultimately were wrong. Scientists are people, and the pursuit of truth in science is just as petty and messy as anywhere else. This last thought led me to a very influential work, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions by Thomas Kuhn, which details just how hard it is to change mindsets, especially scientific ones.

Sorry for the length of this post; getting to the bottom of things sometimes takes space and time (perhaps not 350 years!).