Alan Jacobs

Blessed Are the Green of Heart

Walking is a way of connecting, of feeling our feet on the ground, a very ordinary and surprisingly spiritual thing. Author Kathleen Norris writes of its power in her small book The Quotidian Mysteries. Making the case that God is best known to us in simple, daily activities, she shares that walking is a kind of ‘poetic meter’ that 'originates in the bodily rhythm of arms and legs in motion’ and 'reflects the basic rhythms of creation.’ Another word for that rhythm, the rhythm of body, poetry, and creation, is prayer.

Ramsey’s solution? “Fellow Christians who are serious about their faith” should “think about getting a handgun permit.” He included a link to a state government Web site instructing residents on how they can acquire such a permit.

“The recent spike in mass shootings across the nation is truly troubling,” wrote Ramsey, the speaker of the Tennessee Senate. “Whether the perpetrators are motivated by aggressive secularism, jihadist extremism or racial supremacy, their targets remain the same: Christians and defenders of the West.”

He continued: “While this is not the time for widespread panic, it is a time to prepare.” Then, he added: “Our enemies are armed. We must do likewise.”

In this way, intolerance is not a static measure.  If it were, we would still be measuring it based on freedom granted to communists, as Stouffer did in 1955.  In fact, some studies in the 1970s did just that, declaring that Americans had become more tolerant as their hostility towards communists declined.  But Sullivan, Piereson, and Marcus (1979) pointed out that these increases in tolerance were “illusory,” in that communists were simply no longer the most disliked group.  Intolerance had shifted to other groups.  The same is true today.  While attitudes towards communists and homosexuals have changed over time, the majority of Americans still deny rights to their political enemies.  According to the 2012 GSS, 77 percent of the population will deny rights to at least one of the groups mentioned, with Muslims being the most frequently oppressed group.

Many advocates of assisted suicide try to redefine it as something else—indeed, to redefine human dignity and human life itself. [Brittany] Maynard has become a sort of secular saint for the cause, and the media have provided her hagiography. Maynard herself wrote: “If I’m leaving a legacy, it’s to change this health-care policy or be a part of this change of this health-care policy so it becomes available to all Americans. That would be an enormous contribution to make, even if I’m just a piece of it.” CNN named Maynard one of its “11 Extraordinary People of 2014” for her decision to define death “on her own terms.” Another columnist wrote that Maynard in her choice for self-inflicted death employed her “own definitions of life and dignity.”

This echoes the famous “mystery clause” of Supreme Court justice ­Anthony Kennedy: “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.” Such a notion of liberty and human dignity can only lead to incoherence and absurdity; life and death are not ours to define, but are objective realities to which we must adapt. There is a great irony in all of this empty talk about controlling the timing and circumstances of our death, since death is the singular event that finally and completely announces our lack of complete mastery and control.

I found myself recalling the story of the T’ang Dynasty artist Wu Tao-Tzu, who is said one day to have gathered his friends to show them his most recent painting. The friends huddled round it in admiration: it was a vertical scroll painting of a mountainous landscape with a footpath that led along the bank of a stream, and then through a grove of trees to a small cottage or hut. But when the friends turned to congratulate Wu Tao-Tzu, they realized he had vanished. Then they saw that he had stepped into the landscape of the painting, and was walking along the path and through the grove. He reached the entrance to the hut, and on its threshold he paused, turned, smiled, and then passed through the narrow doorway.

[gallery] lawrenceleemagnuson:

Christopher Richard Wynne Nevinson (UK 1889-1946)
The Arrival (c.1913)
oil on canvas 76.2 x 63.5 cm

When I cook, I like people to be able to identify the food. I like people to feel comfortable. I want people to look at my food and start salivating and starting thinking of marriage of that food with a certain type of wine, and so forth. But in molecular cuisine — this is fine, I mean, up to a certain extent, a meal or two this way — but after a while I just want to go out and have a taco and a beer.

We always have to improve just a little, just as everything has to be “growth-based”, a little bigger next year than last year. It’s never good enough to maintain ground, to defend a center, to sustain a tradition, to keep a body healthy happy and well. Nor is it ever good enough to be different next year. Not a bit bigger, not a bit better, but different. New. Strange. We are neither to be new nor are we to maintain. We are to incrementally approach a preset vision of a slightly better but never perfect world. We are never to change or become different, only to be disrupted. Never to commune or collaborate, always to be architected and built.

[gallery] Assault death rates, 1960-2013