They are not the Fundamentalists - I am

When you listen in on a lot of conversations on religion, or heck, even politics, you hear it often: "s/he is just a fundamentalist!" You hear it about the young earth creationists being fundamentalists. You hear about the people who want to obey this or that old law as being fundamentalists. Outside Christianity, you might hear about suicide bombers being fundamentalists. But that is wrong. Those groups of people are not fundamentalists; I am.

Prof. Shankar - what a legend!

Fundamentalism is about staying grounded in, or returning to, the fundamentals of an area. When I watched Shankar's video taped course "Fundamentals of Physics II" offered at Yale University originally, the title was fairly self-explanatory: here are the fundamental principles underlying physics as it exists today. Here's your classical mechanics, your thermal physics, your waves, your optics, your relativity, your quantum mechanics. These areas form the fundamentals of physics as it exists today. Amusingly, it does not cover my own area of condensed matter physics, which is no small area, but that's irrelevant to the point: these areas are at the core of physics, so the course was titled "fundamentals."

However, young earth creationism is not a fundamental component of Christianity. It is not fundamental to the Bible. Reviving some old law is not keeping the fundamentals, because that law is almost certainly not a fundamentl part of Christianity. No, no, those sometimes labelled fundamentalists should be re-thought of as peripheralists: they set aside the fundamentals to concentrate on things that are actually peripheral (if at all existant in) Christianity. You think the Scriptures dictate young earth creationism? I think you are mistaken. But if we concentrate only on that issue, we are being peripheralists, because of the seventy seven books which make up the Sacred Scriptures, such a position is insinuated in at most a handful, if at all. It is a sideline issue.

When Jesus confronted the Pharisees for emphasising the Torah's minor laws, or for invalidating the law for the sake of human traditions, Jesus was being a fundamentalist. The Pharisees were being peripheralists. This is something which Israel rich prophetic tradition had tried to tell the Israelites again and again: sure, there's a sacrificial system in place, but God desires mercy, not sacrifice, as the prophet Hosea said. Sure, there are important civic duties, but what does God demand of us? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God, says the prophet Micah. The problem with the Pharisees, at least in part, was that they could not discern the fundamental from the peripheral. They were peripheralists, not fundamentalists.

I try my best to be a fundamentalist. The fundamentals of Christianity from an ethical perspetive are the three theological virtues (faith, hope and charity, or love), of which the greatest of these is love. (cf. 1 Cor. 13) There is core principles of Catholic Social Teaching: the promotion of the dignity of the human person, the common good, subsidiarity and participation, solidarity, the preferential option for the poor, social and economic justice, the stwardship of the environment and the promotion of peace.

Of course, being a Catholic fundamentalist is not just about the radical call to love others. There are doctrines involved. Much of the fundamental doctrine of the Church is in the ancient creeds: the Nicene-Constantinople creed, for instance, which is said each Sunday at Mass. There is the Eucharist, and other sacraments.

There is Jesus. Jesus who is human and divine, "true God and true man," who was incarnate in the womb of his mother Mary. There is his teachings and preachings, his ministry, his good news. That Gospel, for which St Paul gave the first anathema if anyone dared change it, is revealed only in Jesus, the Word incarante, the Lord and Redeemer. This Gospel is that of which Pope Francis wrote:

"The Joy of the Gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus. Those who accept his offer of salvation are set free from sin, sorrow, inner emptiness and loneliness." (EG 1)

These are some of the core things, these are the fundamentals of Christianity, they are core to the Church. Complaining about this word usage may sound like just a simple whine, but it has important consequences about how we think about the issue. We are lulled into the thought that, when Christians concentrte on peripheral things, but are called fundamentalists, that they are the ones taking Christianity seriously. If that is true, and what is now thought of as Christian fundamentalism really is just taking the same line as the Pharisees, then one can only be a "good Christian" by deviating from Christianity. One is only good insofar as one is not actually Christian. This is a dangerous state of affairs when the matter should be exactly the other way around: the fundamentals of Christianity are not young earth creationism or following some arcane old covenant law, so following them or not has nothing to do with fundamentalism.

All this goes to say something very simple: that Christian fundamentalism is, I think, good. It is a problem, however, when one confuses the fundamental for the peripheral. That which was meant to be at best a tiny corner, became the centerpiece. No wonder the whole lot was ruined.

That Deadly Vice of Pride

That I am a vicefully proud person is no secret to anyone who knows me well. I am absolutely horrible at this. If "big headed" were a literal expression, instead of being figurative, my head would have moons orbiting, it would have that much gravitational pull.

What I reflected on whilst on the bus trip home today is that one's pride is always about some good one has. This seems obvious enough, but I had never considered it in depth. I had always thought one is proud in general, not proud in particulars. See, I can fool myself into thinking I am humbler than I am by thinking about the areas I am humble in: I am dreadful at music, dance and art, I have a fairly poor memory, and dreadful eye sight. I suppose one can also say that I am humble in the areas where I am not easily insulted: it would be hard to care less for being told I am ugly, uncultured or ill-informed.

There are, however, two areas where I am incredibly proud, in such a way so as to be deadly. These are, in a sense, my only two virtues, but because they are my virtues, when mixed with vices they are capable of killing me spiritually: I am quite intelligent, and I am an extremely productive person. Compliments in these areas make me soar. Insinuations that these are places I have an elevated view of myself tear me down. To be quite honest, I think both of these are true qualities of myself: I am no idiot, and I get a lot done. The problem is, I like everyone to know about it, something which a good friend and priest rightly rebuked me for it today, in private. It sort of stung at the time, but it was exactly what I needed. I ended up thinking about it all the way home.

Just from a practical point of view, because I have such a pedastal view of myself, I cannot improve either of them. Precisely because people say I manage to do so much, I cannot disciple myself to do more, even though I waste an enormous amount of time daily on games or trivialities. Precisely because I view my intelligence as enormous, I am incapable of studying effectively - for the true genius does not need to study, right? I end up doing quite well at university regardless, because I really do love the things I study, so learning about them becomes part of my daily life. But man, if could get past my inflated ego, I'd do so much better.

Come on though, I know what that says, heck, I derived it -
I really am a genius, right? Amusingly, as painful as that looks
 if you're unfamiliar with it, it's actually not that complicated.

This obvious insight of pride being about particulars in my life, and not about generalities, has led me to a new resolve: I am going to avoid making myself out to be intelligent or productive. In fact, I am going to try and create the opposite image: that I am a little dim-witted and spend a lot of time on my Playstation 3 (which is now predominantly used by my brother, actually, since I have almost no real spare time - or at least, booting up the PS3 seems like a commitment to time wasting, whereas what I end up doing is always that "last check" or the "quick sesh"). In a quiet way, I will still try and be intelligent, because being smart is a good thing. It is when my desire is for other people to know that I actually do know what those long fancy words mean in philosophy or theology, or can actually understand those nasty looking strings of symbols that make up the maths involved in my research project, or, like today, actually do know that the Liturgy of the Hours has the Ave Regina Caelorum and not the Salve Regina this time of the year - it is when others knowing is the actual goal that this becomes problematic. It is the difference between my (real) excitement about my research project in a really cool area, and my excitement that people know I have a research project in a really cool area. One is good, the other...not so much.

This might seem trivial to some, but it will no doubt be a challenge far greater than mastering Fourier transforms for me (which was surprisingly painless). From now on, I do not study "physics, mathematics and philosophy", I study Science and Arts - which is a decidedly less impressive way of putting it. It is my way, I think, of doing what Jesus said in the sermon on the mount, to the crowd which lived in a culture that gave glory based on piety:

"When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." (Mt. 6:15-18) [cf. comment]

The point is not to stop fasting - or in my case, not to stop being intelligent or getting things done - but to do so in secret. Hopefully, forcing myself to make small changes like that will precipitate me fulfilling those petitions of the Litany of Humility:

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.

From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being loved...
From the desire of being extolled ...
From the desire of being honoured ...
From the desire of being praised ...
From the desire of being preferred to others...
From the desire of being consulted ...
From the desire of being approved ...
From the fear of being humiliated ...
From the fear of being despised...
From the fear of suffering rebukes ...
From the fear of being calumniated ...
From the fear of being forgotten ...
From the fear of being ridiculed ...
From the fear of being wronged ...
From the fear of being suspected ...

That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be esteemed more than I ...
That, in the opinion of the world,
others may increase and I may decrease ...
That others may be chosen and I set aside ...
That others may be praised and I unnoticed ...
That others may be preferred to me in everything...

That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should… 

+AMDG+

Cheap Grace and Catholics

"Cheap grace is the mortal enemy of the Church," Bonhoeffer opens. "Our struggle today is for costly grace."

In reading that famous opening line from Dietrich Bonhoeffer's now-classic Discipleship, I knew I was in for a book that would not let me remain unchanged. It is the nature of the hearing of the Gospel, that once the essential content of the kerygma has been heard, there comes about  an eschatological event, where one can heed the call to "drop our nets", or leave as the young rich man does - sad, though still in full possession of his riches. The call of Jesus - announced through the proclamation that Jesus has conquered death for the forgiveness of sins, and is Lord of all, inaugurating his kingdom through the ministry of the Church - precipitates a moment of decision. Precisely because the call requires an answer, it cannot leave the person unchanged.

This is standard Christian theology, clear in practice from even a fairly superficial reading of the gospel accounts and the Acts of the Apostles. The Gospel polarises people because it confronts with a decision. What I have learnt from Bonhoeffer is not that discipleship demands change, but that it is precisely grace that demands change. We Catholics have a wealthy tradition of avoiding polarisations of things which must, even paradoxically, unite - faith and reason, faith and works, free will and predestination, Christ being human and divine.

Yet I wonder whether our modern Catholic has not fallen into precisely the trap of seeing grace as sharply distinct from obedience to the call of Christ. Perhaps this is because we have taken grace to mean cheap grace, which really is antithetical to discipleship. Bonhoeffer writes lucidly about what distinguishes cheap and costly grace:

"Cheap grace is that grace we bestow upon ourselves...It means forgiveness of sins as a general truth; it means God’s love as merely a Christian idea of God. Those who affirm it have already had their sins forgiven. The church that indulges in this doctrine of grace hereby confers such grace upon itself. [...] Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without discipline, communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate."

On the other hand: 

"Costly grace is the hidden treasure in the field, for the sake of which people go and sell with joy everything they have. It is the costly pearl, for whose price the merchant sells all that he has; it is Christ’s sovereignty, for the sake of which you tear out an eye if it causes you to stumble. It is the call of Jesus Christ which causes a disciple to leave his nets and follow him. [...]

It is costly, because it calls to discipleship; it is grace, because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly, because it cost people their lives; it is grace, because it gives them their lives. It is costly, because it condemns sins; it is grace, because it justifies the sinner. Above all, grace is costly, because it was costly to God, because it costs God the life of God’s son – “you were bought with a price” – and because the life of God’s son was not too costly for God to give for our lives. God did, indeed, give him up for us. Costly grace is the incarnation of God."

We Catholics know this, so much do we understand (it is said) that grace is costly, that we fall off the other side and require more than just belief, adding works to "faith alone". That is the claim made against us by some Protestant groups. "True," they might say, "we recognize that this is not official Church teaching, that Catholics do believe in grace alone" - but, they hasten to add, "the average Catholic believes in works-righteousness." I disagree. I see the average Catholic - the "practicing" one, that is - as having accepted grace, but not costly grace, only the cheap variety. The average Catholic who goes to Mass seems to have "forgiveness of sins as a general truth [...] God’s love as merely a Christian idea of God." This is not to say that they are all like that - far from it!

This proclamation of cheap grace seems like the only thing that might attract the masses, the only way to effectively evangelise. Precisely because it denies the centrality of the call to discipleship, because it ignores the cost of responding to the call of Jesus Christ that is intrinsically linked to the Gospel, it is not the true Gospel. Cheap grace replaces Jesus with an idol, a god made in our image, who justifies all our wrongdoings because this idol is really our own self-forgiveness. It underlies the Catholic denial of the sacrament of reconciliation with the line that "God forgives me anyway", it is that absolution without personal confession. The Catholic who is scared of a fellow sinner in the confessional, and so chooses to go "to God himself" has denied the complete otherness of the true God, the holy God, and has replaced God with the grace that they bestow upon themselves.

These "good news" of cheap grace is not only the mortal enemy, as Bonhoeffer says, of the true Church, that community of true Christians, it also sickens that sociological group we also call "the Church." What Bonhoeffer writes of the Lutherans in his own time is true of Catholics now:

"But do we also know that this cheap grace has been utterly unmerciful against us? Is the price that we are paying today with the collapse of the organised churches anything else but an inevitable consequence of grace acquiered too cheaply? We have away preaching and sacraments cheaply; we performed baptisms and confirmations, we absolved an entire people, unquestioned and unconditionally; out of human love we handed over what was holy to the scornful and unbelievers. We poured out rivers of grace without end, but the call to rigorously follow Christ was seldom heard. What happened to the insights of the ancient church, which in the baptismal teaching watched so carefully over the boundaries between the church and the world, over costly grace?"

I had the opportunity a few months ago, and also just last week, to participate in that ancient liturgy, which still conserves that line reflecting the Church as distinct from the worldly. Before the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the call is heard "The doors, the doors!" Those who were not baptised into the People of God must have left, and the doors shut, for they could not even participate from afar in that holy treasure the Church has, her only treasure: Christ incarnate. Those who wished to participate in that greatest of gifts must first renounce Satan and receive Baptism, be born anew into the People of God. This was how the early Christians responded to their Master's command that they not give what is holy to those who are not fitting to receive it. (Mt. 7:6) But we do not now consider that grace to be something for which we must renounce that which is antithetical to God.  We have cheap sacraments - all welcome! We have cheap grace, and it rots us from within.

Worst of all is that, if the average Catholic has only cheap grace, that most addictive of substances, we have lost sight of Jesus. Set aside that, from a sociological perspective, the good news of cheap grace gains few converts because it does not allow for the working of the Holy Spirit which necessarily changes a person, and so the official numbers dwindle. Cheap grace separates us from Jesus, not only because it is not the grace bestowed by Jesus, but because when that cheap grace justifies our sin, we are hardened into disobedience. That cheap grace which does not challenge our actions merely blesses them, and so we are estranged from the call of Christ to follow him.

If we are to become disciples of the Risen Lord, we are to become disciples of costly grace. For it is only when we find the pearl of great price that we are willing to sell everything we have to obtain it.

I Cannot Criticize the Abbott

For St Benedict of Nursia, the founder of Western monasticism, obeying the abbot was pretty important. The monks who chose to live under St Benedict's rule were bound to obey the abbot in his ordinances, at the same time as the abbot was required to care for his monks and serve them in their needs.

I am not a monk, but I do have an Abbott I have to obey, when he gives ordinances relevant to his role as Prime Minister. The reason for the required obedience is simple: as I live in a democratic system under a social contract, by virtue of living on Australia, I am bound to whoever the leader of the country is, in the constitutionally appointed ways. I may not have voted for him (most people did not, since only those in his electoral division even have the opportunity to do so), or the Coalition parties, but because of how our representative democracy works, he is rightfully the leader of Australia.

Whilst the social contract of this representative democracy requires me to recognize him as Prime Minister, and all which that entails in terms of leadership, I do not have to like him, only obey. I would be permitted to criticize him, I would be permitted to tell anyone how horrible I think he might be - but I cannot.

It is not from some sort of patriotism, since we are both English, or love of Oxford University, since he was a Rhodes Scholar. If what I am told about some of his policies is true, particularly the environmental, laboral and asylum seeker ones, then it is far from being because I agree with him. It is both simpler and more complex: I cannot go around criticizing him casually, because he is my brother.

"Your surname is not Abbott!" That is true. We do not share biological parents. He is instead my brother in a way that is at least as real: he and I are both Catholic. As I outlined elsewhere, an important practical consequence of sharing that crucial element in common is that we are brothers, and I must put up with him as a brother.

It could be objected at this point that I am not acting in line with other important Catholics, such as bishops, laypeople and even one of Pope Francis' inner-circle, the highest ranking Catholic in the country (up until very recently), George Cardinal Pell. They have all criticised Tony Abbott for this, that or the other (see here and here, just as examples). Without presuming to judge them for their actions, I still find I cannot go out in public and proclaim distaste. There is nothing in Church teaching that forbids speaking out against a brother in public (indeed, within the confines of the Christian community, it is mandated, after due private rebukes), and yet, I still find that it is not my place.

Jesus is said to be both lion and lamb, and as good rule of thumb for when to imitate him in lion-ness or lamb-ness is whether one is confronting a harmful idea, action or policy (in which case, lion), or a fellow sinner, to which one is like the Agnus Dei (qui tollis peccata mundi - misere nobis). One could quite reasonably say that I should, in fact, speak out against some of his godless policies, the ones that the Church has spoken out against.[1] Part of why I do not is general ignorance: I do not understand the complex political issues of today well enough to deem myself having rid my own eye of the plank, before rebuking my brother's splinter, or as Jesus says:

"Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck in your neighbour’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbour, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbour’s eye." (Mt. 7)

Ignorance aside, and noting the importance of fighting the inward battle before the outward one, there is another important reason why I find it tough on my conscience to criticize my brother, and here I think much on the political left is to blame. I am generally quite capable of disagreeing with someone's views without attacking them as a person, but the left has confused policy with politician, meaning an attack on one is an attack on the other. I will not attack my brother in public, so I find it difficult to attack any erroneous policies he might have.

So, whenever I complain about Tony Abbott's statement on this or that, and I have done so occasionally, I try and do so to my other brothers and sisters, not in public accusations, and I do so minimally. It is not, at this point in time, my place to criticize the Abbott.

[1] For an overview of the Church's position on social issues from an Australian perspective, see "Lazarus at Our Gates", from the ACBC. The statement can be found here.

Time Management

When I write something on this blog, it tends to be an answer to some question that gets repeatedly asked of me – either because I demand I answer it, or because others question me. Of the non-trivial questions I get asked, probably one of the most common ones I get is “how do you manage to do all of it?” or “how do you sleep?” The answer to the latter question is quite simple, really: I sleep quite well.

I seemed to have gotten at least a bit of a reputation for doing super-human amounts of work.

Blackboard says I do six subjects this semester, which is double the minimum for a student at the University of Queensland requires to be considered full time, and 150% of what most students actually take. In fact, I unofficially do a bit more than that, because there are a couple more maths courses I go to because the mathematics is directly related to a research project I am doing – one is a third year course, which takes some effort to understand because I am unfamiliar with the prerequisite course, and another is from a totally different branch of mathematics to the one I am used to. Now, that research project is essentially what one of those courses is, but it seems to me to be substantially more time consuming than the other courses. I find that deriving some results (which, at this point, are already known) to be quite exciting, actually, and so I am happy to put in the time and effort.

I am involved in several ministries. I attend the majority of Frassati Australia events, of Marist Youth events and make attempts to go to others, whenever possible (I went to Ignite Live, for instance, every time except the first that it was on, last year, but now that it's major event is up in Banyo, it is just too far). I am involved with the St Stephen's Young Adults Ministry, I am secretary of the J.H. Newman Catholic Society at UQ, and I help out every week at a soup kitchen run by the Missionaries of Charity each Saturday.

I read fair bit. I read almost entirely non-fiction books, ones that average about 350 pages and usually not at a beginner level – and I generally finish about a book a week, sometimes it takes me two if I am being slack. Or, when I have one of the more restful weeks, I will often finish two in a week – during my summer semester earlier this year, when I was still told I was doing far too many subjects, I finished eleven books in a month (although the average book length for January was probably more like 200 pages, maybe even just 150, and they were fairly easy reads). That is all completely independent from the hefty reading amounts required by second year philosophy courses, the non-negligible amount required by my physics courses, and the quite large amount needed for my research project (although thankfully, that stage has mostly past – whilst it took me some gruelling three weeks, I can essentially claim to have taught myself the basics quantum mechanics, including ventures into the more complicated, but beautiful, area of quantum field theory. I am clearly no expert, though.)

I cite these things, not to make myself look good (for a numerous group, being a nerd, even a very social one like myself, is still a bad thing, I suppose), but to try and indicate why it is people think I must have a time-turner, some magical device which allows me to make more time in my day. Evidently I do not, and so, they ask, where does the time come from? How is that possible with only 24 hours a day? Aha! Maybe I am overworked and sleep deprived!

I also sleep and rest a lot. In the past week, I deviated from the standard of 8-9 hours a night a couple of times – there was a six-hour night and a seven-hour night – but I largely kept to it. I also completed Metal Gear Solid 4, completely without rushing, and savouring several of the fun parts of the game more slowly, so I must have played PS3 for a substantial amount of time. I get distracted a lot on the computer, reading this and that, watching a couple of educational-but-not-that-important videos, chatting to people for hours over Facebook chat. Many a night has disappeared with good conversations and great friends online! Part of that is because I have friends in European timezones, but to a large extent, it is friends I see frequently who I chat with.

And with that last point of the triangle – the triangle of social life, study or sleep – I have surely done the impossible, right? Not at all. I am unlikely to have done something impossible without some serious discipline, and I am a very undisciplined person. I suppose I do miss out on two important parts of living, exercising and earning money, but at least the former could be worked into my schedule if I was more disciplined.

I do not need magic or serious discipline to do what I do for a fairly obvious but insightful reason: that's what my life is like. I do not mean to say that, the fact that I do actually live life with those time commitments is conclusive evidence that I somehow manage to do it, that would be circular. I mean to say the much simpler point, that I am capable of living this way because when I live my life that way habitually, or in some sense “naturally.”¹

I did not realise this was what I did until Thursday, when a chap recommending a book after a talk I went to said “I know you all have busy lives, but Tim Chester has an answer for you: just work it into your daily lives.” That's exactly it! You don't have time to read? Work it into your daily life. You don't have time to sleep? Work it in to your daily life. You don't have time to go out with friends? Work it into your daily life.

I realise that there is a limit to all of this (else, I would have a job!), but the point is simple: if one tries to do a lot without incorporating it into one's daily structures, one will most likely fail. However, if one uses the existent structure, then time becomes more open: for instance, it is not a very large effort to volunteer at the soup kitchen each Saturday morning. Whilst others might think that getting back home at about 14:00, as I did today, is a horrendous chunk of the day missing, I am not a morning person. Mornings are practically spare time – there is not much I learn in the morning. So I do study later, and I have time in the morning.

Whilst I am on the bus, though, I can read a book. The bus-and-train trip to the Valley is an opportunity to read a dozen or so pages, and if one doubles that for the return trip, then it's almost thirty pages just from otherwise idle time. I know I sound like I am giving time management advice. I hope that is not the message people are receiving – my advice would be, become disciplined! If that fails, do as I do, and do things in otherwise empty spots. It's not tiring, it's refreshing, and just one practical consequence is, I have not been bored for several years!

1I put this in inverted commas because I used to be exceedingly lazy, and could not have imagined being this...”productive.”