Against Compact Flourescents

An Ode written on the occasion of the 146th birthday of Thomas Edison.

A lot has been said about light. The state wants everyone to trade in for compacts, extolling their virtues in so many words and regulations. But Edison, may he rest in peace, made the first one round like the sun and hot like a candle. Six thousand years of men trying to see can’t be too wrong. Best not to stray too far from what graces God gave us since the beginning.

The machinists put a switch on it. No sunrise, no sunset .The sunrise gives hope after the long, cold night.The sunset, a warning, lest we be plunged into complete darkness in a moment. The candle’s fuel is up for all to see and drops inches with each hour. It’s no surprise when it grows short. But bombs and tyrants can throw their own switches as well as we can.

That’s why we quickly invented faders too. Those telling stories – the playwrights and filmmakers – use more faders than anyone else .They know switches will break the spell. When the lights go down in the house, we become like the spirit, hovering over the deep. The light is about to be brought forth. The story is about to start again. Smaller this time, but still in imitation of our Father, who bought light into being first and foremost.

His stars go supernova each day and their light makes its way to those who do not comprehend it. We turn to our curly compact, coiled like a snake, and pull the chain.

Notes on Chesterton’s St. Thomas Aquinas

Again, here is a misc dump of the excerpts I marked from G.K. Chesterton’s biography of St. Thomas Aquinas. Overall, I was pretty disappointed in the book. Chesterton is one of my favorite authors, but this one was kind of a dud. Oh well. Nevertheless, there was still some good stuff buried in here. This is what I was able to take away from it.

On how complicated Aquinas’s writing was (this is exactly what I thought when I cracked open the Summa).

A lady I know picked up a book of selections from Saint Thomas with a commentary; and began hopefully to read a section with the innocent heading, “The Simplicity of God.” She then laid down the book with a sigh and said, “Well, if that’s His simplicity, I wonder what His complexity is like.” With all respect to that excellent Thomistic commentary. I have no desire to have this book laid down, at the very first glance, with a similar sigh. I have taken the view that the biography is an introduction to the philosophy, and that the philosophy is an introduction to the theology; and that I can only carry the reader just beyond the first stage of the story.


Chesterton often goes on a rabbit trail and talks about St. Francis instead. His line here about the “live worm” is great.

Saint Francis was the son of a shopkeeper, or middle class trader; and while his whole life was a revolt against the mercantile life of his father, he retained none the less, something of the quickness and social adaptability which makes the market hum like a hive. In the common phrase, fond as he was of green fields, he did not let the grass grow under his feet. He was what American millionaires and gangsters call a live wire. It is typical of the mechanistic moderns that, even when they try to imagine a live thing, they can only think of a mechanical metaphor from a dead thing. There is such a thing as a live worm; but there is no such thing as a live wire. Saint Francis would have heartily agreed that he was a worm; but he was a very live worm.


And at his most quotable, and relevant too:

If the world grows too worldly, it can be rebuked by the Church; but if the Church grows too worldly, it cannot be adequately rebuked for worldliness by the world.


This passage is maybe a bit confusing out of context, but he’s talking about the modern tendency to throw away the past and to only find the latest fad attractive. If you find a person or idea in the past that you like, then you have to dress them up in modern language as if they were “ahead of their time”. All silliness.

Now when this fact is found to be a fact, the danger is that all the unstable opposition will suddenly slide to the opposite extreme. Those who up to that moment have been abusing the Schoolman as a dogmatist will begin to admire the Schoolman as a Modernist who diluted dogma. They will hastily begin to adorn his statue with all the faded garlands of progress, to present him as a man in advance of his age, which is always supposed to mean in agreement with our age; and to load him with the unprovoked imputation of having produced the modern mind. They will discover his attraction, and somewhat hastily assume that he was like themselves, because he was attractive.


On incarnational theology:

They vaguely imagine that anybody who is humanising divinity must be paganising divinity without seeing that the humanising of divinity is actually the strongest and starkest and most incredible dogma in the Creed. Saint Francis was becoming more like Christ, and not merely more like Buddha, when he considered the lilies of the field or the fowls of the air; and Saint Thomas was becoming more of a Christian, and not merely more of an Aristotelian, when he insisted that God and the image of God had come in contact through matter with a material world. These saints were, in the most exact sense of the term, Humanists; because they were insisting on the immense importance of the human being in the theological scheme of things. But they were not Humanists marching along a path of progress that leads to Modernism and general scepticism; for in their very Humanism they were affirming a dogma now often regarded as the most superstitious Superhumanism. They were strengthening that staggering doctrine of Incarnation, which the sceptics find it hardest to believe. There cannot be a stiffer piece of Christian divinity than the divinity of Christ.


Chesterton is probably at his most useful in this work when he points out how Aquinas can squash our constant and ever-present tendency to over-spiritualize life – just like the gnostics used to do.

For instance, it was a very special idea of Saint Thomas that Man is to be studied in his whole manhood; that a man is not a man without his body, just as he is not a man without his soul. A corpse is not a man; but also a ghost is not a man. The earlier school of Augustine and even of Anselm had rather neglected this, treating the soul as the only necessary treasure, wrapped for a time in a negligible napkin. Even here they were less orthodox in being more spiritual.


Saint Thomas wanted to recover what was in essence the body of Christ itself; the sanctified body of the Son of Man which had become a miraculous medium between heaven and earth. And he wanted the body, and all its senses, because he believed, rightly or wrongly, that it was a Christian thing. It might be a humbler or homelier thing than the Platonic mind that is why it was Christian. Saint Thomas was, if you will, taking the lower road when he walked in the steps of Aristotle. So was God, when He worked in the workshop of Joseph.


Here, in an aside, he comments on the nature of revolutions, “progress”, and how everyone reacts to everyone else around them. I see Girard lurking in here for sure.

Perhaps there is really no such thing as a Revolution recorded in history. What happened was always a Counter-Revolution. Men were always rebelling against the last rebels; or even repenting of the last rebellion. This could be seen in the most casual contemporary fashions, if the fashionable mind had not fallen into the habit of seeing the very latest rebel as rebelling against all ages at once. The Modern Girl with the lipstick and the cocktail is as much a rebel against the Woman’s Rights Woman of the ’80’s, with her stiff stick-up collars and strict teetotalism, as the latter was a rebel against the Early Victorian lady of the languid waltz tunes and the album full of quotations from Byron: or as the last, again, was a rebel against a Puritan mother to whom the waltz was a wild orgy and Byron the Bolshevist of his age. Trace even the Puritan mother back through history and she represents a rebellion against the Cavalier laxity of the English Church, which was at first a rebel against the Catholic civilisation, which had been a rebel against the Pagan civilisation. Nobody but a lunatic could pretend that these things were a progress; for they obviously go first one way and then the other. But whichever is right, one thing is certainly wrong; and that is the modern habit of looking at them only from the modern end. For that is only to see the end of the tale; they rebel against they know not what, because it arose they know not when; intent only on its ending, they are ignorant of its beginning; and therefore of its very being.


On image-making, Word and Word made flesh:

Only the West made realistic pictures of the greatest of all the tales out of the East. Hence the Greek element in Christian theology tended more and more to be a sort of dried up Platonism; a thing of diagrams and abstractions; to the last indeed noble abstractions, but not sufficiently touched by that great thing that is by definition almost the opposite of abstraction: Incarnation. Their Logos was the Word; but not the Word made Flesh. In a thousand very subtle ways, often escaping doctrinal definition, this spirit spread over the world of Christendom from the place where the Sacred Emperor sat under his golden mosaics; and the flat pavement of the Roman Empire was at last a sort of smooth pathway for Mahomet. For Islam was the ultimate fulfilment of the Iconoclasts. Long before that, however, there was this tendency to make the Cross merely decorative like the Crescent; to make it a pattern like the Greek key or the Wheel of Buddha. But there is something passive about such a world of patterns, and the Greek Key does not open any door, while the Wheel of Buddha always moves round and never moves on.


Chesterton here points out the nature of violent mimetic contagion. (Yes, of course I have an eye for Girard when reading anything else.) He see’s exactly the same thing here though: “confuse the crisis”.

In that sort of combat there is always confusion; and majorities change into minorities and back again, as if by magic. It is always difficult to date the turn of the tide, which seems to be a welter of eddies; the very dates seeming to overlap and confuse the crisis.


A pot shot toward the usual crowd that likes to say “God is dead”:

It is often cheerfully remarked that Christianity has failed, by which is meant that it has never had that sweeping, imperial and imposed supremacy, which has belonged to each of the great revolutions, every one of which has subsequently failed. There was never a moment when men could say that every man was a Christian; as they might say for several months that every man was a Royalist or a Republican or a Communist.


Throughout the book, Chesterton mischaracterizes Calvinists. This is rather annoying, but this quote on the nature of evil and creation is still rather thought-provoking. A more clever answer is needed.

The old Manicheans taught that Satan originated the whole work of creation commonly attributed to God. The new Calvinists taught that God originates the whole work of damnation commonly attributed to Satan. One looked back to the first day when a devil acted like a god, the other looked forward to a last day when a god acted like a devil. But both had the idea that the creator of the earth was primarily the creator of the evil, whether we call him a devil or a god.


If you have a mind that thinks about things a certain way, then you really can write an entire book about a tiny subject. If you do so, then you really can engage in an exhaustive (or at least attempted exhaustive) argument about the situation. When you are lazy, all you can do is sneer and scoff. Look at most op ed pieces in the newspaper and on blogs. There is a lot of sneering going on.

If you argue honestly, as Saint Thomas always did, you will find that the subject sometimes seems as if it would never end. He was strongly conscious of this fact, as appears in many places; for instance his argument that most men must have a revealed religion, because they have not time to argue. No time, that is, to argue fairly. There is always time to argue unfairly; not least in a time like ours. Being himself resolved to argue, to argue honestly, to answer everybody, to deal with everything, he produced books enough to sink a ship or stock a library; though he died in comparatively early middle age. Probably he could not have done it at all, if he had not been thinking even when he was not writing; but above all thinking combatively. This, in his case, certainly did not mean bitterly or spitefully or uncharitably; but it did mean combatively. As a matter of fact, it is generally the man who is not ready to argue, who is ready to sneer. That is why, in recent literature, there has been so little argument and so much sneering.


Stating the obvious here, but it’s worth repeating.

But there is here a not uncommon confusion, between the thing in which a man is most original and that in which he is most interested; or between the thing that he does best and the thing that he loves most.


God loves us, be he doesn’t need us.

I can hardly conceive any educated man, let alone such a learned man, believing in God at all without assuming that God contains in Himself every perfection including eternal joy; and does not require the solar system to entertain him like a circus.


A good philosophical attack on atheistic evolution:

The actual argument is rather technical; and concerns the fact that potentiality does not explain itself; moreover, in any case, unfolding must be of something folded. Suffice it to say that the mere modern evolutionists, who would ignore the argument do not do so because they have discovered any flaw in the argument; for they have never discovered the argument itself. They do so because they are too shallow to see the flaw in their own argument for the weakness of their thesis is covered by fashionable phraseology, as the strength of the old thesis is covered by old-fashioned phraseology. But for those who really think, there is always something really unthinkable about the whole evolutionary cosmos, as they conceive it; because it is something coming out of nothing; an ever-increasing flood of water pouring out of an empty jug. Those who can simply accept that, without even seeing the difficulty, are not likely to go so deep as Aquinas and see the solution of his difficulty. In a word, the world does not explain itself, and cannot do so merely by continuing to expand itself. But anyhow it is absurd for the Evolutionist to complain that it is unthinkable for an admittedly unthinkable God to make everything out of nothing and then pretend that it is more thinkable that nothing should turn itself into everything.


On “free love” liberals paradoxically wanting the government to run everyone’s lives. Classic.

It is a quaint and almost comic fact, that this chaotic negation especially attracts those who are always complaining of social chaos, and who propose to replace it by the most sweeping social regulations. It is the very men who say that nothing can be classified, who say that everything must be codified. Thus Mr. Bernard Shaw said that the only golden rule is that there is no golden rule. He prefers an iron rule; as in Russia.


To quote from from the cheesy 80’s movie Short Circuit, “Need Input!!!”. Our minds are reality-munching machines!

According to Aquinas, the object becomes a part of the mind; nay, according to Aquinas, the mind actually becomes the object. But, as one commentator acutely puts it, it only becomes the object and does not create the object. In other words, the object is an object; it can and does exist outside the mind, or in the absence of the mind. And therefore it enlarges the mind of which it becomes a part. The mind conquers a new province like an emperor; but only because the mind has answered the bell like a servant. The mind has opened the doors and windows, because it is the natural activity of what is inside the house to find out what is outside the house. If the mind is sufficient to itself, it is insufficient for itself. For this feeding upon fact is itself; as an organ it has an object which is objective; this eating of the strange strong meat of reality.


A few comments on economics. Chesterton was no capitalist.

If this work were controversial, whole chapters could be given to the economics as well as the ethics of the Thomist system. It would be easy to show that, in this matter, he was a prophet as well as a philosopher. He foresaw from the first the peril of that mere reliance on trade and exchange, which was beginning about his time; and which has culminated in a universal commercial collapse in our time. He did not merely assert that Usury is unnatural, though in saying that he only followed Aristotle and obvious common sense, which was never contradicted by anybody until the time of the commercialists, who have involved us in the collapse. The modern world began by Bentham writing the Defence of Usury, and it has ended after a hundred years in even the vulgar newspaper opinion finding Finance indefensible. But Saint Thomas struck much deeper than that. He even mentioned the truth, ignored during the long idolatry of trade, that things which men produce only to sell are likely to be worse in quality than the things they produce in order to consume. Something of our difficulty about the fine shades of Latin will be felt when we come to his statement that there is always a certain inhonestas about trade. For inhonestas does not exactly mean dishonesty. It means approximately “something unworthy,” or, more nearly perhaps, “something not quite handsome.” And he was right; for trade, in the modern sense, does mean selling something for a little more than it is worth, nor would the nineteenth century economists have denied it. They would only have said that he was not practical; and this seemed sound while their view led to practical prosperity. Things are a little different now that it has led to universal bankruptcy.


If anyone wants the full text of the book, it is online here:

Poem: Pie

Plato’s pie was in the sky,
far off beyond the solar rim.

Augustine’s pie was up there too,
like a low-orbit satellite.
At least you could see it dimly through a telescope.

Aquinas had his pie baking in the hot oven.
You could smell it, see it, burn your hand on the pan
or your tongue on a bite if you weren’t patient.

Soren was never really happy unless he was eating his pie,
or even better, eating it again.

Wendell Berry’s pie was baked at home,
made with flour he ground himself with a mortar.
There it is browning in the oven now while he says his prayers.
Twenty miles away in the city,
two pies pass through the McDonald’s drive-through window.
They must, as one dollar just passed the other direction.

Not one of them except perhaps the last,
ever forgot that God made the apples.

Chesteron on modern philosophy

This is probably Chesterton’s best insight into pretty much all modern philosophy. It explains why it is (rightly) unknowable to the common man.

Since the modern world began in the sixteenth century, nobody’s system of philosophy has really corresponded to everybody’s sense of reality: to what, if left to themselves, common men would call common sense. Each started with a paradox: a peculiar point of view demanding the sacrifice of what they would call a sane point of view. That is the one thing common to Hobbes and Hegel, to Kant and Bergson. to Berkeley and William James. A man had to believe something that no normal man would believe, if it were suddenly propounded to his simplicity; as that law is above right, or right is outside reason, or things are only as we think them, or everything is relative to a reality that is not there. The modern philosopher claims, like a sort of confidence man, that if once we will grant him this, the rest will be easy; he will straighten out the world, if once he is allowed to give this one twist to the mind.

G.K. Chesterton, St. Thomas Aquinas, p.134

Later on, he also hit’s the nail on the head with how philosophical language can collapse under the weight of it’s own doubt. Lewis addresses this head-on in The Abolition of Man. We see this kind of language meltdown most explicitly in Derrida (who came after both of these fellows).

Most modern philosophies are not philosophy but philosophic doubt; that is, doubt about whether there can be any philosophy. If we accept Saint Thomas’s fundamental act or argument in the acceptance of reality, the further deductions from it will be equally real; they will be things and not words. Unlike Kant and most of the Hegelians, he has a faith that is not merely a doubt about doubt. It is not merely what is commonly called a faith about faith; it is a faith about fact. From this point he can go forward, and deduce and develop and decide, like a man planning a city and sitting in a judgment-seat. But never since that time has any thinking man of that eminence thought that there is any real evidence for anything, not even the evidence of his senses, that was strong enough to bear the weight of a definite deduction.


For Chesterton, even Augustine was a bit too pie-in-the-sky. He liked the very earthy Aquinas the best.

“There is an Is.” That is as much monkish credulity as Saint Thomas asks of us at the start. Very few unbelievers start by asking us to believe so little.


On learning what is evil

I remember as a young child of about seven, going to the Safeway grocery store with my mother. The doors opened when you stepped on pressure-sensitive mats on the way in. That was the best part. Once inside though, things went downhill quickly.

Sometimes, if she was short on time or had the right coupons, we would go instead to the Red Apple Market, which was on the other side of town. I later discovered that she didn’t like to shop there because of the large apartment complex next door. It was populated entirely by Mexican migrant workers and the park in front of it was a hangout for drug dealers. The park was mentioned in a newspaper headline the next year and I had to ask my father what a “gang rape” was.

The grocery store across the street was much more interesting that Safeway. Why? For it had an arcade game next to the checkout line that I could gawk at while my mother unloaded and loaded the cart. The game was the 1988 Altered Beast. Now I didn’t dare ask for change to have a go at it. Just watching the demo sequence gave me the creeps – big muscled men gradually transforming into grotesque shapes and finally a dragon of sorts. Nobody needed to tell me this stuff was bad for you. Even the name, which included the world “Alter”, brought to mind some sort of perverse sacrifice. My first-grade vocabulary was too small to realize it can be another word for “change”.

My parents had told me that Nintendo was the mind-rotting spawn of Satan but I didn’t believe them. Mario was too fun and seemed harmless. Sega Genesis though, with it’s Altered Beast was certainly of Beelzebub. Kid’s who played that turned into drug dealers and gang rapists.

Poem: Human Resources

Can we abstract out what we do?
Can we abstract out your work?
All your work,
what if we wrap it up in brown paper
and tie it with a string,
write a word on the side with a Sharpie.
Can you then store this box in a vacuum,
out in the cold, for two years,
then cut the string, and unwrap it?
Will it sill be there?
Will it still be the same?
Will it be rotten?
Gone with a hole melted in the bottom of the floor?
Was it ever really in your box in the first place?