“And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors” from Simone Weil’s comments on the Lord’s Prayer

I’ve seen Simone Weil referenced by numerous writers over the years, but I’ve never read any of her work myself. I just got a hold of a short anthology and cracked it open. At first glance it seems that Weil is what Thomas Merton would have become if he had been a woman and become a professor instead of a monk. The similarities are many. Both were born in France only a few years apart form each other. Both had a dramatic conversion to Christianity in their twenties. Both died far too early. Their writing style appears to be similar as well.

This is just a preface to say that I was arrested by some of her commentary on the Lord’s Prayer. This passage in particular is just dynamite! I’m going to just leave it here without further comment.

“And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors.”

At the moment of saying these words we must have already remitted everything that is owing to us. This not only includes reparation for any wrongs we think we have suffered, but also gratitude for the good we think we have done, and it applies in a quite general way to all we expect from people and things, to all we consider as our due and without which we should feel ourselves to have been frustrated. All these are the rights that we think the past has given us over the future.

First there is the right to a certain permanence. When we have enjoyed something for a long time, we think that it is ours and that we are entitled to expect fate to let us go on enjoying it. Then there is the right to a compensation for every effort whatever its nature, be it work, suffering, or desire. Every time that we put forth some effort and the equivalent of this effort does not come back to us in the form of some visible fruit, we have a sense of false balance and emptiness which makes us think that we have been cheated. The effort of suffering from some offense causes us to expect the punishment or apologies of the offender, the effort of doing good makes us expect the gratitude of the person we have helped, but these are only particular cases of a universal law of the soul.

Every time we give anything out we have an absolute need that at least the equivalents should come into us, and because we. need this we think we have a right to it. Our debtors comprise all beings and all things; they are the entire universe. We think we have claims everywhere. In every claim we think we possess there is always the idea of an imaginary claim of the past on the future. That is the claim we have to renounce.

To have forgiven our debtors is to have renounced the whole of the past in a lump. It is to accept that the future should still be virgin and intact, strictly united to the past by bonds of which we are ignorant, but quite free from the bonds our imagination thought to impose upon it. It means that we accept the possibility that. this will happen, and that it may happen to us in particular; it means that we are prepared for the future to render all our past life sterile and vain.

In renouncing at one stroke all the fruits of the past without exception, we can ask of God that our past sins may not bear their miserable fruits of evil and error. So long as we cling to the past, God himself cannot stop this horrible fruiting. We cannot hold on to the past without retaining our crimes, for we are unaware of what is most essentially bad in us.

The principal claim we think we have on the universe is that our personality should continue. This claim implies all the others. The instinct of self-preservation makes us feel this continuation to be a necessity, and we believe that a necessity is a right. We are like the beggar who said to Talleyrand: “Sir, I must live,” and to whom Talleyrand replied, “I do not see the necessity for that.”

Our personality is entirely dependent on external circumstances which have unlimited power to crush it. But we would rather die than admit this. From our point of view the equilibrium of the world is a combination of circumstances so ordered that our personality remains intact and seems to belong to us. All the circumstances of the past that have wounded our personality appear to us to be disturbances of balance which should infallibly be made up for one day or another by phenomena having a contrary effect. We live on the expectation of these compensations. The near approach of death is horrible chiefly because it forces the knowledge upon us that these compensations will never come.

To remit debts is to renounce our own personality. It means renouncing everything that goes to make up our ego, without any exception. It means knowing that in the ego there is nothing whatever, no psychological element, that external circumstances could not do away with. It means accepting that truth. It means being happy that things should be so.

The words “Thy will be done” imply this acceptance, if we say them with all our soul, That is why we can say a few moments later: “We forgive our debtors.”

The forgiveness of debts is spiritual poverty, spiritual nakedness, death. If we accept death completely, we can ask God to make us live again, purified from the evil in us. For to ask him to forgive us our debts is to ask him to wipe out the evil in us. Pardon is purification. God himself has not the power to forgive the evil in us while it remains there. God will have forgiven our debts when he has brought us to the state of perfection.

Until then God forgives our debts partially in the same measure as we forgive our debtors.

Assuming God is dead because we forgot how to talk about him

Nietzsche famously said, “God is dead. And we have killed him”.

I’ve been reading Hannah Arendt’s The Life of the Mind lately though and early on I think she more or less describes what is really going on:

…it may be wise to reflect upon what we really mean when we observe that theology, philosophy, metaphysics have reached and end – certainly not that God has died, something about which we can know as little as about God’s existence (so little, in fact, that even the world “existence” is misplace), but that the way God had been thought of for thousands of years is no longer convincing; if anything is dead, it can only be the traditional THOUGHT of God. And something similar is true of the end of philosophy and metaphysics: not that the old questions which are coeval with the appearance of men on earth have become “meaningless,” but that the way they were framed and answered has lost plausibility.
-Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind, p.10

So it’s not that God died, but rather that we no longer know how to talk about God – how to “frame” questions about meaning and metaphysics. Is this a loss or a gain? The priests of secular atheism today simple declare it was obviously a gain and quickly dismiss any remaining whiff of them in the air. But is LOSING the words and thoughts to even imagine a subject a gain? No matter what is being talked about, it sounds like a loss to me.

Imagine a high-concept science fiction novel where generations of humans are raised by increasingly intelligent robots. Along the way, all knowledge about how the robots were first built, or how the basics of electronic wiring even works at all were lost. One day, the robots all suddenly shut down due to some Y2k-esque software bug. The humans are thrown into disarray as nobody even has the words or thoughts to even contemplate beginning to repair the robots. Man is resilient though and learns to go on living without them, regressing to some kind of early bronze-age society. The robots are dead. Oh well. A few generations later the stories about them seem to be little more than myths. Is this gain or a loss that nobody can productively talk or even think about the caretaker robots anymore? Sounds like a loss to me.

Girard and God the absent king

It’s been 11 years since I first read Rene Girard’s ‘Things Hidden’. I just finished rereading it for the first time yesterday. I certainly understood at least a little more of it this time than I did on the first pass. At the same time, there were huge chunks of the conversation that were hard to follow, mostly because I’m still not well acquainted with the thinkers he is constantly referencing and grappling with. In the past 11 years, despite reading several hundred books, I have still yet to read a single word of Freud, Levi-Straus, Nietzsche, Frazer, Dostoevsky, Proust, and a host of others. On the other hand, I have read a lot of secondary material, including the majority of Girard’s other major works in English, some of his colleague Oughourlian, and work by other people in Girard’s orbit like James Allison and Gil Bailie. So I’ve had the gaping holes somewhat filled in a bit, albeit from the downstream direction.

Probably the largest question I have currently is how to reconcile Girard’s “non-sacrificial reading” of scripture, which, at first glance seems obviously incompatible with orthodoxy. In fact, I’ve seen more than a few people dismiss Girard’s work out of hand as relying on Marcionite garbage. I think that even if it IS, there is still a lot of value to be found nonetheless. I am also somewhat more optimistic now that a better and more holistic reading of the OT can be articulated that still makes room for it traditional Christian thought. Sounds like a lot of work though. Oh well, for now.

Time to change the subject.

Upon rereading all this a few days ago, one passage struck me almost poetically:

JMO: They persist in believing that the concept of divinity is a ‘natural’ one; the sacred king is held to be a kind of reversal of divinity for the sake of political power which is supposedly independent of ritual.

RG: Everyone repeats that the king is a kind of ‘living god’ but no one says that the divinity is a kind of dead king, or at any rate an ‘absent’ king, which would be just as accurate. In the end, there is a persistent preference for viewing the sacrifice and sacredness of the king as a secondary and supplementary idea, for we must beware of rocking our little conceptual boat. Yet what guides our interpretation is only a conceptual system dominated by the idea of divinity, a theology. Skepticism about religion does not abolish this theological perspective. We are forced to reinterpret all religious schemata in terms of divinity because we are unaware of the surrogate victim. If one examines psychoanalysis and Marxism closely it becomes evident that this theology is indispensable for them.

We Christians earnestly looking forward to the second advent of Christ, we are in fact literally saying that “God is an absent king”. He really is the king. And everything good that was ever thought or imagined about an earthly king, that is what he is and more. And he really is absent. He’s not dead. He’s not imaginary. He’s just not here right now. He’s in heaven (wherever that is exactly) at the moment. But he’s only temporarily absent. There is a sense in which all men, and even all creation, are earnestly awaiting the king to come back. Our long deep-seated sociological and psychological urge to sacralize earthly kings (which Girard articulates particularly well) is rich evidence of this longing.

Atheists and secularists say that we try to project god onto our political rulers to give them more power, but in fact the opposite is true. We project earthly kingship onto God because it’s a valid and (more or less) true analogy. Those who despair then say that “the king is dead”, but we the faithful say “the king is absent”, and then add, more specifically, “come Lord Jesus!” (with the exclamation mark!).

The image is of Christ Enthroned, a icon commissioned by Ethiopian Emperor Iyasu I Yohannes, in the 17th century, for a church in Gondar.

Inktober 2019: Overgrown

Overgrown is what virtually every living thing becomes when it is not tended.
If the lawn isn’t mowed, it becomes a seeded prairie.
If the path isn’t kept trimmed and cleared of fallen trees, it is reclaimed by the forest.
A garden that isn’t regularly weeded will soon become nothing but large weeds and a few 7-foot long zucchini.
If you stop cutting your hair, it will cover your eyes.
None of this takes millennia or centuries to happen. Just a year or two or sometimes only a week is necessary.

Fortunately, by design our own bodies don’t grow too much. Something deep inside us says “stop!” at just the right time.
Medical professionals would say it’s the pituitary gland that does this, though that is just the mechanism. It doesn’t tell us why.
If the mechanism is broken though, one could end up like Andre the Giant – overgrown and in agony.
The 103rd psalmist tells us that our bodies are like grass, quickly withering and thrown into the fire.
But our bodies are also NOT like grass, which can thrive mown or unmown.
It is not right for us to be overgrown – either in body or especially in psychological stature – ego.
We are tended by a master gardener that keeps us pruned beautiful and pleasing and fruitful.
If he lets us go, we become overgrown, thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought, before collapsing under our own leafy, tangled weight.
A good prayer may be to ask to grow to the right size in body, mind, and soul.

Moar new ingredients

I’ve had more adventures in cooking dinner from scratch these past two weeks. Some hits and misses ensued. I used the following new ingredients I never had before:

  • Fresh scallions
  • Frozen shrimp (on skewers)
  • Frozen uncooked tilapia fillets (broiled for fish tacos)
  • Whole Peeled San Marzano tomatoes
  • Whole minced leeks (I’ve used leeks for a soup once before but it was eons ago)
  • Whole chopped fennel
  • Sesame oil
  • Peanut oil
  • Red wine vinegar

The “whole” stuff was for a baked marinara sauce I tried out of a ridiculously heavy Thomas Keller cookbook that I found on clearance for $1 at the thrift store. It turned out to be very flavorful, but pretty time consuming and a bit on the chunky side, despite being pureed. This might work better as a double batch and then save half of it for way later.

The oils were for a couple different styles of stir fry. The verdict is still out on those. The sauce never turns out thick enough, even with corn starch and the prescribed proportions.

The tilapia smelled unpleasantly fishy when raw, but was surprisingly mild after cooked.

I need to take a break though and mix in some comfort food to help the kids not dread dinner so much. Muhahahaha!

Inktober 2019: Dragon

Many things, I can remember learning. I can roughly remember when I learned something and how I didn’t know what it was before then. I remember the first time I heard Dire Strait’s The Sultans of Swing, when I was about 13, while listening to the classic rock radio station while driving truck during the summer wheat harvest. I remember my father explaining some basic trigonometry to me with a pen and paper when I was about 10 years old. We were trying to calculate how high my model rocket had flown. I remember my mother reading the Chronicles of Narnia to me when I was about 6 years old and having to ask what a Centaur was. I was not familiar with the idea of a half horse/half man.

But somethings you learn so young or they are so ubiquitous, you can’t remember ever having learned them. Dragons are one of those things. I wasn’t born knowing anything about this legendary fiery beast, but I might as well have been. There is no time or place I can recall when and where I didn’t already know a great deal about these creatures. They were already old news when I heard about Eustace being turned into one in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. They were familiar when I saw one in an old episode of Duck Tales. Trogdor was at least the thousandth one I’d seen, though he stands out in the crowd for obvious reasons.

Was there ever a time without dragons? Nearly(?) every culture on earth has them. The serpent in Genesis sounds a bit more dragonish than a modern day danger noodle. Later in John’s Revelation there is no pretension. The original dragon has been around since before the first days of our race. Little wonder that we can’t remember a time without him. Someday we will though.

Inktober 2019: Snow

The Inuit’s have over 50 different words for snow they say. Actually that’s a completely bogus factoid. They don’t. Be we Americans really do have at least 50 different words that mean “good”. Or at least those words do now. Examples:

  • cool
  • awesome
  • dank
  • dope
  • wicked
  • tight
  • neat
  • groovy
  • on point
  • boss
  • nifty
  • keen
  • drippin’
  • swell
  • hunky-dory
  • gucci
  • 100
  • lit
  • goat
  • etc.

I believe it was Dorothy Sayers who lamented that all males are now called “gentlemen” with faux-respect in the public square. The word “gentleman” used to communicate something about the person’s class, occupation, and family. Now to say a man is a gentleman simple means that he is good. But we already have a word for good. Aaaaaand now we DON’T have a word for “gentleman”. Not helpful and it makes everything we say a little less true.

In a similar fasion and more recently, Finnish comedian Ismo expressed his confusion that if someting is “ass” it’s bad, but if it’s “bad ass” it’s good. Wait, what?

Meanwhile, we in the Pacific Northwest still only have one word for snow and it’s meaning hasn’t drifted much as far as I can tell. We may not be Eskimos, but we are no strangers to the fluffy white ice. We just had some just a few days ago, even though it’s only the second week of October. Time to put some totally boss snow tires on my minivan!

Inktober 2019: Husky

As an adult, video games have largely fallen by the wayside for me during the past twenty years. A few exceptions involved playing through an older Mario and Zelda game with my oldest son a few years ago. Another came with the long-awaited release of Starcraft II back in 2010. It felt strange to actually go purchase a game and then play it in the evenings. It was fun, for a few weeks, but then I discovered something new – that watching other people play it along with colorful commentary was even MORE fun. Of course, millions of other people discovered that as well during the same decade. Twitch.tv, the video streaming site dominated by this genre, was recently purchase by Amazon for $970 million.

When I think of “husky”, I can’t help but smile and think of “Husky Starcraft”, the show name of Mike Lamond, a young fellow Oregonian who daily recorded video commentary of Starcraft II eSports games and uploaded them to YouTube. I barely watched YouTube (still don’t), but my kids do and it’s use is ubiquitous by everyone in the next generation down. For a few months though in 2011, I DID watch it. Every single day. It was fabulous.

Throughout hundreds of “episodes”, who can forget the myriad of inside jokes Husky developed along the way like “Pylo” the Protoss Pylon or the “Drop the Double Forge” dubstep. Then there was the Hero Marine, “Don’t worry guys, I’ve got this…. AHHHHH!!!!!!!!” Who could forget this stuff? Well none of the half a million fans that followed his channel at it’s peak. Sadly, Husky began having serious medical problems with his voice and had to effectively retire from public yelling, errr, speaking rather abruptly. As the game waned in popularity, his star was on the decline as well. In more recent years, he’s been helping his girlfriend (Rosana Pansino) with her own YouTube channel and career. She has ended up being more successful in the long run, judging by the fact that I saw her cookbook for nerds on sale at Walmart not too long ago.

The world is a strange place. I don’t claim to understand much about the latest media trends and youth fads, but I think I would understand them EVEN LESS if I hadn’t (however briefly) indulged and been a devoted fan of an eSports commentator on YouTube. Thanks for the fun times Husky! (P.S. Why did you delete your channel archive!?)


Inktober 2019: Build

My oldest daughter is doing this drawing/writing prompt thing this month and my wife has joined in for some of the days. I figured I would toss in a few for fun too!


What an imperative! Since before Babel we have been stacking those bricks and placing boards. Nowadays it’s often more metaphorical. Businesses build their “brand”. Yesterday, I typed “build” into a computer’s command line interface to compile an XML validator too that I needed for a project. It didn’t work. Some of the dependencies were jacked up.

What if the builder of the tower woke up one day to lay the next layer of their ziggurat but found the pile of bricks had been inadvertently moved. That really happened once, but the hand of God. It repeats itself now every day, bu the hand of man. Some among us may not openly acknowledge our creator, but we imitate him nonetheless.

Today, I stared at the imperative “build” on my home to-do list. It declared we needed a covered and walled warm winter coop for the chickens and lone duck residing in the back yard. A trip to the lumber yard and four hours later and the coop is complete. My son held the boards in place as I screwed them together. The other son made me a cup of coffee partway through. It came together faster than the XML validator and will doubtless be more durable.

I hope we get the build the New Jerusalem. It would be more like our creator to give us a job to do. But then we’ll have perfect tools and all the right words. That would be more like Him than just plopping it down prefab from the sky, even though that’s what John the Revelator seemed to see the likeness of. Then with each rising, the command “build” would be heard with joy rather than cursing – each new task better than the one before, greeted by the crowing rooster and the quack of the duck, still kept around as comic relief for the builders, world without end.


The limited list of what we are

One of my youngest son’s notebooks from school contains this inspirational cover:

We are: Explorers, learners, artists, creative, writers, friends, kind, scientists, dreamers, musicians, athletes, thinkers, readers.

What’s missing from this list?

The things that will dominate proper adulthood: (future) husbands, (future) wives, (future) mothers, (future) fathers, citizens, employees, debtors, servants, soldiers (maybe).

Now I think it’s great to encourage kids. Everything on that notebook cover is good. But when do you break the news to them about all the stuff that isn’t on the cover? Not too soon to taint childhood with grown up worries, but soon enough to prepare them for those challenges, which require serious endurance.

It seems like we still need a much better popular theology of vocation in our churches here in the USA. The dominant voices continue to be either overly dewy-eyed or hyper-cynical. I know some wise people regularly take a stab at it, but it still needs work.