Review of Stephen Greenblatt's The Swerve

In The Swerve: How The World Became Modern, Stephen Greenblatt has penned an recounting of the Renaissance through the story of how the 15th century humanist Poggio Braccioloni discovered a copy of the Epicurean poet Lucretius's On the Nature of Things. The project is astoundingly erudite and beautifully articulated, and that is what one would assume with a book that won both a Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award.

Titus Lucretius Carus, a Roman who wrote about the the last half of the century before the time of Jesus, held to materialism. He taught--or better, set in stunning hexametric poetry--that all that exists is the tiniest, indivisible, foundational particles, which we call "atoms" (from Greek, "that which is indivisible"), but which Lucretius called "first things," "first beginnings," the bodies of matter," and "the seed of things." (see pp. 185f.) This means that reality is matter in motion Thus, there is no afterlife, nothing spiritual, as it's usually defined. But also implies there's no free will, as it's usually defined. 

So Lucretius described "the swerve" (188f.) of these atoms, which was "the most minimal motion," but which set off a change of events, and which allowed for freedom, change, novelty, and things that most human beings prize, but that seemed to be stolen by bald materialism.

Back to the Italian humanist Poggio. He was a tireless searcher of ancient manuscripts, and when he found Lucretius, Poggio, who was a specialist at this sort of thing, immediately copied the manuscript in stunningly elegant and legible script and sought to distribute its Epicurean doctrines. 

The reasons behind Poggio's search, the story of a particularly corrupt and dissolute Catholic hierarchy in the times, among many other tales (I was particularly enthralled and horrified by the story of the burning of the early reformer Jan Hus), as well as the general tenor of the Renaissance are expertly recounted by Greenblatt, the Harvard humanist and Shakespearean scholar. Ultimately, he clearly adores the glories of Lucretius. This is no mean feat. 

Unfortunately, adoration almost inevitably leads to overstatement. That Lucretius not only offered a central impetus for the Renaissance, motivated Galileo's science, and gave insight to Einstein's view of the atom--and especially, that this poem's "recovery permanently changed the landscape of the world" (218), as examples of several grand assertions--are overblown.

Still, the reader is enthralled. And if these overstatements are pardonable, then readers can revel in this story of the revival of western culture, the wonders of books, and the power of radical ideas. I know I did when I read The Swerve.

Ruth Cootsona, In Memoriam

Ruth Pauline Cootsona was born at home in Puyallup, Washington in the early hours of March 2, 1925, daughter to Alma Venator and Paul Behrens, both native Germans. She exhibited the classic Teutonic traits of self-confidence, a love of learning and beauty, and dedication to hard work. Her first two decades or so were spent in her hometown area (about 35 miles south of Seattle). She received a B.A. in French Literature from the College (now University) of Puget Sound. On August 7, 1949, she married Thomas Cootsona. It is difficult to image these two apart because they formed an enduring and adoring bond for the next 65 years.

      Ruth and Tom were part of the “Greatest Generation” that rebuilt the United States after World War Two. After a four-month trip to Europe (often recounted to family members), they built a home together, first near Seattle—where Marcus, their first son, was born—and then Portland. In 1961, tired of the Northwest rains, they headed down to sunny, temperate Menlo Park. Tom started with the Syntex Corporation, and not too long after, Ruth gave birth to their second son, Greg. During that time, Ruth employed her gifts of writing in various local publications and and participated in philanthropic organization such as the Peninsula Volunteers. In 1981, it was time to make a career switch, and the Cootsona Duo purchased Top Spin Tennis, a tennis specialty shop with the able help of Marcus as manager and, for several years, Greg as well, which they ran until 2004. They continued in their love for retail by working at Marcus’s retail outlet, Pro Tennis, until retiring in 2008 (thus for Ruth, at the age 83). Shortly thereafter, they moved to Chico to be with Greg and his family. In her final years, despite physical decline, Ruth never lost her kindness, elegance, and creativity. She died

peacefully on December 29, 2015.

      Mom, we will miss you—your unique turns of a phrase and your fierce devotion to your family (and that we excel in every way beyond expression). We remember how you were our best PR agent. We remember how you were always ready to celebrate with a glass of sparking wine. We remember the way you threw thousands of tennis balls so we could improve our strokes for the next junior tournament. We remember the way you read our books, watched our magic shows and musical performances, and listened to Greg’s sermons and Marcus’s comedy tapes.. We remember the way you encouraged us to learn trumpet and drums (drums of all instruments!) and how you loved the rhythms of samba and bossa nova. We remember how you and dad danced to “The Girl From Ipanema”—and that you’re dancing together again. We remember and celebrate you.

      Ruth is survived by their two sons, Marcus, who lives in Menlo Park, CA, with his wife, Melinda, and their son, Marcus James; and Greg, who lives in Chico, CA with his wife Laura and their two daughters, Melanie and Elizabeth.

      There will be a private service to remember Ruth. In lieu of gifts, please donate to the Thomas N Cootsona Memorial Fund through the North Valley Community Foundation (240 Main Street, Suite 260; Chico, CA 95928).

Thoughts on Christian Faith and Mindfulness

A few days ago, a friend posed three questions about the practice of mindfulness and the Christian faith. These seemed like good fodder for a blog entry. I'll start with the questions:

How do you think mindfulness and the Bible relate instead of contradict each

other?   

How do you utilize mindfulness as part of your spiritual life, quiet time, as a way of connecting with God? 

Why do you think some Christians have issues with regarding mindfulness?

1.     I think we probably have to admit that mindfulness, in at least a technical way, comes from Buddha’s teaching, namely part of his Eightfold Path. But, for what it’s worth, Buddha wasn’t probably trying to create a different spiritual tradition, but more of what we might call psychology. Today his teaching been further secularized in the particular practice of Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR), to be sure, and has become a practice that we, as Christians, need to see whether it’s effective and consistent with what we believe. I can't see that it's much different from applying Myers-Briggs categories to Christian life, for example. If there’s truth to be found in any endeavor, then we as Christians are right to follow it.

     John Calvin put it so well in the Institutes: 

“If we regard the Spirit of God as the sole fountain of truth, we shall neither reject the truth itself, nor despise it wherever it shall appear, unless we wish to dishonor the Spirit of God.” 

     With this in mind, I would say that mindfulness does not contradict biblical teaching, but is consistent with a stilled mind (Psalm 131). In that it empties ourselves of destructive thoughts, it is therefore more of a preparation for prayer that prayer itself. Or if it is a form of prayer, it’s really close to centering prayer in the Roman Catholic tradition (Thomas Keating would be a resource here.)

2.     I use mindfulness throughout my life daily as a way of calming myself. If I’m starting the day right, I do a brief (1 minute) clearing of my thoughts and thus my "concerns/anxieties." Important note: this can be the same word in the Bible and thus not always negative—e.g., Philippians 2:20 “concerned” and 4:6 “be anxious”. It is similar to what I learned in Marjorie Thompson’s Soul Feast about “prayers of consciousness”—i.e., meditating on the state of your mind. If I make time, I may take about 3-5 minutes through a variety of mindfulness techniques, often as a preparation for other forms of prayer. One I enjoy is imagining my thoughts as clouds and then attending to them, without judgment, until the sky clears. (But there are others.) I then try to bring the practice of mindfulness into my day in an ad hoc fashion—e.g., when I’m brushing my teeth or generally when it’s a simple activity that I can do easily; when I find myself in a place I can find stillness while waiting for something to happen (maybe for a haircut, even waiting for a doctor); when engaged a particular activity (such as eating), I seek to bring my mind to a state of being undivided and focused; when my heart is beating too fast and I need to return to my breath. So, all in all, my actual technical practice of mindfulness is limited (maybe 5 mins/day), but I bring it into several other parts of my day.

3.     Christians’ issues with mindfulness usually relate, in my experience to a concern that we want to do God honor and not let alien spirits into our lives. Something from Buddhism may be disrespectful and even dangerous. Mindfulness “empties” our mind and opens us up to all sorts of influences. This resistance is also summarized in a slogan like “If it’s not found in the Bible, it’s not ok for Christians.” Instead, I would rather say (with many others like Calvin), “If it’s consistent with, or even doesn’t contradict, the Bible rightly understood—and if it’s true—then we as Christians are obligated to follow it.” This in a way is common sense: how could God address all the issues believers through time would face in one book (or even better, a collection of 66 books)? It’s not possible. But, to some degree, this resistance is about a wider posture of relating to the world around us, and I feel generally confident that Christ has come into the world and is "the true light that enlightens everyone" (John 1:9). At the end of the day, I'm confident that God’s Spirit and people will help us discern what’s true and what’s not.

Theological Musings, Following Karl Barth and A.N. Whitehead

I'm working on an article that compares Karl Barth and Alfred North Whitehead and offers some conclusions for 21st century theology. On the way toward its completion (which is not imminent, by any means), here are some excerpts...

Who is God, what is the world, and how do the two relate? Certainly they have woven through my mind and created a winding path of challenge, perplexity, and discovery. It could even be argued that, in some way, these questions animate all of Christian theology. And sometimes when I wonder about the most fruitful next direction for theology—and really Christian thought generally—I’m concerned, even a bit dismayed, that there seems to be no clear guiding voice at the moment leading us forward. To state what others have decreed, we have no Reinhold Niebuhr or Paul Tillich that guides our discipline today as those voices did in the middle of the last century.

For that reason, I will take the approach of looking backward and seeing what we can learn from two voices that set out two distinct poles for theology, namely the master of confessional and Reformed theology, Karl Barth, and the mathematician cum philosopher and theologian, Alfred North Whitehead. And it leads to a central question: Is there a way forward theologically that allows for a “thick description” of the reality of God revealed in Jesus Christ and that also takes in the insights of science? Incidentally, in mentioning “two poles” in theology, I suppose I am arguing for a very Barthian concept, a dialectic—one, in this case, that’s defined by two essential opposites. This project is embedded in conviction that neither of the two opposites has all truth.

Here then is my thesis: The way forward for theology in the 21^st century is recognize some areas where these two great voices found common agreement and then head in a double movement (or “two ways at once”). To find a path that takes in both confessional theology, best exemplified by Karl Barth, and is in constructive conversation with other forms of human knowledge (such as science), exemplified by Alfred North Whitehead....

     

I do not know all the ways that heading two directions would work out, but I can sketch some contours. First of all, theologians will flourish when they go deeply into their own theological sources and create a rich and thick description of the God they know in Jesus Christ. At the same time, they will find fruitful work as they engage with other forms of knowledge, such as science and literature and philosophy. And in this regard, Whitehead’s philosophy is particularly useful.

     

In a word, what I’m saying is that Christian systematic theology has as its task to be mindful of the world around, and those theologians who are mindful of the world of culture have as their task to be related to the specific event of Jesus, to the “tremendous fact” of Christianity. Or as Whitehead phrased it:

 It starts with a tremendous notion about the world. But this notion is not derived from a metaphysical doctrine, but from our comprehension of the sayings and actions of certain supreme lives. It is the genius of the religion to point at the facts and ask for their systematic interpretation. In the Sermon on the Mount, in the Parables, and in their accounts of Christ, the Gospels exhibit a tremendous fact. The doctrine may, or may not, lie on the surface. But what is primary is the religious fact. (Religion in the Making, 50-1)

This tremendous fact is indeed, in Barth’s theology, the place where we understand the nature of God.

The meaning of [Jesus Christ’s] deity—the only deity in the New Testament sense—cannot be gathered from any notion of supreme, absolute, non-worldly being. It can be learned only from what took place in Christ. (CD IV/1, 177)

      

What can be taken away from this common point of agreement, and more specifically from the doctrine of God when Jesus becomes the means of inquiry? That’s one of the questions I’m still working on.

Sensing Conflict, Seeking Collaboration: Emerging Adults' Attitudes on Science and Religion

As I've mentioned several times on this blog, I’ve been directing a grant project that investigates emerging adults’ attitudes on science and religion (SEYA, Science for Students and Emerging Adults). As a part of that work, I’ve studied national surveys and conducted two dozen qualitative interviews. Many of the latter are with Chico State students, often from my Science and Religion class. Sometimes the findings of researchers appear to head in opposite directions.

            

Consider two national surveys. In one, conducted by Kyle Longest and Christian Smith (link behind paywall), with almost 2,400 18-23 year olds, 70% stated that they “agree” or “strongly agree” that religion and science conflict. Similarly one my students, Ericka, commented, 

“I think that science and religion will always be in conflict because science and religion will never be able to agree, and there are such contradicting views.”

There is, however, competing data. Another survey from Christopher Scheitle (link also behind paywall--sorry!) of over 11,000 undergraduates came to an opposite conclusion:

“despite the seeming predominance of a conflict-oriented narrative, the majority of undergraduates do not view the relationship between these two institutions [religion and science] as one of conflict.” 

That majority was 69% of those surveyed and reminded me of Daniel, who had this advice for people discussing science and religion, 

“Be more friendly and open. Less conflict and more dialogue.”

How do we make sense of these competing claims? 

It’s a function of the question. The first survey asked about the culture at large: “The teachings of science and religion often ultimately conflict with each other. (Do you strongly agree, agree, disagree, or strongly disagree)?” The second about views personally held: “For me, the relationship of science and religion is one of…”

            

Simply put, the majority of emerging adults (in this case, 18-23 years old) sense that there is conflict out there, but they personally seek another way. They sense conflict, but seek collaboration or independence.

            

And that’s just one reason it's energizing to find out what emerging adults think and, in the process, begin to discern the the contours of future discussions of science and religion. 

I'd also be interested to hear what you think.