I valued very much a recently aired conversation with David Newheiser, who is a Research Fellow at Australian Catholic University (ACU) in the Institute for Religion and Critical Inquiry. The conversation was titled: Politics and the Sacred and featured on the ABC show The Philosophers Zone (here).
His research addresses ethical and political questions in light of classic Christian thought and contemporary continental philosophy. He specializes in apophatic traditions of Christian thought and in Jacques Derrida's relation to religion.
His first book, title above (forthcoming, and I’m not exactly sure when, but maybe Nov. 2020 for the print edition, from Cambridge University Press), defends a hope that acknowledges its vulnerability but presses forward nonetheless. Where critics claim that hope pacifies political resistance by providing false comfort, I argue that it nourishes a restless dissatisfaction with the status quo. Drawing upon premodern negative theology and postmodern philosophy, I show that an uncertain hope is necessary to sustain commitment of any kind: interpersonal, political, or religious.
I’m looking forward to reading a copy of his book when it’s published. Meantime, you can find a list of his journal essays here, downloadable via Academia.
This was a truly fascinating On Being listen. I’ve had some engagement with Hannah Arendt, but I was surprise how many places my mind went as I listening to this conversation and reflected on the world around me. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about totalitarianism, fascism, and imaginative communities of resistance, and to the work of what I call re-making. Stonebridge also offers some interesting perspectives on loneliness.
“Along with George Orwell, the 20th-century political theorist Hannah Arendt is a new bestseller. She famously coined the phrase “the banality of evil” and wrote towering works like The Origins of Totalitarianism. She was concerned with the human essence of events that we analyze as historical and political. Totalitarianism she described as “organized loneliness,” and loneliness as the “common ground for terror.” The historian, she said, always knows how vulnerable facts are. And thinking is not something for elites; it is the human power to keep possibility alive.”
You’ll find the conversation here.
For more on psychoanalyst Melanie Klein you’ll find one of Stonebridge’s essays in this collection Reading Melanie Klein. For more on Arendt try: The Human Condition, On Revolution, and The Origins of Totalitarianism (for more on this theme you might enjoy this article written in The Guardian in Feb. 2017). Also well worth watching is the 2012 film Hannah Arendt. Finally, for a collection of academic essay’s engaging Arendt’s thought, I’ve heard some good commentary about Cambridge University Press’ 2010 publication Politics in Dark Times: Encounters with Hannah Arendt
If anyone can e-mail me a copy of Stonebridge’s essay Thinking without Banisters I’d be very grateful.
Finally, the soundtrack accompanying me as I wrote this was Kiwi band The Nudge and their album Dark Arts.
Today, a post in its entirety from Chris Erdman (Thanks Chris. His blog can be found here). I reminded me of a conversation with good friends a couple of weeks ago. One of those friends was Gareth Higgins, and one of his contributions to the conversation included talking about “Porch circles…” In “Porch Circles” a small group gathers for 90-minutes around food and four questions:
More from what Gareth’s up to in my next post:
And here’s Chris:
“…Feeling passionate but alone? Here's a way to contribute to the common good
Circles of Strength are small, intentional gatherings of people drawn together by a desire to co-create the kind of world we wish to live in. We gather around two essential goals:
We identify our desires to improve our world, and together, we grow our sense of strength so we can make a difference.
Around us, millions of Americans are rising up to meet the environmental, social, and political challenges of the 21st century.
Rather than feeling disempowered or disillusioned, people like us want to do something useful to transcend barriers, overcome hostilities, and create programs, products, movements and opportunities that contribute to the common good in our neighborhoods, cities, nation, and around the planet.
Circles of Strength are small gatherings of 3 or more people (no more than 5). They are intentional in that they meet at least every other week for at least an hour to check in with each other around a series of questions like:
Circles don’t need a trained leader, but they do need a common commitment from each other to listen more than give advice, and to help others find their passion. Through meeting together and talking about our desires for a better world, we help foster accountability, hope, and follow-through. (And when we fail or repeatedly bang into walls, we help each other find new direction.)
Find a few other people, create a circle, and begin to change your world.”
Today a poignant and very moving and thought-provoking speech by Desmond Tutu’s daughter Mpho Tutu van Furth.
“Forgiving can sometimes look like an impossible task. How do you forgive murder, rape, genocide? After the end of apartheid in South Africa, many expected the country to be devastated by a bloodbath. Yet, the new nation chose the path of confession and reconciliation. Reverend Canon Mpho Tutu va Furth says that it’s possible to forgive and still pursue justice. Forgiveness is the only path forward.
Tutu van Furth was in Australia to deliver the 2016 Annual Hawke Lecture Forgiving...The Only Way Forward presented at the Bob Hawke Prime Ministerial Centre, University of South Australia on the 15th June 2016.”
You’ll find the audio here (approx. 53 mins)
I also want to highlight the very helpful book The Book of Forgiving: The Fourfold Path for Healing Ourselves and Our World (pub. 2014) and co-written by Desmond and Mpho Tutu.
“…Each of us has a deep need to forgive and to be forgiven. After much reflection on the process of forgiveness, Tutu has seen that there are four important steps to healing: Admitting the wrong and acknowledging the harm; Telling one's story and witnessing the anguish; Asking for forgiveness and granting forgiveness; and renewing or releasing the relationship. Forgiveness is hard work. Sometimes it even feels like an impossible task. But it is only through walking this fourfold path that Tutu says we can free ourselves of the endless and unyielding cycle of pain and retribution. The Book of Forgiving is both a touchstone and a tool, offering Tutu's wise advice and showing the way to experience forgiveness. Ultimately, forgiving is the only means we have to heal ourselves and our aching world.”
As noted yesterday, today, more from Chris Erdman. A podcast conversation in which he and the show’s host talk about “…about his overlapping roles as pastor and father. He also shares about the pain of divorce, the joy of a new marriage, and the spiritual depth to be found in the daily tasks of parenting."
The show's blurb notes that:
"The Rev. Dr. Chris Neufeld-Erdman is the senior pastor of University Presbyterian Church in Fresno,CA. He is the father of two young adult sons, and three adult step-daughters. He is the author of several books, an accomplished speaker, an adjunct seminary professor, and an oblate at the New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur..."
You can listen to, or download the podcast here.
I was struck by the following as I read a reflection on Vaclav Havel (1936-2011) written by Paul Wilson and published in the New York Review of Books, 9th February 2012. Here it is. Highlights are mine.
“…a week in which the Czech newsstands were flooded with special commemorative editions of magazines and newspapers devoted to Havel’s passing, there was scarcely an aspect of his life and ideas that was not mulled over and parsed for deeper meaning, or recalled in pictures. The most iconic of those pictures—a shot of Havel with his back to the camera, walking toward the ocean—was turned into a poster and widely displayed around Prague, along with a quotation expressing one of Havel’s most deeply held beliefs: “Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.”
A ringing statement, but it was not quite in focus. What Havel meant by “something”—as his other formulations of the same belief make clear—was action. All his life, Havel lived by the belief that if you wanted something to happen, you had to do something to make it happen, and damn the consequences, including arrest and prison, and possibly even death. Speaking about the early days of the post-Stalin thaw, he once said: “The more we did, the more we were able to do, and the more we were able to do, the more we did.” It is a fine summary of his attitude, and, in a sense, his legacy. Havel was continually pushing the boundaries of the possible, and in doing so, he was able to create space for others to follow…”
… What put him in a league of his own is the corollary: you act not to achieve a certain outcome; you act because it is the right thing to do. That is what he meant by “living in truth,” a notion he explores in some depth in his most radical and enduring work: The Power of the Powerless.
Like many great Czechs before him, Havel insisted on the importance of truth, but with a difference. “Truth and love,” he was fond of saying, “must prevail over lies and hatred.” He was often ridiculed for what seemed like a Hallmark sentiment (“Why love?” people asked), but he defended the slogan by referring to one of his greatest insights: truth, by itself, is a malleable concept that depends for its truthfulness on who utters it, to whom it is said, and under what circumstances. As a playwright, Havel turned this insight into a dramatic device: in most of his plays, the main characters constantly lie to one another and to themselves, using words that, in other circumstances, would be perfectly truthful. Truth by itself is not enough: it needs a guarantor, someone to stand behind it. It must be uttered with no thought for gain, that is, in Havel’s words, with a love that seeks nothing for itself and everything for others…
…Havel was a deeply spiritual man who expressed his spirituality, if that is the right word, almost entirely through his actions in the world…
… Havel’s generosity toward Sudeten Germans points to one of his finest, and most radical, qualities: his capacity for forgiveness…“and Havel knew that the only way to break out of [the] …cycle of hatred and vengeance was to forgive those who have wronged us. If,” he added, “they ask to be forgiven”…”
You can read the full New York Review of Books piece, here.
Thanks for Jason Goroncy for bringing it to my attention.
Recently I finally got to see the award-winning film Of Gods and Men on the big screen. It’s in my top 5 movies of the decade (2000 to 2010). Based on the true story of a small group of Cistercian monks who inhabit the Notre-Dame de l’Atlas monastery in the Atlas mountains near Tibhirine south west of Algiers in northern Algeria it examines links between French and Islamic culture; and too some degree, between Christianity and Islam. I’m halfway through the book-length account of the story behind the film. It’s titled: The Monks of Tibhirine: Faith, Love, and Terror in Algeria by American journalist John W. Kiser. The now-abandoned monastery is located near Medea, 70 km south of Algiers. “…The monks had worked among the people in the poor district. They had provided free medical care, a service that is deeply missed by the locals…” according to the Catholic News Agency.
Sitting in a dark theatre was a truly special experience, from the script to the cinematography, to the acting, to the soundtrack – everything worked. I loved it and was profoundly moved through a range of feelings and emotions. It’s a movie that can be ‘read’ on so many levels. It’s a profoundly human story, while also a story of friendship, community and of interdependence – in this case between the monastery and the village of Tibhirine. It’s also a story of “interiors and interiority” wrapped in a message of peace. Surely a message that is desperately needed today. Br. Jean-Pierre (age 87), one of the two survivors has said of the film that it is “an icon”.
In many ways this is a classical and profoundly modest film, and perhaps that’s an important reason why the film really touches and moves you. There’s something about its portrayal of a full range of human emotion in the face of which, for many of us, the unrest and tension would be a sufficient reason to sever connection with relationships and place. They beautifully transition through anxiety, fear, and deep inner anguish to a place of deep rootedness, trust, and commitment. They resist every urge in their bodies which whispers to them that they should leave; or that independence is more important and transformative than interdependence, relationship, love of God and neighbour, belonging, and community. Truly important and subversive messages at a time in our Western culture(s) where everything is disposable and every person and relationship can be thrown away when the circumstances of life, inside and outside of us demand that we stretch, change, and grow. The monks of Tibhirine face into their fear and in the process create something truly beautiful, truly human against a backdrop of dehumanisation. Its a profound reminder that love is not a feeling; its an action; its actions.
So much resonated with my own experiences of regularly being in a monastery within the Trappist / Cistercian tradition.
From the Film:
Reading at Meal (34:22)
“Accepting our powerlessness and our extreme poverty is an invitation, an urgent appeal to create with others relationships not based on power. Recognizing my weaknesses, I accept those of others. I can bear them; make them mine in imitation of Christ.
Such an attitude transforms us for our mission. Weakness in itself is not a virtue, but the expression of a fundamental reality, which must constantly be refashioned by faith, hope and love. The apostles’ weakness is like Christ’s, rooted in the mystery of Easter and the strength of the spirit. It is neither passivity nor resignation. It requires great courage and incites one to defend justice and truth and to denounce the temptation of force and power…”
This excerpt from the films script (above) is courtesy of a really helpful study guide for the film produced by Christopher Page (he’s written a few really helpful study guides for church or Christian communities with which to accompany films). You can find a PDF of the study guide here.
A written interview with the films director can be found here. Some of you may also be interested in this essay: “When an A-Dieu Takes on a Face”: The Last Testament of Christian de Chergé, O.C.S.O (PDF) by Karl A. Plank.
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