Ed Feser, with five gradations (of increasing sophistication) in one’s conception of God:

1. God is literally an old man with a white beard, a kind of stern wizard-like being with very human thoughts and motivations who lives in a place called Heaven, which is like the places we know except for being very far away and impossible to get to except through magical means.

2. God doesn’t really have a bodily form, and his thoughts and motivations are in many respects very different from ours. He is an immaterial object or substance which has existed forever, and (perhaps) pervades all space. Still, he is, somehow, a person like we are, only vastly more intelligent, powerful, and virtuous, and in particular without our physical and moral limitations. He made the world the way a carpenter builds a house, as an independent object that would carry on even if he were to ‘go away’ from it, but he nevertheless may decide to intervene in its operations from time to time.

3. God is not an object or substance alongside other objects or substances in the world; rather, He is pure being or existence itself, utterly distinct from the world of time, space, and things, underlying and maintaining them in being at every moment, and apart from whose ongoing conserving action they would be instantly annihilated. The world is not an independent object in the sense of something that might carry on if God were to “go away”; it is more like the music produced by a musician, which exists only when he plays and vanishes the moment he stops. None of the concepts we apply to things in the world, including to ourselves, apply to God in anything but an analogous sense. Hence, for example, we may say that God is “personal” insofar as He is not less than a person, the way an animal is less than a person. But God is not literally “a person” in the sense of being one individual thing among others who reasons, chooses, has moral obligations, etc. Such concepts make no sense when literally applied to God.

4. God as understood by someone who has had a mystical experience of the sort Aquinas had.

5. God as Aquinas knows Him now, i.e. as known in the beatific vision attained by the blessed after death.

Brad East, offering his answer to the question “What is the greatest threat to the church in America today?” (I normally hate the question because it’s used so often as a marketing ploy by authors/publishers who promise to offer the “solution” in their latest book; but, since it’s Brad, I’ll allow it.):

My answer is DIY Christianity.

That’s the term I use with my students to communicate the notion—which they readily recognize—of the Christian faith as recreated anew in, by, and for each generation, or even perhaps each local body of believers. This is Christianity without history, without tradition, without authority, without saints or martyrs or anything mediate, that is, anything intervening (thus obtruding, thus obstructing) between the individual and Jesus. DIY Christianity is “founding” a local church the way entrepreneurs found a start-up, with Big Ideas and Enough With The Old and Radical Innovation. (DIY Christianity thinks “innovation,” like “curiosity,” is a virtue rather than a vice.)

Given the diagnosis, Brad’s constructive solution certainly resonates:

In positive terms, what I want is for American Christians today to learn, or relearn, to be catholic: to belong to the one great tradition, the one apostolic faith, the one universal church. To reimagine faith not as something they create or manufacture or curate or judge for themselves, but that to which they submit, in joy, the way one simply receives an unexpected gift, a beloved friend’s return, the birth of a child. The faith as a given, and the real matter before us one of how to live that faith today, in the midst of so many challenges.

Receive. Submit. Given. Handed Down. Tradition. These are good words. Go and act accordingly.

Snagged this at an antique shop today and, upon further investigation, discovered that the picture originates from a 13th-century manuscript on female monastic life which extols living as a virgin dedicated to God.

Alastair Roberts, on “The Anglicanism of C. S. Lewis,” in which he explores Lewis' generous, non-ideological vision of reality as a window into the spirit of Anglicanism writ large:

It seems to me that Lewis’s appeal has much to do with the fact that he had a rich imagination, a curious and brilliant mind, a generous and catholic spirit, a delight in, expansive attention to, and receptivity to reality, and a capacious conceptual and cultural world. While he had his firm convictions, he was not narrow-minded or -spirited. He was open to and had an appetite for the world and truth. He manifested the catholicity and magnanimity of one with a confident grasp on truth and reality, avoiding a fortress mentality, tribalism, or the incuriosity of the ideologue.

There is a sort of sapiential and cosmopolitan character to Lewis’s posture, a practice of receptive attention to and irenic engagement with a wide variety of voices and aspects of reality. As a result, one does not need to hold to a particular ideology, belong to a particular tribal camp or denomination, or hold a particular set of dogmas to find things to enjoy or appreciate in Lewis. Indeed, in works like Mere Christianity, Lewis was careful to accent those things that Christians of various denominations hold in common, rather than those things that distinguished his class or tribe. Lewis wrote and spoke as a man of strong convictions and as one with occasionally sharp differences with others, yet not as a sectarian, partisan, or an ideologue. […]

It seems to me much of the strength of Lewis comes from the fact that he closely attends to, delights in, and thinks and acts into a wider natural, social, and cultural world, a world he wants to share in with people of many different backgrounds, identities, beliefs, and times. His writing invites you into deeper appreciation of and attention to the world in which you already live, rather than calling you into a peculiar ideological, cultural, and social frame. He does, of course, write from a particular world, into which he invites you to be welcome: a distinctly British mid-century Oxonian scholarly world, which is also the world of its own cultural references to earlier worlds; he of course also encourages you to find those aspects of reality that that world shares in common with your own—for example, the experience of sensucht, of friendship, of reading.

Zacatlaxcalli Vignette (2023) by Eva Peréz Martínez:

Highlights from Freddie deBoer’s “Selfishness & Therapy Culture” (and I should add this caveat: Freddie is not opposed to therapy, as he makes clear at the outset; rather, he’s taking aim at the way “therapy has gone from being a tool to being a culture, in a way that’s bad for everyone”):

• On one of the most pernicious assumptions of therapy culture: [There is] a constant, recurring theme of the whole therapy-as-culture genre, the notion that social pressure, the pressure to do something the individual doesn’t want to do, is inherently bad, inherently wicked. The notion that much of the difficult work of life is about working against our base individual desires, and the idea that we need to build social pressures to support this work, are both casually discarded as pathological. Better to feel no pressure to do anything, in pursuit of a self-actualized life. The directive to forgive is as old as human morality, but the wisdom of the past is of little concern compared to the impulse of the moment.
• On the utilitarian ethic fostered by therapy culture (in responding to a NYT piece arguing that you should contemplate forgiveness only when and because it might benefit you): That we might want to embrace moral virtues like forgiveness in the pursuit of benefits that can’t be measured with an Apple Watch goes unconsidered. The idea that there are higher virtues towards which we might labor is nowhere to be found. This passage’s implicit value system would justify saying that compassion is good because it reduces blood pressure, that honesty is good because speaking the truth causes a pleasant release of endorphins, that you shouldn’t rob and murder someone because doing so might worsen fine lines and wrinkles. It’s a stance on morality that has completely excised the interests of others, which is to say, an anti-morality, a consumer product marketed in moral terms, a justification for selfishness bought off the rack.
• On how expressive individualism has become an invisible ideology: Do you want to know what ideology is? What we mean when we say "ideology at its purest"? It’s not a collection of policy positions. It’s not a political party you vote for. It’s not even your conscious beliefs about right or wrong, your philosophy about how humans should act individually and collectively and the relationship between those acts and the public and private good. No, ideology refers to those beliefs you do not examine because you do not see them as beliefs at all. Ideology isn’t a matter of ingesting arguments about better or worse, right and wrong, and evaluating them to determine your own beliefs. Ideology is fundamentally the unexamined framework of the system through which you perform such an evaluation, the part you can’t and don’t see; it’s the assumptions that you cannot understand as assumptions. And the ideology that Carons demonstrates here, the set of assumptions she can’t begin to examine critically because she does not notice them, says that the individual has no responsibility to anyone but themselves. There is no moral duty, there is only the immediate emotional needs of the individual, which eclipses all other concerns, which is sacrosanct.
• On the problems that ensue when unfettered freedom is extolled as the highest good: Who told you that your job in life is to free yourself? "Freeing yourself" is very often the opposite of pursuing moral action. Very often, the reason that there’s someone who you might or might not forgive, the reason for the offense, is precisely because that person had freed themselves in an entirely inappropriate manner. (A lot of the world’s most predatory people are those who feel much too free.) Who told you that your emotional comfort is the heart of the moral challenge? The moral challenge resides in the face of the other. And who needs this? Is there really an insufficient supply of influences telling you to put yourself first, in 21st-century America? What are we doing, telling a civilization full of people raised on capitalist selfishness that they need to be more selfish?
• On how therapy culture makes it impossible to answer the question: How do you—absent God and traditional forces of constraint—create structures that compel people to be less selfish?: What’s happening in much of our culture amounts to answering that question by refusing its challenge - by saying that we don’t need less selfishness, thanks, but rather more. And the particular misery is that they’ve found a ruthlessly efficient and impregnable means to defend that position, therapy. Not therapy in terms of going to see a licensed clinical practitioner of some sort and undertaking a (hopefully evidence-based) process to achieve specific medical goals related to mental health and wellbeing. But therapy as in therapeutic culture, the offloading of all of the human project into the domain of psychiatric care. The basic work of life, human interrelations that involve multiple people who all have their own legitimate points of view, is reduced to being an exercise in one person’s pursuit of self-actualization. We all become bit players in each other’s plays. The abstruse vocabulary lends self-interest the sheen of medical legitimacy, and it also carries with it a potent discursive cudgel: anyone who disagrees with or criticizes someone who invokes the therapeutic mode is an impediment to them healing from their trauma, perhaps even guilty of retraumatizing them. In the NYT piece, Caron repetitively mentions women who have endured very real trauma, which has the inevitable effect of making her piece seem like the voice of the traumatized. But of course what people want and what they need are not the same, and anyway, because everything that lives experiences trauma, exempting the traumatized from social rules simply removes social rules entirely.
• On the "moral rules" implicit in therapy culture:
1. You, your feelings, and your goals are always preeminent and in any conflict supersede those of others.
2. You are entitled to total and complete emotional safety at all times, and this entitlement supersedes the rights and desires of others.
3. Simultaneously, you are a totally, existentially, permanently fragile being.
4. Since there is nothing that can be endured or recovered from that is not injustice, the concept of resilience is itself an expression of injustice.
5. That which makes you feel better is that which is right to do.
6. In any conflict between any two people, there is always one guilty abuser and one blameless victim.
7. You argue, they gaslight, you have self-respect, they are narcissists, you are still growing, they are toxic, you have boundaries, they have limitations, you hold space, they stand in the way of your growth.
8. Your own behavior is always a trauma response, and thus not your fault; the behavior of others is always freely chosen, and thus responsibility-bearing.
9. Any of your behaviors is merely one small step on your journey, and you are still in the process of becoming yourself, any behavior of others you don’t like is constitutive of their very being and cannot change.
10. Wanting and not getting, for you, can never be an expression of the basic reality of existence, but rather is always evidence of crime, abuse, mistreatment, pathology, injustice.
11. Everything you feel, do, and are is valid, always valid, until the end of time.

Do non-human animals grieve?

Finished reading: The Lord’s Work in the Lord’s Way and No Little People by Francis A. Schaeffer 📚

Part of the Crossway Short Classics Series for a reason. Definitely one I’ll return to regularly.

Francis Schaeffer:

Quietness and peace before God are more important than any influence a position may seem to give, for we must stay in step with God to have the power of the Holy Spirit. If by taking a bigger place our quietness with God is lost, then to that extent our fellowship with him is broken and we are living in the flesh, and the final result will not be as great, no matter how important the larger place may look in the eyes of other men or in our own eyes. There will always be a battle, we will always be less than perfect, but if a place is too big and too active for our present spiritual condition, then it is too big.