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30 November 2006
Shrapnel.
From my admittedly limited understanding of psychology, I recall that emotions are wrapped around facts and events. Recalling the event brings back the feelings. Without something concrete for the feelings to coalesce around, they simply drift through the psyche, moving with the tides of moods. So it stands to reason that when the facts and details start to fade, the feelings should as well. One would think, at least.
I once heard memory described like the healing of a wound. A newly received laceration shows up front and center in your consciousness. It will push other thoughts out of the way to make room, if needs be. The klaxons of pain tell you to do something about it, the classic ‘fight or flight’ response. The wound then scabs over. It remains in the background of your consciousness itching as it heals. When you touch the wound, it moves to the foreground. During this phase of healing, the best thing you can do is leave the wound alone. The worst thing you can do is pick the scab. Eventually, the wound will turn to scar. Once it does, it causes no more pain. This does not mean the wound is all the way gone, though. At first, the scar is brightly colored. That distinctive pink-red line will remind you of the wound, whenever you see it. As time passes, the coloring leaves the scar, fading to the color of the surrounding skin. As it does, it will take more and more to remind you of the wound, until one day it completely fades. Then, nothing but the most determined of searches will recall the wound.
Something happened about a week ago that I did not expect. I could not recall the name of her blog. This is a little thing, I know, but it means a big deal to me. Some back story. Five months ago, after the last unpleasant conversation between her and I, I determined I would not pick the scabs. All things directly related to her were filed away or otherwise buried. All the emails between us stored in an archive that I do not open. All reading of her blog was strictly verboten. My copy of the mix CD I made for her filed away somewhere in my closet. The two Anthropology books she recommended, well, I read them. I hate having unread books. Then I gave them away. All the fragments of C. were eradicated from my life. The only eyes that I would see her through would be those of her Father. My pursuit would be a pure pursuit, a pursuit with my prayers and with them alone.
At first, there was a strong temptation to pick the wound. I wanted something to explain what had happened, something to bring stability to the frameworks, something to make it all make sense. I wanted to pore over the emails, analyzing for some hidden aspect of her personality I had missed. I wanted to read her blog, wanted to deconstruct and reconstruct her words, to pick them apart for meaning. I wanted some sense of the good times that never were, and I wanted to recall the few good times that actually were, times when she would smile at me and say things like ‘you have honored me. Thank you.’ I did none of these things. I thank God for that. As He healed that wound, the immediacy of this temptation diminished, as did the immediacy of the memories. I did not expect them to disappear so completely, though.
It is not that I forgot. There are conversations that I remember verbatim. There are images of her that are branded on my memory. Her twirling her hair between her fingers at a coffeeshop near school. Her profile, sitting next to me in an airplane a few thousand feet above Boston. The little freckles on her face. I do not see myself forgetting these things. The pitch of her voice. The way she laughs. I did not forget. But I did forget the name of her blog. I forgot the website. When I tried to recall it, it was more from curiosity. I did not pull it up, of course. At this point, I don’t even want to read it. This is God’s story. I want Him to write the ending. I want to hear that ending from Him, not from her. After all, this story is between Him and me, not between me and her.
Still, the fragments of C. seem to have lost their power. I do not have to actively shove them from my consciousness. My mind seems to want to focus on God, instead of wrapping itself in circles around the pieces of her in my head. I don’t have to fight it. And this is a welcome change. I think it had already happened. It took something like not being able to remember to bring the change to my attention. Realizing the change, I feel it in my heart. I do not have to fight to forgive her. Toward her, I do not have to rebuke unforgiveness, bitterness, vengefulness, or any other -ness on a regular basis. I remember when that was a constant mental discipline. So my anger fades with my memories. Even if particularly intense, none of this sequence is completely unfamiliar. Get hurt, get angry, forgive, forgive again, forgive until you forget. Then it goes away. Well, not unfamiliar up to this point. It didn’t go away. Not the way I feel about her. Not my prayers. Not the simple, inescapable fact that I still love her. Even as the memories dropped off, that remains still front and center in my consciousness. I do not know how to explain this.
That I feel for her has not changed. How I feel for her has changed. Not so much in direction, though… it has become simpler, more constant, more at peace. A storm’s wind may predominantly blow in one direction overall, but from moment to moment it gusts, shifts, and blows every which way. It may even blow the exact opposite way at times. It is not simple, not constant, not at peace. In the steady wind, the waves still lap, but they all lap one direction. It is the steady wind that moves a ship, not the tempest. So what is the difference between the steady wind and the storm? The storm is the result of two colliding masses of air. The strong wind is the child of one air mass. Take the opposing air mass from the storm, and you are left with the steady wind. So it is with me. As my memories fell away, so did my anger. Falling away, I was left with just love. If there ever was a miracle in this story, it is this. I prayed five months ago that God would teach me to love her the way He does. I know with absolute certainty that loving her under these circumstances is well beyond my own feeble ability to love. If I am here now, it is because He has answered that prayer.
My prayers are simple now. The waves move, and no less strongly. But they move in one direction. ‘Daddy, she’s Your daughter. You know what’s best for her. If I’m not a part of that, then please take this from my heart. If I am, then teach me to love her the way You do.’ I pray that He would wrap Himself around her, that He would comfort her, protect her and teach her. I pray that if there is anything that He and her have to work out, that He would work it out as gently as possible. I pray against all powers and principalities that would seek to interfere in her life. I like these simple prayers better. I know the Spirit will get it right. Hopefully these prayers will give Him something to work with. Hopefully He won’t have to spend as much time filtering.
I really am somewhat confused. And I am not sure that isn’t a good thing. I no longer hold on to hot shrapnel. My wounds feel healed; most of the pain has fallen away. The drive to control is nowhere near as strong. It is demon of control that drives us to pick the scabs: the pain gives us a degree of ownership in the situation. That demon is broken here. I abandon all the pain at the foot of the Cross. The scabs are healed. I throw my hands and my hope up into the air. I leave them raised. Jesus knows me better than I know myself. He knows my desires better than I do. He is faithful, and I trust Him. So I give this up to Him. Yet I still feel the same. Strange. I can’t say I understand. I’m not sure what any of this means. But I do know Who to ask.
I have to ask myself again, ‘what do I want from this?’ This is clearly not an academic discussion. My heart is on the line. I wouldn’t risk it simply to prove some point. My eyes tell me hope has failed. My heart does not. I knew with all my heart when this story started. I remember standing on the streets of Harvard square two days after meeting her, feeling a hundred things I never expected to feel . I remember figuring out how you know you have met ‘the one‘: when you meet a girl so incredible that you just don’t care if there is another ‘one’ out there. I remember understanding that you could love someone so much that you would want to continue her forever in children and grandchildren. I remember being ready to reshuffle career plans that had occupied center stage of my dreams for as long as I could remember. I had thought when guys would say ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world,‘ they were just being nice. I realized that they meant it. I was not waiting to fall in love. Really, three days before, my thoughts were almost completely focused on my upcoming pilot training. But fall in love I did, in a way I never had before. I am still there. Against my intentions several times over, I am still there. I’ve tried to write an ending. Several different endings, actually. None of them worked… my heart just wouldn’t buy it. I knew with all my heart when the story started. I believe I will know just as clearly when it has ended. I still believe this is His story. I am waiting for an ending fitting the Author.
I don’t know how this story goes. I don’t know when I will find the ending, or what ending it will be. My experience has been that feelings fade with memories, but they have not here. I don’t know how to forecast this. Perhaps the feelings will eventually fade as well. Perhaps this turns into some general sense of love to be affixed to my future spouse. Perhaps my hopes, against all odds, actually come to pass. Here is my deepest hope. I am a different man than the boy she knew. Strangely, I hope that she has become a different woman. More precisely, I hope that she has become the woman she was all along and was afraid to become. And in this light, perhaps it is appropriate that my memories fade of who she was. Perhaps we do meet each other again for the first time. But I don’t know. All of these are guesses, and I will not trust my heart to a guess, nor to a hypothetical, nor to wishful thinking. I place my faith in Jehovah Jireh. He will provide.
18:55 Posted in Faith | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
29 November 2006
Wrong vs. Wrong.
// 24 Oct 2007 Revision: NOTE TO EVERYBODY: This post has nothing at all to do with Academic Plagiarism. If you're trying to find a good essay for that eternal freshman-at-college question that they make you answer in introductory english or sociology or whatever class, then you're better served looking elsewhere. Oh the irony... plagiarizing an essay on plagiarism. I love it. Anyways.
//
I was reflecting on an unpleasant email I wrote a year or so back. It was in response to a boundary violation, someone addressing me with nice words but no respect, someone who had never been a friend to me assuming that we were close friends. I’ll spoil it. A girl who basically dumped me after a brief and shallow interaction emails me out of the blue a year later with a glowing and bubbling email about her new fiance, telling me how she’s so much in love and all of those sorts of things. I was not super pleased, for obvious reasons, not the least of which being that I had happily forgotten her. It’s generally not really cool to email people and tell them ‘I know you liked me once, and I know we’re not talking, but let me tell you all about this other guy and how awesome he is and how much happier I am to be with him than you.‘ Regardless, she had no business with some guy she only knew in a flirting sense (me) when she was about to pledge her heart to someone for the rest of her life.
My first response was standoffish, cordial and cold, in the hopes that person would get the hint and not email me again. She didn’t get that hint. Wrote me back another long, flowing email about how great this guy was and their wonderful plans for the future. I am all about rejoicing in the joys of others, but we should still guard each others’ hearts. My second email response was very blunt. Something along the lines of ‘may your marriage be blessed, but you have no real reason to be talking to me. Please cease to do so.’
This unfortunately reminded me of the email C. sent to me. I was in her position, in a way. I did not want to talk to this person. She did not want to talk to me. (Admittedly, the positive email she sent to me prior to my emailing her did confuse me a bit as to this.) I viewed this girl’s email as a boundary violation, C. viewed mine as one. My words were blunt, and C’s were blunt, amongst other things. So if this girl was wrong, perhaps I was as well.
But C. wasn’t right. I think this was the sticking point: I thought if I was wrong, that made her right. And I knew, totally knew, she was wrong. Her words stank of sulfur and burned like hellfire. She was wrong to say the things she said. She was wrong to attack me, wrong to go after my heart in that way. There is a difference between being blunt and being cruel. Bluntness says what it intends to say, regardless of whether it hurts. Cruelty says things in order to hurt a person, identifying and exploiting their weaknesses. Bluntness drops an answer like a sack of potatoes. Cruelty turns a knife. It is different. I said a prayer before sending that response. I did my best not to make it hurt. C intended to hurt me with her words. I forgive her, but that does not make her right. So I had to be right, because I knew she was wrong.
Unless, of course, her being wrong does not mean that I am right. Unless one being wrong does not make the other right. Unless we were both wrong. I very well may have been wrong, as well. If I am wrong, I ask God to convict me of it. I will not say ‘If I am wrong, then I repent.‘ I don’t like hypothetical repentance. Id rather be at least arraigned before pleading guilty. Once He does so, I will gladly repent. At least then I can understand and learn from it. At least then it’s legit.
18:50 Posted in Faith | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
28 November 2006
Less Nice, More Good.
‘There is a difference between being nice and being good.’ I think it has almost become cliché. I suppose, though, something can’t really become cliché unless it is invoked often to describe something pretty common, and this nice/good confusion is pretty common. We Christians even spiritualize it, with our smiling paper Jesus holding a smiling little lamb affixed to our Sunday School flannel boards. I think we forget the purpose for that spotless lamb smiling at us from atop blue flannel. A nice man does not take that cute little baby lamb and slit its throat in order to atone for the sin of his family. A good man does.
It is far easier to be nice. People never really can get mad at you for being nice. Being good is another matter entirely. Just ask the other Lamb from the flannel board. He was more good than any man ever has been or ever will be, and He died for it. Jesus Christ is not the flannel board’s perfectly nice milquetoast teacher of platitudes. He is the perfectly holy and horribly bloody mess of The Passion of the Christ. A perfectly nice God does not send His Son to die the most cruel death imaginable. A perfectly good God does. Jesus did not come to teach us how to be nice to each other. He came to show us how to love. It is a hard lesson to learn, and a big change for someone who has already learned how to be nice. I speak from experience. God is patient in His teaching, even as I am slow in the learning.
One of my strengths and my weaknesses is my tendency to see most things in black and white. I am good ‘totally trusted friend,’ and ‘completely distrusted enemy,’ but not many of the flavors in between. This tendency is good as a soldier. It provides a clarity of purpose and a strength of resolve. It is not so good in real relationships with other broken people. I have been learning that there are things between absolute trust and total enmity. In the process, I am realizing that the hardest fights are not the ’to-the-death’ variety. It is far harder to fight personal fights with people who I really care about, the murkier fights of real relationships.
‘Learn to stand up for yourself.’ It sounds so after-school-special. Yet, it is a critical and often critically lacking relationship skill. Hence, we end up with a bunch of passive-aggressive nice guys who let their resentment build until one last provocation releases an earthquake. We should not just try harder to be nice. You can only put the earthquake off for so long. This cannot be the right answer. You need to get to the roots of the problem. In order to do so, you may need to confront someone you care about. This is the difference between being nice and being good. A nice man is concerned with everyone maintaining smiling faces at all cost. A good man is willing shed his own tears and those of his beloved in order to redeem their relationship. This is not license to manipulate or the control the other person, nor is it a release from kindness. A good man is kind to those he loves, for he feels their pain as his own. Yet he is willing to endure that pain in order to make things right. A good man respects his beloved as a person, and he respects their right to disagree. He chooses to fight fair, because he cares more about the relationship than about winning. Nonetheless, the good man confronts an issue rather than pretending through smiling teeth that everything is okay.
There is, of course, a story to this. Well, two. There was a two page story about a sideshow to the C story. It didn’t make the final cut. Here is a shorter and more relevant tale. My relationship with my mother had been fairly strained until about a year ago. Eldridge writes in Wild at Heart about sons of controlling mothers. They tend to either push their mothers away or they end up weak and compliant. I was the former: taking risks, fiercely independent, unwilling to let her in for the well-reasoned fear that she would try to take control of my life. The nice choice is to say simple pleasantries to maintain the modicum of civility. But that is not the good choice. If she was unwilling to let go, I would have to keep pushing her away. Because of that, she seemed to believe that I did not want a relationship with her. In reality, I did truly desire a healthy relationship with her, she is a wonderfully kind woman who loves Christ. If she learned to let go, then I could trust her with the things of my life. If there were problems between her and I now, they would surely intensify when I got married. The classic Mother-in-law/wife conflict is a usually the result of a mother unwilling to let go. I wanted her to love my future spouse, not view her as competition, and in order to do so she would have to learn to let me go. There would never be an easier time to fix things between myself and my mom. So I prayed about it, and picked up the phone.
I read her a page from Wild at Heart. I told her that I truly desired a close relationship with her, but I could not enter into one until she learned to let go. I told her that I wanted to work with her for that relationship, and that I could not do all the work myself. And I told her about my future priorities. ‘Mom, I love you, but if you cannot let go of the need to control, you are going to force me to choose between my future wife and you. And if you do force me to make that choice, I will choose her.’ I told my mother that I wanted to work on my relationship with her now so that would be a choice that we would never have to face. And this was where our relationship started growing: she started learning to let go, and I started learning to trust her. A year or so later, my current relationship with my mom is better (and healthier) than it ever has been, all by the grace of God.
Here is the big thing, especially for men. If we never choose goodness over niceness, we will fail those who trust us with their hearts. This is doubly true for those hardier fights with those you love. Consider the Parents v. Wife classic conflict. A dear friend’s mom keeps offering him and his wife ‘suggestions’ on how they may want to run their home. Suggestions not as in ‘did you ever think about this’ one a month. More like suggestions about how to be a good wife, suggestions all the time, even when they’ve graciously told her ‘Thank you, but no.‘ She is a kind and Godly woman, not a manipulative woman, so I don’t think that she understands that she is undermining his wife’s role and the independence of their home. He gets caught in the middle. He chooses correctly, standing up to his mom and defending his wife. Good on him. Many guys don’t. Many guys wince at the prospect of their mother getting her feelings hurt, so they run away and allow their wife’s feelings to get hurt instead. After all, a your mother has her own husband to run to for comfort (your father, for all of you who are doing the math.) Where will your wife turn for comfort if you run? A nice man runs from conflict. A good man does not enjoy conflict, but he is willing to face it for those who he loves. This starts with some good kindergarten-style ‘standing up for yourself.’ If a man avoids confrontation with those who hurt him, he will likely avoid confrontation with those who hurt those who he loves. And he will fail them. I would rather fail to be nice than fail those who I love.
I thank God for growing me in this way. In confronting the wrong, we honor those who we love. In ignoring it, we drift farther and farther from being real in our relationships. Love them, but love them enough to tell them what is wrong. Work for reconciliation, if possible, but do not settle for the stability of a stalemate. This is the difference between being nice and being good. The nice man avoids a fight at all costs. The good man tells his beloved that ‘I would rather fight with the real you than have a truce with a caricature.’
13:55 Posted in Thoughts | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
27 November 2006
Prophet.
I wrote this a few years back for a class. Gergen's, I think. Maybe it was Heifetz. Probably Heifetz, way more Jedi/ninja-esque. Anyways...
"This is a wicked generation. It asks for a miraculous sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah. For as Jonah was a sign to the Ninevites, so also will the Son of Man be to this generation. The Queen of the South will rise at the judgment with the men of this generation and condemn them; for she came from the ends of the earth to listen to Solomon's wisdom, and now one greater than Solomon is here. The men of Nineveh will stand up at the judgment with this generation and condemn it; for they repented at the preaching of Jonah, and now one greater than Jonah is here." – Jesus (as told by Luke.)
To avoid our own troubling realities, we build monuments to those who conquered theirs. We look to the individual victories to avoid the much scarier reality of our nature, of all the things that humanity has never conquered within itself. Humanity still loves to appropriate rights for themselves that belong to others and put nice names on doing so. The only thing that has really changed is that we now have a broader vocabulary to do this with. We decry others' injustices past, but only injustices we can comfortably denounce, usually done by those who have come before us. We conveniently overlook our own leanings toward injustice, and we deliberately, although ostensibly subconsciously, overlook the convenient injustices our societies tolerate. Why? Because we want to pretend that we've changed, that we've gotten better.
Ignoring our own oppressions while lauding those who have conquered oppression in the past allows us the fiction that oppression has been defeated, and allows us the even more dangerous notion that whatever it is inside us that drives us to oppress is no more. Thus we stick our heads in the sand, and enjoy our conveniences and stolen liberties that by all rights belong to others. And we feel no guilt. Those who seek to wake us up from this hazy dream-world, those who seek to make us look beyond this façade we have constructed to the maelstrom of the real, we hate them. We hate their message because we like our lies. Humanity loves to tell itself that it seeks truth. It does not. It seeks power. It seeks control.
We are terrified of not being in charge of our own world. We have seen life's unfairness tear apart our dreams, and thus scarred, we vow to never let it happen again. We have been violated by those with whom we have been vulnerable, and we vow 'never again.' But actual reality does not afford us this vow. The only way we can ensure never being hurt is to control every variable in our world. We pretend that we can do this by gaining as much power and authority as possible, and by categorizing all beyond our power and control into little tiny boxes from which nothing can escape and hurt us. We have constructed fictional worlds where we can be safe, where we don't have to fear, even if that means we never get to live. We build our walls; we surround our small worlds with them so that nothing can hurt us. So that we are never, ever vulnerable. Because we are so very afraid. All of us.
Thus, when ever someone tries to drag us out of our little world into the real one, we react like a cornered, scared animal. We attack to preserve our security. We attack out of fear of being vulnerable again. And those who try, the prophets, we silence them. We who so laud our love of truth destroy truth when it makes us uncomfortable. Their death is a small price compared to our security and false invulnerability. So to Aristotle, hemlock; to Dr. King, a bullet; to Christ, a cross. And we remain safe until the next prophet comes. And we laud the prophets of old while we kill our own. Things don't change. We seek not truth, but power. Authority figures seek power. Leaders serve truth. We do not want to be leaders. We fear leaders. We hate leaders. And ultimately, we kill leaders. We fear and seek control. We are afraid of being led. So we set up figure heads we can control, which will allow us to lead ourselves. We, in turn, are only led by our fears. This is why we kill the prophets. We hate truth.
18:45 Posted in Thoughts | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
25 November 2006
Reunion.
You glow with holy light your eyes blazing and radiant
You stand in brilliant garments and you offer me your hand
‘My love’ you breathe
Light like burning smoke like fire like lightning
Your arms your veins like lightning like mine
I touch your hand and our spirits mix
I understand you completely as never before
As you had understood yourself never before
In tears we embrace as I melt into you
I wonder how long you’ve been waiting
But I realize it doesn’t matter now
There is peace here
You have your sword no more
This is for forever
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24 November 2006
Cacophony.
Moment turn to see it and twenty meet me head on
Look behind as many pass left and right
The stream of them i want to grasp one
I reach and grasp only air
I wish to hold them and understand each
They all have value and lessons
But there are too many i reach and it’s gone
I want to drink from this waterfall
Each drop its own but they are mixed in the stream
And i can only see them this way
I can only see the changes not the moments
I grasp at one and another and another
But they all flow too fast
And their stream mixes with another
And all is mixed and all is chaos
And there is order but i can’t see yet
I can’t see through it i can’t make the streams straight
But i won’t slow them down for this is my pace
And i won’t stop grasping and just let them flow by
And I’ll live
17:30 Posted in Poems | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
23 November 2006
The Gardeners // The Musicians
Sometimes I still hear them singing. // Sometimes I still hear the song.
The lightning still whispers to me. // The light still echoes between the stars.
The oceans, still churning, still teeming with life. // The galaxies, still spinning, still lost in the dance.
The cycles still turn in my blood. // The dance still turns in my spirit.
And I remember. // And I remember.
I remember my garden. // I remember the music.
The foundations of the Earth and everything above, // The expanse of the heavens and everything between,
Placed in my care. // Placed in my care.
The laws of nature, the tools in my hand. // The laws of the universe, the strings on my harp.
The garden grew, and blossomed, and flourished. // The song resounded throughout the universe.
And it was beautiful. // And it was beautiful.
But it went wrong. // But it went wrong.
By my hand. // By the hand of the fallen.
Then there was decay. // Then there was discord.
And the weeds grew, and the cycles ran down. // And the harmony failed, and the dance lost order.
And now I am back here. // And now I am back here.
The world is broken. // The song is broken.
So I now am a laborer. // So now I am a warrior.
I mourn for what has been lost. // I long for what has been lost.
I strain amidst the brokenness. // I fight amidst the brokenness.
I weep aloud for the decay. // I hate the sound of the discord.
But I remember a promise // But I remember a promise
That all things will be made new // That all things will be made new
That the world will be made whole // That the song will be made whole
And my garden will grow and blossom and flourish again // And the song will resound throughout the universe again
The cycles will be restored // The dance will be restored
And in wonder and amazement // And in wonder and amazement
We will join back in the song. // I will join back in the song.
(It looks better parsed... sorry. D.)
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22 November 2006
Isaiah 61.
I saw hatred fly on stolen wings today.
The fires of hell unleashed on the innocent.
Shattering the morning.
I saw heroes wearing blue and red today.
Carrying the innocent to safety.
Their friends' lives above their own.
I heard the rush of angels' wings today.
Carrying the heroes to their home,
As a lone flag flew amidst the rubble.
I felt God cry today.
His eyes filled with sorrow and His wrists scarred
As the raindrops fell.
I heard a nation on its knees today.
Our prayers, the light of a thousand candles,
Burning as the fires among the smoldering debris.
I see justice flying on silver wings today.
The fiery trails of the angels in close formation
With the contrails of the fighters.
I'll see peace fly on a dove's wings one day.
When there will be no more death or pain.
When hatred will murder innocence
never again.
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21 November 2006
Manifesto.
I lost a Rhodes Scholarship over this one five years ago. I admit, its not the best written thing in the world. I still like it. I don’t like rainy days and bad food, anyways.
You never know whether you truly believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. – C.S. Lewis
I believe that the truth of a person’s character is most truly expressed not through their hobbies, or their interests, or even in their accomplishments, but rather in what they are willing to live for and what they are willing to die for. Therefore, I would like to share what I live for, and what I will die for.
I am a warrior. A subject I have oft considered, given my choice of career, is freedom. A teaching from my faith that holds very true for me is that freedom requires the shedding of blood. I consider it an honor to be in a position where I may have to shed mine for the freedom of others. I would be in good company.
The concept of service is inextricably intertwined with this honor. By changing one word, the world is redefined. The traditional concept of power is the ability to make others serve you. When we view power as the ability to serve others, we glimpse true power. Unlike the traditional concept of power, which dissipates upon one's death, this power is consummated with the ending of a life lived for others. That done for others lives on. The epitome of this is to love those who hate you. This is where I find significance. This is what I will die for.
Something is terribly wrong with our world. We try to spread democracy across the world, but my generation does not care enough to practice it here. Our dismal voter turnout is but one symptom of a much greater problem. My generation has no hope. We have nothing to live for, much less something to die for. We live in Francis Schaeffer’s dialectic between the materialism of the ’50s and the rebellion of the ’60s, and find no meaning on either end of this spectrum. The consequences of this will be immense, for the center of this cannot hold. There has to be an answer. We have not found it yet.
We drown out the element of our being that screams ‘There must be more than this’ with our various self-destructive endeavors. We medicate ourselves with alcohol and drugs, we try to find meaning in empty physical relationships; we buy everything we can to make ourselves forget who we are. We crusade for the cause of the week, and end up disillusioned when this does not provide the meaning we so desperately need. When this doesn't work, we sink into nihilism and abject despair. We, as a generation, are living the first part of the journey of Aurelius Augustine. We seek meaning in many things that are not God, and meaning eludes us in all of them.
I believe that we, as a generation, will complete Saint Augustine's journey. We will find this hope that we so desperately need. Hope means much more to one who has never had it than to one who has always taken it for granted. When we find it, it will mean so much to us that we will be willing to do anything for this hope. We will finally have Someone to live for, and Someone to die for. And the world will not be the same.
Where do I fit into this? I do not know for certain. But I want to be ready. I am willing to give my life to bring this about. This is what I live for.
Energy is chaotic by nature. It is only useful when controlled. Gasoline can be converted to useful work powering an automobile only through an elaborate system of pistons and gears. Often, the more energy there is, the more mechanisms that are needed to direct it and make it useful. Such is the case with intellect. Such will be the case with us. We are learning now.
I want to see the world changed, to see my generation gain hope, and I will live in pursuit of these goals. I want to be ready when the opportunity presents itself to make a difference. This is the world as I see it. Soli Deo Gloria.
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20 November 2006
The Last Best Hope.
Some of the most unhappy people I know are rich. I am reminded by that ‘Tale of Two Cities’ tension, where the poor man desires all the trappings of wealth, whereas the wealthy man feels trapped by them and desires nothing more than to leave them behind. I imagine that fame is similar: it forces one to maintain a public persona, one whose value fluctuates like stock upon the whims of its fans and its investors. This is the same tension restated: the person must manage an image for mass consumption without allowing that image to consume them.
I remember a story of a couple who won the lottery. They were not well off, but they were making a living and were generally happy. So they buy a winning lottery ticket and they find all their financial woes instantly cured. At least for a week or so. They buy all the things they needed until they run out of needs. Then they buy all the things they wanted until they run out of wants. Left with nothing but whims, they end up buying most of those. Without having to work, they forgot how to. This was greatly unfortunate, for without the ability to work at things, the things in life they had previously enjoyed for free moved out of their price range. A divorce and countless broken friendships later, the once-couple both agreed that they would rather not have bought that ticket.
Becoming an empire is a lot like winning the lottery. Really, its pretty random. Countries and leaders try to figure out the trick, but it ends up being more about the right place at the right time. The Aztecs decide to built Tenochtitlan in the middle of a lake, which gives them the ability to raid their neighbors with impunity. As their neighbors decline, the Aztecs grow. Pretty soon, they are unstoppable (unless you have shiny armor.) The Malians end up living right smack in between two pretty big markets. One group makes a lot of gold, and needs a lot of salt. The other group makes a lot of salt, and would really like some gold. Build some roads, hire some customs agents, and viola! Big empire… at least for a while. The Etruscans are good at a couple of things, but they catch a couple of lucky breaks, not the least of these being the Alps. Hannibal decides to use elephants, you learn how to scare them into a panic, and pretty soon Carthage’s new crop is salt. Yachtsee, you run the board, and you get to run things for a while. Hooray, Pax Romana. But if one thing is true about empires, it is that they fall as just as surely as they rise. The empire gets all the cool toys, all the shiny things everyone else wants. So everyone else does everything they can to hasten the fall of the empire, hoping they will find some goodies in the debris. And in that collapse, the once-empire is left only with the parts of itself that never forgot who they really were.
America won that imperial lottery. In the aftermath of the Second World War, the most unlikely superpower found itself thrust onto the world stage. The isolationist power that had to be dragged kicking and screaming into both World Wars found itself front and center in an interminable Cold War. American economic and military power was the one roadblock in the way of Stalin’s armored divisions. The country that always came home when the war was over was not allowed to go home. And we changed, doubtless, not the least of these changes being a standing army, a novelty for a country of militias and citizen soldiers. Of course, you can’t have a military without a military-industrial complex, which increases the size and scope of government greatly. Cold wars are ultimately economic, so American foreign policy became inexorably linked with strategic resources. As a function of these policies, Americans began to become accustomed to the economic perks of empire. After forty years of war, the Soviet Union finally fell, largely due to a number of factors as random as those involved in its rise. America was the last man standing. But she did not come home. She had grown accustomed to the baubles of empire.
There was an America before the Pax Americana. Really, most of America was before the Pax Americana. When the Star Spangled Banner was written, the might of the British Navy threatened to quash the young republic. This hastily scribbled poem set to a drinking song is hardly a Rule Britannia, yet it is still our anthem. The Westward Expansion, so central to the formation of the American Psyche, went largely unnoticed by the powers of the day. The American Civil War was a largely irrelevant sideshow to the European Great Power wars of the 1800s. Yet, reenactors still return to the battlefields of Gettysburg and Antietam. The America that informs our historical narratives is distinctly bereft of imperial dreams.
What was this America before Superpowerdom? America was a last best hope. It was Ellis Island. America asked the world to ‘send me your wretched, your downcast,’ and gave them a chance. We were a City of Refuge, a land where you could start again. Certainly it was an imperfect hope. With immigrants being called Mick or Spic (depending on the century,) with other immigrants forced onto hellish slave ships against their will, with native peoples lied to, betrayed and murdered, we were a tragically flawed and fallen hope, but we were a hope nonetheless. And people came here. They came before we were wealthy, before we were powerful. They came before we had much to offer besides just hope. Hope has many flavors, though. Some hoped for political liberties. Some hoped to provide for their families. Some hoped for religious freedom. And they came, risking their lives across borders and seas. People came for that precious and rare commodity of hope. This is who we were, and when we choose to remember, it is who we are.
Any story of the ‘past that never was’ is simply nostalgia if it cannot address our current reality. The forces of history have propelled us into a position of empire, just as they did for the Aztecs and the Romans. We find ourselves thrust into a position we did not expect, one we may not have even been prepared for. We may not have pursued it, we may not have even desired it, but we are here nonetheless. Certainly our choices are imperfect, naïve, clumsy almost. But there are worse things than clumsy. Consider the European Hegemony of the 1800s. The Belgians collected heads and hands from their subjects in the Congo in order to crush revolts. I am not currently aware of any Civil Affairs plan for Afghanistan that incorporates that tactic. The French, who rail against the pervasiveness of American culture, obliterated cultures in their colonies by force in order to impose their own. No British flag planted in a colony ever had a timescale for withdrawal. I have a hard time imagining any American describing Iraq as ‘the crown jewel of America,’ as the British had described India.
Let’s widen our scope a bit, in terms of space and time. After all, we could argue that America and Europe were both different flavors of the same evil. Let’s see how the two-thirds world stacks up for imperial tenures. Aztec Empire: conquers surrounding peoples, takes goods as tribute, uses subjugated people as human sacrifices. Mongol Empire: conquers surrounding peoples, suffocates all leaders of conquered peoples, burns Kiev to the ground, killing almost all of its residents. Japanese Empire: conquers surrounding peoples, rapes Nanking, acts with tremendous cruelty to Korea. Empire of the Caliphs: conquers surrounding peoples, converts subjects from traditional religions by economic and military force, institutes slavery in al andaluz (Iberia.) American imperial conduct compares favorably to that of the Malian, Songhaian, Roman, Carthaginian, Mayan, Incan, Chinese, Macedonian, Persian, Babylonian, Egyptian, Nazi, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, or Soviet Empires. John Keegan (?) states that that there has been only one time in world history that one nation could have conquered the world through military force: the United States in 1990, after the fall of the Soviet Union. We could have run the board, and we chose not to. This is, of course, not the point. Even if the Pax Americana is benign in comparison to other empires, the dynamics of history are the same for all empires. We are trapped in historical inevitability… empires rise and fall. What history gives, it will just as easily take away. We must be careful not to give away too much of who we are in exchange for things we want. If we do not, we may find ourselves left with very little when the forces of history inexorably revoke their blessings.
We are still a last best hope. Colin Powell, arguably the archetypal American, tells how half of his family left Jamaica for the U.S., and the other half left for the U.K. Within a generation, the American half of the family boasted a C.E.O. of a major company, a four-star general and chief of staff of the entire American military, and several other notables. The British side of the family claimed an assistant railways conductor.
My friend Quyen fled Vietnam with her family as a young child. Her family had no home, yet found one here. I am the child of a policeman and a nurse, yet I have had the opportunity to attend a Service Academy and an Ivy League institution on full scholarship. These may not be typical stories, but they are impossible stories most other places. We are still a hope for a new life, still a hope to make the best of the life that you have. So we are a city of refuge, and there is always another group that needs refuge, always another group that comes seeking one of the flavors of hope that brought people here initially. Once the Irish, then Southern Europeans, then Eastern Europeans, then Asians, and now Latinos. The statue still reads ‘bring me your poor, your downcast.’ Not as a labor force, but as citizens. And they change us, just as we change them. Together, we constantly are becoming something new. Nearly all of our cultural symbols are appropriated from somewhere else and adapted, just like our people. This is who we are. This is why we are not a Western European country.
But we are in a tension. The Pax Americana tells us that we are an empire, and we should act accordingly. Somewhere deep, I think we still remember that we are the last best hope. The danger is in the fusion of the empire and the hope. The empire will eventually fall. I’m not the sure the hope has to. If we forget the hope amidst the baubles of empire, it will fall along with the empire. So what is our way forward? How do we stay who we are? Not through neo-isolationism. When you win the lottery, you don’t need to give back the jackpot. You just need to make sure you don’t forget who you are amidst the winnings.
Our tension comes to a head over the question of immigration. We are a nation of immigrants. Yet the INS in its current form exists more to keep people out than help them in. It certainly does not currently seem like America’s shores are waiting with arms wide open for the wretched of the earth. Yet the statue’s inscription in New York’s harbor has not changed. The birthright of an empire is prosperity. An empire should be hesitant, at best, to open its doors to the world. Every new citizen is one less share of the treasure for everyone else. The birthright of a city of refuge is hope. Such a place eagerly invites all comers, for there is always enough hope to go around.
On this one issue, at least, we cannot both be the empire and the last best hope. We must choose which of the two we really are. I just don’t see how the current Mexican immigration experience is so different from the Irish experience of a century ago. Irish people came to America because potatoes wouldn’t grow in Ireland. They came here for the hope of providing for their families, the same hope that pulls people across our borders now. If there hadn’t been an Ellis Island and Ireland had shared a border with Maine, I’m pretty sure there would have been a good number of redheaded people trudging through the snow on that border. Yes, people flew Mexican flags while marching in protests. Irish-Americans still wave Green, White and Orange flags more than 150 years later. The infrastructure and childcare jobs that Mexicans are currently willing to take were taken by the Irish upon their arrival here. So we are now faced with the same question that the Irish asked us a century and a half ago: will you let us in?
The way we answer will tell us how much we remember about who we really are. The imperial instinct tells us ’no.’ There’s not enough stuff to go around, and if you come here, it means less for me. But the Last Best Hope says ‘yes.’ We always have more hope, and we’d be glad to give you some and see what you can do with it. Between these two impulses, I recommend that we stake our future on the latter. Hope springs eternal. Imperial glory doesn’t.
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18 November 2006
Cities Built With Stones.
For someone with two policy degrees, the television is a powerful temptation. Not so much MTV’s barely clad and barely literate beach bimboes. You can have those, I honestly couldn’t care less. My weakness is the seductive slow scroll at the bottom of the screen, the flashing headlines, and the slowly ticking clock always in the bottom left corner, reminding you constantly that this is real-time. It almost feels like you’re in the middle of the story, like you’re on the fifty yard line of the big game. To an American, news is not some golf game; there is no polite clapping for a well-played hole. News is football, and in football the crowd the twelfth man. A spectator is transformed into a teammate, and a teammate has no room for nuance. You want your team to win, and the other team to lose. A spectator has no stake in the outcome, but neither do they have any impact on that outcome. A teammate trades his objectivity for a share in the victory and a chance to impact the outcome. In cheering for your side, you gain a sense of involvement and a semblance of control. Ultimately, that semblance of control ties you to your favorite team; their victories become yours, as do their losses. You live vicariously through their acts on the field. So to the sports fan, the Bears, to the soap watcher, J.R., and to the news junkie, the Republicans.
So I begin to realize the dangers of my addiction to twenty-four hour news. I am taught by the high-impact graphics, the stereo sound effects, and the intense tone of the announcers that the outcome of this moment’s crisis hinges upon me and only me, provided I stay tuned in through the commercial break. I learn to greatly overstate my role in the never-ending policy battles. In the immediacy of the constant crisis of governance, I forget that this world is sustained by the loving hands of Jehovah, not by my feeble abilities. So one party takes over from another. Happens to be the party I don’t identify with. News predictably goes into crisis mode. Only through my rapt attention can the republic be saved. Stay tuned, because we‘re all depending on you. No doubt I overstate this, but there seems to be some society-wide schizophrenia spurred by the 24 hour news cycle; an engineered delusion of grandeur to guarantee ratings. The seduction is the illusion of control: just like the sports fan shouting at the TV, you feel as if your attention can actually shape outcomes.
It is of course untrue. God has an interesting way of teaching. I am terminally cheap, and I am currently minus a roommate. Cable costs $50 a month. Hence, I don‘t have cable, or 24 hour news. The crazy thing is that even without my constant vigilance the world has not yet tumbled out of its orbit or fallen into the sun. I haven’t fallen totally out of touch. Just like any good New York Times reporter, I always check Drudge each morning for my stories. I find that there is little in the news world that cannot be understood through daily updates. Far more importantly, though, my daily news fasts remind me that I do not hold this universe together. If God can provide for the lilies of the field and the sparrows, I’m pretty sure He can sort through whatever crises we can create. God is sovereign, and He doesn’t need my help. This is something I need to remind myself of.
When St. Augustine wrote City of God, Barbarians were at the gates of Rome, knocking rather forcefully with large tree trunks. In his day, people pretty much saw Rome and the Kingdom of God as one. Starting from this assumption, one can certainly understand how the prospect of the fall of Rome would be a terrifying proposition. Augustine writes of two cities: the City of God and the City of Man. The City of Man was Rome. Its fall was not a pleasant thing, and certainly not a positive event in the progress of humanity. Nonetheless, Rome was built by human hands, and could be destroyed by those same hands. The pillars of the Senate could never bear the weight of man’s hopes of heaven. Only the hands of God can fashion a vessel to carry man’s hope of eternity. He builds with men, not with stone. A kingdom not built by man, but built of men by the hand of God could never be overthrown by the hands of men. The City of God was safe and unassailable, ruled by His indomitable will. With his book, Augustine changed our understanding of history, and this is why we still study it. I do not think this was his purpose, though. He was reminding Romans that the fall of their beloved city was not the end of the world. Rome was simply not New Jerusalem.
There seem to be two unfortunately complimentary mistakes in the way that American Christians view our country. Either we are the simplistic root of all evil, the easy explanation for all the world’s ills, or we are the spiritual successor to the Nation of Israel, a nation set apart by God, the incarnation of His promise. These diametrically opposite problems are rooted in the same error: a vast overestimation of our significance. Both sides are equally guilty of pride. One assumes that the world’s only hope is in the advancement of the American agenda, the other assumes that the world’s only hope is in the thwarting of the American imperial will. The world’s only hope is in the person of Jesus Christ. Washington, just as any other city, is caught in the tension of the City of Man. That tension is influenced by the story of the City of God, but it is not the same story.
Let me state this clearly. I love America. I believe this country is different, a noble if imperfect experiment of human dignity still in the working. But America is not New Jerusalem. The fate of the City of God cannot be measured in American electoral returns. Byron (I think,) wrote to his lover, ‘I could not love you nearly as much had I not loved honor more.’ I fight to defend America. I willingly lay down my life to protect her, and I will take lives in her defense. I have friends who have died defending her. But I would not love America nearly so much if I did not love Christ more. Not nearly so much if I did not remember that He is not her.
There is a line of thought which mixes the Old Testament idea of a national covenant with the concept of Manifest Destiny. Replacement Theology, I think it is called. America equals the Old Testament Israel, and her sole purpose is the defense of the New Israel. Don’t get me wrong. I support Israel. Because they are a Democracy, because an Arab Muslim has more rights in Israel than in any other country in the region, and because they are a stalwart ally. Not because I think God needs my help to protect His people. I support Israel because of my desire to steward my stake in the City of Man, not because I think I can vote the City of God into power. Such an error leads toward an even more dangerous line of reasoning which equates a vote for the Republican Party with a vote for God. Frankly, it is idolatry to claim divine sanction upon a party platform. I am a Republican. God is not. I know the party platform, and I am fairly certain that Christ would not categorically approve of all its planks.
The opposite line of thought weaves Liberation Theology together with the Social Gospel, albeit using gentler words. Really, it is the same mistake: a desire to usher in the City of God using the tools of the City of Man. The ‘lets find a Kalashnikov’ verse of this song has given way to a more benign ‘blame America first’ refrain. I remember an InterVarsity Graduate Student conference, where Marva Dawn gave a talk. I was particularly displeased when during her sermon she mentioned ‘the powers and principalities which are paying for your education, which are the United States military and government.’ Returning to the idolatry discussion, if you’re going to stamp ‘Thus Saith the Lord’ on something, you better be darn sure you’re objectively right. Remember the Old Testament standard for people who claimed to speak in His name: either you are 100% correct or you learn very unpleasantly about the momentum transfer capabilities of rocks. Perhaps we should remember the Law’s reverence for His Name before we go attaching it to any policy preference that catches our fancy. Let’s unpack Marva Dawn’s statement for a second. First, US Government and Military (Both conservative strongholds at the time) equals the powers and the principalities. Second, our war is not against flesh and blood, but against the powers and principalities. Therefore, our spiritual war is against the values running the United States. If this doesn’t flash pretty big theological alarm signs, let’s try it this way: US Government and Military equals powers and principalities. God is irreconcilably opposed to the powers and principalities. Therefore, there is a divine imperative to oppose the policies of the United States. I question how different this statement is from the ‘God is a Republican’ idea. I remember Ramoth Vinochandra’s talk at the same conference, where he preached that ‘American tariffs are sinful.’ I don’t recall anyone adding Keynes, Marx or Smith to the canon or the commandments. I question how different his thoughts are from the ‘God wants a tax cut’ line that the Falwell crowd is known for.
All you conspiracy theorists out there should know how tool of the false dichotomy can be used to maintain control. You don’t have to believe in black helicopters to see how one might present two seemingly opposite choices in order to conceal real choice. Tito used this tool to great effect in the former Yugoslavia. The Serbs would look out for their interests vice other groups, as would the Croats, and the Bosnians. Each of the groups was so concerned with their relative standing that none stopped to question Tito’s place as dictator over all three. Our enemy is far more adept at using this tool. Consider the world that Christ was born into. On one hand, you have the Pharisees, armed with rules and religious ritual. On the other hand, you have the Romans, delighting in decadence and debauchery. At first glance, the two groups look diametrically opposed to each other. Upon further study, we find that they share a central similarity: pride. Neither group is interested in the least in submitting to God. The illusion of choice hides the one true choice: whether or not to submit to God. Really, the Pharisees and the Romans were two sides of the same coin. So if both sides of the coin are bad, then you should throw it out and find a new one.
C.S. Lewis wrote an essay during the Second World War entitled ‘Why I am Not a Pacifist.’ His basic argument is that military service has traditionally been a civic duty, and there is no clear biblical injunction prohibiting such service. In fact, the Scriptures command loyalty to the laws of the state in so far as they do not conflict with the laws of God. Lewis is quite Hobbesian in his regard, stating that your loyalty to your state is a simple function of where you are born. He takes issue with American exceptionalism in later letters, but his point is that we owe Caesar what is his, and one of those things is loyalty, another is contributions to the common defense. I do believe that America is something new amongst the Cities of Man. Nonetheless, we are of the Cities of Man. We are not the City of God. Instead of lessening the imperative for loyalty and service, this redoubles it. The City of Man will fall without the hands of men defending it, both in words and in deeds. Romans thirteen is clear. Christ was clear when He said ‘give unto Caesar what is his.’ So upon His words, we will find our new coin. We should not give to Caesar what is God’s. The laws of man do not supersede the laws of God. But we cannot rob Caesar of what is his by virtue of his Divinely appointed position. So the laws of man must supersede our preferences, and under our social contract, loyalty and service are two of those laws.
Lewis wrote a second article germane to this discussion. ‘The Dangers of National Repentance.’ He expresses dismay at the movements in Britain calling for the nation to claim its role in the Second World War, believing that contrition will lead to peace. Lewis emphatically states that he wholeheartedly supports any movement toward repentance and contrition, but he somewhat questions the motives of those calling for it. He correctly points out that most of those calling for it were rebellious students who went out of their way to cause trouble for the authority figures in their span of influence. He questions the qualifications of those who do not show the least bit of contrition in the relationships closest to them. If one is unwilling to repent for those things in their immediate vicinity, they are hardly suited to lead a national repentance for issues across the channel. He hits on something deeply true here. You must love something and consider yourself a part of something if you are to critique it as ‘us.’ I question that love for many who put on ‘we’ to bash this country, when they have never said a positive thing about this country in their life. This reeks of contrived legitimacy through false contrition.
I am reminded of a friend’s story about one of her friends. I find it interesting that the neo-monasticism movement is generally populated by those with privileged upbringings. This is excellent, and I in no way mean to denigrate it. However, there is a difference between ‘I choose to give up these conveniences to pursue God’ and ‘you are wasteful and you should as well.’ So her friend comes home from a neo-monastic church retreat, and proceeds to inform her parents of how wasteful they are. They drive a luxury car, and she begins to get preachy on how it was immoral for them to spend that much money on a car when people were starving. Her parents told her lovingly that the car was a result of their labor, and as much as they were happy with her drawing closer to God with her experience, they found it inappropriate for her to lecture them on investments, given their lifetime investment in her. Upon further reflection, she realized the forty thousand they had invested yearly into her college education could buy six very nice luxury cars over the four years she spent in school. Upon that realization, the preaching stopped. I was fortunate. I received full scholarships for all of my schools. This does not give me the right to preach, in fact, it should make me even more grateful. I don’t recall ancient Rome giving full scholarships to its most advanced schools to children of policemen. Because of the country I am blessed to live in, I have been afforded these opportunities. The least I can do is fulfill my portion of the social contract.
I recall vividly a series of posts and emails from another friend of a friend. This woman attended an Ivy league school, and was stuck in Lebanon during the unpleasantness with Israel. She is an American citizen. She is also a Christian. In each post, she shrieked her hatred for America, blamed America for everything that was happening, and openly mocked the same American soldiers who were coming in to rescue her. To her great credit, she apologized to the soldiers, and I deeply express my appreciation for that. In order to do so, though, she divorced the soldiers from the American government, assuming that they were being fed misinformation. I somehow have a hard time believing Lewis would have much sympathy for someone venting hatred toward a country that she decided to remain a citizen of, especially when that person was not hesitant to invoke the privileges of that citizenship when she found need of it. It sounds something to the effect of ‘Mom and Dad I hate you. Give me more money for college.’ If you decide to remain in a society, family, community or country, you owe them loyalty. If you cannot stomach that requirement, then remove yourself from that group. Do not demand the group’s loyalty when you need it in invoking the privileges of membership, unless you are willing to return it when you are called upon.
Lewis, I think, is not the only one who would rebuke this sort of behavior. Jesus Christ himself directs us to give to Caesar what is Caesar’s. This is not just a monetary interaction. Paul commands us in Romans to treat the governing authorities with respect, for they have been placed there by God. Whatever we are, we are not Rome. We do not crucify insurgents. We are not massacring Christians. If Paul tells us to respect such a hideous regime as Rome, how can we justify such revulsion to this country by citizens who claim to abide by that commandment? Christ himself treated the governing authorities with respect, even as they prepared to unjustly kill Him. Pontius Pilate was answered honestly and respectfully. If Christ railed against any authorities, it was against the leaders of the Jews who He dearly loved, not the Romans whom He did not identify with. If both Paul and Christ command Christians to respect their political leaders in such a murderous political climate as the Roman persecutions, we have no reason to mock our own elected leaders. Stated simply, this is sin. The Scriptures do not command categorical agreement, certainly not. Throughout history, Christians have changed many a society for the better. But they changed societies that they loved, even as they spoke bold words. Dr. King respected the law, even in choosing to accept the consequences of breaking unjust ones.
There were many valiant apologetes amongst the early Christians, not the least of which being Polycarp, Clement and Tertullian. Under the reign of the Caesars, these heroes defended the faith to their Roman oppressors, often witnessing to the same men who were killing them. I find it astonishing that in almost all of the recorded apologetics, these courageous Christians found it important to mention that Christians were loyal Roman subjects. They confined their disputes with Roman law to only the parts that directly contradicted their faith, things such as ‘you must worship the Emperor,’ or ‘you cannot proclaim Christ openly.’ I cannot imagine them saying ‘as a Christian, I don’t think zoning laws in upper Samaria are fair.’ They had such respect for His Name that they only attached it to the things they were absolutely sure about. These men were not watering down their testimony, nor were they holding back, for they had no fear of man. The account of the Martydrom of Polycarp should silence that. Even when faced with the cruelty of Rome, these men still made the case quite correctly that the Christians of the day were good Roman citizens insofar as doing so did not contradict the laws of God. By their honor and their righteousness, the Christians denied the Roman accusation of sedition even a shred of legitimacy (a far cry from Liberation Theology.) Even in their tone, they proved their humility by speaking respectfully to those who showed them none. They answered slanderous accusations of cannibalism and sexual immorality with love, never umbrage. We live in a culture where people on both sides of the aisle seem to eagerly await any opportunity for offense. One side jumps all over anyone who says ‘holiday’ instead of ‘Christmas,’ while the other side just waits for someone to cross the P.C. tripwire by mentioning any taboo topic with unapproved words. Tertullian turns away wrath with gentle words, we generally don‘t. Polycarp demonstrates his servant’s heart in his respect for the secular authorities, with his respect for the Name of the Lord, and with his kind answers to slander. I wonder if we could say the same for American Christians of either political stripe. We could learn much from these heroes of the faith about humility.
We are commanded to respect our leaders. We sin in not doing so. The command of Romans 13 is a difficult one for a first century Christian to follow. We mock those brave Christians if we cannot follow this command in twenty-first century America, where it is infinitely easier to submit to the governing authorities. If they were willing to respect governing authorities that spent their time mostly trying to kill and persecute them, we disgrace them if we cannot respect our own elected leaders because we disagree over some policy preference. This does not mean that we have to agree, nor that we have to silence our opinions. But there is certainly no room for ‘America equals Satan’ or ‘I hate [any governing authority on either side of the aisle.]’ If you feel that strongly, then you should divest yourself of their authority over you by withdrawing from the social contract. There are other countries, and you have the privilege to leave this one (a privilege denied in many other countries over the last century.) In doing so, you would be freed of Paul’s command. If you choose not to, then you need to follow Paul’s command. Another privilege America accords her citizens is the right to divest their leaders and install new ones. So another alternative is to respect the existing leaders while working to replace them. If you are successful, presumably the Christians who did not agree with your choice of leader will respect him or her even as they try to replace them. And this is democracy.
Democracy places a unique challenge upon its people. They actually have to choose to lead themselves by electing representatives. The Scriptures hold leaders accountable for their actions, even in the physical realm. If we owned stock in a company, we would be responsible to God for how we used it. In a democracy, we own stock in our government. Will we not be held to account for our use of it? So disengagement is wrong. This is a blessing given to us. Every man is a king. Each of us plays a role in our own governance. This is a talent given to us. If we bury it, we will have to answer for it. So we must steward this blessing well. What does this look like? I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a political party. I do believe that there are certain issues where a Christian conscience will find a moral imperative. It is a mockery to God that we kill a quarter of our children before they are born. I think for most issues, though, it is a question of stewardship. Many policy questions look different if you’re standing in different places. In this, perhaps, there is a basis for voting differently on diverse interests. I do not honestly know. And this may be the point. I cannot say ‘Thus Saith the Lord’ on taxation policy, or on affirmative action, or on the Iraq war. I can only use faculties of prayer and reason that the Lord has blessed me with. And yours will likely be different from mine, as will your perspective. So perhaps we can learn to be comfortable with that.
We have a role in the governance of the City of Man. We should not confuse that with our role in the City of God, nor should we abdicate that governance. We must walk in that tension. Sometimes, though, there is interplay between the stories of the City of God and the City of Man. America is not Old Testament Israel. Remember though, neither was Darius’ Persia. Yet, Darius sent the Israelites back to Jerusalem to rebuild the walls. Even more importantly, the legacy that Daniel and Darius established in the courts of Persia came to fruition in the Magi, leaving those same courts to find the Messiah. With their gifts, Mary and Joseph were able to buy passage to Egypt and save Jesus’ life. Because of the faithfulness of these two rulers of Cities of Men, they were privileged to play a role in the City of God. To do so is not a entitlement, but an honor. Perhaps our country will be honored in this way as well.
There was a hope, a dream that in the movement of the City of God a better conception of the Cities of Man could be achieved. That if God made men with dignity, that perhaps they could use that dignity in governance. It is the City of God that reminds men of that dignity. The City of Man understands power, not dignity. And this is the tension of the American experiment. The experiment is based upon men, yet all experiments based on men have failed. Communism, Nazism, Robespierreism, all fallen. Men desire power above all else. Even a system that recognizes this fact can do little more than rear-guard holding action on its own. Such an experiment cannot be based solely upon the hearts of men and expect to stand. There needs to be something new in our hearts. America is of the Cities of Man. We cannot build the City of God with the tools of the City of Man, but no City of Man cannot last without the City of God. We are so prideful. All of us. There can be neither country-worship nor country-disgust. Both sides must discard divine license, and humble ourselves facedown before Him. This is not about Republican or Democrat, Liberal or Conservative. This is merely about survival. America, bless God.
16:20 Posted in Thoughts | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
17 November 2006
Revolution Begins.
Arise from the dead, O sleeper, prepare for the battle cry,
Arise from the dead, O sleeper, awake for you hour is at hand…
Something approaches.
The Earth heralds its coming,
. Stretching wide its parched expanse
. To receive storm-brought rain.
Rising wind comes heavy with water,
Mixing with lightning-seared ozone.
The sound draws near,
. Rumbling, the march of a mighty army;
. Crashing; a distant battle cry.
Something wakes.
And eye slowly opens,
. Blinking away sleep, and dreams of rain
. As a path comes into focus.
Nascent purpose sprouts in fertile mind,
. Spark kindling behind now-lucid eyes.
Feet finding ground,
. Legs rise and find themselves sound;
. Arms stretch and find themselves strong.
Something rises.
. And staggers toward a battlefield.
. Gazing across the frenzied expanse,
Where two armies make war.
One, mistakenly seeing victory,
. The other, mistakenly defeat.
Neither prepared for the storm.
. One, with defenses too weak,
. The other, with aspirations too small.
The arrival brings the fall of one,
. And the change of the other.
But not yet.
The revolution is underway, not yet understood.
The storm has arrived, not yet in its fury.
The ascendant faction now rises.
To be explained in Sky Falls Down. (or the guide to the end of the second to last chapter of history.)
16:10 Posted in Poems | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
16 November 2006
With Waking Eyes.
For some of us, the awareness of the spiritual runs close to the surface. You can just feel when something is spiritually charged. I don’t totally know how to explain it. You just know. Sometimes, I see my prayers. Here is one of those times.
‘In the Name of Jesus Christ, you will not touch her.’
Sword drawn, I point it in a circle at the forces surrounding her. Their pale, yellow eyes smolder with hatred. I am not next to her. I have no place there now. I pray for Someone better to fill that place. Still, I interpose myself between that legion and her. I can feel how much they hate her, and how much they hate me. I am a most unwelcome interloper, standing between these powers and their prey.
Glaring at me with pupils wide, a seething, oily voice drips words from a vast shadow.
‘Why are you even here? This will only end in pain for you. There is no hope, no room in this story for your dreams. You are a fool to keep fighting. She hates you.’
‘I am here because I love Him, and because He loves her, and because I hate you. That is enough for me. In His Most Holy Name, you will not touch her.’
The sword point does not waver. My eyes are unblinking. I am still here.
21:10 Posted in Faith | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
15 November 2006
Why I am (Still) A Conservative.
The number one predictor of someone’s political views is the politics of their parents. I suppose, along with brown eyes, I inherited a strong shade of red ideology from mine. It is not just parents, of course. Being born smack in the middle of the middle class paints me a bit more red, as does my choice of a military career. The fact that I attend religious services weekly statistically makes it even more likely that I would find myself on the right side of the political spectrum. It almost sounds as if I am a point on some sociologist’s regression. I must confess, though, I prefer philosophy to sociology. A mathematical equation tells a point on a regression line exactly where it should to be. The point is given no room for volition. Real people, though, are not points along a regression. They live and breathe and exercise their will. Through the gift of human dignity, real people get to choose who they are. Of course, the downside of human dignity is the same as the upside: we have to decide who we want to be and why.
Perhaps we all go through an ideologue phase. I think the height of mine, ironically enough, was during my time at the Kennedy School. There is nothing like opposition to crystallize one’s views. Perhaps it was the strain of ‘represent the unrepresented’ (or perhaps ‘offend everybody’) left over from my punk rawk days. Regardless, things were clear. I was in the entrenched opposition, one of the five who would disagree with the other seventy students in each Ethics class. Twenty four different lessons, twenty four different issues, yet the five of us seemed to always find ourselves the Greeks at Thermopylae. We weren’t trying to be adversarial, really, it just sort of worked out that way. A member of the resistance does not have the luxury of nuance. Of course, good revolutionaries tend to be bad presidents. Lech Walesa, the dockworker hero of Solidarity, will never be known for the successes during his term as elected leader of Poland. I suppose, then, it is not surprising that my journey away from ideology did not begin until my time at the Kennedy School came to an end.
Two years later, I find myself more and more often in the camp of the practical. I also find myself questioning orthodoxy more and more often. When I hear the talk radio host tell me that I should be opposed to people coming over the borders just for work, I wonder why things now are so different from when potatoes weren’t growing in Ireland. When I hear people decrying the evils of big government, I wonder if there are not some government programs that could do some good beyond just road building and defense.
For a while, I thought that I was moving closer to the center. I would skim the cover of a book written by a conservative pundit, and I would find their thoughts diverging from my own more and more. Conservatism had ceased to be a self-evident truth to me. Then something hit me… there is no gene for ‘conservative.’ There must have been something that drew me to the philosophy in the first place, some first principles that I felt were deeply true. Reflecting upon this, I realized that my shift was not from conservative to centrist, but rather from ideologue to pragmatist. Certainly, an aspiring immigrant should follow legitimate paths toward citizenship. But what happens when Ellis Island is no more, the INS exists to keep people out, and the bills are due now? Certainly, an ever-growing and ever-wasteful monolith of a government is a terrifying sight. But what happens when somebody really can’t work, at least can’t work right now? It began to occur to me that there may sometimes be better ways to pursue the good than through simple ideological purity. In order to pursue the good, you must first know what it is. So I asked myself what I must humbly consider a pretty good question: ‘what were the first principles that attracted you to conservatism?’ I think I knew the answer all along. Human dignity.
First, dignity in laws. This ends up looking a lot like personal responsibility. We treat everybody like grown-ups. We expect everybody to act as such. You are responsible before God for your actions. The government simply ensures that those actions do not hurt others. Pascal tells us of the ‘dignity of causality.’ Dignity means we recognize the choices of others, both the good ones and the bad ones. To excuse someone from the consequences of their action is to treat them as a child, incapable of understanding their own decisions. To call someone a victim of external forces is to rob them of the very dignity that they need to overcome those forces. It is to make them dependant, to make them a slave for those who authorize themselves to think for others. The inevitable result of system that abandons consequences is a benign dictatorship. No government of equals can exist without equal consequences for equal choices. Government of the people, by the people, needs a people who are willing to take responsibility for themselves.
There can be no responsibility without opportunity. There is nothing more frustrating than responsibility without authority. Opportunity is simply individual authority, the ability to decide for one’s self. In an imperfect republic, we find opportunity distributed unequally. Circumstances may conspire to rob a person of the ability to make any real choice. Jean Valjean steals a loaf of bread to feed his family. He faces an impossible decision between two wrong choices. This does not excuse his actions, as he is still individually responsible for his actions. Yet, in the same society, there are those who will never face such a choice. Those people have a responsibility to work toward ending the conditions that cause their fellow citizen to face that choice. So individual responsibility includes a responsibility for others, but a responsibility with dignity. Not the responsibility of a parent, but that of a friend and a peer. After all, the hand you extend for another may need to take the hand of another some other time. Stuff happens, and sometimes policy needs to nudge circumstances a bit to achieve equality of opportunity.
Second, dignity in spending. The government must be accountable for the people’s money. This is not the same as ‘all government programs are bad,’ or ‘don’t ever spend money.’ Just spend it well. I’ve heard it said both that ‘government is the solution,’ and ‘government is the problem.’ Government can help cure certain problems, surely. A lot of problems, though, resolve themselves through natural means. So perhaps government is like a doctor, and intervention is like a medication. Sometimes you need antibiotics. However, if every time you have the sniffles, the doctor prescribes name brand medications with dubious results, you start to question his motivations. Especially if he signs his prescriptions with a really nice pen from a drug rep. ‘Drink fluids and call me in a week’ would probably be just as effectual and a lot cheaper. The same is true for governance.
Dignity in spending goes deeper than that, though. It is fundamentally about respect. I remember statistics class at the Kennedy School. Our final assignment was twofold: analyze the effectiveness of Head Start programs using statistical studies, and make a recommendation to a fictional mayor’s office whether or not the city should start a Head Start program if offered matching federal funds. I was astonished as group after group told the class that 1) there was no conclusive evidence that Head Start programs helped children to succeed and 2) the city should take the federal funds anyways. ‘It’s free money,’ was the general theme. This is exactly the problem. It is not free money. It belongs to someone who earned it through honest work and faithfully paid their taxes. That person entrusted the government with that money, under the premise that the government would use it well. The government owes that person enough respect to spend his or her money well. Dignity in spending is respecting the person the money came from.
Permanent redistribution payments are the most disrespectful of all uses of taxpayer money. Structural welfare disrespects both the person that it is taken from and the person to whom it is given. For the taken from, the message is ’you stole this and we’re giving it back.’ For the given to, the message is ’you are incapable of taking care of yourself.’ Both groups are robbed of dignity. The early welfare theorists were motivated not by the magnanimous impulse of helping the poor, but by the selfish impulse of buying off impending revolution. The latent class warfare message of these permanent programs is far different from the egalitarian idea of a safety net. Anyone might need a program to help catch them and get them back on their feet. This is the difference dignity makes: ‘any of us’ vs. ‘those people.’ ‘Those people’ resigns a people to their fate, for they are of the other. ‘Any of us’ tells us to lift them back up, for they are us. I wonder what a welfare writ large program would look like if it were made with a goal in mind? Americans are known for the stubbornness of our hope. Perhaps if we quit believing that certain problems will be with us forever, they wouldn’t be.
Lastly, dignity in principles. Government exists to serve the people. Therefore, so should politicians. Public office is a privilege and a responsibility, never a right. There seems to be a strain of entitlement in our elected officials, as if public office was just one more logical step in a career progression. As if you go to an Ivy League school, then to a prestigious Law School, you work for the right campaigns and somehow it becomes your right to be elected. Even worse are those who believe that public office is their birthright by virtue of their last name. I am reminded of Al Gore’s hissyfit following his historic loss in 2000. The refain to his song went something to the effect of ‘I was robbed.‘ On first hearing the chorus, you think he is saying ‘the Republicans and the Supreme Court and Kathryn Harris robbed me of the Presidency.’ If you listen to a few more verses, though, you realize he is saying ‘the people robbed me of the Presidency.’ After all, he did everything right. Born a Senator’s son, he got all the degrees he was supposed to get, he held all the offices he was supposed to have held, all the way to the Vice Presidency under a fairly popular if controversial President. He is the royal successor, the Oval Office belongs to him by rights, because he did everything right. But it was never his to lose. For all the people you have to talk to in order to advance through a political machine, the group that you never have to talk to is ‘The People.’ As in ‘by the people, for the people.’ If government is to be of the people, then we need some politicians who are also ‘of the people.’
We do not live in a direct democracy. We govern by the people through certain people who are chosen by the people. Referenda are not the solution. We govern through representatives. The members of the People’s House even use that word as a title. I think we have forgotten what that word actually means. The idea is not that everyone should govern, but that anyone can govern. That group ‘anyone’ includes a lot more people than just Yale Law graduates and Editors of the Harvard Law journal. As someone with an advanced degree from an Ivy League school, this makes me something of a hypocrite, but I am not convinced that there is much governance value added from an advanced law degree from an Ivy. I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t rather trust a C-130 Flight Engineer with the reins of the country before a lawyer. Their solutions would probably include less syllables, but they would sure as heck be more practical. And I‘m pretty sure the Eng would bother to show up to work every day. The lawyer would have one advantage, though: they would know the political game. Not the issues, but all the little tricks that allow someone to navigate the treacherous waters of the Potomac. I’m not sure when this became a good thing. If political leaders didn’t much about gamesmanship, they would probably have to talk about the issues. Then they might actually have to govern. I don’t think that would be so bad.
First principles. Human dignity. Nice words, but must ask ourselves how these words play out. Where do we go from here? Here is the difference of the last two years, the difference between the ideologue and the pragmatist. The ideologue knows all the answers. Just apply Mises and Hayek. What would Adam Smith do? I have finally come to the conclusion that I don’t know all the answers. That is a long path, and I think most people call it ‘growing up.’ In the ideologue’s world, there is one obvious, simple answer, and the other side is blocking it because they’re either evil or stupid. But this is a false world, an unchallenging one we build to keep ourselves safe. Both sides. We live in the real world, and it is full of real people with real problems. Complex, complicated problems. Our first concern should be answers. The Federalist Papers did not come down from Mt. Sinai. They were written by real people who wroth them help solve the problems of other real people. They are not holy texts, not the inerrant words of God. To place dogmatic correctness above making a difference is to forget why Madison and Hamilton wrote them in the first place.
If human dignity is to be our guiding star, we must remember that dignity is affixed not to the fictional perfect residents of Plato’s Republic, for they are only words on a page. That dignity is written upon the faces and behind the eyes of people who are inescapably flawed and undeniably real. These people do not live in textbooks, but on streets not so unlike our own. They are our neighbors. They are us. And they have real problems, imperfect problems. So the solutions to these problems must be just as real, and will likely be just as imperfect. Theory is a means, not an end. We must choose to prefer an imperfect but real solution over a perfect theoretical solution. If we are going to fight for real human dignity, we must expect to have to step outside of our safe, tidy worlds of books and lines and numbers. We must realize that we are imperfect people, and if we are going to serve and respect other imperfect people, we should expect that our hands will get dirty.
So, at least politically, human dignity is my guiding star. From where I stand, I can find that star more easily in the constellation of conservatism. Therefore, I am a conservative. But I am a pragmatist. I believe in solutions over soundbites. Certainly, there are market distortions. Certainly, there are deep social problems. We have not arrived. So we keep working. The very word Conservative implies that you are keeping something. But that something cannot be a world… it is not the past that never was. This is no holding action against the inevitable forces of progress. It is about holding on to a dream. Yet, in order to realize a dream, you have to move beyond where you are at. In this is the ultimate irony: to be a conservative means that you must advocate for change.
18:05 Posted in Thoughts | Permalink | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
14 November 2006
[Warning: More Boring Economics] Local Monopolies.
So it occurred to me a while ago that the very large marginal increases in popcorn quantity per unit price were indicative of very low variable costs. This would likely have occurred to me quicker if I wasn’t so lazy and actually did my assigned reading for Econ… it was probably in one of the chapters I didn’t read. (Or in Grad School, one of the chapters in the textbook I never bought.) I got an A. So there. Anyways, this is probably in someone’s textbook. But, once again, I’d rather write than research. So maybe it is a new idea. If you find out, please email me because I don’t know.
Prior to Behavioral Economics, Economics relied heavily upon assumptions about a perfect market. This included things like ‘perfect competition,’ ‘no barriers to entry,’ ‘infinite firms,’ lots of stuff that never happens. So then, a few chapters later in the textbook, you get to the chapter on monopolies. Cool. Problem is the origins of the monopoly is never really explained. It’s assumed to be something like Standard Oil or Bell Telephones, where one guy either vertically or horizontally bought everything. Then, because they price everyone else out of the market, or because they are mean and use dirty politicians, or something like that, they stay the only firm in the market. So this is cool and all if you are looking at a product on a national level. We start running into problems, though, as we decrease our level of analysis.
Some products exist competitively on the macroscopic level, yet at the lowest level, they exist in monopolies. This can be ascribed to a breakdown in the assumptions, mostly the infinite firms part. So we can call this resolution problems. But we don’t have to. There is a remarkably interesting subset of firms which take advantage of the failure of these assumptions, in fact intentionally cause these assumptions to fail, in order to operate. They actually create a monopoly in a local area, attract people to that area, and then they use the monopoly profits to maintain the attraction of the area. Crazy, huh? Let’s explore this.
P v. Q. (or Why zero ounces of a Frappuccino costs you $2.40) So there are fixed costs and variable costs. Econ 101 and all. In a totally competitive market, these are going to be put together into the magical Adam Smith price making machine and spit out an equilibrium price and quantity. These are going to be rolled into the unit cost. So we should still expect that our individual price is going to rise in direct correlation to the amount of the good consumed. Stated simpler, if we buy two gallons of gas, we should expect to pay twice as much as one gallon of gas. Straight lining this back to the origin, zero gallons of gas costs us zero dollars. This checks with common sense.
Here’s the weird thing, though. Movie Theater Popcorn. Costs like $6 for a small, and $7 for a large that is twice as big. So if you straight line the curve back to the origin, you find out that no popcorn costs you $5. Obviously, nobody is holding a gun to your head telling you to buy no popcorn for five bucks, and nobody is stupid enough (except in the fashion and art world) to pay a bunch of money for a lot of nothing. We can chalk this up to the fact that there is a monopoly in the theater, and they can just get away with screwing you over. Charge at MC=D. Too bad for you. But you have to deal with it if you want popcorn while watching the movie, and disgustingly we associate popcorn with movie watching. So people pay $7 for a lot of $.00025 popcorn.
That isn’t super surprising. But now let‘s look at coffee shops. We’ll use Starbucks, just to get on the nerves of all the people who have ‘I’m such a non-conformist just like all the other ones’ Starbucks angst. So a big Frappuccino costs, like, $4.40. One half the size costs $3.40. So a zero ounce Frappuccino costs $2.40. Which sort of doesn’t make sense. I mean, the movie theater was about movies. If you want to have popcorn with your movie, they get to screw monopoly profits out of you. But a gas station only sells gas, and zero gallons of gas costs zero bucks, and they’re not even pretending to be a competitive market. A coffee shop sells coffee, so zero coffee should cost zero bucks, like the gas. Unless, of course, they’re not just selling coffee.
Local Monopolies. How’s this for a thought experiment. Imagine your favorite coffeeshop. (Note that all the ‘we’re so anti-corporate’ coffeeshops do the same exact corporate pricing strategy. Poseurs.) Imagine instead of having one counter serving coffee, now they have two counters serving coffee, each owned by different firms. Over time, barring collusion, they bid against each other until they reach an equilibrium price. No more zero ounce drinks costing $2.40. The true economic cost of the drinks (with a perfect pricing strategy) can be found by taking the same slope of the P v. Q line and moving it down so it starts at the origin. If there were two firms bidding against each other, then they would drive each other down to the actual cost of the coffee. New price structure is $1.00 for a small and $2.00 for a large twice as big (using the real prices previously cited. I read them right off the menu.) So both firms would cover their fixed and variable costs, K and L and all that, and would return normal profit at the equilibrium price for coffee. Here’s the problem, though. Nice couches, pretty pictures on the walls and nice, seasonal music aren’t factors of production for coffee. So at the equilibrium price for coffee, neither of the two firms (barring collusion) would be able to pay for new seasonal décor, or even for the couches to start with. And it seems as if it is the mood and the conversation that draws people in. So with perfect microscopic competition, the coffee shop never gets off the ground. Oops. So we aren’t just selling coffee.
Starbucks is making monopoly profits, but only inside of the premises of the Starbucks. (Drive thrus being an afterthought, after the role of the coffee shop is established.) There can even be a coffee shop next door, and Starbucks will still make monopoly profits inside of its doors. So you can have a macroscopically competitive climate where monopolies (and he