I am deeply saddened and stunned at the recent news that 13 soldiers were brutally murdered at the Ft. Hood military base, with many more injured. Sometimes I wish God would just come down from heaven and tell me to my face why these things happen. I am totally stunned that this could even occur on a US military base in our own country. I send my condolences to the families and friends of those that were killed in this disgusting act of depravity, and I wish those who were injured a speedy recovery. I pray that justice will be promptly and effectively served for the families and friends of those killed, as well as those that were injured.

Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, and let perpetual light shine on them.

It has been quite a while since I’ve managed to sit down and write out a blog entry, so here it is.

Yesterday was election day, and I managed to vote in my own district just in time. There wasn’t anything terribly important on the ballot, but there certainly was in Maine and Washington. While Washington looks poised to allow civil unions (or whatever it’s called out there), Maine rejected same-sex marriage. My thoughts?

I wasn’t overly surprised. A friend of mine from Maine warned me that it’s not as libertarian as it looks, and that there are a lot of older voters there. Despite my hopes for my favorite northeastern vacation destination, I think there is a lesson that all who support same-sex marriage need to learn: right now the ballot box simply won’t work. Rest assured, it will in time, but not now. There hasn’t been enough generational replacement to fill the electorate with more pro-gay younger voters, and this issue is fundamentally generational in nature, especially in Maine. Plus, this was an off election year and we all know that older people vote in those elections more than anyone else (and in general elections too). This is the basic problem. Either we have to do a massive drive to get out youth voters, which would be difficult in any election year but not impossible in 2012, or we have to maintain our patience and serenity and let nature work in our favor for at least another 10 years. It’s a sad and morbid thing to have to say, considering that there’s plenty of older people who support same-sex marriage, but as long as the majority of over-65 voters don’t, we’re going to have to avoid the ballot box until at least 2012, and even that’s an optimistic estimate. Those are the voters that actually vote, and it’s a waste of time trying to change their views. They grew up in a society where it was illegal in all states up until the 1960s and 1970s to even live as a non-celibate gay person, let alone form any kind of partnership. Sociological research shows that once opinions on social issues like gay marriage are formed, they tend to endure (see The Aging of the Boomers and the Rise of the Millennials by Scott Keeter, the Director of Survey Research at the Pew Research Center), which is actually good for us since my generation is so much gay-friendlier.

I personally look at this in 10-year stages for America. The 1970s marked the beginning of the struggle and succeeded in repealing a lot of anti-gay sex laws. The 1980s could’ve seen more progress but was sidetracked by the AIDS epidemic. The 1990s saw an incredible build up of grassroots support in my generation via the media and more prominent people taking the brave step of publicly coming out. The 2000s marked the start of the process of legalizing same-sex unions, even if they weren’t the equivalent of marriage. The 2010s may well have to mark a “slow and silent” phase whereby LGBT activists accelerate efforts at the grassroots level rather than the ballot box. The only good thing about the multiple state constitutional amendments is that they’ve probably passed everywhere they had a chance to, so LGBT activists in those states can put aside same-sex marriage for a while and focus on their state’s grassroots. A serious thing that must be addressed is the Bradley Effect at the ballot box. Whenever same-sex marriage is showed as being 50-50 in the opinion polls, it will always lose in actual poll booths, probably because people don’t want to be seen by pollsters as being anti-gay (it’s much easier to be anti-gay in the privacy of a voting booth!), which is coincidentally one good thing that we’ve accomplished. We’ve managed to stigmatize anti-gay attitudes to a certain degree especially among 18-30 year olds, and my generation has an excellent BS detector which doesn’t fall for the old “I’m not homophobic, I just don’t agree with it” logic. At any rate, we can’t take same-sex marriage to a popular vote until it’s at least supported 60-40 in a particular state’s opinion polls, and preferably in a major election cycle. I think by 2016, we will stand a good chance at winning at the ballot box in certains states, perhaps even Maine, finally defusing the social conservative argument about “activist judges” or even more recently, “activist legislatures” in Vermont and New Hampshire (never mind the fact that legislatures are supposed to, well, legislate!). The 2010s may also simply mark an extension of the 2000s, with a few more judicial decisions or legislative actions to legalize same-sex unions of some kind or another. Or something totally new could happen. Who knows?

What can we expect to see in the interim? Expect to hear social conservatives gloating over 31 out of 31 victories at the ballot box, and they should be gloating. They did an incredible job at motivating people to get out and vote, and their main source of voter support tends to go out and vote in much higher numbers than my generation does. It’s been a relatively easy battle these past 10 years or so. I would advise proponents of same-sex marriage bans to keep gloating, because these are victories that will last at most another 10-15 years. Yes, the people have spoken…for the time being. Enjoy the marriage bans, for they will fall sooner or later as your main source of support slowly exits the electorate thanks to human mortality. What a sad thing for me to have to say, but this is the nature of American politics at this point in our history. As for me, I’ll continue to work toward my degree, go to whatever LGBT events I can find around here and pray for a better future in this great country.

Sir Thomas More’s classic work Utopia (I used the translation done by Robert M. Adams) has, at times, been thought to contain elements of communism. One might argue that what More calls Utopia is in fact, to a certain extent, a communist society in the truest sense of the term. While there is evidence within the book for such an assertion, there are also aspects of Utopia that make it implausible for it to be considered a communist society.

First, let us consider the evidence that might lead one to conclude that Utopia is a communist paradise. More had no problem openly admitting that he believed that “unless private property is entirely done away with, there can be no fair or just distribution of goods, nor can mankind be happily governed (Adams, p. 31).” In the same vein, he suggested that laws could be created to limit the accumulation of property. Of course, More was careful to temper his assertion by admitting that private property “cannot be entirely removed (Adams, p. 31).”

The governing structure of Utopia is also vaguely socialistic in nature, and in fact Adams refers to the former USSR’s “managerial class” (Adams, p. 43) as being roughly analogous to Utopia’s system. In Utopia, local groups of houses elected a group of governing officials, who in turn elected a prince. This is remarkably similar to the Soviet system of workers councils (although in the case of Utopia it was groups of households) that elected communist party members (in theory, if not always in practice), who then elected a premier.

Another interesting feature of Utopia is that the citizens practice more than one trade. They are not necessarily bound to pursue the occupations of their parents. Although the state has some control over a person’s trade, a Utopian has the ability to stop one trade and pursue another, provided that the government does not need his services in his original trade (Adams, p. 40). Karl Marx discussed the concept of alienation from labor in capitalist societies (especially in his 1844 Manuscripts) by which he meant that workers would lose control over their own lives if they could not have any control over their jobs or what they produced. However, in Utopia, this alienation does not exist, or at least not on the same scale as Marx envisioned capitalism as causing. Utopians have some degree of control over their own work, in that they can, if the government has no particular need, leave their occupations and learn new ones freely. Consider the following quote: “But no one has to exhaust himself with endless toil from early morning to late at night, as if he were a beast of burden. Such wretchedness, really worse than slavery, is the common lot of workmen in all countries, except Utopia (Adams, p. 40-41).” Marx would probably have characterized such “endless toil” and “slavery” as being part of a capitalist system, but Utopians are free from such burdens. In this sense, they are closer to Marx’s vision of a communist society where such alienation does not exist.

Perhaps the one characteristic of Utopia which could lead one to describe it as a communist society is the fact that the citizens not only work in accordance with their particular talents, but they all get everything that they need. The Marxist principle “from each according to ability to each according to his need” is particularly relevant here. In Utopian marketplaces, there is always an abundance of goods. There is no need to steal or be greedy because each Utopian will always have enough (Adams, p. 45-46). Everyone has what they need, and everyone can work (for the most part) in the trade that they can do their best in.

Despite the features of Utopia that are indeed communist to some extent, the society cannot be fully communist due to the definition of communism. Marx did not provide too many details about exactly what a communist society would actually look like, but he predicted that communism, in its final form, would be a classless society where the government would “wither away.” The political apparatus of the state would, in effect, no longer need to exist. Utopia, however, had a functioning government, and there were in fact classes. The classes may not have been completely economic in nature (i.e. the Utopian priesthood, which is probably something that Marx would not himself have envisioned in a communist society, considering his assertion about religion being the “opium of the masses”), but if there is a prince in Utopia, even if an elected one, then there is still a hierarchy and thus not all Utopians can be said to be truly equal. Perhaps communism, like Utopia itself, is something that can be conceived of like the horizon. One can move toward it, but never actually reach it.

Utopia shares some of the hallmark features of a communist society as envisioned by Karl Marx. Property is owned in common (although More admits that, in practice, this would be impossible to completely enforce), the government shares some characteristics in common with the former Soviet Union, alienation from labor is markedly reduced if not eliminated and “from each according to his ability to each according to his need” is the law of the land. However, the presence of a governing authority and ruling classes makes it impossible for Utopia, like any present-day society that claims to be communist, to be completely communist in the sense that Karl Marx envisioned it, since communism is a classless society with no need for a government. Ultimately, true communism is like Utopia: it does not really exist and never has existed.

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Historians have their work cut out for them. It takes a lot of hard work and dedication to create history. Historians can interpret historical events using a variety of different theories, which act as a sort of lens that historians can use to explain why history unfolded the way it did. Examples of such theories include Marxist history, psychohistory and quantitative history. Marxist history, or at least aspects of it, was highly influential on a great deal of historians, yet contains a problem which limits its use for historians today. Psychohistory was once used by some historians, but it has been largely discarded as a means of historical analysis due largely to changes in our understanding of psychology and the inherent problems associated with it. Quantitative history has clear benefits associated with it, and thus continues to be used by historians, although it too has problems that cannot be overlooked.

Marxism’s impact in history cannot be underestimated. It had a remarkable impact on social sciences, and while few historians actually agreed with Marx in the early 20th-century, they were nonetheless influenced by him (Howell & Prevenier, p. 90). Marxism as a political philosophy shaped the course of history throughout the world in various countries, for better or worse. Marxism as historical theory, at least in its original form as put forth by Karl Marx, sees historical events through a lens known as “historical materialism.” In essence, it means that historical change occurs as a result of human needs, which leads to production of those needs, which leads to more needs and so on. Therefore, how these needs are met is really what shapes human history, and all other aspects of a society (political and legal systems, etc.) come from that (Green & Troup, p. 34-35). Economic classes come from different economic roles in fulfilling needs, and these classes eventually clash with one another as part of a process known as the dialectic and lead to change in a society (in Marx’s mind this would happen in several stages which would culminate in a classless society known as communism).

Marxism’s principal benefit is that it looks like a reasonable explanation for human events on the surface. There is no doubt that many human events were indeed shaped by economic conditions. Assuming that the appropriate source criticism is applied to whatever sources one is using, Marxism appears to be a winner. Despite this, the central problem with Marxist historical theory is that it reduces all historical events to a single root cause, namely economics and class struggle. Christopher Hill’s The English Revolution 1640: An Essay serves as a good example of the pitfalls associated with Marxist theory. His main point was that the English Civil War in 1640 was essentially a “class war” as he terms it (Hill, The English Revolution 1640: An Essay, p. 6 in Green & Troup, p. 37), an essential part of capitalist development in England. To back up his thesis, he used economic evidence. However, as Hill himself later pointed out, “we must widen our view so as to embrace the total activity of society. Any event so complex as a revolution must be seen as a whole. Large numbers of men and women were drawn into political activity by religious and political ideals as well as by economic necessities (Hill, Puritanism and Revolution, p. 31 in Green & Troup, p. 37).” Thus even Hill eventually recognized that historical change is not always about economics. Historians must be careful not to fall into the trap of reductionism. As one author says, “few historians have argued that there is a single lens through which the past can be interpreted…none in itself- no matter its particular relevance to one age or another…is operative in every circumstance (Howell & Prevenier, p. 131).”

While one might be inclined to think of psychohistory as being psychological interpretations of history using 21st-century understandings of psychology, psychohistory is in fact defined as “the use of psychoanalysis to aid our understanding of historical personalities, groups or trends (Green & Troup, p. 59).” For historians who have also studied psychology, psychohistory may look like a very tempting historical theory to use in explaining people and events. It can help make sense out of events that seem difficult to interpret. For example, William Reich’s The Mass Psychology of Fascism postulated that the attraction to Nazism by Germans, and indeed every political movement, came from the psychological characteristics of German people. There are, however, multiple problems with psychohistory.

The first, and probably most important, flaw in psychohistory is the use of psychoanalysis. Sigmund Freud’s theories formed the basis for modern-day Western psychological knowledge and practice, but they have been significantly modified since his time, so that the use of psychoanalysis in its original form is now limited to a minority of psychologists. Psychoanalytic theory itself claims that our experiences in infancy and childhood shape our behavior, that we all go through stages of development, adult behavior is determined by the unconscious mind and that there is a psychic conflict reflected in adult behavior (Penelope Hetherington, Freud, Psychoanalysis and History in Green and Troup, p. 60). We can thus understand historical events and personalities in terms of developments in a person or society’s psychological stages of development. Yet a critical question remains: How many applications can a theory that most psychologists no longer use, at least in its original form, have for historical events and people? Psychoanalysis may have worked well in the first part of the 20th-century, but it does not correspond to our present-day understanding of Western psychology.

The second problem is the reliability of the information obtained via psychoanalysis. Erik Erikson’s “The Legend of Hitler’s Childhood” uses excerpts from Hitler’s Mein Kampf to attempt to provide a psychoanalytic explanation for someone like Hitler and the German people who supported him. The most glaring problem here is that Erikson relies in part on Hitler’s own autobiography. In assessing any historical source, such as Mein Kampf, one must consider the trustworthiness of the observer. People can lie consciously or unconsciously, and political observers such as Hitler can “shade their reports, making them conform to the party line in one way or another (Howell & Prevenier, p. 68).” How can we trust anything that Hitler claimed in his work, considering, as Erikson puts it, the “fairy tale” quality (Green & Troup, p. 72) of the first chapter? Another related issue is that Erikson’s psychoanalysis must rely on analyzing something that Hitler wrote at a specific time in his life and in a specific context (when he was in prison). Hitler’s Mein Kampf does not cover his entire life, which is yet another reason to question the reliability of psychoanalysis, at least in this context.

The third problem, which also appears in Erikson’s work, is the actual application of psychoanalysis to groups of people at large. Erikson claims, for example, that “the Germans have always been inclined to manifest a comparable attitude of ambivalence toward mankind and the world at large (Green & Troup, p. 83).” This kind of statement makes it appear as though Germans have always been united in a particular attitude. The reality of human diversity is simply not acknowledged by such a statement, a statement which is itself the product of psychoanalytical comparisons between Hitler’s own psyche and the German peoples’ in general. Psychoanalysis can, as seen here, cause one to over-generalize or to project a supposition (in this case that Hitler had an Oedipus complex) onto an entire group of people.
Psychohistory thus has little, if any, practical use for historians in the 21st-century. Freud assumed that there were general principles that guided human behavior, or that “we have something in common, our humanity perhaps, with people in the past which allows us to understand them (Kren & Rappoport, Varieties of Psychohistory, p. 64 in Green & Troup, p. 59).” While it would perhaps be easier for historians to reconstruct history if this was true, the idea that we all have basic “common sense” or a shared nature is highly problematic (Green & Troup, p. 59). Thus historians would do well to be careful when dealing with anything regarding psychohistory, considering the intrinsic problems associated with it.

Quantitative history, unlike psychohistory, still has practical applications and is used by historians. The term “quantitative history” is actually an umbrella term for “a range of methodologies and theoretical bases, linked by their reliance on numerical data (Green & Troup, p. 141).” Specific examples of quantitative historical theory include econometrics (Green & Troup, p. 142) as well as serial history and its relative historical demography.

Quantitative history theory can be quite useful for some historians, especially when numerical data is abundant in a historian’s particular area of expertise. It can be especially promising for historians who wish to study large groups of people rather than just a few individuals in a particular time and place, as well as minorities for whom other sources are rare or nonexistent (Green & Troup, p. 141). Historical demography can be especially useful in “broadening our historical perspective” by showing us aspects of a particular society, such as birth and death rates, marriages and divorces, immigration records, price and wage records and various other pieces of information (Green & Troup, p. 145). Thus quantitative history can be valuable, but it too contains its own fair share of problems.

The issue of the data being reliable is of the utmost importance. One must consider source criticism and the associated questions that need to be asked by historians when dealing with any source, i.e. who, what, when, where, why and how. Is the source reliable? Why was the source created in the first place? Is there any textual evidence that the author left something out, or added something in, whether accidentally or intentionally? Is the source itself even authentic, or a fake? Could the author have made a simple, or perhaps not so simple, clerical error? Did the author have any known biases that could have colored his/her work? Simply because quantitative history may deal with absolute or relative quantities does not mean that records cannot be manipulated, fabricated or destroyed (Howell & Preveiner, p. 60-68). It is not enough to merely look at numbers and form a conclusion. The validity of the data must be established to the greatest possible extent.

One particular problem is with gaps in the records themselves. In the case of gaps in census records, a technique known as inverse projection was developed (Green & Troup, p. 146). LOESS regression models can help make sense of complex sets of data as well, and this particular method can be especially useful when dealing with large amounts of polling data. Another related issue is with the length of the data. It is inadvisable to draw conclusions from, say, birth records covering only a few years and then using that data to illustrate birth rates for a much longer period of time. This can, of course, pose understandable difficulties for historians studying regions or periods for which there is little quantitative data (or the existing data is from questionable sources). For example, consider the instance of a historian trying to study census material in a time and place when there is little of it. There is one possible but difficult way to deal with this problem, and that is by means of nominative analysis (Green & Troup, p. 146), whereby known historical figures are specifically located in the records and their names are then attached to various records (i.e. legal documents, censuses, etc.). The same technique can help historians reconstruct families and this learn more about a particular society, but the problems with that include not only the fact that such an endeavor takes a lot of time but also that the sources may be conflicted or the individuals in question difficult to locate (Green & Troup, p. 146). The objective benefit of quantitative history is contingent upon whether or not sufficient amounts of reliable data exist with which to form conclusions.

Another problem involves the interpretation of the data itself. What do changes in a particular data set actually imply? For example, if larger numbers of elderly people are going into nursing homes in American society, does that increase mean that Americans are no longer as willing to care for their elderly relatives as they once were? Or is it possible that it means that there are simply more nursing homes available now? Could it also mean that there are more elderly people to care for since people are living longer? The old saying “correlation does not necessarily equal causation” needs to be remembered by historians when viewing data sets. It can be particularly tempting to see the numbers and interpret them to fit one’s own preconceived assumptions or biases. Historians must be cognizant of their own biases when interpreting data. The numbers need to be allowed to speak for themselves.

There are cases of historians being mislead by data unintentionally. Mistakes can and do happen. Consider the example of Thomas Malthus. He obtained statistical information about Europe’s demography and its food supply, two different data sets, and extrapolated the data to the point where he found that Europe could eventually run out of food if its population continued expanding at a certain rate. There was a problem with his assumption though. He assumed that the relationships between the two data sets was a relatively simple one. In reality, the relationship between food supply and population growth is more complicated than he allowed for it to be. This was later demonstrated when an increase in good supply in the 18th-century was actually associated with a flattening of the population curve (Howell & Prevenier, p. 53). In this case, Malthus had relatively good data but assumed that his data sets would explain everything. Historians must consider not only the data that they have, but also the data that they lack. Had Malthus been able to see that the relationship between food supply and population was not as simple as he thought it was, he may have come to a different conclusion.

Marxism, psychohistory and quantitative history all have their benefits and their flaws. Marxism fails primarily because of its rather reductionist view of human history, which claims that historical change is solely due to economics. While psychohistory has been discredited for the most part by historians due to its own anachronisms and limitations, quantitative history has clear benefits and continues to be used by historians despite its limitations.

Bibliography

Green, Anna and Kathleen Troup, eds. The Houses of History: A Critical Reader in Twentieth-Century History and Theory. Manchester University Press, 1999.

Howell, Martha and Walter Prevenier. From Reliable Sources: An Introduction to Historical Methods. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001.

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Renaissance philosophers were not like their predecessors. The new brand of philosophers that emerged during this period in Europe’s history had pursuits that were scholarly and literary, rather than purely theological or scientific, which is what set them apart (p. 4-5). I would argue that of the eight philosophers examined in Eight Philosophers of the Italian Renaissance by Paul Oskar Kristeller, two of the most important of these philosophers were Petrarch, a 14th-century humanist sometimes known as the “Father of Humanism,” and Telesio, a natural philosopher of the 16th-century. Petrarch showed that Christianity and humanism could go together, and Telesio’s natural philosophy anticipated later scientists like Newton and even Einstein.

Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374) has been referred to as the initiator of Renaissance humanism and as its first representative (p. 5). Either way, he was a man ahead of his time. One thing to consider when attempting to reconstruct his philosophy is that he did not articulate it in a single coherent work, making it necessary for scholars like Kristeller to piece his philosophical beliefs together (p. 6). Like future fellow humanists, he was hostile to scholasticism (university learning of the later Middle Ages) and to things like astrology and to Aristotelian philosophy. One potential problem though was that his objections to his opponents had a tendency to be based more upon the opponents themselves, not the arguments or positions of his opponents (p. 6). For example, when he rejected Aristotle’s authority, he did so more out of distaste for Aristotle himself. In spite of this, he still made a great contribution to the study of the classics, a subject he loved (p. 7). What made Petrarch so important was the fact that he showed that it was possible for humanists to reject scholasticism, yet remain staunchly Christian (p. 12). Thus he was able to accomplish a sort of reconciliation between Christianity and classical learning that his predecessors had not been able to. Beyond this, Petrarch had some other specific characteristics which made him stand out when compared to his contemporaries. Unlike most medieval philosophers, Petrarch thought Plato was the best classical philosopher (p. 9). He also thought that philosophy should focus on humanity and the problems that humanity was facing, not the “useless questions” of Aristotelian philosophers (p. 16). Petrarch spoke of himself frequently, and of his passion for fame (p. 13). He certainly enjoyed prestige among his contemporaries and successors. Petrarch helped bring about later Renaissance developments in part because of this prestige (p. 18). In a very real way, he contributed to the secularization of not merely the content of learning, but also the personal attitude of the scholar and writer (p. 15), despite his own religious beliefs. Kristeller says it best: “…he was one of those who foresaw the future because [he] helped to make it” (p. 18).

Bernardino Telesio (1509-1588) came later, but was still very important. He lived in a different time than Petrarch. He witnessed the beginning of the Protestant Reformation and the Council of Trent. What sets him apart from his fellow natural philosophers (he was certainly not the first) was that “his thought is distinguished by a certain measure of clarity and coherence, and because some of his ideas anticipate important aspects of later philosophy (p. 97).” One of Telesio’s main goals was to reject Aristotelianism, which he did in his work De Rerum Natura. He rejected it as being contradictory to “the senses, with itself, and with Scripture… (p.98).” He claimed to rely on pure sensory input and “nature,” but made sure to add that he would give his assent to Scripture and to the Catholic Church. This may have had more to do with the fear of the Inquisition rather than pure piety, but Kristeller himself sees no reason to assume that Telesio was anything other than a good Catholic (p. 106). Telesio’s natural theories regarding cosmology, especially the nature of matter, is particularly important because it represents one of the first serious attempts to actually supplant Aristotle’s natural philosophy. This is especially true considering his step toward Newtonian physics, as evidenced by his belief in an absolute time (as opposed to Aristotelian motion-dependent time) (p. 103). His beliefs regarding space and time also show his anticipation of not only Newton, but also Leibniz and Kant (p. 105). Although Kristeller correctly points out that Newtonian physics has been replaced by Einstein (p. 108), he would do well to consider that Einstein retained an important element of Telesio’s philosophy, notably the treatment of space and time as concepts that must be treated together (p. 104). In this way, Telesio did not merely anticipate Newton, but also Einstein to a certain extent. Like Petrarch, Telesio was a man who anticipated the future because he contributed to it.

Petrarch and Telesio were arguably the two most important Renaissance philosophers. Although both men lived two centuries apart, they shared a common dislike of Aristotelianism and both anticipated later movements in the Renaissance. Petrarch was the first well-known example of a humanist who combined his philosophy with his faith. Telesio was not only the most coherent natural philosopher (according to Kristeller), but he also helped form the basis for Newtonian and, indirectly, Einstein’s physics.

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C. H. Lawrence’s book Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages was a fascinating read. The essential point of his work, as I understood it, was that there was a clear evolution in monasticism stretching from the early days of Christianity to the late Middle Ages. Throughout his work, two particularly pertinent themes emerged. The most important one was that monasticism and the levels of recruitment and observance took place in recognizable cycles until monasticism gradually declined in the 14th century (p. 221). The other is that the dissonance between secular clergy and religious priests, especially the friars, had its roots in the very beginnings of the orders (Some Catholic sociologists, like the late Dr. Dean Hoge, have done intriguing studies confirming that religious priests continue to operate from a fundamentally different theological framework in the 21st century than their diocesan counterparts. Hoge showed that religious priests, especially in America, tend to be less rigid in dealing with dissenting or sinning Catholics than diocesan priests. Lawrence claimed that friars were often accused of being too lenient toward penitents (p. 209, 214). See Dean Hoge, Evolving Visions of the Priesthood: Changes from Vatican II to the Turn of the New Century (Liturgical Press), 2003: p. 27, 33).

One of the ironies of the monastic life is that, in most cases, coenobitic monastics originally tried to escape worldly involvement, only to find themselves brought right back into it with the development of an organized monastic hierarchy, the acquisition of property and interactions with Rome or the secular authorities (or both). When monastics realized that they had gone astray, they tried again to return to the roots of Christianity, which spawned even more religious orders. Some of these, like the Cistercians, did a more radical turnabout and tried to adhere even more strictly to the Rule of St. Benedict (p. 146-147), which was one of the original models for monastic life. But the Cistercians were also victims of their own success, and gained wealth and privilege to the point where they too began to compromise their austerity and went into decline (p. 161-162), thus continuing the cycle.

Monastic life was thus, in its own way, a self-reinforcing phenomenon. But the philosophy at the heart of monasticism was summed up nicely on p. 156: “we are the restorers of lost religion.” It was a way to get back to the roots of Christianity in the face of a corrupt world (p. 131). Despite this, Lawrence did not neglect to illustrate the concrete realities of why many people entered monastic life. He showed that monastic life was not necessarily about piety or devotion. It served as a socioeconomic refuge in times of war or political upheaval. It also served as a repository for excess or unwanted children in the form of child oblates, although this declined and was eventually banned by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 (p. 33). For women, it could serve as a refuge for those who could not find a husband or were widowed (p. 176). Of course, it could also serve as an escape from problems of a more personal nature, like when John Gualberto of Florence fled to an abbey to escape a family feud (p. 129). This was one of the helpful examples that Lawrence provided of how one’s external circumstances could be just as powerful, if not more, than personal faith in influencing one’s decision to enter monastic life.

As for the conflict between the friars and the secular clergymen, this was not immediately obvious. In fact, the friars and secular clergymen got along relatively well at first. However, as they began to expand and preach, they became quite popular. This siphoned off parishioners from diocesan parishes, something that may not have bothered the secular clergy that much until they realized that their parishioners had also taken their monetary contributions with them. A papal order allowing people to be buried in the friars’ cemeteries, something that the secular clergy had originally controlled, really sealed the breach (p. 212). Although a compromise by Pope Boniface VIII in 1300 was supposed to heal the divisions between the friars and secular clergyman, the resentment clearly lingered. Lawrence claimed that the friars were also known for giving relatively easy penances, since they focused more on the intentions and circumstances of the penitent rather than actions alone (p. 209). Secular clergyman continued to doubt whether doing penance with a friar was efficacious (p. 214), but the question that needs to be asked is whether secular clergymen questioned penance with friars because they had real concerns over the souls of their flocks, or whether it was simply an excuse to attack their competitors. Perhaps it was a mix of both. It is definitely a question worth exploring in any future work on medieval monasticism.

Lawrence ended his work with the decline of the monastic orders, which started in the 14th century (p. 221). Contrary to the present-day shortage of priests in America, the decline of the monastic orders in the 14th century was not due to a decline in vocations, but due to restrictions imposed by the orders themselves. They would put limits on how many individuals that could be admitted so that they could preserve their own standards of living, but Lawrence correctly noted that this was not the only problem. War, political upheaval and especially the Black Death in the 1340s and 1350s seriously harmed the monastic orders, not only by directly killing monks, but also by drastically reducing the pool of eligible applicants (The Black Death is thought to have killed anywhere between 25-50 % of Europe, although some scholars put the number as high as 60%. For the latter figure, see Ole Benedictow, The Black Death 1346-1353: The Complete History (Rochester: The Boydell Press), 2004). While one might be inclined to think that the Black Death would have been the greatest contributor to the decline of monasticism, one cannot help but wonder if the cumulative effects of the self-imposed restrictions on the orders as well as war and other disasters may have done equal, if not greater, damage to monasticism and pushed it further into decline than it might have otherwise went during the Middle Ages.

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Hey all. Grad school has kept me super busy, so I don’t have much time. I wanted to remind everyone to remember 9/11/2001, and the terrible events that happened on that day. Let us always remember those who perished in the horrific attacks on this day, and work together with courage and resolve to make our world a safer and better place. We must also remember not to despair in the face of evil, and I want all of you to know the reason for my hope. We are all the children of God, and even when things seem their worst, God will always be with us, even until the day when we take our final breaths. God bless you all, and God bless America!

I’d like to write this article to inform everyone that I may not be writing for a while. I’ll be entering grad school to pursue my Ph.D. in history, and from what I’ve been told, I’ll be intensely involved in a lot of work. Rest assured that I won’t forget about this blog, but there may not be much time to do a lot of work on it. Wish me luck as I embark on an incredible adventure!

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I recently read an article in “The Advocate” about a group of individuals who call themselves “Bash Back.” Apparently this group includes any non-heterosexual person who feels that the use of confrontational tactics to obtain LGBT goals is legitimate. They have several chapters in different cities, and supposedly their numbers are growing.

I am deeply disturbed by this. While I don’t think this group has used that much physical violence yet, I could easily see it heading in that direction. It is one thing to engage in legitimate self-defense against a real physical threat. It is another thing to physically attack others. Apparently this group went after Mormon temples in the wake of Prop 8. While their anger is understandable, what exactly does gluing the door of a Mormon temple shut accomplish? What will the use of violence accomplish in this struggle? If anything, this will only turn off Mormons who might be inclined to be supportive, and not to mention straight allies.

This group also claims to oppose the concept of “male and female” identites and encourages sex and pornography. This seems to be pretty radical, even for me. Life is not all about sex and gender identity, although both are important. I think this group has become completely consumed by the idea that life is all about sexual identity and gender identity, and that confrontation will ultimately be the salvation of LGBT Americans. As I said, the anger and the pain are understandable, but we must rise above the terror tactics that violent homophobes have used against us. Therefore, I condemn any LGBT group that uses terror, intimidation or violence as a means to obtain equality. Let’s try Gandhi’s tactics, or Martin Luther King Jr.’s ideas. Why not do more national marches? Protest outside of the White House and the US Capitol every day if necessary. Even better, why not do more national “kiss-ins“?

If Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. could accomplish their goals, so can we, without having to resort to extremism. Let’s fight with our heads and hearts, not with our anger.

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Today I will write about fear, in part because it is something that is often poorly understood. There is healthy fear that warns us if we should or shouldn’t do something, and then there is pathological fear, the latter of which obviously warrants psychological attention. But what about fear as an emotion or an instinct? Obvious fear is actually the easiest to conquer in many cases. For example, I used to have a deadly fear of bees. So I conquered it by forcing myself to remain still in the presence of them, and I dialogued with myself about that fear. I asked myself why I was afraid. I answered that I feared the pain of the sting. I asked myself why I was afraid of the pain of a potential sting? And when I truly asked myself the question logically and coherently, why was I really afraid of the physical pain? Others must suffer from physical pain much worse than a simple beesting. And if I was stung and suffered pain as a result, it would eventually pass. That was an instance of simple fear, that was dispelled relatively easily by logically examining what the root of the fear was. In my case, it wasn’t the bee itself but the pain that it could cause me. And I simply reminded myself that physical pain is an inevitable part of life, not that one should go out and seek it of course, but we should not suffer from an excessive fear of it. Of course the pain of a beesting isn’t like the more intense forms of physical pain, but the overall concept of the same. Fear that can be rooted in pain can be overcome by recognizing that physical pain is a part of the human experience, and embracing that reality head on.

But there is another kind of fear, a kind that comes upon us like a invisible storm. It is the fear of something that is not physically painful. It is the fear of something that can wound us mentally, emotionally or spiritually (or all three). When it comes to that type of fear, it is much more difficult to address it because it goes beyond simple physical pain and attacks our souls. Whether it is the fear of going crazy, the fear of demons or of going to Hell or the fear of failing someone we love, that kind of abstract fear can creep up and consume us if we let it. Such fear can cause terrible physical stress, and even illness, if left unchecked. It is difficult sometimes to find a sense of human solidarity in such fear. We may rightly believe that no one else is experiencing what we are, and that no one knows what it feels like to know what we’re going through, which can make us feel even worse. But what we must remember that even if no one else has had the exact circumstances that we might be having that it causing us such fear, that other people experience similar fears too. I’ve feared letting down my family and friends. I still fear losing my soul at times. But it is during such times that we must take all of that fear, and fully unite it to the Cross of Jesus. He must have experienced dreadful terror at the thought of being crucified, and although one may be tempted to think it was only the physical pain that He feared, consider the sheer humiliation of His entire ordeal. He begged God not to let Him be killed. He knew fear, and it went way beyond a fear of physical suffering. Consider what He supposedly said while dying: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus feared that His Father wasn’t going to be there for Him. That must have been the worst terror ever known to man, to wonder if He was totally abandoned there on the Cross. But what happened afterward should be what gives us the strength to endure such fear. Yes, He died there on the cross after hours of agony. But he rose again too. He defied the odds and endured despite fear. When we experience such fear, we must remember Christ’s own fear, and appeal to Him for spiritual solidarity and strength throughout our ordeals, trusting that He will be with us until the end.

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