Monday, May 26, 2014

Seven Statements

      How many different statements did Jesus speak as He hung crucified on the cross?
       The answer is seven. Christ made seven statements.
       To be candid, it is physiologically extraordinary that Jesus spoke at all from the cross. Consider that any word spoken by a crucified victim would need to come about through excruciating pain—literal ‘excruciation,’ a word that derives from the Latin excruciāre, which means “from torture (of the cross).” Medical experts have analyzed everything we know of modern medicine to conclude that victims of crucifixion likely died from asphyxiation and cardiac arrest. You see, as Roman Soldiers hoisted the cross into a vertical position, Jesus flexed His knees at a 45 degree angle to bear His full bodyweight. This was done after a Soldier nailed His hands to the patibulum (the cross bar of the cross) and another Soldier nailed His feet to a smaller crossbar near the base of the Crux (the vertical pole). Once in the vertical position, His strength quickly gave out and He sunk downward, increasing the force of torque on His arm and shoulder joints. Eventually, His arms and shoulders dislocated. Pain shot throughout His body and waves of cramps throbbed in His muscles. His bodyweight transferred to the chest and He arched His back to elevate the rib cage in a position of perpetual inhalation. To exhale, He had to push down on His feet with agonizing effort. We learn from the four Gospels that Christ endured this process from nine in the morning until three o’clock in the afternoon. Dehydrated and fatigued, He became less and less able to bear His full weight, which caused Him to further arch His back and to further raise His chest wall to make breathing more difficult. As a result, blood oxygen level dropped, His heart stimulated and His blood pressure fatally increased.
       With a strained heart, collapsed lungs, and an asphyxiated, dehydrated body, Christ could barely retain oxygen between quick, hyperventilated gasps, which made speech nearly impossible as He neared His death. There is a good medical case to be made that supports a conclusion that the seven statements recorded in the four Gospels may have very well been the only seven statements Christ managed to speak in six hours of this excruciating torture.
       Now then, with this in mind one should ponder the meaning of Christ’s final words, realizing the Holy Spirit intended that we should learn of not just their importance, but of how they are chronologically ordered. Here is what most will agree to concerning Christ’s crucifixion: it is the seminal moment leading to the culmination of God’s divine plan for salvation by raising Christ from the dead. I must add that Jesus’ final seven statements portray the reversal of the fall of Man along seven key ideas: forgiveness, grace, obedience, companionship, willpower, fulfillment, and reunion. What is more is that these ideas are not isolated incidents unto themselves to be viewed as marvelous examples of God’s perfect love for us; rather, His statements occur in a particular order and for a particular reason. 
       (1)  Forgiveness: While looking down at Roman soldiers casting lots for His seamless garment, Jesus said, "Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do." (Luke 23:34). Speaking to His heavenly Father, Christ asks for “their” forgiveness; but who are “they”? After sampling various articles on the subject, sermons, and blogs, it seems that most contemporary religious writers appear convinced that Jesus referred to His tormentors and persecutors; and why not? This makes perfect sense. He endured tremendous torture, yet we imagine (and with good reason) that the God of the universe would nevertheless extend His infinite love to even those who would kill His only begotten Son. However, I believe there is more depth to God’s forgiveness. After all, it was not only the Jews who delivered Christ to the cross; it was the whole of humanity. Christ died on the cross to right what wrong we committed at Eden. Jesus asked as much for the forgiveness of our ancestral parents as He did for those who tortured and crucified Him. From the cross, Jesus looked out at not only the sea of vitriolic hatred before Him, but He saw all past and future sins we commit against His father and begged for our forgiveness. The first order of preparation for divine mercy is to seek forgiveness. 
       (2) Sanctifying Grace: Jesus said to the penitent thief, "Today thou shall be with Me in Paradise." (Luke 23:43). Once again, it seems most contemporary religious writers appear consistent in their conclusion that this exchange between the penitent thief and Christ is an example of Christ’s sanctifying Grace on the cross. I agree, though I believe there is more to ponder. God’s sanctifying grace extended not just to the penitent thief on the cross that day, but it paves the way to redemption that dates as far back as the fall of Man. I believe God’s sanctifying grace is present at the fall. Accordingly, Jesus’ words on the cross represent the inception of God’s plan at the very moment He condemns Adam and Eve, if we can understand God’s plan in chronological terms. Christ’s resurrection fundamentally reversed the death sentence that God handed down to Adam and Eve at Eden. He is the way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6)), which is why God’s judgment at Eden (“Thou shalt surely die.” Gen 2:17) can only be reversed through Christ, the logos. Just as the penitent thief, our first parents are sentenced to death, but through Jesus, we are now assured we will be with Him in Paradise. The second order of preparation is preparing for God’s sanctifying grace to redeem us.
       (3)  Obedience: Looking down at His mother, Christ said, “Woman, behold thy son. To the disciple whom Jesus loved, He said, “Behold thy mother” (John 19: 26-27). On this point, I am astounded how many writers and religious thinkers consider this moment an example of Christ’s humanity. It is an attractive idea to imagine that the God of the universe would humble Himself to become a Man to endure the Cross as atonement for a sin we committed, but not before ensuring the long-term care and wellbeing of His earthly mother. I wonder are we not yet clear that Christ is not concerned with the comfort and care of this life, but of the next?
       And still, many imagine that Jesus presented Mary to the “Disciple whom Christ loves” for earthly reasons, a sensible supposition since the sentence concludes with the Disciple taking Mary into his own home. I argue a different case. At the fall of Man, God condemns the serpent for his evil deed: "I will put enmity between thee and the woman, between thy seed and her seed; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel" (Gen. 3:15). The woman and her seed are both prophesized at the fall as being integral to God’s plan for salvation. With this in mind should we not find it odd that Jesus calls Mary “Woman?” More to the point, she is the new Eve, the woman through whom God delivers her seed, Christ, to crush the head of the Serpent. Through her courageous fiat, she obediently presents herself to be used by the Lord to fulfill His prophecy, in spite of how her soul would be pierced in the process (Luke 2:35). As Eve was disobedient to God’s will, Mary is obedient. And what is to be said of the obedience of the disciple beside Mary in this passage? John immediately takes Mary into his home. What better example of obedience is there on display in the Bible than what we find at the foot of the cross in these two Biblical figures?
       There is much speculation as to why John refers to himself as the “Disciple whom Christ loves,” but consider this: John means to relate his experiences as personal to the reader by presenting an anonymizing idiom that we can substitute for ourselves. There is a school of religious thought that views the Gospel of John as being more grounded in theological truths, whereas the Gnostic gospels tend to read along a more historical-factual basis.  Martin L. Smith, a member of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, writes that the author of John's gospel may have deliberately obscured the identity of the Beloved Disciple in order that readers of the gospel may better identify with the disciple's relationship with Jesus. He writes, “Perhaps the disciple is never named, never individualized, so that we can more easily accept that he bears witness to an intimacy that is meant for each one of us. The closeness that he enjoyed is a sign of the closeness that is mine and yours because we are in Christ and Christ is in us.”  Msgr. Charles Pope, pastor of Holy Comforter-St. Cyprian in Washington D.C., concludes that “John’s deeper purpose for not supplying the name of the beloved disciple is so that you will understand and experience in a very true sense that the beloved disciple is you. You are the disciple whom Jesus loves.” Jesus presents His mother to us to take into our homes immediately and obediently so that she may carry our burdens to Him in prayer.  
       Finally, imagine the solace Jesus experienced to see the beautiful face of His mother weeping at his feet as He endured the cross. “Woman, behold thy Son.” There is a case to be made—the better case, I argue—that Jesus confirmed for us in this sorrowful exchange Mary’s special role in the story of salvation. She is the new Eve whose seed crushes the head of the serpent. As Fr. Michael Gaitley , author and member of the Marians of the Immaculate of Conception, said: “Jesus knew that He asks all of us to take our cross daily and follow Him, even all the way to Calvary, and He wanted to make sure that we had no less a consolation than He Himself had during His time of trial. There as He was dying on the Cross, He surely took consolation in the love of His mother as she looked at Him with love, and was present for Him there. She was like a drop of consolation in the midst of an ocean of bitterness and Jesus wants the same for us.” There at Calvary, at the foot of the Cross, Jesus invited Mary to gaze upon her crucified Son and to bear a soul-piercing agony greater than any poor burden we may deliver to her through intercessory prayer. There at Calvary, at the foot of the Cross, Jesus invites us as the disciples whom He loves to obediently accept Mary into our homes, to understand her as His blessed Mother who prays for sinners now and at the hour of our death. The third order of preparation for God’s plan is obedience.
       (4) Companionship: In quoting the opening verse of the 22nd Psalms of David, Jesus cries out, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" (Matt 27: 46). Have we not all cried this Psalm at some point in our lives? This cry represents not only the fall of Man, but is the cry of an outcast Adam and Eve, their hearts yearning to return home. Consider the people of Israel as they cried out to God while enslaved in Egypt. Remember the Israelites cry as they wandered in the wilderness. Remember in more recent times how the Saints in heaven who once lived their lives on earth spoke of the “Dark Night of the Soul.” St. John of the Cross wrote of the “Dark Night of the Soul,” explaining how the initial exhilaration of conversion is followed by a "dark night of the senses" that is "bitter and terrible to taste."  What follows is "the soul feels itself to be perishing and melting away, in the presence and sight of its miseries, in a cruel spiritual death, even as if it had been swallowed by a beast and felt itself being devoured."  The “darkness” of Dark Night comes in part because the soul is blinded by the bright light of wisdom. As it adjusts to the light, it gradually sees past sins and present inabilities. Overall, says St. John, the soul feels as if it is “being undone” and lost in interior darkness. The most disorienting part of the Dark Night is the painful loss of God. As Adam and Eve departs from the light of Eden into the “Dark night of the Soul,” we are reminded by Christ on the cross of how dark the road is that we must travel to return to light. However, Christ left us an organism called his Church; we are all individual cells of His mystical body. This is not a journey we must take alone, although it will seem so at times. It is through companionship and constant intercessory prayer for one another that we may someday see God. Understanding our friends in the communion of Saints as our companions on the journey through darkness to reach the light is the fourth step.
       To this point, we have explored four ideas in the first four of Jesus’ final seven statements, ideas which offset the effects of what took place at the fall. Forgiveness for the original sin (“Father, forgive them…”), sanctifying grace that extends from the first man and first woman to the last day before Judgment (“…this day you will be with me in paradise.”), a reissuance of God’s order to be obedient (“…behold they son,” “…behold thy mother.”), and a community of companions and friends to help guide us through the darkness to the light (“…why have you forsaken me?”). As Christ nears death, it is likely His last three statements were made between agonizing gasps of breath.
       (5) Willpower: Nearing death, he cries out, “I thirst.” (John 19:28). Physiologically speaking, it makes perfect sense that Jesus would thirst. He is beaten, broken, and dangerously dehydrated. However, He is not referring to an earthly drink of water. Jesus taught us as He informs the Samaritan woman that “Everyone who drinks of [earthly] water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life." In His cry, “I thirst,” we are reminded of Isaiah 58:11, “The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” In the physical sense, the moment one becomes conscious of his or her thirst, their bodies are already dehydrated. In the spiritual sense, our souls are neglected and yearn for replenishment, but there is no form of material drink that can satisfy the soul.
       Fr. Robert Barron cites Thomas Aquinas to help us understand why:
  “The human spirit is structured in such a way that it pushes beyond itself toward the good, the true, and the beautiful. The mind seeks the truth, and it finds it, to some degree, in this world, but it's never enough, because the mind seeks absolute truth. The will seeks the good, and it finds it, to some degree, within this world, but it's never enough finally to satisfy the will. The soul seeks the beautiful, and, to a limited degree, it finds it, it achieves it in this world, but it's ordered toward the beautiful itself. There's a kind of holy longing in us. There's an aching, a restlessness that pushes us beyond anything in this world toward a transcendent truth, a transcendent goodness, a transcendent beauty. This is why, as C.S. Lewis so clearly saw, the most exquisite experiences in life—aesthetic pleasure, sexual intimacy, deep friendship—are always accompanied by a certain aching sadness, a sense that there must still be something more.”
       The search for “something more” is the thirst Christ referred us to as He hung from the cross. To be conscious of our spiritual thirst is to form the impetuous, the willpower, to align our priorities finally with God’s will. It is what the people of Israel struggled with for so long as they wandered in the desert following their freedom from Egypt. Jesus reminds us that since the fall of man, we have been wandering in darkness in search of light, longing to drink from the well of eternal life. Thirst arrive us at a brink of desperation in where we form the impetuous to quench the thirst. Only at this point can we finally form the willpower to properly align with the will of God. Exercising willpower is the fifth order of preparation.
       (6) Fulfillment: “It is finished.” (John 19: 30) Every monotheistic religion faces a serious intellectual obstacle in justifying evil in a world created by an omnipotent, benevolent Being. If God is an all powerful loving Being, then why does He allow evil to exist? Why does He allow for good people to die and for bad people reign? Christianity is the one religion that provides solace on the problem of evil. No other monotheistic religion knows of a personal God who condescends to take the form of, and in turn be killed by His creation. This is exactly what Christianity offers; the problem of evil is solved by Jesus Christ. Sin freely entered into the world and by freewill, sin is defeated. St. Augustine in the fourth century said, “"God judged it better to bring good out of evil than to suffer no evil to exist." God judged it better to bring good out of evil than to suffer no evil to exist." Jesus’ fulfillment of prophecy (Gen 3: 15) by declaring “It is finished” is the seminal moment that leads to the culmination of God’s divine plan by raising Christ from the dead. St. Paul summarizes this Christian victory over the death sentence issued to Adam in Gen 3:19 when he wrote:
“…that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. After that He appeared to more than five hundred brethren at one time, most of whom remain until now, but some have fallen asleep; then He appeared to James, then to all the apostles; and last of all, as to one untimely born, He appeared to me also.” (1 Corinthians 15: 3-11)
      Christianity is not a moral philosophy. It is based on a particular man born in a particular time and witnessed by particular people. “O death, where is your victory? Oh Death, where is your sting?” The Christian victory over evil is through the Resurrected Christ. St. Paul postulates what it would mean if Christ was not raised from the dead. He writes:
 “…if there is no resurrection of the dead, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, your faith also is vain. Moreover we are even found to be false witnesses of God, because we testified against God that He raised Christ, whom He did not raise, if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15: 13-19)
      “But,” Paul writes, “Christ has been raised from the dead…For since by a man came death, by a man also came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all will be made alive.” Christ crying out between gasps of air, “It is finished,” calls to mind the fateful Fall in the Garden where God’s plan “is started.” We thirst until we reach such a time in where we are satisfied and fulfilled; this is the sixth order of preparation.
      Christ spoke seven statements on the cross. Upon the completion of his seventh and final statement, he passed. "Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit." (Luke 23:46) We must all pass through death to reunite with God in eternal life. Reunion is the final step. Notice how Jesus’ final statements encapsulate the whole story of the fall and of God’s plan for salvation. We see forgiveness for original sin, a sanctifying grace to redeem fallen Man, a reissuance of God’s order to obey as counterbalance to Eve’s disobedience, a community of companions present to accompany forsaken Man cast out of Eden, willpower to quench thirst as we wander in the darkness, a prophecy fulfilling a way back home, and finally, reunion with God.
      Seven spoken words by Christ on the cross, a number that evokes perfection and the completion of the Genesis seven day cycle of creation. God spoke the cosmos into existence in seven days and He judged His creation perfect. Sin freely entered the world and disrupted God’s perfect creation. His word became flesh (John 1:1) and on the cross, Christ’s final seven words are the key to restoring God’s perfect kingdom. Just as His Father spoke all things into existence and rested on the seventh and final day, Jesus rests upon the conclusion of His seventh and final statement on the cross, for in doing so, He arrived at the culminating moment—His resurrection. The very next statement that we hear from the resurrected Christ, His eighth statement to keep with chronological order, is spoken by an eternally living God. After all, eight represents infinity because it stands outside of seven, or the completion of the cycle of time.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

The Existence of God

A thought: An argument against the existence of God—all evidence and reason included—amounts to no less than the moral question, “Can God and evil coexist?” 

You will hopefully see that this is not a case against God’s existence—an existence that is logically irrefutable even without the Bible—but rather a question of whether you can love (and worship) a God that allows evil to not only exist, but to seemingly inflict upon humanity so senselessly and dramatically. 

By the way, I did say His existence is irrefutable. 

To demonstrate how, let us look to reason and logic—namely philosophy—since Mankind possesses intellect to deduce and reason. To be clear, philosophy (the “love of Wisdom”) relies on logic and reason; theology (the study of God) relies on divine revelation. One can arrive at God purely along reasonable means, but, without theology, the same cannot arrive unassisted at the truths of God 'essentia,' or essence. Thomas Aquinas said, “Philosophy is the handmaiden of theology,” which means the power of reason and the truths known by reason enable and assist in the study of theology. 

Ok, let’s suppose that we have managed to possess 10% of all knowledge that is intelligible about the universe—meaning that of all there is to know about the universe, we are certain of only a tenth. If you want, we can stretch this scenario liberally to grant that we know 99% of all knowledge claims, impossible though it may seem (the universe is a big place). Nonetheless, it stands to reason that there very well could be some fact about the universe, whether in the 90% or in the 1%—depending on which case you argue—that humankind has yet to discern as truth that could contradict what we claim to know. (Note: I will cede to the one who argues “we know 99%” that the probability of a fact remaining in the 1% which would contradict the other 99% drastically diminishes; but, to quote Jim Carrey’s character, Lloyd Christmas, from the movie ‘Dumb and Dumber’, “so you’re telling me there’s a chance.”) Put simply, if one does not know what he or she does not know, whether in the 90% or 1% to the scale of the universe, then how exactly can one be certain (and I mean absolutely certain) of anything at all? The answer is he cannot know; the only way he could know anything for certain is if he knew everything. Therefore logic follows that no one can know anything with absolute certainty at all.

 But we do posses scientific, empirical knowledge such that we detect through five senses subject to all the natural rules it detects, an inescapable and viciously circular argument without a First Cause to set the cycle into motion.  People all throughout the ages understand this First Cause as God. 

When I say “people through the ages,” I do not mean exclusively Christians. I refer to people of all creeds, nationalities, philosophies, and backgrounds. God is irrefutable because without Him, one could not refute; God ‘is’ existence, and from Him, all things came into being.

Does this mean God created evil as well? How could an all powerful, loving, peaceful Being allow for such horrendous evil to inhabit the world? Why does He not just stomp it out of existence? 

If you cannot answer these questions convincingly and you consider yourself Christian, I’d advise that you read the early Church writings from around the first century through the fifth—the church endured tremendous persecution during that period and much of the early documents dealt specifically on this subject (after all they needed to answer the question for themselves).  If you are not Christian, but you claim a monotheistic faith, I am curious how it is that you answer this question. I am regrettably ignorant on how this topic is approached by most other non-Christian faiths.  And if you altogether reject God’s existence on this ground (or perhaps another), I invite your feedback.

Oh, and please include two things in your answer: (1) an understanding of evidence that “Bad things happen” is not proof there is no God; it may be included in support against a claim that “God is good,” (for the record, I believe God is good) but it does not prove there being no God; and (2) if you feel that you have soundly disproven God’s existence, then with whom or with what do you replace Him, for there must be a “First Cause” (ref: my example above)?

Sunday, February 23, 2014

No, Marcus. They Did Not Die in Vain

On Friday, Christina and I watched “Lone Survivor,” also a best-selling memoir based on the harrowing experience of the eponymous lone navy seal who survived the ill-fated Operation Red Wings—a 2005 military operation that cost the lives of 19 members of the U.S. Military’s Special Operations community. The movie was emotionally jarring and exceptionally well done. It also, however, sparked a much needed conversation about the responsibility inherited by the living to carry on with the Just Cause of the fallen.

The question on the table is this: did the men of Operation Red Wings die in vain?

In the wake of the movie’s release, there was much fervor over a January 12th exchange between the true Lone Survivor, Marcus Lutrell, and CNN’s Chief Washington Correspondent Jake Tapper. Tapper implied the senselessness in how the men “up on that mountain” died in vain, seeing how the Afghanistan war lacks national conviction and strategic direction, and, perhaps most damning, has lost public support. By this time in the interview, a quite offended and visibly angry Navy Seal, Lutrell, responded while a helpless Mark Wahlberg looked on, "We spend our whole lives training to defend this country, and then we were sent over there by this country, and you're telling me because we were over there doing what we were told by our country that it was senseless and my guys died for nothing?"

In a larger sense, the true question is: can the sacrifices of our brave men and women in Uniform—sacrifices which include, as President Lincoln once noted, the full and costliest measure of sacrifice “laid upon the altar of freedom,” one’s life—ever be made in vain if our nation loses sight of the meaning and purpose of the sacrifice?

In a well circulated Foreign Policy article, author and journalist Jim Gourley succinctly answered Mr. Lutrell’s question in just the title of his piece, “Yes Marcus. They Did Die in Vain;” He continues to eloquently state in though painful terms the reason he believes this to be true. His article, though well written and reasonably balanced, also misses the mark.

Are we really so pretentious, so narcissistic a society as to suggest that by our action—or inaction—we possess the power to add or detract from the honor of a sacrifice that is made in the spirit of something larger than ourselves? As Lincoln famously stated on the occasion to dedicate a plot of land as a national ceremony in honor of Gettysburg’s fallen: “…we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate–we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.” He continues in a later portion of his address, “…from these honored dead we [should] take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion.” This might come as a surprise to many, but the sacrifices made by both the living and fallen are not about us—the people. And, when we fail to honor their sacrifice through word and deed, we can do little to dishonor them, but rather, to do much to dishonor ourselves. When we fail, as many suggest we may in Iraq and Afghanistan, it does little to shame the sacrifices of our service members, but rather, does greatly to shame ourselves.

As the American song writer Julie Ward Howe wrote in the Battle Hymn of the Republic, “As [Christ] died to make men holy, let us die to make men free;” You see, such a sacrifice is necessarily made in the same spirit of Christ's death on the cross. As is commonly stated, God is love, and, as it is remarked in the Gospels, no greater love can one possess than for him or her to lay down their life for another—as in the case of an ill-fated operation that cost our nation 19 brave sons who each loved their country in so complete a way as to fashion their final act as the fullest and costliest measure of devotion to duty.

How can a sacrifice made in the spirit of the greatest of virtues and fully enshrined with the eternal sovereignty of the Creator ever be made in vain? The answer: it cannot. It is rather for the living to increase in devotion in the spirit of love, the same of which our bravest men and women willingly paid the ultimate price; it is rather that our nation—the last best hope for peace in our world—should remain unwaveringly committed to a national will grounded in the transcendental value of love.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Invaluables Have The Most Intrinsic Value

Originally appearing on Facebook on 2 September 2013

Aristotle introduced in his Nicomachean Ethics—and I am paraphrasing—that the best activities tend to be the most useless because they are merely a means to serve a greater ends. In other words, one who works to make money does so not because working, unto itself, is a worthy activity, but rather because earning money is important—not true in all cases, I admit, but sensible enough to serve as a basis. Yet, earning money, in and of itself, does not inherently possess its own value, but is rather used to obtain further goods or services, which in turn serves yet other ends. This ‘ends’ to serve as a ‘means’ relationship infinitely regresses until nothing has value, precisely because all things possess tangible value. In my example, the activity of working, sensible in function and necessary to wellbeing though it is, ultimately subordinates to a greater 'ends,' and therefore is inherently of lesser value than the 'ends' it serves.

There are certain 'ends' that serve no other 'means' than to fulfill its own good. The function of building a virtuous character, for instance, useless though it may seem in the tangible sense amidst a culture that places so a high a value on "better activities" (like earning money), is, in actuality, the most important activity we could endeavor to perfect.

One example of this comes from an encounter I had this summer with one of my Soldiers. I said, "You know, one of the least understood, and therefore the most neglected dimension of comprehensive Soldier fitness, is the spiritual dimension."

The battlefield promoted and newly minted Staff Sergeant, a year my junior, sat on a wooden bench beside me on a patio deck that he helped build early in the deployment.

"And when I say spiritual," I continued, careful not to tread into sensitive areas, "I do not mean 'religious'. I think that's the mistake Soldiers make when they hear that the Army wants Soldiers to be spiritually fit.' It sounds like the Army saying 'we want our Soldiers to be Christian,' or ''we want our Soldiers to be religious', or '... to go to church,' and that's not what the Army leadership is saying at all."

He said, "Well, I personally don't go to church—It's not my thing—and I'm not religious. When I talk to my Soldier, who is Wiccan, I have a hard explaining to him what the Army means by 'Spiritual fitness, so I ignore it...'"

"Exactly!" I said, a bit animated. He smiled at my excitement. I continued, "Exactly, that's my point. So, let’s break it down this way: you and I are here having a conversation. You respect me—at least I hope you do—either because I am your commander, or, let's say, it's because I took the time to come out here and have this conversation with you. And let's also say—for sake of argument, because I actually can't stand you (at that, he smiled and said, "Whatever Sir.”)—“but let's just say I have a good deal of respect for you, because I see something in you that is different, something that has value—which is the truth, by the way. So this mutual respect we have for one another creates a third element to our relationship, an esprit-de-corps that becomes an independent entity separate from you and I, but connected to us at the same time. It is, in fact, bigger than us both because we are in service to its existence. It takes us both to create it, so the spirit is bigger than we are each alone. But it cannot exist if we exist each alone. That is the spirit the Army talks about. It’s the common bond between Soldiers, the third entity that springs out from the camaraderie and respect we have for one another and for the Army organization itself."

He seemed intrigued by all of this, so I continued, "That's why when you hear a Soldier say that he or she is getting out because 'the Army doesn't care' about him or her, what the Soldier really means is, 'my team leader...,' or 'my squad leader...,' or 'my platoon sergeant or platoon leader doesn't care about me.' Sometimes I want to say, 'you're right Soldier! That Army you talk about, well, it's an inanimate, incompassionate organization comprised of rules and regulations, of norms, values, and ideals. The Army doesn't care about you because it isn't capable of caring, but your team leader, your squad leader, your platoon sergeant and leaders should care about you."

He smiled and said, "That’s what I always try to tell Soldiers also!"

"So you get it then," I said. "in the case of the Soldier who blames 'the Army' for 'not caring', the spirit of his or her unit, that larger entity he or she senses as 'not caring', the weakened esprit-de-corps of the Army, absorbs the blame for what is really a neglected spiritual relationship between a leader and his or her Soldier."

With that, I concluded, "Spiritual fitness begins with understanding we are in service to something bigger than ourselves. It is not subjecting your happiness or your wellbeing entirely to another thing, but rather one must understand there are bigger things in life. The purpose and sense of serving something bigger than you and I is what the Army would like to cultivate by strengthening spiritual fitness. This is how one becomes a servant-leader, which, in turn, is the basis for unlocking natural leadership."
 

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Learning to Bend the Spoon: A Lesson on Leadership

This article was originally written and posted to Facebook on June 27, 2012

Photo courtesy of Mr. Caleb Gordon, located at: http://calebgordon.com/leadership-2
I belong to a profession of arms whose many members are obsessed with leadership. This is true even as the vast majority of us, perhaps even I included, may not in fact be leaders. On the contrary, I think anything couldn't be further from the truth.

Now that's a stunning accusation.

Before I begin to explain, I'd like to share two anecdotes that will help convey my point. The first comes to us from a recent (and well circulated) speech by Michael Lewis, an American non-fiction author and financial journalist to the 2012 graduates of Princeton University. In his speech, Lewis refers to his success, and any such success for that manner, as a mere winning streak of incredible luck that should not be perceived too pretentiously by its benefactor. In the speech, he shares this story:
"A few years ago, just a few blocks from my home, a pair of researchers in the Cal psychology department staged an experiment. They began by grabbing students as lab rats. Then they broke the students into teams, segregated by sex. Three men, or three women, per team. Then they put these teams of three into a room, and arbitrarily assigned one of the three to act as leader. Then they gave them some complicated moral problem to solve: say what should be done about academic cheating or how to regulate drinking on campus.
"Exactly 30 minutes into the problem-solving the researchers interrupted each group. They entered the room bearing a plate of cookies. Four cookies. The team consisted of three people, but there were these four cookies. Every team member obviously got one cookie, but that left a fourth cookie, just sitting there. It should have been awkward. But it wasn't. With incredible consistency the person arbitrarily appointed leader of the group grabbed the fourth cookie and ate it. Not only ate it, but ate it with gusto; lips smacking, mouth open, drool at the corners of their mouths. In the end all that was left of the extra cookie were crumbs on the leader's shirt.
"This leader had performed no special task. Had no special virtue. Had been chosen at random, 30 minutes earlier. His status was nothing but luck. But it still left him with the sense that the cookie should be his."
Think on that story as I share my second anecdote. In 1999, two brothers, Larry and Andy Wachowski, wrote and directed the American science fiction action film The Matrix. Stunning in its effects and revolutionary in its on-screen display of cinematography, in its usage of computer-generated imagery, and in its masterful production design, The Matrix redefined movie-viewing for millions of people. The plot involved a young computer programmer named Thomas Anderson who took on the alias Neo and went on a journey of self-discovery. And of course, as you may well know, he did so against the back drop of a century-old war between a small community of free-will loving humans and killer artificial-intelligent machines, the latter of which contrived a computer generated "prison" to sedate and suppress human beings while their life source is siphoned off as battery juice. I think that about sums it up.

I am not so interested in the fantasy and allure of the special effects or the complexity of the storyline as I am in a particularly unassuming moment well into the movie, a scene in which our hero Neo went to see a woman who went by the name "The Oracle." In the scene, Neo, still uncertain of whom he is to be or what to think about the two worlds he must live between, walks into an apartment within a multi-story urban residential complex. He instantly notices a young boy dressed in traditional Buddhist garb seated with his legs crossed. Even more fascinating, he watches the boy bend a spoon only by looking at it. In the scene, the viewer notices multiple spoons bent at extreme angles on the floor to the boy's front, so we are left to assume the boy had done the same with each of those spoons we well. The boy, aware of Neo's interest, holds out the spoon to Neo, who accepts it and sits down. Then speaking in an articulate, sophisticated manner, the boy says, "Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead... only try to realize the truth."
Neo stares somewhat introspectively at the spoon and asks "What truth?"
The boy quickly replies, "There is no Spoon."
Neo, pondering the meaning in the boy's answer, repeats, "There is no spoon."
After a moment of silence, the boy adds, "Then you'll see, that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself."

Those today who are charged by an institution or any other legally governing entity to exert influence on individuals to achieve objectives or goals try to "bend the spoon" in applying "leadership". Some yell. Some threaten. Some beg, plead, and negotiate. Some make trade-offs. Some connive and manipulate. Some expend "political capital". In all, the goal is always to bend a situation to fit one’s own desires. In truth, we all want to be good leaders. That is not the point. The sad reality is that no one can be told they are a leader any more than they can bend a spoon using only their mind. Rather, this comes after much time and with quiet observation, a keen self-awareness, and much patience. Then, one day, much like Lewis' explanation of his success, it will just happen to be so and is often times accidental, or as Lewis put it, a stroke of luck.

Now I am not arguing that we are subject entirely to luck, not even in the least bit. To claim this would be a dramatic oversimplification.

The essence of our obsession is rooted in an authentic extrinsic desire to act responsibly with the burden of "leadership" as to not bring shame, discredit, or dishonor upon oneself or the institution we represent as a consequence of one's own actions or decisions. To help us mold and grow as "leaders," we follow scripts. We assess our potential through the usage of valid metrics, rubrics, and other quantitative methods to measure qualitative attributes. Throughout our culture, we see "Leadership" in print and in spirit. The Army’s national service academy’s stated mission is to “educate, train and inspire” its cadets to become “leaders of character.” The Non-Commissioned Officer Evaluation System (NCOES-the system on which enlisted Soldiers attain rank and advance in responsibility) includes developmental courses such as Warrior Leaders’ Course, Advanced Leaders’ course, Senior Leaders’ Course. All officers attend the Basic Officer Leadership Course, the entry-level standard instruction for newly minted second lieutenants. And this after each officer has certainly received an innumerable quantity of instructional leadership courses from their respective commissioning source (ROTC, West Point, and Officer Candidate School). The seven Army values, which are loyalty, duty, respect, selfless-service, honor, integrity, and personal courage, are commonly listed in the order I provided because the first letter of each word spells the acronym LDRSHIP. There are many, many other examples, but I think you get my point.

However, even after this, after the untold millions, maybe billions of dollars and intellectual capital spent publishing literature and developing class instruction, we still see time and again stories in the national news of units and organizations who suffer the diminishing effect of so-called failure in leadership.

This "failure in leadership" is known by a different name, toxic leadership. There has been in recent years a dramatic rise in the writings and study of toxic leadership. A simple Google search for the term toxic leadership will bring you numerous accounts and interpretations of the term. One article titled Army Wants to Rid Top Ranks of Toxic Leaders, written July 31, 2011 by reporters Michelle Tan and Joe Gould of the Army Times, does a really good job of describing toxicity within the military.

The opening paragraph really highlights the extent and depth of the problem. "A survey of more than 22,630 soldiers from the rank of Sergeant through Colonel and Army civilians showed that roughly one in five sees his or her superior as “toxic and unethical,” while only 27 percent believe that their organization allows "the frank and free flow of ideas." Later in the article, the writers echo Mr. Lewis’ story to the Princeton graduates. They quote Charles “Hondo” Campbell, who retired in 2011 after commanding Forces Command, as saying, “[toxic leaders] have an exaggerated sense of their own importance, and it is the belief that they are important — as opposed to their understanding that they do important things... Fundamentally, that’s the opposite of our value of selfless service.”

While all these periodicals, articles, and books bring to bear an important topic of toxicity within an organization based solely on the actions and decisions of a single individual charged with the responsibility of “leading,” to a much larger extent, they all miss the point. The real point is, "there is no spoon."

A ‘toxic leader’ is no leader at all.

John Maxwell said in his book, The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership, “he who thinks he leads, but has no followers, is only taking a walk.” Within the military, any "toxic leader" operating void of a legal apparatus, that is the say without legal backing of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, wouldn't have the same level of influence as they do under our system. A quick definition of leadership is positive influence, pure and simple. What provides individuals the ability to spread their toxicity as described in these articles are the very rules, laws and military traditions that comprise our organization. A very fascinating quote from Mitchell Kusy and Elizabeth Holloway in their article Toxic Workplace: Managing Toxic Personalities and Their Systems of Power is that “Toxic people thrive only in a toxic system.” Certain elements that comprise the military profession or any profession built almost entirely on applying leadership enables the spread of toxicity. That is not to say our institution promotes toxicity. However, to deny that "leaders" often advance solely through the practice of promotion based on "time in grade, time in service," as opposed to a pure meritocracy, and that this practice does not have a diminishing effect on the overall quality of senior ranking officers and non-commissioned officers would be woeful ignorance at best. Nevertheless, the challenge of our top officials is steep. We must come to terms with the harsh duality that when it comes to leadership, we must place faith in individuals to take responsible charge of organizations that deal in matters as gravely consequential as life and death, despite the brutal fact that not everyone in charge will be (or could be) a group’s natural leader.

Even as the latter fact may be true, becoming a leader is possible. The process to become a leader is very long and strenuous, and involves all sorts of pretentious and self-righteous pitfalls. I am still learning, so that much I cannot share. Yet as you try to take something away from this writing, remember this - If you desire to someday wake and discover yourself a leader, then do not try to exert your influence on others to will them into doing your bidding. That is impossible. Instead, realize the truth. Perhaps you may not be, at this present moment, your group's natural leader, despite your charge as their "manager" (for lack of a better term).

Then you will see that it is not entirely others or the situation that must bend to achieve good. Sometimes, it is only you. So be yourself, and to be yourself, you must know yourself.

So good luck with bending that spoon.

Friday, December 6, 2013

The Desert, The Map, and The Binoculars

First written and posted to my Facebook profile page on September 7, 2013

Long ago, two men wandered into a vast arid desert, and, after some time, hap-hazardously lost their way. One of the two men used a map to plan a route out of the desert. The other looked through binoculars and pointed out all that he saw in the distance. Neither of them knew the way out of the desert, but each relied on their respective tool and on one another to guide forward.

Eventually, low on water and nearly starved, the one with binoculars shouted, "Water! I see trees and water."

The other one holding the map looked down at the lines and drawings on his sheet and said, "There are no trees or waterholes near here, brother. It is only a mirage."

"No!" said the man with the binoculars. "I see it! I know it is there! It has to be!" And he passionately started forward in a sprint, stopping every few paces to look out ahead with the binoculars before continuing with even greater haste. The one with the map struggled to keep up, stopping every few paces to look down at his map before starting forward again. Eventually, he fell far behind.

Desperately starved and fatigued, the two men found themselves now having grown further and further apart: one chasing the vision of what he believed was the source of substance and life, though only seen from afar; the other following a path, one depicted by others that travelled this same road before, but have since passed on.

Both were lost. And now, both had lost each other.

This is how I see the poor condition of our national leaders in public office.

Saturday, November 30, 2013

The 'Hero' In Our Midsts

These can seem to be desperate times.

The arena, in which idyllic democratic principle infuses with popular secular sentimentalism, fills everyday with hundreds of thousands of loyalists on either side of traditionalism—those for and those against. They are engaged in a bitterly divisive culture war. Everything, it seems, is at stake. Millions more remain outside the coliseum as they listen to the distant clatter of clashing swords. Agents of change champion their cause with bouts of emotion that shift political momentum. The indifferent one reassures his companions that the best position is one of political abstinence, lest the side he roots to victory instead suffers defeat, leaving the loser on the "wrong side" of a history written by political winners. The neutral one focuses on the struggles of daily sustenance, though he remains cognizant of a growing feeling of angst and helplessness. He pretends to ignore the dissipating numbers among his ranks as another son or daughter leaves his side, stumbles towards the entrance of the coliseum, and transforms into a culture warrior. The sound from within the coliseum matches that of a giant wave smashing against a jagged shoreline, its motion carried forth by seismic political tremors.


At some point, this constant grind of partisan politics will numb the sensibilities of the average American, who, generally speaking, wants his or her country to achieve an idyllic good. However, after having endured the second worse economic downturn in modern history, after years of persistent military flashes of violence in the country’s longest ever wars of Iraq and Afghanistan, and in light of persistent agitations from countries like Syria, Iran, North Korea, Libya, Egypt, and Pakistan—let alone growing domestic tension over diminishing credit ratings, looming Government shutdowns over debt ceilings debates, and a ballooning deficit—the nation faces the quiet crisis of an impending powder keg moment—a cultural flashpoint—that would ignite such civil restlessness not known since the day of our 16th President.

In short—however implausible it may seem—we are in the midst of America’s existential identity crisis.
 
Ok, now for the good news; after all, melodramatic though my account of today's political climate may seem, there is, like in most dire circumstances, good news to be had. There is a Hero in our midst, one capable of elevating us above the partisan bickering to reunite us in light of the grave challenges that threaten the nation. In fact, there are many Heroes. Yet who are these Heroes, and, perhaps more importantly, where will they lead us?    
 
How could one possibly know where he or she is going unless the same one understands where he or she has been? To a larger extent, how could any country coalesce around a virtuous vision for the future unless that nation’s leaders understand where that nation has been? Put a third way, as Maya Angelou, the acclaimed American author, poet, and recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, said, “No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place...Each of us has the right and the responsibility to assess the roads which lie ahead, and those over which we have travelled, and if the future road looms ominous or unpromising, and the roads back uninviting, then we need to gather our resolve and, carrying only the necessary baggage, step off that road into another direction.”

In this entry, I will present two narratives, a personal narrative and a national one. They are each a narrative of identity and of virtuous intention, and, echoing Angelou, of the need to gather resolve and, carrying only the necessary baggage, step off the present path into another direction.
 

"...nothing but a dog. You're not a thing but a dog.”

At the time of the interview in 1937, Walter Calloway was 89 years old. In spite of his age and aside from the purpose of journalist W.P. Jordan’s arrangement of the interview, Walter Calloway was lively. Though he was quick tongued and full of spirit on the day of the interview, he reported feeling ill with what W.P Jordan called a “temporary illness.” Walter not only had a quick tongue, but a characteristically suitable style of talk that represented his poor path through life. It is also worth noting that the narrative of the interview presented here was transcribed verbatim and can be challenging to read. W.P. Jordan made an effort to transcribe what he heard Walter say, so one suggestion is to read the narrative aloud for better understanding. Jordan wrote, “As [Walter] sat in the sunshine on his tiny front porch [as we walked up], his greeting was: "Come in, white folks. You ain't no doctor is you?"  

After replying in the negative, Walter’s reply, written exactly in his own voice, went, "Fo' de las' past twenty-five years I been keepin' right on, wukkin' for de city in de street department. 'Bout two mont's ago dis mis'ry attackted me an' don't 'pear lak nothin' dem doctors gimme do no good. De preacher he come to see me dis mornin' an' he say he know a white gemman doctor, what he gwine to sen' him to see me. I sho' wants to get well ag'in pow'ful bad, but mebby I done live long 'nuff an' my time 'bout come." 

Photo and stories courtesy of Bruce Fort
of Corcoran Department of History
at the University of Virginia;
original collection with George P. Rawick,
ed., The American Slave: A Composite
Autobiography (Westport, Conn.:
Greenwood Press, 1972-79).
His full interview can be found here.
 

Nonetheless, judging by the photo which accompanies the interview, Walter looked in good general health and good spirits. What is more striking than his body’s fit condition, however, is his body’s position; if one looks close enough at the photo, he or she could detect a measure of suspiciousness on Walter’s face. He appears in the photo ready either to run from the photographer at a moment’s notice or, if his spunky disposition is an indication of a fighting spirit, to reach for his cane, leaning on the post to his right, to use as a weapon should the photographer make any sudden motion. The tension in his right hand is undeniable. The way his body contorts away from the photo leaves no question in mind for the viewer that Walter Calloway did not trust the men who came to interview him. And yet, what reason did Walter have to trust these men?

Walter Calloway was born in Richmond, Virginia into slavery in 1848. W.P. Jordan, associated with the Works Progress Administration, was one of many writers and journalists interviewing some twenty-three hundred former slaves across the American south between 1936 and1938, of whom Walter was one. Imagine, white men at the height of the Great Depression journeying across the Jim Crow south asking former slaves to recall their memory of slavery; what reason did Walter have to trust these men? In another interview from the same repository, former slave Fountain Hughes, also born in 1848 and 101 years old at the time of his interview on June 11, 1949, recounted the day in which the Union Army arrived to Charlottesville, Virginia, saying they “throwed all the meat an' flour an' sugar an' stuff out in the river an' let it go down the river. An' they knowed the people wouldn' have nothing to live on, but they done that. An' thats the reason why I don' like to talk about it… Colored people tha's free ought to be awful thankful. An' some of them is sorry they are free now. Some of them now would rather be slaves.”

Strikingly, to this comment, interviewer Hermond Norwood asked Fountain with a patronizing chuckle, “Which had you rather be Uncle Fountain?”

Fountain snapped back, “Me? Which I'd rather be? You know what I'd rather do?” Then, in an intensely focused cadence, Fountain sharply added, “If I thought, had any idea, that I'd ever be a slave again, I'd take a gun an' jus' end it all right away. Because you're nothing but a dog. You're not a thing but a dog.”   

Back to Walter, who started his story like this: "Well, Sir, Cap'n, I was born in Richmond, Virginny, in 1848. Befo' I was ole 'nuff to 'member much, my mammy wid me an' my older brudder was sold to Marse John Calloway at Snodoun in Montgomery County, ten miles south of de town of Montgomery. Marse John hab a big plantation an' lots of slaves. Dey treated us purty good, but we hab to wuk hard. Time I was ten years ole I was makin' a reg'lar han' 'hin de plow. Oh, yassuh, Marse John good 'nough to us an' we get plenty to eat, but he had a oberseer name Green Bush what sho' whup us iffen we don't do to suit him. Yassuh, he mighty rough wid us be he didn't do de whippin' hisse'f. He had a big black boy name Mose, mean as de debil an' strong as a ox, and de oberseer let him do all de whuppin'. An', man, he could sho' lay on dat rawhide lash. He whupped a nigger gal 'bout thirteen years old so hard she nearly die, an' allus atterwa'ds she hab spells of fits or somp'n. Dat make Marse John pow'ful mad, so he run dat oberseer off de place an' Mose didn' do no mo' whuppin'.”

Not long after this comment, Walter made the following point about learning of the Union Army’s victory and of his freedom, “we ain't nebber been what I calls free. 'Cose ole marster didn' own us no mo', an' all de folks soon scatter all ober, but iffen dey all lak me day still hafter wuk jes' as hard, an some times hab less dan we useter hab when we stay on Marster John's plantation.”
 
It should stand out that Walter and Fountain had two obvious things in common; they were both former slaves and they were both born in 1848. To their company, I will add a third man, one who also shares these two similarities. His name is James M. Pride and he is my paternal great-grandfather.

In fact, James and Walter share one other similarity. Walter, though he was born in Virginia, was sold to John Calloway and spent his childhood a slave in Alabama, whereas my great-grandfather was born and raised a slave in Franklin County, Alabama. At this point I should note that I do not know much else about my great-grandfather except from what little inconsistent clues are left in the public record, such as U.S. Census records (in fact, the Census first included a registry of slaves and their owners in 1850, two years after my great-grandfather’s birth), and whatever other public documents may have survived the times. So to imagine what James’ life was like, I look to stories like Walter’s account. And, as you can imagine, when I look at Walter’s photo, at how his hand is poised ready to grab his cane and defend his life, I cannot help but to imagine the man who raised my grandfather, who in turn raised my father, who in turn, raised me. And in the event this fact evades you, the aforementioned chronology spans 165 years at the time of this writing, just under half the age of our country.

 Prophets, Nomads, Heroes, and Artists
 
We will return to this point, and to my Great-grandfather, a little later. In 2007, a demographer and a historian, Neil Howe and William Strauss, respectively, wrote an article in the Harvard Business Review as part of a larger study on various generational forces. Their article was titled, The Next 20 Years: How Customer and Workforce Attitudes Will Evolve. As provided in the articles’ abstract, “Howe and Strauss, the authors of Generations, The Fourth Turning, Millennials Rising, and other books, have studied the differences among generations for some 30 years. Their extensive research has revealed a fascinating pattern—one so strong that it supports a measure of predictability. On the basis of historical precedent, they say, we can foresee how the generations that are alive today will think and act in decades to come.” Although the authors do make sweeping generalizations throughout the article, they achieve success in advancing an intriguing and fascinating observation and argument about all American generations, including older, lesser known generations, by leveraging well established sociological terms and associations of more remarked about generations in modern American history ( such as the Greatest Generation, the Baby Boomer generation, Generation X, and the Millennials).

The authors write, “A generation encompasses a series of consecutive birth years spanning roughly the  length of time needed to become an adult; its members share a location in history, and, as a consequence, exhibit distinct beliefs and behavior patterns. Nineteen generations have lived on American soil since the Puritans came to New England, [with] the twentieth just now arriving.”



* The authors noted that "the absence of a hero archetype during the mid-1800s is the one exception [they] observed in a cycle that extends back through American and Anglo-American history to the Renaissance....demonstrating that the course of history is never predetermined."
If you focus your attention to the far right column of the chart above, you'll notice, in a cyclic pattern, generational archetypes. This is one of the more intriguing elements of Howe and Strauss' article, the portion in where the authors introduce these archetypes as based on inherent characteristics shaped by the influence of past generations, and which lend to a degree of predictability for how each generations would respond to external world events. The authors write, “It matters very much to the makeup of a generation whether it comes of age during or after a period of national crisis, or during or after a period of cultural renewal or awakening. We like to label these four major kinds of generations with the shorthand of archetypes: prophet, nomad, hero, and artist. The generations of each archetype share not only a similar age location in history, but also similar attitudes toward family, culture and values, risk, and civic engagement. As each archetype ages, its persona undergoes profound and characteristic changes.”

In short, the archetypes descriptors are:

(1) Prophet: Members of a Prophetic generation are “born after a great war or other crisis, during a time of rejuvenated community life and consensus around a new societal order. Prophets grow up as increasingly indulged children, come of age as the narcissistic young crusaders of a spiritual awakening, cultivate principles as moralistic mid-lifers, and emerge as wise elders guiding another historical crisis.”

(2) Nomad: Members of a Nomadic generation are “born during a cultural renewal, a time of social ideals and spiritual agendas, when youth-fired attacks break out against the established institutional order. They grow up as under-protected children, come of age as the alienated young adults of a post-awakening world, mellow into pragmatic midlife leaders during a crisis, and age into tough post-crisis elders.”
 
(3) Hero: Members of a Heroic generation are “born after a spiritual awakening, during a time of individual pragmatism, self-reliance, laissez-faire, and national (or sectional or ethnic) chauvinism. Heroes grow up as increasingly protected children, come of age as the valiant young team workers of a crisis, demonstrate hubris as energetic mid-lifers, and emerge as powerful elders beset by another spiritual awakening.”

(4) Artist: Members of an Artistic generation are “born during a great war or other crisis, a time when worldly perils boil off the complexity of life, and public consensus, aggressive institutions, and personal sacrifice prevail. Artists grow up as overprotected children, come of age as the sensitive young adults of a post-crisis world, break free as indecisive midlife leaders during a spiritual awakening and age into empathic post-awakening elders.”

"..in certain circumstances a virtue can be made of necessity."

One cannot help but to locate his or her birth year on the above chart to figure how he or she fits into this larger scheme.
 
My Grandfather, Dan Pride, one of only a
handful of existing images.
On the one hand, in seeing that the three men I focused on for this writing, James Pride, Dan Pride (my paternal grandfather), and Willie Pride (my father), all coming of age at or just after a great national crisis, it makes sense to me now why I might instinctively think, behave, and act the way that I do pertaining to present day crises. Two Artists, James and Dad, and two Heroes, my Grandfather and, included to their company, the Millennial, me. And yet, on the other hand, this study assumes uniform and even distribution of certain characteristics among general society, but two of these three men, my father excluded, were not members of general society. They were member of a sub-group of desolate black southern farmers. Though societal influences certainly do play a role in forming a mind at the time and location it becomes conscious, there is another, more fundamental formation in the mind and heart of the self-conscious African-American, particularly in the early American south. Stories like Fountain's and Walter's and James' tell of an entirely different American experience.  
 
James Pride, former slave and, at the time of his death in October of 1931, a poor farmer, must have passed along to my grandfather a value of freedom infused with the doggedness of survival. To witness this value in practice would not have been glamorous. I imagine it would have been like watching a starved decrepit mule pull desperately at an old, rusty, eight-hundred pound field plow, struggling to move through rugged terrain. No matter how hard the thing worked, rocks would barely be upheaved and the plow hardly moved. My grandfather, in picking up his father's trade of farming, infused these values into his instruction of my father and my father's siblings, adding to their mix an iron resolve, resiliency, and a firm will to persevere. Seeing how my father does not speak lovingly of my grandfather, these values, witnessed in practice, would not have been glamorous.
 
My Grandmother, Lola Pride, in the
only existing photo my father owns.
But my father had an entirely different circumstance with which to contend. You see, my paternal grandmother, Lola, died due to complications during childbirth in 1944, when my father was just eleven years old. My Dad’s stillborn sibling, either a girl or a boy—I do not know—did not survive the ordeal. This event was so tragic a loss for my father that it’s memory still forces upon him such discomfort and heaviness of heart that I’ve seen him physically slump in his seat under its crushing weight during each retelling—which, for this reason and for that, has been countless times. In spite of itself, time does not heal every wound. And yet, as a member of the Silent generation, an Artist by archetype, my father, in spite of his pain and the misery his father put him through, assessed his future road, which on the outset loomed ominous and unpromising, the road back—the same path of his father, Dan, and his grandfather, James, of being a poor farmer—less inviting, he gathered his resolve and, with only the necessary values and lessons he'd need to survive, started off on his own journey in life.
To help put my grandmother's passing into full context, consider this: In chapter five of Malcolm Gladwell’s David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, Gladwell wrote that, “In the 1950s, while studying a sample of famous biologists, the science historian Anne Roe had remarked in passing on how many had at least one parent who died while they were young. The same observation was made a few years later in an informal survey of famous poets and writers... More than half, it turned out, had lost a father or mother before the age of fifteen.”
With this observation in mind, in 1963 or 1964, psychologist Marvin Eisenstadt generated a list of every person whose life merited more than one column—a rough proxy, he felt, for achievement—in either the Encyclopedia Britannica or the Encyclopedia Americana. Gladwell writes, “Of the 573 eminent people for whom Eisenstadt could find reliable biographical information, a quarter had lost at least one parent before the age of ten. By fifteen, 34.5 percent had had at least one parent die, and by the age of twenty, 45 percent. Even for the years before the twentieth century, when life expectancy due to illness and accidents and warfare was much lower than it is today, those are astonishing numbers.”
The examples continue: Historian Lucille Iremonger found that sixty-seven percent of England’s prime ministers had lost a parent before the age of sixteen, “roughly twice the rate of parental loss during the same period of members of the British upper class,” from which prime ministers generally came. The same pattern can be found among American Presidents. Twelve of the nation’s forty-four U.S. Presidents lost their fathers while they were young.
Gladwell finally concludes his point by saying, “I realize these studies make it sound as if losing a parent is a good thing…Psychiatrist Felix Brown found that prisoners are somewhere between two and three times more likely to have lost a parent in childhood than is the population as a whole. That’s too great a difference to be a coincidence…“This is not an argument in favor of orphanhood and deprivation,” Brown writes, “but the existence of these eminent orphans does suggest that in certain circumstances a virtue can be made of necessity.” As the English essayist Thomas De Quincey said—noted in the foot margin—“It is, or it is not, according to the nature of men, an advantage to be orphaned at an early age.”
 
Did my father benefit, even if unwittingly, by enduring his mother’s passing at so early an age? Perhaps no more than did my great-grandfather benefit by being freed from slavery at the age of six, nor did my grandfather benefit by coming of age at the height of the Great Depression and by becoming a single father around the time of the second world war. These are extraordinary life events, and their impacts become infused into the mindset of subsequent generations in the form of values and principles. And yet, the combination of my father's upbringing, values and principles that date back to James' life lesson, coupled with the extraordinary impact of losing his mother, led my father to find a way to forge a virtue out of necessity. And seeing how only two generations separate me from my Great-grandfather, while three times as many generations, six to be exact, exist between his generation and mine, one can very easily see how the intensity of his life's lessons do have some impact on my instinctual sub-cognitive processes.  
 
"These are the times that try men's souls."
 
So now, back to the setting of our coliseum.

In 1776, Thomas Paine opened the first of his well circulated articles, The American Crisis, with the line, "These are the times that try men's souls." He continues, "The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated." Of course it is necessary to keep Thomas Paine's words in their proper context of the brooding American Revolutionary cause, but we should find comfort in the notion that his words may be substituted for any present day crisis. In fact, all throughout human history, crises have come and gone; this idea is one point, among many others, of the Howe and Strauss article. As the philosopher and novelist, George Santayana, reminds us, there is a historical cycle of human experiences that repeats, particularly for those who view history through a short lens. However consistent or tenuous this cycle may be, at the present moment, history reminds us that there are Heroes in our midst. The Millennial generation, my generation, comprised of the ones who have stepped out onto the world scene at the precise moment two towers fell to terrorism in New York, are, as Howe and Strauss wrote, "gravitating toward large institutions and government agencies, seeking teamwork, protection against risk, and solid work–life balance. Their culture is becoming less edgy, with a new focus on upbeat messages and big brands."

As I have done in reflecting on the lessons of my father's past, with more to be learned, so too must my generation learn the lessons of our nation's past, if not merely the lessons of their own respective past. We must do so for the health of the nation. We must somehow guide our nation through this identity crisis, to return her to, as President Ronald Reagan once put it, "the shining city on the hill." In the general sense, we, as a nation, promote community, and we have crafted an American community to include people of various ideals and political, religious, and social principles, so long as we all kept to a mutual degree of respect. This is true in principle, if not always achieved in practice. Furthermore, we have crafted American leadership among the global community by striking alliances with like-nations, while respecting those nation unlike us so long as we agreed to a common sense of companionship towards global unity.
 
Indeed, these are the times that will try one's soul, all the more reason why one must be ready when the moment comes to be called upon. And so, to my generation: Look to yourself and answer, "what have I done to be ready?" You are the Hero in our midst. So am I. And I believe our nation will call upon us one day for direction. When She does, keep in mind Angelou's advice, that "each of us has the right and the responsibility to assess the roads which lie ahead, and those over which we have travelled, and if the future road looms ominous or unpromising, and the roads back uninviting, then we need to gather our resolve and, carrying only the necessary baggage, step off that road into another direction."

What direction, if given the chance, will you lead us? This is an important question that requires a meaningful answer. It is my hope that I have given you something more to think about in this regard.