That Broken Thing

No wonder my generation thinks marriage is broken. No wonder we look at it and reject it out of court. The love of self has completely poisoned marriage and "till death do us part" now mean "until the feelings go away". When the man and woman (or even just one of them) seeks their own apparent good regardless of the other, the marriage is damned.

All I can see when I look at my parents' marriage is misery and pain. My mother thinks my father makes no effort to understand  her, and my father feels she hates everything he does; that he cannot make her happy. Were they wealthy, I have little doubt my mother would leave him.

How does it come to this? How, after more than thirty years, is it reduced to childish screeching and shouting? Why must it be this way? What went wrong?

Can it be made right?

I Am A Seminarian!

On 16 June, I received a letter from Reverend James A. Wehner, S.T.D., rector of Pontifical College Josephinum. I have been accepted! I depart for the seminary on 17 August to begin a two-year program of Pre-Theology, followed by a four-year Theology degree. In six years, by the grace of God and constant intercession of the saints, particularly the Blessed Mother, there shall be a joyful ordination to the diocesan priesthood. The path I began to follow five years is nearing its end - ordination as a priest; thereupon a new path will begin; serving Our Lord as a priest in his holy Church. This path is far less clear, and as my examining psychologist noted, there is no way of knowing just what will happen after I am ordained. Ordinarily, given my penchant for detail, order, and intricately-laid plans, this might worry me, but I have only to fulfill the next step: prepare for my August departure. I have a list of books I hope to read, a distance I hope to run, intimacy with my Lord, his Mother, and my guardian angel I hope to gain, and music I hope to learn. Added to this are letters I need to write and other, less important details. There is much to do.

Yet I am not overwhelmed. This is the most exciting part of my life, and truly, each day is better than the last, for Christ is new every morning, pouring his blessings out upon me anew. Surely David spoke for me when he said "my cup runneth over". In the face of my mounting duties, I am but transcendently happy.

Off to joyful, leisurely labor!

I Do Not Fear the Turing Test

Much is made today of the growing capabilities of computers, and the apparently evanescent differences between a man's mind and a machine. In Dune's Orange Catholic Bible, the first commandment is, "Thou shalt not make a machine in the image of a man's mind" - referring to the devastating wars against sentient machines. Television, film, and anime are all full of speculation about the future of computer evolution, indirectly seeking out what makes men to be men; that which, when removed, would make us no longer men. In the mid 20th century, Mr. Alan Turing proposed that computers could eventually mimic human interaction successfully - attempting to argue, it seems to me, that machines could "think"; or at least making a definite prolegomena to that proposition. Now, in the present day, computers can imitate simple human interaction so well that two thirds of the time (if I recall correctly), a third party cannot reliably distinguish between them. The road to Blade Runner seems paved.

Wishing to examine the matter myself, I visited cleverbot.com, where their new 'chatbot' had done well in the last Turing Test. I asked it a series of human questions: How ought we to live? What is justice? Why is there being rather than nothing? Here is the beginning of the 'conversation':

Me: What is justice?
Computer: Justice is demacia
Me: How ought we to live?
Computer: Forever if you would like.
Me: Why is there being rather than nothing?
Computer: Ask a scientist.

I tried several approaches, but dialogue was completely impossible. The computer was unable to work off of previous responses, so individual inquiries into matters of weight was fruitless (when your interlocutor cannot recall you asked a question and has no memory beyond your last response, better to abandon the dialogue and seek guidance elsewhere). No less fruitless was the scattered questions enumerated above. Apart from the most amusing third response, the answers (I asked the question multiple times) were either incoherent, self-contradictory, or total nonsense. I sensed immediately a privation that could not be explained by ignorance, indolence, or even excessive frivolity. With a start I realized that were the judge to watch a chat between Socrates and a computer, the correct answer would be apparent every time.

"For now", some might say, and who knows? Perhaps they are right. But given the absurdly bad performance in the present day, how could a computer ever attain the gift of reason? Though we can apparently without limit increase the power of a computer to perform calculations we feed it, how can this increase of power ever end in a universal principle? It seems a bit like counting to infinity; fruitless by definition. In this I found a most unexpected ally in Descartes, and while investigating Mr. Turing I came across this excerpt from the Discourse on Method:
          "If there were machines which bore a resemblance to our bodies and imitated our actions as closely as possible for all practical purposes, we should still have two very certain means of recognizing that they were not real men. The first is that they could never use words, or put together signs, as we do in order to declare our thoughts to others. For we can certainly conceive of a machine so constructed that it utters words, and even utters words that correspond to bodily actions causing a change in its organs. … But it is not conceivable that such a machine should produce different arrangements of words so as to give an appropriately meaningful answer to whatever is said in its presence, as the dullest of men can do. Secondly, even though some machines might do some things as well as we do them, or perhaps even better, they would inevitably fail in others, which would reveal that they are acting not from understanding, but only from the disposition of their organs. For whereas reason is a universal instrument, which can be used in all kinds of situations, these organs need some particular action; hence it is for all practical purposes impossible for a machine to have enough different organs to make it act in all the contingencies of life in the way in which our reason makes us act."

Descartes has thus earned another hard, critical look (in a way Lucretius has likely not, but if so, it is only by the grace of Strauss) and I shall treat him far more seriously than I did as a sophomore and junior. But speaking of Descartes here:

An objection might be raised: Even if what Descartes and I say is true, how do we explain the success computers are gaining in ever more recent Turing Tests? Perhaps the inverse or contrapositive (I hope it proves to be the latter, but my formal logic is most regretfully shaky) of Descartes' famous maxim, suitably explicated, can pose something of an answer; at any rate, we can ponder if it is true or not (and it's the substantive form of the adjective, so leave me alone):

Ego non cogito, ergo non humanus sum.

I Said Yes! (original title)

[nota bene: I scribbled this note shortly after returning from the chapel in Santa Fe, hearing Christ's calling to the priesthood clearly for the first time. As the note shows, I was in a state of rapturous excitement]

It was not God refraining from calling me clearly, it was my own hesitation in discerning his call. Tonight in chapel I took my third leap of faith and said 'yes' to my vocation. Afterwards, almost immediately, I felt a sense of peace, beautiful in itself, but then - ! I fell in love with God as I have not before, either in Smith Hall or when I swam the Tiber to arrive on the banks of Rome. I could not control myself; I ran about in the snow like a madman, laughing and making snow angels. Whatever doubts, second guesses, or attacks from the Enemy I have yet to face*, whatever battles and fights with the Devil lie before me, this I know: I am God's holy creation, His most unworthy servant; that He loves me; that He will protect me, and He shall never leave me to face my  perils alone. Already I feel fears of uncertainty needling me, pushing me towards uncertainty and doubting God's goodness. But they come not from my loving Father, the supreme Being whose new lover I have become. They come from Satan and his demons, who hate my Holy Savior and His most beautiful Bride. They wish to destroy me and the good work Christ has begun in me. Get behind me, Satan! You cannot harm me, for I am Another's, forever and ever!

*A prescient statement given the unfolding events of the following night.

Journal Excerpt

I just had, bar none, the best weekend of my life, for my future is now clear. My path lies open before me, and I shall go down it like a thunderbolt. Since never before have I felt such joyous happiness, writing a few (or more!) apologetic lines seems justified.

On Thursday afternoon I boarded a train bound for Lamy, New Mexico. From thence I shuttled to the Carmelite monastery for a three-day retreat whose purpose was to help discern a vocation to the priesthood. I arrived and met, for the first time in my life, thirteen other like-minded men - truly a startling phenomenon. We were met by two priests, a current seminarian, and the Archbishop of Santa Fe. The retreat was a series of conferences about the character of the priesthood, ways to properly discern one's vocation, and practical concerns on how to respond to God's call. But for my experience on Friday night to be the most intelligible, a biographical recapitulation is warranted, which unfortunately is of the most interest only to the author. Nevertheless:

In August of 2006 I was part of a volunteer team of high schoolers at a summer camp in northern Wisconsin called HoneyRock. During the previous five or six weeks, I had been feeling a fair bit of pressure concerning my future. I wanted very much to enlist in the Army as an infantryman, and I was very much worried that God had different plans for me. But the Hound could not be dissuaded, and sooner or later I responded by kneeling on the floor and vowing to live my life solely for God, seeking always to fulfill his will, regardless of mine own. Instantly I felt a great relief, a reassuring peace, and an excited joy flood me - I had become a Christian in the strictest sense of the word.

That coming semester was my senior year in high school and I embarked on a course of study on Church history, from Apostolic times through the Protestant Reformation. Seldom has a curriculum produced more unexpected results: Reformed Evangelicals were its authors, so the student was always reminded of Sola Scriptura, Sola Gratia, and eventually Lutheran/Calvinist theology. This bothered me not at all, for I was squarely in their camp. But I began to notice in Eusebius and Bede an odd and soon disconcerting thing: The church I saw in these authors and others like them (Augustine, Dante, etc) was quite different from the Evangelical orthodoxy I had received. Communion  and baptism in particular were explicitly treated as far more than symbols of remembrance, and the way Mary was spoken of unnerved me. In short, I had met the Roman Catholic Church, and I was greatly alarmed, for I had previously thought her to be a insidious source of heresy: salvation by works, worship of creatures, etc. But since Eusebius and Augustine wrote hundreds of years after Christ, I decided to go earlier and find the apostolic Church, who then must have held the Truth - that is, my own orthodoxy. So I turned to Clement, Irenaeus, and Tertullian.

The results proved disastrous, and I was in a dreadful strait. That such doctrines like the Immaculate Conception, the Real Presence in the sacraments, purgatory, communion of saints, were all so explicitly taught so early in Christendom meant that either such teachings were what the Apostles and their immediate successors taught, or that the Church had abandoned Christ almost immediately after his ascension. Worse yet, I was finding the Roman Church more attractive every day. I began to scour the New Testament, searching for Sola Scriptura, and finding exhortations to tradition instead. I considered: since (as I held) the Bible is authoritative absolutely, from whence did it come? The best answer my orthodoxy gave me was that it was a 'fallible collection of infallible books' - which I immediately rejected, for its implications were unbearable. The only other option is that the Holy Spirit guided the Church in her decision, which the Old Churches (Catholic and Orthodox) have always maintained. I considered again: I had always held that all doctrine must be explicitly derived from Scripture. But that very doctrine was simply not to be found anywhere; thus the doctrine refutes itself and must be rejected as incoherent.  At this point I realized I was no longer Protestant; but though I was increasingly inclined to the Roman Catholic Church, some of her doctrines made me uncomfortable. In this I was helped by an unexpected source: an intrepid young scholar, himself a revert to the Church, remarked on a comment I made on a forum, in which I said I was "almost Catholic". He inquired as to what questions prevented my full union with the Holy Mother and that is how I met Ben Tansey, a man whom I have never met in the flesh. He argued, rather persuasively, that the doctrines which troubled me were neither internally inconsistent nor at odds with more fundamental doctrines. This did not solve all my troubles, but it did help. I began seeking guidance from God, asking if it were truly his will that I become Roman Catholic. I wanted an angelic apparition or a miracle, but instead I got a persisting urge telling me to say yes, and ever-increasing agitation the longer I hesitated. I could bear it no longer. During my visit to St. John's College in November of 2006, I went to St. Francis Cathedral Basilica and told Christ yes, I would join his Church. Seventeen months later I was baptized, confirmed, and made First Communion.

Immediately after I climbed out of the Tiber on the far shore, I began feeling another urge, this time telling me to be a Roman Catholic priest. "Ridiculous", said I, and for good reason, for I was not even close to Confirmation. Besides, St. John's had fired my soul and I could not wait to enroll. So I decided I would put that question aside till I graduated. Four years later, I met with the Vocation Director, and our interview was profitable, but he was quite cool, and advised further reflection. The longer I did so, the more insistent the urge became; but I pushed it aside again, for I wanted to devote my career to liberal education, beginning with Great Hearts Academies, then graduate school at the University of Dallas, and finally teaching at a liberal arts college (maybe even my alma mater). I met with Great Hearts faculty and administration and realized I would absolutely excel at this job. They turned me down flat - a crushing defeat. Either they were dishonest in their appraisal of my performance, or refused my application because my appearance did not match their ideal teacher, or my competitor was a god - I do not know. But this threw me into another agony of questioning, and not a day went by when I did not experience the agitation of uncertainty and indecision. How could I commit without being sure?

Finally I emailed Father DePalma again, saying I thought I should take the next step, and he replied that I had missed the 2011 deadline and that I would have to wait a year. I was in a sorry state: I could not find ANY work at all  - not at home, not in California, not in Chicago. None would hire me. So I lapsed into the most shameful period of my life, where I distracted myself with frivolous entertainments in despair. This persisted until November, when Father DePalma told me about a vocation retreat to take place in February of 2012, and urged me to attend. I eventually agreed, and arrived at the Carmelite Monestery in Santa Fe nervous, unsure of what I would tell the Archbishop, and not positive I truly had a vocation. On Friday we finished evening prayers and I stayed behind in the chapel, pouring out my heart on my knees. I repeated the prayer I had prayed for five years: "God, if it be thy will that I be a priest, show me, please!" And again, no angelic or saintly apparition to confirm it, no booming voice from the heavens. Instead, I felt a new urge: "Say yes or no". I realized I was being like Gideon, constantly seeking absolute knowing, and I realized God had told me all he was going to; I had to make an act of faith. And yet I could not yet say yes, for I was not sure. But in anger I told myself that I would not budge from the chapel until I had said either yes or no.

I stayed in the chapel a long time.

All of a sudden, the word 'yes' popped out of my mouth, aloud and unbidden. I could not exactly retract it, so I told Jesus, "I am committed. I believe you are calling me to be a priest. Thy will be done." For the third time, I felt a profound, reassuring peace, like I had back in 2006 when I became a Christian, and again when I swam the Tiber. All was well. But then something new happened - I don't know quite how to describe it; the best I can do is to say I fell in love with Jesus the way a man falls in love with a woman. I know now that heavenly love is as real and substantial as earthly love, and when I exited the chapel, I was afire with the love of God. I raced to my room, threw on different clothes, tore off my shoes and socks, and went running barefoot out into the snow, dancing, laughing, and making snow angels. I made a right fool of myself. I could not sleep that night, for I was in love with my Savior. My calling and vocation was secure. Saturday afternoon I interviewed with the Archbishop and it went swimmingly; he did not say unequivocally that I was called, but that he, I, and Fr. DePalma would discuss it. I was thrilled.

The Enemy was not long in attacking me. I was distracted and upset already, for I had heard my sister had been in a nasty accident, and my thoughts were scattered. After Saturday evening prayers, after some of the euphoria had worn off, I began to be plagued by fears that the priests and Archbishop would deny my vocation, that I had made a mistake, that it was the foolish impulse of a moment, that I would damn countless souls through my incompetence. "How do you know", said the spirit of fear, "that God truly has your good in mind? That he does not wish to raise you up and smash you for his own amusement"?  and so on. I was simply paralyzed with fear. I knew that these fears did not come from Christ, for he never frightens us into anything, and would never tempt me into questioning himself, his goodness, or his chosen ministers of the Church. Never before have I come close to the thoughts that were racing through my head, and this frightened me, for I knew that these fears did not wholly have their source in me. In horror I realized that I was under demonic oppression, and fell flat on my face before the sanctuary, where I must have said the Ave Maria hundreds of times. It seemed to take hours, but at last the fear began to fade. I returned to my room and collapsed.

Sunday morning Father DePalma and I had the following short dialogue:

Me: Father, can you think of a reason I should not enter seminary this fall?

Him: No. Can you?

Me: No.

Him: Awesome.

Me: Awesome.

The rest of the retreat was a happy blur. The fear vanished, driven out by perfect love. I now have the path before me, and for the first time in years - ! I know where I am to go. I have God's work to accomplish and it matters not who or what opposes it.

What more can I say of the weekend? Granted, discerning God's will for me was a plus, but I also overcame my fear of spiders. My friend Naomi purchased a Chilean tarantula, which filled me with the willies, and I was horribly nervous about meeting Book. But when he did not immediately jump to attack my face, the 4.5 inch arachnid started to grow on me and I could honestly admire his magnificence. Seeing him perched on Naomi's shoulder made me even calmer, though the Irish Car Bomb I'd had earlier (I watched the Super Bowl and a friend of mine was in an ecstatic victory mood after the Giants' victory) and the beer I was currently drinking probably helped. At last I couldn't help myself and asked Naomi to put him on my leg. He just sat there! Tremendous. Next, the arm. He didn't like that so much, and crawled up on my chest and looked at me with his bulbous eyes. I fought down the panic (the worst thing in the world would have been to hurt him) and eventually did what earlier I though impossible: I held a gigantic spider in the palm of my hand and enjoyed it immensely. A better evening I have seldom had than at her house that Sunday night.

Then it was onto the train, and back home. What a weekend! I am a new man, completely transformed by the grace of God, fully committed to his will, and best of all - I know what his will is!! Blessed art Thou, Master of the Universe!

New Adventure

I have moved to Los Angeles, specifically Pasadena. There are likely more job opportunities here in L.A. (even granting that it is the worst market in the nation) than there are in Sterling, and I only need a short-term, dead-end job to pay me $1000 per month till next July - hardly high expectations. Worst case scenario, I stay here till Thanksgiving and then tell M&D I've gotta come home, covered in shame. 


My goal in short term work is only to occupy myself till my longer-term plans shape up, and these are:

• Grad school. I am shaping my application to University of Dallas. I need to write a couple essays and destroy the GRE. I am unlikely to be accepted (they accept only five to seven of thirty to thirty five applicants), but I know I will not be accepted if I do nothing, so why not take the chance? Were I to be accepted, I would choose U of D over both alternatives.
• Great Hearts Academies. Kian Mapes contacted me and encouraged me to renew my late application for next year. I would likely hear little till February, so this is a pot on the back burner.
• Seminary. No, it hasn't gone away. More and more I begin to suspect I am being called to the priesthood. I met with a vocations director, and though I missed the August 2011 deadline, he said everything on his end had already been approved, and all that remained was a formal interview with him and the Archbishop Michael Sheehan. There is a good chance I could be in seminary next fall.

So these are my options, and I need to think about working through them (especially all the hoop-jumping required of the first) even as I write my letters, read my books, and search for gainful employ.

Sweat

Sweat is a remarkable substance, but it has only been made clear to me recently how remarkable. For the present I live in an exceptionally humid part of the world; my sister traveling in India says it is hotter here in the States on our parents' farm than it is in Mumbai. Annapolis is a comparable level of heat, and in both places one sweats at the slightest movement, even when one is reading.

Sooner or later this frustrated me and I felt restless. So in the hottest part of the day I went for a run. Predictably the sweat covered me entirely and when I came back I was wet indeed. For some reason I did not take a shower but sat happy as a clam in front of my bedroom fan. The sweat rolled off me, and when I dried something was different: the humidity did not affect me and I even shivered from the breeze.

Now this was something wholly unprecedented and I was unsure how to take it, aside from the sheer joy I felt. I knew a run in cold weather made tolerating the cold inside (I keep my house at fifty-five degrees in the winter) easier, but never dreamed that exercising in hot weather caused one's body to cool itself more efficiently, despite knowing, as we all do, that sweat is the method by which our body cools itself. I mean, duh. I even eventually showered and everything stayed the same. So I suppose this means I have adjusted from the desert to the humid plains, and shall have no more difficulties. Needless to say, this pleases me, and makes me turn an appreciative, benevolent eye to that once odious substance which now signals relief from the fire of the sun.