culture 2 | unobtrusive lucidity

Relatively Speaking

Rewind the clock with me about 19 years. I was just married. I had been writing here for a while, as well as other places, and I was a full-time grad student. I wrote a lot of critiques…that’s the nature of being a grad student, after all…and I enjoyed doing so. To this day, if I’m thinking through a concept or a problem, the process doesn’t feel finished until I’ve written it out. That’s something about being a student that never goes away, I guess.

I wrote…and still write…reviews of movies and books here and other places. I’ve noticed a shift in my tendencies, though. When I critiqued things back then, I was…well, critical. Sometimes overly so. In reading some of the things that I wrote from that time, I sometimes feel that the me from that time didn’t feel as though he was thinking about something if it wasn’t completely torn down, many faults exposed. That’s changed, I think. Don’t get me wrong, I can still be quite critical, but I’ve noticed that if I re-read or re-watch something now that I read or watched then, I tend to receive it with a more positive attitude overall. There was at least one case in which I finished a series that I had abandoned then because I thought so critically of its writing, and was happy I did so, because it turned out to be quite worthwhile.

I heard a stunning statement recently on the Theology in the Raw podcast. The guest on the episode in question, a Dr. Miller, stated that we as a society have reached the end of postmodernism. For someone who did their graduate work in religion, like me, that’s a breath-taking statement. The theological and philosophical implications are huge, and the way that those implications inform the rest of our lives possibly even more profound. Miller states that he had come to this conclusion because he (rightly) identified deconstructionism as a hallmark of postmodernism, and felt that he had observed a loss of interest culturally in deconstructionist thought in recent years. He particularly tied this to our political moment, but I want to think more broadly than that here, because this statement, if true, leaves me with so many questions.

I recently was in a conversation with some friends around the falsehood of the idea that “the ends justify the means.” As part of that discussion, we agreed with the rejection of the concept that the means are also completely inclusive of meaning…in other words, “it’s all about the journey” rings equally hollow. There was easy agreement there, and I think now about how much of a shift that is from early 19th century thought, such as the lingering echoes of Hegel’s dialectic and how the process was most important, because truth is not static. When I think of those foundational thinkers, I think of the birth of postmodernism in the sense that postmodernism’s primary characteristic in my studies, beyond deconstructive pessimism, is moral and theological relativism. The influence of postmodernism today is felt in the pervasive…and empty…idea that there is not an absolute truth. Think of statements that encompass this:

“You do you.”

“That’s what’s right for me, it may not be what’s right for you.”

“Find your own meaning.”

“Jesus is my way.”

And, the interjection that I find so repulsive, “…for me…”.

If postmodernism is fizzling…and the longer I think about the argument, the more I am open to the idea that it’s true…the societal shift, marked by a necessary exhaustion with these sorts of rudderless drifting, are huge. An openness to a defined reality…that there has to be a truth, that it is a knowable truth, and that it would give us a common starting point for discussion…would be a positive shift, perhaps just the shift that we need culturally. If Generations X and Z, and Millenials, have been defined by postmodern relativism and cynicism, what would this mean for an up and coming Generation Alpha? What would it mean for the scientific enterprise? For education? For politics?

I’m slightly concerned that Dr. Miller’s hypothesis presented on the podcast episode may be correct…that we’re a culture that is so exhausted with denying everything that we arbitrarily choose something to be true. There could be a rebound period here in which that happens, but, if postmodernism truly is passing away, I’m excited overall to see what replaces it. Like my old critiques, I think a bit less cynicism and a bit more definition would do all of us good.

Losing Letters

Maybe I’m missing something, but there seems to be a dearth of dads writing about being dads on the Internet, at least in thoughtful, long form ways. Perhaps this is because there is a dearth of anything long form on the Internet in its current sound-bite, social-media poisoned iteration, but I digress…

This is particularly noticeable to me because I think being a dad is hard. I know that I’m not alone, because every dad I know recognizes that being a dad is hard. Like any experience, there are things that only other dads would understand. There’s also a common ground that’s formed immediately, regardless of age or culture, in being a parent. Other dads just get it. We understand and sympathize.

I very much appreciate dads writing about being dads. In a society in which we’ve actively chosen to eschew the wisdom of our elders, I think that gaining whatever insight I can from others who have already been through whatever parenting challenge that I might be experiencing is of paramount importance. That’s why this post stood out to me in a very real, very poignant way, because it is insight into parenting from the son’s perspective instead of the parent’s. The son has recently lost his father, and speaks of the importance that the father’s letters have in his life now. The encouragement is for fathers to write more letters to their children. I encourage you to take a moment to read that post…it’s well worth your time.

We’ve taught both of our daughters to write letters. In some cases, this was seen as a curious novelty by their friends, and certainly the practice is often replaced by digital channels now in the case of our oldest. Still, letters and hand-written cards frequently enter and leave our mailbox, because we feel that this is an important social activity that should not become extinct. I also notice that both of our daughters, like us, keep journals of ideas and important thoughts. Like us, these aren’t digital journals, but hand-written pages. Like us, these journals are prized possessions, not because of the items themselves, but because of the ideas and memories contained within them. I’m actually quite proud of the way both of them hold onto this much more civilized and polite manner of communicating and keeping record of their musings.

And yet…

When I think of the written communication between my oldest and myself, it’s almost exclusively digital. I’ve thought often about this blog, and about how I hope that my kids will read it at some point when they’re older. I’ve even pondered if they will be able to gain insight into my thoughts and motivations after I’m gone by reading this space (I’ve been writing here long enough for it to be an actual record in many ways). That makes many assumptions, though, not the least of which is that someone will keep this around once I’ve passed for anyone to read it. Perhaps the Pulse will have happened by then and nothing of the digital realm will exist anyway. My point is that, I take the wisdom of the writer I linked to above. I need to write more letters, or at least notes, to my kids. Physical, hard copy letters. Things that they can keep with them and treasure if they so choose, because those are permanent, or at least more permanent than a URL. They also carry more meaning, because there’s something…spiritual…about taking the time to physically write out your thoughts for someone to read. The intentionality of that act is emotionally and mentally heavier than typing on a keyboard, if for no other reason than someone took the time. That, in a frenetic society starved of free time, is a valuable currency, and thus a valuable gift.

A year or so ago, I went hiking on the coast. This is a regular trip for me during the summer months, a day when I get away, be near the ocean, and center myself. As I sat down for lunch on that hike, overlooking the ocean on a beautiful summer day, and opened by backpack, I discovered a note written by our kids. It was simple…a heart drawn with the words “we love you”, and signed with both of their names.

Simple, but profoundly powerful, because they had taken the time to write this together, to slip it into my backpack when I wasn’t looking, to send their love with me for the day in such a real, tangible way. I saved that note. It is immensely valuable to me.

I need to learn from that. We need more notes and letters. We all do.

Go write them.

Evolution of Thankfulness

Thanksgiving was quiet this year. Delayed a day by the storm that blanketed a good bit of New England with our first significant snow of the season, we celebrated with only our family and my in-laws. One afternoon of eating and good conversation, then a drive home and (I’m sad to say) some online Black Friday shopping. That was all. The weekend was really a non-event.

As I returned from meeting a friend for coffee this evening, I was thinking about Thanksgivings of years past. If I rewind a decade or so, to the early years of our marriage, I remember flying from where we lived then to where we are now. Thanksgiving was always the major holiday of the year for my wife’s side of the family, and I can recall many trips…sometimes smooth, sometimes with drama, sometimes fraught with travel delays…over the years. What I remember most, however, was that the celebration was always big when we arrived. This weekend, we sat and reminisced about those years, the family who came…some of whom we haven’t seen in far too long…the discussions that were held. The pattern over the years, seemingly ever since we moved back to New England, has been that the celebrations have been growing smaller and smaller. This year some more family moved away, and the end result was that our Thanksgiving gathering was about as small as one could imagine.

I’m sad, in a way. Having grown up in a small family, I was always amazed at how welcomed (and overwhelmed, but in a good way) I was by my wife’s much larger side of the family, many of whom I only saw during the holidays. Now, in some strange paradox, we live here, and I see them even less often. I feel as though there’s a reality distortion field at play.

This year, I’ve been going through a dark time. I hinted at this in a previous post, and it’s only gotten worse. What I hold on to, though, is the lesson learned that the relationships that we have with our family, with our friends, far transcends the issues that bring us down, that threaten to wreck havoc on our lives and upend the order that we know. When these issues happen…and they will…it’s so incredibly important to have these holiday traditions and gatherings to anchor us. They may evolve over time, but they must remain.

We need those reminders.

We need the sense of normalcy.

We need each other.

No matter how small they may appear, I will hold onto those, because they help me to stay centered. I pray, dear reader, that you have these traditions and gatherings, as well.

Why the Acolyte’s Cancellation is Good News

A model of the Millenium Falcon from Star Wars. Used under Creative Commons.

I sort of have difficulty believing that I’m writing a post about Star Wars. There’s one other that I’ve written to my knowledge, a review of the Force Awakens (spoiler: I wasn’t impressed), which I ended by affirming my stance that there had only been three Star Wars movies. When I introduced my daughter to Star Wars, I began with A New Hope, and sort of pretended that the rest hadn’t happened. The prequels were of very poor quality (you can’t have Jar Jar Binks and a good movie…they’re just mutually exclusive), and it was obvious to me with the Force Awakens that Disney was just recycling stories to squeeze more money out of the franchise.

I was perfectly content with that perspective for years.

Then, there was a pandemic, and while exceptionally bored one night, we decided to try the Mandalorian. This brought me back into the newer Star Wars programming in a positive way, because the Mandalorian is excellent. Since then, I’ve found the small screen adventures overall have been hit and miss…there are complete wastes of time like Obi-Wan Kenobi, and exceptional standouts like Andor. I’ve watched most of the Star Wars canon through the latest series at this point. I still have little room in my life for the prequels, and I’ve never seen (and don’t intend to see) the last two films. In general, though, a new series will get me in front of the television.

The first episode of the Acolyte grabbed my attention. I’m largely unfamiliar with the High Republic era, and this episode did what a good first episode should…left the viewer with so, so many questions and pondering how this fit into the larger timeline. By the halfway point, though, I was tuning in out of a determination just to finish what I had started, not because I had any interest whatsoever.

The reason for this isn’t any that I’ve encountered among blogs and podcasts of the Star Wars faithful. There are rants everywhere in that very vocal community, including the inevitable accusations of racism and intolerance being thrown at Disney leadership. Everyone has an opinion, and the Internet allows the vocalization of those opinions, but there is something deeper at play here, I think.

My issue with the direction of Star Wars in general is its departure from Lucas’ original vision in a fundamental, metaphysical way. Star Wars, at its core, is about good vs. evil, which is why it resonated with so many viewers at its debut. The Jedi and the Rebellion were good, the Empire was evil. Now, let me say that I’m not arguing that the canon should never have expanded. Lucas’ genius was dropping small references to events of the past or other people in the characters’ lives without ever digging into them, which leaves so many potential story arcs for a generation of new writers. More than perhaps any other franchise I know of, he set this up for continuation from the beginning, and that was brilliant. With these new stories will undoubtedly come new perspectives. When those perspectives depart from the original world-building at such a foundational level, though, we run into issues.

The most recent iterations of Star Wars…I would argue even going back to the prequels…have been increasingly obsessed with the fact that the Jedi can’t actually be as good as we’ve been led to believe. This isn’t unique to Star Wars, either.

For the past decade or more, it seems that most heroes are antiheroes. The dominant opinion of our cultural moment is that no one can be good, that there is actually no such thing as good. All is subjective. Postmodernism has reached its conclusion. This cynicism makes its way into the writing of our popular culture, and deconstructs fictional character groups like the Jedi. A group that originally stood for good in the universe is now revealed to have been so hopelessly flawed from the beginning that our faith in them is found to have been misplaced. That sort of good can’t exist.

So, what to do, then? If we allow this cynicism to carry us on its current, then the Rebellion must be cut of similar cloth. So, why resist the Empire? Perhaps Thrawn should be our new role model. Give in to the evil, this thought process would tell us, because the good is an illusion.

Nihlist, much?

A lot has happened in the world over the decades since Star Wars first made its impression on my generation, much of it bad. My glasses are not rose-colored. I don’t blame anyone for reaching a point of pessimism in their lives. To give up on the concept of good, however…to refuse to believe in heroes…is to give up on what makes us human.

My issue with the Acolyte is its embracing of evil. My issue with the Acolyte is its message that all attempt at good is doomed. My issue with the Acolyte is its lack of hope, that it left me feeling empty at its conclusion.

Were this to be the pattern of Star Wars moving forward, my opinion would revert to where it was prior to experiencing the Mandalorian. That is, I would be finished with the franchise in its current state. The fact that the Acolyte has not been renewed gives me hope that future stories will return to good triumphing over evil.

That is, after all, a message that we desperately need in our own universe.

Image attribution: Michael Panse under Creative Commons.

Nostalgia in Perspective

About a year ago, I decided to re-watch the first season of Heroes. When the series first debuted, we were just married, and life was full of promise. It was, after all, the Before Times, our lives were still mostly academic, and what better to settle in to watch on a weeknight than a fascinating new take on superheroes? I was hooked.

The series, in my recollection, declined a bit in quality. Season 2 fell victim to the 2007 writer’s strike, and I was unimpressed by season 3. As I began collecting the Blu-Rays last year, though, I decided to go all the way through…to give it another chance. I’m glad, because the quality gets better again as the series progresses.

I’m not writing about Heroes, though…perhaps in another post.

As I’ve re-watched these episodes, the technology grabs my attention (product placement was really a thing in that time), primarily their mobile phones. You see, this was before we all had ubiquitous connectivity provided by slabs of glass that we carry in our pockets. These were the days of text-only data connections and physical keyboards. Better days, I would argue.

They were also the days before I made some choices based on discontent that pushed our family into a new direction, a career change that ultimately resulted in time away from my family and poor health for years, decisions that caused un-necessary stress and close financial calls through the subsequent years, to say nothing of the close friends with whom we’ve lost touch. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because, had I to do things over again, I would go back to that point and make a different decision. Watching a television series from that time period is just bringing that home for me.

It’s easy, especially when one reaches a certain age, to become steeped in nostalgia. In my case (I’m guessing I’m not alone), this is informed by the fact that life was slower, less stressful, less chaotic then. We weren’t ruled by Big Tech yet. I could look at the future and still be hopeful.

The natural inclination of this sort of nostalgic impulse is twofold: dwell in memories, and try to force life back to what it was. Neither of these are productive. The first wastes time when permitted to become consuming, the second will never work because it’s simply not possible. That’s a topic for a different day. My point is that I put effort into both of those, and they were wasted efforts. As Bonhoeffer has been quoted as saying:

“If you board the wrong train, it is no use running along the corridor in the other direction”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I have to make the best of where I am, where we are, with the lessons I’ve learned. I have to allow those experiences to make me better. I have to work to bring the best of the Before Times into the present, because we unfortunately can’t go back.

Hopefully, that’s helpful to my fellow nostalgia addicts.