The term “theistic evolution” is used in contrast to the atheistic idea of evolution. It means evolution set in motion by God or under the direction of God, and seems appropriate for a believer who admits some truth to evolutionary science. But I don’t like the phrase because it’s a confusing redundancy. Think about it. If you’re a believer, it’s already implied that you see all biological and physical processes as created and held in existence by God. You don’t need “theistic” in front of biological terms. Who speaks of theistic reproduction? Or theistic gestation, theistic meiosis, or theistic menstruation? Plus, to qualify a biological process as “theistic” implies that the opposite is possible, that God may not be involved in creating certain laws of nature.
Just leave the unnecessary adjective out. Treat evolutionary science as science. Refuse to treat it as anything else. Judge it on its scientific facts or lack of facts. Such realism clarifies a significant point: True science is objective. Truth is like that. Whatever is scientifically true is theologically true. If our current knowledge seems contradictory, it’s because we are discursive creatures not in possession of full knowledge. We search systematically. Science and theology are, by necessity, complementary searches. We don’t need to put boundaries around God or use science to shore up our faith.
Call it a mother’s touch applied to science and theology, but (as I’ve said before) science ought to be viewed like cooking. Both are human endeavors to discover properties of matter and manipulate those laws to produce something, be it polyelectrolytes or pepperoni pizza. Believers and non-believers can cook in the same kitchen and gather round the same table to enjoy the fruits of their labor. Sure, the grateful believer asks the Lord to bless his meal, but the atheist can observe the object of gratitude too. No one calls the process by which food gets on the table “theistic gardening” or “theistic baking” either.
Richard Dawkins called the term “theistic evolution” an attempt to “smuggle God in by the back door,” and he was right. God doesn’t need us to do that. Be confident that God, who became Incarnate, makes Himself known through His creation. When we gather to assess and critique evolutionary science, the believers will praise God for his handiwork and the atheists will do whatever they do. To grasp this confidence and clarity is to grasp why science doesn’t draw a rational person away from religion. In fact, science, like a good meal shared among friends, can even draw a searching mind closer to his Maker.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Prudence, but this morning I figured it was time to move on to the next cardinal virtue—Justice. I do my toughest reading first thing in the morning because that’s usually when my brain can handle it. Plus the view from my pillow is conducive to thinking higher thoughts.
We have dogs, but I’m not really a dog person. Long story short, last year our thirteen-year-old hound dog, Rufus, died of bone cancer. Rufus’ nobility and loyalty in the final days of his life changed me. On his last day he held his head high even though he couldn’t stand up, and ten minutes after Mr. T got home from work that evening, with all the family there, Rufus took his last breath, laid his head down, and died peacefully. He never whined and never stopped wagging his tail at us. I still feel guilty because, except for an eight month experiment that ended badly after he ate my pasta salad, Rufus lived his life in the garage because I couldn’t handle him messing up my house. Not very noble or loyal of me.
Anyway, after Rufus died, I had two more miscarriages, and one inspired evening I said to Mr. T, “Honey, it’s time for some new life in our house.” What did I do? I found not one, but two, German Shepherd puppies, litter mates, sisters. We know how to raise sisters. Those puppies were our babies. My babies. I fell in love with them instantly. I truly did. I even said they could be house dogs.
Pongo, first day home.
Benny, first day home.
I didn’t, and still don’t, know anything about raising dogs. I don’t know how to train dogs. I don’t know how to clean dogs. I don’t like how they smell, and the hair balls plain freak me out. They’ve chewed up my cabinets, rugs, pants, and I’ve come to appreciate that dogs cannot be trusted to watch your lunch. I don’t “get” dogs. Mr. T says, “Oh look how they look at you! They love you so much.” And I say, “That’s not love. They just want me to give them a h-o-t-d-o-g.” Because that’s what it is and I’m no dummy. Dogs can’t love because they aren’t rational beings. Love to a dog is “give me what I want.” I read St. Thomas, I am a rational being and they are not. I know this.
Frankly, I don’t like these dogs very much now. They are rude, always begging, begging, begging, which brings me back to Justice. I was laying in bed this morning reading Josef Pieper and thoroughly enjoying it because I’m finally getting the hang of his cadence, and those overgrown mutts were sitting outside the bedroom door whining and jumping. Why? They wanted me to take them for a walk because I did it three days in a row and now they think it’s the Natural Law of the Universe. I yelled at them to stop and, becoming somewhat obedient once they knew I was still alive, they calmed down and took their usual place, as close to me as they could possibly get, curled up right outside my closed door waiting. It’s insane really…oh, the book. Pieper was discussing “inalienable rights” and I came to this.
Let us take a fictitious [ahem] example: Suppose I promise my dog something. Let us assume that a sort of customary “right” had been established, that for a certain act the dog should get a reward, with the result that the dog “rightfully” considers it to be something due to him; on my part, let us suppose that I have expressly decided to reward the animal regularly in some definite way. If I were to omit doing so just once, I would, of course, be inattentive, inconstant, forgetful. But in no way would I be unjust in the proper sense. Why not? Because nothing can be inalienably due to a brute; because the presupposition of justice, as well as of injustice—namely, that a “right” in the full sense exists on the side of the other party-does not obtain.
This implies, on the other hand, that we cannot state the basis of a right and, hence, of a judicial obligation, unless we have a concept of man, of human nature.
-The Four Cardinal Virtues Prudence Justice Fortitude Temperance, page 49.
See? Those dogs have no inalienable right to a walk. To refuse to take them on a walk is not treating them unjustly in the “proper sense” because nothing can be inalienable (even a w-a-l-k or a h-o-t-d-o-g) to brute animal. They are not human. They can’t spell, right?
But…eh, I am a human. It’s Lent. I’m supposed to be better than this. He never knew he would, but Josef Pieper had just called me “inattentive, inconstant, forgetful” and it was weighing on me because I was starting to think maybe I was being “imprudent.” I don’t know what comes next in his book because, feeling convicted, I hauled myself out of bed and put my rubber boots on, still wearing my pink flannel PJ’s with the scary brown bears on them. I braced myself to open the door and be mauled before facing the -9 degree March I was about to fling myself into for these animals.
They didn’t just go, “Oh Mommy’s taking us for a walk, let’s be good.” Instead they jumped higher than my head as soon as I appeared in the doorway and body slammed each other, as usual, all the way to the front door like twitching jackals, whining some high-pitched squeal that sounds like school girls at recess. It took ten minutes to get the leashes on, and into the snow we headed. If I’d been on a sled, I’d have beaten the bus to school—that’s how hard they pulled because (see above) I have not trained them to (what’s that word) heel. Plus, they fight (Mr. T says they are showing off for me). Lord knows, I never see sisters fight.
But then, after a few minutes, I took a deep breath of crisp mountain air and looked around. What had those stupid dogs done? Well they’d gotten me out into this.
I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the walks. If it weren’t for Rufus and Pongo, I would miss this beauty, I wouldn’t get exercise, and I wouldn’t think to say a prayer of thanks to God for all the gifts He does not owe us.
So I came home and decided to finish the thought niggling in my head. This is what I came up with. Maybe those dogs do not know how to love like a human knows how to love, and maybe they have no inalienable right to a walk, but I know how to love and I know that love requires sacrifice and obligation. Maybe it’s the dogs that are perfecting me. Is that what justice is about?
Don’t think they left me alone when I sat down to write either. Big dummies.
To my left.
And to my right.
What I first loved about Catholic moral teaching was the logical consistency. It all fit together, how we are body and soul, how we have intellect and free will, how we can practice virtue, how we are responsible for our consequences, how our nature is perfected by grace. I didn’t step back and try to see the whole picture though. I tried to memorize the shape and image of each piece of the puzzle, to figure out exactly what to do in every imaginable scenario so I would be prepared to match up the pieces when the time came. I thought that would secure a good moral life, the complete picture of goodness, and I wanted that security.
Instead I got anxiety. Cataloging endless snapshots was overwhelming. Every news story became an exercise in mapping out potential cases. I scanned every parenting decision, every marital reaction, every civic responsibility, every religious obligation to make sure I mapped it all out case by case—so I would know what to do. I was a casuist, trying to view human life all clean and shiny, abstracted from the mess of the rest of the puzzle, trying to avoid dealing with the pieces I held in my hands in the bedraggled here and now.
I was leaving God out of the picture.
Lately I’ve been reading about the virtues, particularly prudence, and it has reoriented my thinking. I didn’t see it before, but anxiety stems from forgetting the first step. For a person of faith every thought, judgement, decision, or action should primarily be directed toward the right supernatural end, which is to do the will of God. A person who has no faith, at most, directs his thoughts and actions to the end of his life. However, even the most devout Christian risks imprudence if he or she lacks faith, hope, and love, if the will of God is not always the ultimate end toward which all decisions and actions are directed. Prudence is knowing how to solve the puzzle; faith, hope, and love are the light; happiness with God in Heaven is the picture.
To forget the first step is to work in the dark.
If we accept it, we can receive the gift of grace to be authentically prudent in each situation even when it seems we’ll never complete the puzzle. When we fail to be virtuous enough, we can return again and again to the wellspring, “Lord, grant me the grace to do Your will.” Therein lies our security.
Recommended reading:
The Four Cardinal Virtues by Josef Pieper (free ebook)
The Virtue Driven Life by Fr. Benedict Groeschel
I do not like this article at The Huffington Post titled, “7 Things You Shouldn’t Say To Someone With Anxiety.” Here’s the list for all you list-watchers: 1. “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” 2. “Calm down.” 3. “Just do it.” 4. “Everything is going to be fine.” 5. “I’m stressed out too.” 6. “Have a drink — it’ll take your mind off of it.” 7. “Did I do something wrong?”
The author, citing experts, says these things do not help. To a person with anxiety disorders, the small stuff can seem big, it can seem impossible to calm down or ignore it. It doesn’t help, the author contends, to reassure or to commiserate with someone with anxiety disorders. Suggesting a drink or taking the blame doesn’t help either.
I suppose there is some value to this advice if it helps people without anxiety disorders think about what to say, but I’m on the other side of that fence and I have different, deeper advice. I’m not a therapist, but I have learned to live peacefully and purposefully with my anxiety. Guess what? It had nothing to do with what friends and family said or did when I was having an attack.
Nothing.
To those of you without anxiety disorders, here’s how it feels. It’s like your brain won’t let your mind rest, like electricity surging through your brain when your mind just wants to sleep. Just as I can feel a headache or a cold coming on, I can feel an anxiety attack coming on. It’s physiological. I can feel the brain matter revving up to play some crazy picture shows. Have you ever seen one of those clips where someone’s life flashes before his eyes, one scene after another, none of them connected, flash, flash, flash? It’s like that, only in your imagination.
All the while, your mind is like, “What the heck?”
Before I understood this, it was frightening when it happened. Imagine if you’d never heard of a headache before, and suddenly a migraine hits you and you don’t know what it is. You might think you’re dying. You might panic. You might fixate on the pain, or you might fixate on something else to try to ignore it. It’s like that with an anxiety attack. I would pick one of those flashing scenes to fixate on as a way to try to stay calm, a rock to grab when a river was washing me away. What people on the outside saw was either panic (because I couldn’t grab onto anything) or obsessiveness (because I did grab onto to something and was afraid to let it go). At its worst, I harmed myself during the panic attacks. At its least, well, I once lay awake for four hours trying to sort out whether my two year old would wear pink or white socks the next day to a playgroup. I had a list a mile long or pros and cons for the pink and the white, and so debilitated from the indecision was I by morning, we all stayed home.
Eventually, I had to admit I needed therapy.
A therapist told me to visualize the anxiety like a “thing” itself. I learned to say, “I feel the anxiety coming. I’d better prepare.” I found ways to ride out the worst attacks, mostly prayer because prayer lifts me up and keeps me safe. Hello Rosary!
For me, the anxiety is never really gone either, the intensity just changes. At first I used prescription medication to mitigate the flashing, and it worked. It calmed my brain down, and I learned what it felt like to be calm. After a few years, I decided to try to manage myself without medication. Since I knew what calmness felt like, I learned to calm my mind even when my brain was speeding. It’s kind of like controlling your temper. Even if you’re raging mad, you learn to stay calm, but you have to first understand that the rage won’t consume you because you won’t let it.
And here’s the good part. I learned to use the anxiety. I learned to channel it into positive things. I started reading and writing with vigor, thinking about more and more difficult issues. Now I keep a list in my mind of things I want to think about, and if my eyes pop open at night because a train wreck is approaching, instead of waiting to see what will flash across the mental screen, I pick something from my list to channel the brain activity into—a topic I want to write about, a difficult reading I want to sort through, or a decision I need to make. I turn the anxiety into fuel for my mind, and frankly, it’s manifestly cool. Flash, flash, flash becomes click, click, click. Chaos becomes knowledge and understanding. My anxiety became my clarity.
I rarely have attacks now, and I’m certain it’s because I no longer try to hide from the monster.
I didn’t learn this skill because no one ever said those ten things in the HuffPo article to me though. I learned this skill because 1) a good therapist helped me understand the physiology, 2) my faith taught me that my mind has the spiritual powers of intellect and will, and 3) I had the courage to have a serious conversation with myself and face the disorder honestly (I later learned this is called the virtue of prudence).
And that, my friends, is what people with anxiety disorder need to hear. What they also need to hear is that it doesn’t matter one squat what other people say or think about you. What matters is the internal conversation with yourself. Once you learn to manage yourself, you are confident; and once you are confident, you are free to appreciate kindness from others without judgment, which is why I don’t like that HuffPo article. If someone said any of those ten things to me during an anxiety attack, I’d see it as an act of kindness. Period. “Gee, that person cared enough about me to try to help me! How good of him!”
One last thing, I’m not sharing this to sound like a know-it-all. I’m sharing to help others with anxiety because so much of the advice in the internet literature is secular and omits the part about spirituality and virtue. You can find peace.
Actually, I’m thankful for my anxiety disorder now. It’s made me stronger and wiser. When a situational river is trying to drown me in real life, I’m really, really good at staying objectively calm and assessing the situation. When a real life train wreck seems to be approaching (think, raising kids), I know how to detach and observe it from a distance so I can decide on the best course of action, and I know how to make decisions without worrying about what others will think. I’m not afraid of facing difficulty because I trust myself. I practice dealing with anxiety every day, and while I’m practicing it, I use that energy to read and assimilate intellectual content from great authors who lived before me, and then purposefully work with passion. I am driven. Not a bad trade-off if you ask me.
Prudence is the “mother of all virtues,” the virtue from which all cardinal virtues flow. Without the ability to make good decisions and actions, no other virtue can be practiced. To practice prudence, however, you must seek God, seek the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love. In his classic book, The Four Cardinal Virtues, Josef Pieper identified four mechanisms for practicing prudence: 1) deliberation, 2) judgment, 3) decision, and 4) action. That sounds dry until you pour life into it.
Prudence healed my relationship with my oldest daughter.
Blindly believing a woman is supposed to act like the beautiful people on television, I plunged into a sorority lifestyle in the 1990′s. Before I knew it, I was a single mother determined to finish college, start a career, and prove I wasn’t a failure. Before I knew it, my daughter was half-grown and starved for love. Before I knew it, she turned seventeen and her childhood ended. I can still see her standing in the doorway that morning, holding a backpack and a birthday cake she’d bought herself. Instead of going to school, she ran away from home.
It was my fault. To make up for my failures I tried to force her to be virtuous, and the imposition was too much, the concern too late. That night I sat in silence, out under the moon, and for the first time in seventeen years I faced the truth.
Pieper wrote that the deepest root of virtue is the ability to remember events honestly and with clear vision, to silence the mind, without coloring, retouching, or rearranging facts. Only then can deliberation and judgment lead to right decision and action.
I saw the ugliness of the lies I once believed, and I saw that no amount of regret made it possible to re-raise a baby. Through this clarity, though, I started to understand her pain. I was able to apologize and gain her trust, to love her and hold her in my heart as she went her own way.
Because it begins interiorly, virtue cannot be forced. A friend—a prudent friend—can shape another’s decisions by trying to see through the other’s eyes, by making the other’s problems one’s own. Seven years later, my daughter calls me friend. In September she’ll celebrate the Sacrament of Matrimony with a good man who loves her, a man she chose prudently. You’d even think I raised her right.
This story is for those in broken relationships. Good endings begin by facing truth in your heart and mind, oriented toward faith, hope, and love. That is the only way.
I wrote this academically for one of my academic heroes, Dr. Donald DeMarco. I will probably bore you because my essay lacks personal story, but I hope you read it anyway. I selected the words carefully after sifting through (what I found to be) difficult material to find the relevant parts, a mother’s mettle meets some philosophical T-bone. I will follow up with some real-life stories.
It is popular for parenting magazines to publish articles with advice from child psychologists about how to raise independent kids. But what does that mean?
One psychologist tells parents in an article in Parenting Magazine titled “Flying Solo: Raise and Independent Kids“ that no matter how loving they are, they are not the ones able to help children “get over fears, learn to take risks, or become more responsible.” The expert explains, “In order to grow in the ways they need to grow, children have to take the lead, and usually away from [the parents].”
Another psychologist tells parents in an article in Psychology Today titled “Parenting: Raise Independent Children“ that an important goal of parenting is to “raise children who become independent and self-reliant people,” intrinsically motivated to achieve and take responsibility for their thoughts, emotions, and actions. This sounds virtuous, after all. The author contrasts “independent” children with “contingent” children who depend on others to provide them with happiness and incentive to achieve. Contingency sounds like the vice counter to the virtue of independence.
A third expert explains in an article in Disney’s Babble titled “10 Rules for Raising Independent Kids” that it is “vital” to raise independent kids who will be productive, healthy adults, people who are confident, courageous, and self-assured. Otherwise, they will be unable to function in the real world when they are older—high-schoolers who cannot keep track of school assignments, college kids who cannot do laundry. This third psychologist offers ten rules for raising independent kids: 1) Don’t always step in, let them struggle; 2) Let them experience failure and deal with it emotionally; 3) Encourage thinking through a situation and decision-making; 4) Be honest with them and do not give false praise; 5) Be a good example; 6) Set a routine; 7) Get parent time away from them; 8) Ask their opinion because it boosts self-esteem; 9) Give them chores; 10) Don’t force it and be patient.
This parenting advice is not problematic per se, but it lacks substance beneath the appearance. It is like a prop, a birthday cake that is really icing painted over an upside-down Tupperware® dish, so to speak. It is the kind of advice that does not help much in the heat of the moment. To be fair, these are short articles, so they do not represent the extent of the psychologists’ thought on this matter. Even so, this is the message most readily available to parents looking for parenting information. “Raise independent kids.”
Independence seems like a good goal, but the up front advice amounts to a tautological message. “If you want independent children, encourage independence.” Independence is not defined, and independence is not necessarily a virtue. No one lives free from dependency in some form or another, especially children. Is independence not depending on another? Is it exemption from external control? Is is freedom from subjection? Is is individual liberty of thought or action? Or is it refusal to subject to rightful authority? Is it insubordination? Arguably some forms of independence are virtuous, but other forms are not. Rebellion, anarchy, and isolation are obviously not virtuous. Likewise, dependence can be healthy and legitimate, or it can be overdone and damaging, depending on the relationship. What these psychologists actually seem to be advising is “prudence” at large, and the cognitive sub-virtues that are necessary for one to be prudent. A comparison is, thus, in order.
Prudence is, fundamentally, the ability to make right decisions. Prudence is one of the four cardinal virtues, along with justice, fortitude, and temperance, ordered under the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love. In his classic book, The Four Cardinal Virtues: Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, Temperance, the German philosopher Josef Pieper called prudence the “mother of all cardinal virtues” because all the other cardinal virtues depend on it. (p. 3) Without prudence, one cannot practice justice, temperance, or fortitude. But prudence also depends on the higher theological virtues, namely love from which all virtue flows. As philosopher Donald DeMarco began The Many Faces of Virtue, “Love is the source of every real virtue.” (p. 15) Although parenting magazines and child psychologists do not commonly communicate in terms of virtue and vice, such terminology probably does not strike parents as strange. Independence resonates with parents because it seems like prudence. If so, then parents need advice about, ultimately, love and how to teach their children to make right decisions.
The psychologist who wrote the article advising parents to expect others to help children “get over fears, learn to take risks, or become more responsible” is correct in that children will have authority figures in addition to parents. However, the article ends with confusing advice. “In order to grow in the ways they need to grow, children have to take the lead, and usually away from [the parents].” In reality, this is backward. It is the parent’s job to teach the child to make right decisions, not to allow the child to figure out how he needs to grow for himself by taking the “lead” away from the parent. This is a utilitarian attitude, and a tactical, materialistic view of children simply will not do.
Children are human persons, both body and spirit capable of learning both natural and supernatural truths. Virtue is the “perfected ability” of a human person made in the image of God. (Pieper, p. 6) The person, the child, is inclined toward truth, beauty, and love naturally, which is why the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity are necessary for the right practice of the cardinal virtue prudence. “No virtue—obedience, courage, generosity, or anything else—is virtuous without prudence, which is the virtue of being realistic.” (DeMarco, pp. 173-174) Prudence is born of love, and because of love, the child born of his parents is firstly obedient to them. It is good and natural for parents to expect obedience.
Teaching the child prudence involves teaching him “reason” and “truth,” and children are not born educated about those things. Josef Pieper, a scholar of St. Thomas Aquinas’ treatise on virtue, described “reason” and “truth” in this way.
The intrinsic goodness of man—and that is the same as saying his true humanness—consists in this, that “reason perfected in the cognition of truth” shall inwardly shape and imprint his volition and action. In this fundamental principle of Thomas Aquinas is summed up the whole doctrine of prudence.
By “reason” St. Thomas meant the regard for and openness to reality, the acceptance of reality. By “truth” he meant the unveiling and revelation of reality, be it natural or supernatural. This may seem overly-complicated or mystical in a discussion about parenting, but the desire to teach the child about reality is a desire rooted in love. Good intentions, such as the desire for independence, are empty unless they follow through to action. Prudence is conscience in action. Independence is…what in action? Prudence says the parent must teach the child how to deliberate and face fears, how to judge appropriate risks, how to make responsible decisions, and how to turn those deliberations, judgments, and decisions into concrete actions that may or may not involve other people beyond the family. This is the difference in a counterfeit, empty virtue and an authentic, substantive one that can actually be practiced throughout life.
The mechanisms to transform true knowledge into prudent actions are: 1) deliberation, 2) judgment, 3) decision, and 4) action. (Pieper, pp. 12-13) If a person plunges into the last two, decision and action, without doing the first two, deliberation and judgment, he is thoughtless. If a person does not decide and act, but incessantly deliberates and judges, he is irresolute. Both are forms of imprudence. If a parent teaches the child to practice these mechanisms, then the child learns a legitimate personal freedom and independence, but independence itself is not the virtue. Other people may help a child find the courage he needs, but without prudence the child could be swayed by people who teach him a false sense of courage or bravery, or any other falsity. “Obedience needs prudence in order to be virtuous, just as a student needs a teacher in order to learn.” (DeMarco, p. 174)
The second psychologist referred to “intrinsic motivation to achieve” as a goal for children. Because children are oriented toward God, they are naturally inclined toward learning and mastering new ethical skills, but they must be taught how to do it. Traditional Christian doctrine calls this “conscience formation.” Conscience (con scientia) means with knowledge of reality, it means to know what’s what. It is not enough to say children need to “take responsibility for their thoughts, emotions, and actions,” there needs to be a plan with specific skills. Josef Pieper, interpreting St. Aquinas, described four of them, and they are simple enough to teach a child: 1) the ability to silently contemplate reality (memoria), 2) the willingness to be open-minded to receive instruction (docilitas), 3) the ability to act swiftly with clear-sighted vision (solertia), and 4) the ability to fix the attention on what has not yet happened (providentia). (Pieper, pp. 13-22. Aquinas, Summa Theologiæ, II-II, 48)
Memoria does not merely refer to memory, but to true recollection, to remembering events as they were or are, an it requires an ability and willingness to be silent and think things through honestly. (Pieper, p. 14) As obvious as that is, it is rarely specifically addressed. This ability to remember honest facts, for anyone of any age, is the deepest root of forming a conscience. It is to teach a child not to falsify his memory, not to leave out what is difficult or uncomfortable to remember or confront. For example if a child has a conflict with another child, the first step in helping him work out a plan for his future behavior is to help him remember the reality of the confrontation. What was his role in the conflict? What was the conflict really about? Was a confrontation unprovoked? Or was it justifiable, albeit poorly executed because of emotions? There is a real danger in remembering things incorrectly; it can happen without being noticed, a mental block against something self-effacing. A child needs to learn to honestly remember what objectively happens in the real world, without coloring it, retouching it, omitting certain facts, or rearranging how things happened. Is it easy? Not always. Is it necessary for making good decisions? Yes, good decisions cannot be based on error.
Knowledge of the past is called “memory” but knowledge of the present is called “understanding.” (II-II, Q.48, Art. 1) These are intellectual virtues. Docilitas refers to understanding; it means docility. Docility does not merely mean to be a pliant pupil. A docile person has an open-mindedness to recognize a variety of things, to not cage his intellect with presumption. (Pieper, pp. 16-17) For a child, it is the ability to receive instruction and search for understanding. It necessitates the virtue of humility and the willingness to be silent. A talkative know-it-all is perpetually closed-minded. (Pieper, p. 16) DeMarco points out that the words “doctor” (teacher), “doctrine,” (body of knowledge), and “docility” (willingness to be taught) are connected. (DeMarco, p. 19) Without any one of those things, the others cannot exist. The teacher cannot teach without an authentic body of knowledge to teach. The docile person wants to know the truth; the mark of the docile person is the willingness to be taught it and, having grasp it, to close the mind on it. (DeMarco, p. 22) Laziness and pride are obstacles to the virtue of docility. (DeMarco, p. 20) Docility is distinctly not independence. It is a true and legitimate dependence, necessary for the transfer of knowledge to children.
Solertia is the ability to confront sudden events with decisiveness, to keep the mental eyes open and to think swiftly when swift thinking is needed, to not take blind action. (Pieper, pp. 16-17) Traditionally this was also called “shrewdness,” but the definition means something nefarious today. The traditional meaning of shrewdness was “sagacity or keenness of mental perception, discrimination, astuteness in practical affairs.” (OED) Teaching a child to be shrewd, in this traditional sense, means to teach him to search for the truth in his circumstances, and then to push himself to use that knowledge to make a wise decision.
Providentia is the ability to realize that even when a decision is made and a plan of action is formed, there remains an uncertainty about future events. “The prudent man [child] does not accept certainty where it cannot exist, nor on the other hand does he deceive himself by false certainties.” (Pieper, p.18) It means to teach a child to have foresight, to decide and act to the best of his ability, and to accept that he will need to continue to practice prudence.
In the example of a conflict with another child, not only should the parent help the child to face the true-to-being memory of the conflict and ancillary circumstances, but the parent should also help the child gain an understanding of the nature of conflict in general. Then the parent should push the child to think about what he should do next. Is it prudent to wait a few days to calm down? Is it prudent to apologize for his own wrong-doing or misunderstanding? Is it prudent to give the other child the benefit of the doubt? Is it prudent to avoid any further contact with the child? Is it prudent to involve an authoritative third party? Is it prudent to fight back? And then, what might happen next? What should be done if X, Y, or Z?
Prudence is, appropriately named, the “mother of all virtues.” This is how Josef Pieper summarized it.
Prudence, then, is the mold and mother of all virtues, the circumspect and resolute shaping power of our minds which transforms knowledge of reality into realization of the good. It holds within itself the humility of silent, that is to say, of unbiased perception; the trueness-to-being of memory; the art of receiving counsel; alert, composed readiness for the unexpected. (Pieper, p. 22)
The psychologist who said that it is “vital” to raise “independent” kids might better have written that it is vital to raise prudent kids so they will turn into productive, healthy adults able to function in the “real world.” Yes, the secret is not to hover over them all the time, but neither is the secret to encourage independence in and of itself. The ten rules for raising independent kids might be re-written as such for raising prudent kids:
1) Instead of, “Don’t always step in, let them struggle,” it is better to say, “Step in often and deal with fundamental questions about objective reality.”
2) Instead of, “Let them experience failure and deal with it emotionally,” it is better to say, “Help them face failure and deal with it honestly.”
3) Instead of, “Encourage thinking through a situation and decision-making,” it is better to say, “Guide them through remembering real events and gaining new knowledge, and then push them to decide how to handle it.”
4) Instead of, “Be honest with them and do not give false praise,” it is better to say, “Teach them why it is important to be honest with yourself before you decide how act.”
5) Instead of, “Be a good example,” it is better to say, “As you practice prudence, take time to explain to your child how you are working through difficult situations in your life.”
6) Instead of, “Set a routine,” it is better to say, “Learn to think and practice virtue in an ordered way.”
7) Instead of, “Get parent time away from them,” it is better to say, “Be prudent about how you spend your time.”
8) Instead of, “Ask their opinion because it boosts self-esteem,” it is better to say, “Help them ask questions of themselves because it boosts confidence to practice virtue.”
9) Instead of, “Give them chores,” it is better to say, “Teach them the other virtues of courtesy, determination, fidelity, generosity, graciousness, gratitude, humility, integrity, meekness, patience, reverence, and sincerity. (DeMarco, The Heart of Virtue)
10) Instead of, “Don’t force it and be patient,” it is better to remind a parent that virtue cannot be forced.
Teaching a child to practice virtue builds the relationship between parent and child. Because genuine practice of virtue begins with an interior examination, there is no way to know the concreteness of another person’s ethical decision from the outside. (Pieper, 29) Even a parent cannot know a child’s heart and mind fully, be that child toddler or adult. The most a parent can do is to shape the child’s decision. This fact reveals something significant about the parent-child relationship, a paradox of true freedom—letting go while maintaining mutual dependency.
Parents often hear the admonishment that they should not be “friends” with their children, but actually, in the true sense of friendship, a parent should be a young child’s best friend. The only certain way to influence virtue in another person, even a child, is through the love of friendship. A friend, and only a prudent friend, can guide a friend’s decision by the virtue of love. (Pieper, p. 29) Love makes the friend’s problem the other’s problem. In this embracing virtue of oneness which love can establish, a friend is able to visualize the concrete situation calling for a decision, and visualize his friend’s responsibility as if it were his own responsibility. One has but to substitute parent and child in the place of friend and friend—a mutual and loving dependency between independent individuals—for the truth of that statement to strike a chord in the heart.
Last Sunday began like most Sundays. We got up and got the kids dressed for Mass. I made the obligatory shouts to showering beauties, “Hurry up! Get out! You’re wasting water!” Then someone slipped and fell, someone slapped someone else, there was quiet, then more slipping and slapping. When the water was off, I yelled, “Get your teeth brushed!” Then there was wailing and gnashing of toothbrushes because somebody stole somebody’s purple glittery one.
There was fighting while the dresses went on, fighting while the hair got dried, two had to go out with damp hair. In the back of the truck, someone hurled a seat-belt buckle into someone’s head, and someone clucked under her breath while someone hissed for it to stop. At Mass the older sisters flanked their little sister who is preparing to receive First Communion in May and, with missals shoved in her face, competed to instruct her in the liturgy while slapping each other’s backs, and the fighting continued throughout the day.
The Lord’s Day ended with lectures and separation, two in the guest room, the oldest banished to her room where she left a note conveying her agony over the injustice of it all. The youngest, but forgotten, sister was the only one left for bedtime prayers, and for the first time in her six years of life, we prayed alone. Finally, a good mothering moment. Seconds later I was explaining that it’s ”Hallowed be” not “Halloween.” Then she wanted to know what a “killdecun” (Kingdom come) was, and upon assuring me she knew the rest, she continued, “…and lead us not into the station.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could I let the loud-praying sisters drown the poor thing out all these years?
Sometimes in the blur and anxiety of raising small children, I really do growl at that sing-song one-liner about praying together and staying together. In the muddle of the mundane, it seems unhelpful. Praying doesn’t get the work done. But then the house goes quiet and I go limp, and I think maybe there’s a purpose to the fighting. It’s down and dirty, gritty and real. Relationships are forged, and children, oh children, are not born magically virtuous. Sure, they lead each other into temptation and fight it out, but maybe these days of praying and working through it will prepare them to navigate adult relationships better. Like any mother, I hope they stay close when they’re grown, but if they don’t, well, we had these days together didn’t we? And we got through them together too.
Did you watch the big debate last night between Ken Ham and Bill Nye? It was an excellent exchange with good points made on both sides, but decidedly missing from the debate was the fuller and traditional Catholic view. Thus for the purpose of our dialogue here at Strange Notions, I’d like to explore the “third way” absent from last night’s event.
How are Catholics taught to view the world? To quote the apologist Frank Sheed, in the very beginning of his book Theology and Sanity: “There is the intellect: its work is to know, to understand, to see: to see what? To see what’s there.” Ken Ham represented the young earth creationist view, arguing that historical science should be interpreted literally according to the English translation of the Bible. Bill Nye represented the “science guy” view, arguing that historical science should be interpreted according to the laws of nature that can be observed. Yet the Catholic view could summarily be described as natural realism.
Read the rest at Strange Notions.
In 2005 Science journal reported the discovery of soft tissue in the bones of a Tyrannosaurus rex, and how it got there has been debated ever since. Dr. Mary H. Schweitzer, whose research team found the soft tissue, maintains that it was preserved by an exceptional process over the 65 million years since T-rexes became extinct. The process is a mystery, though, because soft tissue decomposes in much shorter times. Critics say the more reasonable explanation is that T-rexes aren’t that old. Those researchers C-14 dated the soft tissue to about 20-30 thousand years.
This discovery has tremendous implications for the scientific understanding about the age of the earth, which is why “young earth creationists” and evolutionists debate the meaning of the soft tissue discovery. The evolutionists accuse the creationists of trying to use science to prove a literal interpretation of Genesis. The creationists suspect evolutionists are suppressing data that reveals a literal interpretation is correct. Or so it seems. It’s difficult for a newcomer to figure out what to believe, especially if you are a faithful Catholic trying to understand the science.
A reader emailed me about this question, and the approach I take is to refer to dogma to define legitimate boundaries of intellectual freedom. Start with this fundamental question: Does either conclusion contradict dogma? A solid knowledge of the truths revealed by God, the dogma the Catholic faith requires us to believe, serves as a safeguard against false conclusions, such as atheistic materialism.
If dinosaurs lived tens of thousands, instead of tens of millions, of years ago then radiometric dating methods about the age of the earth need to be reconsidered. If the earth is young, then, yes, it is even harder for natural selection and random mutation to scientifically explain the diversity of life. But young or old, neither conclusion could possibly contradict that God created the universe to change as He willed it. Therefore, a Christian can safely explore this question with an open scientific mind.
But explore with a curious skepticism. First, don’t be timid about reading scientific papers and judging the merits of the research for yourself. Big terminology aside, scientific writing is concise and logical. Second, reject the impulse to settle the question and pick a side. Both sides will argue their cases, but picking a side prematurely with incomplete knowledge hinders your intellectual pursuit. Finally, when reason and observation provide no clear solution or decisive evidence, leave the matter open to further inquiry. I think it’s admirable to say, “I don’t know, I’m still forming an opinion.” On this issue and on evolutionary theory in general, that’s my answer.
The creative and prolific TJ Burdick conducted an email interview with me last week. Here’s the first part. Go read the rest at his cool website Catholic Snacks.
About 1 year ago, I fumbled upon a Catholic website called Ignitum Today (IT). It was staffed by young writers whose only pontificates included those of (soon to be) Saint Pope John Paul II, Pope Benedict XVI and now, Pope Francis. As I read their articles, I couldn’t help but want to join them.
So, I sent out my inquiry e-mail and a few days later, I received an acceptance response from the Editor-in-Chief of IT, Stacy Trasancos. I can safely say I was happy with the response, but little did I know how influential of a person I was speaking with at the time.
Since then, Stacy has developed into a pivotal (and humble) new evangelist in the digital and scientific worlds. After setting up some of the most visited Catholic sites, getting her PhD in Chemistry plus a Masters in Theology, she published her latest book SCIENCE WAS BORN OF CHRISTIANITY: WHY IT MATTERS, and I thought it was high time to interview her, Catholic Snacks style.
