I’m happy to announce the publication of my new book, Compassion. This is the second volume of The Three Mountains.
This book follows the trail of compassion. It offers poetic insight, stunning photography, and the wisdom of ancient philosophy. The book reflects on the meaning of compassion in a world that contains both beauty and suffering. It will provoke, invigorate, and make you wonder.
The book weaves spiritual teachings together with folktales and natural history in a way that surprises and inspires. Compassion involves laughter, chaos, tears, and joy. Compassion is about overflowing and becoming broader.
Excerpt: “The instinct to share is primordial. No one wants to drink or dance alone. We share the wine because happiness and sadness need company. We toast the illusions of life, laughing out loud at the glowing red of sunset and the silver light of moonrise. We toast the illusions of life, singing hymns to lost friends, dead dogs, and silent grandmothers. Here’s to the eyes that once saw this beauty, now closed forever. Here’s to the child whose eyes have just opened.”
There’s an ironic critique of amateurs in The Big Lebowski. Walter (played by John Goodman) keeps complaining about “f***ing amateurs.” But Walter is an amateur. He is a caricature of the great American “do-it-yourself” ethos.
He claims that other people don’t know what they are doing. But neither does he. And so Walter keeps f***ing things up.
Some things ought to be left to the professionals. A professional has specialized training, lots of experience, and a certain talent or skill. But Americans distrust professionals. We think that since we are all created equal, we should be able to do-it-ourselves.
Our suspicion of professionalism has some connection with Trumpism, the anti-vax movement, and the American distrust of science. Professionals are elites. But we don’t like elites. We’d rather diagnose our own diseases and interpret the data for ourselves. We think we are smarter than the doctors, the scientists, and the “mainstream media.”
As we’ve seen, this can lead to disaster.
The conflict between professionalism and amateurism is an ancient one. Plato criticized democracy as a rule of amateurs. According to Plato, this is a terrible idea. Plato’s ideal republic is a nation run by professionals. He describes a rigorous training method for selecting the rulers. And he suggests that tyrants have not successfully completed the program.
Tyrants are the worst of the amateurs. The etymology of the word “amateur” gives us a clue. The root of the word is “love” (ama-). Tyrants love power. But they don’t want to develop the skill, virtue, and expertise necessary to rule. They grab power without training themselves in wielding it wisely.
This is not to suggest that all amateurs are tyrants. There is something admirable about a dedicated amateur. Amateurs do things because they love them. They are not in it for the money or the fame. But a virtuous amateur understands that some things ought to be left to the professionals.
Things have changed quite a bit in recent decades when it comes to the difference between amateurs and professionals. The Olympics, for example, used to ban professional athletes. And while amateur athletes are inspiring, the pros are better.
In some fields, the professionals have been kicked to the curb. In other fields, increased specialization makes it impossible for amateurs to survive. Often this is about money: who makes it, who controls it, and where it flows.
At one time, Youtube was a place for amateurs to share videos. But Youtube went commercial and the professionals staged a comeback, elbowing out the amateurs in pursuit of advertising revenue.
Similar struggles have played out in other corners of the economy. Ride-sharing apps like Uber compete with professional cab drivers. Airbnb circumvents the professionals at Hyatt and Hilton. Amazon allows self-published authors to reach a wide audience. And so on.
Each of these stories is complicated. In some cases, the rise of the amateurs has allowed for an outburst of creative entrepreneurship. In other cases, you end up with crappy self-published books and weird cars driving you around town.
There is also lots of confusion about what’s true, what’s real, and what’s beneficial. The Covid-19 debacle shows us what’s at stake. Rather than trust the scientists, the amateurs are playing doctor.
Early in the pandemic, non-experts claimed that Covid-19 was no worse than an ordinary cold or flu. Then the amateurs doubted professional advice about masks and social distancing. And now the non-professionals are skeptical of vaccines. Meanwhile, the pandemic rages on.
Plato was right that in an ideal world we’d put the professionals in charge. But in a democratic country that values individual liberty, the amateurs will resist. The solution is better education. But that’s a long-term and ongoing solution. In the meantime, we’re left with a mess.
At one point in The Big Lebowski, the Dude (Jeff Bridges) says to Walter: “Walter, I love you, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to face the fact you’re a goddamn moron.” This is us. Let’s face the fact that we are a bunch of amateurs and morons, mucking things up. What’s not to love?
Do our leaders worship Satan? How would we know? And what would that mean?
Fifteen percent of Americans believe Satan worshipers are in charge. The Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) found this in a recent study about the QAnon conspiracy. This belief is more prevalent among Republicans: 23% of Republicans claim that “the government, media, and financial worlds in the U.S. are controlled by a group of Satan-worshipping pedophiles who run a global sex trafficking operation.”
I find this hard to believe. But then again, I find it difficult to believe in Satan at all. I also think it would be absurd for anyone to worship Satan—both because there is no Satan—and because if he did exist, he would not be worthy of worship.
The whole thing is a theological, ethical, and sociological mess.
Perhaps those who say this are actually trolling the researchers. Do 48 million Americans (that’s 15% of our population), really believe that Satan worshipers are running the country?
This opens the question of what it means to really believe something. A related question is about how we could know what anyone really believes.
Let’s begin with the absurdity of Satan. The most obvious argument against Satan is the existence of a benevolent and all-powerful God. Satan does appear in the Bible. God empowers Satan to torment Job, for example. But would a good God really do this? Why would a good God create a devil who torments us?
Creative theology attempts to make sense of this and the general “problem of evil.” One solution is to claim that evil is the absence of good and not the active power of some supernatural being. Texts that personify evil in Satan must be reinterpreted as allegories or parables.
But lots of Americans appear to have a more literal belief. The Gallup Poll reports that 61% of Americans believe in the devil. A survey from the Pew Center found that 58% of Americans believe in Hell. So maybe it is not surprising, that millions of Americans believe our leaders worship Satan.
Perhaps enlightened theology and secular critiques of religion could help cure QAnon belief. But some non-religious people (11% according to PRRI) also claim that Satan-worshippers run the country. A full-fledged atheist who does not think Satan exists could believe, I suppose, that others worship the non-existent devil. This could be an ad hominem accusation, like making fun of someone by claiming they believe in fairies and leprechauns.
This leads to questions about the sociology of belief and religious tolerance. How can we presume to understand what strangers really believe? Could anyone know that ruling elites worship Satan? And what would that actually mean?
One rule of thumb is that it is wise to avoiding judging the beliefs of others. Religious belief is complex, changeable, and internally diverse. Religious people disagree among themselves. Many believers are ignorant about or indifferent to the dogmas of their own religion. We also fail to understand other people’s beliefs.
Satanists even disagree among themselves. A group calling itself the Satanic Temple advocates empathy, reason, and secular values. They reject the supernaturalism of another group called the Church of Satan. The Satanic Temple appears to be Satanism without Satan.
This is probably not what QAnon believers have in mind. But then again, how do we know what the QAnon-ers really believe about the supposed Satan-worship of ruling elites? And how would a QAnon-er actually know what the ruling elites really believe?
These vexing questions should encourage us to be cautious and tolerant. It is difficult for any of us to figure out what we actually believe. It is presumptuous and rude to claim to know what someone else believes—or to condemn it as evil. And in the U.S., the First Amendment guarantees our right to believe whatever we want. Indeed, toleration in the United States appears to extend even to Satan worship.
QAnon will likely fade away as a fever dream of the Trump era. But the tendency to vilify the beliefs of others will remain. Part of the cure involves religious liberty and toleration. Another remedy is to think critically: to play the devil’s advocate in posing critical questions about Satan, God, and what we think we know about religion.
Whispered euphemisms obscure the difficult finality of death. When people die, they are gone forever. This is tragic and true. But it’s better to confront hard truths than to sweeten them up with fragrant words.
A couple of months ago, we had our dog euthanized. He had been sick for a while. During the last few days, he suffered terribly. The polite way to speak of this is to say, in the passive voice, “our dog was put to sleep.”
This may be suitable for parents breaking sad news to children. But adults should be honest and forthright among themselves. More than one person has said, “I’m sorry your dog passed away.” They are trying to be compassionate. But the dog did not gently “pass away.” He was suffering and we asked the vet to kill him.
This was not easy. But it was the right decision. It was very sad. But the dog was better off dead. It sounds cold to say it. But it is true.
Euthanasia is Greek-based jargon that avoids the old-fashioned phrase, “mercy killing.” Euthanasia seems less blunt. But “mercy killing” honestly admits that this is a kind of killing.
One problem is that killing seems evil. But killing is not absolutely wrong. It is not wrong when it comes from a place of compassion and respect. It is more honest to admit this than to confuse ourselves with euphemisms.
Death is veiled by euphemisms. Consider phrases like “passed away,” “passed on,” or simply “passed.” There is a kind of cloying phoniness here. Indeed, “passing” connotes a kind of fakery. We use this verb to describe what happened when counterfeit money is passed or when someone passes themselves off as someone or something else.
“Passing on” makes death out to be a transition to some other state. The Bible teaches that this form of life passes away (see 1 Corinthians 7:31) and that “there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21:4).
“Passing” is also passive. We pass footballs and kidney stones. The object passed is passive in the process. To say that a person passed away takes away agency. To my ears, it sounds more respectful to say “he died” than that “he passed away.” It is nobler to imagine dying as something we do—our last and final act—than to imagine being passed around by fate or the gods.
If we must speak this way, I suppose “passed away” is preferable to “passed on.” To say that Jane Doe “passed on” assumes she went somewhere else. That might be true. But we don’t know where Jane has gone. She may be in a worse place or a ghost trapped in limbo. This spookiness can freak you out. The idea of “passing away” is simpler. It tells us that Jane is gone without asking us to speculate about where she went.
Sometimes this expression is shortened and people simply say, “Jane Doe passed.” This phrase seems to require an object like a kidney stone. And it is ambiguous. To say Jane passed might mean that she got a C on an exam. One recent newspaper article used the expression twice to refer to two different deceased persons. The author is trying to be polite. But the phrasing is annoying. Jane Doe is dead. Let’s not beat around the bush.
For some, there is a taboo or phobia involved in saying words like “dead” and “death.” Maybe folks fear that these words will somehow conjure up the Grim Reaper. But honesty is the best antidote for fear. It is the whispers, the speculation, and the innuendo that causes the shadows to grow. Dying is a part of life. Everyone we know will do it someday—including you and me.
Sometimes it is even better to be dead, as in the case of my dear suffering dog. It is better to affirm our mortality than to pretend that we merely pass away. It is better to shed light on death than to pass over it with euphemisms that obscure its sadness and its finality.
Motherly love is neglected in ethics. The Golden Rule speaks of brotherly love. It says, “love your neighbor as yourself.” But we might also say: “love your neighbor as a mother loves her children.”
Brotherly love creates solidarity and respect. Motherly love is a more active process of nurture and care. A mother’s love is specific. It concerns itself with your unique well-being. Brotherly love spreads widely and grows thin. Motherly love is intense: it responds to your needs and encourages you to fulfill your potential. Brotherly love is universal and abstract. Motherly love is for real people with concrete needs.
Motherly love involves labor. To live well is to participate in the labor of mothering: to give birth, to nurture, and to care. We all do this. The poet is a mother. So too is the musician, scientist, and farmer. Anyone who gestates, nurtures, and grows things is a mother.
Patriarchal metaphors confuse us. We speak of founding fathers. We imagine an artist imposing his will on the world. We see the farmer as inserting his seed and extracting the fruit. But art, politics, and agriculture require nurturing care.
We also conceive of God as a father who begets a son. This patriarchal metaphor limits our imagination. Divine creativity is not masculine imposition. Rather, it is an unfolding from within. It makes sense to say that God gives birth to the world.
A hidden account of the importance of motherly love can be found in ancient philosophy.
When Pythagoras descended into a cave seeking wisdom, he was nurtured there by his mother. She was the only person he communicated with from his dark retreat. When he emerged from his cave, he began teaching about reincarnation. This symbolic re-birth—the emergence from a cave—shows up Plato’s allegory of the cave as well as in the Christian Easter story.
Pythagoras’s theory of reincarnation allowed that he had once been a woman. So it is no surprise that he brought women into his school. His wife, Theano, and his daughter, Damo, were among his most important disciples.
Socrates also spoke of mothering. He described himself as a midwife who helps others give birth to the wisdom that is within them. That process is guided by love, conceived in motherly terms.
The source of Socratic midwifery was a mystical woman named Diotima. She taught Socrates the mysteries of motherly love. Diotima said, “All of us are pregnant, Socrates, both in body and in soul, and, as soon as we come to a certain age, we naturally desire to give birth.”
These ideas gestated and evolved for centuries until Plotinus offered a grand synthesis. He invoked female energies in his theology. The god of love, Eros, is the child of Aphrodite. Thus the creative energy of the universe comes from the goddess. And in one pregnant passage, Plotinus suggests that Aphrodite is identical with the cosmos itself, which is a process of the unfolding of motherly love.
These metaphors are fascinating. But we must be careful. In a patriarchal world, women are often reduced to their capacity to be mothers. A deeper vision of the power of motherly love calls patriarchy into question. The ancient thinkers hinted that mothering was fundamental. This vision empowered women as it did in the Pythagorean school. And it is inclusive: it is for women and men, poets and philosophers.
Contemporary authors have also made this point. Hannah Arendt focused on “natality” as “the capacity to begin something anew.” And Nel Noddings calls our attention to what she calls “the maternal factor.” Patriarchy ignores the amazing organic capacity of the female body. The life of the species flows through mother’s bodies. But motherly love is not merely about bodies: natality and maternity are spiritual metaphors.
Mothering is the compassionate heart of ethics. It is available to every human being who has been mothered and cared for. Brotherly love is fine. But a higher love models itself on a mother’s love for her children. This is a love that is careful, graceful, and nurturing. Motherly love is fundamental. It may even be the pregnant power of the universe itself.
