Squealer, Data, & Propoganda

Data can be very helpful. Sleepy? You will be able to partially explain your fatigue if you go back and count how many hours you've slept each night for the last week or two. Hungry? How many (and what kind of) calories have you consumed today so far? Feel stupid? Well, that's not quite so easily explained merely by data.

As an educator in America, one of the never-ending refrains I hear echoed by administrators is, "What do the data say?" (Actually, they ask, "What does the data say?", but with the urgency of state- and federally-mandated expectations pressing on them, who has time to use correct grammar?) Regularly, I am presented with a steady stream either of research showing the infallible effectiveness of data-tracking on my students, or of the infallible insight into my students' minds that district-produced data offers. The students and I both feel like our blood pressure is being taken far too often to be of any good to anyone, and has, in fact, become a misleading indicator of what's going on in class.

More than this, however, is the "divine fiat" effect that such data-production has begun to have upon people. As I was reading George Orwell's Animal Farm recently, one passage in particular screamed out, "This is my school! This is my district! This is Education in America!" You may recall (or may not - that' why I had to reread it myself) the plot line: Farmer Jones loses his farm in an animal-insurrection following the prophetic and inspirational speech by Old Major (an elder pig) to his fellow animals. The ensuing years see the dreams of the Rebellion - three-day work weeks, humane treatment, equality, the end of human abuses - degenerate into the power-grabbing manipulation of the pigs (led by Napoleon) and their lackeys, the dogs. Along the way, the animals are told one thing and then another; events are remembered incorrectly, past edicts are reinterpreted to meet new expectations, and the trust of the animals is stretched beyond what anyone hopes for. One of the means by which Napolean repeatedly secures the allegiance of his lesser-though-equal animals is by "production reports" delivered through his messenger, Squealer: quantities of food produced, numbers of hours worked, numbers of animals on the farm; in short, how much better life has become after the Rebellion than it was before. One such report goes as follows:

Meanwhile life was hard. The winter was as cold as the last one had been, and food was even shorter. Once again all rations were reduced, except those of the pigs and the dogs. A too rigid equality in rations, Squealer explained, would have been contrary to the principles of Animalism. In any case he had no difficulty in proving to the other animals that they were not in reality short of food, whatever the appearance might be. For the time being, certainly, it had been found necessary to make a readjustment of rations (Squealer always spoke of it as a "readjustment", never as a "reduction"), but in comparison with the days of Jones, the improvement was enormous. Reading out the figures in a shrill, rapid voice, he proved to them in detail that they had more oats, more hay, more turnips than they had had in Jones' day, that they worked shorter hours, that their drinking water was of better quality that they lived longer, that a larger proportion of their young ones survived infancy, and that they had more straw in their stalls and suffered less from fleas. The animals believed every word of it.

Without wanting to detract from the very real evils of the political propaganda and abuse that to which Orwell is alluding, such a description is very apt when it comes to the way education tends to work these days. It's too easy for administrators and academic coaches to hide behind "the data" or "the research"; it's infuriating when they refuse to answer questions posed by teachers that seem to contradict "the data". And you know it's over when this kind of dialogue is the first kind to go, and the only thing left is dickering over deadlines and what the data say.

BHT

Psalm 51 and Recycled Souls

David wrote, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to you steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy, blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from me sin.” (Ps. 51:1-2) What struck me as I read these words this morning was the strange juxtaposition David formed by pairing the writer’s practice of blotting with his own soul being “washed” and “cleansed”. Blotting (white out, anyone?), after all, doesn’t remove the writer’s mistake; it merely covers it up. But simply hiding David’s sin is clearly not what David is so desperate for, as his cry for God to “wash me” and “cleanse me” indicate. More is going on here than a divine cover up.

The move from “cover up” to “cleansing” is the difference between white out and recycling. No, this is not reduction of the forgiveness of sins or the justification of sinners to “justification by recycling”. It is, however, a helpful metaphor in getting at what it’s like to be “washed” and “cleansed” of one’s sin. If I make a mistake on a clean sheet of white paper, I can either erase it (primitive white out) or blot it out (using the real thing). But everyone knows that the mistake is still there – it’s just not as obvious, and it allows me to go back and try again. If, however, that piece of paper is recycled (let us suppose one could recycle just one piece of paper at a time), then what I get back is, in fact, the original but completely remade! There would be no evidence (theoretically) of the original mistake and I would be free to make my marks correctly and have no blemish to show for it. But wait.

Doesn’t this all sound a bit sterile? What’s the big deal about clean souls? Is that what souls do best, be clean? The song-writer got it right in “Yahweh”: “Take this shirt / polyester white trash made in no where / take this shirt and make it clean / take this soul / stranded in some skin and bones / take this soul and make it sing.” Shirts are made for clean, and souls are made to sing. This is why the Psalm may begin with clean but the natural end is joy and rejoicing and song:

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Let me hear joy and gladness;

let the bones that you have broken rejoice.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation;

and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.

O Lord, open my lips,

and my mouth will declare your praise.

There’s something natural about people spontaneously exclaiming a sigh of contentment after a shower, having not bathed in a week, or in the admiration people have for a bride who is adorned in her dress on her wedding day – not merely because we like clean for it’s own sake, but at least because it’s clean; no one admires the dress or their own body when their respective glories are hidden by stains, tears, or dirt. Similarly, the human soul craves to be “clean”; there’s a reason such language comes naturally to us, even if the natural end is an emotional exclamation like “Thank God!” or “Yes!”, and not merely a stoic assent that “Yes, I am now clean. What’s next?”

And let us not forget that to be cleansed from our sin, to be remade into the image of Christ (that image we ruined, that paper on which we scribbled in Adam), is accomplished by the mercy of God that is extended to us because of the steadfast love of God toward us for Christ’s sake. Were it not for “abundant mercy” and “steadfast love”, this joy-filled end of delight and happiness in becoming who we were made to be (those who praise God forever and ever) would not be ours. It is a gift.

Paper is mean to be written on, not merely admired for its whiteness. Let your soul speak like the paper that is written on, but without mistakes, without blemishes, and “sing for joy” that you’ve been recycled and remade into a most delightful, joyful being whose God is merciful and who doesn’t just crumple up and throw away every soul with mistakes on it.

No Excuses

John Owen on the call to ministry, from The Duty of Pastors and People Distinguished:

Nothing can excuse any[one] from going on His message who can perfect his praise out of the mouths of babes and sucklings.

No excuses of disability or any other impediment ought to take place; the Lord can and will supply all such defects. (p. 29)

"On the Square" from First Things: The Era of the Narcissist

Have you ever noticed that no one today knows the names of the architects or fincanciers of medieval cathedrals, while the whole world seems to know that "this half-hour of the so-and-so show is brought to you by..."? We are a credit-seeking people, obsessed with the world knowing everything we've done. Without wanting to overy disparage the Facebook/Twitter phenomenon (which my wife and I are part of), one must admit that such social-networking technologies lend themselves uncomfortably close to putting oneself at the center of the internet spotlight (it's ironic that for anyone to see us there we've usually got to tell them to look otherwise we'd be missed in an ocean of other selves stepping into their own spotlights. Don't be fooled: the algorithms that FB and Amazon use to "suggest" people and items for your consideration have to be told to do so; otherwise you really would be lost in the ocean).

Over at First Things, Aaron Kheriaty has written a helpful review of sorts on a recent volume by Jean Twenge and Keith Campbell titled The Narcissism Epidemic addressing America's contemporary culture of narcissism. What follows are some helpful excerpts not from the book itself but from the article by Kheriaty:

In an early chapter, Twenge and Campbell use recent psychological research to deflate five common myths about narcissism. These myths are as follows: that narcissism is “really high” self-esteem; that underneath the facade, narcissists are insecure; that narcissists really are better looking or smarter; that some degree of narcissism is healthy; and that narcissism is nothing more than a bit of physical vanity. All rubbish, says the research. As for the first claim, “narcissists think they are smarter, better looking, and more important than others, but not necessarily more moral, more caring, or more compassionate.” As for the second (that narcissism is a defense against unconscious insecurity), “it turns out that deep down inside, narcissists think they’re awesome.” (This is one area in which the cultural narcissists studied in this book may differ from people with some forms of clinical narcissistic personality disorder. The personality disorder is typically characterized by extreme anger that masks grief of deep emotional wounds and self-doubt. Perhaps further research on severe cases will reveal important differences between the cultural narcissist and the clinical narcissist.)

As for the claim that some narcissism is healthy in a competitive society, the authors argue that “it would be better for everyone not to concentrate on self-feelings—positive or negative—quite so much.” The book’s language here runs against the grain of much conventional wisdom in modern psychology. The authors put the case this way: “Think about the deepest joy you experience in life—it doesn’t typically come from thinking about how great you are. Instead, it comes from connecting with the world and getting away from yourself, as when you enjoy time with friends, family, and children, are engaged at work, or do all-absorbing tasks such as art, writing, crafts, athletics, or helping others.” Twenge and Campbell are drawing here on research from the so-called positive psychology movement, which recently has attempted to shift the focus of psychological research away from disease and disorder to a study of the character strengths that make for happiness and human flourishing. In the process, this research program seems to have rediscovered the list of classical (and even Christian) virtues. Yes, forgetting about myself and giving myself generously to others is a prescription for happiness.

The narcissism epidemic is the common denominator underneath many contemporary trends—from grade inflation, to the crass and aggressive tone of so much entertainment, to birthday gifts for high school girls that stupefy the imagination. A friend who teaches at a Catholic high school in Orange County, California, confirmed Twenge and Campbell’s claim that breast augmentation surgery has become a common graduation gift from parents to their teenage daughters.

“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” saith the preacher. “Hell, yeah, I’m hot!” saith the Facebook home page. This is vanity on steroids, and it is becoming the norm. From whence will we find the cure for this disease? As the authors argue, we need to implement reforms in parenting styles, the media, education, economic policy, and the tone of political and social life. No one who reads this book can reasonably disagree with these prescriptions. But we need more. The virtue of humility is the real antidote, and Twenge and Campbell endorse this. But even among the noblest pagans such as Aristotle, humility was not included among the list of virtues. Humility is a distinctively Christian virtue, grounded in the doctrine of Christ’s kenosis. It is not triumphalism, but simply a fact of history: Christianity was the leaven that shaped a more humble and humane culture; gave rise to America’s founding values; and, ultimately, prevented us from worshipping ourselves. The cure? Either we will become the salt and light that purge and dispel the insipid narcissism that surrounds us, or our culture will continue to descend deeper into the loud, crass, and aggressive cult of self-worship.

Two things grabbed my attention. The first was the parallel I see between the authors' description of psychological health and the Bible's prescription of love as the greatest virtue: self-forgetfulness in the context of things greater than one's self. You cannot worship God or love people while consumed with what you see in the mirror.

The second was the interpretation of grade inflation, aggressive attitudes in entertainment (and, increasingly, in person), and age-inappropriate gifts (breast-implants for high school girls?) as symptoms of narcissism. I can't disagree. The common denominator between these (and other cultural phenomena) seems to be an inflated sense of self-worth. I'm stupefied at how often my students share with me what I can't say to them or call them or expect of them, etc. It's as if, upon entering my classroom, I unknowingly entered some kind of kingdom whose borders extend about as far as ear-shot.

An extension of this the expectation I encounter in the classroom and among so many educators that every assignment be graded and given credit (for simply being "completed", and not necessarily for "accuracy"). Or, that every effort be acknowledged and assigned some kind of merit. I have to observe that almost no where else in life outside the classroom (though this thinking, because classrooms are ubiquitous, seems to be infecting other arenas) is one's every move noted, evaluated by some criteria, and then duly celebrated. When did I last get credit for keeping my cool all evening on the night that I didn't get a brief nap? Who has the time to recognize all such virtues and vices? And who has the stamina to "stop" life in order to render such due recognition? Having learned that people respond to praise, we've quickly become obsessed with finding everything that's praise worthy and pointing it out to the world. We ought not be surprised to find that we crumble under such stress; I seem to recall something about God being the only one who could meet out such perfect justice, and that he promised he would. (Rom 2:6; Matt 13:24-30)

BHT

The Paradox of Rebuke: Pleasurably Painful

One of the things about the Bible that I love is how it rebukes people. There's nothing quite so invigorating and illuminating as a piercing, penetrating declaration that you're wrong which, at that moment of delivery, is self-evident and undeniable. This is the moment of confession, except it's a bit less voluntary. But that's the beauty: ever been at least partially relieved when your cover's been blown unexpectedly? You did want to come clean, and you're ashamed now that it's in the open, but the relief that comes not only from not having to maintain appearances but from actually doing what's right can be intoxicating.

This kind of thing is not unique to Christianity; the same can be said of true friends: when you're wrong and they have the courage to confront you in a truthful but winsome way, the pain they inflict can be excruciating but you love them for it. There's a kind of life that comes in the midst of that part of yourself that dies in such a moment. As if to woo those who follow other faiths, the Scriptures speak to human-, not just Christian-, experience: "Faithful are the wounds of a friend; deceitful are the kisses of an enemy." (Prov 27:6)

A few such passages of late for me have been in the Hebrew book of Proverbs:

Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life;
he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin. (13:3)

A soft answer turns away wrath,
but a harsh word stirs up anger. (15:1)

A gentle tongue is a tree of life,
but perverseness in it breaks the spirit. (15:4)

A hot-tempered man stirs up strife,
but he who is slow to anger quiets contention. (15:18)

You see the thread that runs through this canvass. And as if that weren't enough, I was reminded that to let such rebukes go unheaded would only further my ruin:

Whoever despises the word brings destruction on himself,

but he who reveres the commandment will be rewarded. (13:13)

And yet, amidst all the "threats" and embarassment and shame and regret, there is an inexplicable sweetness in my soul: I'm clean, forgiven, and less blind to my sins as I was yesterday and even this morning, and best of all I've been freed from such prisons to preserve my life, give soft answers, speak gently, and quiet contention. I'm not only free from doing only bad but also free to do what's good and sweet to others' souls as well. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

BHT