Holger Danske

Holger Danske

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    The Long View: Art Lessons

    I love this essay. Once I read it, I never saw the National Endowment for the Arts the same way. John had a way of framing things that was simultaneously novel and familiar, and this is one of the best examples of that for me. There are probably a dozen quips in this article that resonate with me, even now.

    By way of example:

    However, since there was no one agency at the federal level responsible for subsidizing "art," the 1950s began to hear complaints that it was absurd for the United States to have no mechanism to promote high culture. European countries, famous artists complained, routinely spent large fractions of their budgets to patronize artists and showcase the national artistic heritage. (This is yet more true today. The French even have a Deputy Minister for Culture in charge of promoting French rock- and-roll. That is why you whistle French pop music on the way to work.]

    There actually is French pop music I like. You can thank Slumdog Millionaire for that.

    I also listen to NPR, because I am in fact a SWPL.

    Art Lessons:
    Learning from the Rise and Fall of Public Arts Funding
    by Alice Goldfarb Marquis
    Basic Books, 1995
    ISBN: 0-465-00437-7


    Funding the Artistic Deficit

    The best way to learn about a large subject is to become thoroughly familiar with some small part of it. The part you learn about will provide a point of reference for the study of the whole, which otherwise would appear to be a mass of unrelated detail. That is just what this book, by an independent scholar at the University of California at San Diego, does for the collapse of the fine arts in the late twentieth century. The focus of the book is the history (and prehistory) of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), the agency founded in 1965 to help raise the populace to a level of artistic sophistication worthy of the Kennedy and Johnson Administrations.

    It really should be emphasized just how small the NEA is in the scheme of things. At the height of its funding in the 1980s, it disposed of only about $170 million dollars per year. More than half of this went to salaries and supporting expenses, and the whole was less than New York City alone spent on artistic endeavors. It should also be emphasized how little of what money the NEA does manage to distribute goes to produce such works as Andres Serrano's "Piss Christ" or the homoerotic-sadomasochistic photographs by Robert Mapplethorpe. The NEA is in many ways simply a pretentious patronage organization: Congress has been funding it because it pays for cultural festivals and museum exhibitions in the members' home districts. It is not even an "endowment" in any serious sense of the word, since it has no assets but what Congress appropriates. Its very existence is up for review every two years. However, the NEA is significant as the point where several tales meet. In it we see the power of local campaign contributors, the influence of the foundations and the long story of the exhaustion of the arts in the modern era. The Endowment has always been a largely symbolic institution. Its history provides a symbolic guide to trends far more important than the agency itself.

    While America has never been terribly enthusiastic about the principle of "art for art's sake," it has always been enthusiastic about the "art religion." This nineteenth century cult rests on the slightly incoherent conviction that certain pictures, buildings and public performances are in themselves good for the soul and good for society. It is a cheerful cult. As Alice Goldfarb Marquis suggests, its spirit is that of the 1957 musical, "The Music Man," in which a town is persuaded to save itself from moral degeneration by a mellifluous con-man, who sells them equipment for a marching band. In the nineteenth century, of course, this national project of moral uplift was carried out on the Chautauqua circuit, in vaudeville halls and in granges. Scenes from Shakespearean plays might be followed by a dog act, followed in turn by a reading of treacly poetry. People gladly heard new compositions by serious contemporary composers, which might appear on the same bill as Sousa marches (Sousa, after all, was contemporary, too). Even then, of course, there was some distinction between vulgar spectacle and serious art, but in the United States this did not really become institutionalized until around the turn of the century. The instrument that separated high culture from mere popular entertainment was the nonprofit corporation.

    At least in its artistic incarnation, this novel class of institution first appeared in the neighborhood of Boston. At that time, the city was largely overrun by an Irish rabble, so the better people of the city sought to create institutions in which civilization could be in some measure preserved. The museums and orchestras which the new foundations funded were, of course, "public" institutions. Certainly there were open to anyone who could pay admission, or even for free. Their chief claim to tax exemption lay in the assertion that they were providing public services. This was perfectly true. However, from that day to this the foundations, and the purely public agencies that followed them, have always dissimulated about the size of the audience they served. The Boston orchestras and museums served a relatively small public drawn from the class of well-educated professionals. It was true then, and it is true today. National Public Radio, for instance, provides some excellent programming, but for all their protestations of populism and diversity, their denim-clad audience consists of the spiritual descendents of those Bostonians in evening dress and furs. The "public" of the not-for-profit cultural organizations, like the "people" of who embody Rousseau's "General Will," somehow always seems to be limited to about 10% of the actual population.

    In the decades that followed, government at various levels spent quite a lot on "art" of various sorts. The General Services Administration of the federal government, for instance, has long required that the construction budgets for federal buildings contain a certain amount for art. Funding bills for education routinely provided for money to bring art into the schools. Neither were localities neglectful of their duties to the art religion, particularly with regard to serious music. The City of New York, for instance, organized New York City Center in record time during the Second World War and lodged it in a conveniently derelict Masonic Hall. However, since there was no one agency at the federal level responsible for subsidizing "art," the 1950s began to hear complaints that it was absurd for the United States to have no mechanism to promote high culture. European countries, famous artists complained, routinely spent large fractions of their budgets to patronize artists and showcase the national artistic heritage. (This is yet more true today. The French even have a Deputy Minister for Culture in charge of promoting French rock- and-roll. That is why you whistle French pop music on the way to work.]

    The charge of American stinginess was nonsense, of course. In addition to the nonprofit cultural corporations, which by 1965 were donating more than half-a-billion dollars to cultural activities annually, America had produced another invention, the "charitable" tax deduction. This essentially lets individuals and corporations subsidize cultural activity using public money. (Much of this money, of course, does not go to support secular cultural activities, but then one might take this fact as an instance of people voting with their wallets.) Be this as it may, enlightened opinion in the Kennedy Administration had it that the United States would not be an intellectually mature nation until it had a national arts agency. Indeed, an arts agency was held to be a necessity in the Cold War, since the Russians ran a cultural propaganda industry as lavish as their Olympic sports program. The NEA, in other words, was created by much the same people, and for some of the same reasons, as those that brought us the war in Vietnam.

    Lyndon Johnson actually got Congress to buy these arguments. He did this partly as yet another homage to his supposedly more civilized predecessor, though in fact John Kennedy did not have much interest in the arts, either. As is so often the case, it was his wife who was the priestess of the art religion in their household. The chief problem in designing the arts agency was to find some mechanism to keep both the scholars and the artists happy. The original idea of creating a single "culture" department was abandoned when it became clear these two groups had different interests. The solution was to create two agencies, the NEA and the NEH (National Endowment for the Humanities), both components, for reasons known only to God, of the Department of the Interior. The NEH, which tends to fund things like bookwriting fellowships, has arguably become more politically correct in recent years than ever the NEA did, but its efforts, being usually less visible, attract less criticism. The structure of the NEA is supposed to be simple. The chair ultimately decides which applicants are given grants. He is assisted in this by a council, whose members, presumably artists themselves, serve for a term of years. (Later legislation forbade the chair to grant any applications rejected by the council.) The council, turn, is advised by a variable number of panels of artists and experts, each panel dedicated to a special area, such as "jazz" or "dance" or "ceramics."

    This rather hierarchical structure originally provoked fears that the chair would become a culture Czar, and that the National Council on the Arts would become a Star Chamber of national taste. Nothing of the kind happened, of course. The original NEA council consisted of strong personalities prominent in the arts. The amount of money they had to distribute in the early years was derisory, $2.5 million in the first year, maybe a thirtieth of what the Ford Foundation was spending on symphony orchestras alone. The council members all quickly set a pattern of grabbing for their own areas whatever funds there were. Richard Nixon, the architect of the late liberal state, increased these appropriations ten and twenty-fold in the delusory hope that then artists would hate him less. As money became available on a regular basis, arts organizations formed to receive it. Museums of this and that, dance troupes and university theater companies proliferated to a degree that can only be called dismaying. The process of institution-building was considerably facilitated by the new cadres of professional philanthropists created by the foundations, particularly Ford, to administer the distribution of their money.

    The growth of state arts councils was a large part of the story. Populated by local notables who also happened to be the chief campaign contributors to most members of Congress, they developed a matching-grant arrangement with the NEA, whereby a little federal money provided the seal of approval for a lot of state and local money. Since the organizations in question often depended on public money (though rarely federal money alone), grants tended to become entitlements. The number of applications ballooned, but the bulk of NEA money inevitably gravitated to a few large, gray arts institutions, suitable venues for the public-spirited activities of the NEA's upper middle class grassroots.

    By the 1970s, the NEA council was populated by foundation trustees, museum directors, and similar busy art bureaucrats who often failed to attend meetings. When their attention could be spared, they were no less greedy and parochial than their colorful predecessors had been. Almost all of the NEA chairs have been canny administrators with a subtle understanding of the ways of Washington. However, with the exception of Livingston Biddle, appointed during the Carter Administration, they have not been cultured people possessing a sophisticated understanding either of cultural history or of the contemporary arts. Neither they nor the council had any cultural policies, nor any real standards by which to judge the 17,000 applications that came before them every year. Their press releases emphasized the search for excellence, but in fact their chief goal was the satisfaction or one or another artistic community. The injection of multiculturalism into the process, initiated largely through the intervention of Joan Mondale, wife of Carter's Vice President, did nothing to clarify the situation. Since the heads of the agency had no criteria, neither did the immense staff that the agency soon had to create to handle the paperflow. The end result was that the arts panels, flown to Washington and housed at great expense for their periodic meetings, became in most cases the final voices, indeed the only voices, on which artistic projects should be funded. The applications for which the panelists voiced support were often those of friends, who just as often returned the favor when they themselves were appointed to be panelists.

    It is at this point in our tale of bureaucratic inertia that we encounter one of the great, silent realities of contemporary history. Even before NEA began to be put on a shorter leash during the Republican administrations of the 1980s, its leaders understood that they were not funding a new Renaissance. This realization was something of a surprise, since hopes of this order had in fact been entertained during the heady days of the Kennedy Administration. After all, hadn't the 50s seen the birth of the International Style in architecture? Didn't Jackson Pollack's painting make a thousand years of representational art obsolete? Wasn't music being transformed by the experimentation of people like John Cage? One cringes to hear such assessments today, but sophisticated people really did believe such things thirty years ago. The applications for new artistic work the NEA received were mostly unobjectionable exercises in various forms of modernism. There was no reason not to fund them, but not even the NEA could pretend that the world would be a much worse place if they were never executed. The bureaucratic locution for the fact that most new art is not very good is "the artistic deficit." The artists had run out of new things to say.

    The actual sterility of the past forty years has in no way discouraged the NEA (or other arts funders) from relentlessly promoting the ideology of modern art, which holds that there is always an avant garde pushing the arts in new, exciting directions. However, ideology is not everything, and even a passionate conviction in the eternal value of the shock of the new has not prevented most arts money from going to enterprises that are essentially curatorial. For instance, it is true that a vast number of new operas have been written and produced in the last two decades. Much of this work has been sponsored by universities. (A doctoral project of this sort provides the framework for Robertson Davies' novel, The Lyre of Orpheus (1988). Unlike the situation in the book, operas today are frequently driven by the libretto rather than the music. There are so many of them because they have become a form of literature.) Despite all this original work, however, opera companies continue to produce the old war-horses, their Don Giovannis and Zauberfloeten, to the unending satisfaction of their audiences. The state of orchestral music is even more revealing. Thanks in no small part to the NEA and the foundations, there are now about 2000 symphony orchestras in the United States from sea to shining sea, maybe a 170 of them professional companies. They will, from time to time, perform a contemporary piece, provided it's short and scheduled so that the audience cannot easily flee the theatre. However, the reality is that the repertoire of classical must is becoming as fixed as the list of the Chinese Five Classics. It follows an arc from Mozart to Mahler, and no amount of avant garde boosterism has made much progress toward expanding the canon. For most purposes, Western classical music is as "finished" as Euclidean geometry.

    Nine-tenths of what the NEA does, therefore, has been consistently conservative. It was the other tenth that got it into trouble. In most people's lives in the 1970s and 80s, the NEA was likely to intrude as one of the sponsors of a new, appalling piece of sculpture in some local public place. It probably is not true that the NEA itself has a prejudice against representational art; that would require a level of aesthetic coherence that has always been beyond its ability. However, the NEA panelists who actually chose among the proposed sculptures certainly had (and have) such a prejudice. Thus, public spaces tended to fill up with stuff like the hard-to-describe "Batcolumn" in Chicago or "Tilted Arc" in New York. The latter, a long steel wall cutting across the courtyard of the federal building in lower Manhattan, actually made the front doors of the building almost unusable in high winds. While the artists' contracts and state laws often made it nearly impossible to remove such objects once they had been installed, some, such as the construction of yellow aluminum parallelograms set up to great fanfare in Flint, Michigan, displayed a gratifying tendency to collapse on their own. Though rarely causing moral outrage, these sculptures did create the impression in much of the general public that the people running the NEA must be very odd people indeed.

    It took the politically radical and sexually aggressive art of the 1980s to persuade much of the public that the NEA was positively evil. Art Lessons does not dwell on the horror- story projects that made the agency the apple of the demagogue's eye, though it does mention some that had escaped my attention, such as the animal-rights film that consisted of a repeating sequence of a dog being shot, and of the performance art that involved suspending the artist from the ceiling of the gallery with fishhooks. Called to account for these goings-on, the council and the chair (for most of the period, the stolid and sensible Reagan-appointee Frank Hodsoll) could justly point to two layers of insulation from the dead dogs and suspended artists.

    There were, of course, the panels themselves. The artist panel-members really were not doing much work that even they found very interesting. However, we should remember that the 1980s were a period of "asset" inflation, when the market value of everything from real estate to classic cars rose to absurd heights. New art was no different. The panelists thought that, since you could sell bones in a bag for hundreds of thousands of dollars, art was pretty much anything they said it was. The Endowment's money had to be spent somehow. They also recalled the slogan of the nineteenth century avant garde, "Shock the bourgeoisie!" Indeed, this was almost the last artistic criterion they were willing to entertain. For a project to be repellant was in itself something of a plus for it. The second layer of insulation was provided by the arts organizations to which most grants actually went. The Mapplethorpe photo exhibition, for instance, was actually staged by museums. The NEA trusted the good sense of the curators, and in fact most of the exhibition consisted of perfectly respectable still-lifes. NEA applications are the size of a book, but they do not always give the agency a clear idea of just what the artists who eventually received the money would do with it. However, plausible deniability did not protect the NEA from the wrath of Congress, an institution inhabited by perhaps the last section of the bourgeoisie still capable of being shocked.

    Government funding for the arts is now in decline, and not just at the federal level. It appears that we are in for a transformation of art institutions (and art markets) as great as that which occurred in the 1960s. There is no great mystery about why: they have been overbuilt, and many have lost touch with any real audience. Ms. Marquis hopes for something of a return to the 19th century, with impresarios providing a variety of arts, high and low, in response to the actual demand to be found in each local area. These people would merit some public funding. Unlike the back-slapping art panels of the current system, they would be accountable for the projects they promoted. At the very least, recommercializing the high arts would loose them from the deadening grip of the universities. To me at least, the idea of a federally supported P. T. Barnum in every state, or even every congressional district, does have some appeal. It would surely be less wasteful and less productive of embarrassment than the current system. However, it would not produce any more art of lasting value.

    The crisis in the art business goes far beyond budget constraints. The fact is that we created this ecology of tax-supported, nonprofit art enterprises because we were confident that we could create work the equal of anything from the past. The NEA reflected the optimism of the 1960s, when it seemed that the world was going to be made new, and better, from the ground up. This is not a premonition widely shared today. Maybe the old Bostonians were right after all. The long-term goal, both of public and non-for-profit funding, may have to be limited to preservation. If ever another golden age does dawn on the arts in America, it will be because our familiarity with the golden ages of the past prepared us to receive it.


    This article originally appeared in the February 1996 issue of Culture Wars magazine. Please click on the following line for more information:

    Copyright © 1996 by John J. Reilly


    CrossFit 2014-07-01


    • 1 RM weighted pullup
    • Max reps strict handstand pushup
    • 2 minutes double-unders
    • 500m row

    Weight and reps

    • 60#
    • 5 HSPU
    • 25 DU
    • 1:48 row

    The Long View: Polemical Writings

    I've long been a fan of polemical writings. Witness my popular Amazon review of Ed Feser's polemical assault on the New Atheists, The Last Superstition. John was a fan too, I think, even though he himself was of a rather mild disposition. Maybe impish is a better description.

    My favorite of all these is his piece on the National Endowment for the Arts, Art Lessons. I will never look at P. T. Barnum, or the NEA, the same way. I think I'll post that one next.

    As usual, most of these writings aren't posted yet. You can find them by downloading John's entire site, using an internet archive, or just being patient for me to get to 15+ years of John's digital writings.



    Polemical Writings

    It takes a lot of government to keep libertarians living in anarchy.



    The Triumph of Consciousness III (Charles Reich was right.) After America (Mark Steyn explains that things are as bad as they seem.) Red Capitalism (Carl E. Walter and Fraser J. T. Howie describe the fragile financial system of China.)


    The Overton Window (Glenn Beck reveals the danger to Archduke Ferdinand.)


    The Death of Conservatism (Sam Tanenhaus throws rocks in a glass house.)

    Left in Dark Times (Bernard-Henri Lévy tries to save the Left from the Counter Enlightenment.) Grand New Party (Ross Douthat and Reihan Salam show the way to political realignment through Sam's Club.)




    The Last Superstition Book Review

    This book review was accidentally taken down in a site update. This is the most popular book review I have ever written, so it seems worthwhile to revisit. I've long been a fan of Ed Feser, and I recommend his work. The tone of The Last Superstition has been offputting to some, but Feser knew what he was doing. If you think Feser is bad, you should read the things his critics have said about him. At least Feser feels the need to prove his assertions. If that isn't your cup of tea, he has written plenty of books with a more academic tone. Philosophy of Mind is well done. I haven't yet read Aquinas, but I managed to acquire two copies already.

    The Last Superstition
    by Edward Feser
    ISBN 978-1587314520; $19.00

    Edward Feser's The Last Superstition is a polemical work. However, this should not be surprising for two reasons. First, Feser is dealing with amounts to not mere nonsense, but nonsense on stilts. Second, Feser once wrote an essay entitled, "Can Philosophy be Polemical?", pondering whether it is appropriate to engage in polemical debate over philosophical questions. In this book, Feser answers that question in the affirmative. He freely admits in the preface, "If this seems to be an angry book, that is because it is." (TLS, x) Feser regards the creed of the New Atheists as dangerous both personally and socially, and his response is écrasez l'infâme.

    The Last Superstition is the book I had been wanting, not because it is a tract against the New Atheism, but because it summarizes the best arguments for an Aristotelian-Thomist metaphysics in the face of modern objections. This metaphysics is presented as it developed historically, beginning with the pre-Socratics, on through Plato and Aristotle, to its full flowering among the Scholastics. Feser covers change, actuality and potency, form and matter, the four causes, arguments for the existence of God, and the rational foundations of morality.

    By succinctly providing this history, Feser is providing a service to all those who have forgotten, or never truly knew what are the main features of an Aristotelian philosophy. For Feser's most damning criticism of Richard Dawkins et al. is that they have simply not bothered to do their homework. By not collecting the relevant data, they have sinned against the spirit of the science in whose name they crusade. To publish a scientific paper without any evidence would be scandalous, but is precisely the case that Feser makes against them. None of the New Atheists demonstrates any familiarity with the actual arguments of historical theist philosophers except for Rev. William Paley, who functions as a convenient whipping boy.

    By way of example, Feser quotes the admission of philosopher Antony Flew in 2004 that he now believes in the existence of God despite a lifetime of argument to the contrary. Flew admitted that he had never actually considered the Aristotelian arguments for the existence of God, and was forced to admit their cogency upon doing so. Those whom Feser targets in The Last Superstition have not yet bothered to consult the texts. Feser documents this amply through quotations from the New Atheists' works.

    The weakest part of Feser's argument is in the section on natural law. The difficulty is not that the best contemporary formulation is not presented. The difficulty is that contemporary natural law arguments use human, homo sapiens, and person univocally. These are not just different things, they are different kinds of things. To use the Scholastic terminology, each belongs to a different genus. However, this failure leaves Feser's main argument untouched, because Aristotle and Aquinas were alike able to discern rational foundations for morality without the benefit of a modern doctrine of natural rights that makes use of equivocal terms.

    Feser's references are very good, providing further information for the many points which could be elaborated upon. Covering as much ground as this book does would be impossible without considering a great many complicated and subtle topics briefly. However, this is not to say that Feser does not adequately address his topic. He makes short work of the New Atheists due to the poverty of their arguments, and then briefly presents arguments that modernity is more comprehensible if one considers modern problems in light of broadly Aristotelian philosophy. In particular, many of the perennial questions of modern philosophy, such as the mind-body problem or the validity of inductive reasoning become explainable with Aristotle's more robust account of causation. Feser's task is made easier here by the latent Aristotelianism lurking in every corner of Western Civilization. We do not notice our debt to Aristotle for the same reason that fish do not feel wet.

    Edward Feser's The Last Superstition is a worthy introduction to the realist philosophical tradition, and is enlivened by Feser's sharp wit. Good for anyone who would like to know more about Aristotelian philosophy.



    The Long View 2002-02-27: Getting Back to Normal

    Thirteen years later, and we don't really seem back to normal. The immediate, searing impact of 9-11 on most American's consciousness has faded, but by and large we seem resigned to the changes it wrought on our country. We gripe about the TSA, but we still have it. The NSA still keeps absurdly detailed track of everything and everyone. Domestic politics has returned to the forefront after the Housing Bubble, but even President Obama cannot escape political fallout from events in Syria and Ukraine.

    Getting Back to Normal

    Here we are at nearly six months after September 11, and many people are saying that the time has come to get back to normal. They are not saying this because the security situation has changed fundamentally since then. The international terrorist network still exists. The clock is still ticking while states lethally hostile to the United States develop nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons. The problem is that the emergency changed the subject for almost everyone with a political agenda. Now the people with agendas want it changed back.

    The bulk of the unrest is among partisan Democrats, of course. They want to talk about HMO regulation, women's issues, reparations for slavery, anything at all but foreign affairs and military strategy. The biggest effort to break free is the investigation, indeed the dozen investigations, into the Enron affair. This is showing signs of becoming the Democrat's version of the Vince Foster suicide: there comes a point when the the persistence of the investigators becomes the scandal.

    That said, though, there are also quite a number of "conservatives," variously defined, who also wish to have done with post-911 politics. Moral reformers are frustrated that the Bush Administration has scarcely a word to say in opposition to abortion these days. The general drift of the Administration's social-service policy is pro-family, so the reformers' unhappiness is not acute. Among the most unhappy people in America, however, are Libertarians and some business groups.

    War may or may not be the health of the state, but it certainly makes discussions about supply-side economics and privatization irrelevant. It is possible that the tax cuts the Bush Administration got enacted in its first few months will remain in place, but there will be no more. Since cutting taxes is the only reason some Republicans run for office, the Administration has not had a particularly easy time with its own party.



    CrossFit 2014-06-27


    5 rounds

    • 400m run
    • Overhead squat [65#]

    Time 19:39


    CrossFit 2014-06-26

    Front squat




    The Long View: Ecumenical Jihad

    Ecumenical Jihad is another book I read because of John. I like Peter Kreeft's work, but I find him a little odd. I think John did too. Which isn't to say his ideas aren't interesting. John recommends reading this book along with Samuel Huntington's Clash of Civilizations. I'm willing to guess the readership for the two books doesn't overlap much. More's the pity, since you can learn a lot more from the two together.

    There are a couple of lines in this review that strike me 18 years later. John, like me, has an eye for Providence. One of the more reasonable versions of American Exceptionalism notes that America has done far better than any judicious independent observer would have predicted [except maybe Tocqueville]. History seems to show many instances where things have turned out better than anyone intended. You should not be surprised by this.


    An interesting feature of Kreeft's Holy War is that he does not purport to be able to say how it will be won, or even what victory would look like. God is full of surprises, he reminds us, and we are likely to be astonished by the solution God actually devises. Though he does not mention the analogy himself, the whole thing sounds rather like the strategy devised at Rivendell for Tolkien's War of the Ring. By any reasonable criteria, defense against the Shadow was hopeless and an offense would have been insane. In the event, however, victory depended on not being reasonable.


    He is plainly in love with Thomism and, like many people in love with a theory, he genuinely cannot see why other people do not accept it.


    Throughout fourteen centuries of Muslim-Christian conflict, both sides have repeatedly noted the commonalities between the two faiths and sometimes hoped for a commonality of interests. Never yet have these hopes been realized beyond the sort of temporary military alliances of which Samuel Huntington might approve. Kreeft more than once cites a poll finding that only 5% of Muslims today understand Jihad in a military sense. I don't quite see how you could poll the members of a religion that extends from Bosnia to Malaysia. Whatever that number represents, however, I strongly suspect that the percentage of Muslims who believe that Jihad absolutely excludes a military sense is zero.

    Ecumenical Jihad: Ecumenism and the Culture War
    by Peter Kreeft
    Ignatius Press, 1996
    172 Pages, $10.95
    ISBN: 0-89870-579-7

    The Really Good War

    This book belongs on the same reading list as Samuel Huntington's "The Clash of Civilizations." Huntington's thesis is much discussed these days. According to him, whereas the global politics of the past few centuries was about conflicts between nations within western civilization, the global politics of the twenty-first century will be about conflicts among civilizations. The primary contenders will, perhaps, be China, Islam and the West. He further alleges that the moral and political principles that the West, and particularly the United States, spend so much effort promoting in the world as universal goods are in reality culture-specific customs. Freedom of speech, from this point of view, is as parochial a practice as eating with forks, and so is only imperfectly exportable. He advises that we cease trying to promote a pseudo-universal ethic and concentrate on realistic issues of trade and military balance.

    Peter Kreeft, a professor of philosophy at Boston College, thinks otherwise. According to him, the real division in the world today is between those who accept some form of natural law and those who do not. While people on either side of this divide can be found in every society, today overwhelming the opponents of natural law are to be found in the West, particularly in the United States (and even, one suspects, in no small part in the neighborhood of Boston). His analysis is explicitly eschatological. What we are seeing, he says, is the tangible incarnation of the City of God and of the City of the World as described by Saint Augustine. While he carefully distances himself from the proposition that the Battle of Armageddon is necessarily imminent, he does suggest a three-stage model of Christian history in which the first millennium was one of unity, the second is one of division, and the third will be one of unity restored. Such a schema is, of course, more than a little suggestive of Joachim of Fiore's three-stage model of history, as is Kreeft's expectation of a dramatic transition between the second and third eras. According to Kreeft, what we should not only expect but prepare for is a universal conflict in which the allied forces of light within every nation do battle with the forces of darkness, who are increasingly in league.

    What we have here is a diversity of opinion. The short answer to Huntington might be that his cultural relativism is as Western as Occam's Razor (in fact, I strongly suspect it is a lineal descendent of Occam's Razor). The short answer to Kreeft might be that he was overly impressed with the success the Vatican achieved in alliance with conservative Muslim states at the 1994 Cairo Conference on Population. (On that occasion, readers will recall, this alliance succeed in defeating some of the more obviously pathological proposals of the American and West European delegations regarding the definition of the family and the status of abortion rights under international law.) Short answers are rarely complete answers, however, and in fact there is something to be said for both theses. Here I will attempt to provide a long answer to Peter Kreeft.



    CrossFit 2014-06-23

    Skill test

    14 hands off pushups in 1 minute

    Mighty Mouse

    • 1000m row
    • 15 clean and jerks [95#]
    • 100 air squats

    Time 12:29


    CrossFit 2014-06-19


    12 rounds

    • 2 kipping handstand pushups
    • 5 power snatches [65#]

    Time 15:15