Spring Semester Classes

After a lengthy layoff, the spring semester begins on Monday. Here are the classes I'll be taking:

History of Philosophy: Medieval -- The riveting sequel to "History of Philosophy: Ancient," which I took last semester. This one's taught by Fr. Augustine Thompson, OP, who taught me in Aristotelian Logic. This course will cover the movement in the Western philosophical tradition from the classical and late antique world to Christendom and the "scholastic" system of philosophy which dominated in the 12th through 14th centuries. We'll also talk about parallel movements in Jewish and Muslim philosophy, especially those which impacted scholasticism. (After all, Western Europe recovered the texts of Plato and Aristotle largely thanks to the Muslim scholars who had preserved, studied, and commented on them. Just as St. Thomas shows his respect by referring to Aristotle simply as "The Philosopher" and St. Paul as "The Apostle," the Muslim philosopher Averroes is referred to by Aquinas as "The Commentator.") I've always appreciated medieval philosophy for its sound methodology, particularly its insistence on considering all sides of a question when answering it. I look forward to sharing more about this class with y'all.

Philosophical Anthropology -- The exciting follow-up to "Philosophy of Nature," also taught by Fr. Michael Dodds, OP. Where Philosophy of Nature gave us the Aristotelian-Thomistic account of change in the natural world, this course will give us the Aristotelian-Thomistic account of the human person. What's a person made of? What makes a human being a human being? We'll be using a lot of the same categories of form and matter, substance and accident, act and potency, that we did in the last class, I'm sure.

Metaphysics -- The very name of this class often sends chills down the spine. It can seem so intimidating: "the philosophy of being." What is the nature of being? What is the relationship between essence and existence? Not a few people would respond to these questions with a blank stare and a "Huh?" not even sure what the questions asks, let alone what the answer is. I'm hopeful that Dr. Marga Vega will help sort some of these things out.

Patristic Spirituality -- This class is being taught over at the Jesuit School of Theology, another school within the GTU. As much as we might like to poke fun at "The J" (as I'm sure they do us), I've heard nothing but good things about this professor, Dr. Thomas Cattoi. (You may perhaps remember his name: he was one of the presenters for the panel the school held last December on Pope Benedict's new book.) This class will focus on the spiritual theology of some of the Eastern church fathers (that is, important and influential clerics and theologians who lived in the first several centuries of the Church). In particular, we'll investigate the concept of "apotheosis," Greek for (very, VERY roughly) "becoming God-like." The goal, or end, or telos, or final cause of the Christian life is for the Christian to grow in relationship with God so that the Christian participates more and more fully in God's own life. The old patristic saying goes: "God became man so that man might become God"--not in a pantheistic, "raindrop absorbed in the ocean" kind of way, but in a participatory way. I sure hope I'll be able to explain it better as the semester goes on.

I am, as the kids say, totally stoked for these classes! Can't wait!

The Week in Review: Shemp for Heisman

I was depleted by a cold for most of last week. The bugger moved into my chest quite uninvited, and forced me to serve it an eviction notice (i.e. antibiotics). I was unable to go to class or work for a few days, but I made the best of the time by getting a few papers finished and a few others furthered. Thankfully, I'm nearly back to full strength now, just in time for The Big Push in this last week of the semester.

The school hosted an end-of-the-semester/Christmas party for the students and staff last Friday. It was preceded by a vigil Mass for the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. They served delicious foods of many varieties and in large quantities and a good time seemed to have been had by all. One thing I learned during this evening: if a Polish Dominican says he doesn't know how to play poker but wants to sit in, don't believe him; pretty soon, every chip will be in front of him.

The evening was also an opportunity to express our thanks to our departing registrar, Teresa Olson, whose sterling work and solid presence will be missed.

I also attended a co-worker’s 50th birthday party this weekend–that is, it was a party for his 50th birthday; I don't know how many total birthday parties he's had in his life, though it may be close to 50, and I doubt that this was the 50th party for him this year. Anyway, it was a pleasant time in which I got to try some homemade wine produced by a 5-foot tall Italian immigrant from Genoa (really good), and engage in a Three Stooges-oriented discussion on the merits of Shemp and the demerits of Joe Besser. Good times.

The Heisman Trophy winner was announced this last Saturday, and sadly for us Notre Dame fans, Manti Teo did not win, but rather Texas A&M sophomore quarterback Johnny "Football" Manziel. Yes, sophomore Johnny Football. He's not a freshman. He'd been participating in college football for a year prior to this one, though not playing in games. It's misleading to tout him as "the first freshman to win the Heisman." Certainly he's the first redshirt freshman, and that's impressive enough, so there's no need to puff up his accomplishments with inaccuracies. Johnny had a great year, and gave a great acceptance speech. I have nothing against him. I am annoyed at the talking heads in the sports media, though, because the reasons they gave for Johnny winning over Manti, mostly centering on why it's hard to evaluate a defensive player's impact, were all just plain silly. This provides us an excellent opportunity to apply the fruits of philosophical study to real-life problems. Observe (note: these are actual quotes I heard repeated multiple times during the lead-up to the trophy presentation on ESPN Radio):

--"Teo plays as part of a unit." I may not be a football expert, but I'm pretty sure that quarterbacks play as part of a unit, too. Those offensive lineman, backs, and receivers would seem to have an awful lot to do with moving the ball down the field.
-- "If Notre Dame hadn't gone 12-0, Teo wouldn't even be in this discussion." But they did go 12-0, precisely because of the leadership and outstanding play of their senior linebacker. Why does Notre Dame's undefeated record count against Teo instead of for him?
-- "Johnny Manziel had that moment on the big stage against Alabama." This is the same argument as above, only reversed: The Teo partisan could just as easily reply, "If Texas A&M hadn't beaten Alabama, Johnny Manziel wouldn't even be in this discussion." Why does Johnny Manziel get more Heisman credit for one win than Manti Teo gets for 12 wins? Why does Johnny Manziel get credit for beating the top-ranked team, but Teo is marked down for being ON the top-ranked team?
-- "You just can't evaluate a defensive player in the same way." Then, as Mel Kiper, Jr. (and virtually every ND fan on my Facebook newsfeed) has said, call it the Offensive Player of the Year and be done with it. Drop the pretense that a defensive player has a shot at this award if there's no way to evaluate one. By the way, why is it that coaches, scouts, and sports writers have no trouble calling a defensive player the best in the country except at Heisman time?

I've spoken my part. I hope Johnny Football enjoys polishing his trophy while he watches Notre Dame beat Alabama for the national championship in a few weeks.

Ladies and gents, this is the final week of the semester. I have a short paper to finish, a take-home exam to polish up, and my big research paper to write. I've done all of the research and outlining and such (in other words, about 3/4 of the work); now all that's left is composition. Pray for me and my classmates that we make it through this week with our sanity intact. (And I will pray for you, as I know that a number of my readers are students as well.) St. Thomas Aquinas, patron of students, pray for us!

The Week in Review: The Penultimate Countdown

You know how sometimes in the movies, the hero and the villain are fighting in an epic battle, and the hero delivers what he thinks is the knockout blow, and starts to walk away... then he pauses, and turns around, and finds the villain on his feet again? That sort of happened to me this week. I had all the early warning signals of the onset of a cold: extreme thirst, sore throat, light headed. I called in an airstrike of Vitamin C and felt better for the next few days. But then on Friday night, I got a tickle in my throat, which turned into a cough, which turned into a head cold, which promptly moved into my chest. Awesome. It's not too bad, really; I'm able to function, and should be back to fighting fit in a few days with the proper rest and hydration. I only mention it because I thought the analogy was funny.

My tickled throat did not prevent me from seeing Cloud Atlas with a bunch of DSPT folks on Friday, preceded by dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. If you're not familiar with Cloud Atlas, you probably still won't be even after you see it. It's a complex production that interweaves six different storylines from different time periods and different parts of the world, all loosely connected somehow and further complicated by the fact that the same six or seven actors play the important parts in each of the narrative threads, so that Tom Hanks is a 19th century doctor in one and a 1970s nuclear scientist in another; and Hugh Grant plays both a slave owner and a futuristic Korean restaurant manager. (Yeah, in the 22nd century Korean storyline, most of the main characters are white folks in prosthetic make-up made to look like Koreans. It's a little odd.) I liked the movie overall... I think. The more I think about, the more the pieces start to fit together. Still, I'll probably have to read the book to get a grip on it.

This is the last week of classes before finals next week. It's not quite time to play "The Final Countdown," and unfortunately there's no catchy 80s tune called "The Penultimate Countdown." I may not end up having any in-class final exams, but I will have one take-home exam, possibly another, a bibliography project, four short papers, and one long research paper to finish and turn in before the end of next week. So... yeah. I'll be busy the next two weeks. You may not get a mid-week post from me. But then we'll be on Christmas break, and I'll have all kinds of free time with which to compose more half-baked thoughts to inflict upon you.

As we're nearing the end of the semester, I thought it would be fun to provide you with some of my favorite quotes from classes:

Intro to New Testament:
"Time constrains me from multiplying examples, but..." (says the professor before proceeding to multiple examples.)
"We cannot escape the importance of knowing the languages these texts were composed in."
"We are transformed by the holiness of God into the holiness of God."
"Matthew is in some ways a very fussy stylist."
(This professor had many great quips during class, but most were too quick for me to catch with my pen, to my regret.)

Aristotelian Logic: 
"Would you take the next one, Brother...." (he says, trailing off, as he has apparently forgotten the Dominican student brother's name again.)
(after a visiting student correctly uses the Square of Opposition to make inferences): "You see, a child could do this!"
"'A universal is a relation by which a many is known as one.' Say it!"
(Beginning a syllogism with the premises, "All humans are rational" and "All Franciscans are human," he jokes): "Both of these are only probable, not certain."

Philosophy of Nature:
"If you start your philosophy inside the mind, you may never get out; that's the problem with most modern philosophy. If you start outside, with the external world, you might get somewhere."
Passing on a maxim from Scholastic thought: "Never deny, seldom affirm, always distinguish."

Ancient Philosophy: "Until you've read Gregory of Nyssa's Life of Moses, you're illiterate."
"Find any good Greek dictionary, and the entry for logos will be about the length of your arm."
"Everybody on the bus?" (the professor's way of asking if we understand or have any questions)
"If technology makes our lives any easier, we'll never get anything done."
About Socrates' past: "Think ex-Marine turned philosopher."
"There is a mischievous grin behind most of what Plato writes."
(Synecius of Cyrene was elected bishop of Ptolemais in 410AD): "That probably precipitated his baptism."
(About one of Basil of Caesarea's letters:) "There's nothing original here, which makes it so interesting."

The Week in Review: Irish Thanksgiving

For Thanksgiving, I was invited to the home of Tom and Kit Greerty, along with several other DSPT students. Tom is an attorney and former college football player (for Oregon State!) who is taking some classes at the DSPT, and who is one of the friendliest fellows you're likely to meet. As such, he and his wife like to invite students to their home who don't have elsewhere to go on holidays. There were about 10 or so of us students, as well as members of Tom and Kit's family. We chatted theology and philosophy by the fireside while a student in jazz guitar strummed for us. We enjoyed a delicious meal and sparkling conversation. And we partook in an epic, back-and-forth game of Trivial Pursuit that ended in defeat for my team (though, in our defense, they got WAY easier questions than we did... luck of the draw). I am quite thankful to my gracious hosts for their hospitality.

The Thanksgiving break was a good opportunity to get some work done on a few impending projects. There are only about three weeks left in the semester, and a few papers will have to be written before that time. It's going to be a bit of a marathon, but I think I've been sufficiently ahead of the game for things to get done without my losing my sanity. Hopefully.

I cannot go without being mentioned that my beloved Fighting Irish are 12-0, and await a date with destiny in the national championship game against whatever team emerges from the SEC title game. To those who consider SEC football teams automatically superior to any other foe, I will say only this: don't sleep on Notre Dame. 12 other teams made that mistake this year.

In class this week...

Intro to New Testament: Last week's class reminded me of a favorite quip of mine. We were discussing the Gospel of Mark and its features, one of which is the "Messianic Secret." This refers to all of those instances where someone, be it a blind man who is healed or a demon who is expelled, proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah, but Jesus orders them not to tell anyone. Why would he do this? It seems that Mark's Gospel is set up such that it culminates at the crucifixion with the centurion's confession, "Truly this was the Son of God"--you can't really know Jesus as the Messiah until you see him crucified. But anyway, to the joke: keep this repetition of Jesus ordering that he not be identified as the Messiah in mind. "So many Catholics are so private about their faith that it seems they think the most important of Jesus' commandments was: 'Go and tell no one.'" That's funny!

Aristotelian Logic: This story is actually from a few weeks ago, and has nothing to do with logic, but the story was told during logic class, so I'm going with it: our teacher told of a priest he knew who happened to have taught Pope John Paul II when the pontiff was a seminary student. After the pope's election, he was in a procession and spotted his old professor, shouting, "My teacher!" The priest then quipped, "Remember, Holy Father, that no student is above his master." Ha!

Philosophy of Nature: Work continues apace on my research project regarding ancient and medieval theories on "intellectual substances"/angels as the movers of the celestial spheres. I think most people would be surprised if they were told this was a perfectly straightforward scientific theory that had only been falsified once additional data was found, no different than the physical theories of Kepler, Copernicus, or Newton. Given what they knew about motion, Aristotle and Aquinas reasoned to certain conclusions. Perfectly scientific. Now, people might read that idea and laugh; physicists at one time also laughed at the idea that the universe had a beginning. Physicists in the 20th century. They thought it so obvious that, of course, the universe was eternal. Yeah. The point is, even if something sounds silly to you with the knowledge you have now, it doesn't mean it wasn't reasonable at a different time with the knowledge they had then.

Ancient Philosophy: One of the best things I've gained from this class is a greater knowledge of the sorts of philosophical ideas and categories that early Christian theologians used to help sort out some of the questions that arose about the Trinity, the nature(s) of Christ, etc. There are many examples of the Church Fathers taking a bit of "pagan" philosophy and saying, "Actually, that expresses rather well what we're trying to get it; let's just tweak it here and there, and it can work." Case in point: we read Plotinus' account of the nature of the One or the Good, which then generates the universal Intellect and the universal Soul, calling them three "hypostases." So, basically, the Neo-Platonist movement taught that the ultimate reality, the One, was really three. Sound familiar? As Fr. Ludwig put it: "These terms have a long history ahead of them in the Christian tradition." Fascinating.

The Week in Review: Hammy Jokes

Not too many events of note to share with you from this last week. It was pretty standard. (I apologize for again not producing a mid-week post, but I've got one sitting on deck, ready to go for this week.) I'll share a few random thoughts and stories:

-- Could someone explain to me why Capt. Jean-Luc Picard, a Frenchman, drinks Earl Grey tea, quotes Shakespeare, and has an English accent? Did the British finally take over France some time before the 24th century?

-- I had the following exchange with a customer in our sandwich shop the other day:

Customer: What is the difference between the ham and the smoked ham?

Me (trying to keep a straight face): Well... one is smoked, and the other isn't.

Customer: OK, so one is smokier than the other?

Me: Um... yeah.

Customer: OK, give me half of each on sourdough.

-- My landlord asked me if I knew any philosophy jokes, so I told him this one: Rene Descartes walks into a bar and orders a few rounds. Near the end of the night, the bartender asks, "Would you like another?" Descartes answers, "I think not." And disappears.

(See, because Descartes' famous line was Cogito ergo sum, "I think, therefore, I am." So the joke is that when he says, "I think not," he would cease to exist because he's no longer thinking [though that's not quite what is meant by the phrase--his point is that he can be sure of his own existence because, were he to doubt his existence, the very act of his doubting means there's someone doing the doubting. Anyway....)

On to the week in class:

Ancient Philosophy: Neo-Platonism has about as much to do with the teachings of Plato as modern-day Lutheranism has to do with the teachings of Martin Luther.

Philosophy of Nature: We've been addressing questions like, "What is time? What is motion? What is space?" You know, the simple, easy stuff. To paraphrase St. Augustine, "I know what it is until somebody asks me." It's the things that are most fundamental, the things we take for granted, that are the most difficult to define or explain. But let's try: both time and motion exist as part of continua. That is, time does not precede as a series of discrete moments, like a series of dots forming a line; nor does motion proceed in such halting steps. They are potentially or theoretically divisible into infinite parts, but not actually divisible in that way. Both time and motion are fluid transitions from something not being the case to something being the case; and indeed, we only know time because of motion, or change. Motion is the measurement of change over time. Combine this with Einstein's theory of relativity, which states that time and speed can only be measured relative to the observer, and we see that there are as many times as there are motions. Yeah, chew on that one for a while. I've spent hours over the last few weeks reading this stuff, and you get it condensed into one neat, hopefully comprehensible paragraph. You're welcome.

Intro to New Testament: "Apocalyptic" is not a word that means "scary," "destructive," or "catastrophic." The Greek word apokalypsis means "the remove the veil, to uncover, to reveal." That's why the Book of Revelation in your granny's old Bible is called "The Book of Apocalypse." We associate that word with the above-mentioned adjectives because, upon a surface reading of the text, we see an awful lot of earthquakes and fires and wrath and famines and plagues and such. These things are secondary to the real core of apocalyptic literature: someday, God is going to right the wrongs in the world, and vindicate those who have been faithful to Him. Sure, that's going to entail a bit of carnage for those who haven't been faithful, but let's not focus on the Four Horsemen so much that we forget the New Jerusalem and the Wedding Feast of the Lamb.

Aristotelian Logic: The more I study logic, the more I become convinced that it ought to be a required subject in high schools. Back in the day, it was part of the basic trivium of grammar, rhetoric, and logic that any person would have to learn before moving on to other subjects; the assumption was that you wouldn't have the ability to understand anything else if you didn't have a grasp of these three. I've found the study of logic to be a great aid to my own thinking. Imagine how different society would be if everyone were well-guarded against fallacious arguments?

The Week in Review: Syllogisms in Flight

Those of you who are attentive to patterns may have noticed that I tend to make two posts per week: one at the weekend describing the previous week's goings-on, and another at mid-week on some topic or other that I felt like expounding upon; you may have further noticed that a mid-week post from me was lacking in the last week. My apologies: it was a busy week, and I didn't have time to work out something decent. I will try to not let that happen this week. Can't let the public down. Either of you.

Apart from the cycle of class-homework-class-work-homework-work-class-etc. that I've settled into, there were a few events of note over the last week. On Tuesday the school put on another Philosophy Movie Night event, in which DSPT student Caleb Brown led the audience through the viewing of a film, pointing out  the storytelling and movie-making techniques being used by the filmmaker to convey the movie's message. That night we watched WALL-E, the Disney/Pixar film about a trash-cleaning robot who falls in love, saving humanity on the way and teaching us something about what it means to be human. I don't want to give too much away for those who haven't seen it, but for those who have seen, and for others when you do see it, think of Noah's Ark, and the movie may take on a whole different meaning for you. (By the way, the writer/director said Noah's Ark was specifically in his mind when writing the story.)

On Thursday I went with a few friends to see Flight, starring Denzel Washington. You may have seen the previews: a pilot makes a daring and amazing emergency crash landing, and admits to having had "a few drinks" the night before the flight. The commercials give the impression that the film might be about some sinister element trying to frame this hero, but really (and I don't think I'm giving too much away), the movie is about this man dealing with his addictions. There's a thread throughout about God acting in people's lives, but it's kind of subtle. Be warned: there are scenes featuring nudity and drug use. The movie can be tough to watch, but I thought it ended with a good message.

I also happened to have a nice little chat with the president of the DSPT, Father Michael Sweeney, OP, earlier this week. We were both in the school's kitchen, eating lunch, and he commented on the weather; we were soon discussing our love of the Pacific Northwest (he's from British Columbia and was pastor of a parish in Seattle for many years), and he asked me about my current studies and future aspirations. Unfortunately, I had to cut the conversation short (I was nearly late for work), but I appreciated the time he took to talk a bit with one of his school's students.

Highlights from class this week:

Philosophy of Nature: It's funny how, when scientific paradigms shift, some can be so derisive of what came before, only to be derided themselves by later generations. Some ancient models of the cosmos placed the earth at the center of the universe. Then someone came along and laughed and said, "How silly; of course, the sun is the center of the universe." Then someone came along and laughed and said, "You fool! Of course, our solar system is on the periphery of the real center of the universe." Then Einstein came along and argued that, according to his relativity theory, there actually is no center of the universe, or just as accurately, that everything is the center of the universe in relation to everything else. Let's us remember humility in the face of the great mysteries which we are trying to unravel.

History of Ancient Philosophy: It's amazing how varied are the backgrounds of ancient philosophers. Socrates was the son of a stone cutter. Aristotle was the son of the court physician to Philip of Macedon. Epictetus was born as a slave. Marcus Aurelius was born a noble and became emperor of Rome. Clear thinking and insight are not birthrights.

Introduction to New Testament: Our professor re-presented a theory of his about which I have written previously, but I realized I left something out. Do you remember the story where Jesus expels from a man demons who call themselves Legion, and they are sent into a herd of swine which then run to the shore and cast themselves into the sea, dying? I had earlier mentioned my professor's theory that this may be an allegory for driving out the Romans, since the standard of the 10th Legion stationed in Judea was a boar's head, and the demon called itself Legion. I omitted this important point: Jesus is the Messiah. The Messiah is one who rights wrongs, who punishes injustice, who re-establishes God's order. There are many references to God casting his people's enemies into the sea, or saving his people "from the raging waters"--think of the Exodus and the parting of the Red Sea. Historically for the Jews, too, the sea was symbolic of danger and chaos: storms, floods, and the invading Phoenicians, Macedonians, and Romans. Put this together with the boar's head of the 10th Legion, and we see this event, not as a political statement, but as a theological one: Jesus is the Messiah, driving the enemies of God's people into the sea.

Aristotelian Logic: We've begun discussing the form of logical argument, the syllogism. A syllogism is an argument with two premises that lead to a conclusion, like:

All men are mortal.
Socrates is a man.
Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

The class "men" is identified with a characteristic, mortality; since Socrates belongs to this class, he also posses that characteristic.

Beware of arguments, though, that look good, but are really false, like:

All U.S. presidents have been male.
Lincoln was male.
Therefore, Lincoln was a U.S. president.

All three statements are true. And we have a class of people identified with a characteristic, then an individual named as part of that class. It would seem to be like the previous example. But it ain't. Try inserting another person's name in there and see if it works:

All U.S. presidents have been male.
Charlie Chaplin was male.
Therefore, Charlie Chaplin was a U.S. president.

The problem is with the term "male." While it is true that all U.S. presidents have been male, the reverse is not true: not every male has been a U.S. president. This problem is called "the undistributed middle" (perhaps I will tackle distribution in a later post.) If we made that first statement into a negative proposition, then the middle would be distributed, and the syllogism would be valid:

No U.S. president has been a Frenchman.
Napoleon was a Frenchman.
Therefore, Napoleon was not a U.S. president.

Universal negative statements like that have distributed terms (meaning what is said of one is said of all): it is true of every Frenchman that he has not been a president, and it is true of every president that he has not been a Frenchman. Universal affirmative statements do not have distributed terms: It is true of all U.S. presidents that they have been male, but it is not true of every male that he has been president.

Yeah, I should probably go over distribution more in depth at some point. But I hope that made some sense.

The Week in Review: Artists and Cynics

In the balancing act between school and work which I've undertaken, I'm still wobbling a little at times, but I think I'll make it to the other side safely. For some people, having a limited amount of time in which to finish their work sends them into a nail-biting panic. They run in circles and wring their hands and spend an ironic amount of time telling people about how little time they have. Deo gratias, I am not usually that sort of person. Generally, I find that having less time available to me helps to focus me: "OK, I have only two hours to do this reading today" makes me buckle down more than, "OK, I have... all day to do this reading... but it's only three hours until lunch, so... I better just lie down for a bit." It does leave less time for leisure, but there's a positive effect there, too: the less leisure time you have, the more you can appreciate it and enjoy it.

I was nearly social on a couple of occasions this week, but plans fell through. This allowed me to catch up through season 4 of Mad Men; I can see why the show won four consecutive Emmys for Best Drama. I also took the opportunity to watch The Artist, which I thoroughly enjoyed. A film like that is an empirical datum supporting that study which found that 94% of human communication is non-verbal, and an exemplar of the old adage "Actions speak louder than words." Just think of how often you can glean a person's mood, attitude, or reaction to something from their posture, facial expression, or eye contact. Amazing, really.

Highlights from class this week:

Introduction to New Testament: Our professor has expressed his dismay at our class's lack of biblical literacy. I was able to pleasantly surprise him, though, when, one day before class, I was sitting and reading from the Gospel of Mark. The professor walked into the room, saw me reading, and said to me, "Of course, you're reading the Bible," his joke that, naturally, that's what one would be reading before a Bible class tinged by his earlier lamentations (pun intended--get it, it's a book of the Bible!). Then after glancing down at my reading material, said with surprise, "Oh, you are reading the Bible." Happy to oblige.

Aristotelian Logic: A few weeks ago I told you about the logical process of obversion, a process for clearing up confusing language (e.g. turning "No man is a non-factor" into "All men are a factor"). We also recently learned about a related operation, conversion. It sounds pretty simple at first: "No man is an island" also means "No island is a man." "Some Irish are red-heads" also means "Some red-heads are Irish." BUT a universal affirmative statement (e.g. All X are Y) cannot be converted simply, as those others were: "All sparrows are birds" does not mean "All birds are sparrows;" at most we can say that "All sparrows are birds" means that "Some birds are sparrows." You'd be surprised at how often people make a mistake in their thinking by assuming that a universal affirmative can be converted simply. It happens to the best of us.

Philosophy of Nature: We began class by taking a quiz, a highly unusual exercise for this class. There were about twenty statements dealing with Aristotle's philosophy of substantial change, and we were to label them true or false. As we began to correct the quiz, many of the students were getting the answers wrong, and they began to complain that the statements were vague, imprecise, and confusing. The professor simply responded, "Actually, I didn't write these questions, you all did; these are statements taken from your homework assignment from last week." He had contrived the whole thing as an exercise in teaching us to be more precise with our language. My friend and I after class said to each other, "That... was... awesome!" Never have I been so amused by being so humbled.

History of Ancient Philosophy: You're probably familiar with the term "cynic" meaning "a person with a negative or pessimistic outlook." Did you know that there was an ancient philosophical school called the Cynics? And did you know that the name has nothing to do with pessimism? The name derives from the Greek word kynikos, meaning "dog-like." There are a few different theories on how they got stuck with that name, but it's quite possibly connected with their mindset of eschewing conventional social behavior in favor of doing whatever comes naturally, which manifested itself in lewd public acts intended to shock others. You know, like teenagers.

The Week in Review: Angelic Research

Dear Readers (both of you),

I'm afraid there isn't too terribly much to report this week. No classes met this week, as it was what the school has termed Reading Week, ostensibly intended to give students a wee bit of time and space to do research for big end-of-semester projects, or perhaps to just catch up on reading for classes. 

I was able to get a good deal of work done on two of my impending projects. In Introduction to New Testament, I'm doing a bibliography project (meaning I have to research and find twenty or so books and/or academic articles concerning my topic and write a brief paper on how I would proceed were I to be writing a full paper) on the way in which angels serve as models for human behavior in the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles. That is, in Luke and Acts there are many instances in which angels appear and do or say things, then people go and do likewise. Consider things like: the angelic host praising and adoring God that appears to the shepherds, followed by the shepherds going to the Christ-child and... praising and adoring God; or the angel who ministers to Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, followed by... Mary standing by Jesus at the cross; or the two angels appearing to the women at the tomb telling them that Jesus had risen, followed by the women... going to the Apostles and telling them that Jesus had risen; or Stephen preaching God's word, God's message (making Stephen a messenger, or angelos), and the text of Acts saying, "His face appeared like an angel's." There's a lot there, I think, as did my professor, apparently, who suggested the idea. I have to keep digging.

My other project is a long research paper for Philosophy of Nature. I'm writing on the development between the time of Aristotle and Aquinas of the idea that the celestial bodies (i.e. planets and stars) were moved by some sort of "intelligent substances," which Aquinas deemed to be angels. This wasn't just some poetic notion, "Oh, the stars are pushed along by fat baby cherubs." Not at all. It actually begins with a very sensible principle. Aristotle believed that all motion was for reaching some end or purpose; in essence, motion is for getting somewhere. Seems reasonable enough, right? He thought that things had their natural places toward which they would tend when set in motion. So, cannonballs, being made of "earthy" substances, would tend toward the earth, while fire or heat would rise toward the heavens, toward the eternal fires burning up there. But this presented a problem when dealing with the movements of the heavens, because they just seemed to keep going round and round, not reaching any sort of destination. If natural motion always goes towards some destination, and the heavens weren't moving toward a destination, then their motion couldn't be natural motion; something had to be pushing them, something that had its own purpose, so it had to be intelligent. Aquinas, with no sound scientific reason to reject Aristotle's physics, saw this notion of "intelligent substances" moving the heavens, took the Christian notion that God governs creation via the angels, and put two and two together: these "intelligent substances" moving the spheres must be the angels! Now fast-forward 800 years, with the advances in astronomy and physics made by Kepler, Galileo, Newton, and Einstein, and we're pretty sure that the planets and stars move due to their following the paths shaped by the way in which space-time is warped by the mass of other bodies, that is, gravitation. Angels aren't needed as agents of motion in the heavens... but that doesn't mean they don't still exercise some governance over them. There's a great depiction of this idea in C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Check them out some time.

The attentive reader may have noticed that both of my research topics involve angels in some way. They suggest here that one use their papers and projects to develop potential thesis topics. I'm considering doing something or other on angels, but I've still got a few years before I have to nail anything down definitively. I could research my roommates contention that "Every time the San Francisco Giants lose, an angel gets its wings" (he's a big Dodgers fan), which I find to be theologically problematic in a number of ways, but there may not be too much scholarship on the subject. (For the sarcasm-detection-impaired, I clarify that that was a joke.) We'll see.

Well, I managed to crank out more than I anticipated. Hope it makes some sense to you.

The Three Methods of Persuasion

Aristotle, he of such nicknames as “The Stagirite” (which refers to his birthplace, Stagira), “The Philosopher” (which St. Thomas Aquinas calls him in his works, but only when he agrees with him), or “Ari” or “Telly” to his friends, wrote on nearly every topic one could imagine: ethics, physics, metaphysics, biology, zoology, poetry… I’m surprised he didn’t release a cookbook. Today’s focus will be on another area, rhetoric, and specifically on the three ways or “proofs” into which Aristotle classified all persuasive speech. Then you’ll be able not only to use these yourself, but to defend yourself against the persuasive attempts of others, be they politicians or used car salesmen (but I repeat myself).

Aristotle said that all persuasive speech can be divided into three categories:

Logos, “the appeal to reason”: We could perhaps also call this, “Use your head!” In this sort of appeal, the speaker uses facts, figures, arguments, graphs, charts, principles, axioms, and any other method aimed at the gray matter between your ears to persuade you to adopt the speaker’s viewpoint.

Pathos, “the appeal to emotion”: We could call this, “Have a heart!” Here the speaker’s objective is to tug at your heartstrings, to incite an emotional response in you, to make you feel what they feel (or, more cynically, what they want you to feel). The aim is not to induce your head to make a calculation, but rather to put you in the emotional state the speaker thinks will compel you to adopt the speaker’s viewpoint.

Ethos, “the appeal to the integrity of the speaker”: We could perhaps call this, “Listen to your gut.” Strangely, this method often has little to do with the subject matter at hand, but instead adduces the speaker’s own trustworthiness as the criterion of persuasion. “Trust me,” “You know who I am,” “We’ve been through a lot together,” and other such phrases are typical of this type of appeal. Aristotle says that this appeal is the most powerful method of persuasion.

Let’s use a concrete example to illustrate these: taxes! Who doesn’t love a good ol’ debate on tax policy, right? It has all the excitement of a root canal and all the clarity of Gabby Johnson’s speech from Blazing Saddles. But let’s examine some typical persuasive speech on tax policy and see what we can see.

Logos: “If we keep taxes low, it will encourage businesses to grow, which means hiring more workers, which means more incomes to tax, which actually means more revenue for the government. After all, what’s a larger number: 45% of 100, or 36% of 200?” (The speaker argues that, granted his premise that low taxes means more hiring and thus more income to be taxed, that a smaller percentage of a higher number produces a greater result than a higher percentage of a lower number.)

OR: “My opponent’s numbers don’t add up. Besides, it is not guaranteed that lower taxes will necessarily make businesses hire more people, so we ought not to rely on that.” (The speaker counter-argues by challenging that premise, saying that there is no logically necessary connection between low taxes and increased revenue.)

Pathos: “The middle class is suffering in this country, while the rich take advantage of loopholes to pay less. Companies make higher profits than ever before, while you struggle to put food on the table, or send your kids to college. Enough is enough! The wealthy need to pay their fair share!” (The speaker is appealing to the listener’s desire for justice, or the speaker is trying to stir up feelings of envy.)

OR: “The government is trying to take away your hard-earned money to feed the bureaucratic fat cats in Washington! Your money belongs to, not to the federal government! What’s fair is for you to be able to keep as much of your earnings as possible.” (The speaker is appealing to the listener’s desire for security, or the speaker is trying to stir up feelings of fear.)

Ethos: “I’m a businessman with 30 years of experience, and I’ve successfully run a state, a hospital, a prison, and in one case, a state prison hospital. I know what it takes to be successful, to balance a budget.” (Here the speaker, appealing to his past success, asks you to trust him in making decisions.)

OR: “According to the non-partisan Institute for the Advanced Study of Things and Stuff, my opponent’s plan will increase the debt by eleventy-gajillion dollars by next Thursday.” (Here the speaker appeals to the prestige of an institution as a reason to trust what he says.)

After looking at these examples, can you tell why is ethos the most persuasive type of argument? Logos relies on the audience’s ability or willingness to follow a complex argument, or apprehend a large amount of data, or accept the premises of your argument as true: many times an audience is unwilling or unable to do this, or they get lost in the attempt. With pathos, one must realize how slippery it can be to try to manipulate someone’s emotions: you may not produce the effect you intended. With ethos, the task is somewhat simpler: all you have to do is get the audience to trust you. They don’t have to wade through a morass of syllogisms and propositions; they don’t have to be carefully led to the proper emotional state; they simply have to believe that you would tell them the truth. And when people trust you enough, they’ll go along with what you say, whether or not they totally understand it, as a child with a parent, a student with a teacher, a novice with a mentor. And because it is so powerful, when it backfires, things can go horribly, horribly wrong. If the audience finds that the speaker was lying to them, that betrayal can diminish the audience’s ability to trust anyone. If the an immoral speaker uses that trust to manipulate people, we can see evil on the scale of Nazi Germany, the genocide in Rwanda, or that of Charles Manson or Jim Jones, all of whom led people to do the unthinkable.

To quote Father Christmas in the film version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, “These are tools, not toys. Bear them well.” You can appeal to someone’s reason validly, or you can use fallacious arguments to trick them. You can appeal to their emotions to make them feel the true weight of the matter at hand, or you can manipulate them into a malleable state, ready to do your bidding. You can appeal to someone’s trust in you to make them see when they wouldn’t otherwise understand, or you can use it to stab them in the back. Be careful how you use them.

The Week in Review: The Russians are Coming with Sandwiches

This last week I started a part-time job at a deli not too far from the DSPT. Zarri’s Delicatessen in Albany, CA features sandwiches, sliced meats, and a variety of products such as pastas, sauces, wines, olive oils, etc. It’s owned by an upstanding Catholic family, and the owner likes to hire DSPT students so he can talk philosophy with them. After a few conversations with him, I’d say he qualifies as what Fr. Ludwig (my ancient philosophy professor) would call “a philosopher with a day job.” The other employees are a fun bunch, given to making smart-aleck remarks to each other as they make sandwiches or slice up some dry salami. I’m sure that once they get me trained on everything, you could walk in there and hear me singing “O sole mio” as I carve up some porchetta. The extra cash will most definitely help: try as I do to live simply, the Bay Area is an expensive place, and on top of that my car received some needed repairs, which were spendy—I went in for an oil change and ended up with five or six other things which I knew needed to be handled at some point, but didn’t realize were so urgent as they were. You’re probably thinking, “Oh Nick, you got taken by some seedy mechanic into paying for fake repairs’—sed contra, I could tell in the three-mile drive home how much better the car was performing. Still… I would have preferred to save that money, but c’est la vie.

Just yesterday for Mass I attended the Divine Liturgy at Our Lady of Fatima Russian Byzantine Catholic Church in San Francisco. Allow me to anticipate your questions: “Nick, what in the Samuel F. Hill is a Russian Byzantine Catholic Church, and why would a Russian church name itself after a Portuguese apparition?” As to the second question, no idea. As to the first, let me introduce a fact that may surprise you: technically speaking, the “Roman Catholic Church” is just one of twenty-two “Catholic Churches”, all of which are in communion with the Holy See and recognize the Pope as their head. See, the word “church” can mean different things: it can refer to your local parish; it can refer to the diocese, what’s usually called the “local church” in canon law, headed by the bishop; it can refer to the universal church, that is, the worldwide communion of “local churches” under the headship and authority of the Pope; or it can refer to a particular group of local churches which share a common historical and liturgical heritage, and are thus organized as their own sui iuris or “self-governing” churches, while still in communion with Rome. These sui iuris churches are the products of historical circumstances which caused them to develop differently from the Latin or Roman churches (i.e. most of the Catholic Church, numerically speaking). They are usually grouped under the name “Eastern Catholic Churches” because they all have their historical roots in parts east of Rome, from India to the Holy Land to the Ukraine and Russia, Greece and Albania. In most cases these churches were at one time part of the communion of the Orthodox Church, but later came into communion with Rome and were allowed to keep their own liturgical and cultural heritage. So: the “Russian Byzantine Catholic Church” is a Catholic Church which was at one time part of the Russian Orthodox Church, but broke away and came into communion with Rome. The “Byzantine” part of the name means that it follows the Greek liturgical tradition. Byzantine Catholic Churches refer to the Mass as the “Divine Liturgy” and will celebrate it in some of the different forms they’ve used through the centuries, such as the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, or of St. Basil the Great, or of St. James.

I went there because I have a great love for liturgy, and for Eastern Catholics liturgy is one of their defining attributes; their liturgy is one of the things that makes them who they are. As such, they tend to celebrate it with great care, which results in great beauty. This particular parish had recently moved into the downstairs area of a Roman Catholic church, but it’s small space was beautifully decorated with icons and ornamentation. Incense permeated the air, accompanied by the tinkling of the bells attached to the thurible (i.e. the thing what you incense with). Most of the liturgy was chanted, some parts by the deacon or priest, some parts by the choir with its mellifluous harmonies. (Sorry, “mellifluous” is one of my favorite words, and I couldn’t resist the chance to use it.) The only part of the liturgy in Russian was the first reading, read first in English, then in Russian. The rest was in English, apart from the typical Hebrew (amen, alleluia, hosanna) or Greek (kyrie eleison) words we always use in our English renditions. The prayers of the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom are ornate and poetic; I think that the new translation of the Latin-rite Mass recaptures much of this quality in our own liturgy. The whole thing is a very sensate experience. It moves body and soul closer to God. The Second Vatican Council called the liturgy “the source and summit of the Christian life,” and celebrating it in a way that captures the entire person, body and soul, helps one to realize that: you are at the wellspring of grace, the apex of the spiritual life here on earth. The Latin rite liturgy (whether done in English or Latin), when done well, can be just as beautiful and moving as the Eastern liturgy I’ve described. I think more people would come to know the truth of the faith if they were to see it so beautifully enacted. It’s always there, but it’s sometimes hard to see.

I seem to be on a Russian kick of late: I was drinking White Russians a few weeks ago; I went to the Russian Catholic Church yesterday; and on Saturday I watched the classic film The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming (nominated for three Oscars when released back in the 1960s). Purely coincidence, I assure you.

A round-up from classes:

Intro to New Testament: We’ve been talking about narrative criticism, that is, using the structure of the Gospels as stories to interpret them. For example, by noticing certain elements of the structure of Matthew’s gospel, you can see how much it draws from and connects to Judaism. It seems to be divided, by a series of narratives and dialogues, into five sections… like the Torah and its five books (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy). As he begins his gospel with the genealogy of Jesus, the very first words are, in Greek, “biblios geneseos,” which we usually translate “The book of the generations,” but could just as easily be translated “book of Genesis.” And where does Matthew’s Gospel end? With Jesus on a mountaintop. Where does the Torah end? With Moses on a mountaintop. The whole point is that Jesus is the new Moses, the fulfillment of God’s promise to the patriarchs, the true Lamb who takes away the sins of the world. Neat, eh?

Aristotelian Logic: Have you ever gotten tangled up in reading a sentence with lots of negations in it? Something like “He is not a non-factor.” Huh? We learned a way to clear up such phrases, through a technique called obversion. To get the obverse of a phrase, you change the verb and the predicate, reversing the negations so that they mean the same thing, but are stated positively: “He is not a non factor” becomes “He is a factor.” Or “All men are non-women” becomes “No men are women.” It may seem trivial, but it can be useful if someone tries to trick you with multiple negations in a sentence: “Did you take my sandwich?” “Uh… I didn’t not take your sandwich.” “So you took my sandwich?” “Uh… yeah.”

History of Ancient Philosophy: Funny how Aristotle keeps coming up in different classes. You’d think he was important or something. One interesting thing learned from discussing him in this class: Whether he’s discussing the nature of poetry, or rhetoric, or physics, or ethics, he goes about it all in the same way. He identifies the four causes of a thing, and thereby comes to know it. See, I told you that the four causes were useful!

Philosophy of Nature: Oh, poor Philosophy of Nature… I think you’ll get your own post later this week.

The Four Causes

The Four Causes One of the most important pillars of Aristotle’s philosophy was his theory of the four causes.

Whenever you want to know what something is, there are, basically, four questions you can ask about it:

What is it made of?
Where did it come from, or what produced it?
What kind of thing is it?
What is it for?

The answer to each of these Aristotle would call a cause of that thing. It’s a “cause” in the sense that it contributes to the existence of that thing as the sort of thing it is. The first question deals with the “formal cause,” the second the “material cause,” the third the “efficient cause,” and the fourth the “final cause.”

That’s a little abstract. Let’s use a concrete example. Take my guitar.

(Not literally.)

What is this thing made of? That is, what is its material cause? It’s made of wood, some metal and plastic, and metal strings. It would not be the thing it is if it weren’t made of these materials. In that sense, the materials are one of the causes of the existence of the thing.

What produced this thing? What is its efficient cause? If it were a hand-crafted guitar, the answer would be “a luthier” (that’s the technical name for a maker of guitars), but since it’s a big brand name, it probably was a combination of machines and people. Knowing what made it tells us something about the kind of thing it is.

What is it? What is its formal cause? It’s a guitar. Its arrangement of the various components into this particular shape and structure make it a guitar. You could have the different parts (neck, body, strings, headstock, etc.) all glued together in the wrong configuration, but that wouldn’t make it a guitar. The very form of “guitar-ness,” in that sense, is one of the causes of its existence: if not for the form of guitar, this thing would not be a guitar.

What is it for? What is its final cause? A guitar is for playing music. It is not for chopping down trees or brushing your teeth. If it weren’t for the purpose of playing music, the guitar would not be a guitar.

It may sound a little foreign to you that a thing’s purpose or its materials could be the cause of its being in any way. Modern science has reduced “cause” to the “efficient cause”: what brings it about? This is because the efficient cause is the only one that falls within the scope of empirical science’s method of investigation. You can’t test for the final cause or formal cause of a thing in a lab. You could determine a thing’s component materials in a lab, but from science’s point of view they would be mere building blocks, inactive and manipulated. The other three causes are philosophical principles, not scientifically verifiable phenomena. But that doesn’t make them any less real. The four causes are extremely useful for defining things. By identifying the four causes for a thing, you can get a pretty good picture of what it is. So, if I say, “A table is a piece of furniture made by a carpenter or machine out of a sturdy material for the purpose of holding other items at a certain height.” Now, if you’d never encountered a table before, you’d have a fairly good idea of what it was.

Aristotle’s four causes come up A LOT, not only in his philosophy, but in the later philosophy and theology of those, like St. Thomas Aquinas, who used Aristotle’s philosophy as a framework. Even in Aristotle’s work on poetics he uses them to define literary art! Point is: it’s super useful. Give it a try.

The Week in Review: Goldilocks and the 2,000 Pigs

(If you haven't noticed yet, the titles for these "Week in Review" posts are composed by my slapping together two words from unrelated sections. I'm amused by it, even if no one else is. But, even if you don't laugh, I don't want you to be confused.)

This last Tuesday featured Round Two of our seminar on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. We discussed Books III and IV, where Aristotle, among other things, described the nature of the various virtues. Instead of describing our discussion, which centered on Aristotle’s description of the “great-souled” man (usually translated into English by “magnanimous”) as the pinnacle of virtue, I think it would be more beneficial to set out Aristotle’s basic understanding of virtue. It’s summed up in the Latin phrase in medio virtus stat, “Virtue stands in the middle.” Every virtue has a vice on either side of it, one of excess and one of deficiency. For example, the virtue of courage is the quality of facing danger or fear bravely, or as Aristotle more precisely put it, “The man, then, who faces and who fears the right things and from the right motive, in the right way and from the right time, and who feels confidence under the corresponding conditions, is brave; for the brave man feels and acts according to the merits of the case and in whatever way the rule directs.” When one doesn’t react in this proper way in these situations, he is not brave. But the type of error one commits will depend on whether one has too much courage or too little. The excess of courage is rashness or foolhardiness, rushing into a dangerous situation with no concern for one’s life; a knight charging 500 spearmen by himself is not brave, but rash. He has lost the right motive and is not sensing the right time for his action. The deficiency of courage is cowardice. 500 knights running away from one spearman is not brave, because they ought not fear in that situation. It’s a matter of too much, too little, and just right. Think of it as the Goldilocks method of discerning right action. The key, though, is to correctly identify what that middle is. You could set up two false ends and wind up with an erroneous middle, like sticking one goalpost at the back of one endzone and another goalpost at the 30-yard line, and calling the 10-yard line “midfield.” Or like saying, “Well, 10 shots of tequila is too much, but really anything less than 6 shots of tequila is too little, so clearly the right amount of tequila is 8 shots!” That ain’t virtue.

Apart from that….

This week also featured another Dominican Rite Mass at the DSPT. It was well-attended and beautifully celebrated. The Dominican friars are hoping to round up some students to volunteer to do chant for the liturgy so we can have a real “missa cantata” (sung Mass); I told them that if the chant parts weren’t all written for eunuchs, I’d be happy to participate. They pointed out that the parts are easily transposed. I may still help out if they need. After Mass, several of us headed to Luval’s, a local pizza place, to watch what ended up being the final game of the Oakland A’s’ memorable season. The game’s result was disappointing, but a good time was had by all.

On Saturday the DSPT hosted a lecture by Fr. Robert Spitzer, SJ, a former president of Gonzaga University and current head of several centers and institutes, on the topic of “The Evidence of Creation and Supernatural Design in Contemporary Big Bang Cosmology.” That sounds like quite a mouthful, but his basic point, which he made in quite an intelligent, engaging, and animated way, was: many discoveries being made in physics today indicate that the universe must have had a beginning, that suddenly there was nothing, and then there was something—and what does that suggest? If the universe had a beginning, there must have been something what beginned it (to put it colloquially), something not part of the universe itself. And what could that be? The religious person knows. The physicist will hopefully catch up soon. The lecture was followed by two responses from two DSPT faculty members, Fr. Michael Dodds, OP, and Fr. Anselm Ramelow, OP. I did not get to hear their responses, as I was helping to set up for the reception which was to take place after the lecture, but do look up the video of the lecture on the DSPT website. (It’s not posted yet, but it should be soon.)

Today the friars at St. Albert’s Priory invited students from the DSPT to join them for prayer and Mass and brunch. Unfortunately, the flu was sweeping through the priory like the plague (or should we say that the plague used to sweep through Europe like the flu?), so many of the friars were not to be seen. Nevertheless, we enjoyed their hospitality, which included a book sale of the duplicates from their library, with DSPT students getting a “100% discount” (i.e. free books!), meaning many a student left the priory with their arms fully extended and books up to their chins. I should also mention that between Mass and brunch they exposed the Blessed Sacrament and we recited the rosary together, with benediction afterward. What better way to spend a Sunday than free books, free food, and the Real Presence?

Notes from class:

Introduction to New Testament: Our professor mentioned to us a little while back a possible interpretation of a biblical passage based on a little historical knowledge. You may remember the account from the Gospels where Jesus encounters a possessed man, and the demons, who call themselves Legion, recognize him as “Son of the Most High God” and ask him not to send them back to the abyss of hell, but into a herd of 2,000 pigs; he permits it, and the demons go into the pigs, who then run into the sea and drown themselves. That always struck me as a little bit random. But consider this: the particular Roman army stationed in Jerusalem at that time was the Tenth Legion. That legion was quite active in suppressing revolts in Judaea throughout the first century AD. Guess what the legion’s mascot was? A boar. A pig. So, one could perhaps see, symbolically, Jesus driving the Tenth Roman Legion back into the sea, where they came from. Is this an overt political statement? Is it one more subtle way of saying, “God is King, not Caesar”? Interesting, isn’t it?

Aristotelian Logic: “The Square of Opposition.” No, it’s not a nerdy name for a boxing ring, it’s a visual tool used in logic to help one understand the implications of propositions. For example: if all we know is that it is true that “All men are mortal,” then it must also be true that “Some men are mortal” (since “some” is part of “all”), and false that “Some men are not mortal” and “No men are mortal.” BUT let’s say all we know is that it’s false that “No man is mortal.” It must be the case that “Some men are mortal,” but we don’t know whether that also means that “All men are mortal,” or “Some men are not mortal.” Kinda tricky to follow, eh? That’s why the Square of Opposition is handy. It can help you to sort things out quickly.

History of Ancient Philosophy: We’ve been reading Plato’s dialogues on the subject of love, the Symposium and the Phaedrus. Our professor emphasized that these texts were key in understanding the work of those Christian theologians who followed in the Platonic philosophical tradition: “Understand this, and you’ll understand Augustine, and Dionysius, and Bonaventure.” Once again: if you want to understand theology, it helps to read philosophy.

Philosophy of Nature: I really should do this one first next time, because when I leave it for last, I run out of steam, and can’t work up the energy to describe hylomorphic theory as it applies to contemporary scientific models. Yeah, I’m not sure what I just said there, either. Next time.

The Week in Review: Relaxing with Russians

I wonder if I give the impression that my life here consists of study, study, study, with occasional eating and sleeping thrown in. While I do study a lot, that wouldn’t be an entirely accurate picture. This last week, for example, on Tuesday, just as I was gearing up to start studying after a little dinner, my roommate’s buddy stopped by and asked if we wanted to go check out a barbeque place in town. I wasn’t hungry, but I did want to scout out this place as a potential future destination for tasty eats, so I tagged along. A sample or two of a few items cemented me as a future customer. We then went a few doors down from the barbeque joint to a bar, where we drank White Russians, talked theology, and watched the A’s and Giants games. So, as you can see, I do relax on occasion.

I also make sure to watch my beloved Fighting Irish each weekend that they play. Yesterday my roommate, another friend and I watched the game at the home of a pleasant acquaintance of ours, an architect and friend of several DSPT folks who also happens to be a Notre Dame grad, and a big fan of Holy Cross religious; naturally, she and I found common cause there. It’s nice to find people around here who know about Holy Cross and have an appreciation for them. My poor roommate, though, had to put up with the two of us giving him grief as his Miami Hurricanes failed to breach the levies of the Notre Dame defense. I nearly felt bad for him. But not quite. Up to #7 in the nation!

On Friday I stopped by the cathedral church in Oakland, the Cathedral of Christ the Light. While it wasn’t my cup of tea in terms of the architecture (something between a bomb shelter and the glass pyramid at the Louvre), they did have the Blessed Sacrament exposed for adoration, and had a priest available for confessions in the middle of the day. It was a good reminder that, while having a beautiful church can be a great aid to worship, the more important thing is what takes place inside.

Highlights from classes during the week:

Intro to New Testament: Our professor has mentioned in class a few times a curious sort of phrasing that one sees in the Bible, especially in the Old Testament but also in the New: “the divine passive.” “Passive” here refers to the passive voice, such as saying “The ball was kicked” instead of “He kicked the ball”—the passive voice puts the emphasis on the recipient of the action, not on the doer. Some grammarians will tell you to NEVER use the passive voice, saying that it’s somehow weaker than the active voice; I personally consider that to be a silly directive. Sometimes your emphasis is precisely on the fact that something else was acted on. The “divine passive” is a great illustrator of that. You see it most especially in phrases like, “God was seen by them.” The passive voice is used when speaking of God (hence the “divine passive”) to emphasize that He is always the initiator of action, always the one revealing Himself to us; when people see God, it is because He allows Himself to be seen. The “divine passive” emphasizes that nothing can happen to God against His will.

Aristotelian Logic: We’ve been discussing various things concerning terms and propositions, but I’m not sure any of them would be of particular interest to you, or perhaps rather that I could make them interesting to you. But I think soon enough several of these elements will come together, and I’ll have something for you.

History of Ancient Philosophy: We discussed Plato’s Republic this last week, in which Plato, via the medium of a dialogue featuring Socrates, sets out his vision of how a proper society would be structured and function. A large part of it concerned the proper education of the youth to make them good citizens. Our professor contended that this work “is, at its base, a justification of philosophy, and the vocation of philosophy.” It seems that, for Plato, philosophy was not just a way of thinking, or a set of propositions one might assent to, but a way of life; the way he talks, philosophy is more like something you’re converted to than something you’re convinced of. St. Justin Martyr would definitely take that stance about 500 years after Plato when Justin called Christianity “the true philosophy.” Interesting to see how these things develop over time.

Philosophy of Nature: Still discussing that relationship between matter and form, that is, the potential to become something and the principle that makes a particular thing what it is. Again, not sure I can make this of interest to you yet, but soon enough, I think I will. Until then….

The Week in Review: Aristotle and The Godfather

There were a couple of fun extra-curricular activities this week. What do philosophy and theology students do in their spare time, when they aren’t in class or doing homework for their philosophy and theology classes? Why, get together at discuss philosophy and theology, of course! This last Tuesday featured the first in a series of student-led seminars discussing Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. (The work’s title is derived from Aristotle’s son, Nicomachus, to whom it was dedicated.) It was a highly engaging and entertaining evening. I got to witness a bunch of smart people discussing an important text, and mix it up a bit when they disagreed. I think, though, that rather than going into the details of the discussion, since most of you haven’t read the text before (neither, I confess, have I), I’ll just tell you a bit about this fellow Aristotle, since his name is going to be coming up quite a bit in this blog over the coming months.

Aristotle was born in 384 BC and died in 322 BC. (Yeah, those backward-moving BC dates always get me, too; remember, BC is a countdown to the birth of Christ, and AD are counting forward from that time [AD = Anno Domini, “The Year of Our Lord”].) His father was the physician to the King of Macedon, and Aristotle ending up being the tutor to a future king of Macedon: Alexander the Great. You may have heard of him. Aristotle himself was a student of Plato. Yeah, you may have heard of him, too. Aristotle wrote texts on many different subjects, including logic, rhetoric, physics, metaphysics, ethics, politics, beauty, and even zoology. Aristotle perhaps is best remembered, in one sense, for two things: in his own time, he was the most systematic of the ancient Greek philosophers, categorizing his thought in a way unlike others had before; centuries later, as the Christian West began to become familiar with his writings again after they had been all but lost, Aristotle’s thought had a HUGE influence on theology. This has come to us most remarkably in the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, whose philosophy and theology followed an Aristotelian framework; when you read St. Thomas, he refers to Aristotle simply as “The Philosopher.” High praise. And since St. Thomas is considered to be THE theologian in the Church’s history, Aristotle has indirectly had a huge influence on the development of Catholic theology. And since St. Thomas was a Dominican, and I’m at a Dominican school, I’m going to be reading a lot of Aquinas, and a lot of Aristotle. It’ll be good times.

The second extra-curricular event was a “philosophy movie night” viewing of The Godfather, hosted by one of the DSPT students. [I am continuing my practice of not naming people without their consent. I was going to ask him, but forgot.] This student studied film and worked in the movie industry for a few years before coming to DSPT, so watching a movie with him is quite the informative experience. At times he would pause the movie and simply ask, “What are we feeling right now? Why are we feeling it? What do you think the filmmaker is doing that is making you feel that way?” At other times he would point out various tricks and methods that movie makers use to convey their points. A few examples: “sound design,” the sounds happening within the movie, are a HUGE part of producing emotions in the audience. Think of when Michael Corleone is in the café with The Turk and the police captain, and the L-train is going by, getting louder and louder, making the tension build during that already-tense scene. Think of how often in a scene of loneliness or helplessness you hear a dog barking or a baby crying—standard movie-making technique. Also, next time you watch The Godfather, keep this in mind: when you see fire, it’s a bad omen. It’s a subtle theme they use throughout the movie. Apart from that, we talked about larger themes: about the dark side of the American dream, about doing whatever it takes to protect your family, and perhaps in the process losing them and yourself. (I think only now of Christ’s question: “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?”) It was an awesome experience. I’m looking forward to the next one!

Highlights from classes during the week:

Intro to New Testament: We’ve been talking about the historical critical method, and some of the ways in which it can be useful in helping us to understand the Bible. The historical critical method pays close attention to the history surrounding the times of the biblical events so as to give the reader a context for the things written in the text. One place where this method is a big help is in the Book of Revelation. Consider Revelation 13, which describes the beast with seven heads, “blasphemous names” written on its heads. What is this beast a symbol of? Consider: the Roman emperor, by the end of the first century AD, had taken to giving himself titles like (get ready for it) “Son of God” and “Savior of the World”—blasphemous names, indeed, to one who acknowledges Jesus Christ with those titles. Knowing that makes you read that passage a little differently, no?

Aristotelian Logic: You know that there are four ways you can oppose things to each other, logically? Contradictory opposition is the simplest and most complete, this opposes a thing to everything else in existence that’s not that thing, e.g. rational and non-rational. Don’t confuse this with privative opposition, which opposes a thing to a lack of that thing when it ought to be present, e.g. rational and irrational. (People can be irrational; a bear is non-rational. It’s not supposed to be rational. It’s a bear. It’s supposed to spear salmon out of the stream and scratch its back on trees, not engage in logical argumentation.) There’s also contrary opposition, which opposes two extremes of the same genus, e.g. black and white. The last is relative opposition, where two things are opposed only in reference to one another, e.g. right and left, whole and part. If nothing else, keep that distinction between non-rational and irrational in mind.

History of Ancient Philosophy: Our professor has said this several times, and it’s worth repeating: “Plato’s dialogues were written in the genre of Greek comedy. If you read Plato too seriously, you’re reading him wrong.”

Philosophy of Nature: We’ve been learning about Aristotle’s theory of change. See, the big problem for the ancient philosophers was to explain how a thing could change. Parmenides put the problem well: if a new thing came to be (i.e. if there was change), then it would either have to come from nothing or non-being, which is impossible, or from being, in which case it would already exist; so, nothing changes. Yeah, read that a couple of times. It might make sense. Aristotle addressed this problem by proposing a different way of looking at it. A thing is what it is, but it also has the potential to be other things. That potential is part of the thing itself. A table is a table, but it has the potential to be a pile of wood if it were to be broken up, or a pile of ashes if it were to be burned. That potential is part of the thing. This avoids Parmenides’ paradox: the new thing, e.g. the pile of ashes, doesn’t already exist, nor does it come from nothing, but rather from the potential of the thing already existing. This will lead you right into all of Aristotle’s distinctions between act and potency, substance and accidents, matter and form, but I’ll let you chew on that for now.

The Week in Review: Mass and Class

This last Thursday I experienced my first Dominican Rite Mass. “What’s a Dominican Rite Mass?” you ask. A little background may be helpful here.

For much of the Church’s history, there were all sorts of officially approved forms of the Mass, called “rites”: rites for different regions, different religious orders, different languages. In the late sixteenth century, at the Council of Trent, the Church decided to try to standardize the form of the Mass for the entire Latin-speaking part of the Church. (When you hear the “old Latin Mass” or what we now call the “extraordinary form” referred to as the “Tridentine Mass,” it’s because it came out of the Council of Trent. Tridentine, Trent… get it?) But the Church allowed some groups to retain their own rites if they were old enough, and the Dominicans were one of them.

The Dominican Rite is very similar to the Tridentine Mass. Well, I’m sure that people more expert than myself on things liturgical would be able to point out all sorts of little differences, but I think I’m safe in saying that it’s much more similar to the Tridentine Mass than to our current form of Mass (often referred to as the “novus ordo” or “new order” of Mass). But here are some of the basic features that might stand out to someone:

--The priest and the congregation face the same direction for most of the Mass. Some folks will refer to this as “the priest with his back to the people,” but that gives the impression he’s snubbing the congregation. One should think of it as the priest leading the people in prayer, and when you’re leading someone, you’re facing the same direction as them. You might argue “A tour guide faces people when leading them,” but a priest is not a tour guide; he’s a trail guide, leading the people to heaven.

--Most of the Mass is in Latin, and much of it is said quietly by the priest. Some people might respond to that by saying, “Well, what’s the point? I don’t speak Latin, how am I supposed to understand him? And even if he were speaking English, he’s whispering for much of it.” This may sound like a rude response, but I say it to make a point: Why do you need to understand him or hear him? He’s not talking to you. Yes, he’s praying to God for us and on our behalf, so it would be nice to understand what he’s saying, which is why hand missals with the translation of the Mass texts are provided. But Latin is a beautiful-sounding language, and that combined with the soft-spoken tone of the Mass produce a very peaceful effect upon the hearer.

--The Mass ends with the reading of the prologue of the Gospel of St. John. (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…” or in Latin, In principio erat Verbum, et erat Verbum apud Deum, et Verbum erat Deum.)

An added bonus was that the Mass was celebrated by Fr. Anselm Ramelow, OP, one of the professors at DSPT. Fr. Anselm is from Germany, and let me tell you, if you’ve never heard Latin spoken in a German accent, you’re missing out on a fascinating aural experience.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful way to pray. For those who are interested, you can find a series of YouTube videos detailing and explaining the Dominican Rite Mass beginning here.

Interesting things from classes this last week…

History of Ancient Philosophy: Fr. Eugene stated that Socrates was credited by Aristotle with being the inventor of inductive reasoning. He then gave what I thought was a great explanation of inductive reasoning: Let’s say I have a box on the desk here containing every flea in the world. How many legs does a flea have? How do I find out? Well, I pick up one, let’s see… one, two, three, four, five, six: this one has six… I pick up another… one, two, three, four, five, six: this one has six, too.... Eventually, I find enough fleas with six legs that I can be reasonably certain that it is usually true for all fleas that they have six legs. That’s the inductive method: reasoning from a set of particular instances toward a general conclusion about them. The assumption that sufficiently large sample sizes can give you a high degree of certainty about something is the basis for the scientific method. Be sure to thank Socrates some time for it.

Philosophy of Nature: We’re starting to read about and discuss Aristotle’s theories of change. I think I’m going to hold off for a bit until I have a better grasp on the material before I try to present it here. But it’s fascinating stuff.

Intro to New Testament: There’s a lot that we miss by not knowing the languages in which the biblical texts were originally composed. As one example, in the Book of Genesis it says that Adam and Eve were given clothes made of skins after their fall from grace. It makes you wonder, “What were they clothed in before that?” One answer could be, “Well, nothing, duh,” but another is given by looking at the Hebrew text. If you flip one letter in the Hebrew word for “skin,” you get the Hebrew word for “light.” Adam and Eve were clothed in light: they shone with the glory of God before their fall. Makes you think a little more about the consequences of sin, eh? These sorts of plays on words apparently are quite common in the Bible, if only you know how to look for them.

Aristotelian Logic: Last week we were discussing how words can be used univocally, equivocally, or analogously. To use a word “univocally” in regard to two different things means we mean that word in the same way for both things; so, if I saw of both Nolan Ryan and Greg Maddux “they are pitchers,” I’m using the word “pitcher” univocally. But if I say of both Nolan Ryan and the jug holding water “They are pitchers,” I’m using the word “pitcher” equivocally; the same word is being used to mean different things. There’s a middle way between these two, however. If I refer to both a stone in my garden and St. Peter as a “rock,” I don’t mean it exactly the same way for each, but there is some link between the way I’m using the word in each case; I’m trying to relate some quality in the rock to some quality in St. Peter. This is a case of using a word analogously. If you pay attention, you’ll notice that an awful lot of the problems people have when communicating with each other comes from equivocal or misunderstood analogous usages of words: people using the same word to mean two different things, or someone trying to use a word analogously without the other party grasping it. Keep a look out for these things and see what you find.

The Week in Review: Links and Logic

Apart from classes, this week featured two events of note.

On Wednesday we had a special Mass of the Holy Spirit for the opening of the school year. There’s a tradition to celebrate yearly Masses invoking the blessing of the Spirit for certain professions, from beginning-of-the-year Masses for schools, to “Red Masses” for lawyers and judges, to “Blue Masses” for police and firefighters. We converted one of the classroom areas into a chapel by bringing in the altar and ambo from our too-small-for-this-event chapel, and had about 50-60 people overall attend (not bad, given that the total student population is about 110). Beautiful music was provided by a schola of the Dominican student brothers. (“Schola” is short for “schola cantorum,” or “school of songs,” a traditional name for a church choir.) The Mass was celebrated by the school’s president, Fr. Michael Sweeney, OP, and the homily was given by the Rev. Br. Dominic David Maichrowicz, OP. You can find a video of his homily here; it’s worth a view.

(Side note: the title “Rev. Br.” is short for “Reverend Brother.” Br. Dominic David is a deacon. The normal form of address for a deacon is “Rev. Mr.,” but since he’s a Dominican brother, he’s styled “Rev. Br.” Once he’s a priest, it’ll simply be “Rev.” I’m considering doing a post on deacons, since a lot of people don’t seem to know much about them. Any interest, dear readers?)

I volunteered beforehand to lector for the first reading. Might as well put some of those seminary skills to use when the opportunity arises.

On Saturday, I participated in a student retreat given at DSPT. It was titled, "Turning Study into Prayer: How can the intellectual life transform and augment our spiritual life?" and was led by Fr. John Marie Bingham, OP. Only about 10 of us attended, but the small numbers simply aided in giving the event an intimate atmosphere. Fr. John Marie gave two presentations from which I derived several good points:

--always keep in mind, “How can what I’m learning bring me closer to God?”

--Knowledge is a good thing in itself, but, since bonum diffusivum est se (“the good spreads itself”), even better than us having knowledge is us sharing that knowledge with others; so always keep an eye toward sharing that knowledge, and in such a way that people without Ph.D.s can understand it. (Readers of this blog know that is one of my objectives in life, and a main reason that I keep this blog.)

--By our knowledge of things, we participate in them in some way. So, when we learn about God by studying theology and philosophy, in some way we come to participate in God. Study is a foretaste of heaven. (…which is easy to remember during a retreat, and hard to remember when you’ve got three papers due and are a month behind in your reading, but still good to keep in mind.)

The retreat also featured adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, daytime prayer and recitation of the rosary, and was capped off by the celebration of Mass. A good day of rest and relaxation, and a good way to get into the proper mindset as the school year begins.

Later that evening my roommate and I caught most of the ND/Michigan State and USC/Stanford games at the apartment of his old roommate and the old roommate’s girlfriend. (I hesitate to use names, because previous experience has shown me that some people don’t like their names popping up in random people’s blog posts, and I would find it too odd of a question to ask them, “Hey, mind if I mention this in my blog?”) If they happen to run across this, please know I enjoyed your hospitality and good company. Oh, and as to the results of the two games mentioned above, I respond with the following: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Bring it, Denard Robinson! We’ve finally got a front seven that will contain you! And for once, the Stanford game might be tougher than the USC game. We’ll see.

Interesting things we talked about in each class this week:

--History of Ancient Philosophy: The ancient Greek philosopher Anaximenes proposed that everything that exists is actually made of air, but that the air takes different forms depending on how condensed it is. This may sound silly, but…

--Philosophy of Nature: …think of the claim of modern physics that matter is simply a condensed form of energy. Perhaps Anaximenes was on to something. And he didn’t even have a Large Hadron Collider at his disposal.

--Introduction to the New Testament: There’s a prominent theme in Scripture that portrays salvation as a re-creation of the world. Consider: in the account of creation in Genesis chapter 1, the waters are separated from each other--the ancients thought there was water above the sky as well as on the earth, and for them water often represented chaos and destruction; when God saves Israel from slavery in Egypt (Exodus 14), He does so by separating the waters of the Red Sea; and in Mark 4, Luke 8, and Matthew 8, Jesus calms the sea during a storm, showing that he has power over the waters. Neat, huh?

--Aristotelian Logic: Did you know that “is” does not always mean the same thing? If you think about it, you know it, but Aristotle separated out five different kinds of “is,” or five predicables. The genus tells us what group out of a larger set of groups that differ in type a thing belongs to, e.g. Man is an animal--apes and elk and elephants are also animals, but they aren’t men. The species tells us what group a thing belongs to, so that all of things in a species differ only in number, not in kind, e.g. Paul is a man, and Nick is a man, and David is a man. A specific difference tells us what sets a thing apart from other things, e.g. Man is rational—no other thing has that quality; it’s what sets man apart from everything else. A property tells us a characteristic that belongs to that thing due to its specific difference, so that only that thing has that characteristic, e.g. Man is able to make jokes (because he is rational). An accident is a characteristic that a thing can have that can be had by other things, i.e. Man is hairy, but so are apes and elk and elephants (a little bit, anyway). It can get a little confusing to apply these, because some of these are used in biology, but they don’t mean quite the same thing as they do in logic. Logic is about relations, how one thing relates to another, not as much about the things themselves. If I haven’t scared you off now, we’ll get into this more another time.

First Week of Class & An Invitation

Classes at the DSPT commenced last Tuesday. Because of the way my class schedule shakes out, that meant that all but one of my classes only met once last week. Still, it was enough to get an idea of what the classes will be like this semester.

For starters, class sizes are in the 15-20 person range here: nice and intimate, the kind of setting where the professor has a chance to actually learn your name within a reasonable amount of time, and where something resembling a discussion could potentially take place. I’m a fan of that.

Secondly, being that the school’s classrooms are all in one moderately sized building, one could theoretically take a leisurely pace moving between classes, as opposed to sprinting half a mile to make it to the next class on time. In practice, this works out even better for me, since I have at least an hour and a half between class periods, so I could do a little homework, have a cup of coffee, shoot the breeze with my classmates… and still have 20 minutes to kill before the next class begins. I’m a fan of that, too.

Thirdly, after the first week, I’m even more excited for my classes. To remind you, they are:

Philosophy of Nature
History of Ancient Philosophy
Aristotelian Logic
Introduction to the New Testament

Now, I’m sure that some, if not most, of you will imagine those classes to be slightly less exciting than listening to Ben Stein do a play-by-play of paint drying. Well, good thing I’m here and not you, then! But I do think you’d find many things from these classes interesting. I hereby set out a goal that once a week I will write about one interesting thing I’ve learned in each class period. That’s a little hard to do for this last week, because we haven’t really dived into the material yet. In lieu of that, I’d like to make y’all an offer.

It’s my goal someday to teach theology, so as to help people know their faith better and thereby come to a deeper relationship with God. The way I see it, there’s no reason I can’t start that to some degree now. So, I’m inviting you, dear readers, to submit to me, via the comments section of the blog, any question you’d like me to answer about the Catholic faith, and I’ll do my best to provide an answer that is clear and concise and doesn’t require years of studying theology to be understood. If I’m inundated with questions by all four of you who read this blog, I won’t be able to get to all of them, but I’ll do what I can.

One warning: the option to make comments anonymously is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, it provides people who may be sheepish about asking what they’re afraid might be a “dumb question” the opportunity to ask without others knowing who asked it (though I will say that the only dumb question is the unasked question, and that odds are if you’re wondering about it, so are at least five other people); but the anonymous option also provides jerks the opportunity to spout garbage without fear of accountability. Please do make use of the anonymous option for the first use. Don’t use it for the second; the only result will be that I delete your obnoxious post. (This warning is not intended for any of my family or friends, who I know would not do such a thing, but rather for the wandering Internet ruffian who has nothing better to do than post obscenities on the web pages of total strangers.)

On that note… fire away! And do look forward to descriptions of Interesting Things Nick Is Learning Which You May Be Surprised to Find You Also Find Interesting.

The First Few Days

This last weekend seemed an opportune time to make The Big Move for a number of reasons. It would give me a week before the beginning of orientation to get myself settled in and adjusted to and familiar with my new surroundings. It so happened, too, that my family was planning to go to North Bend, OR that weekend to celebrate my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary; I figured as long as I was heading south anyway, I might as well keep going. So, I packed up the car with the bare essentials (e.g. a tub of licorice, my laptop, and my five-volume copy of the Summa Theologiae... maybe a few other things, too), and headed out. After a pleasant pit stop in Manzanita, a scenic drive down the foggy Coast Highway, an enjoyable weekend topped off by eating grilled steaks and shooting out old Christmas lights with a BB gun (what better way to celebrate an anniversary?), and a pleasant pit stop in Eugene that also served to get me onto the main vein through Oregon, I hit I-5 and set my sights on Cali-for-nigh-ay.

I don't believe I'd seen southern Oregon past Roseburg before, and I must say it was quite nice in its own earth tone, rolling hill-y sort of way. It actually reminded me quite a bit of parts of Colorado, especially as I passed through the Siskiyou Mountains. Very pretty area. Mt. Shasta was breath-taking. I crossed the border, and continued through the peaks and valleys and slopes until I passed through Redding, when the terrain suddenly changed to flat, barren, sandy-colored nothingness. Again, much like Colorado: descending from the majesty of the mountains to the dullness of the desert. That went on for far too long, like driving across the state of Nebraska. I eventually made my way over the Carquinez Strait and coasted in to the idyllic-sounding town of Pleasant Hill, California.

The rest of Sunday evening was spent unpacking just enough to be able to sleep and get myself properly attired for my morning meeting with my academic adviser, Fr. Augustine Thompson, OP. (That "OP" stands for "Order of Preachers," the official name of the Dominicans.) The meeting went well, full of good tips for a graduate student ("Challenge out of any courses you can," "German is very hard, don't take it in a summer session," "In this program, take most of your philosophy before your theology"), and we settled on my course schedule for this first semester:

Aristotelian Logic: This would certainly be Spock's favorite class. From the syllabus: "The goal [is] for the students to become familiar with forms of argument, be able to analyze them for validity, and detect fallacies. And once they have mastered this, to be able to use this knowledge in their own argumentation and writing." An important first step in thinking clearly.
Philosophy of Nature: How should we think about the world around us? Do things really change? What is the true nature of things? From atomists to Zeno's paradoxes to substance and accident and more, we'll look at different people's ideas of just what stuff is.
History of Ancient Philosophy: I imagine we'll tackle that group of philosophers who so distinguished themselves that they're named after someone else (i.e. the Pre-Socratics), as well as Ancient Greece's Big Three--Socrates, Plato, Aristotle. (Don't believe Mr. Vizzini--they were not morons.) This is especially useful for someone learning theology, especially someone studying the early church, because any halfway educated person would have been reading these guys, and it shows in the writings of the Church Fathers: you can see the fingerprints of Plato and Aristotle all over the place.
Introduction to the New Testament: The New Testament and I have been introduced before on a number of occasions, but not formally. From the syllabus: "The course is intended to introduce the student to a critical reading and study of the New Testament. It is divided into three parts. The first part deals with general issues related to the study of the Bible. The second deals with methodological concerns. The third with the texts and theology of the New Testament." So, yeah.

Should be fun!

I spent the rest of that day running all over creation (or at least the Pleasant Hill/Walnut Creek bit of it) buying this and that to get myself situated: desk chair, toothpaste, groceries, etc. That evening I did something which will either bring me great joy or ruin my life: I signed up for Netflix. I promptly, within the space of a few days, watched the first seasons of both Downton Abbey and Mad Men. (Greatly enjoyed both: great acting, great characters, good plots--pun intended.) Hey, I'd had a busy few days, and was going to be very busy soon enough: I deserved to relax a little, didn't I? Right? Maybe? I did also take a nice stroll down one of the main roads of town here, to see the sights, get some fresh air and some sun, stretch my legs, and alleviate my guilt for watching twenty 45-minute TV episodes in the space of two and a half days... well, twenty-three if you count those couple of Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes, too. Hey, my roommates are never around and I don't know anyone yet. Don't judge me!

Anywho....

I have also been accomplishing little tasks here and there, as well, so don't worry. I'll be ready to hit the ground running on Monday when new student orientation starts. Should be fun.