Because it's my blog and I can be pedantic if I want to, I'd like to submit a short screed on one of my pet peeves in the common parlance: the erroneously either lazy or synonymous use of "probable" and "possible."
"Probable" means "likely to be the case or to happen." The likelihood is of a statistical or empirical sort: given what we know about things or events like this, it is probable that X is going to be the case/happen.
"Possible" means "able to be or to be done." At its base, this is pure possibility: if the thing in question does not entail a logical contradiction, then this thing can be or be done.
"Probable" involves likelihood, "possible" involves feasibility.
Yet we'll hear statements like the following:
"Given that John is late for every meeting, it's possible he'll be late again today."
"With so many billions of galaxies and billions of stars in each galaxy, it's probable there's intelligent life on other planets."
I think we need a switch here!
The first sentence provides a basis for predicting John's behavior then proceeds to make a prediction. The speaker is making the claim that, given his past behavior, it is likely John will be late for the meeting. Likely = probable, so it would be better to say "it's probable he'll be late again today."
The second sentence would appear to be like the first, setting out criteria by which to evaluate the likelihood of something, but the error here is less formal than material: the probability of intelligent life existing elsewhere in the universe can only be based on either 1) an extrapolation from the known quantity (which, in this case, is just one), or 2) an extrapolation from knowledge of all of the requirements for life (which is awfully tricky, since we don't know all the variables involved, and besides we know only one form of life--carbon-based organic life; there could be others). By the first criterion, the probability is "one in the whole universe," and by the second, it's really unknown. The speaker in this sentence would be better served saying that it's "possible there's intelligent life on other planets."
Remember: probable = likely, possible = feasible. I think it's possible you'll never make this mistake again, but it's probable you will.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Why the Press Doesn't Get the Pope
Once upon a time, in the halcyon days of my undergraduate education, I majored in journalism. Well, technically speaking, I majored in Communication Studies with an emphasis in journalism, but the point is that which my courses were directed toward was a formation and education in the journalistic art. I entered college wanting to be a sports writer, so I took classes called Writing & Reporting, Public Affairs Reporting, Communication History (which was basically a history of newspapers), and so forth. This is pertinent only to establish my credibility for the topic at hand: when I talk about journalistic mindsets and practices, I know a little of what I speak.
The media hubbub in the last few days over Pope Francis' comments to reporters while flying back from World Youth Day has demonstrated once again that, by and large, the news media knows about as much about religion as I do about internal combustion engines: that is, not much. Why is this? I can think of a few reasons.
First, journalists are primarily educated in the field of public events reporting. Anything that involves a basic who-what-when-where-why-how breakdown, they can do pretty well: "two people were injured on Mulberry Street Thursday morning in a freak gardening accident that has some questioning the practice of marketing chainsaws as lawn trimmers," and so forth. Easy enough. Anything that requires a little specialized knowledge usually requires a specialty reporter: our science correspondent, our sports reporter, etc. But news bureaus are getting smaller these days, meaning that specialty topics are being covered by non-specialists. This seems to be most true with religion reporting (or perhaps just appears to be so to me because it's something I know a little about), and the result is often pretty shoddy. The website GetReligion is dedicated to bringing to light these sorts of poorly told tales and is filled with examples of reporters misrepresenting the most basic of Christian beliefs (the best are always at Christmas and Easter, when reporters try to explain what mysteries are being celebrated--it would be hilarious if it weren't so sad)--never mind the subtleties and nuances of, say, moral theology or sexual ethics, or the all-important distinction between the sinner and the sin. They often just plain don't know what they're talking about.
This leads to our second point. Before they might gain a specialty (assuming they aren't a specialist-turned-journalist), usually most reporters are encouraged to be well-versed enough in politics to enable them to report on the important events of the day, so that political reporting becomes less a specialty than a standard modus operandi for the reporter. And because most reporters are trained in politics, they tend to see every story as a political story, a story about groups struggling for power or influence. Look at the reporting on global warming, for example: it's much less about any of the science involved and much more about various political pressure groups or international scientific bodies vying for the nation's attention. Too often, it's the same with religious reporting.
Reporters tend to view religious groups, such as the Catholic Church, solely as political organizations that have "policies" and "agendas" and do "messaging"; they definitely do not view the Church as the organized body of believers in Jesus Christ, convened under the headship of Peter among us, preaching the Gospel and teaching the truth for the salvation of souls. (Though to play devil's advocate for a moment, the Church does have a bureaucratic structure and does, in fine Italian fashion, have in-fighting between various offices at times, so the press can't be entirely blamed for treating it like any other organization on occasion.)
To the point: when Pope Francis makes comments on the Church's pastoral responsibility toward homosexual persons, on the importance of distinguishing the sin from the sinner, on the reality of the forgiveness of sins and the duty to recognize that fact in people's lives, he is simply expressing, as a true shepherd of his sheep, what the Church's Magisterium says in a dozen other places. But because most of these reporters 1) do not know the Church's teaching on this topic and think the Church "hates gays or something," and 2) see everything through a political lens, they start reporting that the pope "may have signaled a shift in tone" or "may be setting up a change in policy," etc., as though he were a senator "pivoting" on an issue to gain a few points in the polls. But of course, it was nothing of the kind.
So, guys, a few helpful hints here. First, learn your facts: when given an assignment on a religious story, do your homework, read up on the issues and doctrines involved, and don't always go to the same three dissident priests for quotes. Second, stop thinking everyone is a political schemer grasping for power; you'll sleep much better at night when you realize not everyone is out to get what they can for themselves.
You have a responsibility to the public: you provide the data from which people in this free republic shape their conclusions. The least you can do is give them accurate info.
The media hubbub in the last few days over Pope Francis' comments to reporters while flying back from World Youth Day has demonstrated once again that, by and large, the news media knows about as much about religion as I do about internal combustion engines: that is, not much. Why is this? I can think of a few reasons.
First, journalists are primarily educated in the field of public events reporting. Anything that involves a basic who-what-when-where-why-how breakdown, they can do pretty well: "two people were injured on Mulberry Street Thursday morning in a freak gardening accident that has some questioning the practice of marketing chainsaws as lawn trimmers," and so forth. Easy enough. Anything that requires a little specialized knowledge usually requires a specialty reporter: our science correspondent, our sports reporter, etc. But news bureaus are getting smaller these days, meaning that specialty topics are being covered by non-specialists. This seems to be most true with religion reporting (or perhaps just appears to be so to me because it's something I know a little about), and the result is often pretty shoddy. The website GetReligion is dedicated to bringing to light these sorts of poorly told tales and is filled with examples of reporters misrepresenting the most basic of Christian beliefs (the best are always at Christmas and Easter, when reporters try to explain what mysteries are being celebrated--it would be hilarious if it weren't so sad)--never mind the subtleties and nuances of, say, moral theology or sexual ethics, or the all-important distinction between the sinner and the sin. They often just plain don't know what they're talking about.
This leads to our second point. Before they might gain a specialty (assuming they aren't a specialist-turned-journalist), usually most reporters are encouraged to be well-versed enough in politics to enable them to report on the important events of the day, so that political reporting becomes less a specialty than a standard modus operandi for the reporter. And because most reporters are trained in politics, they tend to see every story as a political story, a story about groups struggling for power or influence. Look at the reporting on global warming, for example: it's much less about any of the science involved and much more about various political pressure groups or international scientific bodies vying for the nation's attention. Too often, it's the same with religious reporting.
Reporters tend to view religious groups, such as the Catholic Church, solely as political organizations that have "policies" and "agendas" and do "messaging"; they definitely do not view the Church as the organized body of believers in Jesus Christ, convened under the headship of Peter among us, preaching the Gospel and teaching the truth for the salvation of souls. (Though to play devil's advocate for a moment, the Church does have a bureaucratic structure and does, in fine Italian fashion, have in-fighting between various offices at times, so the press can't be entirely blamed for treating it like any other organization on occasion.)
To the point: when Pope Francis makes comments on the Church's pastoral responsibility toward homosexual persons, on the importance of distinguishing the sin from the sinner, on the reality of the forgiveness of sins and the duty to recognize that fact in people's lives, he is simply expressing, as a true shepherd of his sheep, what the Church's Magisterium says in a dozen other places. But because most of these reporters 1) do not know the Church's teaching on this topic and think the Church "hates gays or something," and 2) see everything through a political lens, they start reporting that the pope "may have signaled a shift in tone" or "may be setting up a change in policy," etc., as though he were a senator "pivoting" on an issue to gain a few points in the polls. But of course, it was nothing of the kind.
So, guys, a few helpful hints here. First, learn your facts: when given an assignment on a religious story, do your homework, read up on the issues and doctrines involved, and don't always go to the same three dissident priests for quotes. Second, stop thinking everyone is a political schemer grasping for power; you'll sleep much better at night when you realize not everyone is out to get what they can for themselves.
You have a responsibility to the public: you provide the data from which people in this free republic shape their conclusions. The least you can do is give them accurate info.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
What We Forget at Funerals
"Uncle Harry has gone home to the Lord. He's gone on to his eternal destiny."
When we've lost a loved one, we use such phrases to comfort ourselves. While they are right in expressing the Christian hope that death does not have the final word, each of them is missing a key piece of our belief about what happens after we die.
"Uncle Harry has gone home to the Lord."
This says that Uncle Harry is now in heaven. I don't want to be a Negative or Nitpicky Nicky here, but we don't know the fate of any person when they die. None of us can know whether Uncle Harry died in a state of grace, in the friendship of God, with no unconfessed mortal sin; and even if he did, he may well have to spend some time in purgatory, excising those last bits of attachment to sin and making his soul all-holy before approaching the throne of God. There are two potential dangers, then, inherent in this phrase:
When we've lost a loved one, we use such phrases to comfort ourselves. While they are right in expressing the Christian hope that death does not have the final word, each of them is missing a key piece of our belief about what happens after we die.
"Uncle Harry has gone home to the Lord."
This says that Uncle Harry is now in heaven. I don't want to be a Negative or Nitpicky Nicky here, but we don't know the fate of any person when they die. None of us can know whether Uncle Harry died in a state of grace, in the friendship of God, with no unconfessed mortal sin; and even if he did, he may well have to spend some time in purgatory, excising those last bits of attachment to sin and making his soul all-holy before approaching the throne of God. There are two potential dangers, then, inherent in this phrase:
- We fall into an implicit universalism where we assume that everyone will be saved, or at least a near-universalism where we assume everyone will be saved as long as they're basically good and didn't kill anybody or anything.
- By assuming they go to heaven right away, we neglect our absolutely essential duty to pray for the souls of the faithful departed, that we might aid their sanctification and help them get from the waiting room of purgatory into their heavenly home. (My girlfriend's family include's a prayer for the dead whenever they pray before meals, which I think is beautiful and practical--then you're sure to pray for the dead three times a day!)
"He's gone on to his eternal destiny."
From hearing this and other similar phrases, you get the sense that our "eternal destiny," our final end, is to spend eternity as a disembodied soul; your ol' body lies a-moldering in the grave, but your soul goes marching on, as though your body were a spacesuit being used temporarily to let your soul function in this alien environment, ultimately separate from you and disposable. But your body is not an accidental attachment to you; it is you. The human person is a composite of soul and body; each is incomplete without the other. You are an embodied soul, an ensouled body. As such, your eternal destiny must also include your body, and that is precisely what we believe as Christians. It's right there in the Creed: "I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come." At the end of time, there will be a new heavens and a new earth, and we will have glorified bodies, like Jesus' resurrected body (this is why St. Paul calls Jesus "the firstfruits of the resurrection"), to live with God in this renewed state for all eternity; this is what the Anglican theologian N.T. Wright calls "life after life after death." Spirit and flesh no longer striving against each other, but joined in harmony and integrity, forever enjoying the beatific vision of God Himself, sharing in His very life. That is our eternal destiny.
Don't forget it!
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Pope Paul the Prophet
This last week saw the 45th anniversary of the promulgation of Pope Paul VI's encyclical on the regulation of births, Humanae Vitae, known for addressing an issue (contraception) that is most talked about in the Church for how little it is talked about in churches. In an article on National Review's website, George Weigel commented that it was "an encyclical that was not so much rejected (pace the utterly predictable 45th-anniversary commentary) as it was unread, untaught, ill-considered — and thus unappreciated." This is reminiscent of Chesterton's line that "It is not that Christianity has been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult, and left untried": just so, it is not that Humanae Vitae was read and found deficient, but rather that its known message was found undesirable, and so the document was left unread.
I won't work through the encyclical's argument here, but I will point to one rather prophetic piece of it as an argument in its favor. Pope Paul made four predictions about the effects that widespread use of artificial birth control would have on society:
Since 1968, have we seen a general lowering of moral standards? Do we see an increase in sexually explicit material in films and TV? An increasingly "oh well" attitude toward profanity? An increase in kids cheating in school and feeling bad, that not they've done wrong, but that they've been caught? Check. (You might ask, "What does contraception have to do with profanity and cheating in school?" There are lots of dots to connect between the two, but let's just note for the moment that the pope was right about the result.)
I won't work through the encyclical's argument here, but I will point to one rather prophetic piece of it as an argument in its favor. Pope Paul made four predictions about the effects that widespread use of artificial birth control would have on society:
- a general lowering of moral standards;
- increased marital infidelity;
- the reduction of women to instruments for the fulfillment of male desire; and
- public authorities engaging in coercive population planning programs.
Let's see, how'd he do?
Since 1968, have we seen a general lowering of moral standards? Do we see an increase in sexually explicit material in films and TV? An increasingly "oh well" attitude toward profanity? An increase in kids cheating in school and feeling bad, that not they've done wrong, but that they've been caught? Check. (You might ask, "What does contraception have to do with profanity and cheating in school?" There are lots of dots to connect between the two, but let's just note for the moment that the pope was right about the result.)
Since 1968, have we seen increased rates in adultery, including an increase in women cheating on men? Check.
Since 1968, have we seen women increasingly made into sex objects? An enormous rise in consumption of pornography? An increased sexualization of women in the media, at increasingly younger ages? (Two years ago MTV cancelled a show detailing the sex lives of teenagers because many complained it amounted to child pornography.) Check.
Since 1968, have we seen Western governments pushing birth control in other countries and even making monetary aid dependent on implementing these "family planning" programs? Have we seen the US government forcing employers to pay for contraceptives, even when it violates their consciences? Check.
In any scientific experiment, you consider your hypothesis proved if the results of your experiment are as you predicted them. So, if Pope Paul was right about the negative consequences that an increased use of artificial birth control would have on society, is it at least within the realm of possibility that he (and the Church's steadfast two millenia tradition) might have been right on the nature of artificial birth control itself? Just maybe?
Friday, July 26, 2013
Who Could Hate a Baby?
The birth of George Alexander Louis Windsor, son of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, heir to the throne of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, has been the cause of much joy and celebration on that ancient isle, and much comment and fascination here in its former colonies. With all the news coverage it has received here in the States, you'd think it was our own future king who'd been born.
There has also been a counter-reaction, though, by some who have no interest in a royal baby and can't see why others would have any. Some seem to be Robespierre reincarnated, using the opportunity to denounce monarchy, even in its current largely de-fanged form. Some seem to be conjuring the spirit of Thomas Jefferson, excoriating their fellow Americans for taking any interest in the happenings of their former colonial masters.
I have no problem with someone being disinterested in this event. I do have a problem when it turns to hatred. It's one thing to say, "Man, who cares about a royal wedding or royal birth? It's got nothing to do with us!" It's another thing to say, "Who cares about the stupid royal baby? The little brat's going to live a spoiled life of privilege off of the backs of normal folks."
Whoa! Hold on! You just made it personal. What did this baby ever do to you? This is a baby we're talking about here. Far from oppressing or denying anyone their rights, this little guy has barely done more than eat, sleep, and spit up in his short life.
How can you look at a baby and be filled with hate? "Oh, it's not the baby I hate; it's all the attention he's getting," you might respond. Then why did you call the baby stupid and a brat? Why spew forth this venom in the baby's direction? Make sure that the guns of your criticism aren't aimed at innocent parties.
Every single human being born into the world is a gift from God. Yes, some babies garner more public attention than others, which is bound to happen, just as you care more about the death of your favorite athlete or actor than the death of the uncle of the guy you lives three houses away from you whose name you can't quite remember but you still wave to him when you're both getting the mail at the same time. This baby boy is a blessing to his family, and to the nation for whom he will be a symbol. If you don't care for the fanfare he gets, then criticize the fanfare; don't hate on the baby.
There has also been a counter-reaction, though, by some who have no interest in a royal baby and can't see why others would have any. Some seem to be Robespierre reincarnated, using the opportunity to denounce monarchy, even in its current largely de-fanged form. Some seem to be conjuring the spirit of Thomas Jefferson, excoriating their fellow Americans for taking any interest in the happenings of their former colonial masters.
I have no problem with someone being disinterested in this event. I do have a problem when it turns to hatred. It's one thing to say, "Man, who cares about a royal wedding or royal birth? It's got nothing to do with us!" It's another thing to say, "Who cares about the stupid royal baby? The little brat's going to live a spoiled life of privilege off of the backs of normal folks."
Whoa! Hold on! You just made it personal. What did this baby ever do to you? This is a baby we're talking about here. Far from oppressing or denying anyone their rights, this little guy has barely done more than eat, sleep, and spit up in his short life.
How can you look at a baby and be filled with hate? "Oh, it's not the baby I hate; it's all the attention he's getting," you might respond. Then why did you call the baby stupid and a brat? Why spew forth this venom in the baby's direction? Make sure that the guns of your criticism aren't aimed at innocent parties.
Every single human being born into the world is a gift from God. Yes, some babies garner more public attention than others, which is bound to happen, just as you care more about the death of your favorite athlete or actor than the death of the uncle of the guy you lives three houses away from you whose name you can't quite remember but you still wave to him when you're both getting the mail at the same time. This baby boy is a blessing to his family, and to the nation for whom he will be a symbol. If you don't care for the fanfare he gets, then criticize the fanfare; don't hate on the baby.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
A Scotsman Says It Right
Yesterday Pope Francis named Monsignor Leo Cushley as the archbishop-elect of St. Andrews and Edinburgh in Scotland. I found this interesting because I'm an Anglophile (though I suppose technically that would refer just to England... perhaps I'm also a Scotophile? Is that even a thing? I do have the flag of St. Andrew on my wall, as well as the Scottish royal standard....) but there was a little tidbit from the news article I read which I thought was worth sharing even with those who aren't as interested in the comings and goings in the northernmost reaches of the island of Great Britain.
The archbishop-elect concluded his press release with the following:
Notice that he did not mention board meetings or capital campaigns among his priorities. These are crucial things, often necessary to the smooth functioning of a large institution such as a diocese, but they are not first things. They are dependent upon the things he did mention. You raise funds to repair a church because that's where the sacraments take place. You have meetings to discuss a new school because that's where the faith is passed on.
First things come first, and they deserve pride of place. I'm glad that the archbishop-elect put them where they ought to be. I hope other bishops do the same.
The archbishop-elect concluded his press release with the following:
"My first task is to preach the good news, Christ crucified and risen from the dead, to confirm my brother priests in their Catholic faith and ministry, and to be a loving, simple, wise shepherd to the flock that has been entrusted to me."Wow! I don't think I've ever seen such a pithy and punchy summation of the role of a bishop in the Church. His primary function, his most important role, at the top of his to-do list, is to preach the good news of Christ, who was slain and now lives forever, who has won victory over sin and death, and who offers us eternal life if we believe in him and live in him. Serving as the high priest of the local church over which he is head, he has the responsibility of strengthening those who serve with and under him in the preaching of the good news and the service of the new dispensation, exercising the priesthood of Jesus Christ and bringing the grace of God into people's lives via the proclamation of the Gospel and the celebration of the sacraments. He sees himself first and foremost as shepherd, the servant of the Good Shepherd, informed with charity and wisdom and simplicity of heart, leading his flock to the pastures of paradise. No minor task.
Notice that he did not mention board meetings or capital campaigns among his priorities. These are crucial things, often necessary to the smooth functioning of a large institution such as a diocese, but they are not first things. They are dependent upon the things he did mention. You raise funds to repair a church because that's where the sacraments take place. You have meetings to discuss a new school because that's where the faith is passed on.
First things come first, and they deserve pride of place. I'm glad that the archbishop-elect put them where they ought to be. I hope other bishops do the same.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Sorting Out the Three Cs
There are over half a million words in the English language. Our tongue has a marvelous elasticity, a broad perspicacity, a nearly inexhaustible wellspring of mellifluous, trenchant, and piquant words, providing our speech with crystal clarity and minute precision.
Yet, too often, we make the mistake of using certain words as synonyms which, rather than naming the same thing, actually introduce fine distinctions in a concept. This ain't no help to nobody. To wit...
These three words are often confused and misused, in secular media, in everyday conversation, and even by priests and theologians. Let's define each so we can use them correctly in the future.
Chastity "means the successful integration of sexuality within the person and thus the inner unity of man in his bodily and spiritual being." (CCC 2337) In other words, chastity means living out your sexuality in accordance with your state of life (e.g. not having sex if you're not married), and not abusing your sexuality in a way that's incongruous with the nature of the sexual act (e.g. self-gratification, homosexual acts, etc.). People often use "chastity" and "celibacy" interchangeably; all too often you hear someone say that "Priests take a vow of chastity." Because they equate chastity with celibacy, people tend to think that chastity is something only priests and religious are called to, which is not the case: everyone is called to live chastely. Everyone is called to live out their sexuality in accordance with their state in life. Well, what's celibacy, then?
Celibacy is the permanent professed state of refraining from marriage. Priests make a promise, and religious take a vow, to remain celibate for their whole lives, in keeping with their vocation. Celibate does not simply mean "not having sex;" so when the ladies' man character in a movie says, "Man, I've been celibate for weeks, I haven't had any action," or when your friend says, "I haven't had a girlfriend for months, I've been celibate all this time," they're using the term incorrectly, unless they mean that in the brief period in question they had made a permanent commitment to never marry. Which is unlikely, given the context. So, if not celibacy, what's the word we want here?
Continence is refraining from sexual relations. This is what the ladies' man character should use instead of "celibate." Now naturally, since in the Church's understanding of human nature it's inappropriate for those who aren't married to have sex, the state of celibacy requires sexual continence. But sexual continence is required of everybody who isn't married, celibate or dating or single or whatever. So we shouldn't use "celibate" as some shorthand for "continence."
So, let's get some practice here: Monks and nuns take a vow of celibacy, meaning they promise never to be married. In order to live chastely, that is, live according to their state in life, the celibate person practices continence, that is, doesn't have sexual relations. Jack and Jill are planning to get married, so they aren't celibates, but still, until they do get married, chastity requires continence.
I hope this helps!
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