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June 26, 2009

Living life off the wall

Filed under: Arts and entertainment — Camassia @ 9:05 am

The sudden death of Michael Jackson wasn’t as personal as the death of my ex’s father, but it certainly was more shocking — I had never really pegged him as one of those famous people headed for an early grave. Then again, during the TV coverage of the event someone mentioned the “longtime rumors of drug abuse” that I’d been unaware of, so I guess I hadn’t been paying much attention.

In fact, I’ve realized that I hadn’t really thought about Jackson in a long time, not because of indifference but because I had put him on a sort of mental shelf labeled I Don’t Know What To Think. When Thriller came out I was twelve, and I was awestruck. Although I never actually bought the album, probably because Michael Jackson was always really an audio-visual experience. For a while there, he seemed not only to be a crossover artist in sound and format but to embody the meeting of opposites in his own person — black and white, male and female, child and adult. And of course, there was the dancing.

But as time went by, as his musical output thinned and his face turned into a death-mask, he also descended to a strange place of epistemological uncertainty. How many of those tabloid rumors were true? Was he really a victim of the press, or did he feed them to the tabs himself? And what of those child-abuse allegations? They were dropped, but they were dropped in that unpleasantly unresolved way that reminds us of how life is different from Perry Mason. And so I think that, half-consciously, I started tuning the whole thing out. Not only did I not know, I didn’t really want to know.

For death to claim him at this point leaves me with a sort of bleak feeling, similar, oddly enough, to the bleak feeling I had when Anna Nicole Smith died. I didn’t feel much about her in life, but there’s something upsetting about a person never having a chance to get out of the trash celebrity pit, never getting older and wiser and being able to reflect back and chuckle at the insanity of it all. But the insanity really does eat people, something we would all do well to remember, especially those of us in the press.

June 25, 2009

RIP Paul Barkman

Filed under: Personal stuff — Camassia @ 9:08 am

Sorry I’ve been so quiet, but over the last two weeks or so I’ve been following, vicariously over email, the sudden decline and death of my (still friendly) ex-boyfriend’s father. It happened rather quickly in the end, but it was not that big a surprise since he was 88 years old; John is 12 years older than I am, and his father had him late in life. The one time I hung out with Paul, over dinner about three years ago, I was amazed that someone nearly as old as my grandparents was still so sharp.

Paul had quite a remarkable life. He grew up in a little Mennonite town on the Canadian prairie, with a strong ethic of communal self-reliance. I gather this belief in looking out for one’s neighbors was part of what inspired Paul and his wife Frieda to foster ten troubled boys before they got around to having their own kids. I remember seeing from the expression on Frieda’s face, as she was telling me this, how hard it must have been, but it was probably educational for Paul’s eventual career as a psychotherapist.

Paul was, in fact, one of the founders of Fuller Seminary’s psychology department back in the early ’60s, bringing together two disciplines that were historically rather suspicious of each other. He later moved on to private practice in Twenty-Nine Palms, which put him in the peculiar position of being a pacifist treating patients who were largely military people. (John explained to me wryly, “As we all know, Marines don’t have any psychological problems. But somehow, their families do.”) When I met him he was still practicing, and even over the dinner table he exuded that combination of warmth and penetrating insight that good therapists tend to have.

It’s sort of a running joke that therapists screw up their kids, but I never saw anything to indicate that the family was anything but close and happy. Those of you who pray, please put in a word for Paul’s soul and for those left behind.

June 10, 2009

More on disability

Filed under: Orthopraxis,Politics and society — Camassia @ 10:08 pm

My last post, you may have discerned, was really a combo of a post responding to Helen’s piece with an abortion post I was already planning to write. As a result, the disability part of it kind of got short shrift. But I’ve been thinking about it further and wanted to add a few more thoughts specifically related to disability.

One, I’ve been out and about many times with my brother-in-law, who’s in a wheelchair due to an injury, and I thoroughly approve of ramps, curb breaks, lifts, etc. To my mind, they never represented an illusion of independence so much as simple infrastructure. I’m not up on the details of the ADA, but I don’t have a conceptual problem with the government getting involved in their building either. By building the highways and such for cars the government helped create a society where even basic socializing requires a greater level of mobility than ever before, so it seems a bit churlish to say that it’s special treatment to help the disabled get around on wheels, when everybody else gets around on wheels so much of the time.

I also noticed that Joe Carter made the same point that I did about Jesus’ going around healing people, only more forcefully. Actually, I’m a bit uncomfortable with making it that forcefully, because I think we have to recognize how contextual the definition of disease itself is, especially when it is mental. One country’s madman is another one’s shaman; homosexuality used to be a mental illness, and now it’s not. This is not to say it’s all relative, but I think any Christian who has reason to suspect the post-Enlightenment medical model of humanity (which includes everybody at First Things, I would say) should stop and discern before accepting all pronouncements on the subject. Jesus may have made the blind see and the lame walk, but it’s difficult to picture what his healing an adult with the mind of a 10-month-old would look like.

When it comes to persons with diseases of the mind, I invariably find myself thinking of Oliver Sacks. Unfortunately I don’t have a book on hand to quote from directly, but his recurring thesis is that doctors should consider neurology patients, even severely disabled ones, as whole people. In his case I think that’s different from either defining a person by their disability, or imagining the person without it. Rather, it’s saying that every person who has a disability is unique, and will incorporate it into his or her life in sometimes unpredictable ways. In some cases, that means they incorporate it so well that healing it may cause disruption (as blind people whose sight has been suddenly restored often find the experience more frightening and confusing than liberating). However, there are few generalities one can make in that regard, which is why Sacks tends to structure his books as collections of case studies. Before making broad philosophical claims about autonomy and eschatology, that might be a good thing to keep in mind.

June 7, 2009

Love and death (and other stuff)

Filed under: Orthopraxis,Politics and society — Camassia @ 11:37 am

Eve asked what people think of Helen Rittelmeyer’s article making a conservative argument for disability activism. She says that if someone offered a cure for her severely disabled sister her family probably wouldn’t take it, because they love her the way she is. Helen goes on to argue that loving the disabled this way is better to them than pushing them towards independence and autonomy; many of them will never achieve it, and it encourages the view that a dependant is somehow less human. She also urges us not to be so afraid of the fact that this means suffering. Although she shies away from shallow “suffering builds character” formulations, she says that taking the harder path can bring other benefits, and “When the compensating benefit is love, the answer is easy.”

This post intersects with another line of thought I’ve been having lately, brought along by the renewed focus on abortion in the media and the blogosphere. I’ve been nagged by a memory of a time when I was about eight years old, and my mother first explained the whole abortion debate to me. My mother is pro-choice, and so she explained it from that point of view; but I asked her why, given the contention over the life of the fetus, a woman who didn’t want to raise a child couldn’t just put it up for adoption. My mother said something like, “But when you have a baby you feel such a strong attachment, it’s just unbearable to give it up.”

I think this has stuck in my mind all these years partly because, for all the abortion debates I’ve heard or read, I don’t recall anyone else addressing this problem quite so directly. Most pro-choice arguments seem to focus on rights, and thus wheel off into ungainly analogies about dying violinists and whatnot. And some feminists seem suspicious of the idea of a strong innate mother-love to begin with. But it seems to me that without it, the argument for total free choice is actually harder to make. Most pregnancies entail some physical hardship, but in the modern world it is generally not greater than some of the other hardships that obeying the law inflicts on us, like military conscription, lengthy jury duty, paying taxes for undeserving causes and not being able to steal when you have no money. Some intangible emotional hardship, therefore, seems required in order to put unwanted pregnancy up there with torture and rape as experiences that any person has a natural right not to suffer.

But I think the other reason the comment stuck in my mind is the picture of mother-love that it offers — a picture that is not, when it comes to it, entirely positive. It makes getting pregnant at the wrong time sound sort of like falling in love with the wrong guy: you can’t live with him and you can’t stand to see anyone else live with him, so you feel a dark temptation to rub him out. In that way, some abortions may actually be crimes of passion.

But a more benevolent way of looking at it, which is probably more the case with my mother, is that mother-love entails a profound fear of the child suffering. If you give it up for adoption, you certainly run the risk that it will suffer badly: it might never be adopted, or it might be adopted by crazy people. Moreover, a mother who decides to keep the baby because of the tortured I-don’t-want-it-but-I-do feelings described earlier may be setting it up for a pretty difficult childhood also. I think my mother’s point of view, based on some other comments she’s made, is that some people are better off aborted than being raised by certain parents.

So in settling on love as a basis for bioethics, Helen is certainly hanging her position on one of the most complex and contested words in the English language. But for all that she talks about suffering, Helen still doesn’t quite directly address the question of the suffering of the disabled person — whether disabled physically or by a lack of a functioning family. Doesn’t love at least entail some aspect of not wanting to see a person suffer? Is every person who wishes to die really suffering from inadequate love, or does the natural instinct to end suffering sometimes overpower even that?

I also wanted to make a couple of theological points about the piece. In her link to it, Eve notes that “when Christ appeared to the apostles in His glory, the glorified body still bore the wounds of crucifixion.” True, but weighed against that is the fact that Christ spent much of his earthly ministry curing disabilities, including blindness, deafness and paralysis. Granted, there’s a pretty big difference between that and the modern ministrations of medical science, but it does seem to challenge Helen’s claim that disabilities are essential to a person’s self. Seeing “an imaginary version of that person minus his disability” actually seems to be a pretty big part of the Kingdom vision.

The question of a person’s ultimate condition gets even knottier when it comes to abortion. Certainly a materialist view of death as being simple non-existence can make it seem preferable to a life of suffering, and indeed, makes it not seem all that different from the state of being a barely-existent embryo. But a Christian view of the afterlife doesn’t necessarily help define what it is that’s so bad about death. I recall back when the Slacktivist was starting through the Left Behind novels (amazingly, he’s still at it!), the Rapture was described as taking unborn fetuses from their mothers’ wombs. The Slacktivist pointed out that this was making an anti-abortion point by asserting that fetuses do have souls. But a commenter pointed out that this makes abortion seem like doing a baby a favor: after all, they get straight to heaven this way, while letting them grow up just gives them an opportunity to damn themselves.

It is perhaps a measure of how much we are all Baptists now that I’ve never heard a pedobaptist make the obvious rejoinder to this, which is that a baby probably isn’t going to get to heaven without being baptized. To be fair, last I heard the Catholic Church itself is unclear about what happens to unbaptized infants, so that may be speaking out of turn. But it does seem that, in order to make a truly pro-life argument, one has to see life as more than a booby-trap on the road to heaven.

I noted in an earlier post — which, not coincidentally, also brought up mothering — that there is a strain of thought in the New Testament to the effect that living, suffering and dying are necessary steps toward the next phase of existence, one closer to God. And yet at the same time, it still generally regards the infliction of suffering as a sin and an outgrowth of a fallen world. And even less helpfully, despite the fact that infant mortality was extremely high back then it never brings up the question of whether a dead infant has, once and for all, been deprived of the opportunity to go through that process.

I should say that the fact that there are many people living difficult lives, who nonetheless assert they are worth it, gives me pause about the whole “abort to preempt suffering” idea. It does seem like going overboard with the whole children are horrendously fragile concept that has grown in the last 150 years or so. So despite my criticisms, I think Helen makes some valuable points here. It does, however, feel like it needs some filling out (which I guess the “towards” in the title is pretty much admitting).

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