A Declaration of Independence from Technological Stolen Valor

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for human beings to dissolve the technological bands which have connected them with dystopian abuse, and to assume again the powers of human life, the separate and superior station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle authentic intelligence over artificial, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness, and that Rights are properly upheld by genuine personal Virtue such as rationality, imagination, and craftsmanship, not by relentlessly utilitarian automation which discards individual abilities.–That to promote the flourishing of these rights and these virtues, Technologies are instituted among Men, deriving their just applications from the benefit of the individual, –That whenever any Form of Technology becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right and Duty of the People to resist or to dismantle it, and to institute new Technology, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its uses in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Technology long employed to our benefit should not be discarded for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to endure societal change, while changes are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms of technology to which they are accustomed or become accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute technocratic Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Technocracy, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these bearers of the Image of God; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Technology. The history of the present corporations of Artificial Intelligence is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over the fundamental creativity of the human spirit. To prove this, let Facts of the abuses of GenAI be submitted to a candid world:

-It has operated upon the stolen valor of creative outputs without due credit to the creators and with an unprecedented scale of copyright infringement.

-It has created the false impression that machine-based algorithms are the same as the genuine human quest for thought, expression, and creativity.

-It has threatened cognitive development and maintenance by outsourcing efforts of mind which keep the brain healthy and properly engaged with its own thoughts, dampening the sense of individual need to explore the regions of the senses, imagination, and reason to produce language or other creations, whether in the humanities or otherwise.

-It has threatened to oust the professional pursuit of the life of the mind (whether in history, philosophy, literature, theology, or other domains) by creating the appearance that it can simply provide the answers, when the quest for answers is fundamental to the flourishing of the human spirit.

-It has produced a counterfeit answer to loneliness, which can only be answered by communing with fellow humans and with God.

-It has created delusions and psychoses where users become addicted and entrapped by false ideologies.

-It has made a mockery of the self-evident dignity of the human person by inappropriately mimicking qualities of personality.

-It has diminished the perception of the immortal soul in speechbearers by using mathematical formulas to remix stolen language from speechbearers writing today and in ages gone by.

-It has introduced spiritual dangers for pastors, spiritual leaders, and faithful followers of religion by attempting to replace the slow process of genuine meditation with quick and simplistic answers.

-It has dehumanized the process of the passing of wisdom from one generation to another.

-It has tempted users to an idolatrous view of technology which cuts the mind off from the genuine reach for true transcendence.

-It has put distrust between readers and writers of words, including between students and teachers, authors and editors, employees and employers.

-It has harmed the educational process of pursuit of learning by offering a too easily available and too difficult to discern shortcut.

-It has attacked the pursuit of Happiness by threatening the means of advancement which new artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers and other creative individuals require to start a legitimate career.

-It has threatened employment not in a manner consistent with older technology because it threatens not to replace a manner of labor but the nature of the laborers themselves.

-It has damaged the environment by consuming enormous amounts of water through datacenters, which have also operated by unethical means of stealing water which neighboring citizens must pay for.

-Its datacenters have added to pre-existing problems of drought and elevated temperatures.

-Its datacenters have been pushed on communities against their will and wishes.

-Its attack on genuine rationality threatens the relationship between the individual and civic duty, for the vote cannot be properly cast if the voter has been discouraged at every turn from deep reflection of issues but encouraged to receive shallow and fast results.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Objected in the most humble terms: Our repeated Concerns have been answered only by repeated injury. A Technology, which character is thus marked by every effect which may define a Tyrannical Assault on the Human Spirit, is unfit to be the economic ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our technologically gifted friends. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their enthusiasm for technological innovation to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the virtues humans must practice which artificial intelligence harmfully imitates. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity (which motivates the better part of their innovations), and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. While some technologically oriented individuals have come to our conclusions, the general field of computer science overall has been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in dehumanizing technology, in humanizing Friends.

Thus concluding that the Technology of Generative Artificial Intelligence is unamerican, incompatible with genuine capitalistic endeavors, inimical to individual flourishing, a technocratic threat to human rights, an unprecedented assault on the flourishing of human virtues in realms of creativity and confidence in the human spirit, I call upon my fellow citizens to abstain from this technology and resist it in whatever means befits a conscientious citizen and virtuous member of the human race. Regardless of race, religion, or political affiliation, let us join together in the unfettered affirmation of actual intelligence and the use of human virtue to promote human rights, letting no diabolical mimickry of the image of God interpose itself in the common bond of humanity. May Likes, Hearts, and Care Emojis, as well as agreeable comments in the comments section, present your mutual dissent to a candid world.

Review: Bond of the Sword – Realistic Fantasy Delivers a Message of Hardwon Hope

Bond of the Sword by Travis Perry (assisted by Cindy Koepp) combines what I would describe as a Terry Brooks-style gripping plot that takes dragons as seriously as Tolkien, with a perspective that takes war as seriously as Tim O’Brien. Written in the compelling voice of a loving father helping his son develop a more grounded sense of the brutality of war without denigrating the nobility of defending those you love, Bond of the Sword balances shocking violence with a hardwon hope that individuals can rise above horror and retain compassion.

I would give this book to a person who likes real world war fiction but would like to break into fantasy; it also does an amazing job balancing the extremes of overly grim dark fantasy that has become popular lately without falling into platitudes. In fact I would say dissolving platitudes into grounded wisdom is the chief agenda of this story, masculine but sensitive and honest about war’s brutality without becoming polemical in any direction. And its message is made more universal by a fresh but not lore-clogged vision of a fantasy world sufficiently like and unlike our world to help us think about the actual hardwon hope people really need to keep pushing forward when things seem impossible.

If you are looking for a fantasy with dragon slaying and tournaments and coming of age stories packed full of emotions in finely crafted prose, this novel will be right up your street. You can find Bond of the Sword at Bear Publications.

Remember the Stranger

Jane Austen originally gave her famous novel, Pride and Prejudice, the name First Impressions. Prejudice’s etymology means “to judge in advance,” the peril of trusting our first impressions. Through Elizabeth Bennet’s and Mr. Darcy’s prejudice-ridden interactions, Austen reminds us that our impressions of others often form in haste. This rashness especially manifests when we feel vulnerable, and often arises with those we think exhibit patterns similar to others who have hurt us before.

Little hurts a relationship of any kind, whether a friendship, a romantic interest, or a professional relationship, more than the belief that we have the other person pinned like a dead butterfly in an exhibit. Overfamiliarity can cause us to view a frustrating teacher, student, or classmate in a narrow and bitter gaze. Where we love characters in stories who have deeper wellsprings than others appreciate, we sometimes forget this depth of hidden life, often painful, from which others act. We also forget that others do not know our hidden lives either, and may misinterpret their behavior as intentionally callous when they simply do not know our situation.

As a season, Advent reminds us that, as strangers in this world, we wait for trumpets to herald alienation’s abolition. But the following Christmas season often reawakens the strain we feel in overfamiliar relationships with family, friends, and maybe even in our relationship with Jesus. One remedy for this cavalier prejudice of stale impressions of another person resides in remembering the stranger. After all, humanity can participate in the infinite so deeply that the invisible God found it suitable to take on the full hidden life of a true man. Pride locks us into prejudice where humility assumes mystery in our fellow impressions of inexhaustible divinity. When we remember the stranger in our relationships, we discard overfamiliarity for intimacy’s genuine curiosity.

Thou Shall Not Doubt

Thou Shall Not Doubt (~2009)

The cries of the machine are
crushing your skull
with slow sadistic pressure
with a careful measure
to strip away your carnal truth.
(Don’t listen to me, listen!
THOU SHALL NOT DOUBT)

The machine begins to close
thin strips of sharp metal touch your face
and press against your skin
and scrape slow against the sin
of a whole body.
(Don’t listen to me. Listen!
THOU SHALL NOT FOLLOW)

Blood begins to trickle down your chin,
to your throat, down your chest,
as the metal tips of the machine
scrape against the bone.
The gates of the machine are built by doubt
to engineer your fears and your hate
and to make your questions hard
and deaf to any answer.
(Don’t listen to me! Listen.
THOU SHALL NOT REASON AND COMPARE)

The machine pauses as it digs into the first layer of bone
deeper now, it clings, you feel
something begin to move
the sound of something acting
an action without life
like a Newtonian diagram.
A fissure opens, breaks, your skull shakes,
and something deeper than blood oozes out.
(Only those with an ear to hear:
THINE BUSINESS IS TO CREATE)

Give me your brain,
let me teach you to ask
as, I say, I taught Socrates
soothes the machine.
(Thou shall not doubt)
Give me your “soul”
for with it you blunder
and despoil
and with it gone
you are free from false guilt.
(Thou shall not follow)

Look at this,
and consider that,
and think on what I tell you
for you see
there is only one measurable truth,
so unite with the great machine of eternal nature
or fall as the dross of humanity.
(Thou shall not reason and compare)

A single line of human thought
a great train
a bridge to anywhere, everywhere
a tower to pierce the clouds
the fruit of gods
worship, devotion, fame.
You need only kneel, or hunch,
and give your vision
to a greater vision
the precise vision of the perfect
machine beyond man.
(Thine business is to create)

Blood drips like rain from your feet
you quiver as pain dances your spine over
and the stately machine
squeezes you
with endless questions
and startless answers.
If you do not want your mind crushed
and devoured
(then) listen (not to me)

Thou shall not doubt

What on Earth

I was eating an ice cream sandwich while they were fighting. “What on Earth is wrong with you?” they would yell at each other. It was okay that they were fighting. I liked to try and eat as close to the wrapper as I could, but one of them noticed and they thought I was going to eat the wrapper. So they rushed over and helped me, even though I didn’t need their help. Why on Earth did they think I was too stupid to know better? I knew that their fighting was stupid. Not that I understand what it was about. I was three, but three was an age when I started to understand things. I know that sounds strange, but I was strange at three.

Eventually my father left and it was just my mom and me. And I liked to get up late at night and watch the news. A man sat at the desk and just read from his paper. I liked that his hair was done up to look important and I liked the way he talked and the lamp on his desk. Mom was sleeping. I was supposed to be sleeping too but the news was more relaxing than trying to sleep. I didn’t know what the news meant, but I knew what sleeping meant. My knees hurt when I tried to sleep, and the shadows in the room moved when my eyes were opened and dots on my eyes swirled when they were closed. And the giant teddy bear my grandfather had given me was there, and I didn’t like that. What on Earth I was supposed to do with a giant teddy bear, I don’t know. Climb it I guess, but not when the shadows made it seem scary.

During the day I liked to climb a giant boulder outside of our house – anyway it looked giant to me. There was a girl who would climb on it too. She was older and she liked to talk about ants. She would tell me about ants and how some knew how to fly. I didn’t believe her at first but she was sure about it, and I guess I had to believe her. But I didn’t believe it when my grandma told me dinosaurs weren’t around anymore. How on Earth could she know? The girl knew flying ants existed and I’d never seen one. Grandma’s arguments were less convincing. 

At night sometimes I’d look out the window and think about the boulder and how the girl told me about the ants. That was nice. I wondered if she was my girlfriend. How on Earth do you know when someone is your girlfriend? Is it because she tells you things you didn’t know, like how flying ants are real? Or maybe she forgot about me whenever she couldn’t see me. Just a regular friend I guessed. That’s okay. I hoped I’d see her sitting on the boulder and waving up at me but I knew that she was sleeping. Everyone else liked sleeping but it bothered me. Night was so good for thinking and wondering. Why on Earth would you waste the quiet time for thinking by sleeping? Of course I’d always sleep eventually, but I didn’t have to like it.

Sometimes my knees would be so restless I couldn’t just stay in my room. Sometimes I would walk around the apartment and watch the news. But sometimes I would look at the door and I realized that with mom sleeping, I could leave. Maybe I could go to the boulder. Maybe the girl would be there and she could tell me what ants did at night. Did they sleep or were they jittery at night like me? And if I went to the boulder she might come out and explain if she’s my girlfriend or not. I had no idea, but she would probably know if she knew about the flying ants.

Sometimes I would open the door and blink in the light of the hallway. I had a feeling going outside was a bad idea, so I would just stand there in the open door and try to be in two places at once. I felt two things in me, one that said to close the door and go lay down and bend your knees to stop them from hurting. But the other voice said that your knees don’t hurt when you walk and the shadows aren’t as scary when you’re standing. So one night I went out of the door and locked myself out by accident. As soon as the door went snick, and I couldn’t open it, I knew that the boulder and the ant girl weren’t important because I was locked out. And that would upset mom. Getting locked outside would be even worse. A boulder was not worth it.

So I stood there and I wished something would happen. I wished that the door would unlock behind me or that someone would come with a key. But I realized then that sometimes when you make a decision, the door behind you has nothing more to say about it. And that was the first time I found a feeling worse than the dark shadows in my room.

I sat down and decided that my mom would find me here in the morning, dead, and she would have a funeral for me. I didn’t think I could survive the night, since I definitely couldn’t sleep and though I’d been up late before I had never been awake for a whole night. She probably would feel confused about why I was laying here dead, and I had to admit I didn’t have a good explanation either.

Then help came that I hadn’t looked for. Across from me the door to the other apartment opened, and there was the old lady. I didn’t know why she wasn’t sleeping, but she seemed to be looking for me. Why that was I didn’t know, but she smiled and asked if I was locked out. I explained that I wanted to go to the boulder but I shouldn’t have tried, and that was when I started crying. I found that confusing because I wasn’t sad. What on Earth did I cry for? I was missing the news, I said, which is why I’m upset.

She laughed and invited me into her apartment. She put me in a nice chair and gave me milk and cookies, and put on the news channel. I don’t know how she knew I liked to listen to the man. But I listened to the man, and ate the cookies. And my mind slipped into some weird theater of images the man’s words conjured. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my own bed and in my room but the light was shining in. I looked at my giant teddy bear and I thought he looked friendly. I didn’t feel afraid of him at night any more after that.

Ethics of Thunder and Snow

Written on the occasion of seeing a predatory bird

Perched upon a leafless tree in a winter storm

The ethics of thunder and snow

Raged through the barren trees;

As the sharp edges of the wind did blow,

An avian philosopher debated the breeze.

Perched upon the leafless tree it gazed out

Still and quiet with thoughts of flight,

Unfazed by the dispute in thunderous shout,

ghostly and grey to give fear itself fright.

For the material state of hail and rain

Could not defeat the winged sage’s mind

Which knew blue skies as its true fane

Where all storms are left behind.

Steady, silent watcher with your unsettling gaze,

Your stance against the storm, feathers jeweled by ice,

Remind me of the immovable ancient of days,

Whose eternal center is one and blessed thrice

Where I should turn when the storms holler lies

And into His truth on grace’s wings arise.

———————————————-

Charmed by these thoughts given by this bird without song,

I turned to look out the window as if to give thanks,

But he was gone.

Paradiso

Written ~2007

“…it has come as auxiliary to another favorite Speculation of mine, that we shall enjoy ourselves here after by having what we calle happiness on Earth repeated in a finer tone and so repeated—And yet such a fate can only befall those who delight in sensation rather than hunger as you do after Truth…” –John Keats

You already know the story I am going to tell you. You have heard this a million times before. In fact, this whole thing may have nothing new or useful for you at all. But it is all I know, all I have to say, and I do not demand that you listen to me. I am simply going to tell you what the truth is. You may not want to hear it, which is fine. But stay with me, if you are brave. Try to stop hiding from the pain of what you know, or nothing here will mean anything to you.

            Our planet is called Paradiso, as it has for some years. After the mantra of Nietzsche grew popular, the star-ward gaze was abandoned and we got to calling earth heaven. Holy Science has salvaged our world, welded it like a casket impregnable to grave robbers. Huge bridges, like the cables of a spider’s web, have joined the continents, and Pangea is an apt name of the world-wide nation.

            There is no hunger on Paradiso, as Pangea’s official records prove. The machines have pumped the life from the soil, and every human mouth is fed. There is no labor but luxury, for pursuits of the mind are the commandment of Pangea. Everyone is stylized a scholar, and violence is strictly and rigorously forbidden. There are no wars between factions, because Pangea says that every person is equally unique, and all individuality is carefully apportioned by the officials. The differences of the old world, we are taught, only cause pain, so we are relieved of dangerous heritage.

            Disease is a fairytale on Paradiso, a story, told by the historians we call physicians. Medicine is kept in museums once known as hospitals. Life is longer now, and they say immortality will be on the market some day soon. The harder we work, the longer we are allowed to live, and Pangea is praised as a perfect government for how well we run its stipulations.

            They call the old world Inferno in the texts. A place of horror where people found themselves unable to agree on the simplest beliefs and blood was spilt over things they thought mattered. Now we can be happy, free of their fanaticism. We no longer have to worry about the dangers posed by notions of immaterial truth. We have happiness meticulously manufactured, and the assurances that it is more than enough.

            And happy we truly are. No one dies an untimely death, and everyone pursues what they should want. They – we – are blissful, as only ignorance can allow.

            I was given the name Faustus, as part of my duty of recalling the infernal days of old. But of course this is not a story about me – it is a story about us, and the Pangean Paradise. For we are a people of peace. The citizens of the disunified Inferno would have been jealous at our widespread, global, organized machine of perfect utility. Pleasure is for nearly every human on Paradiso all that is known; there are no smiles tinted by sadness. Except for those proud few, who bear the sadness which comes with the joy of sacrifice.

            Ah, you hoped that I would pass over in silence the secret to Paradiso’s success. I knew you knew what it was. But you almost forget it, absorbed as you are in your delights. This is understandable, and it couldn’t be helped anyway. But I will remind you.

            At birth, I was assigned the task of Deliverer. There is a class on Paradiso known as the Champions. The highest of Champions, most honored, are the Heroes. They are the heartbeat, the source, of Pangea’s culture machine. Then there are the Attendants. Finally, there is my class. The Deliverers, we live between. We see and live in two worlds. We see the peace of Paradiso, and we see the small microcosm, the world entirely created by Pangea: Purgatorio. That is the realm of the Heroes.

            I will familiarize you again with what merely slipped from your mind, occupied as it is with the meaningful demands of your business. As the Deliverer, I watch every child born into my assigned district. I mark them silently, and according to the criteria, carefully discern who are to be Heroes. I write this down in my personal files, and meet the parents clandestinely. I inform them, and console them with an understanding of the high honor Pangea proscribes.

            At the proper age, I take the child from their parents. The Her is taken at its first lie. Usually in Paradiso this is not until very old, for humans are raised to strict codes of behavior. But Heroes are different. Lying is in their genes.

            I remember my first Hero. Her lie was reported on a cool Monday morning—not too cool, for weather is carefully supervised—and I arrived to apprehend her at seven thirty a.m. Her lie was that she enjoyed waking early. Her personal diary, recorded orally, testified that early mornings made her unhappy. I took her from her parents at eight fifteen a.m. She was three and a half years old.

            I took her to the Attendants. She held her storybook close, scared but brave. Her parents had told her they were proud of her. Their ashen faces told her that they were scared. I felt proud for her fortitude. I know why she is a Hero.

            For six months she was prepared in Purgatorio. I am not an Attendant, so I had nothing more to do with her. Pangean code suggests Deliverers watch little or nothing of the process after one or two viewings, although the code is not enforced. After that first time, I seldom ever watched.

            The child is put on a healthy but strict diet and put through extensive exercise during those six months. Heroes are expected to be in excellent physical condition. She was no different. At the end of the sixth month she was taken from the outer hall of the Purgatorio, to where the final steps are taken inside.

            The child is stripped of outer garments, though left with decency and dignity. All hair is removed, down to each eyelash. Then a careful process removes the thinnest layer of skin across the body. This heightens the sensitivity. The instruments are brought out, and the attendant sets to work. The child is given something to bite on.

            Usually the damage to the internal organs and the shock of pain kills the Hero within an hour. The process is necessary. It is the only way to generate enough innocent pain. The sciencists tap into the karma program, and for many years enough pain is generated, and enough energy, to produce relief across Pangea. Paradiso is a land of utter pleasure, thanks to the efforts of our noble Heroes. The machine runs on blood, but thankfully just a little is enough, every once in a while.

            You seem upset. The emotion in your eyes seems defensive, as if you wish to remind me of all the lives this makes better. You want to point out that this process causes planet-wide healing. You want to ask, isn’t it reasonable to make the entire world better by means of this occasional, routine sacrifice?

            Good, that reaction is as expected. You will make an excellent Attendant, just as the culture machine predicted.


In 2020 this story was used as promotional material for Of Gods and Globes 2, edited by Lancelot Schaubert.

The Trivium and Literary Interpretation

The subjectification of literary interpretation, the idea that the text only means what I feel it means rather than the rigorous standards of interpretation produced by careful grammatical, logical, and rhetorical investigation of the text’s meaning(s), undermines the value of human utterance for sharing and creation of community through narrative. Granted, texts are marvelously variable and capable of yielding legitimate polyvocal readings – and reader response surely comes into play when one finalizes such things.

But the assumed authority to merely rewrite a text when interpreting it, asserting counterfactuals to what is actually written as permissible, and such like interpretive antics constitute an infringement on the basic good will required for any viable hermeneutic. I think that grade school pedagogy, well intentioned as it surely is, has privileged the idea of reader response to highlight the joy of interpretive interactivity at the expense of the sense of responsibility to the words arranged as the author wrote them.

This invokes the problematic and much-vexed issue of authorial intent, which has been rightly considered a limiting frame of reference, because texts can do more than authors mean them to. In fact if the author has any skill the text will convincingly do much more than what the author intended. To invoke the classic categories of rhetorical persuasion, using authorial intent as the primary means of interpretation is to make the author the Logos of the text – but that is technically wrong because only the words of the text are the Logos of it.

However, what makes a text worthwhile is the awareness that it was fixed, at one time, by a human being. I couldn’t care less if a computer could write a better poem or story than a human – even if it can, what I care about is the human reaction to his or her lifeworld, and so the author-function must have a steady, timeless place – “authorization” in the non-literary sense of the word. This authorization acts as not as pathos, logos, or ethos, but rather as mythos – the author is to the text, albeit in a reduced sense because of human infallibility as opposed to scriptural inerrancy, what Genesis 1-3 is to the rest of the book. That is, the author is the meaningful context that establishes the text as both from some One, time-based as the historicists would have it, and extracted from the time-stream as structuralists would have it.

Respect for the author-function is what makes regard for the crafted speech comprehensible and compelling. (Note I don’t mean mythos as made up but as story which provides a fixed reference point for contemplation of meaning.) Authorial intent thus doesn’t fix the text’s meaning but its meaningfulness, and of course assertions from the author about the text’s meaning aid the reader. But (imperfectly) like the Church who keeps Scripture, those who interpret literature must see texts as more than the result of the intentions of the human author. Historical elements, philosophical results of contemplation of the ideas the text invokes, aspects of psychological realities which manifest from the presence of archetypal patterns within the narrative, and theological considerations all make it impossible for authorial assertion to be the final interpretive word.

The humanity of the author, channeled into the text by intention, is what makes the text meaningful, but likewise what makes the author’s perspective necessary but insufficient to final articulation of meaning.The skill of the author at interpretation of his or her own work should also be considered. Someone like Dante, for example, who had much learning as regards literary interpretation will have perhaps greater utility at interpreting his own work than most writers. Even then, however, he is only an indispensible resource, and not the final author of the text’s meaning, only the author of the text and the necessary founder of the text’s meaningfulness via his mythic place as author.

But theological, historical, psychological, social, and philosophical interpretations likewise must neither displace the meaningful role of the author and his or her mythic author-function, nor the meaningfulness generated by the authorized language of the literary text. Those domains of analysis are interesting, but if they are given too much pride of place in the study of the text, we have left the realm of true literary study.

So, the ultimate authorized interpretation of any text must begin and end with that which makes it a text: the grammatical structure that gives it being, the logical structure which provides cognitive apparatus for what thoughts the text explicitly engages, and the rhetorical arrangement of story-arc which gives life to that grammatical structure and manifestations of logical elements. Other disciplines come in to perfect those arts, but the Trivium must always be the three-fold master of any effort of literary interpretation for the discipline of literary studies to retain its true dignity.

Call Your Doctor First: A Sermon on Matthew 6:24-34

Call Your Doctor First:

A Sermon on Matthew 6:24-34 (Trinity 15 – September 12th, 2021)

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord my strength and my Redeemer. Amen.

I thought I was having a heart attack. I had been dozing on the couch when I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest. I could feel every beat, like a hand slamming inside of my rib cage. My hands and feet started to shake and a sense of doom came over me. I got up unsteadily and told my mother, who was now in the kitchen, “I think I am having a heart attack.” She was strangely calm and asked me why, and I told her my symptoms. Then she said, “I think we should call your doctor first.” That seemed odd, but she’s mom, so she knows best. So we called my doctor, and he asked what my symptoms were, and with a fearful voice I explained what was happening. Then he started asking me about my personal life. This frustrated me – I’m having a medical emergency and he wants to hear about what I’ve been up to? But then, out of my mouth came tumbling a fountain of frustrations – things that had gone wrong recently, disappointments about my future and in my personal life that had been piling up. And as I divulged these things and the flood of distress came pouring out, I started to feel better – my heart beat returned to normal and my body calmed down. “You were having a panic attack,” my doctor explained. I was shocked. Me? I’m a calm, confident, steady, hard worker and careful planner. I don’t get panicked. But, you see, that was the problem. I wasn’t facing my emotions, not really. Without intending to, I was just pushing down disappointment after disappointment, and not facing the fact that the negative emotion was building up. It was bound to burst forth eventually, and the panic attack was how it finally manifested when my body realized my mind wouldn’t notice or deal with the stress.

Now imagine if my mother had harshly rebuked me with Matthew 6:25 when I thought I was having a heart attack – “Don’t worry! Jesus said not to worry!” Would that have been helpful in my panic? Now I would not just be filled with anxiety – now I would be anxious that I was anxious, and I would panic over my guilt that I was panicking! This experience raises the question: how are we to take Christ’s teaching when stressful things happen, particularly as regards our finances but about our worries in general? Should we be racked with guilt that we are feeling anxious because our checkbook isn’t looking ideal and we have fears about having enough? Should we think we are disobeying Jesus when we plan financially, for our future and our retirement? No. No. Proverbs 21:5 tells us, “The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty.” In 1 Timothy 5:8, the apostle Paul tells us, “But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” Scripture clearly teaches us to be judicious stewards of those obligations and responsibilities that come into our hands, as a part of gratitude towards God and service to our neighbors.

I know someone who says that when she struggled with worry, Christians around her told her that “worry is practical atheism” (thanks a lot!), instead of offering comfort. We may be tempted to hear simply a condemnatory tone in what Christ is saying, and we shouldn’t soften the fact that this is a command. But, you know, the fact that Christ is teaching this shows that he already knows we’re anxious. We need this teaching precisely because life throws us curve balls that catch us off guard, and we’re going to need to be prepared so we aren’t just bowled over by those unforeseen things. The teaching of this passage is not separate from its tone. Scripture makes clear the tone we should hear when we read, “Do not be anxious.” In Matthew 9:36 we read of Christ, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” He doesn’t berate them for being anxious, but actively sets them at ease by demonstrating the care he has for them. It is from a place of compassion that Christ tells us not to worry, because he sees our rapidly beating hearts in the midst of trouble and wants to calm us down. So likewise when we see someone else having anxiety, the right response is not to condemn the fellow Christian for lacking faith, but to compassionately remind them of Christ’s teaching, in keeping with Ephesians 4:23, which tells us to “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted…”

When I thought my heart was sick, my mom didn’t dismiss my feelings or tell me to just trust without reason. She told me to call my doctor first, with the belief that in talking to him I would find the help I need. She probably could see what I couldn’t, that it was unspoken and unacknowledged anxiety, but she knew that I needed to hear it from the right person and in the right way for the advice to help and not hurt. Although primarily about finances, I think today’s Gospel can speak to our anxieties in general, which always in some sense come down to fears about whether we’ll be provided for, whether we’ll be okay. So what advice does the true Doctor give in this passage, to help us to obey his command not to worry? I see six pieces of advice here which we can benefit from directly, adjusting our perspectives in practical ways. I won’t go into great detail, but note them quickly.

  1. First, we are told, “NO man can serve two masters… Ye cannot serve God and mammon.” We have to take a spiritual audit of our budgets. As it says in the offertory sentences, “All things come of thee O Lord, and of thine own have I given thee.” There’s our financial budget, the main point of the passage – can we see that God, not mammon, is master there? But mammon is not our only idol. What about our time? Does our time budget reflect that Christ, not the clock, is in charge? And what about our emotional budget as regards our relationships? Do we see that our main goal in life is to please Jesus rather than to appease people we think might not like us if we were authentic about our faith? A false master in any domain of life will not give us the comfort we can get only from Christ, and if we are trying to serve two (or more), we’ll have more stress than we need to.
  2. Second, we are told, “Is not the life more than the food, and the body than the raiment?… And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit unto the measure of his life?” In saying that life is worth more than the food that sustains us, I think that Christ is reminding us to more objectively take stock of what we actually need. Often we internalize messages, from our friends, neighbors, family, and the world in general about what we need – what kind of food, or clothes, or other things that, without them, we won’t be satisfied. If we have a clearer picture of what we really need, then we can reduce our stress when our budgets tighten and close out things we think we need but really only want. Demanding more than what we need is compared here to somehow making our lives unnaturally longer, over which we have no power. Realistic awareness of both our needs and limitations will relieve much more stress than we think.
  3. Third, we see Jesus teaches, “Behold the birds of the heaven… your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are not ye of much more value than they?…. Consider the lilies of the field… I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these… shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” Something interesting that sticks out to me here is that Christ commands us to observe nature. We are blessed in the Branson area to have beautiful opportunity to do this. If you are not taking the time to let God speak to you through nature, you’re missing out on a wonderful dimension of His providential care. The great Anglican philosopher William Paley was so impressed with the design he saw in creation, that he believed simply studying the natural order was an antidote to atheism, so clear was the hand of Providence. The ducks on the landing have no shopping centers, no restaurants, no social institutions to help them accrue resources, and yet, even with a life-span of only five to ten years they are able to continue their species and even have time to have fun splashing in the water. God designed the ducks to take care of themselves without retirement funds, stocks, or bonds – God loves them, and made them with love. But that same God loves us more.
  4. Fourth, Christ says, “After all these things do the Gentiles seek.” Notice here that Christ points out that anxiety over what we think we need is common to all mankind. We can investigate our own thinking about what we really need by asking, “How does my thinking about what I need to be satisfied differ from someone who isn’t a Christian? Does my sense of what I need to have reflect Christ’s standards or the world’s?” This can help us to dispense with attachments that may look like blessings but are actually burdens.
  5. Fifth, Christ tells us, “Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first his kingdom, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” This command is an extension of our first point, that we can’t serve two masters, but with a switch in emphasis – the first is about who should hold our attention in Heaven, and this one concerns what he is directing our attention towards on Earth. The issue isn’t that pursuing money, or friendship, or love, or a meaningful job, or a promotion, or even our hobbies are wrong. The question is if we can provide an account of how all that we do upholds our kingdom work. If it can’t, if we can’t honestly show that what we’re doing adds to our role in God’s kingdom, then we might consider that it’s actually slowing us down, blunting our consciences, hurting our testimony, and, in a word, making us less effective ambassadors of the Kingdom of God. A confused mission will always increase anxiety. If it edifies, keep it. If it clouds your vision of the master’s kingdom quest, let it go.
  6. Sixth and finally, Christ says, “Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Oddly enough I find this statement deeply comforting. It acknowledges that times will be hard. Being a Christian doesn’t offer exemption from the problems of the fallen world, the ensnaring devil, or the sinful flesh. We’ll still feel anxious over the evil of the day. I have already explained that I don’t think this passage precludes judicious planning, but I think it offers instead a very useful piece of advice: when a problem presents itself, break it down into increments. See what you can meaningfully do today. Don’t let the whole problem swallow you up, but rather use your calendar to schedule your stress. Meet it on the terms you’ve set, based on scriptural advice, instead of letting whatever makes you worried eat up your hours and days and weeks and months and years until the worry has dulled all sense of time. Don’t shoulder the burden of all of your responsibility at once – shoulder the day’s portion, and through prayer and by grace you will see it through. It’s no accident that this is the same chapter where Christ gives us the Lord’s prayer – ask for our daily, not our weekly, bread, because you don’t want to bite off more than you can chew.

So maybe even now you are thinking, “But I am still anxious. I don’t know if I’ll have enough, or if my efforts will be enough, or if I’ll be able to get through this situation.” You’re feeling little in your faith. You feel like you’re having a spiritual heart attack. Then you should call your doctor first, and you kneel before him and say, Lord, I am of little faith – I’m anxious for tomorrow and I don’t know how I’ll feed and clothe myself or my family, or if my loved one will return to Christ, or if my boss really appreciates the work I do, or if my neighbor will see me differently if I share the Gospel, or if this person who I love so much will ever get better from this sickness. I’m anxious, and my faith is only little. And with compassion, he will say, I know. Tell me everything, and I will unburden your heart, I will give you the peace that passes understanding. Let your anxiety be crucified on the cross with Christ, who himself there asked, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Our high priest knows our condition – he has felt it, he is tender hearted towards it, and all the anxiety we feel is an opportunity to share it with Him in prayer. He didn’t carry his cross the whole way alone, and we shouldn’t try to bear ours alone either – we should ask for help when we need it. And then we can be ready to help our fellow Christians, when they feel anxious too, to let them know they are not alone, because we’ve been there, and so with sympathy and empathy we can say, “It’s hard to avoid the temptation to serve two masters, to truly seek the kingdom first, to really consider the lilies of the field. But here’s how listening to my doctor helped me not to worry, and how I believe it can help you too.” And in doing so your master’s peace shall be added unto you. Amen.