As the media theorist Marshall McLuhan pointed out in the 1960s, media are not just passive channels of information. They supply the stuff of thought, but they also shape the process of thought. And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. My mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.   

 And he’s not alone.  Others are feeling this:

Bruce Friedman, who blogs regularly about the use of computers in medicine, also has described how the Internet has altered his mental habits. “I now have almost totally lost the ability to read and absorb a longish article on the web or in print,” he wrote earlier this year. A pathologist who has long been on the faculty of the University of Michigan Medical School, Friedman elaborated on his comment in a telephone conversation with me. His thinking, he said, has taken on a “staccato” quality, reflecting the way he quickly scans short passages of text from many sources online. “I can’t read War and Peace anymore,” he admitted. “I’ve lost the ability to do that. Even a blog post of more than three or four paragraphs is too much to absorb. I skim it.”   

Carr also says that the process of adapting to new intellectual technologies is reflected in the changing metaphors we use to explain ourselves to ourselves. When the mechanical clock arrived, people began thinking of their brains as operating “like clockwork.” Today, in the age of software, we have come to think of them as operating “like computers.” But the changes, neuroscience tells us, go much deeper than metaphor. Thanks to our brain’s plasticity, the adaptation occurs also at a biological level. So if your brain can still concentrate at this stage of the summer, click on the link above and read it.  You’ll like it.

Check it out!

When I first began reading this book I was worried that it was going to turn into another set of self-congratulatory exchanges celebrating the so-called virtues of relativism. And then I read the introduction. It turns out that Antonio Monda is a believer, and not just any believer: he is a self-professed Catholic, with a very articulate confidence in the guidance of the Church’s magisterium. As he put it himself,

I certainly don’t mean to say that the Church of Rome hasn’t made mistakes, even serious ones, in the course of its long history, but I want to emphasize that the believer can’t not know that Christ entrusted the keys to Peter, investing with complete authority the disciple who denied him three times during the night before the Crucifixion.

This piqued my curiosity, because I happen to share this perspective. I realised that I would not just be reading a set of interviews, but an exchange of world-views, and that I (through Antonio Mondi) would be one of the interlocutors.

I was not disappointed. The interviews, presented substantially in their core elements, really do draw you in. I felt like *I* was in dialogue with Derek Walcott, for example. Interestingly, that interview gave me a chance to gauge the success of this book in capturing the voice of those interviewed, for I actually *have* had a chance to chat with Derek Walcott (over pizza a couple of years ago in St. Lucia).

I am not sure what long-term cultural impact this book might have. It presents a survey of spiritual and religious perspectives from people who possess influence but who don’t really have any specialization in such matters (and, in some cases, who present opinions that honestly seemed a little vacuous). I am left asking myself: where does this book fit in the building of the Kingdom of God? Perhaps it lies simply in that place of discernment, revealing what some major cultural figures think of God and religion and that most burning question: Do you believe? My rating: B

1. Requires excessive admiration; with this comes extreme sensitivity to criticism. Such criticism often leads to social withdrawal or an appearance of humility. Often this is associated with obvious attention seeking behavior. These narcissistic traits are frequently found in those who introduce and participate in liturgical innovations.
2. A sense of entitlement, of unreasonable expectations of favorable treatment and of automatic compliance of others with one’s suggestions and expectations is another narcissistic trait. An attitude of the “rules don’t apply to me” comes with this sense of entitlement — for example the rubrics of the Mass don’t really require me to follow them.
3. A belief that they are superior, special or unique and expect others to recognize this; that they should only associate with other people who are special or of high status. For priests this may show by extreme needs to associate with high ranking clergy or with liturgical experts.
4. Another narcissistic characteristic is showing arrogant,haughty behaviors and attitudes. At times priests show this in their liturgical style, emphases or innovation or when criticized for such innovations. Such attitudes often underlie the very assumption that one has the right to change the liturgy.
5. A lack of empathy, that is, an unwillingness to recognize or identify with the feeling and needs of others. This is sometimes shown by contempt or anger toward those who are offended by changes in the liturgy — often changes that have no real canonical support. 

 The article goes on with several examples of things that he has seen, not years ago in the 1970s, but now, specifically in the U.S. It does seem a bit reductionist to explain all these deviations to narcissism, because there are also ideologies or visions of the Church that support such behaviour.  But also, the whole question is rather delicate, because it obviously touches on something quite central to each person. I might imagine myself discussing a liturgical abuse by having recourse the theological underpinnings, but I can’t just assume that anyone who allows liturgical abuses is necessarily a self-centered narcissist.  Still, the article is a pretty powerful warning to signs of self centeredness in the ministry, and an invitation to really hide and disappear and just let Jesus shine.

The major merit of this book is in key elements of its analysis that most modern secularists seem unable to grasp. For example, the simple notion that “ideas have consequences” should be itself self-evident, and yet to many in our modern world it just isn’t: for many, it seems, human culture is driven by economics, rather than by ideas. While not completely untrue, this is a myth that leads to certain untenable conclusions about the nature of civilizational conflict, such as the idea that people are driven to terrorist jihad because of anger over poverty or lack of opportunity. Um, no: Osama bin Laden, for example, was himself a multi-millionaire, and the London bombers were all British born and raised. Ideas *do* have consequences, and theological ideas are the most consequential of all. Weigel reminds his readers of this fact, in order to help them be able to “think like the enemy”. It may be a hard lesson to learn, but a necessary one.

There are two major ways in which this book is weak, however. First of all, there is no real introspective analysis of Western (particularly American) culture and history and they way it has led to certain grievances and resentments on the part of others. Weigel does take his usual shots at the Europeans for having lost “the will to live” as a civilization (and in this he may be right), but he still seems unable to see the ways in which America (as represented by certain Americans) has also been “the bad guy” at times. I am not saying that Weigel needs to transform himself into some sort of self-hating American: he is proud of his country as a whole, and rightly so. Still, love can blind us, and the curious tendency for that great nation to forgive itself for its sins and then not understand why others do not forget them will not help people to live in the realism Weigel proclaims is so necessary.

The second major way in which this book is weak is in its treatment of the war in Iraq. Weigel argued strongly in favour of the invasion prior to it actually taking place, and even tried to advance the development of Catholic just war theory to justify the invasion. It seems to me to be inarguable that post-September-11 emotions were manipulated to generate public support for the invasion, even though it had nothing to do with the struggle against jihadist terrorism. And, as it turns out, nothing to do with weapons of mass destruction either. Of course, the war has *become* a struggle against jihadist terrorism (as well as all sorts of other elements), with resentment against American adventurism increased as well, but the only mentions of Iraq in this book comes across as a rear-guard apologia for the war. Mr. Weigel, you were wrong. Just say it, and we can all move on.

In the end, I think this book is a very valuable contribution to a conversation that needs to take place. I don’t think that Mr. Weigel has all the answers necessarily, but he sure does ask some good questions and make some good points. If I had the time I’d write a book in reply (as I think others more learned than me should), just to see the conversation continue and contribute to a “road-map” to something even more important than victory: to peace. If you are interested in really *thinking* about the nature of this global conflict, read this book. My rating: B-

“Mother Teresa: In the Shadow of Our Lady” is a little book, with only a few (rather small) pages. You almost get the impression that the chapters are inspired from talks Fr. Langford has given during a retreat, or perhaps as a set of spiritual conferences. And yet these pages pack a spiritual punch, that sometimes catches you by surprise. To use an analogy, this book that reads a bit like a meal with lots of items on the plate. In a meal, the potatoes don’t taste like the carrots; neither has the same texture as the beef. In theory, you could make do without some part of it all, and yet why would you, especially when it is all prepared with devotion and seasoned with love? This book is like that: the sections on the appearance of the Virgin Mary at Guadeloupe read quite differently from the sections on Marian consecration, and yet they do go well together as a single “reading meal”. Some sections are more pious, others more theological, but it is all held together by a solid dose of love and devotion. Even one instance of questionable exegesis, where Mary is identified with the ancient term “Wisdom” found in the wisdom literature of the Old Testament (an association traditionally made with Christ, not with Mary) can be forgiven given its obvious origin in tender devotion.

Let me open a personal sidebar here: I have myself gone through a minor form of the Dark Night, called the “dark night of the senses”. In this dark night I felt the ordinary consolations of spirituality taken away from me, and while it did not challenge my faith, hope or love it was very disconcerting. What I discovered during this dark night experience was that, while God seemed distant, Mary seemed closer to me than ever. I had actually been putting Mary aside for some time within my spiritual life, as I didn’t want anything to “interfere” with my relationship with Christ, and yet it is as though that Christ himself sent me to Mary to help get me through this purification. I have therefore learned, from personal experience, the genuine value of a relationship with Mary in terms of progress in the spiritual life.

I am therefore glad to be able to recommend this book. It is not perfect: I would have liked to have seen more practical suggestions for how to live the spiritual life, although even just the small example of how to do the Examen well is probably worth all the effort I put into reading the rest of the book. And do not get the impression that reading the book was any sort of a chore: as an example of the spiritual life I found it quite inspiring. In one short paragraph, for example, Fr. Langford opened up completely new perspectives for me on the mystery of the Visitation of Mary with Elizabeth. From a purely personal point of view, any book that can nourish both my reflection and my prayer life has got to be worth something. My rating: A-

Enter Father Edward Beck, a Passionist father who has written Soul Provider, a book whose thirty chapters are meant to parallel the 30 steps of John Climacus’ famous Ladder. This book is not a translation of the original, but rather a modern interpretation of how its major themes might be seen and lived in today’s world. In some ways, therefore, this isn’t really one book: it is a collection of 30 mini-books, one per chapter, all of which makes the writing of a book review that much more difficult. After all, should I then be doing 30 mini-reviews? Of course not, and yet the problem remains.

With regards to the book as a whole, I found it to be quite good. Each chapter is written in a breezy, friendly style that introduces its topic well. Each chapter also ends with a set of reflection questions, so that I could see the book being really useful for a person going on retreat, or even doing a retreat from home. Regardless of how well each chapter translates St. John Climacus into modern-day language, these sorts of reflection questions are valuable in themselves. I didn’t find any major spiritual or theological errors, at least as how they would be judged by the Catholic tradition, even though the author also weaves in comments from non-Christian (or even non-Catholic) sources. That alone takes skill.

Where I found the book weak, to be honest, was in its treatment of the “Ladder of Divine Ascent” itself. St. John Climacus’ work is quoted, but not a great deal, and rarely in any sort of context. There are even a couple of chapters where he is not quoted at all. It is almost as though Father Beck was using the “Ladder of Divine Ascent” as a template to write his own book, rather than really work at bringing this ancient masterpiece into a more modern light. Now to be honest I don’t really have a problem with that sort of approach — if you are going to be inspired in your writing you might as well be inspired by the best — but I would have liked to have been in contact more with the original.

Finally, I must admit that if some chapters were stronger than others, it also means that some were weaker than others. One gets the impression that, for the 30 chapters, the author was really excited about 15 of them, ho-hum for about 10 others, and just plodded through for another 5. His chapter on dispassion, for example, was somewhat disappointing: looking over my margin notes, I see I wrote “He just doesn’t get it!” While I supposed I should not be surprised that a 30-chapter book could have its strengths and weaknesses this way, it does make for an uneven read at times.

While Soul Provider will not likely be considered a spiritual masterpiece on the level of the original work upon which it is based, it is a solid source of reflection that I, personally, plan to include in my evening prayer and journaling (through the reflection questions). And as an added bonus, my curiosity has now been piqued to go and read St. John Climacus’ original. My rating: B

Fr. Pasquini’s goal in writing this book is to provide a “road map” for spirituality, a kind of overview of the key steps along the journey. The major strength of the book is its scholarly thoroughness. In other words, this is not just Fr. Pasquini talking off the top of his head: he regularly backs up his statements with quotes from saints and great theologians. As a reference text, it is just amazing.

On the other hand, I have to say that this same scholarly nature can be the book’s undoing. His first chapter, on “foundational points”, is basically a catalogue of spiritual terminology — very theoretical, and (to be honest) rather dry. I also got the impression that at certain points Fr. Pasquini was simply repeating — rather than re-presenting — some of the themes found in the old manuals of theology. In itself that isn’t bad: in fact, it shows a certain humility on his part. Nevertheless, it can tend to present the spiritual journey as some sort of exercise regimen, rather than the growth in relationship that it truly represents.

I think this book will actually be most useful for spiritual directors, to help them help others by giving them a solid introduction and/or reminder of basic foundational concepts. Those a bit more spiritually advanced would likely also benefit. That being said, even a beginner could get a lot out of the book — there is certainly nothing poisonous in it, just a lot of “meat” that may be a bit tough for some to chew. My rating: A