"You’re not special. Because everyone is.", David McCullough

Back in June, I read an essay in the Los Angeles Times commenting on a graduation speech at Wellesley High School in Massachusetts, given by faculty member David McCullough, Jr. The speech was "a gospel that bluntly reminded us how unspecial we are" and the speaker was "branded a hero by Rush Limbaugh." I was curious, but as the speech seemed like an extended scolding, I put the topic on the back burner.

For whatever reason, I recently got around to watching McCullough's speech and, not surprisingly, realized that the extensive media commentary had grossly misinterpreted it. What was almost universally labeled as the "You are not special" speech was really about something much deeper and more profound. It was not an adult ranting at self-absorbed teenagers and the culture that coddled them, it was a teacher's final plea to his students to embrace a life of goodness, selflessness, and love.

Do whatever you do for no reason other than you love it and believe in its importance. Don’t bother with work you don’t believe in any more than you would a spouse you’re not crazy about, lest you too find yourself on the wrong side of a Baltimore Orioles comparison. Resist the easy comforts of complacency, the specious glitter of materialism, the narcotic paralysis of self-satisfaction. Be worthy of your advantages. And read… read all the time… read as a matter of principle, as a matter of self-respect. Read as a nourishing staple of life. Develop and protect a moral sensibility and demonstrate the character to apply it. Dream big. Work hard. Think for yourself. Love everything you love, everyone you love, with all your might. And do so, please, with a sense of urgency, for every tick of the clock subtracts from fewer and fewer.

... Exercise free will and creative, independent thought not for the satisfactions they will bring you, but for the good they will do others, the rest of the 6.8 billion–and those who will follow them. And then you too will discover the great and curious truth of the human experience is that selflessness is the best thing you can do for yourself. The sweetest joys of life, then, come only with the recognition that you’re not special. Because everyone is.

McCullough himself reinforced this last line as his primary message in an article he wrote for Newsweek Magazine on the reaction to his speech: "None of them, I said, matters more than anyone else, because everyone is special, everyone matters - all 6.8 billion of us. Simple logic, really."

It is the simple recognition of our fellow human beings as our brothers and sisters, our family, and allowing that knowledge to guide our lives. Simple indeed.

Check out this speech on YouTube or at The Swellesley Report.

Mystery & Mysticism

The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. It was the experience of mystery - even if mixed with fear - that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, of the manifestations of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which are only accessible to our reason in their most elementary forms - it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute the truly religious attitude; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man. I cannot conceive of a God who rewards and punishes his creatures, or has a will of the type of which we are conscious in ourselves. An individual who should survive his physical death is also beyond my comprehension, nor do I wish it otherwise; such notions are for the fears or absurd egoism of feeble souls. Enough for me the mystery of the eternity of life, and the inkling of the marvellous structure of reality, together with the single-hearted endeavour to comprehend a portion, be it never so tiny, of the reason that manifests itself in nature.

Albert Einstein, "The World as I See It"

I was reminded of this quote by a recent opinion article in the Los Angeles Times on the "sweet mystery" of science. The author, university professor David Barash, writes that "It's not what science knows, but what it doesn't, that really matters," for "it's only by pursuing the unknown that we obtain knowledge." Unfortunately, his understanding of mystery is not quite as grand as Einstein's.

We are surrounded by mysteries, far more than are dreamt of in anyone's philosophy. But don't get the wrong idea, Horatio: Mystery is not the same as mysticism, and I'm not referring to some sort of ineffable, spiritualistic claptrap beyond the reach of natural law and human understanding. Just as "weeds" are plants that haven't yet been assigned a value, scientific mysteries are simply good questions waiting for answers.

... "Mystics exult in mystery and want it to stay mysterious," writes Richard Dawkins. "Scientists exult in mystery for a different reason: It gives them something to do."

There is something sad and utilitarian about Barash's description of mystery. And his dismissal of mysticism seems rather petty. I doubt Einstein saw himself as a mystic, but I cannot think of a better term for someone with his religious sensibility. He exulted in mystery, not because it gave him "something to do," but because he recognized a sacred beauty within it. And clearly he was not someone who wanted the mysterious to stay that way, yet he was also willing to acknowledge "the existence of something we cannot penetrate." Are Einstein's words just "ineffable, spiritualistic claptrap," or was he identifying the true "sweet mystery" of life?

Weekly Reading (8/20-8/26)

"The Unity of the Catholic Moral Vision"
David Cloutier, Catholic Moral Theology

"A New Front in the Catholic Campus Culture Wars"
Anne Hendershott, First Things

"Romney-Ryan Republicans pray to Jesus but bow to Ayn Rand"
David Horsey, Los Angeles Times

"A Mitt Romney most of America doesn't know"
Maeve Reston, Los Angeles Times

"Our Neurotic Fear of Suffering"
Wesley Smith, First Things

"Appalachian Spring", Aaron Copland

Obviously, I failed to publish a post on Wednesday. I've been having difficulty getting my words to feel right for the last couple of weeks. But why should they, given that most of my life doesn't feel right at the moment. As I wrote last Friday, classes have resumed at my old school, and I cannot help but question my decision to leave and go public with "my" revelation. Yes, I "know" that I did the right thing, but that doesn't make me feel any better. Yes, I "knew" how challenging this task would be, but that doesn't make me feel better either. To be bluntly honest, there have been a lot of days lately where I wanted to kick God in the balls for giving me this job, not that she has balls, but you know what I mean. I don't plan on quitting, I just want to share the pain; then I think about the cross and my "suffering" seems rather petty.

So where does that leave me? It leaves me to muddle on through as best as I can. Which, when you think about it, is really what life is all about. We can pretend that humanity knows what it's doing, but that's just wishful thinking. All of creation is just muddling on through, and maybe that's the point. Maybe that's the only thing that truly makes sense. We can plan, orchestrate, and choreograph all we want, but sometimes we just have to let the music and dance of life take over.

And so for today I offer to you "Appalachian Spring" by Aaron Copland. If there was ever a soundtrack for Creation, this is it. You can feel the noise and bustle of life in its notes. It takes you to grand places, but it starts and finishes with peace. That is what I feel most when I listen to it: peace. And that is what I desire most right now: peace.

Check out this music on Wikipedia, YouTube, or Amazon.

"Breath of Heaven (Mary's Song)", Amy Grant

Yesterday was the first day of classes at the school where I used to teach. I know that I made the right decision to leave, but I still miss it, especially the students. So a bit of nostalgia feels entirely in order right about now.

Being a Catholic school, we were expected to begin each class with a prayer. Rather than having the students mindlessly recite an "Our Father", I liked to use a song as a reflection on that day's lesson topic. In the last few years, the very first song I played was "Breath of Heaven" by Amy Grant, from her 1992 Christmas album. It imagines Mary's thoughts and emotions as the birth of Jesus draws near.

I have traveled many moonless nights, cold and weary with a babe inside, and I wonder what I’ve done. Holy Father you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone. Be with me now; be with me now.

Breath of Heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of Heaven. Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness for you are holy, Breath of Heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong; help me be; help me.

I used these words in the past to begin a very long conversation with my students on the meaning and practice of faith. I use them today to remind myself about the kind of faith I aspire to live. As I wrote on Wednesday's "Good News" post for the Solemnity of the Assumption, Sister Mary is the ultimate model of fidelity to God's love.

Check out this song on YouTube or Amazon.