The Professor's Bayonet

Jason Dew

Book reviews and social commentary

  1. 4h ago

    Episode 133 - A Revolution Shaping Up

    We might blame the steam engine.  Invented by Thomas Newcomen in 1712 and improved by James Watt a half century later, the steam engine is widely regarded as the machine that both sparked and powered the Industrial Revolution.  What began as an innovation to pump water out of mines, the steam engine and its many iterations soon powered paper mills, flour mills, breweries, distilleries, and iron mills just to name a few beneficiaries.  The prospects were good.  Industry boomed, and as a result, many individuals who had eked out a living on country farms moved to urban centers for work.    The results, however, were mixed.  While industry continued to grow and evolve, the laborers whose blood, sweat, and tears kept the momentum going grew alienated and lost.  Uprooted from their small towns and families, and epidemic of loneliness and despair swept over the land.  Romantic poets such as William Wordsworth and William Blake explored these feelings in their poetry and came to the conclusion that a return to nature was in order because that is where the Divine resided.  This, of course, was the recommendation of poets, and while those recommendations were eventually enfolded into the culture, the harsh effects of the Industrial Revolution remained.  The masses were beginning to feel like animals bereft of purpose, meaning, value, and God.    Meanwhile, the titans of industry – Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Morgan, and Ford – grew rich beyond measure.  Their storehouses were fabulously large.  There did not seem to be any limit to their wealth.    And, dear listeners, the masses noticed.    Wealth and power were too much in the hands of the very few – the industrial titans, to be sure, but also the royalty or anybody whose riches and power were legacy, not earned.    The people rose up in Russia and killed the Romanovs.  The people also rose up in China, disrupting a global region in ways that are still felt today.  And the revolutions were bloody.  Very bloody.  The beast that had been yoked for so long turned on its oppressor and chewed it to pieces.    I share this bit of history to suggest that the events that led to such wanton killing in Europe and Asia and violent social upheavals in the U.S. might prefigure what is happening in the current year.  Specifically, the rise of artificial intelligence is making a very few very wealthy while putting the rest of us – the masses – in predicaments where we have to wonder about the security of our jobs.  Once again, the few are getting wealthier while the vast majority is left to wring their hands and suffer.  Add to this situation the intentional dumbing down of our society by base entertainment, the overreliance, dare I say addiction, to technology – cellphones, ChatGPT, etc. -- and an education system that is increasingly reluctant to challenge students in meaningful ways and we get a world on the brink of exploding.  History is about to repeat itself, but in this case, call it Revolution 2.0.  As the gap between those who benefit from AI and those who do not benefit from AI grows, so, too, will the frustration had by the masses that their best efforts will never be enough.  Indeed, their best efforts are being replaced.  Soon enough, the common man will be as obsolete as a typewriter.    This is not me being an alarmist.  If current trends in wealth disparity exacerbated by slipping intellectual standards continue, the writing is on the wall.  Only this time, it will not be pitchforks the masses are wielding but weapons of a more sophisticated and lethal sort -- killing machines so unlike the steam engine as to be grotesque and nightmarish wielded by the illiterate, the unread, the angry beyond words.

  2. Sep 1

    Episode 132 - Time is a Creature

    A boy named Augustine asked Bishop Robert Barron how God was able to exist before time.  The question is common enough.  Individuals young and old ponder over it.  But his answer was simple.  Time is a creature, he said.  It is a created thing.  God is not bound by the laws of His own creation.  He exists outside of time, outside of those laws.   For the rest of us who very much do exist in time and are bound by its rules, the notion that the God of the universe exists outside of time remains a headscratcher.  We might be able to understand the concept intellectually but only in that way.  There is a lot of heart bound up in time – specifically the passing of it – so we must relegate that truth of God to the bin meant for questions that cannot be answered on this side of paradise.  It will remain a mystery as we lean more heavily into our faith.   But even so, does the recognition that time is a creature afford us any new perspective on life, any modicum of peace?  Time is our most precious commodity, yet it is time that corrupts.  Rust.  Dilapidation.  Wrinkles.  Aches and pains.  Growing old.  Time's relentless momentum.  Time as the pressure cooker to get us to do this or that.  Act now.  Seize chances.  Time wasted.  Times that cannot be recovered.  Nostalgia.  Looking back.  Cherished memories so precious they hurt.   What does it mean to worship a God who is above all of this?  What does it mean to pray for His will to be done in your life?  More to the point, if God is love, and love exists outside of time, does this mean that the love we have for others does not fade never mind death, the event that removes people from the laws of time?   Seeing time as a creature, for me at least, removes its fangs.  It is, like everything else, under God's dominion, and, therefore, we should not fear its manifestations.  Our lives are made up of seasons, and many of those seasons are beloved, yet we should be confident in the truth that the love we shared in those seasons does not end with change or separation or death because love itself is eternal.  God is eternal.  The Gospel of Matthew puts it best: "What you bind on earth will be bound in heaven."  In the time we have, we bind.  When we join God in heaven, those bounds will be secure.   The Book of Sirach puts it like this:  What are mortals? What are they worth?  What is good in them, and what is evil?  The number of their days seems great  if it reaches a hundred years.a  Like a drop of water from the sea and a grain of sand,  so are these few years among the days of eternity.  That is why the Lord is patient with them  and pours out his mercy on them.  He sees and understands that their death is wretched,  and so he forgives them all the more.  Their compassion is for their neighbor,  but the Lord’s compassion reaches all flesh,  Reproving, admonishing, teaching,  and turning them back, as a shepherd his flock.b  Time is, indeed, a creature, but thank God we have a shepherd who guides each of His children through the years they are allotted toward incorruptible fields and a love only sampled in the land of clocks and deadlines.

  3. Aug 18

    Episode 131 - Saint Peter and Three Tents

    A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew: "After six days Jesus took Peter, James, and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves.  and he was transfigured before them: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light.  And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, conversing with him.  Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, 'Lord, it is good that we are here.  If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.'  While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, 'This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.'  When the disciples heard this, they fell prostrate and were very much afraid.  But Jesus came and touched them, saying 'Rise, and do not be afraid.' This is the scripture that came to me while I was walking my dog, Arrow, at Simpsonwood Park, doing my best to reconcile the joy I have for my daughter who just started a new adventure at Georgia Southern University with the broken heart I have because of her absence and the weight of the reality that a season of my life is coming to a close.  The struggle, as they say, is real.  For nineteen years, we have been building up to her launch, but when it finally occurred, it was very, very hard to accept.  I am excited for her but sad.  I know it is the best, but I still cry.  Suddenly.  Walking up the stairs.  Glancing at the door to her empty bedroom. I have been praying about it.  Perhaps I can use this experience to better understand our Heavenly Father's heart.  What did sin do but separate Him from his children?  And how did He respond but launch a massively scaled rescue mission, sending a savior, a Messiah, His Son, to defeat sin and death on the cross so that the distance between Father and all of His children is closed?  I miss her.  God missed us all.  Perhaps this small taste will draw me closer to His heart. But then I thought of Peter and his statement that "it is good that we are here."  And then it hit me.  I am just like Peter.  In being so reluctant to turn a page, go from one season to another, I am essentially saying the same thing: "it is good that we are here."  And I also have the impulse to build tents.  One for this daughter.  One for that daughter.  One for yet another daughter.  I am trying to stay in this season, trying to keep my daughters little, in princess dresses, reliant on me and their mother for everything. But what does scripture tell us?  While Peter was still speaking, still drafting plans to stay in that moment, that season, something profound happened.  They heard the voice of God.  What was good turned into something even better, something unimaginable.  To be sure, they got a glimpse of their own future glory, and their reaction was typical enough.  Fear. They were terrified.  But what does Jesus do?  The same thing He has been doing all along...saying to them, "Do not be afraid." Our lives are made up of a series of seasons.  I thought about the many seasons in my life on that walk in the park.  Some seasons are good while others are more challenging, but a common response to going from one season to another is fear.  Becoming an empty nester makes me afraid. Not having all of my daughters living under one room with me and my wife makes me afraid.  Yet this scripture tells me that my impulse to want to stay in a season – declare that the season is "good" and begin to build tents – is not in God's economy.  Though I cannot see it, God's plans are better, way better than mine.  Here was good for a time, and I cherish every single memory of that season when the girls were little, when they held my hand to cross the street.  But here is not where we were meant to remain.  Peter wanted to build tents.  God wants to build His kingdom.  May all of our children have a hand in that glorious effort as we continue to love them fiercely from a distance.

  4. Aug 11

    Episode 130 - Flash

    Today, we put down our beloved cat, Flash.  He was fourteen years old.  At first, the signs of his decline were small.  His fur lost its shine.  There was a scratch in his meow.  But then he stopped eating, grew skinny, wouldn’t even nibble on his treats or the deli turkey he loved so much.  I bought the fancy stuff.  Nothing.  I finally took him to the vet where they ran blood tests.  The results were mixed and inconclusive.  It could be this.  It might be that.  We would have to run even more tests.  We did what families do: talked about it, weighed our options, looked at Flash intently as if doing so would give us the answers.  Perhaps he was just getting old.  Let’s wait and see.  But then he disappeared, and we feared that he had wandered off to die on his own.  We canvased the neighborhood, asked the neighbors to be on the lookout.  But then he turned up, lying by the fountain water dish.  When I came downstairs, my three daughters were huddled around him, petting him, stroking his paws.  Flash hardly moved.  I knew I had to make a phone call.  We put him in a box with a towel and drove to the vet.  He didn’t meow.  He didn’t fuss.  After an examination and the presentation of more options, I made the call.  It was time.  No more prodding or poking.  First the sedative.  Then the poison that would stop his heart and lungs.  Flash went easily.  A life.  A cat.  But not only a cat.  My youngest daughter was only two when we got Flash, which means that this little grey and white tuxedo cat witnessed my daughters grow up.  They learned how to feed him and give him water.  They took him to the Blessing of the Pets ceremony at their Catholic school a number of times, and he regularly slept on my youngest daughter’s bed at night.  It was all a part of a routine.  She went to bed, and I found Flash.  I carried him upstairs and lightly knocked on her bedroom door.  “Package,” I said, and she would open the door and accept Flash into her arms.  We all performed our duties very matter-of-fact, even Flash.  He came to expect the nightly performance.  Of course, we had our way of talking with him as pet owners do: words, phrases, silly ways to communicate.  And that is part of the experience.  If you, dear listeners have a pet, you know exactly what I am talking about.  But what I have been reflecting on all day – after we returned from the vet’s office, after I dug the hole, placed him in it, and said a prayer – is what Flash, in particular, and pets, in general, mean.  They are not providers.  They are not protectors.  They are companions.  Companions.  And that means something.  Just being there is important.  And Flash was there.  While the family was abuzz with activities – carpooling to school, soccer, volleyball, family vacations, playdates, and work, endless work – Flash sat with us through it all.  In our coming and going, he would offer a friendly meow; at the end of a long day, he would quietly jump onto the couch and sit with us, letting us pet him to help us unwind.  We loved Flash, and he loved us, and I suppose he taught us that love does not always have to be about doing something.  Love can look like just being present.  Just being a companion  Not giving advice.  Not making demands.  Just sitting beside us all those years as we marveled at how quickly the girls grew and how the gray hairs just kept coming.  That was his gift to us.  Until it was time to go.  A mere week away from dropping our oldest daughter off at college – an event for which I have been steeling myself for months, maybe years – Flash concluded that his journey with us was done.  Other companions would come our way.  The girls were young women now, and everything would be alright.

  5. Aug 4

    Episode 129 - The Wrong Wall

    To paraphrase 20th century American author and professor of literature, Joseph Campbell, “life’s greatest tragedy is not failure but climbing the ladder of success only to realize that you had leaned your ladder against the wrong wall.”  Elsewhere, this quote is attributed to what mid-life is all about.  One falls into a career path, works hard, burns the candle at both ends, and reaches middle age only to realize with some horror that they back the wrong pony, discerned incorrectly, made a wrong turn and just kept on going.  What a person can do in this predicament is anyone’s guess.  I suppose this is the precursor to a midlife crisis.  Once the supposed err is realized, an attempt to reshuffle circumstances takes place.  Down comes the ladder; up it goes somewhere else.  But anyone with eyes to see knows that this rarely ends well.  Broken marriages, broken relationships, peculiar purchases and moves.  This is the blond secretary, the red hot rod.  Witnesses laugh at first then become sad because the event is sad.  Time flows in only one direction after all.  Rarely is there a life without regrets.  We muddle through, doing our best to make good decisions and kicking ourselves when we don’t, but when it all adds up, we simply have to live with the burden of roads not taken.  We did not always heed the advice of Robert Frost.  Most times, we took the predictable route.  Apart from being an astute insight on the sometimes experience of being middle age, Campbell’s thoughts on what he considers to be one of life’s greatest tragedies leaves readers wanting.  A person might ingest his words and say, Well, my ladder has been leaning against the wrong wall this whole time.  I am ten or fifteen years from retirement.  Now what?  Do I just muscle through until I can retire, buy my boat, and sail off into the distance?  Perhaps little Emma Knight, a grade school student, has the best advice for those mulling over the efforts of their lives and the next steps after middle age.  She writes, “When I turn 100 years old I will be tired of everything and everyone, so I will tell everyone that I am going to Canada but actually go to the Bahamas.  I’ll live in a tiny hut with my tiny dog.  I will order fish tacos when I’m hungry and live my best life with no crap.”  The point, dear listeners?  Living involves great effort, and not all decisions will be sound.  At some point, we will all get tired and begin to take careful stock of our circumstances.  If we are fortunate, the wall our ladders have been leaning against has been the correct one or, at least, something close to it.  Our internal compass had been right.  We had listened to the correct voice.  If the wall had been the wrong one all along then we might reframe our lives to look at the intent and not the gains.  We meant well.  We really did.  Perhaps there is time enough for grace and a redirection – another wall to receive our ladder.  The very lucky are granted this wish.  At fifty-one, I am examining my own wall.  Perhaps this is the real takeaway from Campbell.  His thoughts are less an indictment of making the wrong decision and more a call to study where one happens to be: how they got there, was it worth it.  I, for one, am doing my best to understand the initiatives I have taken and those I chose to dismiss.  My question, really, is in a poem I wrote.  I hope it lands well.  A Cucumber at Fifty-One   Optimistically, I bought many  packets – cucumber seeds –   and prepared a nice bed.  They sprouted after a time  and grew, tendrils reaching upward,  climbing the wire lattice.  And when the yellow flowers began to  burst, I thought of the cucumbers  gramma would sprinkle with salt,  but as the days grew hot and  the insects droned, the flowers  simply wilted, refused to  transform: a great tangle of  cucumber vines – so much potential  unrealized.  It yielded just one.  The present sum of my endeavors, I thought.

  6. Jul 28

    Episode 128 - The Catcher in the Rye

    J. D. Salinger’s 1951 novel, The Catcher in the Rye, retains its relevance in the present year as the very existence of artificial intelligence prompts everybody to wonder about the phoniness of a thing.  This is, after all, protagonist Holden Caulfield’s favorite epithet.  Everyone – his teachers, his friends, the individuals who populate his universe – is a phony, a fake, a walking and talking lie.  It is precisely this worldview that aggravates his sense of alienation: a feeling that he does not belong – that he is perpetually out of alignment with the world and all he can do is suffer through it.  Holden Caulfield the character became emblematic of an entire generation – the Baby Boomers – who were birthed into a world of Allied victory over the Axis powers only to question American exceptionalism, lose themselves in hyper-materialism, and eventually take to the streets to violently protest a police action taking place in Southeast Asia.  The narratives that had once kept the peace were beginning to be questioned for their true agendas, and the conclusions many reached was that these narratives perpetuated falsehoods that, in many cases, funneled money to the already rich and powerful.  So phony it was.  Holden Caulfield and a generation of the likeminded called out the lies and lost themselves as a consequence.  How do you build a world from scratch?  You can’t.  One can only rearrange the pieces and hope for a better outcome.  It has been my observation, dear listeners, that human beings can rarely if ever outwit their own proclivities.  We are fallen by nature, which means that being phony is, regrettably, our common default.  If we are apathetic, we wallow in this default.  If we strive to be better, we acknowledge and confess our sins.  Salinger seems to be making a similar observation when he writes, “It's funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they'll do practically anything you want them to.”  Here, he is making a point about human behavior.  Ignorance and fealty go hand in hand.  Human history is propelled by dedicated individuals doing things they do not fully understand.  Phonies.  We are all phony.  Faking it until we make it, though the final aim is never really achieved.  It is understandable, then, that Holden Caulfield feels alienated – that an entire generation feels alienated.  How can one operate in a world they know to be false?  Surely, this recharacterizes bizarre behavior into desperate acts.  I will not list them here, dear listeners, because I am sure you can generate a list just as quickly on your own.  Artificial intelligence, therefore, only exacerbates the problem.  If we did not truly know what was true before AI, we really do not know what is true with AI.  This, of course, refers to the things of the world and it even might explain, in part, why so many are migrating to Christian orthodoxy: Roman rite, Latin rite and Eastern.  When small t truth is in chaos, a seeker can only cleave to capital T truth.  Salinger ends The Catcher in the Rye with a nod toward saving children from despair and alienation – in effect, saving them from a phony world – and while that effort remains noble even today, it seems that a more effective solution to the AI problem is one that very much includes a recalibration of what we should be pursuing, a rethinking of the problem long at hand.  If we cannot do this, the vicious cycle will only continue, and the spiritual malaise and all the self-destructive behavior that goes with it will only deepen.  Perhaps artificial intelligence will ignite a revolution in the way that The Great Awakenings sparked religious revivals.  Perhaps it is the threat we need to change our ways and embrace authenticity.  We simply must decide how long we are willing to put up with the phony and not be resigned to being yet another generation that, as Holden Caulfield puts it, “never notice anything.”

  7. Jul 21

    Episode 127 - The Shallows

    Nicholas Carr tells us what we likely already know intuitively: the internet, our iPhones, and AI are rewiring our brains.  His book, The Shallows, which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize, lays out the argument that, while we have a great abundance of information, we are eroding our ability to process it – to think critically about it – by off-loading various tasks to applications sold to us to make our lives easier.  We no longer engage in deep processing because we are quite happy with accepting the answer of a prompt we put into AI.  Our imagination is compromised, our curiosity diminished.  The more we outsource the things that make us human, the less human we become.  And all the while, we remain distracted by the pinging, the alerts, the bells that grab our attention and give us the quick dopamine rush.  What should alarm us all is that the way we are now finding ourselves was intentional.  There is nothing accidental about this rewiring.  To be sure, if we look at the results even for a minute, we can easily see that an illiterate and unthinking population is the end goal.  But for whom?  Perhaps the answer is where the money tends to spill.  But even so, the ramifications of this series of nefarious events are far and wide – beyond merely rendering ourselves, our children, and our grandchildren powerless in the face of those with authentic ideas – ideas meant to horde wealth and power.  Carr writes that “[t]he price we pay to assume technology’s power is alienation.  The toll can be particularly high with our intellectual technologies.  the tools of the mind amplify and in turn numb the most intimate, the most human, of our natural capacities – those for reason, perception, memory, emotion.”  The price we pay for the convenience of technology answering even the slightest of difficult questions is that we willingly surrender some critical part of what it means to be human.  Why we do this at all is a head scratcher.  Where does this impulse to self-destroy come from?  I can only hazard a guess, dear listeners.  Perhaps being human and the struggle inherent in this condition is too difficult.  Living is hard.  So we take a stroll on easy street never mind the harm it causes us – the harm that, at the time, does not seem like harm at all.  And the result?  Our minds atrophy.  The output of our creative endeavors become infantile.  Conformity is codified into our society.  We become easy to manipulate.  And our culture degrades.  As Carr writes, “culture is more than the aggregate of what Google describes as the world’s information.  It’s more than what can be reduced to binary code and uploaded onto the New.  To remain vital, culture must be renewed in the minds of the members of every generation.  Outsource memory, and culture withers.”  I can only hope that the human spirit will somehow bridle against this evil effort.  I am not sure there would be a Luddite-styled revolution – a violent smashing of the machines – but it is not unreasonable to hold out for a decisive reckoning of a technological trend that is clearly wrecking the minds of young and old alike.  Who among us has silently judged the group whose members are all engrossed in their screens?  Who else has decried the acceptance of being in front of a device the majority of one’s waking hours?  What will become of us when we do not even notice that?  When living digitized lives is the norm?  We have put all of our eggs into one technological basket.  Will we eventually be so uncritical that we will forget the outcome, the lesson, the consequence of being so tragically myopic in our thinking?  Nicholas Carr has sounded his alarm.  Let’s hope the day won’t come when we will no longer be able to hear it.  https://www.amazon.com/Shallows-What-Internet-Doing-Brains/dp/0393339750

  8. Jul 14

    Episode 126 - The Loved Ones

    Cultural critic, poet, and Kentucky farmer, Wendell Berry, is to the publishing monolith what the late Robert Duvall was to Hollywood: a talented force who does not care a bit about changing trends and what is and what is not being liked on some silly social media platform.  In effect, Berry is true to himself and his art, making his words a breath of fresh air in a world where the aims are rarely noble.  He tells it like it is, and in doing so, remains a rarity, which is why his insights are that important, especially when they apply to universal experiences the vain and the self-absorbed can hardly speak to.  I am fifty-one years old, and while I know that this is not ancient, it is an age, I am learning, where certain thoughts are unavoidable.  The cast of characters – family members and even friends – who populated my youth continues to dwindle.  Aunts and uncles are gone.  Cousins.  Folks in town.  We all had that landscape of humanity, and depending on where you are in your own lives, dear listeners, you can also likely understand what it feels like to experience its change.  It is a surreal feeling.  Were they really there, or was I dreaming?  Did they impact me more than I knew at the time?  What does it mean to cross paths in time and space?  Do our souls possess a greater wisdom that cannot be accessed in the here and now but only then: upon our parting?  In my study, rosaries hang from the framed photographs of those who have gone on.  I share some thoughts on the meaning of the rosary in Episode 2 of The Professor’s Bayonet, and I invite you to revisit it.  The rosaries are reminders that death is but a transition – that death, as John Donne characterizes it, is nothing more than a comma – a pause – on the way to something greater.  In this life we can have intimacy with God; in the next, union.  For the latter is more robust than the former.  It is the preferred way.  It is, as the Baltimore catechism teaches us, “to be happy with Him forever” in the next life.  As I write this, Wendell Berry is ninety-one years old.  If certain thoughts for this fifty-one-year-old man are unavoidable, I can only imagine that those thoughts and others are, for Berry, very front and very center.  For this reason, I am grateful for his wisdom: hard-won and given freely in a poem he wrote entitled “The Loved Ones.”  I share it here with you, dear listeners.  I hope it lands well.  The Loved Ones  The loved ones we call the dead depart from us and for a while are absent.  And then as if called back by our love, they come near us again.  They enter our dreams. We feel they have been near us when we have not thought of them. They are simply here, simply waiting while we are distracted among our obligations.  At last it comes to us: They live now in the permanent world. We are the absent ones.

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