And passing on from there Jesus saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax-collection house, and says to him, “Follow me.” And rising he followed him. And it happened that, as he was reclining at table in the house, look: Many tax-collectors and sinners came and reclined at table with Jesus and his disciples. And, seeing this, the Pharisees said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax-collectors and sinners?” But he heard them and said, “The hale do not have need of a physician, but rather those who are ill. Go then and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice’; for I come to call not the upright, but sinners.”.
Matthew 9:10-13
Now a certain one of the Pharisees requested him to dine with him, and entering the Pharisee’s house he reclined at table. And look: There was a woman in the city who was a sinner, and knowing that he is reclining in the home of the Pharisee, and bringing an alabaster phial of unguent. And standing behind, weeping at his feet, she began to make his feet wet with her tears, and she wiped them off with the hair of her head, and fervently kissed his feet and anointed them with unguent. But, seeing this, the Pharisee who had invited him talked to himself, saying, “This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and of what sort this woman who touches him is, for she is a sinner.” And in reply Jesus said to him, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” … And turning to the woman he said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your home, you did not give me water for my feet; but she washed my feet with her tears and wiped them off with her hair. You gave me no kiss of friendship, but she from the time I entered has not ceased fervently kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil; but she anointed my feet with unguent. By virtue of which, I tell you, her sins—which are many—have be forgiven, because she loved much; but one to whom little is forgiven loves little.” And he said to her, “Your sins have been forgiven.” And those reclining at table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this, who even forgives sins?” And he said to the woman: “Your faith has saved you, go in peace.” thee; go in peace.
Luke 7:37-50
— The New Testament: A Translation, by David Bentley Hart
This is the meal equally set—this is the meat for
natural hunger;
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous—I
make appointments with all;
I will not have a single person slighted or left away;
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited;
The heavy-lipp’d slave is invited—the venerealee is invited:
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.
— Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
If you become degraded, criminal, ill, then I become so for your sake, If you remember your foolish and outlaw’d deeds, do you think I cannot remember my own foolish and outlaw’d deeds? If you carouse at the table I carouse at the opposite side of the table, If you meet some stranger in the streets and love him or her, why I often meet strangers in the street and love them.
Why what have you thought of yourself? Is it you then that thought yourself less? Is it you that thought the President greater than you? Or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you?
(Because you are greasy or pimpled, or were once drunk, or a thief, Or that you are diseas’d, or rheumatic, or a prostitute, Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar and never saw your name in print, Do you give in that you are any less immortal?)
Walt Whitman, “A Song for Occupations”
Recall Christ, brother of rejected persons—brother of
slaves, felons, idiots, and of insane and diseas’d
persons.
In my senior year in high school, I took an IQ test administered by a graduate student at Boston University. A question on the test, which he administered orally, was why should one not associate with disreputable people? I answered that I did not agree with the premise.
Some fifty years later, I still feel the same way.
I have learned a great deal from, and my life has been enriched by, people of all levels of intelligence, backgrounds, occupations, persuasions, personality types, idiosyncracies, and life situations.
I have given rides and handouts to just released ex-convicts; associated with people whose opinions and/or behavior could be considered immoral, criminal, improper, antisocial, deviant, clueless, or odd by others; have never chosen my friends according to their political or religious views.
The driving force, in my own experience, behind making acquaintances and forming friendships has been: how is that person disposed towards ME? Do they wish to associate and communicate; do they desire or need human contact? Then, I find that it behooves me to respond affirmatively. I am a priori willing to accept anyone as a friend.
I have benefited, immeasurably, from such associations. These people have taught me so much or, to put it the other way around, I have learned so much from them.
I see no reason to change.
And, I am amazed and gladdened by the innate goodness and sincerity of so many people who are prone to neglect and sometimes scorn or to being rejected by polite society.
“… the true religious genius of our race now seems to say, Beware of Churches! Beware of priests! above all things the flights and sublime ecstasies of the soul cannot submit to the exact statements of any church, or of any creed.”
— Walt Whitman, Notebooks and Unpublished Prose Manuscripts (New York University Press, 1984), I:408
Who cares what I think about the topic of religion, one might ask.
It has probably — I would say, certainly — been written and declaimed about far more than any other conceivable topic over the ages, far surpassing topics such as politics.
By the greatest writers the world has ever seen.
But I was thinking about religion the other day because of a conversation I had with a friend of mine. It made me think also of similar conversations I’ve had in the past.
My friend is a professional with an advanced degree. He works in one of the so called helping professions.
He is, as a result of professional training and experience and also by virtue of his nature, a thoughtful, insightful, and caring individual.
I had never had occasion to discuss religion with him before and had no knowledge or idea of what his religion was, other than suspecting that he was probably Christian. In the course of our conversation, I learned that he is Episcopalian.
I was raised as a Congregationalist and later became a Unitarian. (More about this below.)
My friend, while a church member, has a lot of reservations about Christian doctrine and about organized religion. We agreed to disagree.
To summarize, imperfectly, the points my friend made (I don’t have him with me to verify the accuracy of my summary):
— Many Christian beliefs, such as those derived from Bible stories, are patently “false,” meaning that to many an educated person in the modern world, they seem ludicrous. That would apply, for example, to a belief in the immaculate conception or that Jesus was resurrected, as well as Jesus’s miracles.
— Not only is much of religious belief based on fiction, but the historical veracity of much of what, say, is presented in narrative accounts in the Gospels cannot be verified. For example, there is very scant historical evidence for Jesus’s life and ministry. What we have been told may well have been invented and then propagated as revealed truth.
— Organized religion has done and does more harm than good. It has led to barbarity and intolerance. And, to modern day abuses. Conservative religion has become allied with right wing political factions in a way that is an anathema to liberals and progressives.
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May I be permitted a word or two about my own religious upbringing as it pertained to our discussion?
I was raised as a Congregationalist. They are “middle of the road,” I would say, on the Protestant spectrum, with the Episcopalians being more conservative, the Baptists much further to the right, and the Unitarians way to the left.
I am extremely grateful that my parents didn’t neglect my religious upbringing. From it, I got a good grounding in moral values. To give an example, I learned the importance of compassion and charity.
I developed — my parents had more to do with it than the church, but church teaching was also important — a moral sense and a CONSCIENCE.
I absorbed the basic tenets of Christian doctrine, observed the religious holidays. My family was more important than the church with respect to the latter, but church services and observances of Christmas and Easter seemed sacred and wonderful, as well as inspiring awe and reverence, a sense that they were very special as well as joyous times. (So did some religious and holiday music that I was exposed to at the time, such as hymns and Christmas carols.)
In Sunday school, which my parents saw to it that I attend without fail, I got an excellent grounding in the Bible. I know my Gospels — by no means as well as a TV or radio evangelist does — but I know the stories and sayings, when the angel of the Lord brought tidings of joy to the shepherds keeping watch over their flock; when Jesus spent forty days in the desert, was tempted by the devil, and told him, “Get thee hence, Satan”; when Jesus cast out the swine from the insane man and how they perished in the sea; the miracle of the loaves and fishes; or what Jesus said, like “blessed are the poor in spirit” and “he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.”
Many modern day kids raised in “enlightened,” “progressive” households don’t have the faintest knowledge of any of this. (A shame, I would say a disgrace.)
To learn these words and to read about the miracles when one is growing up are invaluable. They become part of you — your inner self — something you don’t question and which it seems as if you’ve always known. The words and the edifying stories are with you at trying times.
Growing up I also became well acquainted with Catholicism. The majority of my friends, in my early years, were Catholic. We argued about religion all the time. I thought they were narrow minded, borderline ignorant, incapable of thinking for themselves, too credulous, and so on – these youthful opinions were, needless, to say, prejudiced, often unfair and unfounded, on my part. But I grew over the years to appreciate and greatly admire the Catholic church. (See more below.)
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To return to my friend’s criticisms for a minute.
He spoke appreciatively of religiously inspired music; he is obviously not a know-nothing unbeliever/religious antagonist. But, basically, he thinks that Christian doctrine was and is founded on absurdities that are impossible of belief by an educated, rational person. And that, by subscribing to and perpetuating absurdities, organized religions are actually doing harm by cheapening and obfuscating civic discourse. (My friend did not actually say this. I am extrapolating from what he said and seemed to be implying.)
My take on this and my current beliefs are as follows.
I became a Unitarian when I was a preadolescent. I do not currently belong to a church. When asked, I respond that I do not belong to a church.
I am not what, in the common understanding of the term, what would be called a “believer.”
But I realize that I am fundamentally a Christian. What do I base this upon? My upbringing. My basic outlook on life. My core beliefs. My basic makeup and “spiritual genealogy,” so to speak.
I admire (which is an understatement) and completely respect religious people, from Saint Augustine to Albert Schweitzer, from Saint Francis to Dorothy Day, from Meister Eckhart to George Fox, from Martin Luther King, Jr. to Pope Francis.
Pope John XXIII.
I admire Walter J. Ciszek, S.J., the priest who endured twenty years imprisonment in the Soviet Union and hard labor in the Gulag on trumped up charges of being a “Vatican spy.”
I admire Cardinal Joseph W. Tobin, who was recently installed as the archbishop of Newark, NJ.
I respect clergymen, priests, and nuns for their seriousness of purpose and devotion to their calling.
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The way in which religion affects me most profoundly is through art, in the broad sense of the word.
I defy anyone to listen to the masses of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, or Schubert; to Monteverdi’s “Magnificat”; to Vivaldi’s “Gloria” or Stabat Mater or Antonín Dvořák’s Stabat Mater; to an oratorio such as the Saint Matthew Passion or Berlioz’s l’enfance du Christ; or to two modern compositions, Alan Hovhaness’s “Ave Maria” and Vladimír Godár’s “Regina Coeli,” and remain unmoved.
To Haydn’s The Seven Last Words of Our Saviour on the Cross, one the most devout pieces ever composed.
Try listening to a hymn such as “Fairest Lord Jesus” — with its beauty, clarity, strength, and simple piety — and remaining unmoved.
Or “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” with its ringing, joyous affirmation of Christian belief.
I know the Latin mass by heart. When words such as Laudamus te, benedicimus te, adoramus te, glorifcamus te … Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi; dona nobis pacem … Crucifìxus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato; passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die … Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini are sung, I am profoundly stirred. At such a moment, I feel the “truth” of Biblical events. I don’t go into a religious frenzy or temporarily lose my mind, but I do at such moments experience religion at a gut level, viscerally. I am not looking askance and thinking to myself. “This is, at bottom, silly; it can’t really be believed.” On the contrary, through the medium of sublime art, I have become a believer — for the moment, at least — insofar as it’s possible (for myself, that is).
I also experienced this when I saw Pier Paolo Pasolini’s film The Gospel According to Matthew (1964). The film is so powerful and convincing, the Gospel stories become so credible, that one is totally engrossed and in the moment; one suspends disbelief.
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A penultimate thought or two. I don’t want to leave the impression that my respect and admiration for religion are solely the impressions of an aesthete. That’s a big part of it, but there’s more, I realize.
It seems to me that religion is a core part of what it is to be human, though many of my friends and relatives would probably dismiss this as representing a sort of atavism. It must feed basic human needs. The need for belief in something beyond mundane existence, as we observe it. But, I don’t think this is just a matter of “emotional neediness” by weak minded people who need a crutch. Sort of the way Noam Chomsky has shown that there is a universal grammar that is innate to the human brain, I think something similar can be said about religion as it transcends all types of cultural and social boundaries and affects all of us.
I think that religion is important because it humbles us. We need to believe and to be able to conceive of something greater than our puny selves, something that inspires awe and reverence. Perhaps that’s enough to say. I am not a preacher and don’t want to be seen as coming across as one. But, I do think that religions play an important psychological function, or more broadly, an edifying one, when we attempt to conceive of the glory of God and His creation.
A lot of my contemporaries seem to think that they are self sufficient in their ability to reason and thereby to deduce their own truths (the absolute rightness of which they are convinced of) and that they don’t need a “crutch.” I find them smug. They would say they need no god or gods. They are too proud, in my opinion, too sure of themselves. They would do well to read what the great religious thinkers have to say.
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A relative of mine recently posted a comment on this blog. It had to do with a post of mine, not about religion, in which post I wrote that people should be more “Christian” when it comes to judgment and forgiveness.
“I am inclined to side with the [sentencing] judge,” my relative wrote. “This is an example, among many others, of why I am essentially non-religious. I consider established religion to be one of the most divisive, most antagonistic influences in human affairs and history.”
My relative’s view seems to be shared by many. It is hard to argue with him in view of contemporary church scandals and abuses; ones from historical periods not that remote; and examples from history such as the Crusades and the Inquisition.
But I still respect religion, without reservation. I try to follow the essential precepts and teachings of Christianity, although I do not belong any longer to a church or subscribe to a particular faith.
— Roger W. Smith
January 2017
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Addendum:
I picked out a piece of sacred music more or less at random from the Agnus Dei (lamb of God) section of Haydn’s Nelson Mass: qui tollis peccata mundi (You who take away the sins of the world). There are, of course, many other splendid examples.
Listen to it. Can one deny the intense spirituality? This from a master of classical form.
Note: I have posted some splendid sacred music on this blog. Also, sacred music which I have noted above but have not posted here is available on You Tube.
My List of Virtues contained at first but twelve: But a Quaker Friend having kindly inform’d me that I was generally thought proud; that my Pride show’d itself frequently in Conversation; that I was not content with being in the right when discussing any Point, but was overbearing & rather insolent; of which he convinc’d me by mentioning several Instances; — I determined endeavouring to cure myself if I could of this Vice or Folly among the rest, and I added Humility to my List [of virtues], giving an extensive Meaning to the Word.—I cannot boast of much Success in acquiring the Reality of this Virtue; but I had a good deal with regard to the Appearance of it.—I made it a Rule to forbear all direct Contradiction to the Sentiments of others, and all positive Assertion of my own. I even forbid myself agreeable to the old Laws of our Junto, the Use of every Word or Expression in the Language that imported a fix’d Opinion; such as certainly, undoubtedly, &c. and I adopted instead of them, I conceive, I apprehend, or I imagine a thing to be so or so, or so it appears to me at present. —When another assert’d something that I thought an Error, I deny’d my self the Pleasure of contradicting him abruptly, and of showing immediately some Absurdity in his Proposition; and in answering I began by observing that in certain Cases or Circumstances his Opinion would be right, but that in the present case there appear’d or seem’d to me some Difference, &c. I soon found the Advantage of this Change in my Manners. The Conversations I engag’d in went on more pleasantly. The modest way in which I propos’d my Opinions, procur’d them a readier Reception and less Contradiction; I had less Mortification when I was found to be in the wrong, and I more easily prevail’d with others to give up their Mistakes & join with me when I happen’d to be in the right. And this Mode, which I at first put on, with some violence to natural Inclination, became at length so easy & so habitual to me, that perhaps for these Fifty Years past no one has ever heard a dogmatical Expression escape me. And to this Habit (after my Character of Integrity) I think it principally owing, that I had early so much Weight with my Fellow Citizens, when I proposed new Institutions, or Alterations in the old; and so much Influence in public Councils when I became a Member. For I was but a bad Speaker, never eloquent, subject to much Hesitation in my choice of Words, hardly correct in Language, and yet I generally carried my Points. –
— Benjamin Franklin, The Autobiography, Part Two
N.B. – The Junto which Franklin refers to above was a club for mutual improvement which Franklin established in Philadelphia. The club’s purpose was to debate questions of morals, politics, and natural philosophy; and to exchange knowledge of business affairs.
This is an essay about how one should, ideally, engage in an argument which involves a disagreement about personal views. Such a dispute may arise from:
a disagreement between spouses — Often, it seems that spouses, when they are young lovers or newlyweds, experience smooth sailing. Then, once they have set up a household together and have started a family, they find that they disagree on many fundamental issues, such as issues related to child rearing, money management, household management, or in-laws. Often, they find themselves to be incompatible and constantly bickering;
sibling rivalry – It happens all the time. Under the surface, there can be petty jealousies, old resentments, grudges over current or past slights, and so on;
conflicts between parents and children – It seems that children would not be normal if they didn’t fight with their parents over all sorts of issues as they mature;
disagreements with someone you thought was your best friend – But, guess what? As you grow older, you find out that there are fundamental differences you weren’t aware of that threaten to torpedo the relationship;
issues with coworkers, a boss, or a subordinate;
issues with someone you can’t avoid (e.g., a neighbor, someone else’s friend whom you barely know) who takes issue with something you have said or done and won’t let it drop.
I grew up in a very verbal and articulate family. Everyone had an opinion. This was true of my nuclear family and my extended family. Dinners and family gatherings were often quite pleasant because of the high level of conversation, but sometimes the conversations that took place were not pleasant because of arguments. However, it was not a zero sum game, as far as I was concerned. I was observing and learning how to become not only a good conversationalist but a good arguer myself.
By nature, I don’t particularly like disputation. I prefer conversations where you and your conversational partner share views and enlighten one another, by which process insights are achieved and surprising new things are learned; where your interlocutor might introduce a new thought or idea and you welcome it. But, over the years I have learned how to engage in discourse — a colloquy or argument—when there is disagreement or when matters need to be thrashed out and (hopefully) resolved; and, though I sometimes get very angry, I have learned how to not totally lose my mental bearings. I guess what one would say is that the experience of living in a verbal family skilled in the art of colloquy taught me how to think on my feet.
I am impressed by how well most politicians, particularly those in high office, can do in give and take with a political opponent and in situations where they are pressed to explain their views. Clearly, they can think on their feet – they seem to always have cogent answers for the toughest questions. (Which is not to say that they do not dissemble; it seems to be habitual.) But, when I speak of colloquies and arguments here (the desired behavior for each), I am thinking mainly of one on one discussions between two people in a close or intimate setting, not in public.
There is an academic extracurricular activity, namely, debating, which is sort of like belonging to an athletic team, except that it’s a verbal skirmish. I was on the debate team in high school. It did not particularly appeal to me. This kind of verbal sparring is not what I have in mind in using the word colloquy (nor is it what the word means).
There are gonzo freewheeling discussions on TV and radio talk shows which are somewhat like pro wrestling matches. I do not consider them to be colloquies or argumentative discussions by any measure. There are basically no rules; it’s a free for all.
What I am thinking about is a situation where you are in strong disagreement with someone, usually someone close to you.
Let’s say it’s your spouse. You do or say something which you think is harmless or does not require comment. Your spouse feels otherwise and lets you know it. It may be the case that not only does your spouse disagree in principle. Perhaps they strongly disagree and/or object or were offended to hear that you feel that way.
Or perhaps you are a youth or young adult engaged in, or on the verge of engaging in, some behavior or activity that your parents strongly disapprove of. They tell you so, and an argument ensues. You’ve matured, you feel that they shouldn’t be telling you what to think or do, and — you know what? — when you were younger you idolized your parents and thought they could do no wrong. Now you think they are totally off base with respect to their views and perhaps their lifestyle as well. You may, at a certain age, be in a state of almost perpetual war with your parents, issues wise. Perhaps you take pleasure in this, enjoy getting their goat and being on the outs with them.
So, disagreements arise, and before you hardly know it, they can become very bitter. It seems like the ones with your intimate circle are the most painful.
Say I go to a bar. Someone tells me they are supporting a candidate I detest or that they don’t like some ethnic group (though they don’t want to be thought of as prejudiced) or perhaps expresses an asinine view the stupidity, vapidity, or callousness of which offends or annoys me. I may or may not get into it with them. But, I will go home shortly thereafter and forget about it. The other person was a jerk, was ignorant, was a racist, whatever. It doesn’t really affect me.
I have had problems lately dealing with situations in which people I know well have subjected me to criticism and expressed strong disagreement with my views and sometimes with my actions. I have tried to defend myself. This had led to heated discussions that have often ended up deadlocked, in “verbal gridlock.” I seem to find myself (to my dismay) getting into arguments all the time over matters big and small.
Sometimes the “other side” seems so intractable that I have thought to myself, just what is fair and what is not fair in an argument over views, behavior, morals, opinions you may hold of others (views that your interlocutor does not share), and so on? How should one conduct oneself when one feels cornered by an attack being made on them verbally? Is there such a thing as a standard for engaging in such verbal skirmishes?
After all, athletes have a rulebook and ground rules for a given sport.
The following is my own list, my Marquess of Queensberry rules, for arguments over personal matters and views. Many of the “rules” – i.e., principles for argument and discussion – that follow were promulgated by my parents. For example:
speak calmly and deliberately;
don’t raise you voice;
don’t interrupt; listen … wait your turn;
try not to show anger;
don’t shout or lose your temper;
don’t make it personal … avoid slurs and personal insults;
points made by the other side which are valid must be conceded (a point often honored, sadly, more often in the breach than the observance);
one must be willing and capable of admitting it when he or she has been proven to be wrong;
never argue about a fact.
“Never argue about a fact.” This last rule was stated in these exact these words to me by my mother, quoting her father. When you think about it, it’s obvious.
You say the president immediately preceding Abraham Lincoln was James Buchanan. No, I say adamantly, you’re wrong. It was Franklin Pierce, and an argument ensues.
A totally pointless argument, as stupid as it would be to argue over who pitched the first perfect game ever. It is said that bars used to keep reference books behind the counter to resolve such disputes and keep them from ending in a barroom brawl.
My own thoughts about what is “fair” and “unfair,” “reasonable” and unreasonable”; what is and is not counterproductive — in short, what is desirable – when it comes to personal arguments:
You must argue in good faith. You should not do it if what underlies the dispute is pure malevolence or the simple desire to taunt, vex, or annoy the other person.
You have to make a sincere effort to see the other person’s point of view. This rule is ignored so often it is beyond belief.
Both sides should have a chance to make their points and to respond to points made by the other side. Often, you will find this “rule” being broken, with one side browbeating the other verbally and constantly interrupting or cutting the other side off before they have had a chance to make a counterargument (or stomping off in a huff mid argument).
One must be able to get outside of oneself and put oneself in another’s shoes. Is this asking too much? I don’t think so. Because if the conditions are such that this cannot occur – speaking, let’s say, of heated arguments over painful or contentious issues – a successful conclusion of the argument will not occur. In my experience, I have found that this “rule” is often violated when the other side can only think of one thing: their own self-interest in prevailing; and abhors the thought that they might “lose” an argument. (Perish the thought!)
If you can’t establish common ground — identify areas of agreement, things you DO agree on (which can serve as a starting point) — you will not be able to make progress. I have often tried to achieve some progress or headway in an argument, some “daylight,” by trying to see if my interlocutor and I can find some areas of agreement, which would allow us to put them aside and get to the main points in dispute. To my consternation, I’ve found that some stubborn people are not willing to do this. They seem to think if they grant, acknowledge that they agree with me on a point or two, they might be weakening their own case somehow, and perhaps making themselves vulnerable to “defeat.” As a tactic in argument (and to adhere to the principle of fairness), I would advise that you point out and acknowledge areas upon which there is common ground (on which you can agree) so that the areas of legitimate disagreement can be seen clearly; acknowledge up front what you can agree on, to clear things up a bit and make some headway, before getting to the most contentious issues. Great, if you can!
You should be willing to at least acknowledge, hard as it may be, and make a sincere attempt to see that, while you may be in total disagreement, you can see why someone else might think differently (if you can honestly tell yourself this).
You should be agreeable in principle and in conversation to have a give and take, ideally a civilized one, an exchange that, though it be in earnest, is not a winner take all contest, a pro wrestling bout or mudslinging match.
You should not let yourself be intimidated into giving up deeply held views, but neither should you be pigheaded.
You should give serious consideration to the views of your opponent, presuming they are worthy of such consideration. By this I mean that, while you may think absolutely the opposite, you should acknowledge views that have intellectual legitimacy and are sincerely held and cogently expressed. An example might be a cultural or political liberal and someone at the opposite pole: a conservative. Both sides have developed and articulated informed and well thought out views over the centuries. One can learn a lot from the other side!
Not only that, but it can be a productive intellectual exercise to be able to look at things from a totally different point of view — one you had not considered before — for the sake of testing your own views and perhaps rethinking or maybe refining them. Which is not to say that you have to give up your views, but it can help to kind of sift and weigh them, to examine them from different perspectives, including ones that would not ordinarily have occurred to oneself. You may find yourself modifying your own views and, if not, such an intellectual exercise may help you nevertheless to better articulate your views in future discussions by seeing where and how they are distinguished from contrary views. By seeing how one’s views may or may not be amenable to modification or amplification, one can deepen one’s own understanding. And, viewpoints or opinions that at first might seem strange can lead to new insights and developing an ability to look at things from different angles. Open mindedness is a virtue to be sought after; it is not an indicator of intellectual weakness.
You should not get angry at someone just for holding an OPINION you disagree with, no matter how much you disagree. Personal insults are one matter. But, opinions sui generis should be tolerated, no matter how offensive, contrary, or misguided they may seem.
An argument (of the type I am expatiating on here) should not be a grudge match. Yes, arguments may get personal, often do. But if there is too much underlying animosity, let alone hatred, if someone is out to settle scores, or to let someone know how much they dislike not only their interlocutor’s views, but the person himself or herself, then the argument should not be continued.
This may seem counterintuitive, but the goal in an argument is not simply to WIN (though you would like to). Your goal is to make your points, consider and respond to those of the other side, make counterarguments, and so forth, and to see what results. The goal is to play “the game” (a colloquy or personal argument) fair and square and to make your points to the best of your ability. If your mentality is win at all costs, you won’t be likely to observe the “rules” I have promulgated above — to “hear” what the other side has to say, for example, or to acknowledge the other side’s good points.
Then, there’s the “if the shoe were on the other foot” angle.
My interlocutor will say, “How would you feel if it were you?” (who is being subjected to criticism). Personally, I have been subject to people trying to get me to see another point of view by introducing this line of thought. I will be defending myself, presenting my point of view, trying to explain myself and perhaps justify my actions, and someone tries to get me to consider how I would feel if the positions were reversed, if I were on the “other side.”
It usually — or at least often — is the case of an emotional or behavioral issue with interpersonal content, so this may not apply to abstract discussions.
But, it does apply sometimes. To make a counter point, I might say to my interlocutor, “You don’t feel I should be criticizing you or objecting to _______ [their actions or opinions]. But, how would you feel if the situation was reversed, and it was me?”
I am surprised how often this seems not to work — the other person can’t bring themselves to entertain such a possibility.
Yet, when others have used such a tactic on me in discussion or “debate,” it has caused me to reflect and reexamine my own assumptions/presuppositions.
A final thought. It has occurred to me — from reading about and occasionally watching rancorous political debates over the past few months, and experiencing disputes arising from politics within my own family circle — that the issue of politeness is pertinent here.
The above is intended to be an essay about personal arguments, not public or political debates. Yet, arguments between individuals — friends or family, say, and other people whom one encounters in the workplace or on social occasions — often arise over political issues, and then, of course, there are contentious encounters in various settings (such as a lecture on a college campus) in which a heated exchange occurs. Politics often seems to be the catalyst.
I would like to merely state that the issue of politeness is not irrelevant on such occasions. Politeness is often seen as a sign of weakness, snobbery, elitism, and so forth. Actually, I feel that it is a boon to society — to social intercourse — and can help people to avoid unpleasant, rancorous discussions that lead nowhere. I feel that this holds true in the public arena as well as in the case of non public arguments and discussions.
The dictionary definition of colloquy is (1) a conversation, dialogue; (2) a high-level serious discussion (such as might occur, say, at the United Nations).
A colloquy is serious discussion, not a lightheaded one, and it is one that is entered into by two sides eager to resolve an issue or a dispute.
Hopefully, such discussions will lead to agreement. But, often, what starts out as a colloquy turns into a dispute.
An argument can, and hopefully will, involve a colloquy of sorts, but an argument is more personal and disagreement is a given, whereas the two sides in a colloquy might start out actually being essentially in agreement while needing merely to clarify and resolve a few points.
A clear, helpful treatment of the topic of arguments — how to avoid getting into them and how to manage them — is provided in Part Three (“How to Win People to Your Way of Thinking”) of Dale Carnegie’s best seller How to Win Friends and Influence People.
Acknowledgment: Thanks are due to G. Scott Milnor, who suggested that I write this article based on a discussion (not an argument) we were recently having.
A downloadable Word document of this essay is attached above.
In my late high school years, I read Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn in a recently published Grove Press paperback with a bright red cover, which I found in my father’s bedroom — the obscenity ban had just been lifted by the courts. I had never heard of Miller.
I got interested in the book and eventually took it to my bedroom across the hall. I kept it for weeks. My father eventually noticed this and commented on it, but he did not insist on my returning the book.book. (This showed a certain appreciation of my intelligence and/or curiosity as well as, perhaps, literary tastes; and what might be viewed as a degree of practical wisdom on my father’s part.)
The reason I kept the book is that I liked Miller. At first, I noticed the sexy parts – there were lots of them. I was a teenager curious about and inexperienced in sex. The “good parts” were explicit, more so than other naughty books that I had hitherto peeked at. Besides being erotic, they were well written, amusing, and fun.
Soon — very quickly — I got caught up in the whole book and in Miller’s narrative style and I was no longer interested in the sexy parts alone. And, I found that I enjoyed the sex scenes not only for their explicit erotic content, but also for the humor and the good, zesty writing.
Tropic of Capricorn is part of a trilogy that also includes Tropic of Cancer and Black Spring. I have never read Black Spring, which features surrealistic writing. I have read goodly portions of Tropic of Cancer but must admit that I have never read it in its entirety — I dipped into the book without reading it sequentially from beginning to end. Cancer is better known than Capricorn, but I prefer the former book and think it is underrated. In my opinion, it is by far Miller’s best book. I would deem it a classic of American literature. Few, it seems, would concur.
Tropic of Capricorn is an autobiographical novel, taking the reader from the point where Miller is in New York working for a telegraph company modeled on Western Union (where Miller actually worked) to the end of the book, where Miller gives up his conventional workaday life with a wife who bores him (and makes him feel like a captive) and leaves for Paris.
The book has an irresistible narrative flow and momentum. It seems to be written off the cuff — is written pell-mell as if someone were speaking in that fashion — yet it is constructed with a prefect authorial “ear”; pitched at just the right level and tone (or narrative voice); fashioned so that one episode follows another with undeniable cogency. It’s like a piece of music that is irresistible to the mind and ear.
I kept reading Miller. I spent a great deal of time reading him in my senior year in college — neglecting my studies — and then continued to read him avidly for another year or so. I basically devoured him.
While in college, I read the first two books of Miller’s trilogy The Rosy Crucifixion — Sexus and Plexus — and enjoyed them greatly. Some critics thought these were disappointing books, poorly written and a big comedown from the Tropics. One of these critics was Miller’s (and Anaïs Nin’s) friend Lawrence Durrell. But I liked them, to put it mildly. There were plenty of rollicking sex scenes and lots of colorful characters drawn from Miller’s own life. I think Miller helped (note that I say helped) to liberate me sexually and give me a healthier appreciation of sexuality. It was eroticism (one would have said then, pornography) plus damned good writing.
I went on to read other works of Miller, including much of his nonfiction, which did not have sexual content, and got a real feeling for his range and scope – as well as appreciation for his intellect (to an extent). I say “to an extent” because my admiration for Miller is not primarily admiration for his essays or theories. He was, however, a man with a keen intellect and a man of wide reading and knowledge. He was basically self educated, having only briefly attended college. His interests included music and art as well as literature. He was an amateur pianist and painted thousands of watercolors that are now in major collections.
Miller once wrote (I forget where) that he used to go to bed every night listening to Beethoven’s Egmont Overture. Reading this, I felt kinship with him, since the Egmont Overture has never failed to inspire me.
Miller dropped out of City College after a semester. One reason, he said, perhaps flippantly, was that he couldn’t bring himself to read Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene. Again, I felt kinship with Miller. In my junior year in college, I took an English course which included The Faerie Queene; I had great difficulty getting through it.
In the second semester of my senior year in college, I took an independent study course, Readings in Henry Miller, with Professor Sacvan Berkovitch, a brilliant up and coming American Studies professor who had a distinguished career.
I have a collection of books by and about Miller (some of them rare) and some by and about his literary circle.
I do, however, find it hard now to get back into him.
I recently tried to read Crazy Cock, one of Miller’s early trial novels, but gave up after a few pages, which I reread several times in the vain hope that I could get into the book. It is a failure, which I’m certain that Miller himself in his later years would have conceded. He hadn’t found his narrative voice yet. A critic once remarked somewhere that Miller had to write in the first person. (Crazy Cock and other early, then unpublished novels by Miller were written in the third person.) I agree.
I recently reread portions of Miller’s Plexus. I was surprised at how well the book stood up after all those years (meaning the forty-five plus years since I read it), and how well written it is, in my opinion. The characters are well drawn, the narrative flows, the language is just right. Miller very skillfully mixes narrative with exposition; anecdotal material with riffs of a quasi-philosophical nature. The characters are drawn from Miller’s days in New York; you can tell that they were real people – with their idiosyncrasies exaggerated.
One gets the impression – it seems that this was the actual truth – of Miller pounding away at his typewriter, writing at a furious pace. I believe (this is an aside) that it is probable that Miller nowadays would be diagnosed as bipolar.
I have read some of Miller’s letters. One gets the same impression. He can go on for ten or twenty pages. It can get tedious. It can also be spellbinding.
My favorite Miller letter is a long one he wrote on March 9, 1930 to Emil Schnellock, a commercial artist who was a lifelong friend of his, beginning when they both were students at P.S. 85 in Brooklyn. In the letter, Miller describes his first Sunday in Paris: “Perhaps the most wonderful Sunday of my life!”
Miller was born in the Yorkville section of Manhattan and was raised in Manhattan and Brooklyn (his father was a tailor); he worked in Manhattan as a young man. The anecdotes and characters he relates and portrays from his New York City years – mainly the 1920’s — are colorful and engrossing. He was a raconteur’s raconteur. His books reflect what it seems was a time when New York was peopled by colorful characters, rich and poor, of various ethnicities. Miller’s prejudices are plain for all to see. Yet, you get the feeling that he was not a mean or vindictive person. I feel somewhat the same way about Miller’s attitude towards women, for which he has been attacked harshly by feminist critics such as Kate Millet. He denigrates women; he also worships them.
My former psychiatrist, Ralph Colp Jr., once said about Miller that he was a “born writer” — it was, in my psychiatrist’s opinion (which I think is dead on), indisputable fact. The way he put it was that — whatever one might say pro or con about Miller (whom my psychiatrist in fact admired as a writer), whatever critics or guardians of public morals might say against him — one thing had to be conceded: he could WRITE.
I have seen two films based on Miller’s works: Tropic of Cancer (1970) and Quiet Days in Clichy (1970), both set in Paris; and a third, Henry and June (1990), also set in Paris, about Henry Miller, June Miller (Miller’s second wife, his Beatrice), and Miller’s lover and fellow writer Anaïs Nin, in which the lead actor, Fred Ward, does a very good job of portraying Miller. (Quiet Days in Clichy — a short, whimsical work — was one of my favorite Miller books.) I thought the film Tropic of Cancer was just so so, and was a letdown. Quiet Days in Clichy, I recall, was well done. The film was a sincere attempt to catch the essence of Miller.
Henry Miller died at his home in Pacific Palisades, California on June 7, 1980 at the age of 88. I read his obituary in The New York Times. I felt a genuine sense of loss and was saddened that we wouldn’t have him around to amuse and goad us any more. He was a free spirit who referred to himself in Tropic of Cancer as “the happiest man alive.” Reading him made me feel liberated, better about myself, and happy. It seems that this has been the case with many of his other readers.
One criticism I would make of Miller is that at a certain point in later life he stopped developing, as a writer. This point was made by Miller’s former Paris friend Alfred Perlès in a book by Perlès that seems to be forgotten: My Friend Henry Miller (New York, 1956). Perlès felt that, after Miller returned to the United States from France, he lost an important source of stimulus and became “stagnant.” I agree. I think that there was something about the challenge of living a hand to mouth existence while experiencing a tremendous surge of sexual and social liberation, cultural novelty, and intellectual stimulation in Paris during the 1930’s (as Perlès noted) that brought out the best in Miller and enabled him to achieve a literary breakthrough whereby he produced many of his best works.
Miller was given at times — not surprising in view of his prodigious output and method of composition — to making fatuous statements. He would get carried away by his enthusiasms. He titled an essay about his lover Anaïs Nin “Un Être Étoilique” (A Heavenly Being). This was overpraise for Nin.
Miller was regarded, besides being the writer who managed almost single-handedly to break down barriers against obscenity, as a forerunner of the Beat Generation. I never considered him to be a beatnik or proto-hippie.
Yet, once in the early 1970’s, I picked up a hitchhiker, a bearded hippie. It turned out he was an intellectual and we started talking about writers. I mentioned that Henry Miller was one of my favorite writers, thinking he would have never heard of Miller, much less read him. “Henry Miller is one of my all time favorites,” he said.
The following exchange of emails with Thomas P. Riggio, Professor Emeritus at the University of Connecticut, occurred in November 2016, subsequent to my posting of the above essay.
Roger,
Your journey with Henry Miller is very interesting. During my teaching years, I used to be the only one in a large department who assigned books by Miller. I became an object of discussion among the bookstore managers. As a result, I remember members of my department, often very liberal and well educated types, dismissing his work as pornography.
I was a big fan of his work, and like you, think Capricorn is his masterpiece. I recall that my students had very polar reactions to his work — many (especially men) felt him as a liberating voice and others (mainly women) were turned off by him. It got to the point, beginning with the culture wars of the 1990’s, where I found it not worth the angst to teach him any longer.
By the way, apropos of your references to Spenser, I’ve always thought that the figure of Una in Capricorn and elsewhere — the idealized figure of virtue, truth etc. — was a reference to Una in The Faerie Queene … writers sometimes talk trash about some of their influences to throw readers/critics off their trail. Though, that said, I can’t imagine Spenser as among Miller’s favorite writers.
Black Spring has a lot of good writing in it, including the essay on childhood and relationship to his tailor father. The writing is very unlike the style of the two Tropics.
Glad to learn you are a fan. Yes, I can see that he would be harder to read as we age. He touches everything in us, and youthful hormones are not the least of them.
P.S. Do you know his comments on Dreiser in The Books in My Life? And, did you know his first unpublished book [Clipped Wings], written at the telegraph office, was inspired by Dreiser’s Twelve Men?
response by Roger W. Smith
Thanks a lot for your feedback. Some thoughts, in no particular order.
Regarding the hassles of teaching Miller, because he was pornographic, I also have a blog post about the so called “dirty books” I encountered as an adolescent (without really reading most of them). See Roger W. Smith, “‘dirty’ books” at
I had an outstanding high school English teacher … he was a realist and knew that it wasn’t worth fighting the authorities to teach books like The Catcher in the Rye and Nineteen Eighty-Four, in which there was the occasional obscenity or sex scene.
I’m glad you agree with me about Tropic of Capricorn. A friend of mine, Charles Pierre, a poet living in Manhattan, was a voracious reader who would put me to shame, he was so well and widely read, steeped in the classics, fully conversant with poetry and with challenging modern authors (e.g., Thomas Pynchon). Henry Miller was by no stretch of the imagination his favorite, but I was surprised when he told me one day that he was reading Black Spring. He commented on how impressed he was with the brilliant writing (read, style).
Of course, we know that Kate Millet had Miller in her sights and, in part, made her reputation attacking him. Regarding Miller’s misogyny, though it didn’t bother me, she had a point.
The Una-Spenser-Miller reference of yours is intriguing.
I didn’t know at the time when I was becoming a Miller fan that Miller was a Dreiser fan. As a matter of fact, I was almost completely unaware of Dreiser, aside from the fact that there was a paperback of Sister Carrie on my older brother’s bookshelf; it was on his syllabus in college.
I was recently looking for Miller writings about Dreiser. It turns out there is very little.
Many of Miller’s works are hard to come by, very hard, if one can even identify and find them. I found that some scholar or other published a comprehensive two volume Miller bibliography not long ago: Henry Miller: A Bibliography of Secondary Sources (1979) and Henry Miller: A Bibliography of Primary Sources (1993-94). It may have been a limited print run. Very few libraries seem to have the book, and, if they do, they usually do not have both volumes.
I am a bibliophile and book collector, but I am not an antiquarian and I don’t collect books for profit. I found that both volumes of the Miller biblio were available for sale on the Internet. I purchased them. They were in mint condition. They are fascinating to browse.
I have read that early works by Miller — trial works, as it were — either came close to getting completely lost or, in some cases, can not be found. For example, I think the ms. of “Clipped Wings” has been lost.
I read that some early writings of Miller such as Crazy Cock were unearthed from the possessions of Miller’s second wife June, who may have possibly become reclusive in old age. I believe she survived Miller.
I did put one post about Miller and Dreiser on my Dreiser blog. See
I am ashamed to admit it! I was actually a fan of Anaïs Nin for a while. I bought some books by and about her and Miller at the Gotham Book Mart in Manhattan. A little while later, after my short lived enthusiasm for Nin had waned, Dr. Colp made a remark to me, which I feel is true, “she’s unreadable.” One word that seems to apply to her diaries is solipsistic.
I never really read Lawrence Durrell.
I am vaguely aware of Miller’s comments about Dreiser in The Books in My Life. Thanks for reminding me about them.
Miller was never the type of writer to appeal to academics — there seem to be very few scholarly papers or monographs about him. It is interesting to hear that you actually taught him.
Nowadays, it seems quite possible if not probable that curriculum watchdogs would not approve of his works as passing ideological muster.
I did know about the influence on Miller of Dreiser’s Twelve Men. See the post of my Dreiser site at
