As many of you well know, Bob Dylan means a lot to me. His birthday is this Sunday, and I recorded his song “You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go” in tribute to him. Happy 85th birthday, @bobdylan!
Humans live in epistemic bubbles created by language, which is the medium in which we form and share our thoughts. The language we use inevitably shapes the reality we perceive; as a result, we need to keep correcting for the excesses and quirks of our language in order to maintain our connection to reality.
This pretty basic phenomenon explains why objectivity was such a crucial governing value for the press to hold, even if no one is actually ever entirely “objective.” The point was to at least try and establish practical benchmarks and processes — like fact-checking - that reporters and editors could employ to keep their account of reality from drifting into outer space or sterile group-think.
The attack on objectivity and the Orwellian weaponization of processes like fact-checking did more than destroy the credibility of the press. It left the rest of society without a mirror by which they could determine at least the outlines of a shared reality. Thats what we are living in today.
In the absence of any common allegiance to “objectivity,” both “sides” now imagine they will impose their reality on the other side — often through threats of violence and personal destruction. “Reporting” has become a weapon in this fight.
But reporters don’t have to use language that way, and neither do you. And you should understand that anyone who does — whether though supporting left violence and personal attacks or engaging in right-wing, often foreign-sponsored conspiratorial lunacy - is actively destroying the social fabric that makes our collective reality-based existence possible.
A mind is a terrible thing to lose. Being part of a society in which large numbers of people have collectively lost their minds to mass hallucinations isn’t much of a future.
As evidenced by the unbridled promotion and implementation of technology at the expense of human dignity, we are truly experiencing an eclipse of the sense of what it means to be human. It is imperative to recover an understanding of the true meaning and grandeur of humanity as intended by God. It is in this sense that the challenge we currently face is not technological, but anthropological, and it is my hope that the Encyclical Letter to be published within a few days will contribute to answering this challenge.
I believe in beautiful things...
This poem by the English artist and poet, Minnie Aumônier, was published on a postcard and is an edited version of her poem "My Old-World Creed", which appeared in her 1932 booklet The Garden of the Nightingale, a collection of verse and illustrations.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.”
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The hermitage of Thomas Merton, Trappist monk, mystic, author, and poet famous for writing, The Seven Storey Mountain. Located at the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani in Kentucky.
Baseball legend Babe Ruth was a Catholic who wrote this letter about Communion, Confession and the Miraculous Medal:
“In December, 1946, I was in French Hospital, New York, facing a serious operation. Paul Carey, one of my oldest and closest friends, was by my bed one night.
- They’re going to operate in the morning, Babe, Paul said. -Don’t you think you ought to put your house in order?
-I didn’t dodge the long, challenging look in his eyes. I knew what he meant. For the first time, I realized that death might strike me out. I nodded, and Paul got up, called in a chaplain, and I made a full confession.
-I’ll return in the morning and give you Holy Communion, the chaplain said, -But you don’t have to fast.
-I’ll fast, I said. I didn’t have even a drop of water.
-As I lay in bed that evening, I thought to myself what a comforting feeling to be free from fear and worries. I now could simply turn them over to God. Later on, my wife brought in a letter from a little kid in Jersey City.
‘Dear Babe,’ he wrote, ‘Everybody in the seventh grade class is pulling and praying for you. I am enclosing a medal, which if you wear will make you better. Your pal—Mike Quinlan. P.S. I know this will be your 61st homer. You’ll hit it.’
-I asked them to pin the Miraculous Medal to my pyjama coat. I’ve worn the medal constantly ever since. I’ll wear it to my grave.”