Jesus decided to come back to earth and incarnate as a medical doctor at an inner city overcrowded public hospital.
The first patient complained about going blind, Jesus put his hands on his eyes and commanded "Now go and see!" and, lo and behold, he was cured.
Another patient came in a wheelchair, Jesus put his hands on his head and commanded "Get up and walk!" The guy left pushing his own wheelchair.
Later patients in the line were asking about the new doctor, someone says "Meh... He's just like all the others... He won't even examine you properly and tells you to go away!"
Some people are too busy complaining to realize miracles may already be happening around them...
Here's a follow up to the last post, an article by Jonathan Haidt.
JONATHAN HAIDT is Associate Professor of Psychology at the University of Virginia, where he does research on morality and emotion and how they vary across cultures. He is the author of The Happiness Hypothesis: Finding Modern Truth in Ancient Wisdom.
What makes people vote Republican? Why in particular do working class and rural Americans usually vote for pro-business Republicans when their economic interests would seem better served by Democratic policies? We psychologists have been examining the origins of ideology ever since Hitler sent us Germany's best psychologists, and we long ago reported that strict parenting and a variety of personal insecurities work together to turn people against liberalism, diversity, and progress. But now that we can map the brains, genes, and unconscious attitudes of conservatives, we have refined our diagnosis: conservatism is a partially heritable personality trait that predisposes some people to be cognitively inflexible, fond of hierarchy, and inordinately afraid of uncertainty, change, and death. People vote Republican because Republicans offer "moral clarity"—a simple vision of good and evil that activates deep seated fears in much of the electorate. Democrats, in contrast, appeal to reason with their long-winded explorations of policy options for a complex world.
Diagnosis is a pleasure. It is a thrill to solve a mystery from scattered clues, and it is empowering to know what makes others tick. In the psychological community, where almost all of us are politically liberal, our diagnosis of conservatism gives us the additional pleasure of shared righteous anger. We can explain how Republicans exploit frames, phrases, and fears to trick Americans into supporting policies (such as the "war on terror" and repeal of the "death tax") that damage the national interest for partisan advantage.
But with pleasure comes seduction, and with righteous pleasure comes seduction wearing a halo. Our diagnosis explains away Republican successes while convincing us and our fellow liberals that we hold the moral high ground. Our diagnosis tells us that we have nothing to learn from other ideologies, and it blinds us to what I think is one of the main reasons that so many Americans voted Republican over the last 30 years: they honestly prefer the Republican vision of a moral order to the one offered by Democrats. To see what Democrats have been missing, it helps to take off the halo, step back for a moment, and think about what morality really is.
I began to study morality and culture at the University of Pennsylvania in 1987. A then-prevalent definition of the moral domain, from the Berkeley psychologist Elliot Turiel, said that morality refers to "prescriptive judgments of justice, rights, and welfare pertaining to how people ought to relate to each other." But if morality is about how we treat each other, then why did so many ancient texts devote so much space to rules about menstruation, who can eat what, and who can have sex with whom? There is no rational or health-related way to explain these laws. (Why are grasshoppers kosher but most locusts are not?) The emotion of disgust seemed to me like a more promising explanatory principle. The book of Leviticus makes a lot more sense when you think of ancient lawgivers first sorting everything into two categories: "disgusts me" (gay male sex, menstruation, pigs, swarming insects) and "disgusts me less" (gay female sex, urination, cows, grasshoppers ).
For my dissertation research, I made up stories about people who did things that were disgusting or disrespectful yet perfectly harmless. For example, what do you think about a woman who can't find any rags in her house so she cuts up an old American flag and uses the pieces to clean her toilet, in private? Or how about a family whose dog is killed by a car, so they dismember the body and cook it for dinner? I read these stories to 180 young adults and 180 eleven-year-old children, half from higher social classes and half from lower, in the USA and in Brazil. I found that most of the people I interviewed said that the actions in these stories were morally wrong, even when nobody was harmed. Only one group—college students at Penn—consistently exemplified Turiel's definition of morality and overrode their own feelings of disgust to say that harmless acts were not wrong. (A few even praised the efficiency of recycling the flag and the dog).
This research led me to two conclusions. First, when gut feelings are present, dispassionate reasoning is rare. In fact, many people struggled to fabricate harmful consequences that could justify their gut-based condemnation. I often had to correct people when they said things like "it's wrong because… um…eating dog meat would make you sick" or "it's wrong to use the flag because… um… the rags might clog the toilet." These obviously post-hoc rationalizations illustrate the philosopher David Hume's dictum that reason is "the slave of the passions, and can pretend to no other office than to serve and obey them." This is the first rule of moral psychology: feelings come first and tilt the mental playing field on which reasons and arguments compete. If people want to reach a conclusion, they can usually find a way to do so. The Democrats have historically failed to grasp this rule, choosing uninspiring and aloof candidates who thought that policy arguments were forms of persuasion.
The second conclusion was that the moral domain varies across cultures. Turiel's description of morality as being about justice, rights, and human welfare worked perfectly for the college students I interviewed at Penn, but it simply did not capture the moral concerns of the less elite groups—the working-class people in both countries who were more likely to justify their judgments with talk about respect, duty, and family roles. ("Your dog is family, and you just don't eat family.") From this study I concluded that the anthropologist Richard Shweder was probably right in a 1987 critique of Turiel in which he claimed that the moral domain (not just specific rules) varies by culture. Drawing on Shweder's ideas, I would say that the second rule of moral psychology is that morality is not just about how we treat each other (as most liberals think); it is also about binding groups together, supporting essential institutions, and living in a sanctified and noble way.
When Republicans say that Democrats "just don't get it," this is the "it" to which they refer. Conservative positions on gays, guns, god, and immigration must be understood as means to achieve one kind of morally ordered society. When Democrats try to explain away these positions using pop psychology they err, they alienate, and they earn the label "elitist." But how can Democrats learn to see—let alone respect—a moral order they regard as narrow-minded, racist, and dumb?
...
If Democrats want to understand what makes people vote Republican, they must first understand the full spectrum of American moral concerns. They should then consider whether they can use more of that spectrum themselves. The Democrats would lose their souls if they ever abandoned their commitment to social justice, but social justice is about getting fair relationships among the parts of the nation. This often divisive struggle among the parts must be balanced by a clear and oft-repeated commitment to guarding the precious coherence of the whole. America lacks the long history, small size, ethnic homogeneity, and soccer mania that holds many other nations together, so our flag, our founding fathers, our military, and our common language take on a moral importance that many liberals find hard to fathom.
Unity is not the great need of the hour, it is the eternal struggle of our immigrant nation. The three Durkheimian foundations of ingroup, authority, and purity are powerful tools in that struggle. Until Democrats understand this point, they will be vulnerable to the seductive but false belief that Americans vote for Republicans primarily because they have been duped into doing so.
Regressivism (sometimes called reactionism) is a term used to critically denote policies, ideologies or philosophies that are characterized as advocating a reversal to ones long abandoned or deprecated. At the most fundamental level, what regressivism reacts against is modernity itself.
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Regressivism is in the same spectrum of political terms as progressivism and conservatism, and is used to distinguish between ideologies that advocate slow changes to those advocating a reversal. Obviously, regressivism is to the right of conservatism. Many social debates involve some degree of regressivism, where conflicts arise between new scientific issues and their interpreted moral ramifications.
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The term "regressive" is a relatively recent one in political discourse. The reason it is coming into increasing use is that the old distinction liberal/conservative appears to have outlived its usefulness. When those two terms were introduced, in the historically optimistic time know as the Enlightenment, there was no question that society progresses over time, and that political institutions must adapt to these changes. The only question was whether this adaptation should be planned, with a systematic ideology to guide it, as is held by liberals, or gradual and "organic", as held by conservatives. Today however there exist influential groups calling themselves conservatives which hold not that we must adapt more gradually to change, but that we must abandon various achievements of modernity: the governance of international relations by international law; the regulation of the economy by the democratic state; science as an autonomous activity not subject to control by the state (it is claimed that there is no such thing as disinterested science, so that all science is "political"); the recognition that religion is a human activity, and so something that must be made rational by being subjected to critique. Since such groups are not conservative by definition, but radical, the introduction of the new political term "regressive" was required.
Somehow today's politics have been taken over by a mix of politics and religion. Unfortunately, the most vocal group seems to be of the Regressive kind, thinly disguised as conservatives.
There seems to be a yearning below the surface for war and the end of times, for an abandonment of one's self not by conscience but by ignorance. These people seem to care much more to impose their beliefs on others than to really know what their own beliefs mean or where they come from. They want to abandon themselves to a cause without being themselves conscious of what the cause really is, because they have "faith".
Unfortunately, spiritual advancement is a nuanced and hard to describe matter. How do you explain the difference between being conscious/ knowing/ experiencing and faith/ convincing yourself of something/ imagining? It's a fine line, and words ultimately fail at expressing it.
UPDATE: I don't mean to imply that I necessarily know more than anyone, but I think I do understand, from personal experience, where people like this are coming from, and I don't think it's a good place. People are entitled to their religious freedom, but I'll fight anyone that tries to impose their religious views on me, even if it's views I agree with.
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