We are all under massive pressure to write very well. We sign up for courses and are compelled (coerced?) to write intriguing essays, pithy reading responses and dazzlingly brilliant Mars’ Hill articles (hint hint). All this striving for the apogee of perfection gets wearying, but there is nowhere that we might undergo catharsis and purge the dregs of our writer’s exhaustion in a clean and well-ventilated public forum. Until now.

The race between Obama and McCain has been characterized by both candidates defining themselves as mavericks, thus trying to separate themselves from the rest of their respective parties. As a Canadian, I’d like to think I can divorce myself from the dirtiness that is the race; more than likely this is very wishful thinking. Obama seemed to think that he could separate himself from the reality that was the segregated state, noting his dismay and surprise upon arrival in the mainland United States for university.

“You are not taking things seriously enough!” A chill: this is the last thing any student wants to hear in the final month of classes. Rather than feel ashamed, however, I raise the question: what does it mean to be serious about education, and is that what you want to be?
It’s a fact: it is only through levity in this strange process we call Undergraduate Studies that we hit upon the soul of education. Does respect for the institution and the process of accreditation require any seriousness about education? I have a friend nearing such degrees as Philosophy and Engineering, and when I, cruel soul, inadvertently asked him that horrible, horrible question all students dread – what he would do when he finally received his degree – his only reply was, “fan myself with it.”
Think about this: life can only be lived with levity, and levelling this at goal-orientation and the whole process of getting odd letters after your name proves resoundingly refreshing and hope-inspiring. To take things “seriously” in education is to get caught up in minutiae and material concerns that are a secondary reality to the real process of education. It’s all right to be in it for the GPA and the job, but your intellectual vision must be on something higher or things begin to break down in the last month of classes.
These final few weeks are when your professors conspire in jamming you in the vice-grip of assignments, responses, journals, term-papers, and the poorly-titled “second midterms,” all in a short period of time. Viewed in terms of GPA, job-preparation and other material concerns, your professors seem like evil forces out to get you, hell-bent on sundering your sanity. But around here you know that they’re inherently angels of light in professorial garb: viewed in higher terms, they’re helping you to develop as a person, materially and spiritually. The work-load makes you hardier in body and mental discipline. The bulk of ideas forced upon you gets you to grapple with great thoughts, developing your moral imagination.
Humour makes sense of the educational process itself, and the other area at which I challenge you to level humour is a specific facet of this: fitting in with the academic culture around your academic discipline. There is a serious style that must be achieved for you to be taken seriously, quite apart from the quality of your learning and thinking on your subject. You must have something to say, of course: a living idea housed in your mind. However, writing it in ‘academic’ form can be a painful thing. To me, it feels like the process of taking this beautiful butterfly of thought, choking it with chloroform and sticking a whacking great huge pin through it and mounting it on a wall. Sure, it’s still the butterfly, but it inspires tears of sorrow rather than rapture.
In the sciences, social sciences, and business, everyone has given up even attempting to be interesting, unless they’re quirky geniuses or dimly-viewed “popularizers.” But I still have great hope for the Humanities! I can live with the emphasis on linear argument, even if it makes essays bulkier and less elegant. The elimination of the first-person begins to make one feel a bit stilted. The destruction of the colloquial can be a good thing, but begins to restrict real-world expression, yo. Soft, but at the other extreme the line is verily more painful: the elimination of the older styles. Yea though it be necessary, I find myself wont to writing in archaic language. Sounding Shakespearean or Wagnerian ought not to obscure meaning, as long as healthy irreverence is achieved and the effort is for the cause of lingual beauty. So subvert the system! There is hope that you can tiptoe on the boundaries effectively, just as the great writers you study once did.
Thus, in both cases, humour makes the journey more interesting, more hopeful, and more human. As Chesterton said, “The life of man is a story; an adventure story.” Rather than be “miserable moderns and rationalists [who] do not merely love ourselves more than we love duty [but] actually love ourselves more than we love joy,” we must learn to find the joy and hilarity in these crazy times of education.

The Christian ritual of the Eucharist often remains obscured behind debates over its specific or narrower theological nature. Substance, accidents, transubstantiation, consubstantiation, virtualism, symbolism—these discussions are important in their own right. However, in focusing too narrowly on the details of this ritual, we sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture. For regardless of one’s particular theological or confessional commitment, the Eucharist or the Lord’s Supper is always treated as the most solemn of events. There is indeed a powerful and beautiful reality at work in this ritual of thanksgiving.
At the Eucharist, the consciousness of the individual Christian is oriented primarily towards Christ. The bread and wine, His body and blood, make present the gravity of His love and sacrifice for the individual and for the church. This assures the Christian that s/he is one who has already been judged and redeemed by having been reconciled to God in Christ. Moreover, in the bread we see the human enterprises of agriculture, industry and work all gathered together while in the wine we see the joy and pleasure of festivity and fellowship. These elements too have been judged and reconciled to their Creator and redeemed, made into stuff of the new creation.
Moreover, the church is seen at the centre of this new creation in which the Christian participates and indwells, as s/he celebrates the Eucharist on a regular basis. In this way, the Eucharist fundamentally resituates the human person in a world that is lived from Christ and sustains its being only in Christ; a world that is complete and intact with all of its gritty human realities including work, industry, festivity, fellowship and eating.
This space opened up by the Eucharist also has a powerful social dimension. It reveals that our individual identity is bound up with the other. In the Eucharist, we receive the grace of Christ in the presence of the other. This is the negation of self-sufficiency and selfish individualistic pursuit. We have been grafted into the body of Christ and our behaviour is primarily re-oriented towards God and towards the other amidst a whole network of others. This greater whole reaches beyond our own desires and at the same time turns back upon our own self to condition and shape these desires. This is life together, life in true communion, only made possible by the body and blood of Christ.
One of the most beautiful elements of this communion is that it is precisely communion and not absorption. For we retain our unique self and all the differences from the whole that are implied therein, all the while remaining fully and faithfully a part of the whole. The communion of the church is the communion of difference; difference is intrinsic to fellowship in the body of Christ. Provided that common absolutes are guaranteed and their validity is not put into question, the diversity of the church is a rich resource that enables us to enact the love of Christ for the world in a variety of ways. Recall the way in which Paul says in 1 Corinthians 12 that the church is made up of many parts that form one body, complete with hands, feet, ears and eyes. Without each of these parts, the greater whole (the body) could not function properly. There is freedom in communion.
Fundamentally, it is this love of Christ that binds us all together in perfect unity. Without the love of Christ, the church would not be possible. And without enacting this love that we receive from Christ, true communion could not exist. This love and grace of Christ for the church, humanity and creation is the fundamental reality that is communicated to us through the enactment of the Lord’s Supper or participation in the Eucharist. The power and beauty of this reality should serve as the ground and source of our Christian existence as individuals inseparably bound together into one body, the church. It is essential that we dwell in the light of this reality—reality in and from the grace and love of Christ.

I am with you always, even to the end of the ages.
We are reminded of these words often in times of hardship and grief: the Lord who guided His people into the Promised Land is the same Lord who promised His disciples that He would be with them always, and the same Lord who lives with His Church and world with constant care and commitment.
This assurance can seem measly in the turmoil of life; the promise that Christ is with us at every moment is easily interpreted as a simple platitude given to those who are having a hard time. Although the promise is meant for comfort, the importance placed upon this statement sometimes carries little more than a simple reassurance for those in need.
Another interpretation of this pledge can mean a guarantee of Christ’s continual material blessing to his people, which provides food, comfort and even riches to the faithful. However, as the history of Christians’ plight throughout the world teaches us, there is no guarantee of worldly blessings or comforts. In fact, being faithful to Christ usually doesn’t materially differentiate the Christian from humanity’s common fate, and perhaps leading to an even more distraught and terrifying life.
In this sense, the idea that Christ is with us seems empty. It lacks any real significance aside from flowery ideals for the despairing and lackluster promises to the faithful. Yet, in the midst of this empty promise lies one of the most genuine and beautiful mysteries of the faith.
In one sense, the promise of Christ’s continual presence is a personal reality. The holy presence of Christ, His continual transformation of our souls, and the common journey we share with Him are the revelation of Christ’s guarantee to never leave us. From the most jubilant celebrations, to the most desolate cells in Auschwitz, Christ’s presence resounds in our souls.
Not only do we live with and through Christ, but we live with and through the lives of the saints past, present and future who also share in Christ’s presence. Those who are bound by common faith in our Lord live through us, and we through them, in celebration of Christ’s resonating company.
Christian worship tells us that our souls long for this blessed union with Christ, but we know the reality of his presence is always with us. In this way, the petitions of the faithful for Christ’s mercy and grace are a reflection of our longing, constantly reminding us of our state without the presence of Christ. As some Christians say in worship, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” In turn, His answer to our petitions comes from Christ offering His true presence in the Eucharist and His continual presence in our lives.
In the promise of Christ’s presence in our lives, there is truly one of the most blessed and whole realities of the Christian faith. Unlike platitudes or material promises, the communion we share with Christ is a key to unveiling the true riches and mercies Christ offers the faithful and all creation.

It is commonly said that people “see what they want to see.” In other words, people see the world around them based on their own expectations, conscious and unconscious, of what it should look like.
During the past three years at Trinity Western University depression has shifted my perceptions of the world and caused me to see things a certain way. A theory called Depressive Realism argues that as a result of depression the way that I see the world may actually be more accurate than the way a non-depressed person sees the world. Although some of the theory has been disproven by recent research, the broad point that happiness may largely be a matter of delusion still holds true.
Slavoj Zizek, working off of French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan, develops a concept called the objet petit a in his theoretical edifice that can shine light on what might make depressed people see the world as they do and, at the same time, provide hope that the optics of depression can be corrected.
Simply stated, the objet petit a is an object that is created by desire. However, as Slovenian philosopher Zizek points out, objet petit a is no ordinary object like a chair or a top hat rather it is “an object that can be perceived only by a gaze distorted by desire, an object that does not exist for an ‘objective gaze.’ The objet petit a is an object that does not exist apart from human perception because it is nothing but the embodiment of the distorted gaze of human perception, a mapping of human desire onto the contours of objective reality.
A woman with anorexia might look at her body and see fat where a doctor would look at her body and see no fat at all. The fat that the anorexic sees on her body is a good example of an objet petit a. By looking at her body through the lens of her disorder, the anorexic woman sees something that cannot be seen by an objective gaze: fat.
For depressive realism to be an accurate theory, it would have to put forward that depressed individuals lack an interested gaze, a gaze permeated by desire. It would also have to posit that depressed people occupy a gaze that is more objective than others. This would only make sense since an objective gaze would be able to see reality more accurately, like the way the gaze of a doctor looking objectively at an anorexic individual sees the reality of a fragile and deteriorating body.
From my own experience with depression, I would argue that the depressed gaze is rife with desire and thus, like the anorexic gaze, sees things that aren’t actually there. The objet petit a seen by a depressed person, which alters his/her vision of the world, is formed by his/her eschatology, that is, the way s/he envisions the end. The eschatological end seen by a depressed person is full of nothing and for that reason the world seen through the eyes of a depressed person is a world marked everywhere with a lack of meaning. If there is no hope in the future, there is no hope in the present. The eschatology of the depressed subject is therefore a realized eschatology where the events and conditions that belong to the eschatological end are described as if they already belonged to present experience. Constructing hope in times of depression therefore becomes a matter of re-envisioning and rebuilding a future with substantial positive content.
As human beings we are shapers of the world. Our shaping, which is brought about by work, maintains the tension between present and future. The only means to re-envision and rebuild a future with positive content is through work. For the depressed individual, work can keep the empty future from fully spilling into the present. However, merely keeping the empty future at bay is insufficient and only causes more anxiety.
The future, unlike the past, is something we can actively change and re-envision. In the act of working we begin to unconceal a new world and thus a new future. Work can be as simple as writing a journal entry, a small paper or celebrating communion with others at church. In each instance we actively shape the present and thus our orientation towards, and content of, the future.
Re-envisioning and rebuilding the future from nothing is a long and difficult process, but with each stroke of the pen, each conversation and each moment we choose to actively work and build something, we are re-shaping both our vision of the future and the way we see the objet petit a.

A recent article in the New York Times profiles young Egyptian men who, as a result of the country’s tight employment market, are struggling to find stable work. Many of the young men profiled are growing old and not marrying due to the cultural pressure of needing steady employment to be married and raise a family. The problem is rampant not only in Egypt, but across the Middle East as well. One of the resulting trends of such financial hardship is more young people turning to religion to find stability and meaning in this stilted stage of adulthood.
Let us juxtapose this return to devout religious practice with that of Western culture. While many young people would proclaim themselves as “religious,” it is apparent that the demands of organized faith are no longer tenable for a generation that views power or authoritative structures as stifling and overbearing. This is evident, particularly in Christianity in North America and Europe, as churches are losing members at rapidly increasing rates. In England, for example, the number of Roman Catholics surpassed that of members of the Church of England over the past few years due to a rapid decline in membership. In the United States, the number of young people who claimed to have no religious affiliation doubled between 1985 and 2005.
Even individuals within conservative groups of Christianity, such as the Evangelical movement, are turning toward religious affiliations without any denominations which de-emphasize the focus upon structure in both form and praxis. Often labeled as “emergent” churches, these congregations have planted themselves firmly in the postmodern movement – one frequently defined by its multiform use of varying faith traditions and pluralistic draw of all types of influences to form a distinctly individualistic interpretation of one’s faith and its subsequent practice. As Don Carson, a professor at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, IL points out, “Some in the emerging movement, so influenced by postmodern sensibilities, find any mention of truth, objective truth, angular or offensive.” In other words, the search for some sort of meaning cannot have any one singular form in the emergent church; it is completely up to the individual.
In addition to this gradual dissolution of devout and organized faith movements in North America, there is an overwhelming assumption that material goods and faith are connected: the faithful will receive material rewards from God based upon their level of devotion. Such views are more notoriously associated with recent Christian books such as The Prayer of Jabez or the teachings of mega-church leader Joel Osteen. This view is shockingly narrow-minded. What are the faithful to make of those in Africa or Asia, steadily suffering for their belief, while many of their religious counterparts in North America do not match up measure for measure in praxis or belief and yet prosper all the more? What are they to say to the deeply faithful men and women of the Middle East who cannot even marry and have children due to their financial circumstances? Is God only listening to North America, a people so laden with ideas and iPods that they cannot seem to hear Him?
The stark contrast between these two cultural positions is startling, but not surprising. Philosopher Slavoj Zizek, in his post-9/11 address, “Welcome to the Desert of the Real,” said, “It effectively appears as if the split between First World and Third World runs more and more along the lines of the opposition between leading a long satisfying life full of material and cultural wealth, and dedicating one’s life to some transcendent Cause.” In other words, it would appear that wealth seems to somehow dampen the search for a transcendent reality, but at the same time makes the present reality much more appealing than the lack of wealth, which draws people toward a future hope of an afterlife. This may be why the West worships life but cannot effectively confront death; they are unable to cope with its sheer lack of reality. This also may be why those who see death as simply a vestibule to true reality in the afterlife (e.g. suicide bombers) can make decisions which appear to be unthinkable to the Western mind.

Apparently Thomas Malthus was wrong: population growth will not be the end of our planet. In fact, if you look at Canada’s latest demographic census, our biggest danger is dying out completely. Many other Western countries are also finding themselves fading in numbers, especially compared to the rapidly growing populations to the East.
For a stable population to be maintained (no growth, no decline), you need a total fertility rate of 2.1 live births per woman. Canada has reached an all time low of 1.48. While lower than the U.S. (2.1), is slightly more reproductive than most European countries, which on average are only breeding at a rate of 1.38 per woman. Many Canadian provinces are increasingly depending on immigration to counter this trend. In Europe, the large waves of immigrant families, who tend to have many children, are the only thing keeping the population growing.
There are a variety of reasons for this trend. An obvious one is that there are more seniors and fewer children due to the baby-boomer phenomenon. One must also look at the social reasons. Women are increasingly placing priority on their careers and waiting to have children until they are in their forties, thus having fewer children. This has created a generational gap; a pattern that will most likely continue.
To counter this, Danny Williams has promised $1,000 for every baby born or adopted in Newfoundland. Singapore has been offering $9,000 for a second child and $18,000 for a third child. Spain and Australia also attempted to offer money for the births of any children following the first. However, the monetary incentive does not seem to have made very much headway.
Japan has chosen to appeal to the nationalist duty, but apparently the Japanese population doesn’t feel its patriotic duty extends to their family planning. While Romania did have a significant increase in childbirth after abortions were outlawed, it suffered repercussions in the form of large amounts of abandoned children.
Russia has, true to form, made baby-making a national endeavor. It declared a National Day of Conception and couples are given time off work on this day to procreate. Those with babies born nine months later receive money, cars, refrigerators and other prizes.
Unfortunately, it’s not enough to implement a few bonuses. Canada must first decide who it wants to target. Policies effecting direct costs of children are more likely to influence women with low incomes, while those that reduce opportunity costs will have more impact on women with higher incomes. Therefore, if the government wants to increase quality of life along with increasing the birthrate, it needs to target middle- to upper-class families through implementing policies that will continue to increase opportunities for mothers to manage careers and motherhoods at the same time.
If Canada can manage to implement a combination of policies from the above, it could potentially make a difference in the long-term demographic trend. Ultimately, however, much depends on the “trend” factor. In France, it has become “la mode” to have babies. Time will tell if the “designer baby” trend of Hollywood will inspire a new baby boom or if it will, instead, delay it further by causing mothers to have one very expensive child later in life.